Page 10 of Truly, Madly Viking

They were watching Gonzo go through his paces, along with two baby killer whales, Mork and Mindy.

The babies, which were the size of pickup trucks, performed only rudimentary tricks, like backflips and leaps into the air for food, but Gonzo was a real pro... and a ham, to boot. He sailed through hoops.

He lobtailed the crowd, splashing large amounts of water on them with his flukes, better known as flippers. He plopped himself up onto a platform. He squealed and chirped and generally appeared to be having a good time. He might be one of the top predators of the seas, but here at Orcaland he was a pussycat letting the trainers ride on his back or put their heads inside his mouth where three dozen deadly teeth shone whitely in the bright sunlight. Maggie could see why Beth had developed such a strong affection for Gonzo—and all killer whales, for that matter.

Just then she heard Beth gasp.

"What? What?" she asked, quickly morphing into mother mode.

Beth was still gasping for breath and pointing out to sea, beyond the oceanarium. Holy cow! There was an enormous killer whale swimming just beyond the nets... circling and circling, blowing mists of spume, diving and coming up in geyser splashes of water.

It was not usual for free whales to approach the oceanarium because they did not roam the warmer, salty waters off of Texas, but this one must have been drawn by the other whales in captivity and the prospect of food. Or was this magnificent animal in distress?

As it began spyhopping—leaping out of the water almost in a perpendicular position— Gonzo did the same thing. They were mirroring each other's actions.

Their loud chirps and whistles and squeals echoed across the inlet like eerie aquatic bullhorns. It appeared as if they were communicating frantically with each other.

That wasn't the most remarkable thing, though.

There was a man riding atop the killer whale. And he appeared to be holding on to the whale's dorsal fin for dear life.

But wait. Was he steering the mammal as if its fin were the rudder of a boat?

Could this be a new addition to the marine park, staged as a grand entrance?

Wow!

Or—Oh, my God!—was it a wild killer whale on the rampage?

The fine hairs stood out all over Maggie's body, and her intuition kicked in big-time. She knew— she just knew—that man was in real trouble.

"Slow down!" Jorund yelled to Thora.

Hold on, was the whale's only response as she blew enough spume out of her blowhole to drown a small village, and shot through the ocean like a rock from a catapult.

With the wind created by the beast's excessive speed, most of the substance landed on her reluctant passenger. Jorund tossed his hair back off his face and spit several times with distaste. Whale spume tasted as revolting as rancid lutefisk.

Jorund was so angry he could scarcely think or breathe.

And, yes, he had to admit it: he was so bloody frightened he might just wet his braies. If he were wearing braies, that was. And if he weren't already wet.

Apparently he had not drowned, after all. But in some ways he wished he had.

"I'm going to slice you up into the world's biggest pile of whale blubber once we stop," he yelled at Thora. "I'm going to make enough whale soup to feed a nation. I'm going to make hatchets out of your teeth. I'm going to make a necklace to hold your ugly pig eyes. I'm going—"

Jorund never finished his sentence, because Thora performed another one of her quick dips in the ocean, which required her passenger to hold his breath.

When he came up again, Jorund continued his harangue: "And furthermore, the next time you decide to break your fast on shark, would you mind eating with your mouth closed? Your breath is enough to curdle milk."

Be quiet, Viking. We're almost there, Thora said with her usual chirps and squeals.

Jorund still couldn't believe he could understand whale talk. But that was neither here nor there. "Almost where?" he asked. Just then he noticed the huge net rising up high above the waves ahead.

She wouldn't, Jorund thought.

Thora increased her speed till the air whistled in Jorund's ears and his hair whipped back.

She would.