The Darkness(34)

Magnús seemed astonished by her reaction. ‘I’ve treated you no differently from anyone else in this department. I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.’

Hulda shrugged. ‘You know better than that, Magnús. But I’m leaving, so it’s not my problem any more.’

‘I think this meeting has gone on long enough. The case is closed.’

This time, it was Hulda who slammed her fist on the desk. She kept taking herself by surprise, all her pent-up rage bursting forth: ‘No. I need more time to finish this. Surely you owe me that much, at least?’

Magnús sat frozen at this outburst, his face expressionless.

‘I need a few more days, maybe a week. I’ll keep you informed so there’s no danger of my treading on my colleagues’ toes again. That was completely unintentional, as you know full well.’

He sat and thought about it, before grudgingly conceding: ‘All right. You can have one day.’

‘One day? There’s no way that’s enough.’

‘Well, it’ll bloody well have to be. I’ve had it up to here with you. You’ll just have to get an early start. We’ll make a deal: I’ll leave you alone tomorrow, OK? But the day after that, you’re coming in here and clearing your desk. Then you can start getting used to your retirement.’





XXIV


The light was failing.

After driving for a while, she had more or less got the hang of coping with the snow. The four-by-four answered well to the steering wheel and the hard-frozen crust bore up under their weight. The promised blizzard hadn’t materialized yet, though a few flakes had begun to fall, enough to justify switching on the wipers.

He had been right after all: this was part of the package, part of the adventure she had signed up for. She regretted now that she had shrunk away from the challenge.

Once she’d had a good go, he’d taken over the wheel again and driven at a cracking pace until a mountain loomed up ahead, at which point he took his foot off the accelerator and slowed to a stop.

‘This’ll do. We’ll leave the car here.’

Stepping out into a light mist of snow, she surveyed their surroundings. ‘Are we going up there, up the mountain?’ she asked doubtfully, quailing at the sight of the sheer black crags showing through the white.

He shook his head. ‘No, not all the way, just into the valley over the next ridge. The going’ll be a bit challenging, though.’

Darkness was closing in with frightening speed and she only hoped they would make it to their destination while it was still twilight. The night would be impenetrable here: no distant glow from a town; nothing but mountains and snow.

‘Will … will there be any other people about?’

‘Nobody else comes out here,’ he said flatly.

He had begun to unload the car and their rucksacks were already lying in the snow beside the other equipment. Reaching into one of them, he pulled out a thick jumper, a traditional lopapeysa, hand-knitted from Icelandic wool, with a distinctive zig-zagging pattern in white, brown and grey around the yoke.

‘Here. Put this on or you’ll freeze,’ he said, grinning. In the twilight, it was hard to see what sort of grin it was.

She obeyed without protest, taking off her thick down jacket. A shiver spread through her body. Probably just the cold, she told herself, but on second thoughts, maybe … maybe it was fear.

He handed her the rucksack and, staggering a little under the weight, she hoisted it on to her back. He helped her with the straps before fixing the ice axe to the outside.

They hadn’t gone more than a few paces before she realized she’d forgotten to put on her gloves. In what seemed like moments, she had lost all sensation in her fingers and had to call him to ask for help with digging the gloves out of her pack. Once he had done this, they resumed their march, plodding onwards through the thickening snow until, finally, he halted.

‘We’re going to try and climb up here. Do you think you can make it?’

Ahead, she saw a steep, white slope rising up to invisible heights, the top obscured by the failing light and the snowflakes stinging her eyes.

‘Do you think you can make it?’ he asked again.

She nodded doubtfully and waited for him to lead the way.

‘You first,’ he prompted, after a short silence. She couldn’t believe her ears. There was no way she was tackling this slope alone and unaided.

‘Me? Why?’

‘I’m not sure how firm the snow is up there. If there’s an avalanche, I’ll be able to dig you out.’

She stood there, rigid with fear, wondering if he was joking but afraid that he was deadly serious.

He handed her the walking poles that had been fixed to the outside of her backpack and told her to get a move on.

Since there was nothing for it, she set off, picking her way up with extreme caution. The incline wasn’t too steep at first, but it increased sharply the higher she climbed. She tried to concentrate on taking one step at a time, keeping her eyes down, trying not to lose her balance. Every now and then she peered up, but the white ground and falling snow merged into one and she couldn’t for the life of her see where the slope ended. It was becoming more and more difficult to lift her feet and ever trickier to find a purchase. Soon she was sliding backwards with every step, sometimes taking several attempts to gain a few centimetres in height. She tried to kick footholds in the snow using the toes of her boots, but with limited success, until in a moment of dizzying fear she felt herself losing her balance and slid halfway back down the way she had come.