Jón was furious. “You can all choke on a herring!” he shouted, and stormed out.

Blood-Axe chased him outside. “Be reasonable!” he called after Jón.

Jón didn’t look back. His six bodyguards escorted him home. He told them he didn’t want any visitors, locked himself in his house, and paced from room to room, angry and brooding. He was reminded of how he’d felt as a boy when the taxing authority seized his inheritance and left him penniless. Why should he pay for the mistakes of others? It was the farmers who’d been reckless and greedy, not him! Not only was he being forced to slash his profits, but he was risking his safety to do it—after all, it was Jón Jónsson, not the farmers or elders, who had to venture into the dark section every week to strip away their dawning sun. How long before an attempt was made on his life? Even a dozen bodyguards couldn’t guarantee his safety.

He decided then and there that he was leaving. He would take his long-delayed holiday to Rome, and sod the rest. See how well they managed without him!

He began to pack at once. He’d only tossed a few shirts into a case when there was a loud clap behind him and he spun around, startled, to find Tyr standing at the foot of his bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Away from here,” Jón said. “And don’t bother trying to talk me out of it this time. The risk is no longer worth the reward. I quit!”

“I thought you wanted to be the richest man in all of Iceland,” said Tyr.

“I am the richest man in all of Iceland, and what good has it done me? I work like a dog, I have no time to enjoy my money, and half this town wishes I were dead. I’m leaving first thing in the morning! Scratch that”—he tossed a pair of pants into his case—“I’m leaving tonight!”

“What about all your money?” asked Tyr, nodding toward a trunk in the corner that was overflowing with gold coins.

Jón stopped what he was doing and looked at the trunk. “I’m, er, taking that too, of course,” he said, and Tyr watched in amusement as Jón tried to drag it toward the door. He’d only gotten a few feet before he had to stop to catch his breath.

“Fine,” Jón panted, “point taken. I’ll take as much as I can carry and hide the rest. But I’m still leaving tonight!”

He opened the trunk and began filling his pockets with gold. After a moment he stopped, looked curiously at Tyr, and said, “Well? Aren’t you going to try and stop me, like you always do?”

“No,” said Tyr. “They are.”

He cocked a thumb at Jón’s window.

“Who?” said Jón, and he looked out to see Blood-Axe and Bjarni Bjarnason at his gate, talking with several of his bodyguards. “What are they doing here?”

“It looks as if they’re giving instructions,” said Tyr.