The pilot took his seat and handed them each a headset. 'Put these on. The plane's a bit noisy, so we have to communicate through the mikes on these headphones.' Thora and Matthew put the clunky apparatus over their heads and plugged them in. The pilot turned on the engines, and after a short discussion with the control tower they took off.
They flew over Reykjavik, which looked much larger from the air than on the ground. Matthew looked down, fascinated, but Thora found it more rewarding to look ahead, a rare opportunity on a plane. 'There aren't many tall buildings,' observed Matthew, looking back at Thora. She found it mildly embarrassing to talk over the sound system in case the air traffic controllers were listening in, so she just nodded and averted her gaze downward, watching the low-rise houses zip by. The city and its suburbs were characterized by the Icelandic need to live in a house. Not an apartment, a house. Apartments were mere stepping-stones. Thora craned her neck to try to see her own home, but could not. They were heading inland, away from the sea. Once they had flown over the boundaries of the residential areas, Matthew turned back to Thora. 'What happened to your trees? There's hardly any vegetation down there,' he said in an unnaturally loud voice.
'Oh, most people think the sheep ate them,' replied Thora, now almost certain they were out of earshot of flight control.
'Sheep?' repeated Matthew incredulously. 'Since when do sheep eat trees?'
'They don't,' said Thora. 'They get the blame, though. I don't think there were ever any trees, to be honest. Maybe some shrubs.' She looked down at the barren ground. 'I like it this way, actually. Who needs trees?'
Matthew shot her a quizzical glance and then went back to scanning the mountainous landscape up ahead.
The flight to Holmavik went quickly and the airstrip in the village soon appeared. Thora saw a gravel runway with a single shed, nothing more. It was just outside the village beside the main road. The pilot flew over the runway and sized it up; then, satisfied with what he saw, he turned the plane and made a soft landing. They unfastened their belts and got out.
Matthew took out his mobile to make a call. 'What's the number of the local taxi company?' he asked the pilot.
'Taxi company?' He laughed. 'There's not even one taxi here, let alone a whole company. You'll have to walk.'
Thora smiled along with the pilot, pretending she had known this all along. But like Matthew she had expected to be able to take a taxi from the airstrip down to the museum. 'Come on, it's not far,' she said to Matthew, pulling her shocked companion with her. They crossed the road, which was completely devoid of traffic, and walked to the gas station and shop at the entrance to the village. They went in to ask for directions. The girl working there was very helpful and even went outside with them to point out the museum. It could not have been easier; a walk down the road, along the shore into the village, and there, right next to the harbor, was the museum. A black wooden house with a turfed roof, it was just barely discernible in the distance. It was only a few hundred yards and the weather was good. They set off.
'I recognize this from the photographs on Harald's computer,' said Thora, looking back at Matthew. The pathway was so narrow that they could not walk side by side.
'Were there many shots from here? Anything worthwhile, I mean?'
'Not really,' Thora replied. 'Actually just typical tourist shots, apart from a few that he took inside the museum, where photography is prohibited.' She cautiously skirted a patch of ice on the path. 'Watch out here,' she warned Matthew, who strode over it. 'You're not exactly wearing the right shoes for walking.' She glanced at his black patent leather shoes. They matched Matthew's other clothes: pressed trousers, a shirt, and a half-length woolen coat. She was wearing jeans and outdoor shoes and had put on her goose-down coat as a precaution. Matthew had not yet commented on the coatmaking do with a raised eyebrow when he picked her up and she squeezed into his car, the upper part of her body triple its normal size.
'The last thing I expected was to have to go hiking,' Matthew said crossly. 'He could have warned me, that man.' 'That man' was the curator of the sorcery and witchcraft exhibition at the museum, whom Matthew had phoned the day before to make sure it would be open. 'It's good for you. It will teach you not to be such a dandy,' teased Thora. 'That doesn't work up here in Iceland. If we don't finish this job soon I'll have to take you into town and buy you a fleece jacket.'
'Never!' declared Matthew. 'Even if I had to stay here until my dying day.'
'If you don't, that day will come sooner than you suspect,' she retorted. 'Aren't you cold, thoughmaybe you'd like to borrow my coat?'
'I made a reservation at Hotel Ranga for tonight,' he said, swiftly changing the subject. 'And I'm going to swap the rental car for a Jeep.'
'See, you've gone half-native already.'
Finally they made it all the way to the museumwithout slipping on the ice. The museum looked old-fashioned from the outside. The yard in front of it, enclosed with a stone-built wall, was covered in beach gravel and a few driftwood logs. The door was deep red, contrasting sharply with the earth-colored hues of the building itself. A portly raven was sitting on a wooden bench outside. It looked skyward when they arrived, opened its beak wide and cawed. Then it spread its wings and soared up to the gable where it watched them go inside. 'Appropriate,' said Matthew as he opened the door for Thora.
Inside they found a small service counter on the right with several shelves directly in front of them displaying witchcraft souvenirs. All very unpretentious and tidy. Behind the counter sat a young man, who looked up from his newspaper. 'Hello,' he said. 'Welcome to the sorcery and witchcraft exhibition.'
Thora and Matthew introduced themselves and the young man said he had been expecting them. 'I'm just working here temporarily,' he said after shaking their hands and introducing himself as Thorgrimur. His handshake was old-fashioned, firm and steady. 'The director of the museum is on sabbatical, but I hope that's no problem.'
'No, it's fine,' said Thora. 'But is it true that you were here this autumn?'
'Yes, that's right. I took over in July.' He gave her an inquisitive look and added: 'May I ask why you want to know?'
'As Matthew told you yesterday, we're investigating an incident connected with a person interested in witchcraft. He came here this autumn and we thought we ought to drop in for some insight into his world. I presume you remember him.'
The man laughed. 'You can't be sure. A lot of people come here.' Then, realizing that they were the only visitors, he added: 'This time of year is nothing to go byit's packed here in the tourist season.'
Matthew gave a faint smile. 'You know, this man isn't so easy to forget. He was a German history student with a very unconventional appearance. His name was Harald Guntlieb and he was recently murdered.'
Thorgrimur's face lit up. 'Oh, yes, he was allall covered inhow can I describe itornamentation?'
'If you can call it ornamentation,' said Thora.
'Yes, sure, I remember him. He came here with another man, a bit younger, who said he felt too hungover to come inside. Soon after that I read in the paper about the German being murdered.'
'That fits,' Matthew said. 'This guy with the hangoverdo you know anything about him?'
The man shook his head. 'Not exactlywhen your friend said goodbye he told me he was a doctor. I think he must have been joking. He had to make an awful noise to wake him up when they left. I was in the doorway watching. I remember thinking how improbable a doctor he was, passed out on the bench outside.'
Thora and Matthew exchanged glances. Halldor.
'Do you remember anything else about their visit?' asked Thora.
'I remember he was very well informed. It's nice to have visitors who know as much as he did about history and witchcraft. As a rule, people don't know anything; they can't even tell a revenant from a poltergeist.' From their expressions he could tell these visitors were two more in that category. 'How about taking a walk around the museum and I'll tell you about the main exhibits? Then we can talk about your friend.'
Thora and Matthew exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed the curator inside.
'I don't know how much you know about these matters, but I should maybe give you a little background.' Thorgrimur walked up to a wall covered with the skin of an unidentifiable animal. The fur faced the wall, and on the hide facing outward a magic symbol had been drawn, much more complicated than the one carved on Harald's body. Beneath the skin a wooden box was mounted on the wall, resembling an old-fashioned pencil box. It was
