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words come strong. “You’ve turned against us all. You’re the one acting inexplicably.”
    “Not a single girl of my kingdom will get on a Viking ship,” says Father.
    Have my ears heard right? I push my hair back and listen hard.
    “Tomorrow you will gather a group of women. No slaves. No servants. Only your closest friends. You’ll make tunics that will fit fifteen men and dye them colors, like women wear. And you’ll stuff them in the right places, to make the right curves. Next week fifteen Irish soldiers will meet Bjarni’s Viking ship.” Father paces, rubbing his hands together. “Our soldiers, dressed as maidens—why, you can even add some of Brigid’s ribbons to their long hair—they will go on board and greet the Norsemen with smiles and hugs. And slay the entire lot of them.”
    “The two youths will be on that ship,” says Mother with slow realization. “The youths who harmed Nuada.”
    “Exactly,” says Father.
    “A heinous plan,” says Mother. “And one they deserve. We will avenge our son.” She looks over at Nuada.
    Nuada’s eyes are unblinking.
    “It must be kept secret,” says Father, “Only the women who sew the dresses, only the men who wear them—only they can know. The word must not get back to Bjarni, or he will launch a preemptive attack.”
    “Of course,” says Mother.
    “Do you understand, girls?” Father squats before Brigid. “When Vikings attack, they come in huge numbers. They steal, burn, kill. This is a secret unlike any other of your life, Brigid. You must not speak of it to anyone”
    “I won’t, Father” Brigid puts her hand on his head. She’s done that since she was small. “But after the Irish soldiers kill the Vikings, won’t other Vikings come to avenge them, too?”
    “They’ll never know what happened. We’ll kill all the men on board and sink the ship. When others come to ask, we’ll say the ship never arrived.” Father stands now. “I’ll act indignant that my daughter and the fifteen lasses were left in the lurch.” He puffs out his chest. “If they act suspicious, I’ll accuse them of disputing my word and demand they pay the fee for abusing my honor. Vikings know how we Irish feel about our honor. That will be the end of it.” He turns to me. “You’ll be safe, Melkorka.”
    I stare at him. The word “safe” makes no sense. “Your plan puts everyone at risk.”
    “Their offer put us at risk. And you two girls will be far from here. Your mother will dress you as boys and send you away.” Father opens the four doors of the sickroom. “Like I said before, get a good nights sleep. You’ll need it.”
    Brigid and I crawl under the bedcovers together again. And, again, she falls into slumber easily.
    Mother and Father enter quietly. So do our personal servants. And everyone sleeps. Except me. My mind plays tricks in the dark.
    What if there’s a traitor among us? A dirty supporter of the Norsemen? I pull at my hair.
    What if Father’s soldiers are recognized as men right off? The Vikings will have time to grab their weapons. Swords, spears, shields, arrows, knives. And, of course, axes. I saw Viking weapons in the toolmaker’s in Dublin. I may have looked upon the very ax that severed Nuada’s hand. The angry Vikings will kill the soldiers, then march into Downpatrick and kill everyone else. Except the women. The women’s fate will be worse than death.
    We have to make the men look just right. I’ll give them lessons myself on how to walk like girls. The “maidens” can carry jugs of mead and pour them down the Vikings’ throats. Everyone talks about how Vikings get so drunk they stagger and fall off their ships and perish in the sea.
    What if someone escapes? A single Viking who makes it back to the other ships could be our ruin.
    And, oh, where will Brigid and I go while all this happens?
    I toss hard. Finally I get up and walk outside. The chill of deep night makes me small within my cloak. Winter has returned for a