Last Rituals (38 page)

CHAPTER 29

The young woman bore no resemblance to her mother, but was good-looking nonetheless. She was dark like her father and seemed to take after him, judging from the family photographs Thóra had seen. Her whole air was unpretentious; her long, straight hair kept away from her face in a ponytail, and she wore nice black slacks and a black shirt that looked like silk. The only visible jewelry was a diamond ring on the ring finger of her right hand, the one Thóra had seen on the photograph from the kitchen. Thóra was struck by how slim she was, and when she shook her hand she thought the girl was probably even skinnier than these clothes made her look. Matthew received a much warmer welcome—Elisa hugged him and they kissed each other on both cheeks.

 

 

"How are you doing?" he asked after releasing his grip on Elisa's shoulder. Thóra noticed that he did not address her formally, as she would have expected from an employee of the family. Matthew was clearly close to these people, or ranked higher in the firm than she had presumed.

 

 

Elisa shrugged and forced a faint smile. "Not too good," she said. "It's been difficult." She turned to Thóra. "I would have come much sooner if I'd known you wanted to talk to me. I had no idea my visit to Harald would matter."

 

 

Thóra found this strange, given that the girl had been with her brother immediately prior to his murder, but said only: "Well, you're here now and that's what matters."

 

 

"Yes, I bought a ticket as soon as Matthew phoned. I want to help," she said, apparently sincere. Then she added: "And so does Mother."

 

 

"Good," said Matthew in an uncharacteristically loud voice. Thóra wondered whether he did so from a fear that she would say something inappropriate.

 

 

"Yes, good," Thóra parroted, to convince him she had no such intention.

 

 

"Shouldn't we sit down?" asked Elisa. "Can I get you a coffee or a glass of wine?" Thóra had quit drinking for life so she ordered a cup of coffee. The others ordered glasses of white wine.

 

 

"Well," Matthew said, settling back in the armchair. "What can you tell us about your visit, then?"

 

 

"Shouldn't we wait for the wine? I think I need that first," Elisa said with a pleading look at Matthew.

 

 

"Of course," he answered, and leaned forward to pat her hand where it rested on the arm of the sofa.

 

 

Elisa looked at Thóra apologetically. "I can't quite explain it but I find that visit so uncomfortable to recall. My feelings are still in a tangle; in retrospect it's as if I was really self-absorbed and only talked to him about myself. If only I'd known it was the last time I'd ever see him I would have told him so much about my feelings for him." She bit her lower lip. "But I didn't, and now I never can."

 

 

The waiter brought the drinks and they toasted nothing in particular. Thóra regretted having given up drinking when she sipped her coffee and watched them take their first swallows of wine. She decided to fall off the wagon at the earliest opportunity—but was embarrassed to ask for a glass after making her choice.

 

 

"Maybe I should tell you why I came to see Harald," Elisa said, putting down her glass. Thóra and Matthew nodded. "As you know, Matthew, I'm going through a bit of a crisis with Mother and Father. They want me to study business and join the bank, as do most people I know, in fact. Harald was the only one who told me always to do what I wanted—play the cello. Everyone thinks I should do business and keep the cello as a hobby. But Harald knew it's not like that, although he was not a musician. He understood that once you've achieved a certain level of skill and potential, it's either/or."

 

 

"I understand," Thóra said, not really understanding.

 

 

"That's why we mainly talked about me when I came," Elisa continued. "I went to him for encouragement and that's exactly what I got. He told me to defy them and keep on playing. He said faceless suits who could run a bank were a dime a dozen but brilliant musicians were so much rarer." She hastened to add: "'Faceless suits' were his words—that's what he said."

 

 

"If I may ask, what did you decide to do?" Thóra said, out of curiosity.

 

 

"To keep playing," Elisa said with a bitter smile. "But I've enrolled in business studies now and the course starts soon. You decide one thing and do something else, that's the way it goes."

 

 

"Isn't your father pleased?" Matthew asked.

 

 

"Yes, but mostly he's relieved. It's hard to be happy in this family. Especially now."

 

 

"Elisa, I know it's difficult to discuss your own family affairs, but we saw some of the e-mails between Harald and your father. They didn't seem to be particularly close, as father and son." Thóra paused, then added: "Just as we have reason to believe he didn't exactly have a model relationship with your mother."

 

 

Elisa took a sip of wine before answering. She looked Thóra straight in the eye. "Harald was the best brother you could imagine. He may well have been unconventional, especially recently." She stuck out the tip of her tongue and pinched it, alluding to Harald's cleft tongue. "But I would still have stood by his side anywhere. He had a noble character, and not just toward me—he championed our sister; I never saw anyone treat a disabled person so kindly." She contemplated her wineglass on the table. "Mother and Father, they just…I really don't know what to say…They never gave Harald his due. My first memories of them are endless hugs, love, and care, but I never saw Harald get much attention. They just…well, they just didn't seem to like him." In a flurry of words she interrupted her own train of thought. "They were never exactly bad to him. They just didn't love him. I don't know why, if there is any particular reason."

 

 

Thóra tried to conceal her low opinion of the Guntliebs. She itched to find the person who killed that poor boy. She could not conceive of a more wretched fate than a loveless upbringing. Children have a tangible need for affection and it was downright criminal to deprive them of it. No wonder Harald was strange. Suddenly she looked forward to meeting his mother the next day. "Yes," she said to break the silence. "This doesn't sound good, I must say. It might not have anything to do with our speculations, but I do feel it explains a lot about his character. I'm sure you'd prefer not to discuss it with a stranger, though, so maybe we should turn to what happened between you."

 

 

Elisa smiled, relieved. "As I said, we mostly talked about me and my problems. Harald was great and we didn't do anything in particular really. He took me to the Blue Lagoon and to see a geyser. Otherwise we just strolled around town or stayed at home watching DVDs, cooking, and chilling out."

 

 

Thóra tried to visualize Harald swimming at the Blue Lagoon geothermal spa, but could not conjure up a sufficiently convincing image. "What did you watch?" she asked curiously.

 

 

Elisa grinned. "
The Lion King,
strange as it may sound."

 

 

Matthew winked at Thóra. So he hadn't been lying about the disk in the player. "Did he tell you anything about what he was up to?"

 

 

Elisa thought. "Not much. Actually he was in incredibly good spirits and was clearly doing well here. I'd rarely seen him so cheerful. Maybe it was getting away from Mother and Father. Maybe because of a book he found."

 

 

"A book?" asked Thóra and Matthew in unison. "What book?" said Matthew.

 

 

Their reaction clearly startled Elisa. "That old book.
Malleus Maleficarum
. Isn't it at his apartment?"

 

 

"I don't know, I don't even know what book you're talking about exactly," said Matthew. "Did he show it to you?"

 

 

Elisa shook her head. "No, he hadn't got it yet." She paused. "Maybe he didn't manage to get it before he was murdered. It was just before then."

 

 

"Do you know if he was going to pick it up from someone?" asked Matthew. "Did he mention that?"

 

 

"No," replied Elisa. "Actually I didn't ask about it—maybe I should have."

 

 

"That doesn't make any difference," Matthew said. "But did he tell you anything about this book?"

 

 

Elisa's face lit up. "Yes. It was quite an awesome story. Let's see, how did it go again?" She thought for a moment before going on. "You remember his grandfather's old letters, don't you?" She addressed Matthew, who nodded in agreement. Thóra did not want to interrupt by asking what letters they were talking about, but assumed she meant the letters from Innsbruck in the leather wallet. "Harald was like Grandfather," Elisa went on. "Fascinated by them, reading them over and over. He was convinced that the author had done something awful to Kramer in revenge for the way he treated his wife." She looked at Thóra. "You know who Kramer was, don't you?"

 

 

It was Thóra's turn to nod. "Yes, I've even had the misfortune to read his masterpiece, if that's the right word for
The Witches' Hammer.
"

 

 

"I've never bothered, but I know all about it—you can't avoid it in my family. Harald became obsessed with finding out what had happened. I tried to point out to him that it happened five hundred years ago and there was no chance of unearthing it now. But he always maintained that you could never rule anything out. The Church was involved and most of its documents have been preserved. He didn't give up, anyway—he enrolled in history to gain access to archives. Then he chose witch hunts to give the theme of his dissertation more credibility. Of course that was plain sailing, with his grandfather's collection in front of him and the old man's passion in his blood."

 

 

"So your grandfather was kind to him?" Thóra asked, knowing the answer would be positive but nonetheless wanting it confirmed.

 

 

"Oh, yes," Elisa said. "They spent a lot of time together. Harald always sought his company, even when Grandfather was in the hospital on his deathbed. Understandably, Grandfather was much fonder of him than he was of the rest of us. Maybe because he felt Harald was the odd one out with our parents. Harald inherited his interest in history. They seemed able to pore over it endlessly."

 

 

"And did his research lead anywhere?" asked Thóra. "Did he find anything out from all this?"

 

 

"Yes," replied Elisa. "So Harald claimed, at least. Through the university in Berlin he gained access to the Vatican archives and went to Rome after his second year. He spent a long time there, probably most of the summer. He said he'd found a document from Kramer demanding permission for a second witch hunt—he claimed they'd stolen a copy of a book he had written. Kramer apparently said the book was invaluable to him, a manual on how to uproot sorcery and prosecute witches. He was worried they could use the book to curse him and wanted to reclaim it whatever the cost. Harald couldn't find the Vatican's answer to his request, but because Kramer apparently didn't go back to Innsbruck, it was probably rejected.

 

 

"Anyway, Harald became incredibly excited and thought he had discovered what was stolen from Kramer and sent all the way to hell: Kramer's draft of
The Witches' Hammer,
the oldest known version of that famous book. It wasn't identical to the edition published a year later, Harald said; presumably it was illustrated and handwritten. Kramer's coauthor, Springer, still had to make his contribution, and this was one of the main reasons for Harald's interest. Kramer's original manuscript would dispel all doubt as to who wrote what. Some people claim Springer had no hand in it at all."

 

 

"But didn't the thief send the manuscript straight to hell? Wasn't that the phrase?" asked Thóra. "The obvious conclusion is that it was burned."

 

 

Elisa smiled. "The last letter to the Bishop of Brixen mentioned an emissary who was bound on a journey to hell and asked the Church to assist him on his way. So the book wasn't burned, at least not immediately."

 

 

Thóra raised her eyebrows. "An emissary on a journey to hell, yes. Sounds like the most natural thing in the world."

 

 

Matthew smiled. "Quite." He took a sip of his wine.

 

 

"In those days it wasn't so absurd," Elisa said seriously. "Hell was considered to be a real place—in the bowels of the earth. There was even supposed to be a hole down to it in Iceland. On some volcano whose name I can't remember."

 

 

"Hekla." Thóra helped her out before Matthew tried to pronounce it. So that was it—Harald's motive for coming to Iceland. He was looking for hell, just as Hugi claimed he had whispered to him.

 

 

"Yes, right," said Elisa. "That was where the manuscript was supposed to be sent. Or so Harald claimed, at least."

 

 

"Then what? Did it ever get there?" asked Thóra.

 

 

"Harald told me he'd been looking for information on this emissary's journey and had found a reference to it in a church chronicle from Kiel from 1486—at least he thought it was the same man. The chronicle mentions a man on his way to Iceland with a letter from the Bishop of Brixen asking for him to be given lodgings and provisions on his journey. He arrived on horseback carrying something that he guarded jealously. He could not even accept the sacrament because the package couldn't be taken into church, and he never let it out of his sight. It says he stayed for two nights, then continued on his way north."

 

 

"Did Harald find any clues about how the journey ended?" asked Matthew.

 

 

"No," responded Elisa. "Not immediately, at any rate. Harald came here to Iceland after he gave up trying to trace it on the mainland. At first he made little headway, then he got hold of an old letter from Denmark that mentioned a young man who had died of measles at a bishop's see whose name escapes me—he was on his way to Iceland. He staggered into the see at night, desperately ill, and died a few days later. But before he died he managed to entrust to the bishop a package that he was supposed to take to Iceland and throw into Hekla—with the blessing of the Bishop of Brixen. Some years later the Danish bishop wrote to ask the Catholic authorities in Iceland to finish the task. The bishop said he would hand over the package to a man who was on his way to Iceland, if I remember correctly, to sell pardons for the pope to finance the building of St. Peter's Church in Rome."