2: A House Party at Loki's Leap

He opened his eyes and frowned, wondering what had happened.

"Mister Haakon, are you unwell?"

He frowned and glanced up, seeing the sunlight filter through the trees. The warm, soft Summer breeze carried scents of roses and jasmine from the landscaped gardens and he smiled, running a hand over his face.

"I am well, thank you," he said, the sound of his voice strange even to him. "I apologise. My thoughts wandered, just for a moment." The woman moved closer, the dark pink satin Victorian dress complete with full bustle rustling . Her hair was a very dark blonde, elegantly constrained in a magnificent knot and her blue eyes were knowing.

"It is not unusual, especially when the official announcement is in the morning," she said with a sympathetic smile. "I would be worried if my daughter's suitor was not affected in some way..." He managed a watery smile.

"Mrs Stenersen, I am beyond honoured that you and your husband entrust the future of your only child to me," he found himself saying, wondering where the words came from. "Agatha is precious to me and you have my eternal promise that I will always put her needs before my own." The woman patted his arm reassuringly.

"That is why we introduced you to her," she reminded him. "When it was obvious that the Gods would not grant us a son-or another child-then our focus turned to finding the best man to marry our daughter and assume our fortune. And you were the perfect man-intelligent, an excellent businessman and devoted to Agatha." He felt himself smile.

"I know I was not the first choice," he confessed.

"But ultimately, you were the only choice," she reassured him as he walked alongside her to the elegant house, the wide French doors to the Sun Room open to allow the breeze to cool the magnificent mansion. "Loki's Leap and the estate are a rich prize and many suitors only saw the inheritance, not the young woman. Neither Karl nor I wanted to sell our daughter to some grasping man who treated her as a chattel-but he had to be a man who had the business acumen to build upon the inheritance, rather than fritter it away." He ducked his head modestly as they walked into the Sun Room, seeing two of the other house guests talking quietly, fanning themselves in the heat.

"My father taught me to never take anything for granted-not in business or family or love," he revealed slowly. "My mother died when I was small so I saw first hand how her loss dimmed his light. And I swore never to take anything lightly because success, happiness, love can be taken from you in the blink of any eye." The woman patted his hand and then turned away.

"I look forward to you becoming my son in law," she murmured as vanished back to her other guests. He smiled and walked deeper into the cool of the house, glancing to his side and catching his reflection in the ornate golden mirror.

It was like being hit by a hammer and he staggered, his emerald eyes widening. Auburn hair that was neatly coiffured seemed wrong, his mind supplying a more tousled style while his angular, sharp-jawed face was framed by mutton chops that were the latest style. A few freckles were scattered over his pale skin and he blinked.

"Hiccup..." he murmured. "Not Haakon. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock." Then he looked around. "Where am I?" Then he glanced at his reflection, seeing the crisp white shirt, dark green necktie, deep brown suit and gold half-Hunter pocket watch. "More precisely, when am I?" He blinked and then calmed his breath, images flashing through his memory. "And where are the others?"

Frowning, he walked thoughtfully out through the sun room, glancing over and almost starting. One of the women he had scarcely paid attention to previously, a woman with her blonde hair in a huge roll and an elaborate orange dress, was suddenly hugely familiar.

"Ruffnut," he murmured but the woman gave an affected laugh and ignored him, leaning close to her friend and whispering away. Hiccup picked up a disparaging comment about him and walked on, taking a turn out in the grounds. Now he was more aware, he could hear the distant sounds of the sea, of waves rushing up on the shore in nearby Thor's Bay as he followed the elegant gravel paths through manicured beds and carefully-positioned trees. The grounds were magnificently and expensively designed but he felt unnerved and dislocated, suddenly aware he was probably in late Victorian times...when the House was intact...and as he glanced around, amid the knots of besuited men, chatting in twos and threes, he could pick out the shapes of Fishlegs and Snotlout, Tuffnut and Gustav. But there was no sign of Astrid. Taking a deep breath and feeling as if he was being watched, he turned back to the house.

There was a face briefly in a window, a white shadow that retreated as soon as his eyes fell on it. Frowning, a hint of deja vu washed over him, echoing something he had seen from the corner of his eye when he had been sitting outside the abandoned ghost house that Loki's Leap had become. He swallowed and walked into the Hall, his eyes falling on a neat shape in a black maid's uniform, the white lace cap resting on tightly braided blonde hair and meek blue eyes. The girl looked down as he approached.

"Excuse me-could you please bring me some paper and a pencil, Miss...?" he asked. She bowed her head.

"Yes, sir," she said and turned away, unwilling to meet his eye. But though the colouring was right, the face was not. It wasn't Astrid.

"Excuse me!" he called. She paused. "Your name?" She glanced back.

"Cristina, sir," she replied timidly and then left almost at a run. He frowned and then turned to walk into the Library, sitting down and closing his eyes. He needed to figure out what was happening and for that, he needed some peace and quiet and an ability to access his photographic memory. Footsteps sounded and he frowned, glancing up...and then scrambling to his feet. For standing before him in a light blue silk gown, the bodice embroidered with small flowers, was Astrid. Her hair was swept up into the elegant bun that seemed to be the current fashion and her azure eyes flashed in delight as she saw him.

"Haakon!" she said and it was her voice. And though he was delighted to see her, a part of him cringed in dismay, for she clearly didn't recall him really...or herself. And though she was undoubtedly Astrid, this was another time...

"Astrid," he murmured and she froze, then frowned at him. "Divine beauty. Sometimes, I think your parents missed the mark with your name."

"Agatha means good," she reminded him, smiling. He bowed his head and took her hand, bowing and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

"Milady," he murmured and she giggled.

"Where did that come from?" she asked him softly. He straightened up and rested his hand over his chest.

"My heart," he told her. "Of all those who sought your hand, I never looked at what your father offered. Because I have been in love with you from the moment I saw you. That your father approves of our match, well, I thank Odin every day..." Her hand closed around his and she took a step closer.

"You sap," she murmured as he leaned close, gently lifting a hand to run the backs of his fingers in a featherlight caress over her cheek. He smiled.

"Your sap, Milady," he murmured. "And I will do whatever I have to in order to protect us...to protect you. Whatever you want it to mean, there will always be a Haakon and Agatha." She looked into his eyes and there was adoration there, reminding Hiccup that the article he had read listed all the men who had been courting Agatha, many of them much older and only interested in the lands and money that accompanied her hand...or the sons that she could produce. How would Astrid-his Astrid, not this pale imitation of her true character-cope in such a society? He had every faith in her but he wondered how her spirit would cope with such restrictions, especially if she had been gifted to such a controlling husband instead of the decent man he seemed to be inhabiting.

"Miss Agatha!" A voice harshly cut across his thoughts and he looked up sharply, though he did not move away from the young woman. Her grip on his hand tightened before she exhaled wearily.

"Yes, Marit?" An older maid in the identical black dress, white lace cap and apron was standing at the door, an unpleasant look on her face. She was a fading blonde, her thick hair braided over her head like a crown and blue eyes cold.

"You should not be unchaperoned," she reminded the young woman.

"You of all people know we are to be engaged," Agatha replied but the maid walked forward determinedly.

"Not if you behave like a harlot!" she hissed.

"You overstep your station!" the girl snapped back, turning to face her. "You are not my governess nor my personal maid. Do you have a message or are you just interfering?" The woman pressed her lips together in a thin line.

"Your mother wishes you to join her and her friends in the Sun Room," she said roughly and then turned away without asking permission to leave. Hiccup frowned and then sighed as Agatha looked rueful.

"Much as I hate it, she is right," she sighed. "Even at this late stage, my father could change his mind if he imagines you presume too much. And then he would hand me to Snorri Jorgensen."

"Jorgensen?" Hiccup frowned, a nasty suspicion crossing his mind.

"He's in the garden with his younger brother Gustav, discussing with Mister Fischer the accountant," Agatha told him. "I believe he is related to the Sheriff's family but his father went into business and is considerably more successful...though he is obviously only here for his own aggrandisement!"

"Sounds like Snot," Hiccup murmured. Agatha frowned.

"Snot?" she murmured. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gave an embarrassed smile.

"I have known Mister Jorgensen from childhood and Snot was his nickname...at Public School in England," he said hastily. She nodded in understanding.

"I can't understand why anyone would send their sons so far away for schooling but most of my suitors have been to Eton or Harrow so I guess it is just...expected," she sighed as he nodded.

"Times change, Milady-and one thing I promise," he said honestly. "If we are blessed, I will never send our child away from his loving parents." She smiled at him and then walked out, turning back to the Sun Room as he settled in the Library. Cristina reappeared and silently handed over a pad of paper and a sharpened pencil. He thanked her absently and sat down, grasping the pencil in his hand and jotting down every name from the house he could recall. Then he closed his eyes, as of reading the pages of the article and reviewing the stern faces that stared back at him from reproduced sepia images.

Suitors: Haakon, Snorri Jorgensen, Lars Svensson, Sven Larrson, Bjarne Bjornsen

Hosts: Karl Stenersen, Dagmara Stenersen, Agatha Stenersen

Other Guests: Ragnahilde and Thorstein Gunnarson, Frode Fischer, Gustav Jorgensen, Bertha Carlsson, Jori Bjerklund, Anders Hanevold, Petter Eklund, Olav Nielsen

Servants...

He looked up, his pencil hovering. There were no servants named in the article-and everyone who was named had their remains located and honourably buried. So if they weren't named, did they escape the fire? Were they not found? Were they ever granted a decent burial?

Were they the ones who were so angry?

A soft step alerted him and he glanced up to see Marit standing at his side.

"I brought you some iced tea, sir," she said stiffly, placing the bone china cup on the little table at his elbow. "Plenty of honey, just as you like it."

"Thank you, Marit," he said with a smile. She nodded and turned away. Idly, he stirred the tea and stared at the names. Why had no one found the servants? Why had no one looked? But then, the accounts were that the fire was fierce and no one escaped the inferno. But had no one missed them? Had no one noticed two women were burnt to death without anyone mourning?

Idly he lifted the cup and lifted it to his lips...and then he paused.

Or were the servants already angry?

There was a residue in the cup, flecks floating in the clear amber liquid that should not be in a cup of iced tea. The strong smell of honey overpowered any other scents rising from the liquid but he stared and carefully sniffed. There was just a chemical edge he could detect if he concentrated and he rose very carefully, pouring the entire contents into the pot of a very fine Aspidistra. Then he returned the tea cup to the saucer and rose, tucking the pad under his arm. Nodding at Marit, who was just emerging from the passage to the kitchen, he smiled.

"Thanks for my tea," he told her cheerfully. "Just the right amount of honey." She nodded.

"Cristina makes a fine cup, sir," she said. "I would hope you keep her on when you are Master."

"You should be proud of her-she is a fine young lady," he said but her scowl intensified.

"She is no lady,' she bit out, though her voice was bitter. "But I am proud of her."

"And her father?" he asked softly. Her eyes flashed.

"He rejected her," she spat. "He said a daughter could never inherit so he would not recognise her. He changed his tune when all he could get was a daughter himself..." Then her mask was back in place. "Pardon my outspokenness, sir. I would ask that you forget my outburst."

"You have my word," he said, watching her walk past and through a small door to the servants' stairs at the back of the house. He listened until her footsteps retreated. Because you expect me not to live to be able to share them. He frowned. And I can only safely drink tap water until I find a way to get home.

Heading out into the lengthening afternoon shadows, he made his way towards Snotlout-or Snorri. Intellectually, he knew there had been a few successful Jorgensens in the past but he had never heard of Snorri...or Gustav. Presumably because they died young in the fire and never contributed anything worthy of recollection by the surviving muttonheaded branch of the family. He suspected that not even his cousin actually knew, though he seemed to be inhabiting his distant uncle's life.

Trying to engage in conversation with Snorri Jorgensen was an immensely frustrating exercise. The man was like a bad reflection of his cousin when he was younger, before Snotlout had grown up and matured. Every attempt at conversation was met by boasting, a sneering put-down and comments about he would make a better match for Agatha than Haakon so in the end, Hiccup withdrew. Gustav had supported his 'brother' and shaking his head, the auburn-haired man turned away, convinced neither had any recollection of their old lives. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling and he guessed that he was being observed so he went in search of the twins, eventually finding Tuffnut talking with Fishlegs and two older men.

"Fishlegs-a word?" Hiccup muttered sotto voce and the husky man frowned.

"Fishlegs? Fish? Legs?" he scoffed. "Sir, I feel your humour is ill-advised."

Frode Fischer the accountant, Hiccup realised. The man who approved the engagement. What father makes the decision to approve a suitor on the basis of their business accounts?

"My apologies, Mister Fischer," he said hurriedly.

"Very poor taste," Tuffnut condemned him.

"I fear I was labouring under a misapprehension-it was mentioned to me that the word was a name you welcomed from comrades and friends," Hiccup told him.

"And yet, you are neither," Fishlegs told him coldly. Bowing his head, Hiccup withdrew.

Looks like I'm truly on my own.

-o0o-

During the afternoon, he managed to snag a paper to confirm that they were indeed living the day of the fire and when afternoon tea was served, he made sure he declined any tea served by the servants-though he snaffled Agatha's cup. Afterwards, he loitered in the Library, watching the servants come and go. He realised that the Cook lived in a cottage by the Bay so she would not have been involved in the fire but surely she would have known about the others? It didn't make sense.

And then the old lawyer, Anders Hanvold, was taken ill. Pale with blue lips and frothy-sounding breath, he was helped upstairs by Karl Stenersen and Hiccup, who helped put the old man to bed, promising to send for a physician. Hanevold, though, refused.

"It's just a mild turn," he murmured. "I'll take my dropsy pills and I'll be right as rain in the morning." Unable to persuade him otherwise, they had left him-though Stenersen had looked sad.

"He's not got long left," he murmured. "It's the fourth turn this year. I'm not sure where I'll find such a loyal lawyer when he's gone." Hiccup paused, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I am sure you will find one when the time comes," he said calmly, watching the man, Looking up, Hiccup was struck by the coldness of his eyes.

"I know you will take care of my daughter-but do not forget your primary duty is to the estate and the inheritance," he told his future son-in-law. "No scandal. No impropriety. My daughter deserves a loyal and committed husband."

While you fathered a child with your servant, Hiccup realised and nodded, though he felt nauseated by the hypocrisy.

"There is no danger of that, sir," he assured the man. Offering a curt nod in response, he walked away as Hiccup felt a sense of foreboding. Turning, he saw the hem of a black dress vanishing round the corner and his anxiety levels rose. Somehow, he guessed the old lawyer would be dead before the fire even took hold. He hoped the lawyer had enjoyed his tea.

Dinner was scheduled for seven and even though one of the guests was ill, there was no reason to postpone. So the small gong was struck on the stroke of seven and the guests descended the sweeping stairs and made their way to the magnificent dining room. Hiccup found himself opposite Agatha and between Mrs Stenersen and Ragnahilde-who, though inhabited by the female deputy, was definitely not Ruffnut. Ragnahilde was far more sharp-tongued and conscious of the social structure than her modern counterpart ever was, ruthlessly taunting Agatha for her choice of suitor and for rejecting Snorri, who had been placed at Agatha's side for the meal. Hiccup was surprised, for he had assumed that he would be seated next to his soon-to-be fiancée and he wondered whether there was an issue. Frode-Fishlegs-was whispering to Karl Stenersen throughout the meal and the way the man was casting him looks made Hiccup wonder whether there was a problem. Had his presence here altered history? But he guessed that the teens had been here as well, if their bodies' state had been anything to go by.

If we die here, will we wake up back in modern Berk or will we return as the charred corpses those children did?

But he knew the answer to that one as well.

He glanced over at the servants, removing the plates and watched as the women rose, heading for the parlour. Marit was casting coldly furious glares at Mister and Mrs Stenersen and especially at Agatha while Cristina scuttled around timidly, her head down and afraid to meet anyone's eyes. An elderly footman-the Cook's husband-marshalled them but it was obvious that he was very much a part-timer brought in to bolster appearances for the sumptuous dinner. Hiccup guessed that usually, the family was served only by the two maids. He was very careful what he ate and drank, not trusting anything that either woman brought him, though Marit's attitude spoke of her anger at the way she and her daughter had been treated by the Master.

Angry enough to kill? Angry enough to endure?

He glanced over at the disappearing Agatha and found his stomach curled in anxiety. Somehow, his Astrid was trapped as the daughter of this family-he could recall the girl's true face from the image in the article-and if he wasn't able to succeed, she would die. He was still distracted as the footman brought round the Port decanter and the cigars and absently, Hiccup accepted a Havana and a glass of Port-but because he was watching out, he inspected his glass and saw a slightly oiliness to the clear ruby liquid and the tell-tale flecks. He placed his glass down with a bang and stood abruptly.

"Don't drink the port!" he ordered. Everyone looked at him. "It's tainted!"

The two older men-Petter Eklund and Olaf Nielsen, similar men in impeccable evening dress with white whiskers and beards- both frowned.

"It tastes fine to me," argued the portlier man-Eklund, Hiccup recalled from the part of him that had briefly been Haakon. The other man nodded.

"Very smooth," Nielsen added. Hiccup shook his head and danced round the others, noting with relief that the people his friends had 'become' had not tried their Port yet.

"There is a lot of sediment and I am certain that should not be served," he commented. Stenersen, who was on the brink of sipping his own glass, peered at it and muffled an expletive.

"He's right, my friends," he said in an irritated tone. Offering a slight bow, Hiccup collected the glasses and rested them on the sideboard, then fished out fresh glasses and an unopened bottle of Port. Without hesitating, he served everyone a fresh class of Port from an untainted bottle. Sniffing it carefully, he took a sip and sighed as he felt the warm liquid slide down his throat. Stenersen nodded.

"My thanks, Haakon," he said gruffly. "Very observant." Hiccup sat back and toyed with his cigar.

"It would hardly do for my future father-in-law to be taken ill from Port that has been sitting in its decanter too long," he commented as the men leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I chose well," he replied and something akin to approval entered his cold eyes before the looked around the table. "Now-who is ready for cards?"

After several rounds of Bridge, the men had finally gone to the parlour to join the ladies-Agatha and her mother, Ragnahilde and two friends of Mrs Stenersen, Jori and Bertha who were both respectable widows of Berk. Ragnahilde was holding court while the older women sniggered at the woman's outspokenness and Agatha sat quietly, sipping her wine. A shiver of anxiety ran through Hiccup as he saw her drink but the clear strew-coloured liquid in the crystal glass was free of sediment and all thoughts were banished when Agatha looked up and Astrid's big blue eyes filled with relief at seeing him. Controlling himself with difficulty, he walked to her side and stood by her chair, leaning closer to murmur a few words in her ear.

"Are you well, Milady?" She sighed.

"Everyone is haranguing me that I should have chosen Snorri," she said in a low voice. "But you are a better businessman and I actually lo...like you. My father agrees. But I suspect that Snorri and his allies have made one last gamble. I don't trust Mister Fischer."

"I don't trust anyone until we are safely married," Hiccup sighed, recognising the situation. "But I am never giving you up without a fight, Milady." Then he saw her yawn and the part of him that was Hiccup wanted to grab her hand and take her away from the house to safety before the fire ever happened... "But I apologise. You are exhausted-and it is unfair to keep you from your bed. Tomorrow is a big day: the day we announce our betrothal and the date of our nuptials." He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. "Sleep well, my love."

She blushed with a smile and rose. Any of the menfolk who had taken a seat rose as well as the young woman headed upstairs, followed shortly by the other woman. Not long after, the party broke up and Hiccup headed upstairs with relief-and a rising sense of anxiety. Whatever was going to happen would happen that night and there was no place for sleep. The only problem was, thanks to the incompetence of his cousin's ancestors, there was almost no information about the actual fire.

But it started in the attic, he reminded himself as he shrugged off his Dinner Jacket and removed his bow tie, loosening his top button and pacing back and forth in his room. He tried sitting in the chair but he couldn't settle. He opened the window to allow some of the cool breeze to percolate through the room but he found himself sniffing for the scent of smoke and then he ran his hands through his hair.

That's it. I'm cracking up, he told himself, rising and pacing again. If anyone asked, he could cite anxiety about the forthcoming announcement but the reality was...he was waiting for the catastrophe that caused all their deaths.

And because he was alert and listening, he heard the muffled cries and the sounds of someone struggling...followed by the soft bang of a door and shortly after, the sounds of footsteps overhead.

Without hesitation, Hiccup erupted from his room and ran for the stairs leading up to the attic. He had recognised the voice.

Astrid.