The Flatey Enigma (19 page)

H
ögni’s task was to call in the people on the established list of names, and Sigurbjörn of Svalbardi had arrived by the time Benny stepped out of the classroom with Grímur after his questioning.

“Those guys are real cops,” Benny said, excited. Grímur told him to go home and ushered Sigurbjörn in to take a seat opposite the two detectives. He himself sat by the door.

Thórólfur kicked off with: “I’m told the deceased Bryngeir stayed with you on Saturday, is that correct?”

“You’d hardly call it stayed,” Sigurbjörn answered. “He came on Saturday and asked to stay the night. We have a spare bed that we sometimes lend to travelers, and he was welcome to it. He also got some food from us when he arrived and then again in the evening. But he was cheeky and incredibly tiring when he was drunk. I threw him out at three in the morning. I’m told he crawled into Krákur’s barn and slept there in some old hay until late on Sunday morning.”

“Why did you throw him out?”

“He turned out to be such a darned scoundrel. We all went to bed at around midnight, and he was supposed to do the same. But there was something restless about him, and in the middle of the night he sneaked into my daughter’s bedroom stark naked and tried to slip into her bed. He wanted to seduce her, the bloody lech!”

“What happened then?”

“Well, her granny sleeps in the next bed and had her wits about her. She caught him at the side of the bed and shooed him away. I think she emptied her potty over him. In any case, he was all wet on top when I found him in the corridor and kicked him out. Then I grabbed all his stuff and dumped it on the steps.”

“Didn’t you see him again?”

“No, and I didn’t go looking for him either. It didn’t surprise me that the man was doomed.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. When I looked into his bag to see if he’d stolen anything from the house, I found sheets from the Flatey enigma that are meant to be kept in the library and not taken away. He’d stolen them the bloody night before. I went straight to Hallbjörg in Innstibaer and got the library key from her to be able to put the sheets back where they belonged. She told me the magistrate’s assistant had been the last one to go to the library and that he’d probably forgotten to lock it. They don’t know how to handle these precious things, those cultivated people from Reykjavik.”

“Is that the only key to the library?”

“Yeah, apart from the key that the late Björn Snorri got a loan of. He went to the library so often.”

“You’re sure you didn’t meet Bryngeir again on Sunday evening?”

“Yes, of course I didn’t meet him again,” Sigurbjörn snapped angrily. “Do you think I’m lying? Do you really think I dragged that scoundrel up to the churchyard, placed him on a grave, and carved a blood eagle out of his back just because he’d abused my hospitality?”

“Carved a blood eagle out of his back?” Thórólfur asked.

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s perfectly obvious. Someone carved a blood eagle out of his back. Haven’t you read the
Flatey Book
?”

“No.”

Sigurbjörn shook his head and said, “Don’t they require you to have any education to join the police force these days?”

“The
Flatey Book
isn’t exactly on the police syllabus,” Thórólfur answered sourly.

Sigurbjörn grinned. “Isn’t it now? Well it should be. I’ll try to remember it for you. Sigurdur, Fáfnir’s killer, fought Lyngvi Hundingsson in Friesland and captured him. Then they had a discussion about how Lyngvi should die. Regin suggested they carve a blood eagle on his back, and that’s what they did. Regin cut through Lyngvi’s back with his sword, broke his ribs to make them look like wings, and then he pulled out his lungs. So Lyngvi died with great valor. There are also accounts of blood eagles in the Orkneys saga and in the tale of Ormur Stórólfsson, if I remember correctly. If you ask me, that’s exactly what was done to that wretch in the churchyard.”

The policemen glanced at each other, but Sigurbjörn continued: “And then there’s that Danish fellow. You can find parallels with his fate in the
Flatey Book
, too, but I guess you don’t know that story either, do you?”

Thórólfur shook his head. “How did that one go?” he asked.

“It’s in the saga of Ólaf Tryggvason. Eyvindur Kelda went to Ögvaldsnes with the intention of killing King Ólaf. Using magic he summoned a dark mist so that the king wouldn’t be able to see them, but it blinded them, too, and made them walk around in circles. The king’s protectors spotted the men and arrested them. The king then invited them to abandon their evil ways and to believe in the true God. But when Eyvindur and his men categorically refused to do so, they were taken to a skerry in the sea and left there to die of exposure. Since then it’s been called the Devil’s Skerry. That’s how it went. I think you’ll have to start reading the
Flatey Book
before you try solving the Breidafjördur mysteries.”

“Is it long, this book?” Thórólfur asked.

“Not really. Thormódur Krákur has an edition that came out straight after the war. It’s four volumes of about six hundred pages each. You could finish reading it by the fall if you really put your head down.”

Thórólfur looked at Grímur. “Can you get us a copy of this work?”

Question twenty-seven: The most cunning chieftain. Second letter. The Norsemen who were on the rampage in Constantinople were known as the Varangians. Their chieftain was Harald, who was called Nordbrigt…They besieged another town that was both bigger and harder to overtake. There were lush and open fields close to the town with beautiful trees in blossom. The birds always flew there from the town during the day and then flew back to their nests on the rooftops of the houses in the evening. Nordbrigt addressed his men: “There is some clay here just outside the town, which we shall collect and knead until it turns into a kind of mortar. Then we will rub this wet mortar on the trees outside the town.” The birds then stuck to the trees when they came looking for food, and many small birds were caught in this manner. Then Nordbrigt said, “Now let’s collect dry and highly flammable wood and ignite a little fire in it by adding sulfur and enveloping it with wax. Then we will attach this load to each of the birds’ backs so that they can fly with it. When night falls we will release them all together, and my guess is that they will fly back to their nests in the town, as is their habit.” This was done, and the birds flew back to their nests and young ones. All the houses on which the birds had made their nests were thatched, and it did not take long for the birds’ feathers to catch fire and then the rooftops, with one thing igniting another. At the same time, the besiegers armed themselves and attacked the town. The townspeople then had to fend off both the fire and the fierce attack, and they were unable to cope with both. The answer is “Harald,” and the second letter is
a.

Kjartan said, “Here Lund wrote the name ‘Nordbrigt.’”

“Then the answer is either
a
or
o.”

H
ögni went off to collect Thormódur Krákur, who, as was to be expected, arrived for the questioning in his Sunday suit, and with his walking stick and medal of honor pinned to his chest. His clothes were still damp after the night, although he had made a worthy attempt at drying them over the stove that morning. He had brought along his copies of the printed version of the
Flatey Book
, at Grímur’s request, and clutched them firmly in his arms.

Thórólfur contemplated the deacon at length from head to toe before starting the interrogation.

“Did you meet the deceased Bryngeir on Sunday?” he asked.

“Bryngeir came to my cowshed at around dinnertime on Sunday,” Thormódur Krákur haughtily replied. “He offered me a sip of rum, and I gave him a cup of milk and some dried fish instead. I sometimes have some stockfish hanging in the corner of the barn to nibble at between meals, and it came in handy that evening. Then we sat there and chatted a little.”

“What did you chat about?”

“We spoke about dreams and the extrasensory powers of some thinking beings. The late Bryngeir was knowledgeable on the subject, and it then transpired that he was very apt at deciphering unusual dreams. He’d also studied spiritism at night school with some famous medium in Reykjavik. Unfortunately, one doesn’t often meet evolved souls of this kind on the island. He was slightly psychic when he was sober. That’s why he drank so much, he told me. Some people can’t handle the power and try to suppress their talents. They need help. But he was willing and capable of reading dreams. He was able to solve the calf dream I’d been grappling with for so long. The dream is as follows: I sense I’m inside this church and then…”

“Thanks, that’s enough,” Thórólfur interrupted. “Where did he go after he left you?”

“He said he was going to find some way of getting to Stykkishólmur but that he was going to see the doctor first.”

“Was Bryngeir ill in some way?”

“No, it wasn’t a medical visit. I told him the old man’s body was in the house. He told me was going to offer his condolences to Jóhanna. I asked him to show some respect when he got there.”

“Did you expect him not to?”

“Naturally, he was a bit tipsy, but easy enough to handle, although in between he could be quite mischievous.”

“Did he ever mention the Dane?”

“No, not to me.”

“Do you know how he was going to get to Stykkishólmur?”

“Well, he was going to talk to the islanders who have boats or the small boat fishermen, but I doubt anyone would have been foolish enough to take him that night. The weather was getting worse.”

“Did he talk about where he would stay on Flatey if he didn’t get to Stykkishólmur?”

“No. I couldn’t put him up at my place because I don’t have an extra bed in the house, but I told him he could sleep in my barn if he wanted to. I just asked him to be careful with fire.”

“Do you think he stayed in the barn?”

“His things were still there when I walked into the barn yesterday morning.”

“What time did he leave your place?”

Thormódur Krákur thought a moment. “Let me see…I took the milk over to Reverend Hannes at around eight and went home for dinner. Then I went back up to the shed at around ten to give water to the cows and prepare for the night. He was gone by then.”

“Didn’t you see him again?”

“No, not alive.”

Question twenty-eight: Augurs a lucky journey. First letter. King Magnús and Earl Erling’s fleet anchored near Brottueyri, outside Skipacrook, and the men landed there. As the earl leaped on shore, he fell on his knees. Thrusting both hands into the ground, he said, “A fall augurs a lucky journey.” The answer is “fall,” and the first letter is
f.

D
agbjartur arrived early at the National Hospital in Reykjavik and asked for Dr. Thorgerdur Fridriksdóttir. After a number of enquiries, it transpired that she was in the operating room.

“I’ll wait,” said Dagbjartur, smiling patiently.

He had been waiting for three hours when a young woman approached him.

“I was told you were looking for me,” she said.

She was wearing a white coat with large splatters of blood on the front.

“I was just removing some tonsils. There can be a lot of bleeding sometimes,” she added when she noticed he was staring at the stains.

Dagbjartur smiled awkwardly. “Sorry to disturb you. This won’t take long.”

“OK. What’s it about?”

“I believe you know Jóhanna Thorvaldsdóttir?”

“Yes, we’re friends.”

“Have you seen her recently?”

“No. Not this year. She’s been busy taking care of her father. I hear he’s finally passed away now.”

“How did you meet?”

“Why are you asking me about Jóhanna?”

“There was a terrible incident on Flatey and we’re trying to form a picture of the people who live there. It’s a relatively small number of people, so we can get a pretty good idea of each individual.”

“I see. I’ve got nothing but good things to say about Jóhanna, so I hope none of this will harm her. We met in Copenhagen at the end of the war when we were teenagers and became good friends when she became engaged to my brother.”

“What kind of a teenager was she?”

“She was a strange kid because she had been brought up by her father on the move across northern Europe. It took our family many months to break through the shell. Once we had, though, I realized she was an extremely gifted, tender, and fun girl. At first she sounded too much like an adult when she spoke, and her Icelandic was quite funny. Sometimes it was as if she were talking straight from the Icelandic sagas. She wasn’t used to speaking this language with kids her own age. We actually spoke Danish together to begin with because that’s what I was used to when I spoke to my friends in Copenhagen. We sometimes still do that for fun.”

“Have you stayed in contact with her since then?”

“On and off. After my brother died, she vanished from our family life. She got into a doomed relationship with some guy for a couple of years. She was a year ahead of me in med school, and we caught up a bit once the relationship ended. She was very unhappy during those years but did very well in her studies. I think she saw a shrink for a while.”

A nurse came running down the corridor. “Thorgerdur, come straight back,” she called. “The boy is starting to bleed again!”

Question twenty-nine: What cracked with such a loud noise? First letter. Then the earl said to Finn Eyvindarson, “Shoot that man by the mast.”

Finn answered, “The man cannot be shot if he is not fey. I can break his bow, though.” Finn then shot his arrow, which struck the middle of Einar’s bow just as he was drawing it for a third time, and the bow split in two.

Then King Ólaf said, “What cracked with such a loud noise?”

Einar answered, “Norway out of your hands, sire.”

The first letter is
n.