Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Last Rituals

"What a rush you're in," he said as he caught up with her. "Are you that excited about having dinner with me afterward?"

Thora swung her flashlight up and shone it in Matthew's eyes. "Hardly. Come on." She turned round and they entered the first cave. "Wow, how on earth did they think of this?" she said in astonishment, casting the beam of light around the wide space. Unless she had misunderstood, the caves had been carved into sandstone by Irish monks using primitive tools.

"What do you think they were for?" Matthew asked.

"Shelter, mainly," said a voice from the mouth of the cave.

Thora let out a piercing shriek and dropped her flashlight. As it rolled along the bumpy floor of the cave, the beam bounced along the facing wall until it stopped. "God, you made me jump out of my skin," she said, bending down to pick up the flashlight. "We didn't know anyone was in here."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," said the man, whose voice gave the impression that he was quite elderly. "We're even actually," he added. "It's a long time since I've had a shock like the one your scream gave me. They phoned me from the hotel to say some sightseers were on the way to the caves. I thought you might want a guide. My name's Grimur and I own the farm above here. The caves are on my land."

"Oh, yes," said Thora. Not a bad property to own, she thought. "We'd be delighted to have a guidewe don't really know very much about what we're looking at."

The man walked inside the cave and began explaining what they could see. He spoke Icelandic and Thora translated the gist for Matthew. Grimur showed them where beds had presumably been arranged by the walls. Then they examined a chimney that had been carved out through the ceiling to let air in, or smoke out. He pointed out an altar and cross that the monks must have chiseled or carved in the wall behind it. "Well, well," Thora said, surprised and impressed. "This is quite remarkable."

"Yes, it is," the man said feelingly. "This has never been an easy land to live off ofor in, for that matter. Any efforts to acquire shelter would have paid off for the early settlers in the long run."

"I can imagine." Thora took another look all around with the help of her flashlight. "Have the caves been investigatedI mean, couldn't there be valuables hidden away in here?"

"Valuables?" He looked surprised and then laughed. "It was used as a cattle shed until around 1950. You couldn't really hide anything here. It would have to be very carefully concealed, I can tell you that."

"Ah," Thora said, disappointed. "So it's all been searched?"

"No, I didn't say that," the man replied. "As far as I know my caves have only been studied once."

"When was that?" asked Thora. "Recently?"

Grimur laughed again. "No, not recently. I don't remember exactly but it was a good while ago. It didn't yield much, as expected. They found remains of animal bones and a hole that was apparently used for cooking." He pointed to a hole in the ground near the altar. "No, the little that remained to be found has already been found, I assure you."

Thora's last question was whether the man had noticed Harald visiting the caves. He did not recognize the description but added that it didn't necessarily mean he hadn't been therethe caves weren't fenced off and were easy for people to reach without being noticed.

"Go and get changed, then, Crocodile Dundee," Matthew said when they were back at the hotel. "I'm so lucky I can just throw off my jacket and go to the barand win back the time I lost on that slope."

Thora stuck her tongue out at him, but went to her room to change. She put on nice slacks and a plain white blouse, washed her face and put on a little lipstick. There was nothing wrong with a little makeup for a dinner invitationthat didn't necessarily mean you were expecting anything. Yet she paused at the word "necessarily." It wasn't quite convincing enough, and worried her slightly. She brushed the thought aside and went up to the bar. Matthew was standing there deep in conversation with the barmanpresumably Oli. Matthew smiled at her, clearly pleased with the transformation.

"Nice," he said succinctly. "This is Oli. He was telling me about Harald and Harry Potterhe remembers them well. They drank a lot and stood out a bit from the other guests."

"That's putting it mildly," Oli said, and asked Thora what she wanted to drink.

"A glass of white wine, please," she replied, then asked him to explain.

"Well," he said. "They drank one shot of tequila after anotherplayed air guitars and did other things you don't see very often around here. Not to mention Harald's appearance. The other guests just gaped at them both. And they smoked like chimneysI couldn't sell them cigars fast enough."

Thora looked all around at the cozy bar, which was located under the gabled roof. She agreedan air guitar did not exactly spring to mindan air violin at most, if there was such a thing. She turned to Oli again. "Harry Potterdo you happen to know his real name?"

The barman smiled. "His name was Dori. As the night wore on they were both way too drunk to remember that he called himself Harry Potter. They put on quite a good act for much of the evening, though."

There was nothing else to learn from Oli. They sat down on the big leather couch, drank a toast, and discussed the events of the day. The waiter brought the menu and after ordering, Matthew decided to have another drink. Much to Thora's surprise she had finished hers as well, so she accepted a second. After dining they went back to the bar, and by her third Cointreau Thora was on the verge of whipping out her own air guitar solo for Matthew and Oli. But she settled for snuggling up against the former instead.

Thora woke up with her head throbbing as if her brain was trying to escape her skull. She clutched her forehead and groaned. Cointreau, of all drinks. She ought to have learned by now that "liqueur" was Latin for "hangover." With a sigh she rolled over onto her side. As she did so her hand knocked something that felt so warm she opened her eyes wide in horror. There was a man in her bed. She looked at Matthew's back. Or was it Oli, the barman? She recalled the previous night and sighed softly at the realization that she had at least opted for the lesser of two evils. The fog in her head obscured her view of a clear exit strategyhow could she slip out unseen without waking Matthew? And an even bigger question: how could she maintain her dignity? Could she pretend nothing had happened? Maybe he couldn't remember anything either. That was the answersneak out, meet him afterward, and pray that he had drunk four times as much as she had.

Her plan evaporated when Matthew turned over and smiled at her. "Good morning," he said, his lips parched. "How are you doing?"

Thora pulled the duvet up to her chin. She was naked under it. If she could be granted one wish, it was to be fully clothed. Her throat produced a strange rattle before her vocal cords kicked in. "Just one thing. To make everything perfectly clear, you know." Matthew looked puzzled but allowed her to continue. "Last night, that wasn't meit was the alcohol. So you slept with a bottle of Cointreau, not with me."

"Oh, I see," said Matthew, propping himself up on one elbow. "Those bottles of booze never fail to surprise. I didn't know they were capable of that. You even praised my shoes. Wanted me to keep them on."

Thora blushed. She tried to think up a different defense for her virtue but her mind was empty. Gradually the night all flooded back to her and she had to admit to herself that she didn't particularly regret it. "I don't know what came over me," she said, and blushed again.

"You worry too much," Matthew said, putting his hand on her over the duvet.