C2 Chapter 2

Way out in the Norwegian Sea, beyond the country’s farthest outposts, there is a spit that for ages has been a notorious ship graveyard. Dangerous currents run around it, and ships that sail too close are often tossed by the foaming breakers onto the cliffs that comprise the outer edge of the spit. A small lighthouse on the top sends out little warning signals, but it is seldom that anyone ever looks in that direction after dark. For the wind that howls through the crevices in the cliffs sounds like the fearful cries of sailors, and the sharp rocks that protrude from the breakers look like the remains of shattered shipwrecks. The place is haunted by all the ghosts of the drowned and the bodies washed ashore, and even on calm days skippers are afraid to approach the headland, because they may be paid an unexpected visit ...

And having a ghost on board is the worst thing that can possibly happen to a ship.

In fact, from Nataniel’s perspective the whole affair started much earlier, with that frightening old ferry. Long before he had ever even heard of Ellen. But back then he would never have been able to guess that he himself might one day get mixed up in that case.

One day a couple of years before, when his car had been in for a service, he had taken a bus back to the repair shop to pick up the car. As he got off the bus he was practically knocked over by a middle-aged man wearing dirty clothes – presumably his only clothes – with a stained shirt collar and unwashed hair.

Nataniel only registered these details subconsciously. It wasn’t his business whether or not people washed themselves. But suddenly he stopped in his tracks on the pavement, struck by a strange impression. He grabbed the man by the arm.

“Beware of Stella,” he told him quickly. “Stay away from her! She will only bring death to you!”

The man looked at Nataniel irritably: he was eager to catch his bus.

“I don’t know who Stella is,” Nataniel continued. It was very important to him that the man understood him. “But she’ll take your life. And you won’t be the first. And probably not the last, either. It all has something to do with water. I see you drifting underwater, but I don’t think you’re drowning.”

The man broke away from him. “You’re out of your mind,” he said as he rushed towards the bus. “I have nothing to do with any Stella! And what business is it of yours, anyway?”

The doors of the bus shut after him with a sigh. Nataniel saw his agitated face through the window and then the bus disappeared into the traffic.

But that kind of sudden impulse was something that Nataniel experienced frequently, and he had no choice but to warn the man he had happened to bump into. Before long he forgot the episode.

Tova was contrary as always. They were sitting in the car as they gradually approached their destination.

“So what kind of a mission is it that you’re dragging me along on?”

“Your father’s asked me to go to Western Norway. He was contacted by a doctor there who has been having problems with a woman who is experiencing visions.”

“My father? But that isn’t a case for the police!”

“It might become one. There is a lot of money at stake. The family wants to declare her incapable.”

“Hmm. Go on.”

“Well, the woman claims that she has lived in a previous life and that she is in contact with Louis XIV. Receives messages from him and so on. Her husband is very upset about it, and the doctor can’t seem to get her to abandon this whim of hers. They have asked me, as a kind of expert in this area, to take a look at her. I am to examine whether she actually has lived in a previous era and whether she really is in contact with a king.”

“I’ve always found the transmigration of souls to be interesting.”

“I’ve never really looked into it,” Nataniel answered. “But I think it’s strange that whenever someone talks about the spiritual world or having lived in the past and being in contact with someone that someone is always famous. Had the person they were in contact with been an ordinary citizen without any historical reputation I would be much more sympathetic. But no, it’s got to be a king – nothing less will do!”

Tova giggled. “Imagine, that you actually fell for the bait!”

Her remark made Nataniel self-conscious. “Yes, well, I have another motive as well. It happens to be the town where Ellen is attending her course.”

“Ellen?” asked Tova. “Oh, that’s right, the boring one from Valdres.”

Ellen isn’t boring, Nataniel was just about to say, but he didn’t have the energy to get into a discussion about it. He knew Tova very well by now. He knew that she hated all girls who were attractive and satisfied with their lives, and that she considered Ellen to be a rival even though she wasn’t interested in Nataniel in that way.

“Can’t you help me determine whether I’ve lived in a previous life?” she asked.

“I most certainly cannot,” he answered, a little more sternly than he had intended because she had interrupted his daydreams about Ellen.

He didn’t know where in the little town Ellen lived, only that she was there to pursue her studies in the field of social welfare. He wasn’t going to look her up; that was completely out of the question! But perhaps they might run into each other accidentally?

After ploughing through the windy west-coast town in all directions numerous times, he finally, dejectedly, had to give up. It was time to head towards the car ferry that would carry them along the coast to the place where the lady with the visions lived. Tova had already sharply indicated several times the direction in which the ferry was located but he had just pretended that he hadn’t heard her.

Then he caught sight of Ellen. She was coming out of a big building that must be the school. Nataniel hit the brakes so hard that it made Tova fly forward and then he jumped out of the car and shouted, “Ellen!”

She was busy pulling up the fur-lined hood of her parka but stopped in her movement.

It pierced Tova’s heart to see them. She felt a blunt anger towards them, and towards life in general because it treated her so unfairly. She saw Nataniel through Ellen’s eyes now – wearing a sheepskin jacket and short leather boots, his hair more dishevelled than ever – and an angry expression came over her face. Ellen came running, her cheeks glowing and her eyes radiating pure joy.

Tova turned away. She didn’t want to see them reunite.

But she could hear their voices. Nataniel sounded despairing. “Come with us,” he pleaded in a low voice, as though he knew that he really didn’t have any right to be asking her.

“Do you really mean it?” asked Ellen.

“You might not be able to come with me to the lady I have to visit, but at least we could have the chance to talk a little on the ferry. I promise not to make things difficult for you.”

Ellen’s voice was sharp with pain. “Difficult? It couldn’t be any more difficult than not seeing you for all these months! But ... I didn’t bring any money with me.”

He smiled tenderly. “It would be my pleasure to treat you. Come on, the ferry leaves in just a few minutes!”

Ellen hurried into the car and they just managed to make the ferry in time.

Oh, how wonderful it was! They were together again without any plans or any worries whatsoever!

The wind was so bitterly cold and raw out on the fjord that they immediately sought shelter down in the ferry’s lounge, where the other passengers sat with their slopping cups of coffee and Danish pastries. None of them were hungry so Nataniel just found a table, offering the girls the sofa by the wall while he sat facing them with his back to the lounge. His and Ellen’s fingers crept across the surface of the table and found one another. With light, vibrating movements their hands sought one another, felt their way, caressed one another, squeezed one another ... they were playing a dangerous game, calling forth a yearning that would never lead to anything.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Nataniel whispered. “We shouldn’t be travelling together, I mean.”

“I know. I’ve seen enough of your abilities by now and must believe in them whether I want to or not. I know that you’re right and that something terrible will happen to us if we give in.”

“Yes,” he said, but his gaze was hazy, as though that terrible thing was no longer frightening in the way it had once been.

Ellen was so infinitely joyful, just having the chance to sit and look at him, and his tender smile told her that he had registered her feelings.

“Ugh!” Tova interrupted them with loathing. “I’m getting nauseous!”

“I’m sure they have something for seasickness,” Nataniel said absentmindedly. “Ellen ... there is a man behind me who’s constantly staring at us. Who is he?”

“How could you possibly know ...?” she began, but then she smiled. She squeezed his hand spontaneously as though she had just discovered who he was.

Tova answered for her. “There is a guy standing by the opposite wall. He’s wearing a fancy sailor hat at a slant and has brought his own provisions in the form of a bottle. I think you are the one who is attracting him, Nataniel. He may have secret vices.”

“There’s something he wants to say,” said Nataniel. “Give him an encouraging smile.”

“Who, me?”

Nataniel had actually meant Ellen but quickly corrected himself. “Both of you, of course.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” said Tova. “He might think that I’ll eat him alive. Sweet, fawning little Ellen is probably the better candidate.”

“Excuse me?” said Ellen, incensed.

“Just do as I say,” Nataniel interjected. “I’m not asking you to invite him over for the night.”

Ellen gave the man a smile that she hoped came across as friendly yet reserved.

“Goodness gracious,” said Nataniel. “What a nauseating smile! Are you in training to go on the street?”

Ellen kicked him discreetly under the table but her sugary smile had made an impression on the man.

The man picked up his glass and sauntered across the floor, bowed elegantly, lost his balance – whether this was because of the rocking boat or because of the provisions he had brought with him was unclear – and, addressing Nataniel with a somewhat grainy voice, said: “Excuse me, sir, but would you happen to be the shaman who is on his way to see Mrs Karlberg?”

“I haven’t been addressed in those terms before,” Nataniel said, smiling. “But yes, I suppose that’s me.”

He prayed to the high heavens that Tova would behave properly. But her silence and her antagonistic, scowling gaze indicated the contrary.

The man gave another bow that was intended to be more elegant than the circumstances allowed. “Would you allow an old sailor to join you?”

“You are most welcome,” said Nataniel, politely introducing himself and the others to the man.

The old man greeted the young girls vaguely, then focused all his attention on Nataniel.

“Winsnes is my name, and it’s a good name around here. Things have just gone a little downhill of late, but that’s not my fault. Anyway, so you’re on your way to see Mrs Karlberg? Yes, well, the cow is raving mad even though she’s still sharp as a needle.”

“One doesn’t necessarily rule out the other. On the contrary, I would say.”

It took a little while for the profundity of Nataniel’s words to seep through the alcoholic fog of the man’s mind, but then he suddenly lit up. “No, you may have a point there. But the transmigration of souls? Who actually believes in that stuff? Only crazies.”

“In which case half the world is crazy, including me,” Tova interposed sharply. “And I happen to know for a fact that those who drink return as mites. Tiny, pale, worm-like ...”

“That’s enough, thank you, Tova,” Nataniel muttered. Then he turned toward Winsnes, whose face was now completely green. “Was there something you wanted to ask?”

“Yes, um, I’ve heard that you are an expert in ... ghosts?”

“If that’s true then I’d have to share the honour with Ellen here. She, too, has certain talents in that area. And Tova does as well.”

Winsnes ignored Tova but turned with great effort to Ellen and observed her with swimming eyes. “Oh, really? A pretty girl like that shouldn’t bother her head with that sort of thing.”

Ellen was threatening to get angry, and Nataniel had to pour oil on the troubled, feministic waters.

Tova wasn’t quite so considerate. She fixed her gaze on Winsnes’ homebrew, and every time he reached for his glass it would slide away from him, regardless of whether the boat was rocking or not. He started to get a desperate look in his eyes.

Nataniel was worried that Winsnes, in his animated state, would start telling ghost stories. That sort of thing happened to Nataniel all the time. More or less vague stories that a great-grandmother or loose acquaintance had told. There were certain narratives that tended to crop up repeatedly and which he had practically grown allergic to, such as “Where is my silver leg?” and other made-up horror stories.

He braced himself.

But luckily the old man remained fixed firmly on the ground, or rather, water. “You see, I was thinking that now that we have access to such an expert as you – I mean, three experts like yourselves,” he quickly corrected himself after glancing at the two girls. “Well, I was thinking that perhaps you could take a look at my ferry ...”

“This one?”

“No, no! It’s not a car ferry, but a small private ferry that runs from Blåsvika and out to the islands. It’ll be her last trip today: tomorrow she’ll be decommissioned.”

Winsnes looked as though he expected them to give him their condolences. A little ferry’s swan song. Perhaps that was why he needed to drink his sorrows away. When the words he expected to hear from them didn’t materialize, he continued: “There are people living on the islands that work in Blåsvika but still refuse to take the ferry. So what is one to do?”

“Refuse? For no reason?”

The old man spent a long time placing a plug of tobacco under his lip. Perhaps that was because Tova had just transformed its wonderful taste to that of sawdust? “Well, that’s what I wanted you to take a look at. A number of sinister things have taken place on that ferry. They say that it is haunted by a drowning ghost, but I don’t believe in ghosts. But pure human evil is another story!”

“What is a drowning ghost?” Ellen asked.

“The ghost of a body that was washed ashore,” Nataniel answered. “It’s usually antagonistic towards living beings. Well, can we have the story from the beginning, Captain?”

The boat rocked back and forth, and Ellen could sense the movement of the waves in her solar plexus.

“From the beginning ... well, superstitious idiots would claim that it all started a hundred, perhaps even a thousand years ago. But ... it was probably as recent as last autumn.”

They waited.

“That poor old ferry is so old that I had it replaced in November after a ... an accident on board. But then something went wrong with the machinery on the new one and I was forced to make do with the old wreck again. And that’s when all hell broke loose. But it’s not ghosts! I know who’s haunting it!”

“Is there a particular individual you’re suspicious of?”

“Not just one ... three brothers and their cousin. When the concession was offered on the ferry route I was the one who won it, and not the four guys from Strand. They’ve never forgiven me for that.”

“So you think they’re trying to frighten people off using your ferry? As revenge of some kind?”

“Precisely! And they’ve succeeded! Hence, my dekka-dence!” he concluded with an extravagant movement of his arm and a word much too hard for someone who’s had too much to drink.

“But could you tell me more about the drowning ghost?” Nataniel asked.

“Yes, it’s so easy to see through their little game that they ought to be ashamed of themselves. As I said, there’s more than one of them, so it’s easy to make it look as though it’s haunted. And there are wet bootprints on both the deck and the lounge floor. “

“So, in other words, the four Strand guys take the ferry every day?”

“Not only that. When I was forced to go back to using the old ferry my regular crew refused to work on it. Now I’m the first to admit that it is an old wreck. Well, anyway, the Strand brothers volunteered themselves! They had it all worked out. They’ve frightened people so badly that no one wants to set foot aboard the ferry now. And now there are only three of them left.”

“Where’s the fourth one?”

The old man leaned forward confidentially, enveloping Nataniel in a stench of alcohol. “They’re dangerous! There have been two mysterious disappearances on the ferry in the course of the last month. One person fell overboard, and another simply vanished.”

“I think you’d better tell us the whole thing in chronological order.”

He straightened up and Nataniel exhaled discreetly. The old man made a conspiratorial gesture for them to go up on deck with him. Ellen was deeply grateful. She had completely forgotten just how easily she tended to get seasick and with great relief she breathed in the raw, cold air that whipped against them up there. The wind was blowing hard, but they were gradually approaching Blåsvika.

Winsnes pointed. “Can you see the foam out there, on the horizon? It’s not the spit itself but a rock that my little ferry always passes on the way out to the islands.”

“What a place,” Nataniel murmured. “If from this distance you can see the foam and not the spit, then the tide must be high.”

“Yes, it’s a temperamental skerry,” the old man said. “An old ship graveyard full of thousand-year-old wrecks. And then one of the inhabitants of the island fell overboard out there. There were no witnesses, but we found him in the water later. His name was Frederiksen and he had been on his way home from town. They say that fearful screams could be heard from the quarterdeck, but no one saw it happen. I heard so many complaints about it that I was forced to decommission the old ferry and buy a new one. But then some idiot managed to ruin the machinery, and the old ferry was brought back in all its honour and glory once more. A few days later the cousin of the brothers Strand disappeared out there by the spit in precisely the same place. He was never found, and that’s when the haunting began. There’s been talk of a drowned body showing up on the boat, usually on the quarterdeck or in the lounge. And always when we are about to approach the spit. But it’s sheer superstition!”

“Who’s seen him?”

The old man snorted angrily. “Only a hysterical woman from one of the islands. She screamed and raised a little bit of hell. She claimed to have seen a soaking wet figure in the saloon. Women!”

It was clear that he didn’t think highly of the opposite sex, this Winsnes. Tova conjured the illusion of a heavy bosom on him. He looked down at himself, gasped and threw his glass overboard. Then Tova removed the illusion.

When Winsnes had regained his composure, he continued: “But apart from her the only people who’ve talked about these damn ghosts are the brothers Strand. Because those two accidents must have been coincidental, right?”

He looked appealingly and insecurely at Nataniel.

“Yes,” said Nataniel thoughtfully. “When does the ferry depart?”

“She’ll be setting sail for the islands at five-thirty tonight. Then we’ll sail straight back again and arrive in Blåsvika at around ten o’clock.”

“Will the three brothers be on board?”

“Yes, one of them is an engine operator, another is first mate, and the youngest is a deckhand. Do you intend to ...?”

But Nataniel crushed all his hopes. “I probably won’t be able to make it. And I don’t think Ellen can manage any more seafaring today.”

“No, but I can take a couple of pills to prevent seasickness,” she answered bravely, wishing to be back on land again. They glided into Blåsvika.

“Is that the one?” asked Nataniel, pointing at an old, grey-white boat that lay sloshing around by the wharf.

“Exactly,” said Winsnes with pride in his voice.

But it was hard to understand his pride. The ferry was not only ancient but a horrible wreck. There were brown stripes of rust along the sides, the fenders were practically scraped to pieces and it gave the impression that a single big wave would smash it to matchwood.

The big ferry slid right past the old one so they got a full view of it. On the bridge the name “Stella” was proudly lit up.

“Stella?” said Nataniel, searching his memory. “You wouldn’t happen to have pictures of the victims of the accidents?”

“Not of Frederiksen. But I have one of the crewman.”

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and took out a tattered picture of the crew assembled below the bridge. “Here’s the guy,” said Winsnes, pointing.

Nataniel nodded. “That man is dead. He’s drifting around somewhere at sea, but he was already dead when he was thrown overboard. Ellen, do you think you can manage it?”

She nodded, her lips pale.

“Good,” said Nataniel. “Winsnes, we’ll be aboard the Stella tonight.”

“Wonderful!” the old skipper cried, smiling so broadly that his false teeth were in danger of falling into the water.

During the long hours to come, Nataniel would come to regret his decision to board the old ferry for this, its last trip.