the teacher, normally cuts his share, and Grimur rakes. And then he reads the papers and argues about politics.”
“Do you reckon he could have taken that dead man out to the island?” Bryngeir asked.
“No, definitely not, even though he has the best boat. The engine is brand-new. He normally doesn’t take the boat out of the water in the autumn, unless the sailing route is completely frozen. But do you really think that someone from here would have deliberately left that Danish guy on the island?”
“In my experience as a reporter, everyone is guilty until proven innocent, lad. I’ve got to dig up some story because the only expenses my editor gave me on this trip were a bus ticket and a stingy traveling allowance that ran out at the beginning of the journey for some reason.”
Bryngeir took another swig from the bottle and finally offered Benny some as well.
“Do you reckon I can get something decent to eat from any of these fine hosts?” he asked.
Benny seemed to think that was quite likely. They walked on down the pass and across the village to the house in Svalbardi.
The croft was a stately wooden house with a concrete basement, one story, and a loft. Close by were a storehouse, sheepcote, and barn. Sigurbjorn, the farmer, sat at a grindstone outside the barn, which he spun with a pedal, sharpening a big knife.
“I see you know how to make some sharp weapons around here,” Bryngeir said to the farmer.
“This is just the missus’s kitchen knife, but good to have close at hand if the farm needs protecting,” Sigurbjorn said ironically.
“I come in peace,” Bryngeir grinned. “I hear that the locals here will never turn away a traveler who needs a roof for the night.”
Sigurbjorn put down his knife and eyed the man a moment. “A bed can normally be found for a decent guest,” he said. Bryngeir took out his bottle of rum, took a sip, and then handed it to the farmer.
“And maybe even some food then if the guest makes a contribution?” he asked. Sigurbjorn took the bottle, sniffed its contents, and then downed it in a single gulp.
“Was that the sum total of the contribution?” he asked, handing the emptied bottle back to him. Bryngeir signaled Benny to approach with the case. “Here’s a little extra.” He took a full bottle out of the case and unscrewed the lid. Sigurbjorn stood up from the grindstone. “Let’s go inside and look into the larder, lads.”
Question nine: Small heart. First letter. Thorgeir Havarsson went to Hvassafell and there were some men standing outside. The shepherd had come home from his sheep and stood there in the field, leaning forward on his staff. He was slightly hunched and had a long neck. When Thorgeir saw this, he drew his axe and let it fall on the man’s neck. The axe cut very nicely, and the head came flying off, landing a short distance away. Thorgeir later said, “He never did anything wrong against me, but to be honest, he was so well positioned for the blow that I couldn’t resist the temptation.” When Thorgeir died some people say that they cut into his heart because they wanted to see what the heart of such an audacious man was like. People say that his heart was rather small; and some people believe that it is true that the heart of a courageous man is smaller than that of a coward. The answer is “Thorgeir,” and the first letter is t.
CHAPTER 26
Author Arni Sakarias was not listed in the phonebook, so the only way Dagbjartur could meet the man was by going to his house and seeing if he was home. He lived in a small block of apartments, and the main entrance was unlocked. Dagbjartur found his place on the second floor, but the doorbell was broken. As he was knocking on the writer’s door for the fourth time, a neighbor stuck his head out in the corridor and asked the policeman to cut out the racket. He said the author had gone up to the municipal pool for a swim, as he always did at this time of the day.
Dagbjartur found Arni Sakarias in the shallow pool where he was lethargically floating on his back with an inflated black cushion under his head, in the middle of a bunch of kids who were playing in the water. The policeman knew the author by sight; Arni Sakarias was a recognizable figure around the town, tall and chubby, with a shock of hair and a bushy beard.
It took Dagbjartur a few moments to attract the swimmer’s attention. Once he had, he introduced himself and asked, “Are you familiar with some old riddle that’s supposed to be connected to the Book of Flatey?”
The shortsighted Arni Sakarias peered at him through the thick and wet lenses of his glasses.
“The Flatey enigma, Aenigma Flateyensis. Yes, young man. I know the story quite well.”
Dagbjartur wasn’t used to being addressed like this anymore, not now that he was well into his forties, even though he looked older, but Arni Sakarias presumably didn’t see too well, even with his glasses. But as it happened, Dagbjartur could still consider himself to be young when he compared himself to this author, who was well into his seventies.
“Mind if I ask you a few questions on the subject?”
The author took one stroke and allowed himself to float on his back again before answering. “Yes, you could certainly do that, but let me get out of the pool first, dry myself, and get dressed. I’m presuming the police will be happy to offer me a cup of coffee at the Austurbaer diner in gratitude for the information I’ll be providing? Might help to trigger off my memory, you see. Useful thing at my age, young man.”
Dagbjartur nodded, and half an hour later there were sitting at a table in the cafe on Laugavegur. They were the only customers, and Arni Sakarias asked the waitress to bring him the usual. She knew what that was and brought him a pot of coffee, a bread roll, and a Danish pastry. Dagbjartur asked for the same and the bill, which he paid.
As Arni Sakarias relished his pastry, he told Dagbjartur about the Flatey enigma.
“In the late summer of 1871, a group of Icelandic students were on a ship to Copenhagen where they were going to study over the winter. This was on the steamboat Diana, which operated as a mail boat to Iceland during those years. An excellent seafaring vessel, I’ve read, with first-and second-class cabins. This was a few years after the Flatey Book had come out in print for the first time at the expense of the Norwegian state. Gudbrandur Vigfusson and Unger took care of the publishing, although the book was printed in Oslo, and the last volume was dated 1868. This edition became popular reading material among students in Copenhagen, and there was a copy in the possession of an Icelandic scholar who was a passenger on the mail boat. The students did a lot of things to entertain themselves on the Diana during the crossing, including quizzing each other about the stories contained in the Flatey Book. There’s a whole gallery of characters that crop up in these stories, of course, and the students varied in their knowledge of them. This was their favorite pastime, though, and they decided to hold a formal quiz the following evening. A young man from the West Fjords, a budding poet and writer who also happened to be on board, was enlisted to set the quiz because he was known for his sound knowledge of ancient literature. He pored over the Oslo edition and by the following evening had completed his task. He hadn’t slept a wink all night and kept himself awake with a bottle of schnapps. He produced a list of forty questions, the last of which depended on you getting the previous thirty-nine questions right. The solution was linked to an incomplete poem, and the right answer was supposed to complete the poem. One letter contained in the answers to each question formed the solution, and the last question revealed how the letters were supposed to be arranged to form it. The writer then proposed that if a solution could not be found to the riddle on this journey, the riddle had to be kept in the Flatey Book and could not be removed from it until the solution had been found. A peculiar picture was drawn on the first page, and the legend that developed around it was that it was a magical rune that protected the writer’s instructions. The people of the West Fjords have a reputation for knowing a thing or two about magic. The students brooded over the enigma that evening and tried to piece a solution together. The questions were considered rather odd, and many of them were open to a variety of possible answers that seemed to be based more on taste than logic. But although some of the boys managed to solve some of the questions and to produce thirty-nine letters, none could solve the key to the last question that was meant to complete the poem.”
Once more Arni Sakarias became silent and for a moment stared out the window at the pedestrians on Laugavegur. Dagbjartur waited in a patient silence.
Finally, he resumed his narrative: “A tragic incident then occurred on the boat that night: the writer who had
