The Collector | 18+

【07】Declaration of War

"Yes, you're not rid of me quite yet. It was lovely meeting you, Miss Connelly."

"And it was...interesting meeting you, Mr. Westergaard."

With another one of his crooked smirks, he took his leave with a nod. I stood there, feeling lost and puzzled, while he walked away. My eyes lingered on his powerful silhouette, admiring him one last time before God knew how long. When he turned at the corner, disappearing into an adjacent street, I regained control of my thoughts.

Our lunch had lasted a little longer than anticipated, and I was now fifteen minutes late.

As I made my way inside and to my office, I replayed in my mind everything that had happened since I'd first seen him in the Viking gallery. My time with him felt weirdly surreal, as if I'd been sleepwalking during the entirety of our interactions.

Of course, my colleagues had a few questions about him when I arrived. They'd seen a glimpse of him when I'd fetched my bag, and now they wanted to know who he was. I explained the best I could, trying to sound professional and unaffected.

As soon as I could, I escaped to join Henry back at his lab. There was an empty box of take out salad on his desk, and he'd completely peeled the sword during the lunch break. Now, he was bent over it to examine the details with a magnifying lens.

I joined him, slipping on a pair of latex gloves like he was. Holy smokes, this was absolutely amazing. The sword was like nothing I'd ever seen before, perfectly preserved in a way I couldn't explain. If Henry had to authenticate this mysterious finding, he'd need to go at it flawlessly, so his results couldn't be disputed.

It looked brand new. Not a scratch, not a spot of rust, not even a dent on the edges, where blows from other swords should have left traces. Part of me was certain this was linked to Haakon's blades, but I began to wonder if it wasn't a reconstruction, maybe as an homage or a trophy. My heart jumped in my chest when my inspection reached the fuller, where there was indeed something engraved. It clearly wasn't a Ulfberht sword, though. Just like in Orvyn's drawings, it was runes written in the center of the blade, not letters from the Latin alphabet. So, those didn't match the usual pattern of an Ulfberht. There was gold embedded in the cross-guard with the most amazing delicacy. This looked like the work of a goldsmith rather than a blacksmith. And there were stones right there, blue like the dawn sky.

My body wriggled and danced, my high ponytail flailing behind me, elated by the confirmation. More and more, it was evident that this sword was linked to Haakon.

"Can you read it?" Henry asked.

I took a step back to examine it as a whole. While I recognized some words, they didn't amount to a sentence, as if it was just random words inscribed on the fuller.

"This," I told Henry as I pointed toward a few runes, "is 'Óðinn,' so, Odin. This word is 'megin,' which is like...physical force, or power. And up here there's 'báðir,' which means both. But it doesn't really make sense as a whole."

"At least it's proper Old Norse, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. Not just random runes to look pretty. It doesn't read very fluent, though."

After a moment of silence, Henry blew out his cheeks. "Everything you said matches. So I suppose you were right about its origin."

"Ian will never believe we're telling the truth."

"Well, we don't know what the truth is yet. I'll need to run so many tests, it'll take ages."

"How soon can you start?"

"I've got nothing urgent at the moment, so I'll start working on it today. But this will be tricky, Mila. This is like nothing I've seen before. I'm not even sure the best modern alloys would remain this preserved after eleven centuries in the ground."

Perplexed, I looked at the artifact. Maybe this was the kind of blade a man like Haakon Odinson, a skilled warrior, a leader of men, used to carry.

I remained with Henry in the lab for the rest of the day. After fetching my computer, I settled on the high stainless-steel counter, perched on a relatively uncomfortable stool. I had some research to do on my part regarding the odd finding. All my knowledge of Haakon was blended in my mind, and while I didn't recall mentions of him in Alba during the tenth century, there might be something somewhere. If I could prove that the suspected sword's owner had been around the location it had been found in, we'd be one step closer to authenticating it.

As I looked through my old research and the documents I'd gathered over the years, Henry worked his magic on the blade. Every now and then, I left my stool to go examine the sword. It was magnificent. This must have been what swords used to look like as soon as the blacksmith was done creating them. Although it could use some polishing, it was untouched by time, like brand new. And on top of that, it was a flawless level of new, like the state-of-the-art of swords.

I took a bunch of pictures with my phone, including a few with Henry holding it with both hands. After all, the artifact was still a little over thirty pounds. Once I had all the pictures I needed, I returned to my improvised desk. Despite trying to hold off, I caved in and sent the pictures to Henriksen, as well as some of the scans from Orvyn's book, and a quick but clear message. Even though he'd brought Mr. Westergaard into the equation, spoiling this discovery.

There had always been something mystical about the legendary Viking, and Henriksen knew it. Hopefully, he wouldn't think me a fool for believing this might actually be one of Haakon's swords.

I was diving back into my research when Henry let out a curse. He'd taken out his rotary tool, and for the past five minutes, I'd heard him use it on the artifact, probably to get some metal shavings for his tests.

"Fuck!" he shouted. Instantly, I joined him at the table again.

"What's going on?!"

"That's the third drill bit I've broken on it, and it doesn't even have a scratch. Look."

I glanced at the spot he was pointing at, right by the broken bit of the tool. It was indeed as intact as the rest of the sword.

"This is mental," Henry said with a conflicted expression on his face. "Even tungsten would have a trace by now."

"Maybe it has something to do with whatever preserved it so well? Can you imagine if we find a way to make metal even stronger than we do now, thanks to a sword that's over a thousand years old?"

Henry scratched his brow, visibly muddled by the blade. "If this is real, I'll probably end up writing a paper on this. A whole book, even."

"Oh, I'll be right there with you. This will revolutionize the way we see Vikings."

"We'll be rich and famous, mate."

"Sippin' margs on a tropical beach for the rest of our days," I joked. We both knew that even if I suddenly won the lottery, I'd keep coming in to work here. He might go part-time, though.

With a sigh, Henry prepped the rotary tool with a new bit, and I went back to sit on my stool. My mind was in a permanent state of excitement, my skin was tingling from it, and I couldn't stay in place, wriggling and twisting all the time. We were on the verge of something huge. I could feel it in my bones.

With everything in my heart, I hoped I was right about this. If I was, this would define my entire career. This would be my legacy. Which was why I couldn't let anyone take it away from me.

Feeling rebellious, I opened the software we used at the museum, and logged in. The first step to securing the sword was to log it in. Mr. Westergaard might be ready to spend a fortune on this, but we had rules. And taking out a registered artifact was a process much more complex than an unregistered one.

Very proud of myself, I watched as the software processed everything and sent the information and pictures to the server. There. The sword was now secured.

Mila: one. Sexy Viking descendent: zero.