by Mark, David
Ash nodded. ‘Æsa.’
Almquist licked his lips. ‘Æsa became a Christian, turning away from Rómund.’
‘So the curse came true?’ Ulrika asked, eyes shining.
Almquist sat back down at the table, stubbing his smoldering butt out in the ashtray until it was extinguished. ‘Rómund never wanted to see his daughter again and killed her only friend, a monk. So when he was old and crippled, Æsa returned and built a Christian church; the one on the other side of the lake,’ Almquist said, looking at Ash. ‘Æsahult, they called it and still do today. Rómund died soon afterwards.’ He smiled wearily. ‘Some say he was sacrificed...’
Conrad stopped rocking. ‘What does this have to do with Thomas?’
Almquist half-raised his finger. ‘Legends say Æsa hated her father so much she opened Rómund’s tomb and smashed his body, waking his angry spirit. Like the Witch King, he returned to haunt the people who went to Æsahult, becoming what the old people call... a draugr.’ Almquist was looking at Daniel now. ‘You have not heard of the draugr?’
Daniel raised his brow, then shook his head.
Almquist’s face became serious, losing its lighthearted frivolity. He looked to Conrad, then Ash and Justin. ‘None of you have heard of the draugr?’
Justin shook his head too.
Almquist looked across at Vikland. ‘The draugen are the spirits of the night; the bad spirits of people who die in torment. Rómund died, tormented by Æsa and his spirit became a draugr. His draugr haunted those who went to church. So, people locked themselves away and offered sacrifice to make him go away.’ Almquist stood up and walked to the side, leaning with his back against the top, folding his arms. ‘Rómund is still remembered to this day.’
Ash blew out his cheeks. ‘That’s a good story.’ He looked up, meeting Almquist’s eyes. ‘But what’s it got to do with us?’
Almquist glanced over to Vikland again standing, waiting by the door; she looked bored.
‘You know Rómund lived near here.’ Almquist looked at Ash. ‘They never found his tomb.’ He glanced at the painting. ‘I tell you this because...’
Somewhere he could hear the faint sound of a ticking wristwatch.
Thomas Denisen was mutilated according to draugr ritual.
He placed his hand in his pocket and removed a small round tin. He opened it, removing what looked like a miniature tea bag. He placed it between his fingers, placing it behind his bottom lip. ‘En lila prilla tuggtobak – a little pinch of chewing tobacco. Quite illegal in some parts of the world.’ He smiled. ‘Much preferable to cigarettes... if you are health conscious that is.’
Was it one of them? He dropped his head, looking up from the bottom of the bags under his eyes. ‘Which I’m not. Your friend –’ he looked across at Vikland again. ‘He might have met a bad spirit.’ He searched their faces, looking for a sign, any sign. He saw none.
Ash frowned. ‘Why a bad spirit?’
Almquist looked around. ‘Does anyone know why?’ He waited. No one answered.
Vikland was looking at him and shook her head, so slightly.
Okay. ‘Well, never mind.’ Almquist rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger, massaging them. ‘That’s a lot of stories for one night.’
‘What do you mean?’ Conrad asked, looking confused. ‘You tell stories when Thomas is dead?’
He knew the why. Almquist breathed out and removed his hand, looking up. ‘Two police officers will be stationed in Tived ten minutes down the road. You can shop in Tived for your supplies, but that’s as far as you can go. For now.’ He looked around at each of them. ‘I must insist you all stay here until tomorrow.’
He had just chosen to ignore it.
Ignore it? He had buried it... had buried it so deep he had buried himself with it. And that was the hardest part, the knowing he couldn’t dig himself out of it again. He had been young back then. Too young to see ahead. And now he was old. His eyes reached Ulrika and stayed there. Too old to start over. That left him only one choice...
He turned to look at Ash. ‘Stay inside, lock the doors at night. We will come back tomorrow morning. The painting is evidence.’ He looked towards the Hangman and walked over to retrieve it, drawing a look of condemnation from Conrad he ignored.
‘No one is to leave,’ he said.
Everyone nodded, some hesitantly. Even Conrad.
Conrad watched Ash stand up and listened to him walking across the floorboards, muttering, ‘The fucker must have forged it, he fucking forged it...’
Conrad knew it to be true. Thomas had to have forged it. That was the only explanation. He cursed his lousy rotten luck, carefully laid plans unfolding and dissolving around him, feeling powerless.
The painting was the key to the whole operation...
‘Thomas is dead.’ He sat down in the rocking chair, face dark. ‘Did anybody speak with Thomas before he left?’ He looked around.
The painting was the key to finding Anna.
Daniel said nothing, head back. Ash stopped muttering and returned to sit at the table, as restless as flies on pig shit, eventually slouching forwards and looking at nothing in particular. Justin was standing. He leaned against the kitchen worktop, looking at Ash as if waiting for a reaction that never came.
No one answered.
‘Did anyone see him?’ Conrad pressed.
Fuck, he thought. He had two things he had to take care of, both pushed beyond his reach, one of them permanently. Bring in Anna, who was dead. And discovery why the hell Justin’s neighbor had the piece. So far, he still had no idea what it was, or why it was of such interest to his superiors. That was the nature of his work, he knew that. But all this? He felt the game slipping from his grasp, realizing he was losing the ability to plan any way out of this mess. Why didn’t they know she was dead? Or who the hell this Gustav was? It was fucked up, all of it.
Justin looked up from the floor. ‘I went looking for him; he wasn’t there this morning. I never saw him.’
‘Where were you?’ Conrad hadn’t seen Justin all day.
‘Oh – and now you’re going to say that I killed him, right?’ Justin raised his voice. He shook his head and walked over to sit at the far end of the dining table in the place previously occupied by Almquist, sitting down with his arms resting on the surface of the table, clenching his hands.
‘Thomas was a fucking prick.’ Ash said, looking directly across at Justin. ‘But I had nothing to do with it.’
Conrad swore at Justin’s liaison with Thomas, averting his eyes. He swore at himself for letting the wanker come along at all. He could have stopped it. Told Thomas to fuck off. He kept a check on his own anger as Justin’s face hardened.
‘That’s fine coming from someone who was about to kill him last night...’ Justin fired back at Ash.
‘Hey!’ All stopped and looked at Ulrika, her face aghast, voice soft. ‘You’ve just lost someone and all you can do is argue?’
And where the hell did she come into the picture?
Conrad kept quiet, watching her, carefully. If she was part of it, she was playing the role with alacrity. ‘Thomas should not have been allowed to come... that was my call.’
‘No, it’s my fault.’ Justin bowed his head. ‘I should never have invited him. He didn’t even want to come.’ He looked at Ulrika. ‘I’m so sorry we brought you back here...’
‘What were you doing out in the park?’ Conrad asked Ulrika.
Ulrika spun to face him, raising her voice. ‘I already told the police; I’m not starting that all over again!’ She leaned back, looking across at Justin. ‘And yes, if I had known...’ she bit her lip, choking the rest of whatever words she had to say.
I bet you are, you vixen
‘Stop blaming yourselves.’
‘Spare me the clichés, please.’ Ash said quietly.
‘Oh fuck you Ash!’ Justin erupted.
‘Fuck yourself Justin.’ Ash got up heading for the door. ‘You’re right, you should n
ever have brought him.’
‘Stay here Ash!’ Conrad said sharply.
Ash turned to look down at him.
‘Forget the stupid painting.’ Daniel had a worried look about him. ‘I suggest we try to figure out what the hell happened to Thomas.’
‘That’s police business now.’ Conrad added, looking unsettled. He thought of what Almquist’s move would be. He had to keep the police out of this, no matter what... or he was fucked; they were all... fucked.
Almquist would be wading through the recordings, trying to list suspects in order of priority. He wondered briefly how far down the list his name would be, how much time they had, how much time he had. He could wind down the whole thing, here and now. He knew it. But they would be expecting that. And if he did, he would only find himself deeper in the shit than he already was. Staying low was the best thing he could do right now.
Did he have the time?
Conrad rocked, eyes moving back and forth into and out of the candlelight, all the time fixed on Ulrika.
The police were already involved. He had to make the call.
Conrad stood up and left the room thinking about what he had to tell the embassy. If the word was out...
Get out.
He pushed the thought from his mind, opening the door to the store under the stairs where the old phone was located.
Get out now.
The clock was ticking and he had to make a decision. He stopped, face grim.
Get out before it is too late.
The phone had been disconnected.
Ash was cold. And it was dark, so dark all he could see was the white of the toilet roll hanging on a string pinned to the back of the privy door, so it hung at an angle, the paper damp from the moisture-laden air. He finished what he had to do, scattering the obligatory spoonful of lime down into the black pits of the privy-hole; the smallest of gestures sparing them from the worst of the stench.
He opened the door, closing it behind him and descended three step. The open air shed was built into the side of the hut topped with an old thatched roof heavy with moss. In front of him, the lake splendid and silent in the fading light of dusk, as still as stone polished to dark steel, passing the remains of a cold black and wet camp fire, scattered beer cans black and burned.
Ash watched Conrad for a moment, collecting cleaved sections of fire wood, stacking the pieces before returning to pick up a cleaving axe. He looked at Ash, eyes glittering with the light from three oil lamps suspended from the eaves of the outhouse, long shadows playing across the open space. He looked away again, ordering the wood, selecting the next log, placing it with care. There was something in that look.
That was when Ash saw Conrad for the first time; the real Conrad. Not the Conrad he met at the embassy. This Conrad seemed different, less formal and yet more ill at ease, tense and guarded and watchful.
‘There are three kinds of people in the world. Makers, breakers and everyone else in-between,’ he grunted.
There was anger in those eyes.
‘Where were you?’
Ash frowned. ‘You mean, this afternoon?’
Conrad raised the cleaving axe, then swung it down with force, cracking the log into two, resting on the end of the shaft, breathing deeply. ‘That’s exactly what I mean...’
‘I was here.’
He threw the axe into the stump, then turned to look at Ash with a hard stare. ‘No one saw him leave.’
Ash shrugged.
‘You don’t seem particularly upset.’
‘What can I say? He was a twat... a dead twat now, but still a twat.’ Conrad didn’t look like he was in the mood. ‘Look, I hardly knew him.’
‘You didn’t like him.’
‘Like I said...’
Conrad looked around, up at a dark tree-line crowning the edge of a rocky escarpment high above them. Then back across the cold black space of the dead open fire. ‘Bringing the girl here was a mistake.’ He looked back down and leaned forwards, placing the half-stump, then aimed and swung, another crack, cleaving the half-log neatly into two quarters. He lifted the axe off the block. ‘What you did was stupid. Those who make the rules. Those who break them...’
‘And those in-between,’ Ash nodded. ‘Yeah, heard you the first time.’ He looked out across the lake; it was still, the air turning colder. He looked across at the house, then back to Conrad as he lined up the next half-stump of wood. ‘Where were you then?’
Conrad stopped as he raised the axe. ‘Don’t fuck with me Ash.’ He pointed it at him, ‘I’m the one who makes the rules.’ Then he turned and in one fluid motion raised and brought the axe down with another crack.
‘That mean getting rid of Thomas?’ Ash said, an edge to his voice.
Conrad looked up. ‘Me?’ Then he laughed. He looked at the logs then he laughed again, louder this time. ‘Nice try sunshine.’
‘Justin’s hardly the type, is he? Dan I can vouch for, as for myself... well, I’m just slugs’n’snails.’
‘You forgot the girl.’ Conrad looked at Ash suspiciously. ‘Why did you bring her here?’
‘I didn’t.’ Ash shrugged, turning towards the house. ‘Justin asked me to stop. If it was up to me, I would have left her there. Since I obviously break the rules.’
Conrad shook his head. ‘Not on my watch. It was stupid...’ he spat, frustration showing, ‘and now we have a mess to get out of while we still can.’ He shook his head, eyes hard.
Ash watched Conrad throw the block of birch in a pile with the others and placed the second half stump upright, taking a pace backwards. ‘He was a prick, and fuck your watch, Conrad. I’m leaving after this.’ He turned to leave.
Conrad raised the axe again then swung, the blade glancing off the side.
‘Careful with that axe.’ Ash turned his back on Conrad and continued to walk in the direction of the thatched cottage.
‘You do only what I tell you to do...’ Conrad raised his voice. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
Ash stopped and turned around. ‘What I do is none of your business.’
Conrad glared back at Ash. ‘It’s all of my business. What we do and what we see may not turn out to be the truth son. A man is dead; you’d do well to remember that. Rock the boat one more time and you’re finished. And that includes the girl. She isn’t to know. Anything.’
Ash turned towards the cottage and walked away. ‘Piss off Conrad.’
Conrad reached Ash in five paces, taller than Ash by half a head, grabbing him by the collar of his sweatshirt, pinning him up against the nearest tree.
Ash tried to resist, eyes blazing.
Conrad moved quickly, changing position. He moved in a calm, poised manner, placing all of his weight behind the forearm slammed up against Ash’s throat, speaking through gritted teeth so he could feel and smell the heat in his words. ‘Did you kill him?’
Ash shook his head, unable to speak.
‘Then take this any way you want,’ he hissed, intent lying behind every word as leaned forwards. ‘Any more stunts or mention anything to the girl and I’ll take care of you myself.’ Conrad leaned even closer still, dropping his voice. ‘And I’m not in the habit of asking anyone twice.’
Ash shook his head and took Conrad’s wrists, trying to pull them back, struggling with the effort, surprised at the strength behind them. He looked at him defiantly, provocatively, challenging him. Then Conrad relaxed and released him, standing up.
The fire left Ash’s eyes.
Conrad turned to walk back towards the axe.
‘Who are you Baron?’ Ash shouted in defiance.
Conrad ignored him.
Ash shouted out after him again. ‘Who the fuck are you, eh?’
Conrad stopped and turned around. ‘Someone who used to hunt down and take out Irish boys like you.’
Chapter 5
DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES
The password is given in a low voice
The prelate blows three times on the horn
&
nbsp; The fire is kindled with nine kinds of wood
That is old custom
A sacrifice is offered to the spirits
Everyone is sprinkled with blood
The best is gifted to spirits
What remains is to be consumed by men
The Trollkyrka Rites part 2
By Carlson (1941)
Rumors flew, newspapers rolled and yet the story never seemed to ever roll with it. Ulrika dismissed the thought as she got up and headed for the kitchen door, pausing long enough to make sure Justin was going to follow her outside, closing the door.
The look on his face...
Something told her to run, to get away from this place, from this fucked-up nightmare she’d become a part of. And each time she resolved that was what she was going to do, something else pulled her back. It was curiosity, wanting to know more. More about why Thomas had the painting in the first place.
The only person who could tell her that was Justin.
Outside it was intermittently cloudy, early evening stars hidden behind the fleeting blanket of evening cloud, revealed moments later as jewels in a black velvet sky, a half-moon lighting the ground a pale frosted silver.
She thought of Ash, comparing him to Justin. She turned to face him, a dark shape lost in the lesser darkness beyond, waiting as he approached her. She stepped forwards to meet him, eyes searching his. ‘It’s terrible what has happened to your friend. Your boss doesn’t seem very happy.’ She breathed in, deeply. ‘I hope he doesn’t think bad of me, turning up like this.’ Everything had happened so fast. It was supposed to have been a regular interview, and now she was in the middle of something and just wanted to get the fuck out. She watched Justin as he laughed, looking up at the darkness.