Arni Sakarias had finished his speech and now concentrated on his food. “Who was she, this woman?” Dagbjartur asked.
The writer shook his head as he finished chewing and swallowing. “No one knows. No one who saw her at the hotel knew her by sight, and she was never seen there again. I tried to track her down, but without success. No one in town was familiar with the description I gave of the woman. It was assumed she wasn’t from Reykjavik. The Icelanders in Copenhagen tried to recall Gaston Lund’s trip to Iceland in the summer of 1926, but no one had any particular memory of any liaison with a woman. It occurred to no one to mention it to Lund himself, and bit by bit the story was forgotten in Copenhagen.”
Question eighteen: Earl Hakon’s tooth token. First letter. Hakon became so uncontrolled with women that he felt entitled to have his way with all of them, whether they were mothers, sisters, maidens, or married. He also treated his underlings cruelly in many other ways and came to be known as Hakon the Bad. Eventually the yeomen formed an army and took up arms against him. Hakon escaped and hid with his slave, Kark, who had been given to him as a tooth token. Kark then killed the earl in their hideout and delivered his head to Olaf Tryggvason. The king rewarded Kark by having him beheaded as well. The answer is “Kark,” and the first letter is k.
CHAPTER 35
After dinner Kjartan strolled out onto the embankment in front of the district officer’s house. He liked feeling the breeze on his face and decided to go on a walk to the east of the island. The village had sunk into tranquility, and he passed no one but a curious calf roaming between the houses. Walking past the island store, he heard a radio through a window. A short while later he had reached Innstibaer. He felt he was being watched from the window of a house, but he avoided looking back. His mind was busy connecting the few threads linked to the disappearance of Gaston Lund. Even the women in Innstibaer. But right now he wanted to forget, and he walked across the island in a determined stride. The track meandered up to a reef that dropped onto the sea, and he saw some puffins perched on top of the rock. He carried on walking and soon stood on the shore on the innermost part of the island. The village had vanished behind him, but to the east of the strait he could make out the houses of the nearby islands in the evening sun. Far behind them the sky had darkened with clouds of rain.
Kjartan enjoyed the view for a brief moment, but then he turned to walk back along the island’s southern shore. He spotted eider ducks flying from their nests along the trail here and there and then the arctic terns spiraling over him. He snapped an old twig of northern dock and dangled it over his head as he crossed the densest swarm of terns. It was low tide, and mud flats protruded between the small islets to the south of Flatey. Shorebirds he was unfamiliar with were feeding there. A sheep with two lambs used the opportunity to stroll over the shallows to the grassy isle on the other side of a narrow strait. Kjartan wanted to continue walking out to the little isles to the south of the inhabited island but decided to do so later. It was getting late and rainy.
As he walked along the shore right to the south of the church, he saw a faint light glowing in the library window. Intrigued, he decided to peep in to see if there was someone inside. If it was someone he didn’t want to talk to, he could always say that he saw the light and just thought that he’d forgotten to switch it off. Then he could leave.
He walked up the field toward the building and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a female voice answered from within.
The door creaked as he opened it and stepped inside.
Dr. Johanna sat by the glass case containing the Munksgaard edition of the manuscript open in front of her. An oil lamp glowed on the wall above her. A small gas heater on the floor generated some cozy warmth.
Kjartan hovered in the doorway and finally said, “I was in the church this morning when they announced that your father passed away. I’m very sorry.”
She was slow to answer but finally said, “Thank you. My father was actually very ill, and he’d been longing to die for some time.”
“I know, but it’s still sad to lose a father,” said Kjartan.
“Yes, that’s certainly true. It leaves a vacuum, and maybe it’s harder than I expected. I came here this evening to take a look at the books he admired the most.”
Kjartan looked around. “It’s not a big library,” he said.
“No, but it’s served its purpose for a hundred and thirty years. The building is exactly 11.2 feet wide and 15.4 feet long, I’m told.”
She was leafing through the manuscript again.
“Are you reading the Flatey Book?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m just perusing through it and jogging old memories. My father knew the original version of this manuscript more than most. The islanders take good care of their book, though, even if it’s just an imperfect copy. They normally keep it under this glass, but I’ve been given permission to browse through it.”
Kjartan drew closer and looked at the book. “Can you read that text?” he asked.
“Yes, most of it.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“My father taught me, indirectly.”
“How do you mean, indirectly?”
“It might strike some people as odd, but it seemed perfectly logical to me at the time. My mother died when I was six, and after that I was brought up by my father on his travels. We lived in Copenhagen when Dad was working on his research at the Arnamagn?an Institute and the Royal Library. He’d just completed his doctorate when my mother was diagnosed with the cancer that killed her within two years. My father and I were very close and couldn’t be parted from each other after that. Dad was withdrawn and didn’t mix much with other people unless he had to for his work. So we had few friends. I learned very early on that if I could sit quietly and behave, I could follow my father just about anywhere. He, therefore, never tried to find me a foster home. I didn’t even go to school until we moved back to Iceland after the war. Dad taught me everything I needed to learn and a lot more besides. It mightn’t have been on the national syllabus, but he often allowed me to decide what we read myself.”