The sandy-haired man looked up from the tiller. He grabbed at me and tore a piece from my new shirt. I ran to the back of the boat. It was dark now and the water was black as the Brynulf cut through it. Running lights from other boats winked in the distance and I screamed futilely for help.

Grafalk charged onto the deck toward me, his face a maniacal mask, fire extinguisher gripped in front of him. I took a breath and jumped overboard.

Chapter 28

The Fire Ship of Wodin

The black water was very cold. It washed the chemical from my aching face and I trod water for a few seconds, coughing to clear my lungs. For a minute I panicked, thinking of the depths stretching beneath me, and I took in a mouthful of water. Sputtering, choking, I forced myself to relax, to breathe deeply.

I kicked off my running shoes, then reached into the water and pulled off my socks and shirt. The Brynulf, under full sail, was moving at a good clip and had gone some thirty feet past me.

I was alone in the icy water. My toes were numb and the water hurt my face. I might last twenty minutes—not enough to swim to shore. I looked over my shoulder. The yacht started to turn. Firelight flickered through the starboard portholes. A searchlight lit up the water and Grafalk quickly picked me up. I tried not to panic, to breathe naturally.

The boat continued to come toward me. Swimming on my back, I saw Grafalk at the bow, a rifle in his hand. As the Brynulf came alongside, I took a breath and dove under the keel. I pushed my way along underneath until I came out the back. The engine wasn’t running—there were no chopping propeller blades to slice me.

Something slapped against my face as I surfaced. One of the ropes used for tying the boat was trailing in the water. I seized it and let the Brynulf tow me while Grafalk scanned the water with the searchlight. He turned it toward the stern. His face appeared at the side. The rifle pointed at me. I was too numb to dive.

A blinding flash came, but not from the gun. The galley fuel must have exploded. The shock knocked me loose from the rope and deflected Grafalk’s arm. A bullet grazed the water near me and the yacht moved away. A hatch cover blew off and a small fireball flew at the tiller.

Bit of the yacht broke off and floated past me. I seized a spar and leaned on it, kicking doggedly. My left shoulder ached from the cold.

The Brynulf continued to move away from me, her sails still catching the wind while Sandy struggled with them, finally letting them go so they hung limply. The yacht then floated in a little circle about fifteen yards from me, moved by the heat of the fire.