Chapter Text
The ladder tips forward as she sets it against the tall bookshelves. Climbing up to the second highest rung and sliding a volume back where it belongs.
The song she hums, some old diddy her dad used to sing, plays over and over in her head as she alphabetizes the collection.
The stack in her arms grows lighter until it’s just the last book.
Norse Mythology: a full and complete history vol. 3
She frowns at the cover and looks up at the section in front of her.
Malicious Diseases and their Origins
Maladies from A-Z
Mythology Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
She turns her head to the bookcase several feet behind her and sees the titles:
Nocturnal Animals across the European Continent
Ninth Century Etymology
Norway: A Complete History
Without much thought, she leans to try to wedge the book where it belongs.
Only to find she’s a few inches— okay, maybe a foot or so short.
But, never deterred, she reaches, stretching until she almost has it when the ladder under her feet shifts up and away, causing her to squeak as she balances, wobbling in the middle of the two bookshelves. The volume hits the floor with a thud and it’s dead silent for a moment as she tries to regain balance and remain steady.
For a moment she manages, until her weight causes the ladder to push forward, crashing against the bookshelf and sending the massive wooden thing tumbling into the next. She lets out a true shriek then as everything tumbles down, and she barely manages to escape being crushed by the bookshelf behind her as she scrambles out of its falling path and stares at the now disasterous circle of toppled shelves.
“Why does Odin torment me!”
She whips towards the voice, seeing a wide eyed frustrated Dr. Erskine.
“I—“ she starts but his sharp glare cuts off her voice.
“Remind me why I don’t fire you?”
She bristles, even though she knows he’s well meaning. “Because I’m the best librarian from here to Portugal, and I know everything there is to know about Norse—“
“I keep you on—“ he interrupts with a raised eyebrow, “because your grandfather and I were coworkers.”
She knows by coworkers he means friends. Even in his grave her grandfather would roll over if anyone ever called him ‘friendly’.” The man was pricklier than a porcupine but fiercely loyal. As was Erksine. “And because you’re the best librarian between here and Portugal,” He adds with an annoyed smile. “And now those skills will be put to the test. I will send the workers in to right the shelves soon.”
“And could we nail the bloody things down?” She calls to his retreating figure. He just raises a hand in a wave and continues walking.
————-
She hears a thunk. Then a clink and a sort of half giggle.
Her eyes narrow and she brushes her skirt off as she stands, heading towards the museum section.
An eerie feeling starts to grow as the light shifts and makes one of the stone tombs seem to move.
Her footfalls are light until she hears a half chuckle.
A half chuckle she recognizes.
Her eyes roll and she shoves aside the fake lid.
“James Montgomery Falsworth,” she snaps, “what are you doing in there?”
He grins at her, obviously a bit inebriated and waves a closed fist, “I finally found it, Pegs.”
“Found what?”
His voice is a bit slurred, “something that’s going to turn our fortunes around, I tell you.”
She sighs, “our fortunes are just fine. Now get out of there! I’ve just made a mess of the library and I’d like to not add more to Erskine’s list of reasons to fire me.”
“Oh, Pegs, the man loves you like a daughter he wouldn’t fire you.”
She looks back where she can just see the tip of one bookshelf knocked over. “Well—“
“I’ve got just the thing to cheer you up.”
He reaches into his hand and pulls out something with a flourish.
Lint and coin and a used napkin flutter to the ground. He looks at it with a blink and then starts patting himself wildly until he sighs in relief and reaches into his other coat pocket.
Her eyes roll, “I’m not taking another silly trinket to—“
He waves at her to hush and this time produces something that glints in the flickering lights with a wild flourish.
She slowly picks the small metal circle from his hands, “what is this?”
“Not sure.” He grins, “but I recognized those symbols and thought of you.”
She looks where he’s tapping and her eyes widen. Etched so delicately she almost missed them in the dim lights, a Vegvisir, the runic compass symbol.
She turns it over in her palm as gasps. Yggdrasil, the Norse Tree of Life, is etched on the other side. Tiny filaments painted probably hundreds if not thousands of years ago catch the candlelight from the walls.
“Where on earth did you get this?”
He blinks, “found it in a tiny stall on the other side of town. You know. That little market street.”
She’s barely paying attention as her fingertips brush against the etchings and her heart starts to race. “What is this?”
Monty shakes his head, “something that will make us rich, I hope?”
She turns to him seriously, “do you have any idea if this is real artifact?”
“Of course it’s real!” He practically shouts.
“Shhhhh…” She snaps, “quiet!”
“Of course it’s real,” he whispers loudly, “what’d you take me for, a fool?”
Her fingers gloss over the metal and find a small catch. She tries to open it but it refuses. Her nails pick at the lock and she brings it closer to her face but she can’t seem to get it open. “Why is it locked? What’s inside?”
Monty squints at it, “I don’t know. I just saw the symbols and grabbed it. Here—“ he pulls it from her palm, “let me try.”
He tries to pry it open but it denies him as well.
“We should ask Erskine,” Peggy states. “He’s an even bigger expert on this subject than I am.”
—————-
Erskine examines it under a handheld magnifying glass. “This is a fool’s errand. What you’re looking for doesn’t exist and we’re history seekers not treasure hunters.”
Monty’s ears perk up, “treasure?”
Peggy shakes her head, “with all due respect, I’m not after the treasure, if that's even what this is. And I don’t believe in the curse of the Hydra or the Red Skull anyways.” Erskine seems to stiffen but she ignores it. “I just know all the legends. And I’d like to follow this trail to see where it leads!”
Erskine shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I can’t help you, it’s just a fancy compass.”
Peggy looks at him, “a compass?” She picks it up, “you mean there’s an actual compass inside? Not just the runic etching?”
He grimaces briefly before schooling his features. “All I’m saying is that there’s nothing good to be had with such a device. People have searched for this site for years and have only found trouble. So—“ he hands back the compass to Monty, and gets a bit dismissive, “I think you have a library to fix.”
She looks up at Monty who shrugs and she feels her brow furrow. Something about his manner seems too dismissive.
And she feels his eyes on her back as they walk out of his office door.
————-
“Take me to that shop.”
Monty looks at her, “what?”
“Take me to the shop you bought this from.”
He winces, “well…”
Her eyes narrow, “well what?”
He takes a long time to respond and his expression is regretfully embarrassed. “I may not have been entirely truthful about where I obtained it…”
Her fist closes around the compass, “and where, pray tell, did you actually obtain it?”
“He was grabbed by the police! I did him a favor!”
“Monty!” She snaps, “what on earth are you saying?”
He grimaces, “full disclosure—“ he starts, making her know she’s going to dislike his next words, “I may have nicked it off someone—“
“You stole—“ she starts to shriek but he covers her mouth.
“Shhhhh…” his fingers tap her lips and she swats them away, “don’t go shouting it about!”
“You stole this?” She whispers harshly, “from who!”
“Some American! I don’t know!”
Peggy wants to punch her cousin often. This is not a new sensation. But rarely does she want to strangle him. “So help me, James—“
“He was getting arrested! The police would have stolen it and sold it anyways!”
She grabs his collar and yanks his face closer, “take me to him.”
———————
It’s cold and biting at the prison. The outdoor section is full of prisoners and guards walking about. She and Monty walk along one of the higher levels, trying not to feel like animals at the zoo the way everyone stares.
“So,” the man who is walking them through the prison starts, eyeing her a little too closely. “What do you want with this guy?”
“Oh,” Monty gives off a nervous chuckle, “he’s just—“
“An old friend who keeps getting into trouble,” Peggy lies. “We’re always trying to talk sense into him.”
“Other than glaring he doesn’t talk much.”
Peggy shivers at the gaunt and staring eyes she passes as they walk past cell after cell.
“Well,” she responds primly, “I can be pretty persuasive.”
He eyes her again, “I bet you are.”
Before she can respond with a fist to the face, he turns, stopping at a cell. “Bring him out!”
A door slams open and two guards drag a man into the outdoor section of the cell. The man is struggling between them, a ratty linen button-up with ripped off sleeves displaying impressive muscles.
The guards throw the man against the bars, causing both her and Monty to jolt backwards. They slam a wooden rod against the man’s back causing him to hiss out a growl of annoyance.
Someone calls their jail attendant away and suddenly it’s just the three of them.
The man looks up at them and narrows his eyes at Monty, “I know you?”
Monty immediately squirms and laughs nervously, “no, I just have one of those faces. Um—“ he looks to Peggy who rolls her eyes.
“Who’s the dame?” The man asks, looking at her with a bored expression.
Before she can huff or punch him, Monty steps up and waves his hand, “this is my cousin, Margaret. We’re here—“
“We’ve found your trinket,” she starts, stepping back up alongside Monty, “and we wanted to ask you about it.”
“Trinket?”
“The Norse Compass, and—“
“No.” His face shutters and he shakes his head, “no.”
“No?”
“You’re here to ask about the Lost Fortress of the Red Skull.”
She gasps. “You know about the Fortress?”
He scoffs, “know about it. I’ve been there. That’s where I found that compass.”
She gets closer, staring at him in wonder, “you mean to tell me you’ve actually been there?”
He sees her curiosity and she sees the glimmer of amusement, “yeah. I’ve been there.”
“You swear?”
“No,” he grins, “my ma wouldn’t let me.”
“That’s not what I meant—“
“I know.” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I swear. I’ve been there.”
“Could you—“ she can feel Monty poking her, meaning the man from the prison must be returning, “take me there?”
“It’s dangerous,” he warns.
“I can handle myself,” she promises, “would you take me?” The guards start to approach and she knows she’s running out of time. “Wait!” she cries, leaning closer to him, “will you tell me how to open the compass?”
“You really want to know?”
“Why… yes.”
He gestures for her to come closer, “you sure you want to know?”
“Yes—“
Suddenly his hand shoots out and grabs her, pulling her close enough to press her against the bars and lips are pressing against hers. Lips salty from sweat, but soft and cool touch hers before the guards smash their batons against him again and he releases her.
“Then get me out of here!” He demands in a harsh whisper, before getting yanked away and back into the cell.
“Times up!” The man says, appearing behind her. “Hope you got what you wanted.”
She’s still reeling from that kiss but she shakes her head, jumping up and twirling to face him, “no, I need to speak to him again.”
“That’s too bad.” The man seems overly pleased about something.
“What?” Monty asks, “why?”
“He’s to be hung,” the man grins.
“Why!?”
“Apparently he was quite the nuisance to some rich men. Probably stole from them.”
“But do you have proof?” Peggy asks, “surely we can bargain for his life?”
The man gestures her forward and she follows him. They move and sit in a viewing box, a cold and wet stone courtyard beneath them.
“I would pay to see this man hanged,” the man explains. “He’s been a thorn in my side since he got here.”
“I’ll give you 100 Krone,” she offers.
He looks offended, “I would pay that to hang him!”
She watches as the man is brought back out, hands now tied behind his back, his longer hair and beard dripping with water and— she grimaces, blood. Probably took a beating for that kiss.
“200 Kro—“
“No.”
“500 krone!” She feels panic rising. The man is being led up to the wooden platform.
The warden eyes her and reaches out his hand, resting it on her knee, “and what else? I’m a lonely man.”
She scoffs in disgust and shoves his hand away. His anger rises and he gestures to the guards.
“No!” Peggy cries, and they yank the lever. The wooden floor beneath the man drops and he falls.
She waits for the sickening crack but it doesn’t come.
The man’s neck muscles flex mightily against the strain of the rope.
“Incredible!” The prison warden exclaims, “his neck did not break. Now we wait till he suffocates.”
Desperation rises. She turns, “he knows about the Lost Fortress of the Red Skull.”
The warden’s eyes widen, “you lie.”
“I would never!” She glares back, the man is starting to turn a violent shade. “And if you cut him down… we’ll give you 10%!”
“50%”
“20%”
“40%”
“30%”
“25%!”
“Ah!” She cries out grinning, “deal!”
It only takes a second for him to realize his mistake. He groans but then shouts out, “cut him down!”
She looks to the bored guard who slices the rope, sending the man crumpling to the ground.
His weary and oxygen deprived face turns to her and she gives a small triumphant grin.
——————
Details are arranged through the warden, a man she now unfortunately knows the name of.
“One Gilmore Hodge at your service your majesty.” He’d said with a sneer as he’d taken the paper she’d written the information down on.
Now, she and Monty stand by the large gangplank, waiting for the arrival of the prisoner.
“His name is Rogers.” Monty says, handing her the three tickets with their names written on them, “Steve Rogers.”
“You’re sure he’ll show?” She asks, the sun barely peeking out behind the clouds.
“He’ll show,” Monty assures. “He seems to be a man of his word.”
Peggy huffs, the memory of the kiss rising, making her embarrassed, flustered, and annoyed, “I don’t think so at all. He seems ill mannered and rash and—“
“Anyone I know?”
Both her and Monty spin on the spot. Her mouth gapes at the man before her. Now transformed from the filthy prisoner she’d met before. His hair is cut cleanly, beard now gone and a clean shaven face in its place. A clean linen shirt, and well pressed pants lead her eyes down to well oiled leather boots.
“Oh…” she starts, unable to form a solid sentence.
“Rogers,” Monty covers for her, “good to see you again, ol’ chap.”
Steve nods and shakes his hand, hefting a large leather duffle higher up on his shoulder. “I remembered where I knew you from.”
Monty chuckles nervously. “Oh, did you?”
“Yeah,” The man says with a raised eyebrow. “I did.”
“Hello!” A voice calls, breaking their conversation up.
Peggy looks over to see Hodge approaching, “oh, what are you doing here?”
“Protecting my 25%,” he says with a grin, before passing them and heading up the gangplank.
“Tally ho.” Monty chirps, eager to change the conversation. He follows Hodge and she grabs her trunk and does the same.
—————-
Night falls as the boat travels past Løvestakken. They’d travel from Oslo down and around the tip of Norway and then back up along the coast. They make good time, passing from the Norwegian sea into the smaller waterways that travel inland.
She’s glad winter is starting to fade as the air is brisk but not bone chilling.
She hears laughter and music coming from around the other side but she leans against the railing and takes in the fading scenery.
She hears a soft thud and turns, seeing Mr. Rogers set a leather bag down. She must make some noise because he turns, and catches sight of her. “Oh—“ He looks down at his bag, “were you using this table?”
She shakes her head and then speaks, “no. It’s fine.”
He nods and goes back to his bag, unfurling it with a snap and unveiling a plethora of weapons.
“Wha—“ she starts, walking over as if drawn to them, “what is all this for?”
The man looks up at her seriously and shakes his head, “something’s in that fortress ma’am. And it’s not looking to make friends.”
“Peggy,” she corrects, “you can call me Peggy.”
“Steve,” he responds with the dip of his head.
“Steve,” she repeats with a half smile. “So… you really believe in the myth of the Hydra?”
He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Well… I didn’t. And I’m still not entirely sure. But my whole garrison believed that they could find the treasure or the…” he pauses, as if trying to think of the right word, “power that is supposed to be hidden somewhere inside. We trudged through the snow and the mountains to get there. And by the time we were able to escape, there was only a few of us left. More of the snow was red than white.”
“I see,” she whispers quietly, “and yet you’re willing to return?”
He smirks, “well you’re paying me.” He answers easily, and then his face shifts, a more serious expression, “and I don’t like running from things that scare me.”
That phrase sits heavily in her chest. She understands that. “So you’re not looking for the treasure?”
Steve’s shoulder’s bounce in a huff as he leans back, cleaning a gun and shaking his head, “Are you?”
Her grin gets mischievous, “I’m not looking to get rich, if that’s what you're asking. But the history of the place is payment enough. They say the great riches of the ancient worlds were taken and squirreled away by the Red Skull there. Scrolls from Alexandria before it burned, texts from Ancient Greece, and the wealth of the Egyptian pharaohs could be hidden there.”
“Don’t forget the power of Odin.”
She laughs, “you really do know your history. Surprising for an American.”
His grin makes her stomach do a flip. “I know my history,” he repeats in answer.
“Well,” she sits, excitedly gesturing with her hands, “that’s actually what I am most interested in. While the treasure would be truly exciting, the power source described in those mythic texts or in the bits of history that seem shrouded in mystery have always been the most interesting. Some texts describe the power as other worldly, that the ancient natives to the Norwegian area encountered aliens and were gifted the power to accomplish great feats.”
“Like the Kvinneby Amulet.”
Her eyes widen, “you know of the amulet?”
Again he grins and nods, “my garrison commander looked for it. He really believed it would give him the power over Thor’s mystical hammer—“ he rolls his eyes as if he can’t believe someone believes such nonsense, “which of course he’d then have to find.”
“Well,” her smirk is wide, “the amulet is said to grant you the ability to invoke Thor’s protection. Not the power to wield Mjölnir.”
Steve nods at the knowledge, “well, he died before he could find either one.” Another wry grin and then he’s back to cleaning weapons.
“But you know there have been many legends that Thor, Odin, and Loki are not humans or gods, but aliens. Perhaps they took humanoid form not to frighten the people, but there’s plenty of discourse about their origins.”
“I thought they were gods like Zeus and Triton.”
“You’re thinking of Poseidon, but yes, that’s also an option. Of course we don’t know where the legends come from, but I do believe there must have been someone or some thing that made them believe Odin to truly exist. Like the Greeks used their gods to explain the weather or their own foul luck, there must have been some reason for the creation of these Norwegian legends.”
He studies her perceptively, “are you Norwegian?”
She shakes her head, “my great great great grandfather was, but I’ve lived in England until I was in my teens when my parents died. Then I was sent to live with my grandfather who was studying all Norse mythology and history. He was a fascinating story teller. He gave me my love of history.”
A soft and understanding smile graces his face, making her heart flutter, “that’s nice. Good to have connection to your history.”
Light truly fades completely and a boat worker comes around, lighting the myriad of lanterns along the outside of the boat. A warm cozy glow sets on them as the ship continues to cut quietly through the water.
It’s quiet for a bit as she pretends to stare at her book and read it while he continues to clean each weapon thoroughly.
A loud guffaw is heard coming round and soon a band of men appear at their table. Monty among them.
“Evening ma’am,” one says with the tip of a hat and a generous appraisal of her.
“Evening,” she says curtly.
They all share a quick greeting and then Monty waves his hands to quiet the nonexistent noise.
“Guess what,” he says with a slightly inebriated grin, “these lovely chaps are looking for the Lost Fortress of the Red Skull too!”
“Oh?” Steve says, “are they?” His expression is rather blank, “and who says we are?”
Monty’s brow furrows, “but, we—“
The men look at Monty, “he did.” One says.
Steve shoots him a glare to shut up and then quickly smiles, “you know where to go?”
One man, who had introduced himself as Kryzmenski, nods, “oh yeah, we got ourselves a genuine guide. Someone who’s been there. In fact Monty here has made us a wager that you all will beat us there.”
Peggy glares at him, “oh, James, really?”
”It’s a friendly wager! Besides Rogers has— Ow!” Peggy looks over at Monty who is hopping on one foot. “Uh..” he’s staring wide eyed at Steve and then clearing his throat, “a good sense of direction.” Monty shifts, “so I thought why not.” They talk for a bit more before they watch as the group heads away and Monty sinks into the third chair. “Why’d you kick me!”
“The less competition the better,” Rogers answers, rolling the barrel of a pistol before sliding it into its spot. “Either they have a legitimate guide, and we don’t want to tip them off that we do, or they have a liar, and we don’t want them latching onto us.”
Monty nods and then rests his chin in his hands and then his elbow on the table, “how many people do you know who have been there and returned?”
Steve’s eyes get a strange glint. “Not many.”
Monty nods and saunters off, disappearing into his room.
They talk for a bit more about not much until she can’t seem to help herself but ask, “why did you kiss me?”
He blinks, and then he looks sort of embarrassed, “I thought I was about to die. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
She huffs, standing in indignation, rolling her eyes and disappearing back to her room.
——————————