The Legend of Ataneq Nanuq

by Jack Dey

  Deputy Clayton Jackson was a predictable small town employee, an amiable fellow but not too bright. His habits were as regular as clockwork and after a day shift on the beat, he would end up in Pete’s All Night Diner for a relaxing meal and a gossip over the day’s activity with Pete Strack, the owner. If Ballard had read Jackson’s character correctly and his knowledge of the sheriff’s roster system was accurate, Deputy Jackson would be off duty in less than fifteen minutes.

  Ballard pushed the door to Pete’s diner open, with a grunt, and was met with Pete’s beaming smile.

  “Howdy, Kirt. I need to get that door fixed; customers are complaining. Great story last night on the six o’clock, by the way; had everyone writhing in the aisles with laughter. How do you think up these fantastic skits?”

  Ballard flushed red and decided to let the comment wash over him. “Just talented I guess, Pete. Can I have a coffee?”

  “Sure, take a seat; I’ll bring it for you directly.”

  “Arr... Deputy Jackson hasn’t been in yet has he, Pete?”

  “Nup, not yet, but he shouldn’t be long away.”

  Ballard scanned the diner; the evening crowd was filling the dining booths rapidly, so he had to keep an eye out for the deputy.

  A sudden bout of hilarity exploded through the dining patrons, making Ballard glance up from his musings at the furore and realising it was his serious story on the six o’clock news that was the cause of the guffaw.

  Pete soon returned to his table, tears rolling down his face and a coffee cup rattling in time with his laughter, only just managing to land the cup and saucer before its contents spilled over the edge of the wobbling receptacle. Pete wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, choking back the laughter and finding it hard to breathe through the ordeal.

  “This one’s on me, Kirt,” Pete guffawed again. “You sure are good for business.”

  Ballard waited until Pete had regained his faculties. ”What sort of food does Deputy Jackson like?”

  Pete gave him a strange look. “He usually orders the day’s special with a beer.”

  “I’d like to order a meal for Deputy Jackson when he comes in,” Ballard continued quickly as Pete’s questioning gaze intensified. “You know, as a bit of a thank you for helping me with the news.”

  Ballard suddenly thought that probably wasn’t a good line and Pete’s face reflected his sentiment.

  “Deputy Jackson helped you with those incredibly funny stories?!”

  “Can you just do it, Pete, and send him down to sit with me when he comes in?!”

  “O... kay. I guess if you’re paying, he won’t say no.”

  *~*~*~*

  Deputy Clement Jackson leaned against the meal service counter talking to Dolores the waitress and with a stunned gaze, glanced around to locate the booth that Ballard occupied. He sauntered down to Ballard and greeted him.

  “What’s with buying me a meal, Kirt?”

  “Can’t a friend buy a friend a meal from time to time?” Ballard offered, convincing Jackson to join him.

  “Right nice of you to do that, Kirt,” Jackson replied, shuffling into his booth.

  “So how was your day?” Ballard tried to break the awkward silence.

  “You know, busy all the time cleaning up people’s bad behaviour.”

  “I was listening to Miles Cleaver talking about the blood you found. Do you think it really is a homicide?”

  Jackson was stunned. ”Did the dispatcher tell you about Bayer’s blood?”

  Ballard tried to keep a straight face and not give away his surprise. “Yeah, in a manner of speaking, but he said that you had all the information on Bayer’s accident.”

  “Accident ...?! Fool woman should have known better than to run on the running track with an alert out on an attacker near the old water mill, even if she did have her service revolver with her!”

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 44

  Nikkulaat rubbed his hands together and warmed his cold extremities by the tepid stove and glanced at his friend, wrapped in a bearskin and fast asleep on his small living room floor. The peaceful form of his wife stirred, searching for the warm body of her husband lying in their bed next to her, but all she found was a cold, empty space where he usually slept. Her long, black hair cascaded down over her shoulders and as she pushed herself into a sitting position, she brushed the locks from her face with a sweep of her hand.

  “What are you doing up, Nikkulaat?” she whispered, aware Katu was still asleep.

  Nikkulaat wandered quietly around Katu’s sleeping body and wrapped his wife in a hug. “I didn’t sleep well,” he confessed.

  “This whole affair with Bjarni Kleist and the thing following Bruun has you troubled, dear husband.”

  Nikkulaat nodded. It was just like Aanasi to read his mind and put words to his thoughts, but although she tried to hide it, Nikkulaat could see the fear in her eyes.

  “Please be careful out there. If there’s any credence to Katu’s story then this situation could be very dangerous.”

  He pulled Aanasi into another hug, trying to allay her fears. ”Bjarni didn’t flinch when he stood to defend our son; it’s my turn to stand by him.”

  The mention of their son cut Aanasi like a knife and the memories began again, like a never-ending nightmare. It was only a raspy voice from the floor that cut off the downward spiral and diverted her mind.

  “You two are just as much in love as the day you were married.”

  Katu could see the crumpled look on Aanasi’s face and he knew she was worried about Nikkulaat traipsing around the wilderness in search of a legend, a legend that had destroyed so many lives. Quickly thinking through the situation, Katu decided to dissuade Nikkulaat from accompanying him, hunting a dangerous animal in a desperate situation.

  “I feel much refreshed and strong again. Maybe you should reconsider a hasty decision to search for a dead man and leave me to pursue his folly alone. I can hear the wind has calmed and it is certain that all I will be searching for is a corpse.”

  Nikkulaat gazed into the frightened eyes of Aanasi, watching them change from dark, cloudy fear into a clear, piercing determined stare.

  “Under the circumstances, we cannot think of letting you roam the wilderness alone, Katu, even if it is to recover Bruun’s body,” Aanasi whispered, her voice full of emotion. “Bjarni Kleist didn’t shrink from us when we needed him. It’s only right we now stand with him in this.”

  *~*~*~*

  It had taken Katu many anxious moments, trying to dig out his snowmobile from the place he’d left it less than twenty four hours ago. The snow had almost buried it except for the two handlebars barely jutting out, like an iceberg sprawling under the sea with most of its mass submerged and dangerously out of sight. He feared the engine may have frozen, leaving him with an expensive repair job and without an important means of transport.

  It wasn’t long before Nikkulaat drew alongside Katu’s machine with his own roughly idling snowmobile, and with an ingenious, flexible tube, Nikkulaat plugged it into the exhaust of his own machine and began to warm Katu’s engine with the other. Soon ice melted from the cooling fins and ran down onto the ground, quickly refreezing soon after making contact.

  With a nod from Nikkulaat, Katu gave the starter a try. Straining at first, the starter complained bitterly until the engine freed up and then fired hesitatingly on one unimpressive cylinder and then stalled. Katu tried it again while Nikkulaat kept the warm air tube pointed at the engine; eventually, all three cylinders woke from their deep freeze and burst into life.

  Katu and his machine led the way down meandering snow paths that ducked between buildings partially buried by the winter snow, and closely followed by Nikkulaat, with Aanasi riding pillion behind her husband. A wooden sled drifted aimlessly behind Nikkulaat’s machine, bumping and bucking as the tow line pulled against its stubborn will and forced it to obey the lead machine’s directives. They had loaded everything needed for a substan
tial stay in the wilderness, but the weight of the sled was making for a very uncomfortable ten mile ride to Katu’s outpost store.

  Travelling slowly through the frozen landscape, trying to give Aanasi a semi-comfortable ride and keeping the tow sled upright, Katu recognised the small store standing proudly against the barren wilderness horizon. After a torturous hour and a half the journey was finally ending, and in a matter of minutes, the lonely building trembled with the sounds of two snowmobiles struggling through the snow and noisily disturbing the endless quiet. Katu dismounted and threw open the doors to the loading dock and then both machines thundered inside, leaving Katu to close off the bitter cold and trap it outside with a bang as the doors closed behind him.

  The bitter cold hung like a thick blanket inside the outpost store until Katu set a fire blazing inside the stove and soon the interior thawed into a warm, pleasant environment.

  Aanasi wasn’t thrilled about spending many days on her own and she would have preferred to be closer to the action, but this was the only compromise Nikkulaat was prepared to make. The store building was solid and its doors and windows all could be secured robustly. Added to that, Katu had left her an arsenal of weapons knowing that Aanasi knew how to use them. She quickly set up Katu’s bedroom to suit her taste and the familiar, warm comforts of home converted Katu’s secure store into a home away from home.

  Nikkulaat insisted he leave their snowmobile for Aanasi just in case she needed help and had to make a quick getaway, while Nikkulaat and Katu would take his, towing the awkward sled.

  It was nearing early afternoon when Nikkulaat uttered the words Aanasi had been dreading. “It’s time to go.”

  Nikkulaat and Aanasi melted together and stayed that way for a long moment while Aanasi savoured her man’s big, protective arms tightly wrapped around her.

  Katu felt like he was intruding, so he quietly slipped out and waited in the loading dock.

  In a dread filled moment, Nikkulaat broke from her embrace and kissed her passionately, leaving her aching for more of his love. She heard him whisper, “I love you.” With big tears threatening to drown her, she returned his pledge and in an instant, he was gone.

  Watching intently through the store windows, Aanasi heard the sound of the snowmobile start and then the loading dock doors boom closed as the two men motored away into the afternoon, heading for Scoresby Land. As she surveyed the heart wrenching scene in front of her, tiny flakes of snow began to fall, keeping time with the pain in her heart.

  “Dear God, please keep them safe!” she wept, as the growing quiet surrounded her like the waters of a lake closing over her and trapping her in depths of loneliness.

  Aanasi wandered throughout the tidy store, familiarising herself with the stock and the layout of Katu’s kitchen while trying to divert the ache in her heart. The fire crackled and hissed in the quiet, keeping her company as the afternoon sun began to retire for the night. She instinctively checked and secured the doors and windows, locking the night firmly outside.

  Aanasi collected a rifle from the store room and checked the clip for ammunition then with a skilled hand, pressed the clip under the breech and pumped a bullet into the firing chamber, lastly setting the safety to on. She turned to exit the store carrying the weapon and as she was about to leave, Aanasi’s gaze rested on an envelope hanging precariously from Katu’s wooden cash box. She stared at it for a long moment, concerned it was out of place in Katu’s neat and sterile world.

  Tussling with her thoughts, curiosity soon overcame her and she wandered over to the strange sight, gently plucking it from the drawer. The envelope fumbled and dropped from her hand, spilling an amount of cash and a note from within. She placed the rifle to one side and stooped to collect the spilled notes with every intention of sealing the contents and pushing the sachet firmly inside the cash box, but as she grasped the money, the handwritten note dropped open and her eyes riveted on the signature.

  She covered her mouth with her hand in shock as she perused the first sentences. The note was addressed to Katu and she tried not to pry, but the words drew her in, hypnotising her eyes and captivating her attention until she couldn’t stop reading. Coming to the end of the letter, Aanasi felt weak and had to find a place to sit and gather her thoughts.

  Should I go after them?!

  Staring out into the imposing darkness, Aanasi pondered what to do and then came to a sensible decision. The two men would be hours away and even with the information she had, Nikkulaat would be angry with her if she attempted to follow them alone, especially with that thing on the loose and in the dark.

  The note was meant to be found by Katu and by the way it had been positioned, it wasn’t meant to be found too easily.

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 45

  It was a grey day as the lone figure peered across the city smog from a balcony high above the skyline of Manhattan. A light, misty rain began to fall, pulling a curtain of foggy pollution tightly closed around the outlook and obliterating her view of the city. From somewhere in the cloud, an unseen floating giant blew a moist breath across the fog and the curtain swirled and parted long enough for an image of a close by building to ominously peek through. Then with an impertinent realisation of its nakedness, the building stepped back into the swirling curtain, blocking out prying eyes and swallowing it into obscurity once again.

  Today was her birthday and the vista from her balcony reflected the grey loneliness she felt deep inside. Annette Dysart peered absentmindedly into the drizzly scene, seated on a deck chair, while her thoughts drifted back to the previous night. She smiled dejectedly at her wanton performance. Around Parlo she was nothing but putty in his hands and he’d walked away with the prized file.

  A sudden rain shower sent her scurrying for the safety of her apartment; being caught in a polluted city downpour could destroy a costly outfit in seconds. Straightening her attire, she checked her face in a nearby mirror and then glanced up at the wall clock just above the kitchen bench: it was nearly time to leave for her appointment.

  She unlocked a black leather briefcase and smiled down at a plain manila folder and a notebook full of her shorthand scribble, but packed with vital information. With a satisfied pat, she inserted the file and notebook into her briefcase and then secured the case with a stiff spin of the combination tumbler. Grabbing her handbag and briefcase, she unlocked her apartment door, gave the surrounds a quick survey and pulled the door closed with a satisfied bang behind her. She checked the security of the door handle with a determined shake and then turned to catch an elevator for the street far below.

  This small journey across town would be the start of greater things for Annette Carline Dysart.

  *~*~*~*

  Dysart handed the driver a fifty dollar note for a thirty dollar fare; the tip was a decent size but she was feeling benevolent in her changing circumstances. She shimmied out of the back seat of the yellow New York taxi cab, her stilettoed feet touching down on the First Avenue pavement directly out front of the United Nations building. She walked up to the glass front of the unimpressive building, entered the foyer and was met by a security guard.

  “Good morning, Miss Dysart.”

  She nodded to the guard. The surprise on Dysart’s face at the guard’s recognition brought a coy smile to her lips and she wondered whether her fame was already spreading among the rank and file city dwellers.

  “If you will make your way to the General Assembly Lounge on the west wing, a hostess will collect you from there and take you into the chambers.”

  Dysart nodded again and started towards a sign pointing to the west wing lounge, a disappointed frown taking the place of the smile, realising the guard had been primed up on her looming appointment.

  As she arrived into the deserted lounge area, she placed her briefcase and handbag onto a brown leather chair facing a wall of large glass windows, giving an uninterrupted view of a grassed park directly outside. The brown-red tones of the carpet did nothin
g to allay her nervousness and the antiquated furniture appeared like a scene from a bad 1950s movie. Looking for a distraction, she strolled over to the windows and peered out into the park, then at the city skyline just behind the mist.

  “Miss Dysart?”

  A neatly clipped voice came from behind her, disturbing her thoughts and making her flinch, while spinning her head around to face the hostess.

  “Yes,” Dysart answered, trying not to divulge her nervousness.

  “Follow me, please.”

  The hostess led her up a set of stairs, past a partitioning gate and into a cavernous auditorium. Dysart stared at the grey steel roof some one hundred feet above her, exposing unattractive air conditioning ducts and a fire sprinkler system, then directly below that was a white, two tiered balcony containing office space. The imposing sterile building added another dimension to her nervousness and when she finally arrived at an office door, her fear had doubled.

  “Please go right in, Miss Dysart; they are expecting you.”

  She nodded, then pushed open the door and was met by a small conference table surrounded by a dozen stiff faced luminaries with an international disposition. A distinctly Asian appearing man welcomed her and invited her to share her information, but did little to allay her fear.

  “Before I give you the information I have gathered, I want a surety that I will be well rewarded for my efforts, especially if my information uncovers Greenland’s Gateway Emerald.”

  The group of stern faces bored into Dysart. She wasn’t the first to stand in front of this group and make demands, claiming they had uncovered the location of the gateway gem.

  A sudden, loud clank of a briefcase forcefully making contact with the conference table interrupted Dysart’s demands. A hard faced man clicked the case open and displayed the contents: row upon row of one hundred dollar notes lined its extravagant interior from cover to cover.

  “Enough cash to keep you in party dresses and beauty salons for life, Miss Dysart,” an older man chided, without smiling.