Her ears rang with seething rage, but she just walked on, her heart racing, holding the cat tight up against her chest. She started to purr and Garún started to feel a bit better. Then she almost burst into tears. But she bit back and buried the feeling, as she’d done countless times. Don’t waste your energy on sorrow, she told herself. Get angry instead.
It had started to rain. A type of rain rarely seen in Hrímland, falling straight down from the sky in the calm weather. An inexhaustible spring downpour that meant to drown this rock in the ocean where it belonged. She stood outside his door, drenched, holding Mæja up close to her for comfort. She knocked.
She forced herself to smile at him when he opened the door, a startled look on his face. He was wearing his suit. It didn’t fit him properly. She still thought he looked good. Afterwards, she wondered why she hadn’t told him what had happened, how scared she had been, how badly she had wanted to go in and cry and hide from the world for a while. She didn’t want him to accept her out of pity. She didn’t want anyone to see her this vulnerable.
“Hi,” she said, stroking away the wet hair sticking to her forehead. “I thought I’d go with you to the party.”
It was a ridiculous thing to say. But she saw the answer written on his face, clear as day. Still, she had to know for sure. She reached out and read his emotions. Not holding back, she took him by surprise and dug deep.
Surprise. Regret. Anxiety. Fear. Shame.
She felt them as clearly as if they were her own emotions welling up inside her. He was afraid to be seen with her. Afraid to be judged. To be ostracised even more. He wanted to hide her, to bury her away from his academic life. He wanted her, but not visibly by his side. And then, the hurt. The feelings of betrayal over her breaking his confidence, of her reaching out and reading him like an open book. Everything else was flooded by a wave of self-loathing as he realised what this all meant. That his true feelings had finally been laid bare.
“Here,” she said coldly and handed him the cat. He hesitated. “Take her!’ she yelled.
Speechless, he took the cat. Mæja mewed, miserable and wet from the downpour.
“What are you doing?’ he asked.
“She’s yours now. Maybe she’ll help you find a place for someone besides yourself in your life.”
“Garún, come on. You can’t just—”
She put her hand up, silencing him. They looked at each other. Without saying anything at all, they said goodbye. Sæmundur saw something in Garún’s face he’d never noticed before, an unknown feeling and intention that was a mystery to him.
She stood on the threshold and looked as if she was about to say something. Then she walked away and left him holding the cat.
Fimm
Sæmundur’s place was a wreck. He didn’t want to let her in, but given how they’d last left things he felt he had no choice. His amplifier was upturned, shards of broken plates littered the floor, piles of books and torn manuscripts were scattered everywhere. Sheets of papers showed esoteric symbols and layouts of a building, interspersed with unreadable scribbles. He cursed as he knocked over the inkwell on the floor and spilled black ink over them.
Garún took a moment to register the complete mess.
“What … the hell … happened?’
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” Sæmundur gathered up the papers, using one sheet to soak up the spill. He suddenly turned and glared at her. “It’s none of your business. What do you want?’
She put Mæja down on the floor. The cat trotted over to her bowl and started eating the pellets of cat food that had spilled over.
“Right. I’ve obviously caught you at a bad time. I’m here because I need a favour.”
He was about to flat out reject her, but he hesitated for a moment.
“Why?’
“You’re the only person I know who knows any náskárar. And we need to get in contact with them.”
“Who the hell are “we”?’
“The Kalmar opposition. Or something – it’s not like we have a name. We’re staging a protest and we want the náskárar to join us. We’ve already got a few marbendlar on board from the riverfront at Elliðaár.”
“Right. So you want me to introduce you?’
“Yeah. You don’t have to back me up or anything. Just get me a meeting with them.”
He thought about this for a while. Of all the days she could have knocked on his door, it had to be today. But it was an odd turn of fate.
“Well,” he said, “it so happens that I was just heading out to meet a náskári this afternoon.”
She spared him a smile, then looked as if she regretted it.
“Sounds good.”
* * *
A sprawl of factories, warehouses and shabby-looking storefronts, Skeifan had been designed to be the market hub of Reykjavík, and its manufacturing heart. The heavy industry might be in Gufunes, with its ironworks, quarries, leather works and tanneries, but here the city’s more refined industries were placed: textile and woollen mills, meat processing plants, cooper workshops, along with various stores and small markets.
Sæmundur hadn’t been in any hurry to meet Rotsvelgur. He owed the náskári a considerable sum of money at this point and he was about to ask for more credit, plus introduce him to a stranger who also wanted something from him. His entire plan depended on getting the gandreið mushroom, which was a big ask. Even for someone as notorious as Rotsvelgur. Sæmundur would have liked to have asked Garún to wait, but he’d been so shocked at seeing her that he didn’t have it in him. It had hurt a surprising amount to see her there on his doorstep. He hadn’t admitted to himself quite how much he had missed her. How much he despised himself for being too craven to stick up
