He seemed a little surprised to see Rune, but especially surprised to see us. “Who are these children?” he asked Rune in Norwegian.
“In English, Svein, old friend. Speak in English.”
“Ah! English it is then,” he said, and quickly led the way inside. “Come stand by the fire and warm yourselves.”
An hour later we were well fed, warm, dry, and sadly informed that we had missed the Fleur-du-Mal by three days. Using a speedboat, he and Raza had left in a hurry. They did not say where they were going or when they might return, only that it would be sometime before the end of the year. Svein was to watch over everything in their absence, especially the greenhouse and precious rose garden. We were disappointed but not dispirited. We still had the element of surprise in our favor. All we had to do was wait. We knew we could do that well.
Two and a half months passed. During that time we had ample opportunity to explore Askenfada and the surrounding landscape with Svein and Rune as our guides. The Fleur-du-Mal’s residence and most of the larger buildings lined the hillsides of the valley opposite to Svein’s farmstead. By water, the distance was less than a mile and the crossing took only a few minutes. Walking around the teardrop cove and across a narrow strip of soil and loose rock at the base of a wall of cliffs took half the morning. As the temperature dropped and the weather deteriorated, our journeys by land ceased completely. Snow came early and often. Firs and pines along both valleys were blanketed white for weeks at a time. Constantly, wind whipped at the mounting snow on the surrounding peaks. Svein said we must all be vigilant for avalanches. In the infinite silence of Askenfada, they were commonplace. And there was no sign of the Fleur-du-Mal.
Most of the buildings and structures were open and accessible to Svein, but even he was locked out of the Fleur-du-Mal’s private residence. The large stone and timber building attached directly to the greenhouse and rose garden. Its heavy wooden doors were locked securely and every window barred. Svein’s entrance to the greenhouse was completely separate. Rune said that once he sold the property to Raza, extensive reconstruction began all around Askenfada. Svein was not allowed to live here during this period. Nevertheless, the entire place had remained beautiful in its starkness and simplicity.
We rarely left the cove, except for supply trips to Voss. Occasionally, Rune would leave for Bergen to visit his sister and nephew. Geaxi, Nova, and I made no attempt to contact anyone, Meq or Giza. Silence was necessary to keep our presence at Askenfada completely unknown.
For the last seven days of November through the first five days in December, snow fell day and night. We were essentially snowbound. We played chess, watched the falling snow, and ate meal after meal of Svein’s cooking. On December 6, the storm finally broke. Rune announced a visit to his sister’s home and asked if anyone wanted to join him. I said I would love to go, but hesitated to say yes. The Fleur-du-Mal could appear at any moment. I think Geaxi saw the cabin fever in my eyes and told me to go along. “If the Fleur-du-Mal arrives, we shall wait for your return before taking action. Go, young Zezen, enjoy yourself.”
Rune and I left for Voss, then boarded a train for Bergen. As we looked for seats on the crowded train, Rune said, “In Bergen I will take you to the Fisketorget, the Fish Market. It is the best in Norway. We will find something special for my sister to cook tonight, eh!”
“Good idea,” I said. “Svein Stigen is a fine man and a true friend indeed, Rune. But he is a terrible cook.”
Suddenly our compartment went dark. We had entered the mouth of a tunnel, the first of many to come. In the darkness, Rune and I laughed all the way through.
Penelope did prepare a delicious meal that evening, a baked cod dish she said she first learned from a Basque fisherman. Afterward, we gathered around a well-used upright piano and Rune entertained us with Parisian cabaret tunes. He was off-key, his French was bad, and Knut continually begged him to stop, but Rune would have none of it and sang for two hours. Outside, the night sky was crystal clear and the lights of Bergen burned all around the harbor. Finally, after we had finished the last of the champagne and Rune’s voice began to fade, we said good night and I fell into a long, dreamless sleep.
When I woke in the morning it was a different world. Snow was falling thick and heavy. At least a foot and a half had already fallen. I dressed quickly and woke Rune with a rap on his door. “Time to go,” I said. A raspy voice inside asked, “Where?” “Look outside,” I said. “We don’t want to get snowbound in Bergen.” A few moments later the voice said, “Give me twenty minutes.”
With a basket of fresh rolls from Penelope, we caught the morning train for Voss, then settled into our seats. The train was crowded but quiet. We shared rolls and coffee and watched the snow through the window. The hour-long ride passed mostly in silence. My thoughts drifted and I daydreamed until we pulled to a stop at the station in Voss. Slightly unfocused, I gathered my cap and muffler and stepped from the train onto the platform. In the next second I felt the presence of Meq more intensely than I ever had in my life. My mind sharpened in an instant and I took in a shallow breath. It was overwhelming. I turned to Rune. “Wait for me,” I said and walked toward the source of what I felt.
Everyone in the noisy crowd wore big coats, caps, and boots. All were in a hurry to get home. I was bumped hard several times and never looked up or said a word. I walked in a straight line until I saw them, all of them, huddled together in a corner of the station on two benches. They looked like children waiting for their parents. They each wore boots and heavy coats like everyone else, except they were not like everyone else and never had been. They were in the middle of a rapid and fierce conversation, which allowed me to notice them before they noticed me. One of them, a girl, an ancient girl with beautiful black eyes, turned and stared at me with a look of total surprise. “Zianno!” she shouted, then smiled and whispered, “my love.”
It was Opari. Ray Ytuarte sat next to her. Trumoi-Meq, in his tattered navy jacket, sat next to Ray. Sailor sat on the second bench. Zeru-Meq, whom I had not seen since China, sat next to him. They all looked up at once.
“Can this be true?” Sailor asked. His “ghost eye” swirled like the snow outside the station.
I walked the few feet between us and stared down at him, then looked at Opari. Her eyes flashed up at me. “Oh, it’s true, all right,” I said.
Ray said, “Damn, Z!” He moved over next to Sailor and I sat down next to Opari. I took her hand and she laced her fingers in mine. I glanced back at Sailor. “But why are all of you here, Sailor?”
He nodded toward Zeru-Meq and Mowsel. “The three of us were closing in on Susheela the Ninth. We tracked her from New Delhi to Berlin, then to Oslo. We lost her trail here in Voss. She vanished again. Yesterday, Opari and Ray appeared without warning. They were following Zuriaa’s trail and a single clue—an old Meq word—‘Askenfada.’”
“We followed the trail from Reykjavik to Trondheim to Voss,” Opari said.
“We lost it, Z,” Ray added, “right here in this station.”
“Now, why are you here, Zianno?” Sailor asked.
I was just as confused as they were. I looked around the station. “The Fleur-du-Mal lives near here,” I answered. “A hidden cove called ‘Askenfada.’ Geaxi and Nova are there now, waiting for his return.”