The Ice People 39 - Silent Voices. Margit Sandemo

admire him in a childish way. That was much more comfortable, especially since they only had a few hours left together.

      “Oh, there you are,” said the sheriff when they returned to his office. “Well, what’ll it be then? Is Ellen going to join us?”

      “Yes,” said Nataniel.

      “Fine,” said the sheriff. “I’ve spoken to Mrs Sinclair and told her that you were scared out of your wits and will stay here until tomorrow. Then you’ll go back to work. No, don’t worry! It won’t happen. If Chief Constable Brink and I are correct in our evaluation, there’ll be such a scandal at the inn that it will have to close down for a while. And if we’re not right ... if what happened was ... yes, well, then no power on earth can make you go back.”

      “Isn’t there a third alternative?” she asked quietly.

      “Yes, there is,” the sheriff answered. “There is yet another explanation for what you experienced last night. But no matter what, we will solve the riddle tonight.”

      Ellen didn’t find the sheriff’s enthusiasm all that infectious.

      Rikard and Nataniel went to a hotel and Ellen was ordered back to bed. Everyone needed to be well rested for the night ahead of them.

      When all the workmen and everyone else had left the inn for the night, four figures tip-toed out into the twilight. Ellen took out her key and let them in through the back door. Without turning on the lights they went through the kitchen and up the narrow staircase in the old building. Even on the staircase Ellen began to tremble.

      “Try to get a grip on your nerves,” Nataniel whispered to her. “Nothing can happen to you as long as we’re here.”

      He always knew what she was feeling.

      Her little room was overcrowded by those big men. Someone had hastily repaired the window and removed the sheet from its ignominious spot on the crossbar. The sheriff had apparently explained her getaway last night by saying that she had been frightened by intruders – some young men who had tried to break in.

      The sign on the wall outside whined mournfully.

      “Please sit down,” she said in a slightly desperate tone, for there wasn’t much to sit on in her little room.

      “Later,” said Rikard.

      That sounded ominous. She didn’t know what their plans were for the evening.

      “Are we allowed to speak out loud?” Ellen wanted to know.

      “I ... I think we should avoid it,” the sheriff said a little awkwardly. “As I said, there are three possibilities ... But perhaps we should take a look at the door first?”

      “But what if the two of you were to die?” said Ellen with a naive sort of terror in her voice.

      “That would be Nataniel’s problem. Come, let’s go!”

      “But ...” Ellen protested.

      “Oh, you’re right,” sighed Rikard. “Someone is supposed to stay with you while we’re gone.”

      Silence ensued. The sheriff stood by the door, looking perfectly secure and solid and slightly impatient with his hand on the door handle. Rikard and Nataniel looked hesitant and expectant. They were all looking at her. It was only too clear that all three of them wanted to examine the old door more closely.

      “I suppose I ought to take offence now,” Ellen said with a forced laugh. “But I understand you! Go! I’ll go with you to the turn in the hallway, because I don’t want to be left alone in here. But if anything happens, don’t count on me for anything, because I’ll be down in the village before you have time to turn around!”

      Her words sounded brave enough as she stood there in the room among the three sturdy men. But when they went out into the hallway and the others walked ahead of her, her muscles froze into tense knots as she anxiously looked over her shoulder towards the dark void of the staircase. To be on the safe side she positioned herself right at the corner, with a hand on each of the roughly plastered walls, ready to run in whichever direction she needed to.

      It was actually wrong to call Nataniel sturdy. Although he possessed a paralysing authority, there was something ethereal and unworldly about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Sometimes his hands would move as fast as birds’ wings, so she got the impression that he really was like a caged bird – that at any moment he might take off from the ground, leaving the slack, heavy inhabitants of earth to their own devices.

      It was an absurd thought, but there was no getting around the fact that there was something strange and alien about Nataniel. Something that demanded special treatment.

      They didn’t dare turn on any lights, so the hallway lay in the grey half-light that seeped in through the deeply recessed windows. She could make out the other doors, which were painted white, but the last door was barely visible. Ellen tried not to look in that direction but her gaze was reluctantly drawn towards the end of the hallway. The men had stopped in front of the low door – at a respectful distance from it.

      Everyone was waiting for Nataniel to make a move.

      He hesitantly walked up to the door, stopping half a metre from it as his gaze moved across the old, unpolished woodwork. Ellen forgot to breathe.

      The memory of the noise she had heard the night before suddenly washed over her. The soft sound of something resignedly slumping against her door. The despairing sigh. Had it just been her imagination, or had someone been trying to frighten her for fun, or ...?

      Nataniel slowly lifted his hands with his palms facing the door. Ellen strained in order to see. She didn’t think he had touched it. He moved his hands in circular motions over the entire surface of the door.

      Then he stood completely still. The next moment he made a quick decision and placed his hands against the door.

      Ellen let out a whimper.

      But Nataniel didn’t drop down dead, and she gave a hesitant sigh. She suddenly realized just how closely she and the other two had been following Nataniel’s venture.

      His hands fumbled for a long time very thoroughly over the door. Then he lowered them and turned to the others.

      “There is no danger,” he said. “The door has no power of its own.”

      The most frightening thing about that was that he had actually considered it to be a possibility. Ellen started to wonder about the sort of things that Nataniel had seen and experienced in his life. The thought wasn’t very comforting.

      The sheriff’s voice sounded as if he was sucking on something very sour. “And there isn’t any possibility that it might be under the influence of ... another force?”

      Nataniel thought for a moment. “No, there is nothing to indicate that. No one has died in any supernatural way here. Neither on account of the door nor any other occult influence.”

      “But the German captain?” said Ellen.

      “He probably died exactly as you presumed: from bawling too loudly. It doesn’t take much if, let’s say, you have high blood pressure.”

      “But what about all the others that attempted to open the door before him?”

      “The mood here is not one of an evil, abrupt death, nothing unnatural. People have often associated strange instances of death with the supernatural, especially in earlier times. Most of the stories of what’s gone on here would seem to be no more than mere gossip that’s been exaggerated.”

      “So you sense no indication of death here?” Rikard asked.

      “I never said that,” Nataniel said quickly – much too quickly. “On the contrary, I felt a strong ... Well, it doesn’t really matter. The main thing is that the deaths that have occurred haven’t been mysterious in any way.”

      “So you believe that it is ... safe to open