Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

Outside the flames were still licking up the wooden facade beneath the windows, and Katherina immediately began emptying the contents of the extinguisher over the blazing areas. The heat made it impossible to stand close for very long, so several times she had to stop and retreat before she could once again attack the flames. Her arms were shaking from the exertion of holding the heavy canister and her fingers were cramping from their convulsive grip on the handle. At the same time the smoke brought tears to her eyes so that everything appeared distorted and blurry. But she continued her assault on the burning patches, and soon she had put out the right side of the facade.

The left was not blazing as strongly, but by the time she'd put out half of the flames, the foam in the container was gone. Desperately she pumped the handle a few times, then she flung the empty extinguisher on the pavement, where it landed with a metallic clunk.

Angry and in despair, she tore off her jacket and started beating it on the remaining flames. With every blow the fire seemed to taunt her by yielding and then flaring up even more violently than before. She whipped her jacket against the shopfront, but each time she put out one flame, two more tongues of fire would appear in its place.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

'Step back,' said a voice, and the hand pulled her away from the flames. A figure moved in front of her, and she heard the welcome sound of yet another fire extinguisher.

Katherina dropped her jacket on the ground and rubbed her eyes. Behind her a crowd of people had appeared, standing there and watching the scene as if it were a bonfire. The man in front of her gasped from the heat as he fought the last of the flames, but slowly they gave way, and soon the whole facade was a smouldering shell of charred wood. Behind the smoke she saw Jon's silhouette as he beat the floor with his jacket, cursing loudly. She ran inside the shop just as he stamped out the last of the flames. His white shirt had come untucked and was covered with big black patches of soot and sweat.

'Are you okay?' he asked, without taking his eyes off the carpet as he looked for more sparks.

'I'm okay,' she said, looking around for Iversen.

She found him behind the counter, lying on the floor in a foetal position, shivering with cold. Big burns covered his back, and in several places blood had soaked through his shirt and heavy sweater. Katherina knelt down next to him and placed her hand on his arm. Iversen gave a start at her touch, and then moaned loudly.

'It's me. Katherina,' she said soothingly.

Iversen turned his head towards her. Little pieces of glass were buried in one side of his face and blood covered the rest. Fortunately his glasses were still intact and had protected his eyes, which now gave her a pleading look.

'I think I need a doctor,' he said, trying to smile.

As if on cue, they heard sirens outside.

'An ambulance is on its way,' said Jon, who was suddenly leaning over them. 'I'll show the medics in,' he added and left the shop.

Iversen closed his eyes. 'The books,' he said. 'Are they…'

'They weren't damaged,' said Katherina. 'The ones in the display window burned up, but the rest are okay.'

The old man smiled, even though the effort seemed to cause him pain. 'You have to take him to Kortmann,' he whispered.

'Me?' She stared at him intently. Maybe he'd hurt his head. 'Are you sure they'd let me in?'

'They'll have to,' replied Iversen, opening his eyes for a moment. 'Take Pau with you – they can't turn him away.'

'Shouldn't we wait until you're up and about again?' asked Katherina.

'No,' said Iversen firmly. 'It can't happen soon enough. Just look at this mess.'

'All right.'

The medics arrived, accompanied by Jon, and one of them put a hand on Katherina's shoulder to pull her away so they could get to Iversen. After giving him a superficial examination, they cautiously lifted the elderly man onto a stretcher and carried him out to the ambulance. Katherina and Jon followed.

'I'll go with him to the hospital,' Katherina told Jon. 'Will you wait here?'

He nodded. 'Of course.'

Katherina got into the ambulance, the doors were slammed shut, and the vehicle took off. Iversen opened his eyes in time to see the smouldering shopfront receding behind them.

Two hours later Katherina was back in front of Libri di Luca. The windows were covered with sheets of plywood, and the facade and pavement were wet from being hosed down by the fire department.

At the hospital Iversen had been examined immediately; aside from a number of burns and deep cuts from the glass, his injuries weren't serious. Nevertheless he had been admitted for observation, and considering the state of shock he was in, that was undoubtedly for the best. During the long waiting period, she hadn't been able to get a single coherent sentence out of him.

Katherina was in a hurry to leave the hospital; it brought back too many memories of the accident she had been in as a child. She took a taxi from the hospital back to the sorry-looking bookshop, which resembled a building marked for demolition that had been closed up and gutted.

The smell of smoke was still strong outside, and the wall felt warm to her touch. When she opened the front door, the smell was even worse. The fire department had removed a four-metre stretch of carpet from the entrance, exposing the dark floorboards underneath. The display tables had been shoved together, and the books had been removed from them and hastily stacked in the aisles between the shelves.

Jon was standing at the counter, pouring the contents of a bottle into a bucket. His face was streaked with soot, and he had put on his jacket, even though it was covered with little black holes where the flames had licked at the fabric. He looked like a cartoon character who had been in a shootout. She was glad he had been in the shop during the attack, and even more grateful that he was here now.

'Vinegar,' he explained, nodding towards the bucket. 'For the smell.' He emptied the bottle and set the bucket on the floor in the middle of the shop. The vinegar stung Katherina's nostrils. She moved away from the bucket and dropped into the armchair behind the counter.

'How is he?' asked Jon with concern.

'He's in shock,' said Katherina. 'But otherwise it's not so bad. It could have been much worse. But they're going to keep him in for a couple of days. At least.'

Jon shook his head.

'Who would do such a thing?' he asked rhetorically. 'The police suggested it might be some sort of racist attack against the shop, but that seems a bit far-fetched.'

'The police?' exclaimed Katherina in alarm.

'Yes, they arrived at the same time as the fire department.'

Jon told her how the firemen had hosed down the hot spots, boarded up the windows and removed the carpet. In the meantime he had been questioned by the police. They hadn't seemed especially surprised; instead, they asked their questions in a routine manner, but at no time were they interested in what might have been going on in the shop, and he assured Katherina that he wouldn't have told them anything if they had asked. Outside the police had found remnants of the Molotov cocktails that had been used. It was apparently this evidence that had made them conclude it was a small group behind the attack, probably motivated by racism.

'Of course the police would like to talk to you too, but I didn't know your address or phone number, so you'll have to contact them yourself,' he said.

Katherina nodded slowly as she stared straight ahead.

'So what do you think?' asked Jon. 'Who was it?'

She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a loud pounding on the boards covering the window of the door. They both turned towards the sound. The door handle was pressed down, and the door swung open.