Far North - Michael Ridpath [137]
On the ridge above him stood the lonely figure of the stone troll herself, her head only a couple of metres below heavy cloud.
He got out of the truck and checked for a signal. There was one.
He made his call and was about to return to the hut, when he paused. He could hear the sound of a car. He looked down and saw a small hatchback climbing the potholed road towards him. A car like that was not robust enough to make the cratered track down to the hut. Probably a tourist wanting to check out the troll.
Björn decided to wait and watch.
The road was a nightmare. Ísak was amazed that this could ever have been the main route in to Stykkishólmur. He did his best to navigate around the craters as the Honda heaved and jolted its way up the pass, but it was impossible to avoid them entirely.
He was only a couple of hundred metres away when he spotted Björn’s red pickup, and Björn himself leaning next to it, watching him.
Think.
Ísak slowed. There would be no way that Björn would be able to recognize him as the driver yet.
He stopped. Executed a jarring three-point turn, and slowly headed down the hill, as though he had given up in the face of the bad road.
He drove slowly, his eyes flicking constantly up to the mirror where he could see the pickup behind him. Sure enough, after a minute or so, Björn climbed in and turned around, heading back over the pass. Another minute and Björn’s vehicle was out of sight.
Ísak waited a couple of minutes more, turned his car around yet again, and followed his co-conspirator.
He made his way carefully, getting out of his vehicle before each bend to peer around it on foot: he didn’t want Björn to see his car suddenly appear in the open. After half an hour or so of very slow progress, Ísak put his head around a boulder and saw the hut, standing alone on a knoll in the valley of stone, rock, moss and water, with Björn’s truck parked outside it.
Harpa had spent much of her childhood untangling fishing nets. She had strong nimble fingers and knew how fishermen tied knots.
She had watched closely as Björn tied the rope around her wrists and ankles. He knew what he was doing. She couldn’t reach the knot on her wrists, and the one on her ankles would be extremely difficult. In fact she suspected that Björn himself would have to use a knife to cut it.
But she could only try. She tugged, pulled, pushed and puzzled. Eventually, she made progress and she could feel the whole knot loosen. But just as she was about to pull it apart, she heard the sound of Björn’s vehicle approaching.
She hesitated, and then tightened the knot again.
Next time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ANNA ÖSK SET her little pony off at a canter around her bedroom. She had had the pony for three weeks now, since her birthday, and she still liked to play with it all the time.
Her mother said she could have a real one when she was nine. Her daddy wasn’t so sure. He was worried about money. He was always worried about money. Silly man. Mummy had told her that they were rich. It was obvious: they had a really big house right in the middle of Reykjavík by the lake.
But when she got her pony they couldn’t keep it at home. Apparently their garden wasn’t big enough. Which was also silly. Their garden was really big, much bigger than the one belonging to Anna Ösk’s best friend Sara Rós.
Anna Ösk lifted up her pony to the window to look at the garden. Her bedroom was on the second floor, high up, and she had a good view. She could see exactly where you could put a stable, right in the corner where the little tree was. Easy-peasy.
As she was planning the exact positioning of the structure, Anna Ösk noticed some movement in the next-door garden. Someone was crawling through the bushes at the back. It was a man. He was really difficult to see, but Anna Ösk could tell it wasn’t the man who lived in the house next door. She wondered if he was playing hide-and-seek.
He must have been because he crawled right up to the neighbour’s car, which was parked at the top of the driveway, and then slid until he was halfway underneath.