The Flatey Enigma (13 page)

B
ryngeir and Benny had watched the casket being lowered onto the mail boat. Bryngeir didn’t want to draw any closer, but he got Benny to identify the men on the pier for him.

“The district officer, the teacher, the deacon, and the priest,” said Benny. “The youngest guy is the magistrate’s assistant,” he added.

“Who owns these boats?” Bryngeir asked, pointing at the small boats moored at the pier.

“Some fishermen from other villages who were going to fish for the factory. But they haven’t been able to catch anything, so they’re moving to another village closer to better fishing grounds. Valdi from Ystakot owns the black one. He was the guy who found the dead man in Ketilsey,” Benny answered.

“What boats were here last fall when the Dane came here?”

“Here by the pier, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“There were no fishing boats here last fall.”

“Were there no boats at all then?”

“Maybe Valdi’s boat, at the most. He stores it away in the heart of winter. I can’t remember when he did that last year.”

“Aren’t there more boats on the island?”

“Yeah, but they’re all stored in the cove in the fall. It’s easier to keep an eye on them from the village that way, if the weather worsens.”

The mail boat was now backing out of the pier, and the funeral cortege was dispersing. Bryngeir dragged Benny around the corner, and they rushed back to the eastern side of the fish factory. There were a few wooden barrels, which they hid behind as the others walked by. Benny was puzzled by this odd behavior but got a bit of a kick from hanging out with such a worldly-wise guy and actually found this touch of spying pretty exciting.

From their hiding place, they watched the five men walking on up the road past the doctor’s house. Thormódur Krákur walked in front, towing the handcart, followed by the priest and finally Grímur, Kjartan, and Högni.

“What would you do if you needed to get to Stykkishólmur but couldn’t wait for the mail boat?” Bryngeir asked Benny.

“I’d ask Dad to lend me his boat,” Benny answered, omitting to say there was no way he would be lent the boat to take it to Stykkishólmur. It was too long a crossing, and he didn’t know the sailing route on the southern side of the fjord.

“What about outsiders? How would they get to the mainland? What would I do if I needed to get to the mainland this evening?”

Benny thought a moment. He found it difficult to imagine why anyone would be in such a hurry.

“Well, of course, you could always get Dad to take you over to Brjánslækur. Or Sigurbjörn in Svalbardi, or maybe Ásmundur, the storekeeper. From there you can walk up to the road where the Ísafjördur bus passes. You can also sail to the mainland in Vatnsfjördur if the tide is high. That’s a shorter walk.”

Bryngeir grew impatient. “But south to Stykkishólmur, lad?”

“Yeah, maybe you could get someone to take you there if the weather isn’t too bad. It’s just a bit far to go on an open boat in the dark.”

Bryngeir walked past the fish factory and onto the deserted pier. He stared at the boats that were moored there.

“But the guy who owns the black boat?” he asked. “Could he take me to Stykkishólmur?”

“No, not very likely,” said Benny. “Valdi never has money to buy enough fuel. He also gets to travel free on the mail boat because he always grabs the rope when they’re pulling into the pier.”

“Let’s pay him a visit in his croft. Show me the way.”

Benny walked ahead of him off the pier and up the path toward Ystakot. They spotted little Nonni on the shore, and he spotted them.

“Dad, Dad,” Nonni yelled back toward Ystakot. “Two big men are coming, Benny from Rádagerdi and the boozer.”

Valdi had stepped out into the yard by the time Bryngeir and Benny arrived. Bryngeir eyed Valdi in silence. Benny kept his distance.

“What do you want?” Valdi finally asked.

“Can you take me to Stykkishólmur this evening?” Bryngeir asked.

“Why didn’t you take the mail boat?” Valdi asked.

“I was too late and missed it.”

Jón Ferdinand stepped into the yard as Valdi was thinking.

“I can’t see anything, I can’t see anything!” the old man shrieked.

“Open your eyes and then you’ll see, you fool!” said Valdi.

“Yeah, now I see the light, Valdi dear. You’re so good to me,” said Jón Ferdinand joyfully.

“You’re so full of crap, Dad. You’re a disgrace to us,” Valdi snapped angrily, and turned to Bryngeir. “You can get a farmer from one of the inner isles to take you over to the mainland after mass tomorrow. They’re all bound to come over for Whitsunday,” he said.

“But I need to get to Stykkishólmur tonight. How much do I have to pay you?”

Valdi shook his head. “I can’t leave the house. I’ve got to take care of my boy and my dad. He’s completely lost it.”

“What if I pay you three thousand krónur?”

“Three thousand krónur?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a lot of money.” Valdi calculated in his head. “That’s almost five finished seal pup furs.”

“Yes, that’s quite a sum, but I’m in a hurry.” Bryngeir pulled a wallet out of the pocket of his trousers.

Valdi stuffed his pipe and lit it. “Then I’ll have to take my dad with us,” he finally said, “and I’ve also got to buy fuel first. You’ve got to pay up front.”

Bryngeir turned to Benny with a grin. “You see, it’s just a question of the right price.” Then, addressing Valdi, he said, “Hey listen, I think Stykkishólmur can wait.”

Valdi winced. “Were you just bluffing with me?”

Bryngeir laughed. “I was just trying to establish the price of a ticket, my friend.”

“Get the hell out of here,” Valdi barked in a rage and stepped menacingly toward Bryngeir, who grinningly backed off but then tripped on a tussock and fell on his ass.

Benny stepped between them. “I’ll take him with me,” he said to Valdi, “and make sure he doesn’t come back again.” He then helped Bryngeir to his feet and led him away. When they had walked a few yards away from the croft, Benny said, “You better not make Valdi angry. He gets totally out of control. Once in the olden days he almost strangled a stranger in a fight. The man only saved himself by sticking a finger in Valdi’s eye. That’s why he’s blind in one eye.”

Bryngeir didn’t seem to be too happy about his awkward retreat. “Then he can lose his other eye if he has to,” he said, vexed.

Question twelve: Who cut King Sverrir’s ear? Third letter. A man lay seriously wounded close by. His name was Brynjólfur, the son of Kalf of the Faroes. He hoisted himself to his knees and struck the king with his sword, aiming at his neck. The king deflected the blow with the rim of his steel helmet, which the edge of the sword struck, but his ear was grazed, and his neck was seriously wounded. In the same instant, swords and halberds fell so heavily on Brynjólfur that he could barely sink to the ground. The answer is “Brynjólfur,” and the third letter is
y.

A
fter dinner and the radio news, Grímur fetched a deck of cards and dealt them on the dining table where Högni and Kjartan were seated with cups of coffee. He then called Ingibjörg, who was clearing up in the kitchen, and the game of whist began. Kjartan enjoyed watching the islanders, who mostly played in silence, apart from their bidding and moderate exclamations according to how the game was going. There were all kinds of facial expressions and glances. Grímur was a zealous player and a poor loser. Ingibjörg, on the other hand, was cunning and knew how to handle her husband.

“Do people play a lot in Flatey?” Kjartan asked.

“Not in the summer,” said Grímur, peering at his cards. “But a lot in the winter. Passes the time.”

When there was a break in the game, Kjartan told them about the discovery he had made in the library earlier that day. Professor Lund had cheated in his struggle with the Flatey enigma and had written the clue down on a piece of paper and took it out of the building. And then Kjartan remembered the library key, which he still had in his pocket.

“I’ll pass it on to Hallbjörg,” said Ingibjörg. “I’ll be going to Innstibaer later on to give the ladies some cookies to have with their coffee on Whitsunday.”

“Do they live alone?” Kjartan asked.

“Neither of them ever married,” Grímur answered, “but Gudrún has a son out of wedlock. The boy is a sailor now in Akranes and occasionally comes over on visits. Gudrún is slightly mentally unstable and not always the full shilling. Hallbjörg took her in out of kinship and takes good care of her. And the islanders are fond of those good-hearted women and slip them little treats every now and then. They knit nonstop, and that helps them to get by. Hallbjörg also takes good care of our library and gets a fee from the municipal fund for that. I think it was the price of two lambs this year. On top of that they’ve got Hallbjörg’s pension. Gudrún and Sigurbjörn in Svalbardi are closely related. He also keeps a good eye on them.”

After two hours of playing, Grímur and Kjartan walked across the island to fetch the cows. Temperatures would drop during the night, and it was therefore best to bring them into the cowshed. But that wouldn’t be for long now. The nights were bright and the summer would soon be here to stay. Then the milking could be done in the pastures and the cows would be kept outside.

On their way to the pastures, Grímur lectured Kjartan on cattle breeding in Flatey, both now and in the future. The problem today was the shortage of good breeding bulls. No bullocks had been bred on Flatey for quite some years now, and bulls had to be brought in from the inner isles. Transporting them in little boats could be a tricky business, although they generally managed to do it without any mishaps. The bull just needed a bit of time to recover after the sea journey before he could be of any service to the cows.

“The farmers are thinking of pooling together to buy some good bullocks on the mainland this summer. No harm in improving the stock a bit,” said Grímur.

The cows expected to be rounded up and waited mooing by the gate to the pastures. Thormódur Krákur had already collected his two, although Gudjón of Rádagerdi’s cows were still grazing.

“We’ll take them all with us,” said Grímur. “We take it in turns to collect them, my brother-in-law Gudjón and I.”

On the way home, they crossed the Ystakot clan on the road. Valdi was pushing an old wheelbarrow, and as they drew closer, they saw that it contained a dead sheep. Its angular head dangled over the rim of the wheelbarrow, and its gray wool was completely drenched and smudged in sand and seaweed. Valdi gave way to the cows that filed down the road and then put the wheelbarrow down when the men met.

“Grímur,” said Valdi, taking out his pipe.

“Yes, Valdi?” said Grímur, pausing.

“Listen to me. I remember now why I didn’t write it into my book when the mail boat sailed south on September the fourth last year. And you should have remembered why, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, because on that day I took the mail boat myself over to Brjánslækur to meet my wife, Thóra. So I wasn’t on the island when the boat sailed back south that day. I asked Dad to keep an eye on who was traveling on the boat, but of course he forgot to and didn’t write anything down.”

“Oh,” said Grímur. “And why should I have remembered that you went to the mainland?”

Valdi lit his pipe with a match and answered: “When I came back a week later, all of the fuel had been stolen from my boat. I reported it, don’t you remember?”

“Yes.” Grímur looked apologetically at Kjartan. “I remember that now. I never found the thief.”

Valdi stuck his notebook back into his pocket, picked up the wheelbarrow, and with his smoldering pipe clenched between his teeth, walked off without saying good-bye. Little Nonni and Jón Ferdinand walked after him.

“Oh, we’re always in such a rush,” they heard the old man muttering.

“Those were memorable days,” Grímur said, once the family was out of earshot. “Valdi went over to the mainland to collect his wife, Thóra, from her roadworks job, but she categorically refused to come home with him. She can’t take them anymore. She could just about put up with it when the old lady, Valdi’s mother, was still alive. She was a wonderful person and good to everyone, but after she died the men turned into semi-ogres. You can’t expect a young woman to live with that. Valdi, of course, was completely crushed when he came back with no woman, and he felt ashamed in front of everyone. He hit the bottle in the end and was drunk for days. To be honest, I didn’t take that fuel theft story very seriously, but it’s obviously still bugging him.”

“What are they doing with the carcass of that sheep?” Kjartan asked.

“Sigurbjörn of Svalbardi lost that sheep and two lambs on a skerry in the high tide on Monday,” Grímur answered. “The sheep was washed ashore in Sund this morning. That’s one of the disadvantages of farming on an island; so many ewes get lost in the sea. In one high tide many years ago, a hundred sheep were lost in Eyjahreppur. That was a lot of damage for small farms to have sustain.”

“But what will they do with it?” Kjartan asked again, glancing toward the men over his shoulder.

“They’re allowed to keep the carcass. They’re going to make some sea stew with it,” Grímur answered.

Kjartan wasn’t sure he had heard right. “Sea stew?”

“Yeah. They boil the meat and the fat. It’ll be well salted and tender after marinating in the sea and can taste quite good. There aren’t many people around who’ll do this kind of thing, but it makes a big difference to the Ystakot men.”

Question thirteen: Drank from the keel. First letter. Egill, Ragnar’s son, fought against the Wends on ships. At the end of the battle, Egill jumped onto the Wends’ ship and axed the chieftain, dealing him a deadly blow. After that the Wends fled. Egill asked his servant to fetch him a drink. The servant answered, “There has been so much commotion on the ship today. The barrels are all broken and the drink has flowed down to the keel.”

Egill said, “But I must have a drink.”

The servant answered, “Please don’t, sire. Most of it is blood and bodily fluids.”

Egill stood up and removed the helmet from his head and dipped it into the keel and had three large drinks. After this Egill came to be known as Blood Egill. The answer is “Blood Egill,” and the first letter is
b.

He said, “Here the guest just wrote
‘Egill,’
and the first letter is
e.”