Þorfinna and the Capture of the Clever Wife

Laird Colyne Stewart

Jan AS XL (2006)

It was a bright winter’s day, when Lady Þorfinna gráfeldr walked down to the piers at the Rouge Port. The wind was blowing strong, but it was not too chill, and the waters of the Mare Ontarium were running clear without ice. She stood on the dock gazing up at the masts of the frigate Red Arrow, from which streamed the banners of Ardchreag and Septentria. An Ealdormere banner flew from the aft-castle.

Today will be the day, she thought.

She stomped up the ramp onto the ship and began bellowing orders. The captain was indisposed, and so as first lieutenant the command was hers. Word had come down that the infamous pirate Cap’n Widow was currently raiding the coasts of north-eastern Skraeling Althing. Most of His Majesty’s ships were on duty elsewhere, tracking another local pirate called Cap’n Bloodfox. So local ships were being asked to capture or sink Widow’s ship the Clever Wife.

Þorfinna was determined that she was the one who would bring Widow to justice.

Finally, the ship was ready to sail, and the winds were blowing favourably in their direction. They swiftly set off, following the coastline.

Before long they saw two ships on the horizon, moving towards them. Marie de Chat Noir—called Black Cat Mary when on board ship—was up in the rigging. She called down that they looked like galleys, and both were flying the Æthelmearc colours. As Æthelmearc and Ealdormere were currently at peace, Þorfinna did not try to evade them, or have her gunner prime the cannons. Instead she had the sails furled as the ships came together, and she and the Æthelmearc captains had a parley.

The senior captain told her that Captain Bloodfox had run afoul of two of His Majesty Ealdormere’s ships—the Iron Duke and the Sea Khan. His ship Interceptor had been sunk, but somehow the pirate captain had escaped the marines aboard the royal ships. He reappeared two days later in an Æthelmearc port along with Mr. Andersen and several new crewmates, and had somehow managed to steal a man-of-war called the Great Wheel. Re-dubbing her Black Trillium, he had shot his way out of the port, sinking two ships, and had disappeared into deep waters. The Æthelmearc admiralty were embarrassed at loosing their ship and were currently out hunting Bloodfox in force. After assuring the captains that she would send word of any sightings of the Black Trillium, Þorfinna and the Red Arrow continued on their way.

The weather continued to be fair, and the ship made good time, traveling past Greenhithe and Bastille du Lac. When the ship neared the shores of Caldrithig, Black Cat Mary called out another sighting. This time she bellowed, “Kraken!”

Being a stout Norsewoman, Þorfinna was not afraid of any creature, may it walk on land, fly through the air or swim in the depths, but several of her crew were now quaking with fear. Mahault, the ship’s master-at-arms, unlocked the pistol cabinets and the crew armed themselves, though many were praying to their various gods.

Calmly, Þorfinna went to her cabin and pulled out a chest from under her bunk. Opening it, she took out a woven belt that had been bestowed upon her by the Galbraiths for being the strongest woman in Ealdormere. The tied this girdle of strength about her waist and climbed onto the deck again.

Ahead of the ship great foaming waves frothed their way towards the prow. Just below the surface of the water, Þorfinna thought she could just make out a gigantic eye. She called for a javelin, and Mahault placed one carved of ash in her hand. Pulling back her arm Þorfinna took careful aim. The crew stood at their posts, holding their breaths, except for Bobo the monkey who screeched from his perch in the rigging. Þorfinna stood still as a statue, until suddenly she threw. The javelin streaked through the air and plunged into the turgid waters. A great bubbling scream exploded from beneath the waves, and the water churned as the kraken thrashed its many tentacles. There was a huge splash, and then the water stilled. The kraken had submerged.

Ordering the ship’s quartermaster to open the rum, Þorfinna allowed the crew a drink to calm their nerves and celebrate their victory over the terror from the deep. Before Mahault could lock away the weapons again, Black Cat Mary once more shouted down from the topcastle. “Ship ahoy! Pirate colours!”

The crew dropped their cups and ran back to their stations. The gunner and his mates primed and manned the cannons. Ahead of them, Þorfinna could see a ship approaching, growing larger and larger. From her mast flew the skull and four crossbones of Cap’n Widow.

There was a splash astern as the Clever Wife’s gunners opened fire prematurely. Þorfinna called for her own gunners to hold. As the ships drew closer together Þorfinna ordered the sails fully unfurled to catch the wind and begin to turn the ship. As the two vessels drew closer together, they each presented their sides.

“Fire!” ordered Þorfinna, as a similar order was given aboard the Clever Wife. Cannons roared, and balls ripped through the hulls, sending exploded shards of timber and bits of crew into the lake. Grapples began to be thrown from the Clever Wife, and the Red Arrow’s marines assembled on deck. Rather than wait to be boarded, the Red Arrow’s crew threw their own grapples, and the two boats were pulled close together. As soon as they were close enough, pirates and marines began climbing, jumping and swinging onto each others ship.

Þorfinna herself, armed with cutlass and pistol, and still wearing her belt, was the first to board the Clever Wife. She fought her way past brigands, privateers, seadogs and other such scum, seeking out the enemy captain. Soon she found her. For Cap’n Widow was herself in the thick of the fighting. She wore a black skirt and green corset, from which the ruffles of her white blouse bloomed. Upon her head perched a brown tri-corner, with black and white feathers, with a red scarf tied under it. In her hands she held a bloody sword, and her parrot flew about her head. Peckerless Pete—who had a steel hook instead of a beak—was himself attacking the Red Arrow’s marines, scratching at eyes and ripping at ears.

The two captains’ eyes locked, and suddenly nothing else existed but them, and the deck between them. They ran at each other, swords swinging. Þorfinna shot her pistol, which tore a hole through Widow’s hat. Their swords met, and they danced over the blood soaked boards, hacking and slashing, parrying and thrusting. Finally, Þorfinna managed to knock the blade from Widow’s hand, and placed the point of her cutlass at the pirate captain’s throat.

The Widow yielded, and her crew, seeing that she was taken, either threw down their own arms, or jumped over board and tried to swim for shore. Most were shot in the back as they swam by the marines.

Locking the pirates in the hold, Þorfinna had her corporal take command of the Red Arrow, while she and some of her crew took control of the Clever Wife. Both ships sailed back into port, where Þorfinna handed her prisoners over to the local constables. Soon the tales of her exploits spread all over Ardchreag and beyond, and many a drink were bought for her in seaside pubs.

Unfortunately, Cap’n Widow did not stay incarcerated for long. Soon enough she and her remaining crew had escaped custody (some say rescued by Peckerless Pete, others by Bloodfox) and was once again sailing the Mare Ontarium aboard her Clever Wife.

But that’s another story.

The Story of how the Ardchreag Standard was Lost, and of how it was Found Again

Colyne Stewart, November A.S. XXXVI (2002)

Not so long ago a great celebration was held in the Canton of der Welfengeu. People from all corners of the Kingdom of Ealdormere, and some from beyond, travelled tot he Land of the Ram to attend. Many folk from the Canton of Ardchreag attended, partaking in various activities and having a jolly time. When it became time to serve feast, the Chreaggers departed, for there were no free seats in the Hall.

As it was the birthday of one of their number, the pilgrims decided to stop at the Inn of the Jackass to celebrate. They loaded their wagons and set off down the highways towards Kytchener, where said inn was located.

Upon arriving, the members of the lead wagon were informed by the others that something had fallen from their load. The others, afraid of becoming seperated if they stopped to investigate, had left the object lying on the road.

Searching their wagon, the Chreaggers found that their standard, and a metal joint from its pole, was missing.

Not wanting the lost standard to stop the birthday celebrations, Stephen Scrymgeour and Thorfinna gra’feldr volunteered to go back in search. The others went into the inn and ordered food and drink, Colyne Stewart nervously pulling at his beard.

The road was dark and deserted as the Scot and Norse woman made their way back towards the Hall. They spent the time in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. When they got close to their destination they stepped down from their wagon, swinging torches left and right, one searching each side of the road.

The ground was muddy, and a mist was rising, making their search difficult. To make matters worse, they could hear howling in the trees nearby.

Going still, Stephen called out to Thorfinna, and she ran to his side. Sitting ten feet away at the edge of the woods, the standard in its jaws, was a tygre. It growled at them, then turned intot he woods and ran. Not hesitating a second, the two Chreaggers charged after it, Stephen freeing his dirk, Thorfinna clutching her axe.

Brambles and thorns ripped at their legs, and Stephen was thankful he had not worn a kilt that day. After a long chase, they treed the tygre, who growled from its perch, shaking the tree as if daring them to climb up after it. Putting his dirk between his teeth, Stephen, who was wise in the ways of lumbermen, began to do just that.

When he got close to the creature he could hear howling from below the tree, but he did not dare take his eyes from the tygre to see what was transpiring. He slowly advanced on the tygre, careful of where he placed his feet, taking the blade from his mouth. The tygre sat still, not moving, not seeming even to breath, until suddenly it lunged.

Stephen whipped up the dirk as the beast crashed into him. They both tumbled fromt he tree, crashing through the branches, and Stephen managed to turn himself so when they hit the ground, he landed on top of the great cat. His breath was knocked from his lungs, and he gasped painfully as he laboured to breath. Hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet and he discovered that the tygre had been slain. Looking about he saw the carcasses of many garwolves. When he looked questioningly at Thorfinna, the Norse just smiled.

Bending down, Stephen freed the standard from the tygre’s jaws. Other than a fray of two, the standrard was fine, though the force of the tygre’s jaws had bent the metal joint.

Returning triumphantly tot he inn, they proudly displayed the standard tot hei fellows who were all greatly relieved (especially Colyne). The celebrations that followed went long into the night.

(This story, like so many tales, is based in fact. It is true that after Scotchtoberfest on Nov. 3, 2001, many members of the populace of Ardchreag stopped at Kitchener to celebrate a birthday at Jack Astor’s. Upon arriving they did indeed discover that the canton’s standard had been left on top of tone of the vehicles and had fallen off somewhere long the way. Food having already been ordered, Stephen and Thorfinna went back alone to look for it, and did indeed recover it. It had been run over by a car, but the metal joint that it had been packed with had saved it, taking the brunt of the punishment upon itself.)