Viktor Ingolfsson - The Flatey Enigma

“Yes, that’s my job in the village, to take care of the key to the library. Anyone who wants to borrow a book has to get the key from me first. But when strangers come and want to take a look at the library, I take them there myself. That’s the general rule, dear.”

“Do you remember this Danish man?” Kjartan asked.

“Yes, yes. He wanted to have a go at the old riddle.”

“Do you mean the questions in the Flatey Book?”

“Yes, it’s a terribly innocent little riddle, but they haven’t managed to solve it yet.”

“Who’s they?”

“All kinds of bigheads who claim to know things about the Flatey Book.”

“Do you know if Professor Lund was able to solve the riddle?”

“No. I don’t think so. Not that I was peeping over his shoulder when he was having a go at it. He worked on it until the early hours.”

“Can I get to see the list of questions?”

“Yes, I don’t see any danger in that. I’ll lend you the key and you can have a look yourself. My leg’s bad today.”

The woman stood up stiffly and vanished into the croft.

The other woman silently glanced at Kjartan but immediately averted her gaze and focused on her knitting when he returned her gaze. She must have been a pretty woman in her day, and even though age was clearly creeping up on her, she still possessed a graceful air.

Kjartan stooped over the lambs that had settled by his feet and patted them until Hallbjorg returned.

“Here,” she said, handing him an old key, which Kjartan took.

“Will I be able to find it on my own?” he asked.

“Yes. The Munksgaard book is in a glass case against the northern wall. You can’t miss it. It’s not a big building. You can open the drawer, and the enigma sheets are slipped inside the beginning of the book. Just remember not to take the sheets out of the library. Misfortune and bad luck will follow anyone who takes those pages out or copies them.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s just a fact, everyone knows. An old curse, dear. There are ancient magical runes on the sheets, and no one knows what curse they unleash if they’re not treated carefully. The key to the riddle can only be found on those sheets, and they can never be taken out of the library. Unless, of course, the riddle has been solved, in which case the winner can keep the sheets.”

“Is that the winner’s prize then?”

“Yes, and the honor, of course. The person who solves the enigma will become famous.”

“Is it a very old enigma?”

“Not that old, but a good hundred years at least.”

“Have the sheets been in the library all that time?”

“No, no. The old librarian who received the Munksgaard book for the library’s centenary celebration received the riddle with it. Before that it had been kept by the king in Copenhagen. These are very important documents.”

Kjartan was on the point of leaving when Hallbjorg beckoned him over and shoved something into the palm of his hand.

“Here’s a piece of candy, dear. Something sweet’ll do you good.” She gave him a warm smile.

Kjartan looked at the dark piece of candy in his hand and thanked her. He then said good-bye, and the lambs followed him as he headed toward the village.

Question four: Who was the cruelest woman? First letter. The saga of the Greenlanders talks about Freydis, the daughter of Eirik the Red, and how she reached an agreement with the brothers Helgi and Finnbogi to travel with her to Vinland. But after they arrived, Freydis’s real wickedness was revealed and she got her men to enter their lodge and kill them. When all the men were dead, there were five women left that no one wanted to kill. Then Freydis picked up an axe, struck the women, and killed them. The answer is “Freydis,” and the first letter is f.

He said, “Here the guest writes the name Sigrid, the daughter of Skogul-Tosti.”

She browsed through the book and said, “This one is also possible. Harald Grenski came to the estate of Queen Sigrid the daughter of Skogul-Tosti. That same evening another six kings had arrived there, and all proposed to Sigrid. The kings sat in the ancient hall. There was no shortage of drink, so everyone got very drunk and fell asleep. Then in the night Sigrid bade her men fall on them with fire and weapons. The hall was burned down with the seven kings and their men inside. Sigrid said that this would dissuade puny kings from other lands from coming to her and trying to woo her. The letter is therefore s.”

Inspector Dagbjartur found Fridrik Einarsson, a university lecturer in Icelandic philology, at home in his quaint bungalow in Aragata. It had been two hours since Dagbjartur had left Egill, his collaborator at the National Library. He had been allowed to use the library phone and had immediately been able to reach the man Egill had recognized from the newspaper photograph. They set an appointment, and Dagbjartur had a bite to eat at a diner while he was waiting. He then took a stroll by the pond in the mild weather and eventually waved down a cab that took him past the university to Aragata.

Dagbjartur was led into a living room and invited to sit in a deep armchair. The walls were lined with crammed bookshelves, and large, hand-carved chess pieces stood on a chessboard on a beautiful table. The inspector gazed at them, sensing there was something odd about them.

“That’s Viking chess,” said Fridrik, a tall thin man in his sixties. “In addition to the traditional chessmen, there are two Vikings on each team. The chessboard is therefore ten squares wide on each side, instead of the traditional eight.”

Fridrik adjusted the chess parts on the board and patiently waited for Dagbjartur to come to the point.

The policeman gave himself plenty of time to study the chess set and finally said, “You went to Hotel Borg at the end of August last year and asked for Professor Gaston Lund of Copenhagen. Is that correct?”

Fridrik seemed startled. He thought a moment and then said, “Yes. That’s absolutely right. How on earth do you know that?”

“It doesn’t really matter, but why were you looking for him?”

“Is this investigation linked to Professor Lund’s death on that island in the west? I heard about that.”

“Yes, we’re investigating his death,” Dagbjartur answered. “Why were you trying to find the man?”

Fridrik needed to reflect on this a moment. “I was driving my car down Posthusstr?ti,” he finally said, “and I just happened to glance through the hotel’s restaurant window as I was passing. I thought I’d spotted the professor sitting at a table. I knew him very well from the days when I worked in Copenhagen and thought it was incredible that he would come to Reykjavik without contacting me or even giving me a call. It was bugging me all day, so next morning I went to the hotel and asked them if he was staying there. It turned out to be a mirage.”

Dagbjartur gave Fridrik an inquisitive look. “But now you know that he was here during that period, don’t you?”

“Yes, like I said, I heard about that dreadful thing in the west. I must have had some kind of premonition. It’s happened to me before. I think I recognize someone and it turns out to be a mistake. Then maybe a short while later I meet the same person in some other place. It’s an inexplicable gift.”

Dagbjartur shook his head. “This time you were probably seeing right. You just got the wrong information at the hotel.”

“Really, did I? It had to be. I saw Lund so clearly.”

“You said you would have expected him to visit you?”

“Yes, of course. We worked together for many years in Copenhagen and often chatted about what we were going to do when he came to Iceland. He came here twice in the twenties and thirties but traveled far too little. But he knew the historical spots so well that he could describe them in the minutest detail. He must have intended to surprise me with his visit when that terrible thing happened to him.”