Giants of the Frost Page 3

  “Sure. Weasels, squirrels, petrels, owls.” He stood and helped me to my feet. “Come on, let’s see the beach.”

  On the far side of the island, without the cliffs to protect us, the winds were cold and biting. The grey sand stretched away in both directions, waves pounding it mercilessly. I pulled up my hood. Gunnar’s hair tangled and whipped around his face.

  “See, this is why I don’t believe Magnus’s theory about thieves,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the waves. “Imagine trying to land a boat here.”

  “I expect there’s a logical explanation. There always is.”

  “Do you want to know something else weird? You’ll appreciate this. I discovered when I was committing some of the old logbooks to a database that items were often reported missing from the station after the aurora borealis was seen. In fact, since 1968, sixty percent of the items went missing within a week of an aurora storm.”

  I shrugged. “That’s not enough to draw a conclusion from. Maybe the thief just takes advantage of everybody being preoccupied with the pretty lights. What’s your theory?”

  “I don’t have a theory. I just find it interesting. Mysterious.”

  “Mysteries are just scientific facts that haven’t been documented yet.” I was already outlining a hypothesis about solar winds, transcranial magnetic stimulation and temporary insanity resulting in kleptomania.

  Gunnar said, “You really are an incurable skeptic, aren’t you?”

  “The Queen of the Skeptics,” I said with a royal wave.

  “Life on Othinsey may very well dethrone you, your highness,” he said, smiling.

  “I doubt it.”

  He shrugged. “It’s cold. Let’s go back to the sheltered side of the island.”

  “Let’s.” I followed him into the trees and we made our way back to the station. Gunnar told me about his holiday plans—he was going to Amsterdam with some friends from Oslo—and I resigned myself to five days of thesis-writing before turning up to work again for more endless synoptic observations and data recordings. The near future seemed pointless, and I realized that if I hadn’t caught Adam out, I would have been marrying him this coming weekend.

  Gunnar sailed off on the Jonsok and I spent the rest of my long, long weekend decompressing in my cabin. A package from my mother came on the supply boat—I had phoned her on day two to ask for my bedspread and a few other things out of my bedroom—and I managed to make my new space a little more appealing. I spent one crazed, furtive morning writing a long letter to Adam about how glad I was that we weren’t married, then tore it up before I was insane enough to send it. I worked on deciphering my stained field notes to write up my thesis and, best of all, I slept. I liked Othinsey a lot better when I wasn’t witnessing it at 3:00 A.M.

  My first day back at work commenced with the dullest staff meeting in recorded history. Magnus set the mood with an eye-wateringly long rundown about how important certain matters of administration were. I spent most of it counting the number of people in the room (seven—Gunnar was away and Maryanne didn’t usually attend staff meetings); calculating the number of fingers and toes in the room (139—Carsten was missing the pinky off his left hand); and coming up with an average number of digits per person (19.857142 recurring). Then each staff member in turn had an opportunity to discuss problems they had faced in the last month. I began to draw spaceships in the corner of my notebook. By the time it was my turn to contribute, I had an entire starfleet capable of neutralizing humankind once and for all.

  “I have nothing to add,” I said. “I’m slowly grasping the basics of the work.”

  Magnus glanced at his diary. “Hmm. Well, by the end of the month we’ll be relying on you to have more than the basics. You’re on duty solo from Wednesday the twenty-eighth until the following Wednesday.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The World Meteorology and Climatology Conference is on in Switzerland. All the other meteorologists are going. I have to attend as I’m receiving an award. Gunnar’s been working on a temporary automatic data collection schedule, but you’ll have to launch the balloons and do as many synoptic reports as you can during waking hours.”

  I wondered if Magnus had factored my insomnia into his plans. Based on his behavior so far, it wouldn’t surprise me. “Do I have to get up every three hours?”

  “No, no. Unless there’s something unusual going on, like a storm. I know it’s a lot to expect of you, but it’s unavoidable. You don’t have to keep regular hours. As long as the balloons go up and the Institute gets some figures from time to time. If you get into trouble, Frida and Carsten are here to help.”

  “No, we’re not,” Frida said, tapping her diary with her pen. “Remember? Carsten and I are going to my sister’s wedding in Bergen.”

  How ghastly: Frida and Carsten were a couple. He was at least twice her age. Why hadn’t Gunnar told me this juicy tidbit? Boys never understand the importance of gossip.

  A frown crossed Magnus’s brow. “Is that this month? I’m sorry, I forgot.”

  I worked it out before Magnus said it. With all the meteorologists away, Gunnar still on holidays, and Frida and Carsten off the scene, that left Maryanne and me on the island alone for a week. I started devising ways to get rid of Maryanne too. The fantasy of having a whole island in the Norwegian Sea to myself had quickly taken grip in my mind: solitude, genuine solitude.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I won’t get into any trouble. I look forward to the challenge.” And the space. And the freedom.

  “I’ll need to speak to Maryanne,” he said gruffly. “If she’s not happy about running the station on such a low staff level, I’ll have to stay.”

  “But you have to collect your award,” I squeaked, my deserted island now replaced by squirming imaginings of being stuck alone with Magnus.

  “We have a few weeks to work it out,” he said. “Perhaps we can get a replacement meteorologist from the mainland.”

  “Just as long as you know that I’m quite happy to work here alone,” I said.

  “You’ve made that abundantly clear, Victoria. Now, on to the next agenda item. Formulation of best-practice benchmarks for the operational plan.” Or at least I think that’s what he said. I had glazed over before the end of the sentence.

  I soon discovered that Kirkja Station had a lot of traditions that involved alcoholic drinks, brought over from Norway by the Jonsok. They included (but certainly weren’t limited to) Wednesday afternoon drinks, Friday evening drinks, Saturday afternoon drinks, and post-staff-meeting drinks. All this was paid for by the social club, which skimmed money from everyone’s wages to raise funds. Norway was a nation with, possibly, the most expensive alcohol in the world. When I opened my first pay slip and saw how much the social club was taking out, I decided that I would have to ensure I got my money’s worth.

  And so, while it’s never wise to get drunk around your boss, I found myself plastered in Magnus’s cabin, with Frida, Carsten and Magnus himself. Alex, Josef and Gordon had long since called it a night.

  Magnus’s cabin was as neat and ordered as he was. On the way back from his spotless bathroom, I found a photograph in a frame on his bookcase. Two children, perhaps around nine years old, smiled out at me.

  “Are these your children, Magnus?” I asked.

  “Yes. Matthias and Nina. They’re twins.”

  I plopped back down into an armchair. “Do they live with your wife?”

  “My ex-wife, yes,” he replied.

  “One of his ex-wives,” Carsten added with a grin. “All the men here have at least one ex-wife. That’s why they’ve all run away to a deserted island.”

  “Except Gunnar,” Frida said quickly.

  “Of course. Gunnar’s single.” Magnus gave me a knowing smile, and I realized that everyone had picked Gunnar and me as a potential couple.

  “I’ve run away, too,” I said. “I’ve given up on love.”

  “People say that but they never mean it,” C
arsten said, taking off his glasses and rubbing them on his sleeve. Frida patted his hand affectionately.

  “I mean it. This past weekend, if I hadn’t wised up sooner, I would have become Mrs. Adam Butler.” I sounded bitter, damn me.

  “A broken engagement? That’s what you’re running away from?” Frida asked with a curl of her eel-like lips. I swear she looked delighted to hear of my misfortune.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Magnus.

  “It’s the second one,” I confessed, wondering why I was confessing it. “It was my second broken engagement.”

  “Really?” Carsten said. “So either you’re very clever because you break up with them before it goes too far, or . . .”

  “Or she picks the wrong men to start with,” Frida said helpfully.

  I wished it were that simple. I honestly loved Adam, just as I loved my childhood sweetheart, Patrick, before him. I simply didn’t love them enough. If I told you that I split with Adam because he knocked up another girl, that’s only half the story. It doesn’t account for how unloved by me he felt, how cold I was with him, how endlessly disappointed I was in his imperfections and how obvious that disappointment was to him.

  “I just can’t do it,” I said, emphasizing each word with my glass, nearly spilling my wine. “I can’t do love.”

  The conversation went elsewhere, fortunately. I already felt sobriety edging into the haze and waving a finger because I’d flashed my emotional underwear. But if I’d kept talking, I would have said something like, “There is something missing from love. There is something empty about love. Love should be stellar and lunar and pull your breath from your body and make your teeth ache and your nerves sing, but I have not felt that. I have only felt disappointment. And I am absolutely certain there should be more.”

  I was off duty the next afternoon, and remained in the rec hall after lunch. I had a sheaf of papers, which represented what I had written so far of my thesis, and I spread them out on one of the big wooden tables, preparing to organize them into chapters. I was deeply involved in this task when I heard pots and pans banging in the adjoining galley. I ignored the noise for a few minutes, but it grew louder and more violent.

  I left my papers and peered around the doorway.

  “Maryanne?”

  She was crouching at a cupboard, pulling out pots and throwing them toward the sink with a crash. She looked up with an irritated expression, but when she saw me her eyebrows shot up, and she said, “Oh, Vicky. You’re not going to let him do it, are you?”

  “What are you doing? What are you talking about?”

  She stood up. Her frizzy blond hair was yanked high into a ponytail tied with a pale pink ribbon. “I’m cleaning out the cupboards. I always do in the first week of the month.” She looked at the frying pan in her hand, then flung it into the sink.

  “Why are you doing it so . . . vigorously?”

  “I’ve just had an argument with Magnus. He wants to leave us alone here for a week! Just two defenseless women!”

  “Defenseless against what?”

  “There are dangers, Vicky. I suppose he didn’t tell you that.”

  “What dangers?” Gunnar had spoken about thieves coming onto the island. I hadn’t believed it, but Maryanne was round-eyed and trembling at the idea of being left alone.

  Maryanne’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Haven’t you heard the noises?”

  “No.”

  “You must have. In the night. When you can’t sleep.”

  “No.”

  “From the forest.” She turned her eyes meaningfully in that direction, then met my gaze again. “There are noises in the forest.”

  “Sure. Birds, animals—”

  “No, no. Vicky, this island is haunted.”

  I was so relieved I almost laughed. She hadn’t been imagining hooded intruders with glinting knives; she had been imagining spectres with rattling chains.

  “Oh. I see,” I said.

  “You have to tell Magnus you won’t do it. He doesn’t have to go to the conference. He’s duty bound to stay here. It’s the award—he wants to get up there on the podium and accept it.”

  I guessed how fervently Magnus was playing that fantasy out in his head, and I smiled. Perhaps I could get this entire island to myself after all. “Maryanne, I’m sure if there’s only a skeleton staff we don’t need a cook.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Instead of making Magnus stay, why don’t you go? I’ll be fine by myself.”

  “But Vicky, this island is not safe for—”

  “I’m not afraid of ghosts,” I said. “Look, I’ll talk to Magnus. I’ll get you the week off. You can go home to Manchester, or you can go shopping in Oslo. I’ll offer to stay here alone.”

  Maryanne shook her head sadly. “You think I’m mad, don’t you? You think you know for certain that there are no ghosts on this island.”

  “I don’t think you’re mad. But I do know for certain that there are no ghosts on this island.”

  “For certain? Some people are so bloody arrogant.” She turned abruptly and went back to clearing out the cupboards. Crash, bang.

  By dusk, I had convinced Magnus to let Maryanne have the week off. It was almost too easy. He had grown blustery and said that, no, he would stay, it was his duty as station commander and he couldn’t leave a trainee to run the station. I reminded him that I wasn’t just a trainee, I was highly qualified, levelheaded, nearly thirty years old. I reassured him that I had memorized the lockdown procedure, our last line of defense on an island hours from police assistance. “And Magnus,” I said, “who will accept your award if you’re not there? Alex?” Alex was the second-most-senior meteorologist, a newly minted American with a loud voice and big white teeth. Magnus clearly despised him.

  “I’ll consider it,” he had said. Twenty minutes later he was at my cabin door. “I think it would be a good opportunity for you, Victoria. There are more remote postings than Othinsey out there, and my brief was to expose you to a range of experiences you can bring to bear in your future career.”

  His justifications were unnecessary. I was delighted beyond description. In three weeks, I’d have the whole island to myself.

  That afternoon the weather turned foul.

  The wind changed direction and howled harsh and flat from the northeast through the forest and over the station. I’d heard of pines “whispering” in the wind, but the ones outside my cabin were screeching. It was a cruel sound, reminding me that Mother Nature had teeth and claws.

  The wild weather continued day after day. The others at the station weren’t bothered by it, they were used to the extremes the Norwegian Sea had to offer. But my nerves were jangled by the relentless howling and the way the wind jumped down my throat every time I ventured outside. I slept poorly. By the fifth day, I was so tired that I dozed off around 8:00 P.M., then continued falling deeper and deeper under the soft dark layers until I was in that subterranean pocket of slumber from which the old and the sick never return.

  Then I woke suddenly. A noise had roused me. A cold finger of air in the room. I peered into the darkness, could see the window frame standing ajar. I rose. My senses were addled. The floorboards were cold under my feet. My eyes were heavy. I reached for the window to close it, when a hiss sounded from close outside. I paused. Listened again.

  “Psssst.” Like someone trying to get my attention, just below the windowsill.

  Outside, the world was night grey. My vision tunneled; murky shadows formed at the periphery. I leaned out. The wind whipped at my face, brought tears to my eyes. I thought I could see, about four feet away on the ground, a pale grey shape made of slender birch twigs. I focused on it, my eyes trying to make sense of it. Had a branch blown off a tree in the same gust that had pushed my window open? I stepped back to close the window, when the shape moved. At first it seemed it was shifting under the wind’s momentum, but then it kept moving, pulling itself up to its feet. Quick shiv
ers of horror ran over my skin; it was the feeling of spotting a stick insect where you thought there was only a stick, magnified a thousandfold. Black, shiny eyes stared at me under a wild thatch of spiky hair. I screamed once and slammed the window shut, but not before I had heard the thing say, “Don’t swim in the lake. The draugr will get you.”

  I collected myself quickly. I was dreaming, I was muddled. I had imagined it. I pressed my nose against the glass, looking for the pale grey shape so that I could reorganize it in my head, make it look like the broken branch it really was. There was no pale grey shape, there was no spiky-haired creature, there were just the trees moving in the wind, outside, in the gloom.

  I pressed my hand against my heart and laughed. I climbed back into bed but didn’t return to my deep sleep. I amused myself by imagining what Maryanne would make of my story, and vowed to be more careful about closing the latch on the window properly.

  But, in my mind, deep and locked away, I knew I had closed it properly.

  Three

  Every Wednesday, the supply boat brought mail. Magnus delivered to my cabin an envelope with my mother’s handwriting on it, and a postcard from my friend Samantha, who was on holiday in Italy. I read the postcard and stuck it in the corner of my mirror, then picked open the letter from Mum. I was curious. I had telephoned her twice already, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who ordinarily sat down and wrote letters.

  Dear Vicky,

  I’m writing this down because I know if I tried to tell you on the phone you wouldn’t listen. I went to see my new psychic, Bathsheba, this morning. She told me something very disturbing. Right in the middle of the reading, she closed her eyes and gasped, then she said, “Whose name starts with V?” Of course, I said, “That’s my daughter, Victoria.” Then she said, “There are dark psychic forces gathering around Victoria.”

  Vicky, I know what you’re thinking, and I know you want to throw this letter in the rubbish, but consider it, darling. How did she know about somebody whose name starts with V? There are twenty-six letters, and V is not that common. I asked her a lot more questions that she couldn’t answer, but she did say I should tell you to come home. I trust Bathsheba, she’s very good at what she does. Please come home. I’m so worried about you.