The Ice People 3 Read online

  He obeyed reluctantly. “First I closed the back door. Then I made sure that everything was ready for Monday’s work. After that I tidied away some bits and pieces. Then I left through the main door, which I locked behind me.”

  “And that was all?”

  “Yes, that was all. Well, yes, and, of course, I locked the door to the storeroom.”

  “The storeroom?” they all yelled.

  “Well, the door behind those shelves over there that leads out to the backyard. I almost forgot about it because we hardly use it.”

  The Count was already by the door. There was a low door behind the shelves. He tugged at it, but it was locked.

  “Was this door open last Sunday?”

  “Yes, I’d been in to fetch some things there.”

  “Where does it lead to?” enquired Dag while the printer unlocked the door.

  “It runs along the back of the house. We use it to store everything we don’t use – and a lot of old stuff was left before we took over. We haven’t got round to clearing it yet.”

  They opened the door and saw a narrow corridor with a lot of junk in it.

  “Let Sol go first,” said Dag.

  They waited for her to go in.

  “Is there a small cubby-hole in here?” she called.

  “No. This is just a passage-way to the wheelwrights store in the house next door, which is over there ...”

  Suddenly the older man stopped abruptly, open-mouthed. “What? Is this door locked all of a sudden? We normally keep it open! There’s only one single door between us and the wheelwright’s, but there’s an old second door this side that’s never been closed.”

  “Isn’t there an old press inside somewhere?” the son asked.

  “There could well be - we haven’t had time to examine it all. Oh, dear. The door is locked from the inside!”

  At that moment, the Count threw himself, shoulder first, at the door. It opened outwards and Dag squeezed his hand over the top of the door, tugging at something. Could it be a hasp?

  “Please help me, for heaven’s sake!” Dag shouted.

  The men eased their fingers along the top edge, squeezing the door open. The youngest printer found an iron bar and slid it into the gap. With a heave, the hasp gave way and the door flew open.

  Before them was a tiny dark room with another door on the opposite side. Inside, in one corner, they could see an old wooden-screw press stacked high with junk. On the floor, in front of their feet, there was a clutter of timber plank off-cuts. And there, with his cheek resting against one plank, lay a little boy in purple velvet – with very wet pants.

  The Count let out a groan as he lifted up the tiny, limp body.

  “Oh, God!” he whispered. “Dear God!”

  “Good heavens,” exclaimed the older printer. “Fancy him laying here! But how could you know that ...?”

  “We just followed a trail of clues,” answered Dag, who wasn’t interested in finding time to ponder about it.

  “But it’s strange that you haven’t heard him?”

  “We would hardly have heard anything in the printing office. There’s such a lot of noise in there. And like I said, we don’t come in here very often. Oh, dear. What a tragedy ... The little mite getting lost this far without being seen!”

  The two printers led the way back into the main printing office.

  “Is he alive?” asked the Count in a trembling voice. “Albrekt! It’s Dad! We must take him to a doctor at once ...”

  “That’s not necessary,” said Dag calmly. “Sol has helped my stepfather for five years and she’s just as practiced in the healing arts as he.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the Count let go of the little, limp body he’d been cradling.

  “Yes, now we could have done better with Tengel’s healing hands,” Sol conceded. “But the boy is alive, Count. Although his time was beginning to run out.”

  Now there you go again, thought Dag to himself. Surely he’d have managed a few more days? But Sol loved to over-dramatise just a little to make life more exciting.

  “We must get him to drink some water,” continued Sol. “It’s dangerous to go for so long without water.”

  “The quality of the water isn’t so good,” said the printer. “We only use it for our work. But we’ve got some wine ...”

  “Is it fully fermented and matured?” asked the Count.

  “First class,” replied the printer.

  “Well, then let’s try it,” said Sol although she was somewhat doubtful of his description.

  While the men fetched the wine and poured it, Sol shook the little boy. “I can’t do anything until he’s awake,” she told them.

  “Come on, you adventurous little mite.”

  She slapped the little boy lightly in the face which was too much for the father. “Now listen ...” he protested.

  “This won’t do your son any harm,” she interrupted. “He’s waking up.”

  “Thank God,” whispered the Count.

  Sol didn’t quite agree who deserved the thanks but she wisely kept quiet about it. “Come with the wine before he faints once more,” she said.

  Eager hands held the mug to the boy’s lips. Instinctively, the boy tried to drink and swallowed a sip or two before he coughed, caught his breath and began to cry loudly.

  “There, there ... your Dad’s here,” soothed the father, lifting him out of Sol’s arms. “Everything will be alright.”

  The boy fell asleep – or fainted – on his shoulder. The Count’s eyes were brimming with tears which he didn’t bother to hold back.

  They thanked the printers for all their help and walked home.

  “We must give him some strong medicine as quickly as possible,” said Sol while she ran to stay abreast of the Count, keeping an eye on the sleeping child. “Will you allow me to treat him?”

  “Why, yes! Of course, if you’d be so kind,” replied the Count. “But please don’t say anything to my wife yet,” he begged, “in case something should go wrong. I very much hope that she’s still sleeping.”

  Inside the house there was feverish activity. Amazed and agitated servants rushed back and forth, heeding Sol’s every command. The child’s soiled and dirty clothes were pulled off and the boy was placed in a tub of warm water.

  This gradually brought him back to life and Sol managed to get him to drink a warm drink with all the strength-giving herbs she owned.

  Sol was enjoying every moment that she was the centre of attention. She probably made the whole process a little bit more impressive than it needed to be by looking thoughtful and raising her eyebrows dramatically as she produced each small bag of herbs. She acted out the impression that each time she was making a momentous medical decision. When he caught her eye, Dag gave her a knowing look. He understood his sister only too well!

  The little boy began to cry a little and was lifted out of the tub by impatient hands, waiting to dry him. He was quickly wrapped in warm towels. Then the nanny dressed him in dry, warm clothes after his sore bottom had been attended to.

  “He’ll surely survive, won’t he?” the Count asked Sol.

  “Oh, yes. But he mustn’t be exposed to the cold and you must continue to give him the herbs that I prescribe. You must let me know at once if he runs a temperature or begins to cough. Little by little, you must give him proper food.”

  ‘You’re playing this for all it’s worth,’ thought Dag with an amused grin ‘– almost too much really.’ However, with everything happening, nobody else had noticed. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help feeling very proud of her!

  “Well,” said the Count, breathing a sigh of relief. “Will somebody go and wake up my wife?”

  One of the older women disappeared. Shortly afterwards a yell could be heard, followed by rapid steps down the stairs.

  “Albrekt?” shrieked the Countess from a distance. “Is it true? I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it...”

  Then she stood in the doorway, pale-faced an
d swaying on her feet.

  Her husband held up the little boy for her to see and with a cry she rushed forward and snatched the child from his arms. She held him so close and tightly that he began to protest.

  Sol now understood why the Count hadn’t wanted to wake his wife as soon as they returned. They’d never be able to treat the little boy in peace because of her overwhelming maternal feelings, and it was obvious that they’d need to act with great care when the time came to remove the poor little boy from his mother’s loving arms.

  Finally, the Countess had calmed down so much that she could speak without sobbing. “Where has he been? Where did you find him? Who found him?”

  “Little Sol here found him,” said the Count softly.

  “Oh, no,” said Sol with false modesty. “I think all three of us helped. I found the trail – but you men had the power of logic.”

  “What trail?” wondered the Countess.

  The others exchanged knowing looks and Dag cut in quickly, “A lock of hair was caught in the hedge ... and after that there was really only one course of action.”

  This was admittedly a simple explanation but nobody wanted to dwell further on the details.

  “We must arrange a service of thanksgiving in the church,” said the Countess.

  Dag wasn’t the least bit surprised to see a look of disdain on his sister’s face.

  At long last, Sol was shown to her room. Later, an extravagant dinner was given in her honour and became a fitting occasion on which to celebrate the day’s events.

  Sol’s visit to Denmark had begun in the best way possible. She was the heroine, and she was relishing every moment!

  Chapter 3

  At long last Dag got the time to read the letters which Sol had brought with her from home. He began with the one from Liv, which he opened carefully and began to read:

  “Dear Dag. I miss you dreadfully. Graastensholm is so empty without you. I go up and visit Aunt Charlotte from time to time, which makes her happy. Then she will speak about you, which also makes me happy. But I really do miss walks around the castle. I look up at the tower and remember the times we would stand up there and talk about life in the village down below and how people were no bigger than ants as they hurried about.

  Why do we have to grow up, Dag?

  I hear that you plan to marry a Miss Trolle. I am happy for you that you have found a person you can share your life with. I hope she will be kind to you. If not I will see to it that she IS! Nobody must treat my brother badly!

  As for me, I have now said “yes” to Laurents Berenius, and I don’t think I’ll regret it. You have not met him but he is all one could wish for. Although he would never be able to understand our lives of poverty in the Valley of the Ice People. He is a man who has everything. He recently inherited his Dad’s successful company – and has German and Dutch ships arriving in Oslo with goods either to load or unload. Laurents takes care of all that. He is also very handsome and is a good conversationalist. He tends to be a bit too self-assured and the “I always know best” type of person if you know what I mean. He would never think of discussing his businesses with me, which is why I know so little about them. Nonetheless, he has always been wonderful to me and I am so overwhelmed by his attentiveness, which is embarrassing. I am not worthy of it all! But I would be a fool if I declined his proposal, and I DO like him so I am sure that I will have a good life with him. As you can imagine, it is difficult to resist such kindness.

  We will get married the week after winter solstice. We all hope that you and Sol will be home by then.

  Love to Miss Trolle and you.

  Take care,

  Liv.

  Dag put the letter down. He sat for a moment, overcome by a feeling of discomfort. Then he picked up the next letter. It was from his mother, Charlotte, and contained the usual warnings and many words about how she missed him and felt lonely without him:

  “Liv’s fiancée is absolutely delightful. I was the one who brought them together. They met here at Graastensholm and Laurents fell in love with Liv at first glance. No wonder! When I think about it, Liv is bound to be every man’s dream of a wife. I am so happy for her.

  Silje, with her charming spelling mistakes, wrote about the forthcoming wedding:

  “Tengel an me wer a bit worried for Liv is so yong. Te boy cannit wate to hav her. He is a terably gode match for our litel girl. She cannit find beter. Well, boi is not the rite word. He is a growen man. She move to Osslo an that good then not so far awei. You an Sol must com home to see the weding.

  I wori so fo Sol – you now why. Look after her pleeze Dag! She haz ben wonderful thes five yeerz but now she iz so difficult. I thying her ansestri is shewing agin. But she wented to leev home.”

  Tengel, who wasn’t used to writing, had added a few lines in his heavy handwriting, saying that they were all well but that they all missed Dag a lot.

  Then there was a letter from Are. Little brother Are – he was growing up as well and probably a young man by now

  It wasn’t a proper letter as such, just a sketched plan of Linden Avenue, showing how he planned to enlarge and improve the outhouses – big plans, it would seem. But this would be no problem for Are. He was the right person to do the job. He had a mind of his own, and he always carried out what he set out to do.

  Suddenly, as he finished reading the letters, Dag felt homesick again. He gathered the letters and felt he couldn’t get back to Linden Avenue and Graastensholm fast enough. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to travel back for the wedding because it would be in the middle of term. And what about Sol? He knew only too well that she wouldn’t be able to make her leave until she’d really tasted everything that this new life had to offer.

  Dag shared Silje’s anxiety. Sol wasn’t someone to be trusted on her own. This coming Saturday, Dag had planned to take her to a party and introduce her to some of his student friends. He already feared how things might turn out.

  Anyway, she’d made a very good first impression on the Strahlenholm household.

  Then he found himself wondering about Laurents Berenius ...

  What did Liv really feel about him? What sort of an “I know best” scoundrel was he?

  ***

  Sol’s eyes radiated when she looked about in the brightly lit inn that Dag’s friends had chosen as the place for their party.

  They were seated round a long narrow table that showed signs of age in its blackened and worn surface. The people were all young, intellectual men with their sisters or cousins – they weren’t allowed to bring anybody that they weren’t related to. This would be considered low class and such a woman would be thought of as very low class. The ladies’ eyes sparkled and so did their pearls. Large plates were filled with food and the tankards filled to the brim.

  Sol knew perfectly well that she attracted attention. Countess Strahlenhelm had let her borrow one of her old dresses, which was one of the most fantastic Sol had ever seen. She’d never felt more attractive than on this evening, and the admiring glances she was receiving from the young men told her in no uncertain way that she was beautiful.

  But these boys didn’t interest her very much – except for one who’d caught her attention for other reasons.

  “Dag,” she whispered to her brother, “what was it they said about that man over there? The one they called Preben?”

  “Forget it,” said Dag putting a chicken drumstick on his plate.

  “No, I want to know! They said something about black magic.”

  “Sol,” he sighed, turning to her with a serious look on his face: “Do you really have to live life so dangerously?”

  “I find it perfectly natural. Never mind, I’ll find out for myself.”

  “No, you can’t go around asking people such pointed questions!” Then he paused, considering her question again: “Well, if you really have to know then I can tell you that he’s a member of an esoteric society here in Copenhagen.”

  “Esoteric society, yo
u say? Secret – members only, I suppose?”

  “Probably – but you must keep away from them. Understand?”

  “Yes, little brother,” she said piously as her eyes sought contact with Preben’s. “I understand.”

  He wasn’t anything special to write home about. In fact, he had the kind of face that one forgot at once. He’d noticed, however, that Sol was showing an interest in him and later in the evening, after they’d exchanged numerous glances across the table, he approached her. By this time, Dag was elsewhere in the room. Unless Sol was mistaken, he was flirting with a young girl.

  “They say that you’re Dag’s half-sister,” said Preben.

  “Yes, something along those lines,” replied Sol. “We grew up together.”

  “I’ve noticed your interest in my humble self. Might I ask the reason why?”

  Sol couldn’t help smiling. “Well, it’s not because of your golden curls, for you have none!” she answered quickly. “Can’t you guess why?”

  “Yes. I notice your remarkable eyes. My intuition tells me that you have the same interests as I do.”

  Sol nodded. “Take me to one of your meetings!”

  “We’re afraid of spies and informers.”

  “Do I look like one?”

  “Not all,” he answered. “You look like one who’s drawn to mysticism.”

  “I certainly am – in any case to what you call mysticism. For me it’s merely what’s obvious. But I yearn to mix with like-minded people. My whole life has been spent isolated in Norway. I want so very much to talk to others and learn more!”

  He nodded self-importantly. “You’ll certainly learn things. You must be prepared for some quite frightening things to occur.”

  Sol laughed quietly. “I’m not easily frightened.”

  “As you wish. I’ll propose you at our next meeting, and if you’re accepted you can come the following day. But I warn you: These people know an awful lot about black magic. Do you have any references?”

  “Only myself, and I think that should suffice. You could ask Dag, but I wouldn’t want you to do that. He’s not supposed to know everything I do here in Copenhagen.”