Midsummer

M o n d a y

The Storstrand brothers' journey to the Maison des Cartes had not been pleasant.

They'd had to board a ship that Eirik could tell was leaking. Water dripped through the algae-coated planks at such a rate that he was amazed they made it to England at all. Next was a clattering, rickety train ride. Their lungs were filled with naught but sour, stale air for hours, and their long hair had stuck to the wooden seat. Sigmund shivered as he pulled it away– who knew what it had stuck to?

Their host had claimed they'd get "quality service". Their host lied.

"Bror, how much farther is it? Please tell me we don't need another train," Sigmund said.

"No, no more trains. He said he'd supply a carriage..."

The brothers looked around but found nothing. Even standing though they were on time, their ride was late. It seemed to be par for the course. Sigmund sighed and started peeling the gunk out of his hair. If nothing else, he hoped for a bath. His hair was sticking to his face and jacket, something he'd never tolerate at home.

"Relax, Sigmund. We'll be home soon."

"We will be home in a month. That is not 'soon'."

Before Eirik had a chance to argue further, their carriage finally showed up. To their relief, it seemed to be in good condition. Sigmund wasn't sure what he'd do if it was anything like the train.

"Apologies, sirs. We had an issue with one of the wheels this morning. The master insisted we have it fixed before you arrived. You seem to have had a rough journey... we shall supply accommodations for you accordingly. I'm sure the master will be displeased to hear of the quality of your transport."

"Thank you," Eirik said.

"The master will be displeased? What about us?" Sigmund muttered in Norwegian. Eirik lightly smacked his arm for it, but the chauffeur had taken no notice.

"I can take your bags. Please, seat yourselves. We'll be to the manor in under an hour."

"Thank you, mister..?"

"Cohen, sir. Ah, and one more thing before we set off: the master does not like being referred to by name. Tonight, he will be known as Master Gerald Fernard. Any questions?"

The Strorstrands exchanged a look, but shook their heads. Fernard wasn't the only one who didn't go by his real name.

"Very well then. With luck, this will be a peaceful journey. I'll open the door for you when we arrive. Before I do, however, I implore you do not do it yourself."

Sigmund bit his tongue. He didn't like that detail, but decided not to question it.

The rest of the journey was much more pleasant. They hardly felt the rumbling of the carriage at all, and there was little traffic. They moved at such a pace the landscape blurred. Not that the brothers could see much of it anyway through the curtained window.

"What do you think this will be like, Eirik? Unpleasant as the trip here?"

"Only for the cynical. We must try to at least look grateful. We're here on delicate business, even though they may seem to enjoy testing our patience. We must prove ourselves above it all."

"What if I'm not above it?"

"Then pretend. I know you can do that."

Sigmund sighed, knowing his brother was right. Usually he wasn't half as irritable. Alas, the journey had rubbed him the wrong way entirely. He had been surrounded by loud, sweaty people in a dubious environment. For someone used to the peace and quiet of a solitary lake home, it was unbearable.