‘We can’t go in there.’ He spoke without thinking. ‘It’s impossible. Anyway, Mummy isn’t there any more.’
‘Where is she then?’ Large, heavy tears began to slide down Bylgja’s cheeks again. He opened his mouth but no words came out. If Lára was no longer lying where she had died, he had no idea where her body could have been taken. He didn’t even know what Thráinn and Halli had done with Loftur’s body, but they were probably stored in the same place. He felt dizzy at the thought of them lying somewhere side by side, Lára and Loftur. ‘Will she be thrown in the sea, Daddy, like the woman we saw falling, or Loftur?’
‘No.’ It felt as if his insides had turned to stone and were now slowly cracking. Soon they would disintegrate, leaving nothing behind but dust. He almost looked forward to it.
‘We want to kiss her goodbye if she’s going to be thrown overboard, Daddy. Or we’ll never get another chance.’ The tears were still flowing silently, making Bylgja’s whole face shiny.
‘Come on.’ It was as if their words finally had a galvanising effect on him and abruptly his fatigue was gone. What had he been thinking of? Where was the gun, for example? And was he really going to leave the body of his wife, the mother of his daughters, to those psychopaths? Not in a million years.
‘What if the men come, Daddy?’ Arna dug her heels in but Ægir dragged her along with him regardless. ‘You said we should hide from them.’ She had started to cry too, but unlike her sister she allowed herself to make a noise. No doubt she was torn between fear for her own safety and the longing to see her mother one last time.
‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’ Ægir had to let go of their hands in order to open the door. Ushering the girls inside, he closed it quietly behind them. Then he laid a finger on his lips to hush them. The terror and grief in their faces were so heart-rending that he was hit by a sudden, urgent desire to seek out Halli and Thráinn and strangle them with his bare hands. He couldn’t give a damn if one of them was innocent. Or both; they had never finished exploring the lowest deck of the boat, so it was still theoretically possible that there was a stowaway on board. He led the girls cautiously up the two levels to the saloon and hesitated outside the door, unwilling to barge in when he didn’t know what might await them inside. The only way to find out would be to go out on deck and peer in through the window but it was still daylight so they would be exposed to anyone in the room. So he pushed the girls behind him and undid the catch on the door. Then he opened it slowly and calmly, without saying a word, and stuck his head through the gap, ready for anything.
His precautions proved unnecessary. There wasn’t a soul inside and the sofa was empty; Lára had vanished along with the blanket she had been lying on. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ Bylgja did her best to whisper but it emerged like a shriek in the silence.
‘I don’t know, darling. We’ll find her.’ Ægir’s eyes ached and when he rubbed them he discovered they were swollen from lack of sleep. Harsh stubble scratched his hand as he ran it down his face: his appearance must reflect his inner torment. If he had to resort to threats against Thráinn and Halli, there was no question now that they would take him seriously. Without looking at the girls, he seized their colouring books and crayons from the coffee table and handed them over. ‘Come on.’ There was a strange odour in the room that filled him with revulsion; he didn’t want it to linger in his nose, guessing that it was connected somehow to Lára’s dead body. He wanted to remember how sweet she had smelt when alive.
They made less effort to tiptoe on their way back downstairs. There was no reason to any more since Ægir now actively wanted to find the men. It went against all his previous plans but the thought of Lára’s cold body, alone and abandoned, robbed him of his few remaining wits. What did he mean to do if he found out where she was? He didn’t know, but one thing was certain; he was not going to leave her behind to the tender mercies of Thráinn and Halli.
On reaching the pilot house, Ægir signalled to the girls to stop. He inched closer to the door, hoping to hear voices or sounds of movement. But his ears were met by silence; either the door was too thickly insulated or there was no one inside. The girls were mutely clutching their colouring books. He beckoned them over, then pushed them behind him as before.
Inside, Halli and Thráinn were sitting face to face, apparently engaged in a staring contest. ‘Where’s Lára?’ The men finally broke eye contact and Ægir was shocked when he saw Thráinn’s face. The white stubble made him look as if he had aged ten years; his eyes were blood red and the black rings under them would have done a ghost proud. Halli looked little better. His dyed hair was matted, his face puffy.
‘What?’ The hoarse croaking indicated that Halli hadn’t spoken for a long time.
‘Where’s Lára? And where’s the gun?’
‘Do you think it’s a good idea for you to take it? It’s caused enough harm already.’ Thráinn’s voice sounded like the rustling of dry paper. There were no drinks to be seen and the two men had probably been sitting there, parched with thirst, for hours. Neither apparently trusted the other enough to go and fetch water or a Coke.
‘Don’t you worry about that. And it’s a bit late to be careful now – it’s your fault Lára had the gun in the first place.’ The captain didn’t react to the accusation. ‘But if you want to know, I’m going to throw it in the sea. I don’t want it and I don’t like the idea of you two having it.’ Even as he spoke, he realised his mistake. It would have been better to let them believe he had the gun. Exhaustion was making it difficult to think straight, difficult to think at all, and he couldn’t come up with any convincing way to retract his statement.
‘It’s in the top drawer.’ Thráinn pointed to the console under the window. ‘You can chuck it overboard for all I care.’
‘What?’ Halli made to stand up and grab the gun first but was so stiff that he couldn’t get out of the chair properly. ‘I’m telling you – there’s somebody else on board. We might need that gun. Are you out of your minds?’ Ægir went to the drawer and opened it. He didn’t reply and it seemed Thráinn was not going to either. In the top of the drawer lay an object wrapped in a dishcloth. As Ægir was unwrapping it, Halli spoke again: ‘And what about the police? They’re bound to want the gun when we go ashore.’ His voice rose to a falsetto.
‘If we ever make it to land.’ Thráinn coughed and rubbed his forehead. If he was feeling anything like Ægir he must have a splitting headache on top of everything else.
Ægir wrapped the dishcloth back around the gun and took the bundle out of the drawer. ‘Where’s my wife?’
‘Down in the engine room.’ Thráinn glanced at the girls and Ægir thought he saw his face soften a little. They were still gripping their colouring books in both hands, watching the unfolding events with wide, terrified eyes. Bylgja’s glasses had slipped down her nose but she wouldn’t relinquish her hold on her book to push them back into place. ‘I’m not sure it would be wise for you to go down there. We’ll reach land in about twenty-four hours, all being well, and there’ll be plenty of time for that then.’
‘You’re not going down there!’ screeched Halli, frantic now. ‘What’ll you do if you run slap into the killer? Eh? Surely you’re not thinking of taking the girls?’
Arna and Bylgja looked even more petrified and Ægir was forced to intervene before Halli tipped them over the edge into hysteria. They were in a bad enough state already. ‘None of your business.’ Going over to his daughters, he positioned himself in front of them, hoping to block their view. But he could feel them peering round him to see what was happening. ‘I am going, and I don’t want to see you two again until we reach Reykjavík. Or ever.’