The Ice People 40 - Imprisoned by time. Margit Sandemo

      “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,