One, two, three…
Dagmar’s fingers counted the minutes until he would ride down the escalator all the way from America.
…four, five.
Just that many minutes until he would finally be something more than a picture that lived between the pages of her book of Norse sagas. She could feel how little the minutes were. They could snuggle up on the tips of her fingers and still have enough room for a thick blanket and a fluffy pillow.
Hopefully, he remembered to tie his shoelaces nice and tight because the escalator looked most hungry indeed.
One, two, three, four, five, and then back again. Just that many days left until Dagmar saw her precious Adlai’s smile, which she was sure and certain was the sort of smile that would put the Treasure of the Brísings to shame. A whole month. That was how long it had been since she first saw his picture. That was how long it had been since she found out who he really was. That was how long since the sound of his name and the shape of its letters had made a home inside her. Now he was only a hand's worth of minutes and an escalator ride away, but she didn't feel the way she should. In fact, she had the most awful case of the wiggles. Because the greatest danger hanging over him didn’t come from an escalator that hadn't eaten its breakfast yet.
If only the Jomsvikings hadn’t been foolish and waited to tell her what they told her. Then she wouldn’t have done the thing she wished she hadn’t done. But she had. Now she had to do her best to keep him safe. She had to keep their spies from seeing him. So, when she saw him ride down the escalator, she had to stay as still and quiet as a ghost mouse. And no matter how much her legs wiggled, she wouldn’t let them run up to him, and no matter how much her arms shook, she wouldn’t let them open as wide as the Bifröst to hug him, and no matter how much her voice begged, she wouldn't let it sing his name as loud as it could, so the whole airport would hear. No, she had to keep as still and quiet as she could. All the Nine Worlds depended on it. But her tummy was full of red and green dragons that wanted so much to get out, fly, and break everything in sight. She could feel them move.
Maybe if she closed her eyes and counted to ten, everything would be okay. She had to keep her thoughts hidden. The spies of Loki and Nidhogg mustn’t hear them. She looked at a television board showing the names of all the places the planes were coming from and going to in yellow electric letters: Amsterdam, Stockholm, London, Berlin, and Paris. Magnus had bought her a silly red beret hat in Paris. She had looked ridiculous in that hat, and she was only supposed to wear it long enough for Magnus could take a cute picture to show to Momma and Grandma, but then The Narrow Girl came along.
“You two can sight-see while I’m at the Louvre.”
They had spent the whole day before at the museum, a place bigger than three Jomsviking villages, but Momma still wanted to go back to look at those pretty paintings once more because she so loved them. So they decided that Dagmar and Magnus would explore the streets of Paris while Momma was at the museum, and Grandma stayed at the hotel to watch her favorite television shows. They would hold each other's hand to be sure and certain not to lose each other. They would eat ice cream for lunch and dinner. Magnus would practice his French, and Dagmar would practice her English. Yes, it would be the most wonderful of all days.
She asked Magnus if the ice cream flavors would be different. He said he didn’t know.
It wasn’t long after they started their exploration of Paris that they found the gift shop where that most horrible beret hat waited for her.
"Just wear it long enough to get a cute picture of you."
Then the Narrow Girl walked up to them and ruined everything. She asked Dagmar her name, and Dagmar told her, and the Narrow Girl cooed it back. Her breath smelled like coffee and sour salad dressing. She had short black hair, and a Mister Miles tattoo lived on the little part of her arm. She told Dagmar how cute, cute, cute she looked in that stupid beret hat. Cute, cute, cute. She kept saying it as though Dagmar hadn't heard her the first time. Dagmar said, 'Thank you,' in her very best English, trying to say it as properly as she could. The Narrow Girl laughed and said Dagmar spoke English very well for someone as old as she was. Dagmar didn't think she meant what she said.
The Narrow Girl and Magnus laughed and talked. She touched his arm. She smiled at Magnus, and he smiled back at her. Magnus had forgotten all about his beloved Bente, even though they had spoken on the phone just that morning. When Magnus asked for the Narrow Girl’s phone number and email address, Dagmar stared at the Mister Miles tattoo on the little part of her arm. The blue on Mister Miles was all wrong. It wasn’t nearly as blue as the blue on the TV program or the comics.
The Narrow Girl told Magnus it would be a most terrible mistake if he didn't buy the stupid beret hat for Dagmar. Too adorable to live, she said. Cute, cute, cute. And when Magnus bought the ridiculous, silly beret hat, the Narrow Girl gave Magnus her email and phone number.
Dagmar wore the ridiculous beret for the rest of the trip, and Grandma laughed at her, and everyone stared at her wherever she went, but she still wore it and didn’t say anything.
That had been a long time ago, when Dagmar was six. That was when Magnus and Bente went everywhere together, and their funny little Dagmar was never too far away from them, and they all laughed at the same things. That was before Magnus had done what he had done to drive Bente away. That was before he had met HER at that Magnus' movie-film showing at his school. That was before Magnus was at HER house every day. How Dagmar couldn't even stand to say HER name, the shape of its letters stung her like a scraped knee, even if one of those letters lived in Dagmar's name too. And it was awful that she had to have that name because it had belonged to someone most special before it had ever belonged to her.
It was all the fault of the narrow English Girl with the short black hair and the Mister Miles tattoo on the little part of her arm, and the breath that smelled like coffee and sour salad dressing.
If only they had gone to Narvik for the holiday just like Dagmar wanted. If only Momma had listened to her. It would’ve been nice to make friends with a polar bear or two instead of some stupid girl that broke things.
But it would be all right; he would soon be here.
Adlai.
She had waited for him days and hours and minutes and seconds enough to fill a dragon’s belly. She had kept his picture in her secret place and looked at it and looked at it.
Adlai. Adlai.
The minutes that lived on the tips of her fingers were so little now. She could feel them disappear. She looked at the sign with the comings and goings of the planes and saw his name.
Adlai. Adlai, Adlai.
It was as beautiful as he was. It was music.
Adlai, Adlai, Adlai, Adlai.
Adlai.
It was more than music. When Dagmar said The Name or thought of it, her eyes changed from one thing to another, just like Lotta's eyes had changed when she told her his name at the birthday party. So Lotta knew too, even if she couldn't hold the words in her hand. What if anyone could tell who he was just from the sound of his name? What if SHE could tell too? The thought was too terrible to carry.
She squeezed Momma’s hand. Could Momma feel it all through the teary touch of Dagmar’s palm and fingers? Could she feel the minutes get smaller and smaller too?
His name was more than music.
Adlai. Adlai. Adlai.
Sometimes when she lay in her bed trying to get to sleep, with his picture on her belly, their voice whispered to her.
‘He is the most beautiful boy in all the Nine Worlds. And he is in the greatest of dangers.’
Adlai.
THEY wanted to make him one of them, to make him like them. Dagmar had to protect him.
And then something attached to the name, and the unsmiling face turned a corner and rode down the escalator. That something was more than just a picture. He walked and breathed. He carried a bag on his shoulder that was just like one Magnus had. He yawned. His shoelaces were loose and wild. He was just like her, just like her. She had never expected that, even if they did share the same eyes. Did he even know who he was? Did he even know the music of his name?
She closed her eyes and started to count to ten. She had to keep her arms and legs and her voice quiet and still. It would only be seconds now, but the seconds grew bigger than the minutes that once had snuggled on the tips of her fingers until they covered her arms and her legs and her mouth and her ears and her face, and still, they kept growing. Inside her, the red and green dragons fought to get out. It wanted so much to fly. It wanted so much to break things. It didn’t care about anybody or anything but itself.
She couldn't even count to five before her arms and legs and voice stopped listening to her because they couldn't wait anymore. Then she ran towards her Adlai, her arms stretching as wide as the Bifröst, her voice singing The Name in a ghost melody that didn’t come from Dagmar at all but from the red and green dragons flying inside her stomach. She ran to him, and everything was lost.