“How the hell did he end up in there?” Grimur was aghast.
Thormodur Krakur shook his head. “I don’t know. The old lid was smashed, and pieces of wood were floating around the man in the water.”
Grimur looked at the path that led from the shed to the well. It pointed to the southwest of the island in a direct line to the doctor’s house. “Maybe he intended to take the shortcut across the island from the shed,” said Grimur, “and the path just led him across the field to the well. Then he stepped on the old lid of the well and broke it.”
Thormodur Krakur nodded and shook his head alternately. “The man was stone dead when I finally managed to hoist up him with my long hook. My first thought was to go and get you, Grimur, but then I remembered what he’d said. ‘If you ever have to kill anyone or stumble on someone who who’s already dead, take him up to the churchyard, place him on a grave there, and carve a blood eagle on his back.’ That was his final wish, and I couldn’t deny him that. The man had said it to me in all seriousness, and I didn’t dare to disobey. He could have started to haunt the shed here, and the Flatey Book was at stake. I grabbed my slaughtering knife in the shed and took the man up to the churchyard on the cart. I placed him on a grave there as I’d been instructed to do and carved his back. Then I dug my hands into the wounds and pulled his lungs out and all this blood came out. Then I just left him there and went home to sleep. The man didn’t mention how long he’d have to stand there like that for the prediction to come true.”
“Didn’t anyone see you doing this?” Grimur asked.
“No, no. It was so late.”
Grimur peered into Thormodur Krakur’s eyes. “You’re not just saying this to save Johanna and Kjartan and get them out of this mess they’re in, are you?”
“No, no. God forbid. I’m telling you the truth.”
“Very well,” Grimur gasped. “I remember you were making a new lid for your well on Monday. So the old lid was destroyed by the reporter?”
“Yeah, it was smashed to pieces.”
Grimur shook his head. “I’m not sure you did the right thing in all of this, even if the man did say those things to you.”
Thormodur stood dejectedly, fiddling with some wool between his fingers. “I guess I better tell the police about this. I just can’t bear stepping on that pier,” he added.
Question thirty-nine: A smaller steak than the king. First letter. Ali Hallvardsson was dressed just like the king. He rode into the woods with just a few men. The yeomen swiftly came to him and killed him. They stripped off his armor and loudly exclaimed that the king was dead. But when the king heard of this, he ordered a battle horn to be blown and defiantly rode on, and the yeomen realized that they had a smaller steak on their spit than they had imagined. The answer is “Ali,” and the first letter is a.
CHAPTER 56
It was almost five in the morning when Grimur and Kjartan clambered down the debarkation bridge on the side of the coast guard ship. Thormodur Krakur had come on board with Grimur after midnight and told the policemen his story. First orally, twice, and then he was asked to describe the events in writing and to sign his statement in the presence of witnesses. The policemen were very suspicious. They couldn’t imagine how anyone could commit such an atrocity on the mere basis of a dream. Finally, Thormodur Krakur was allowed to go home for the night. Inspector Lukas went with him to confiscate the slaughtering knife. The matter was then to be investigated in greater detail in the morning, when the well and broken lid would be examined. Thorolfur reluctantly agreed to release Kjartan from custody since he was lying awake in his cabin. Johanna, on the other hand, was to remain in custody. The case of the Danish professor still loomed over her.
The district officer and the magistrate’s envoy both walked off the pier in silence. The morning sun had risen in the east and was beginning to draw long shadows. An icy nocturnal breeze played on their cheeks, and ice crystals glistened on the pier. Temperatures had dropped to freezing point in the heart of the night.
Some seagulls that had spent the night on the edge of the jetty silently scattered into the sky, disturbed by the men’s approach. An ewe with two lambs lay by the corner of the fish factory and obstinately stood up when they almost stepped on them. Kjartan gazed at the lambs running up the slope toward Ystakot. There were two huts at the end of the shore, and he thought he could make out someone peeping at him from behind one of them. He halted and tapped Grimur’s arm without saying anything. The little head popped out again and now realized it had been spotted and decided to recoil. The small human figure swiftly headed up the slope toward Ystakot.
“Isn’t that little Nonni?” Grimur said. “What’s he doing up so early?”
“Or late,” said Kjartan.
Grimur glanced back at the boats anchored at the pier. “His father’s boat isn’t back yet. Could they still be out at sea and the boy alone at home?”
“Maybe it’s not all as it seems,” Kjartan said softly.
They walked up the slope after the boy. When they reached the croft, they saw the boy in the doorway but then vanishing inside.
Grimur called through the door: “Nonni, come out and talk to us, my friend. We want to help you if there’s something wrong.”
There was no answer, so Grimur stooped to step into the dark cottage. Kjartan followed. They first came into a small, smelly, dirty kitchen. Beyond that there was a small bedroom with four beds, two on either side. Daylight filtered through a small window at the top of the gable, and a half-full potty lay on the floor. Kjartan felt nauseous, turned around, and rushed outside to deeply inhale the clear morning air several times.
“Nonni, my friend,” Grimur called inside. “We only want to ask you about your dad and your grandpa. Have they been away for long?”
Some noise was heard from within, and soon the district officer reappeared with the boy by his side.
“The boy was all alone in there,” Grimur said to Kjartan.
The boy stood beside them, downcast.
“Are your dad and grandpa at sea?” Grimur asked.
“Yeah, but they’ve been gone such a long time,” the boy answered. “They left really early this morning.”
“You mean yesterday morning. Did you get any sleep last night?”
“No, I was waiting for them all day.”
“Where did they go?”
“Out to Ketilsey to pull in the seal net and check on the eiderdown. They weren’t going to be gone this long.”
“Maybe the engine broke down. I’ll go out looking for them. I’m sure they’re in no danger. The weather’s so good. Why didn’t you go with them?”
“I wasn’t allowed to. Dad was punishing me for taking a crap on the island last time, and then I sneaked out of church during the mass on Sunday and he saw me.”
Kjartan had an idea and gently asked him, “Do you have a camera, Nonni?”
The boy looked at him in surprise but didn’t answer.
Kjartan repeated his question: “Don’t you have a camera, my friend?”
Nonni was about to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat.
“I think you have a camera and maybe also some nice binoculars,” said Kjartan.
“How do you know?” said the boy.
“Can I see them?” Kjartan asked.
The boy looked at them with trepidation but then walked away from the croft. Grimur and Kjartan followed him. Nonni walked past the potato patch toward a shed built into the earth of the slope. He entered it through a low doorway and swiftly returned, holding a small bag.
“The foreigner left this bag in the boat when Granddad took him to Stykkisholmur,” he said. “I found it myself and kept it.”
