...
The icy wind of the North Sea howled, biting at the exposed faces of the crew, but Ragnar hardly felt it.
He stood at the prow of the Gyda, his hands resting heavily on the brass railing.
Thick plumes of black coal smoke belched from the twin smokestacks, staining the pristine, snow-white sky of his homeland.
They were entering the great fjord of his youth. The towering, jagged cliffs of Norway rose on either side like the teeth of a sleeping leviathan, casting long, dark shadows over the freezing water.
"Draft's too shallow on the starboard side!" Bjorn roared over the grinding of the gears, his massive fur-cloaked frame leaning over the railing.
"We're going to scrape the rocks, Ragnar!"
"Hard to port!" Ragnar barked, snatching the brass speaking tube connected to the engine room.
"Leif! Half speed on the screws! If you tear the hull open on my homecoming, I'll dock your wages for the next ten lifetimes!"
