The Twelfth Ring (Noah Larsson Book 1) Read online

  Norse mythology and jet lag didn’t mix well. ‘Ragna-what?’

  ‘Ragnarok, the Viking equivalent of doomsday.’

  ‘Oh, charming.’

  He took the hint. Or maybe he noticed that my eyes were beginning to close. ‘Words don’t do Valhalla any justice,’ he said. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  We strolled down a twisty sandy path. With each step, my father kicked back some sand which inevitably stuck to my dark trousers. By the end of our walk, I could have passed for a miller.

  When Valhalla came into view, I was lost for words. I stared. I blinked. I gaped. Nine hours of plane food made me appreciate the crunchy texture of the bug that flew into my open mouth. Valhalla was an absolutely mind-blowing frigate, just like the ones you see in pirates’ films. My gaze went up her three masts, flew over the crow’s nests, rested on her folded white sails and came back down over the ratlines. A flag depicting a snake biting its tail flapped in the breeze from the top of the main mast. ‘Is this where I’m going to live?’ I asked, picking up my jaw from the floor.

  He smiled. ‘Yes, come on board.’

  I had just stepped on the main deck when a girl came to meet us or, rather, to confront us. Her brown hair was cut into a long bob and her athletic build made you think that she excelled at every sport she tried. Her hand sat on her hip, resting on an invisible revolver. ‘Is this him?’ she asked.

  I detected a slight French accent. And plenty of hostility.

  ‘Yes, Isabelle, this is Noah,’ replied my father.

  My sandy suit attracted a disgusted stare. Or maybe I did. A male voice from somewhere down below reminded her, in no uncertain terms, that she had to finish her homework. She vanished in a cloud of huffs and puffs. ‘Is she going to be my school buddy?’ I asked, with a sense of foreboding.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ replied my father, ‘but don’t worry, your tutor keeps her in line. He’s ex-Israeli Special Forces.’

  ‘Ex-Israeli Special Forces?’ I echoed, more nervously than I had intended.

  ‘He can teach you Krav Maga,’ said my father, throwing a sidekick to an imaginary enemy. ‘In fact, that’s what we’ll do tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Is it a martial art?’

  ‘Not exactly, it’s a self-defence system devised for the Israeli army. It focuses on simple, natural movements.’

  I had always wanted to learn a fighting technique, but mum had strictly forbidden it on the grounds that A&E departments across the country were congested enough.

  ‘Does mum know about Krav Maga?’ I asked.

  ‘She probably knows more about Pilates.’

  ‘I meant, does she know I’ll be taught Krav Maga?’

  ‘She said to keep you active. Do you think she’ll disapprove?’

  I couldn’t tell if he was dumb or naïve, but learning Krav Maga suited me fine, so I didn’t investigate further.

  We walked across Valhalla’s deck from bow to stern, where my father slept. He occupied the best room on the ship, the Captain’s Cabin, and I hoped I wouldn’t be assigned a dirty hammock in the hold. His cabin spanned the width of the stern and the slanted windows running along most of its perimeter provided a lot of natural light. The cabin was large, comfortable and… incredibly chaotic. His unmade double-bed was pushed into a corner of the room. A lamp was suicidally perched on top of a pile of thick books which acted as a bedside table, their well-worn spines a testament to the fulfilling career they had enjoyed before being downgraded to furniture. A number of greenish-greyish garments were trying to escape from a tall chest of (badly closed) drawers. A lucky sock had made it all the way to the floor and a t-shirt was about to follow suit. A tornado of Post-It notes had come and gone, leaving a sea of sticky squares on his cluttered desk. Overlapping layers of pictures covered the wooden panels between the windows. Two glittering swords framed an enlarged photo of my smiling father and a male friend riding a horse together. The horse didn’t look too happy and I wondered why they couldn’t have hired two separate ones. A dented cuckoo clock tried to tell the time, but the tiny doors wouldn’t open and the bird kept on smacking against them from the inside. I was completely speechless. Thankfully he mistook my shock for admiration. He gave me a satisfied grin and beckoned me to follow him below deck. We stood in a long, thin corridor with eight doors at either side. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘we’ve got the sleeping quarters and the living areas. Down below, kitchen, control room, lab, engine room—’

  ‘Lab?’

  ‘Yes, despite popular belief, I’m a legitimate scientist. This is your room.’

  My cabin was quite small, but way better than the dirty hammock I had pictured. I had a built-in wardrobe, a bedside table and a desk with a chair. Outside my porthole, the sea and the sky melted into a vast expanse of blue. Someone had taken care of my luggage, my suitcase was resting on my single bed.

  ‘Bathroom’s here,’ said my father, sliding a thin door. I stuck my head in the confined space: a toilet, a tiny basin with a mirror and an overhead shower. He returned to the corridor and pointed to the various doors. ‘The cabin with the butterfly stickers on the door is Isabelle’s, so keep clear. Her father, Miguel, sleeps next door. Third cabin is Ariel’s, your tutor, and the one with the Keep Out sign belongs to Viggo, my… aide, but he only puts the sign up when Isabelle’s around. The rest are spare cabins for when we have a sailing crew.’ He faced the opposite side. ‘More spare cabins, two big bathrooms and the lounge and dining area.’

  The living area was very big and welcoming. One end was occupied by a long dining table, the other was set up as a cinema room. A large TV screen hung in front of a massive corner sofa surmounted by the framed poster of my favourite film: Star Wars. In a corner of the ceiling, I noticed a cluster of security cameras. My father’s phone beeped. He checked the screen. A curt message from someone called Knut ordered him to phone him back immediately – no please, no thank you. Dad’s reply was equally curt: “off-duty.” He returned the phone to his pocket and glanced at his watch. ‘There is somewhere I need to be,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you at dinner. Feel free to explore.’

  CHAPTER 3

  Something didn’t add up. Mum had always said that my father didn’t have a penny to his name, but he was living on an awesome frigate anchored in a private marina. I wasn’t sure if I should broach the subject, adults are notoriously cagey about their financial affairs, in particular around Christmas and birthdays. I hung the miller suit in the wardrobe, packed the rest of my clothes in the drawers underneath the bed and changed into a plain white t-shirt and dark cargo shorts. The end of my neck and the beginning of my t-shirt were a blurred line, I was in desperate need of a tan. I was dying to explore the rest of Valhalla, so I left my I-pad to recharge and headed for the bottom level. The layout was similar to that of the half deck. The closest door led to an industrial kitchen that could have doubled as a morgue – everything was stainless steel. A tall young man with an overgrown, shaggy haircut was chopping vegetables on the kitchen island. He could have been on his way to a surfing competition, his Hawaiian board shorts reached right below his knee and his blond, wavy hair stood out against the red of his t-shirt, which bore the name of an energy drink. He was barely into his twenties, with an affable smile and deep blue eyes. He introduced himself as Viggo. His Nordic name didn’t go with his Californian accent which, he explained, was the remnant of a student exchange program with a San Diego high school.

  ‘We’re having stir fry tonight,’ he said. ‘Feel like slicing some vegetables?’

  I didn’t, but I’m a nice guy and I had nothing better to do. ‘Sure.’

  The way he handled the chopping knife unsettled me. Before passing it over, he made it fly from one hand to the other with a smooth controlled movement. When he did the same with a carrot, I decided I was being paranoid. ‘Have you been here long?’ I asked.

  ‘About a year. I was studying medicine at Uppsala University in Sweden, but I couldn’t get archaeology out of my head. One o
f my professors got me in touch with Magnus and I took some time off to reassess my priorities. I do plan to go back. Eventually.’

  ‘I bet your parents gave you a hard time.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Dropping out.’

  ‘Not really, but Magnus coming from such a well-respected family had a lot to do with it.’

  I had no idea what he was referring to. I knew zilch about my father’s family. They had never displayed any interest in my life either and had been collectively awarded a spot on mum’s black-book of underserving human beings. We finished slicing the vegetables. Viggo washed his hands and dried them on his shirt. ‘Have you met Isabelle yet?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, as neutrally as I could.

  ‘Poor you! Her parents are divorced and she spends every school holiday here. Honestly, she gets more demanding by the hour! Sometimes I hide in the control room just to escape her!’

  If my school-buddy could drive someone into hiding, I was in serious trouble. ‘You’d better show me where the control room is. Sounds like I may need it.’

  ‘Sure, but you’ll have to find a different hiding place. You’re not allowed in there alone. Magnus’s rules,’ he added apologetically.

  ‘Any other rules I should know about?’

  ‘Just a few. Your father’s cabin is off limits too and we’re not allowed girlfriends on board. Is that going to be a problem?’

  I wished! Being an accidental monk wasn’t fun. ‘No, I’m… um… single at the moment.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s going to stay that way, then. Sorry, dude.’

  The unmistakable sound of shattering glass interrupted our conversation. We rushed across the corridor into what could have been a modern alchemist’s workshop. Ampoules, petri dishes, graduated beakers, centrifuges, microscopes and other machines which I did not recognise covered every available surface. The alchemist himself was dusting glass fragments off his lab coat. I recognised him immediately as the man riding the shared-horse with my father. He was a full head shorter than me and his black hair was going grey at the temples.

  ‘Jesus, Miguel!’ said Viggo, bending down to pick up a tea bag and what was left of a graduated beaker. ‘Why can’t you make your tea in the kitchen like everyone else? Are you trying to avoid your own daughter?’

  Miguel laughed raucously. ‘Guilty as charged. I love her with all my heart, but sometimes she sucks the life out of me.’ He then noticed me and attempted some damage control. ‘She’s not that bad, we’re just joking. Aren’t we, Viggo?’

  ‘Speak for yourself!’ replied Viggo, with a cheeky grin. ‘Can I leave Noah with you while I check the CCTV monitors in the control room? I know you’re itching to tell him your life story: born in Madrid, graduated at Cambridge, moved to Paris, got a post as an archaeology researcher at La Sorbonne, fathered the most difficult girl on earth…’

  Miguel chuckled and threw a crumpled piece of paper in his direction. ‘Get out of here, I’ll give Noah a tour of the lab and I don’t want you cramping my style.’

  ‘What style?’ asked Viggo, scampering out before Miguel could locate something else to throw at him. A book on undiscovered shipwrecks caught my eye. The cover was stained with overlapping coffee circles. ‘What are you working on?’ I asked, picking it up.

  ‘Nothing much,’ replied Miguel. ‘Your father is trying to keep his workload to a minimum until you settle in. We’ve got a dive planned for tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us.’

  ‘I can’t dive.’

  ‘This is your lucky day, my friend,’ he announced, clapping my shoulder. ‘I’ve just booked a diving instructor for Isabelle. You can do the course together.’

  Lucky day? As a fortune teller, he would have starved. ‘That should be… fun,’ I stammered.

  ‘I’ll ask Viggo to update your schedules.’

  ‘Schedules?’

  ‘We’re not as disorganised as we seem. You and Isabelle will start each day with a Krav Maga session, followed by academic lessons and homework. Ariel, your tutor, will tell you when you can break for lunch. Talking about food… it’s nearly dinner time. I hope it’s not going to be stir fry again!’

  #

  The table in the living area had been laid informally. Viggo was dishing out the stir fry we had prepared earlier and Isabelle was doing her very best to ignore me.

  ‘How did your meeting go?’ asked Miguel, sitting in front of my father and eyeing the stir-fry with resigned desperation.

  Dad chucked his phone on the table. He had fourteen missed calls from Knut, the rude guy who had texted earlier. ‘Not bad,’ he replied. ‘I got a good lead on a sunken ship. I should get more details within the hour.’

  ‘A good lead on a sunken ship?’ I asked, trying to make sense of his words.

  ‘Don’t get too carried away, Noah,’ said Isabelle in a condescending tone. ‘Magnus has a fascination with undiscovered shipwrecks. He will get fixated on a particular vessel, waste days and days researching its cargo and hypothetical location and eventually start diving here and there in the hope of discovering a sunken treasure. But he will fail, miserably, as he always does. And don’t even get me started on his hunts for sea serpents or other imaginary animals…’

  Her grim predictions washed right over him, but Viggo gave her a dirty look. I turned to my father, fork in mid-air. ‘Is this what you do? Are you a treasure hunter?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he replied. ‘I run a small archaeological and cryptozoological consultancy. I locate and retrieve items for private clients, but in my spare time I pursue my own projects. Sometimes, that includes treasure hunting or chasing mysterious creatures.’

  I was barely able to contain my excitement. ‘Can I be involved in your next search? Whatever it is?’

  He beamed. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  He formally raised his right hand. ‘I solemnly promise that you’ll be included in my next search. Now eat, tomorrow is your first day on Valhalla and you’ve got an early start.’

  As I tucked into my stir-fry, his ringtone came to life. It couldn’t have been Knut, because he jumped to his feet and slid his finger across the screen. ‘Any news?’ he said into the phone. He paused to let the caller speak, walked to the other side of the room and reached for pen and paper. ‘Got it, Wednesday 24th, 4:00pm, 51 George Street. Yes, I know the place. It’s downtown Nassau. Have you personally seen the item?’ He caught me looking at him and lowered his tone. ‘I see. I’m on my personal phone, give me five minutes and I’ll call you back on a secure line.’

  He ended the call and left the room. I did some calculations in my head: Wednesday 24th was exactly two weeks from now. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but Isabelle leaned towards me and gave me a sly smile. ‘Looks like you got your wish,’ she whispered. ‘The next search is on.’

  CHAPTER 4

  I didn’t hear my alarm and arrived on deck late. The Krav Maga lesson was well on its way. I got my first glimpse of Ariel and wished I could return to the safety of my cabin. My tutor was a tall, bald, clean shaven man whose perfect posture wouldn’t have looked out of place in a chiropractor’s window. He acknowledged me with a brief nod. He exuded that “do not mess with me” attitude that I had never been able to master. Viggo was mistreating his punch bag with a vengeance; my father and Miguel were sparring together, working on their side and front kicks. Their moves were fluid, but powerful. They were drenched in sweat, but neither was willing to give up. Isabelle must have hated Krav Maga more than she hated me, because she didn’t have the strength to blank me. The blow came out of nowhere, I was sprawled across the deck.

  ‘Never lose focus,’ thundered a Zeus-like Ariel from somewhere above me. I hadn’t lost focus, but I had certainly lost face. It wasn’t the first time and I handled my failure with a certain aplomb – I got up, rubbed my sore cheek and introduced myself as if I had been vertical all along. I braced myself for one of Isabelle’s sarcastic remarks, but sh
e didn’t utter a single word or produce a single sneer. My father was right – Ariel kept her in line.

  ‘Krav Maga,’ boomed Ariel, ‘from the Hebrew krav meaning battle, and maga, contact. The discipline encourages students to avoid confrontation, but if we can’t, we fight. Krav Maga is not for show offs, its aim is to finish a fight as quickly as possible. The longer an attack lasts, the longer we prolong the danger. That’s why, when we attack, we aim for the most vulnerable parts of the body. Your training will be hard and demanding, but you will get through it.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘It wasn’t an encouragement, it was an order,’ boomed Ariel, before getting me warm up and showing me some basic exercises. By the time we finished I was completely wiped out, but my relentless tutor kept us on schedule. Academic lessons were held on deck, not as a favour to the students, but as an endurance test. If we could concentrate in the heat and tempted by numerous distractions, we would be able to concentrate anywhere. Unfortunately, I was failing miserably. The jet ski that had just been delivered commanded all of my attention. I had recognised it from an article in the in-flight magazine: Kawasaki’s latest model, the fastest jet ski in the world. Its powerful engine came with a hefty price tag. I watched my father run his hands over the jet ski’s V-shaped hull and wondered, for the umpteenth time, what on earth had gone wrong between him and mum. He couldn’t possibly be as broke as she made him, so why not come and visit more often? Why not make a bigger effort to be part of my life? I was his only son for God’s sake! Unaware of my silent recriminations, he and Viggo chatted away in Swedish and lowered the jet ski in the water. Despite the age gap, they seemed to get on really well. Would my father and I ever be that close?

  #

  The following two weeks were a total blast. Academic lessons aside, I was having the time of my life. Viggo and I totally clicked and spent every afternoon paddle boarding or jet-skiing. When I got to meet Hope, my diving instructor, things hit a new high. She was an insanely attractive girl in her mid-twenties who Isabelle disliked immediately. Hope’s long hair was permanently scrunched up in a messy bun and her smile was so contagious it should have come with a health warning. Whenever she was in the vicinity, I blushed – she even asked if I was doing something about my sunburnt face – and Viggo, an already expert diver, hung around more often than usual. She was so out of my league that I wasn’t even jealous when they swapped phone numbers. My father and I were still a bit awkward around each other. We exchanged some pleasant chats, but any mention of George Street caused him to vanish on the spot. It kind of hurt because he had promised I would be part of his next search, but I was so desperate to bond with him that I decided to drop the subject until Wednesday 24th, which happened to be today. He still hadn’t asked me to accompany him to Nassau and I had resolved to take the bull by the horns. I was half-way down the steps leading to the bottom deck, when I heard voices arguing in the lab.