The Journey to Find Mimir

48: I am No Longer a Fan of Old Radio Dramas

A few hours later, I was finishing the last of the embroidery on a shrunken-down version of Adalbjorg's dress. Hearthstone snored peacefully in the girls' old doll bed, under the light of a desk lamp; he had promptly passed out right after I signed safe to him. Thankfully, he couldn't be woken by any noise -- Rannveig was a regular chatterbox. Her constant stream of information reminded me of a friendly version of the popular dwarves back at school. She let me in on the whole story while she straightened the room. 

"Greta and I are a part of the S.C.C.," she explained. "The Smalling Collection Committee. There are chapters all over Jotunheim. The patrols will camp out at locations that smallings frequent and capture whomever goes by." 

She paused a moment, her cheeks pink. "If smallings are, uh, prepared correctly, the dish is considered gourmet. All of the best restaurants hire collection squads to bring them in. Greta and I work for Ascend. It is a restaurant on the summit of Galdhøpiggen, the tallest mountain in Jotunheim."

Her face flashed from pink to red. "But we don't actually capture smallings! We don't think it's right, so we signed up so we could help them escape. Escorting them to where they need to go, ya know? We weren't even on duty when we caught wind of you and your friend, so that's why my mom wants to, uh, you know, eat you. Greta is an excellent cook, so she makes tofu that is good enough to pass off as smalling. No one has been caught on so far..."

Rannveig was still tidying the many piles of books while I embroidered. Many of the book jackets proclaimed titles like: Smalling Stews and Other Five Star Meals and Inside the Mind of a Smalling: How to Track and Capture the Nine Worlds' Most Tasty Beings. But as she cleaned she would remove the jacket to show the true content beneath: books on creating illusions, maps of the World Tree, Jotunheimen geography, stories from the Nine Worlds, and cooking with tofu. 

"Our mom, dad, and younger sister are still on the 'Eating Smallings' train, so we have to keep everything under the radar." She wiggled her eyebrows. "But we're good at keeping secrets."

There was a quiet knock on the door. 

"It's me," called a soft voice. 

"Come in."

Greta stepped into the room, her apron dirty. She smiled at me. When her eyes fell on the dress, she gave a small laugh. 

"Your embroidery skills are wonderful, Blitzen. But maybe don't do too good a job... I am not that talented, and I don't want our mother getting suspicious." I liked how her voice. It was quiet and silvery, like mothwings.

"More suspicious than tofu smalling?" I asked.

"This house is full of deception," added Rannveig. She fell heavily on the bed then rolled over, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "Everyone seems to have a--"

There was a knock on the door. The three of us jumped. Rannveig flew off the bed and onto her feet. Then, we were silent. 

"Greta?" called a voice. The younger sister. "Something is burning. I took it off the stove."

"Oh, thank you Adalbjorg," Greta called back. 

There was silence. 

"Can I come in?" she asked, tentatively. "I want to see my dress."

The two sisters shared panicked look.

"Can you come back in a little bit?" replied Rannveig. "Five minutes?"

There was a sigh outside the door. When she spoke again, her voice was flat and bitter.

"If you don't want to hang out with me, just say it."