Page 86 of Truly, Madly Viking

The Strand area was located on the opposite side of the island from the Gulf near a thriving commercial port. Surely a whale would not swim into those congested waters. But then, this was not a normal whale.

Much as he and Mag-he peered over the water, there was no sign of Thora. Perhaps he had been mistaken, but he did not think so. There had to be a reason for her showing herself now. What could it be? Was it a sign, or a warning?

"You're not going back to your time now, are you, Joe?" Mag-he asked him in a tear-filled, panicky voice.

He brought his head back inside the car and stared at her, horrified. That thought had never occurred to him. It was too soon. Oh, he had been complaining for weeks about not being able to go home. But now that the possibility loomed on the horizon, he realized that he did not want to go... not yet. Conflicting feelings battered him. He had to go, for his brother Rolf's sake. He had to stay, for Mag-he's and her daughters' sakes.

He could not think about all this now. Instead he made a tsking sound and put his arms around her, kissing her face and neck and lips. "I am not going anywhere, sweetling," he assured her.

But a whaley-like voice inside his head clicked and squealed in orca language, adding to his words an ominous, Yet .

"Hey, Dr. McBride. How's your belly button?"

Maggie's head jerked upright with surprise, but then she noticed the young man with purple spiked hair.

He was standing in the doorway of the tattoo parlor where she'd had her body piercing done earlier this year.

"Just great, Orvis," she answered. Orvis was the son of the owner, Herbert Dupree, a longhaired, graying, sixties hippie who had never really grown up.

Before she could turn and introduce Joe, he set their overflowing shopping bags on the ground and stomped forward, grabbed Orvis by the front of his raggedy T-shirt, which read, A Hangover Is the Wrath of Grapes, and lifted him off his feet so that the young man was at eye level with him.

"Troll, do you dare speak of my lady's intimate body parts?"

The kid appeared as if he might pee his pants, so surprised and terrified was he. Even worse, they were garnering attention from the shoppers and tourists in the busy Strand district.

"Put him down. Right now," she ordered Joe as she tugged on his arm to pull him back. "He's just a college student who works in this shop, where I had my belly-button ring put in." In fact, as Maggie recalled, he was a prelaw student at UCLA.

"Oh." Joe looked from her to the dangling boy in his hands. "I thought perchance your braies had dropped down a bit, and he could tell you were not wearing undergarments." He snaked out a hand to palm her behind then, and squeezed. His other hand was still holding Orris up in the air by his T-shirt.

She yelped and jumped away.

"I was just checking," he said, and smiled widely, apparently satisfied that she hadn't lied. Then he turned back to the boy, inquiring, "You meant no insult?"

He was still not convinced the kid wasn't some dire threat to her reputation. The kid just shook his head, speechless.

Joe dropped him unceremoniously to his feet.

"Apologize at once," Maggie told Joe in an undertone, "or else we're going to have police here, arresting you for assault."

"Assault? That was no assault." He blinked at her in incomprehension. "An assault would be a blood eagle to his back, or sword dew spilled. This youthling is unharmed." He turned his attention back to said youthling. "Is that not true?"

Orvis nodded his head like a dashboard doll. Joe reached out a hand then and shook Orvis's hand vigorously. "I am Jorund Ericsson. How do you do?"

Orvis shook his hand back, but under his breath Maggie heard him mutter, "Holy shit!"

Joe glared at the ogling shoppers who still stood about, till they finally slunk away, figuring he might start on them next. Then he turned his gaze to the storefront. "Ah! A body-piercing market stall. Mayhap I should have one of my body parts pierced, too."

Maggie inhaled sharply, and the air went down the wrong tube. She began to cough uncontrollably.

Joe just blathered on: "I can think of one body part that deserves particular homage after all of last night's bedsport. What think you of—"

"No!" He barely had time to gather up the shopping bags before she grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the store and down the unique street, with its high curbs and overhanging canopies.

Horse-drawn carriages passed by slowly, contributing to the Victorian ambience of the place. A Viking in Dickens's world, she thought with a shake of her head. But actually, anything went on the Strand.

Even the occasional oddball shops, selling body piercing, kites, and army surplus gear, somehow seemed to fit in with those carrying fine antiques, gourmet chocolates, imported cigars, and designer clothing.

"I was jesting, Mag-he. Dost really think I would mar such perfection? Or sustain such pain for the sake of vanity?" He winced and pretended to cross his legs.