The Ice People 40 - Imprisoned by time. Margit Sandemo

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.