Autumn Madness

       Everything was perfect. Or very close to it. Emil lacked just a couple of trifles, like a goodnight wish from his friend or a gentle pat on the head in the morning. Lalli wasn’t sleeping under his bed anymore. Well, maybe Lalli had his self-time, as was his habit. Usually Emil would let him be for a day, but now he was bursting at seams with the desire to share his good mood and his achievements, so he ran to the restaurant terrace and checked under the tables, and indoors, and around the corners, and even descended to peek under the terrace, into the realm of darkness and nettles. No one answered his call. And he was not yet desperate enough to crawl there in person. He stood upright to return to the terrace and omelette—and froze. The other Hotakainen was there on the path. He looked good and very, very angry. Smouldering furious. Mikkel’s words, turned into frogs or plain scorched, floated in Emil’s mind together with the crystal-clear realisation that he’d die right now. All his short and miserable life flickered before his mind’s eye in a split second. The triplets, he’d break his promise to come to see them, and he’d die without breakfast, but at least his hair was in proper order, he’d look decent lying in state—did they bury or burn the dead here? No, no chance to stay pretty, plain scorched, charred like the bodies of grosslings destroyed by a bird of fire in a nameless Danish field, Tuuri said it had been her brother’s doing, a grand way to go, of sorts… "Sinä", Onni hissed and added a string of… swear words, most probably, Emil didn’t know those (and would never know now). Or was it a magic curse? So it’s back to turning into a frog? Yuck! "Hei, Onni!" The Finn stopped, and Emil hurried to take some more breaths. Two young and smiley girls sitting near the edge of the terrace were inviting the older Hotakainen to… to join them for breakfast, if Emil understood them right. And something about cake and cards. Right, they had played cards with the team a couple of times but hadn’t shown much interest in Onni before. The latter was just as confused as Emil, but only for a brief moment of blinking. Then he rejected their offer flatly and stepped over a rope guarding the path to get to the future site of the murder. Another call came from the terrace stairs. The chef manager of the restaurant waved her hand to Onni and said something less intelligible. Emil deciphered only "kitchen", "repair", and "ain’t any men". Hey, and had she ever worn that necklace before? Or had she left her two top buttons on the blouse open? But Onni was unphased this time and cast a short something like "later". One more step, and he grabbed Emil by the collar and jerked him up and into a terrace support. That was painful. And scary. And unfair. Damn, why? What’s the man’s problem?! He got a decent cut and some good time, so— "Hi babycakes!" Sigrun’s voice chimed from above. "Can I join you?" Before Emil un-squeezed his eyes, he was flying nose first into the wilted grass, and something rustled behind him, then thumped, and then he was jerked up by the collar. By Sigrun. Onni disappeared, but swaying nettle under the terrace showed where he had fled. "Next time you get thrashed like that," Sigrun told Emil with an expert air, "don’t hang like a liver sausage, kick the attacker in the knee." "N-next time, I’m dead!" he croaked once he breathed again. "Sigrun, why? What did you do with him? You said he’d feel better, and that was anything but better!" "Don’t fret, kid," Sigrun said quietly, steering him away from the inn. And from the buffet, omelettes, buns, hot tea, and everything else he wanted to enjoy right now while he was alive. "I was looking for you. Need to talk, no joke matter." A distance of fifty metres or so and two flimsy birches as a barrier sufficed for her to return to her outdoor voice and frantic gesturing. "Okay, I bluffed, but look, for the first time in my life, I wanted to keep the man to myself, and he kinda slips away, so what was left to me? I tried all human tricks, it didn’t work, I moved to foreign ones, I tried them no matter how weird, and indeed, jealousy doesn’t work either, so you’re my last ditch. Can you do something with my hair so that he can’t look away from me?" Emil pinched himself, counted to ten… The world stayed there, absurd as it was, and Sigrun stayed there and stared at him with too much enthusiasm for his peace of mind. "Wait," he stuttered. "Wait. I don’t get it. He. Whom do you mean?" "Mikkel, of course!" The world shifted one little step back towards normal. Emil asked more and more questions, and slowly the picture developed. So, Sigrun was dead set on Mikkel, but he seemed to cool down. No, she did ask him outright if he got tired of her, and he even answered, in words and in action, that he still liked her, but… Every time she mentioned returning to Norway and meeting her parents, he’d invent more and more reasons not to go. The limit of sunny autumn days was reached in Finland, and rain poured down on the two people in a grove. Emil shivered and snuggled to the birch trunk, but it was too leaky to hold rain. And Sigrun ignored waterfalls on her head, she was too busy discouraging and re-encouraging herself, and Emil was making polite, interested noises. He wouldn’t be surprised if rain evaporated from her surfaces with a hiss. "...But maybe it didn’t work because he’s not a Norwegian? I thought. So, some women here speak human, I asked what they’d do to keep a man. Got a pile of weird advice, and yesterday when you cropped the Grump, I said to myself, hey, why don’t I try the jealousy trick! Y’know, seeing his woman go to another male, he’d want to get me back. But I haven’t seen him since then. So it didn’t work." "Pardon?" Emil put two and two together and didn’t like the result. "You’ve, er, handled… er, stayed with Onni just to make Mikkel jealous?" "Sure, kid! No, stop, what do you mean, handled? No, I didn’t bang with Twig’s cousin! He’s not ugly at all, but Mikkel is more better! And the guy is boring, he fled faster than a rat when I tried to kiss him thanks." "You have killed me, captain." Emil wanted to drop dead, but the grass was too wet and dirty. Soon it wouldn’t matter, though. Sigrun hadn’t even tried to sweeten their violent intervention, so Onni would still murder Emil, and again, Emil was nothing special, just a guy with a comb and scissors and not a mage of sorts. "Sigrun," he pleaded without particular hopes, "can I hire you as a bodyguard?" "No, why? A captain of the Norwegian Hunters will never help holding others’ shit together for money. Keep cool, Viking, you’ll get through!" "Okay." Emil didn’t feel cool. He was soaking wet, cold, and miserable. "Then, will you protect me for free, as a friend?" "Sure, lad! Remember, you must make me a good cut so that Mikkel likes me back." Emil lost all track of logic. He couldn’t make people irresistible, Sigrun had just confirmed it, so why on earth would she ask that? He waved a hand and led his captain to the buffet first. He could not go on without decent meals anymore. At last he had his breakfast but didn’t feel the taste, his head too busy fretting and designing. Sigrun didn’t have enough hair for anything fancy, and cutting it even shorter wouldn’t benefit her. Her usual careless style suited her belligerent moods. Emil decided to spare himself extra work and offer moral support first. "I think Mikkel cares for you, and your prank worked. When we… went away yesterday, he was very sad and asked me to make him a nice haircut to return you." Sigrun beamed but demanded a cropping anyway, just for an emergency and an all-out attack. She wanted to fire all calibres. Emil sighed. Maybe he’d just make a show of a grand coiffure with a lot of noise and gestures and little actual work. Nothing drastic, trim uneven ends, make all ends curl inward instead of outward, apply a light touch of lip gloss and mascara, and didn’t she have a dress bought in Iceland? Equipped with the dress, the client, and his scissors and combs, he left for the town hall. He’d need curlers, heavy-duty hair gel, and cosmetics, and he planned to borrow them all from his new skald friends. The time was beyond breakfast and still far from lunch, but the girls arranged a break and a place for Emil’s magic. Even their boss came in half an hour to check why the usual noise character changed. She watched Emil pull curlers out of Sigrun, Sigrun complaining that it was worse than putting head into giant’s maw, skalds sighing and gasping in envy, and drove away the spectators to do their job. The guests were left in peace on the condition that in the evening, outside business hours, Emil would come to make a refreshing hairdo for the chief skald. Emil observed her and agreed; there was room for improvement, and this country could become one head closer to civilization. And also, Emil had to borrow an umbrella to save his masterwork from the rain as he escorted Sigrun back to the inn. He ran after Sigrun’s long stride but missed the umbrella shelter regularly. His hair was ruined again, but one piece of memory ruined his mood even worse. He had said to her that Mikkel had asked for a new cut to win her back… but did Mikkel actually mention that it was for Sigrun’s sake and not for other women? What if Emil misunderstood him and now was leading Sigrun to one big comedown? In panic, he didn’t look ahead until they ran into Mikkel on the inn porch. For some moments, Sigrun stared at Mikkel, and Mikkel stared at Sigrun, then they both stared at Emil. "You dimwit Swede!" the captain yelled. "What did you do to my bear-man? Where is his face-fur? It was so fun to pull! And useful too, I warmed my fingers in it!" Emil shrank into himself but still tried to defend his stylistic solutions. "But he looks better now! Like a cultured person and not a country bumpkin. And if you miss the sideburns they’ll grow back. Some day." What had he done?! So Mikkel was really planning to lure someone else when he had let Emil shave his sideburns away? Well, at least Sigrun deserved to get through it quick and straight. "Now listen, you two!" Emil snapped. "Get inside before you’re both wet and ruined! And then you’ll talk, but I’ll translate!" The two victims of style still stood and stared, and he had to drag them by the sleeves to his room. There he switched the light on and started an interview with Mikkel. "Do you like Sigrun’s new style?" "I am astounded and impressed," he replied solemnly. "Is that a yes or a no?" Sigrun inquired with suspicion. "A definite and resolute yes." "Alright," Emil wedged in. "Do you like Sigrun in general?" Mikkel opened his mouth, looked at the squinting Sigrun, and limited himself to a simple ‘yes’. "Good. She said she had let you deal a final blow to a monster, not once. And that she had carved her name on the handle of your knife. And that she had brought you some rare skull —" "Ass-shaped!" Sigrun butted in and traced something like a stylized heart in the air. "In Norwegian, it means she likes you and wants you as a life partner. Right?" Emil checked with her. She nodded. "Mikkel, you change topic every time she mentions going to Norway. In Norwegian, it means you don’t want her as a life partner. Right?" "Right, and the big guy never stayed at one job for long, so maybe that was true for, you know, hookups too!" Sigrun added. Mikkel had the decency to stare, and rather miserably, back at Sigrun. "Oh. I am sorry. I was merely teasing you. You are so cute at such moments. I promise it won’t happen again. And another reason is that I… I am afraid to lose you in Norway." Now Sigrun and Emil stared at him. Was there really anything that could frighten him?! "Sigrun, you have mentioned changing jobs. But once, long ago, you also teased me that I was fired from everywhere. It might be my fault to some extent, but it was never my will. Besides, all meetings with parents of my romantic interests went exactly according to the same scheme. That’s the point. There is an uncomfortably high probability that generals Eide will eventually disapprove of my nomination as either an employee or your partner or both, and that will be the end. Which I do not want at all. I am sorry to give the impression that I am trying to abandon you, but the case is just the opposite." "Translator, please!" Sigrun addressed Emil without looking away from a slightly abashed Mikkel. " Do I get it right that this big gorgeous man is afraid that my parents kick him out?" Emil confirmed that this was his impression as well. "You idiot!" she poked Mikkel in the tummy. "I’ve told you a hellion times that Mom and Dad will do whatever I say and like whoever I like!" "Well… you tend to overestimate your powers." "Oh shut up!" Sigrun lunged at him to shut him up with a kiss. "If you’re so scared, let’s take measures! They won’t boot out a father of my children." And she pushed him onto the bed. Emil crabbed away and closed the door to the hall. He could not stand seeing two perfect hairdos being ruffled so ruthlessly. Then he realised that it was his room. And that Sigrun was not available for quite some time while he’s alone in an inn where bloodthirsty Onni could come at any moment and finish the murder interrupted in the morning. Mikkel’s and Sigrun’s rooms were locked. Emil tiptoed past Onni’s room to the exit. The rain did not stop but did not scare him already. He nearly fell with terror when the entrance door swung open, but he relaxed at once. The figure behind it was short and slender, and familiar. "Lalli, where have you been?" Emil stepped forward with a smile. Lalli hissed and sprang back. He didn’t seem glad at all; in fact, his glare was the most angry Emil remembered. The effect was smudged by a pie Lalli was biting into. Then he said something equally angry, muffled by the pie. Emil sort of discerned Onni’s name but would not bet on it and could not ask to repeat it because the next moment Lalli flung the halved pie into his face and dashed away. It was a fish pie, Emil thought in dismay. Then, oh, we’re back to throwing food; at least it was not a soup. Then, oh, what did I do? Of course, when he got outside, Lalli vanished. And it was not Silent Denmark, where the Scout had no choice but to stay in the same space so that Emil could tame him back. Here, Lalli could disappear without trace, and Emil wouldn’t even know why. Was Lalli really offended by Emil’s trick with his cousin? Were all the months of tries and mistakes, talking and silence, common dreams and reality crossed out by some minutes of Emil’s aesthetic tranquility? What good a good taste was if Emil would lose his only friend over it? Emil stood on the porch and looked outside into the rainy scenery not caring anymore if the older Hotakainen showed up. Let it be. Let him end Emil’s suffering. Maybe then Lalli would stop being angry with his friend? Oh yes, Emil had promised to come to the skalds’ office and do some uninspired hair styling. Without an umbrella or care, he walked out into the rain.