The Ystakot clan-Valdi, old Jon Ferdinand, and little Nonni-were alone on the pier when Thormodur Krakur drew the cart around the corner of the fish factory. The boat was pulling in, and now only one hawser came over the gunwale. The islanders had swift hands. The mail bag was thrown on board, and Reverend Hannes read some text while the other four men lifted the casket off the cart and started lowering it onto the boat. Two crew members then took it, while the heavy-browed skipper observed the proceedings through the bridge window with a pipe in his mouth.
“Who’s paying for the freight then?” one of the sailors, who had grabbed the casket, called out.
All eyes were on Kjartan. “The district magistrate in Patreksfjordur will pay the bill,” he answered after a moment’s hesitation.
Then the boat slipped away from the pier, and Valdi loosened the moorings.
“May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you,” Reverend Hannes intoned, winding up his speech and blessing the mail boat with the sign of the cross.
It was as if a weight had lifted from the men’s shoulders as they watched the boat sail south.
Benny and his drinking buddy had observed it all from the corner of the fish factory, but he swiftly turned around and vanished when the funeral cortege returned with an empty cart.
Grimur, the district officer, was in a more cheerful mood and suddenly talkative. Life on the island could get back to normal now. The reasons why Gaston Lund had ended up on Ketilsey were still shrouded in mystery, but that was still a triviality compared to the ordeal of having the corpse of a stranger lying in the church. “Right, lads,” he said, wrapping his arms around Hogni and Kjartan, “we’re going to take the evening off now and play whist with my wife, and tomorrow we’ll go to Reverend Hannes’s Whitsunday mass.”
He looked at Kjartan. “I hope you play whist?” he asked.
“Yeah, I suppose I do,” Kjartan answered, smiling for the first time in many days.
A long telegram from the detective force in Reykjavik awaited the district officer when he got back to his house. It provided a detailed rundown of the day’s investigation and contained nothing new, apart from the fact that Gaston Lund probably had a love child in Iceland in 1927, which he had been unwilling to acknowledge. The child’s mother probably bore a grudge against him. Nothing else was known about this family, but the investigation was set to continue. The district officer was asked to look into it.
Question eleven: The severed head that killed a man. Second letter. A meeting was set up between a Scottish earl, Melbrigd Buck-tooth, and Earl Sigurdur to reach a settlement between them. Each earl was to be attended by a retinue of forty men, but Sigurdur got two men to mount each of the forty horses. When Earl Melbrigd saw this, he said to his men, “Earl Sigurdur has dealt us a treacherous hand, for I see two feet on each horse’s side.” A fierce battle ensued, and Earl Melbrigd and all his men were slain. Earl Sigurdur and his men fastened the heads of the dead to their saddle straps as they rode home rejoicing in their triumph. On the homeward ride, Sigurdur was spurring his horse when he hit his leg against a tooth protruding from the fallen Melbrigd’s head, which made a slight incision that soon became swollen and painful, eventually resulting in his death. The answer is “Melbrigd,” and the second letter is e.
CHAPTER 28
Bryngeir and Benny had watched the casket being lowered onto the mail boat. Bryngeir didn’t want to draw any closer, but he got Benny to identify the men on the pier for him.
“The district officer, the teacher, the deacon, and the priest,” said Benny. “The youngest guy is the magistrate’s assistant,” he added.
“Who owns these boats?” Bryngeir asked, pointing at the small boats moored at the pier.
“Some fishermen from other villages who were going to fish for the factory. But they haven’t been able to catch anything, so they’re moving to another village closer to better fishing grounds. Valdi from Ystakot owns the black one. He was the guy who found the dead man in Ketilsey,” Benny answered.
“What boats were here last fall when the Dane came here?”
“Here by the pier, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“There were no fishing boats here last fall.”
“Were there no boats at all then?”
“Maybe Valdi’s boat, at the most. He stores it away in the heart of winter. I can’t remember when he did that last year.”
“Aren’t there more boats on the island?”
“Yeah, but they’re all stored in the cove in the fall. It’s easier to keep an eye on them from the village that way, if the weather worsens.”
The mail boat was now backing out of the pier, and the funeral cortege was dispersing. Bryngeir dragged Benny around the corner, and they rushed back to the eastern side of the fish factory. There were a few wooden barrels, which they hid behind as the others walked by. Benny was puzzled by this odd behavior but got a bit of a kick from hanging out with such a worldly-wise guy and actually found this touch of spying pretty exciting.
From their hiding place, they watched the five men walking on up the road past the doctor’s house. Thormodur Krakur walked in front, towing the handcart, followed by the priest and finally Grimur, Kjartan, and Hogni.
“What would you do if you needed to get to Stykkisholmur but couldn’t wait for the mail boat?” Bryngeir asked Benny.
“I’d ask Dad to lend me his boat,” Benny answered, omitting to say there was no way he would be lent the boat to take it to Stykkisholmur. It was too long a crossing, and he didn’t know the sailing route on the southern side of the fjord.
“What about outsiders? How would they get to the mainland? What would I do if I needed to get to the mainland this evening?”
Benny thought a moment. He found it difficult to imagine why anyone would be in such a hurry.
“Well, of course, you could always get Dad to take you over to Brjansl?kur. Or Sigurbjorn in Svalbardi, or maybe Asmundur, the storekeeper. From there you can walk up to the road where the Isafjordur bus passes. You can also sail to the mainland in Vatnsfjordur if the tide is high. That’s a shorter walk.”
Bryngeir grew impatient. “But south to Stykkisholmur, lad?”
“Yeah, maybe you could get someone to take you there if the weather isn’t too bad. It’s just a bit far to go on an open boat in the dark.”
Bryngeir walked past the fish factory and onto the deserted pier. He stared at the boats that were moored there.
“But the guy who owns the black boat?” he asked. “Could he take me to Stykkisholmur?”
“No, not very likely,” said Benny. “Valdi never has money to buy enough fuel. He also gets to travel free on the mail boat because he always grabs the rope when they’re pulling into the pier.”
“Let’s pay him a visit in his croft. Show me the way.”
Benny walked ahead of him off the pier and up the path toward Ystakot. They spotted little Nonni on the shore, and he spotted them.
“Dad, Dad,” Nonni yelled back toward Ystakot. “Two big men are coming, Benny from Radagerdi and the boozer.”
Valdi had stepped out into the yard by the time Bryngeir and Benny arrived. Bryngeir eyed Valdi in silence. Benny kept his distance.
“What do you want?” Valdi finally asked.
“Can you take me to Stykkisholmur this evening?” Bryngeir asked.
“Why didn’t you take the mail boat?” Valdi asked.
“I was too late and missed it.”
Jon Ferdinand stepped into the yard as Valdi was thinking.
“I can’t see anything, I can’t see anything!” the old man shrieked.
“Open your eyes and then you’ll see, you fool!” said Valdi.
“Yeah, now I see the light, Valdi dear. You’re so good to me,” said Jon Ferdinand joyfully.
“You’re so full of crap, Dad. You’re a disgrace to us,” Valdi snapped angrily, and turned to Bryngeir. “You can get a farmer from one of the inner isles to take you over to the mainland after mass tomorrow. They’re all bound to come over for Whitsunday,” he said.