The Blue Ice (15 page)

‘What do you mean?' His eyes flared with sudden anger.

‘I seem to remember hearing that you killed a man once.'

‘Who tell you that, eh?'

‘A Mr Dahler.'

‘Dahler.' His eyes narrowed. ‘What did he say about me?'

‘Only that you were sacked from the command of a catcher for killing a man.'

‘It's a lie.'

‘Maybe,' I said. ‘But how will you explain this man Schreuder's death to the police?'

‘Explain? Schreuder jumped overboard.'

Lovaas was crumbling a piece of bread and suddenly I felt on top of him. ‘What about my evidence?' I said.

‘But the man jumped over the ship,' Mrs Kielland said. ‘Surely that is right? All the men say he jump straight over. You and Kaptein Lovaas search for him together.'

‘The man was desperate,' I said. ‘That's why he jumped. I wonder what you had done to make him so desperate, Captain Lovaas? Had you threatened him as you did that other man?'

Lovaas thrust back his chair and got to his feet. He was red with anger. ‘I am not to stay here to be insult,' he cried, losing his English in his excitement. ‘You are a guest here. If you were not you would get hurt for that. Now I go back to my ship. But be careful, Mr Gansert. Be careful. This is dangerous talk.' He turned to Mrs Kielland and said, ‘
Takk for maten.
' Then, with a quick glance at me, he left the room.

I had overplayed my hand. I should have kept quiet. But I'd wanted to get his mind away from Sunde and those two diving boats. I glanced round the silent table. Kielland was watching me. His eyes had lost their good-humoured twinkle. ‘Will you please tell me what happened on board
Hval Ti
?' he asked.

I told him. And when I had finished, he said, ‘You were interested in this man Schreuder for the same reason that Jorgensen was interested, eh?'

I nodded.

He didn't say anything, but sat slumped in his chair as though lost in thought. ‘Will there be an inquiry into the man's death?' I asked him.

He looked up. ‘No,' he said. ‘No. I do not think so.'

‘But surely—' I began.

He held up his hand. ‘You forget,' he said, ‘Herr Jorgensen is a very powerful man. We are like you people. We are hardworking, honest and law-abiding. But when a thing is a matter of high politics and big business – then—' He hesitated. ‘Then it is best left in the hands of those who understand it. Come. We will go and have a little drink with our coffee, and we will forget all about this, eh?'

We had our coffee and drinks in the Kiellands' sitting-room. Sunde sat himself next to Mr Kielland. I had no opportunity of getting him alone, and after our coffee, Kielland insisted on taking the four of us round the station. He took us through the boiler-rooms where the steam for the oil vats was generated and on into a roofed-in space piled high with the rotten-smelling remains of whalebone. There were great sections of backbone steamed out so that they were like huge loaves of aerated bread, as light as a feather. This refuse scraped from the bottom of the oil vats was being crushed and packed in sacks as guano for agriculture. Then we went down into the main part of the factory where the vats stood like huge blast furnaces, six a side in two long lines. We walked down the narrow space between them. The heat was terrific. On each side of us a scalding hot gutter carried a thin, yellow stream of whale oil to big, open tanks. ‘From these tanks it goes to be cooled,' Kielland said. ‘Then it is packed in oil drums. It goes all over the world – for soap, candles, cosmetics, margarine.'

I tried to show interest, but I was impatient to get back to Sunde before Lovaas had a chance to talk to him alone. But Kielland's life was the whaling station and he was determined to show us everything. He took us to a vat that was being cleared of slag, all the oil having been extracted. Two men, stripped to the waist, were hauling out the filth with iron scrapers from an open door at the base of the vat. It piled up on the floor, a mass of decayed-looking rubbish that might have been the sweepings of an incinerator. ‘More guano,' Kielland said. ‘It is all money. Every little bit of whale is money. Nothing is waste. Even the finners are used. They go to England to be made into brushes. Come. I show you how we cut and pack the meat.'

We went out on to the flensing deck. The sun was hot and bright. The steam saws hummed. The men slid along the slippery deck with great, star-shaped sections of bone; all that was left of the great monster we had seen being dragged up the slipway that morning was a long, ragged, bleeding backbone. The meat had all been cleared. They were hosing down the deck. Kielland noticed our surprise and said, ‘We do not waste time, eh? I have forty men here and we can handle three whales a day if necessary.'

‘Three whales a day!' Curtis said. ‘But that never happens, surely. You've only three catchers.'

‘Oh, not early in the season,' Kielland answered. ‘But later the whale comes south. In September we may be catching them just off the islands. Then quite often we have all three catchers in day after day. It is hard work. But we do not mind. It is good money for everyone then.'

We crossed the deck and went into the packing sheds. Whilst Kielland was talking to the others, I strolled through on to the quay. And then I stopped. Captain Nordahl's
Hval To
was lying there, but there was no sign of
Hval Ti.
I turned back. ‘Kielland,' I called. ‘Where's Lovaas's boat?'

He turned, a large hunk of whalebeef in his hand. ‘
Hval Ti
? He should be there.'

‘It's not there,' I told him. ‘Has Lovaas gone back to the whaling grounds, do you think?'

But he shook his head. ‘No. He has to have water and fuel. Perhaps he has gone to Bovaagen.' His eyes creased to a twinkle. ‘He has a girl at Bovaagen. And the mate has his wife staying at the
Skjaergaardshotelet.
Most of his men have a woman of some sort there. I think you will find he has gone to Bovaagen. He has more whale than the other boats. He is in no hurry. Also it is no good out in the
Norskehavet
now –
Hval Fem
reports bad fog. Now look at this, Mr Gansert. What do you think of this for meat, eh?' He held the slab of red meat out to me. It looked like real beef. ‘Not all of the whale is like this, you know,' he went on. ‘The meat is all graded. This is the best. This will go to Bergen or Newcastle for the restaurants. Then there is other meat which goes to make sausages. The worst meat goes for the foxes. We have big fox farms here in Norway.' He tossed the piece of beef back on to one of the packing shed shelves and glanced at his watch. ‘Now we go up to the house, eh? There is the radio at four and then, after, we have tea – just a cup, but it is very good because my wife always insists on a little drink with it.' He chuckled and patted my arm as he led the way back across the flensing deck.

I was in a hurry to get back. I wanted to see Sunde. Mrs Kielland was alone in the sitting-room. She put her knitting down as she rose to greet us. ‘Well, has Albert shown you everything?' She took hold of Jill's hand. ‘You poor dear. I think you are very brave. The smell is something you have to get used to. But did you see the meat?' Jill nodded. I think she was quite exhausted with whale. ‘What did you think? Is it good? Is it like your ox beef, eh?'

‘Yes. Very.' Jill folded up quietly into a chair.

‘Where's the diver?' I asked.

Mrs Kielland turned. ‘Mr Sunde? That is very strange. I have not seen him since
middag.
'

‘Probably he has gone to Bovaagen to help his partner with that equipment,' Kielland said.

‘Ah yes,' his wife agreed. ‘That is it. I'm sure that is what he will have done. Why? Did you wish to speak with him?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I – I wanted to know more about his diving methods. If you'll excuse me, I'll just take a stroll round and see if he's about.' I nodded to Curtis and he followed me out.

‘He wouldn't have gone to Bovaagen surely,' he said as we closed the door. ‘Not with Lovaas there.'

‘He might have gone first and Lovaas followed,' I answered. ‘We'll just see if he's on the station.'

Curtis, who knew quite a bit of Norwegian from his service in the country, questioned everyone we met. But the only person who seemed to have seen anything of Sunde since the midday meal was the steward. He'd seen him going down behind the station towards the cutting where the sea swept in. We walked down to it across the bare rock. The sun was slanting behind the iron chimneys of the station and the rock was a warm, golden colour. We reached the cutting. It was narrow and the sea ran out through it fast as the tide fell. We crossed a bridge and continued on. Men's boots had blazed a trail through the years that led like a white path to the crest of a jagged shoulder of rock. From the top we could see the white spire of Bovaagen church standing like a bright spearhead against the pale, burnished blue of the sky. And in a little backwater to our left a rowing boat lay tied to a rock. It was the sort of boat you find everywhere in Norway – a development of the coracle pinched out to a point at bow and stern, a miniature Viking's craft that had survived down the ages even to its fixed wooden rowlocks. From a neighbouring rock, a length of rope trailed in the greasy water.

‘Perhaps there was another boat there,' Curtis suggested. ‘He may have rowed down to Bovaagen.'

‘Possible,' I said.

‘Or he may have walked,' Curtis added, gazing towards the little wooden church on the distant hill. ‘It can't be so very far if the men walk it every day.'

‘Far enough,' I said. ‘Anyway, their houses are probably this side of the village. Come on. We'll take
Diviner
down there.'

We turned back then and walked towards the sun. As we crossed the wooden bridge that spanned the cutting, we met some of the men starting home. They were a small, dark lot with dirty clothes and almost every one of them carried a dripping hunk of red meat. They smiled at us in a quiet, friendly way and said, ‘
God dag
,' as they passed. Curtis spoke with one or two. Most of them had houses much nearer than Bovaagen. Bovaagen, they said, was over an hour's hard walking.

We got back to the Kiellands' in time for tea and a drink. Immediately afterwards we excused ourselves and went down to the ship. As we walked through the almost deserted station, Jill said to me, ‘If we don't find Mr Sunde at Bovaagen, we might try Nordhanger.'

‘Einar Sandven's cottage?' I asked.

She nodded. ‘There's a road to Nordhanger from Bovaagen.'

As we passed through the dark cavern of the packing sheds, a ship's siren reverberated through the low island hills. I stopped, listening to the sound of it dying away. Then it came again, a deep, hollow sound. Curtis, who was ahead, ran out on to the quay. Then he turned and called to us. ‘It's Lovaas,' he shouted. ‘He's coming in.'

The slanting sunlight sprawled the shadow of
Hval To
across the quay. Curtis was pointing across the catcher's bow with its deadly harpoon gun. Through the gap between the islands, steamed another catcher. Its siren-puff of steam still hung like a white wreath astern of it. Across the still water came the sound of the engine-room telegraph. The catcher began to swing as it manoeuvred in to the quay. The golden sunlight caught the side of the bridge.
HVAL 10.
‘Come on,' I said to the others. ‘We mustn't appear too interested.'

We went on along the quay, past the pile of fifty-kilo cases of whale meat awaiting dispatch, past
Hval To
, whose men were all on deck watching Lovaas come in, until we came to
Diviner.
Her deck was deserted. The varnish of her bare masts shone warm in the slanting sun. We climbed aboard and went below. Dahler was sitting alone in the saloon. ‘Where's Carter and Wilson?' I asked him.

‘They have gone to look over
Hval To
, and to have a little drink, I think.' He smiled. A bottle of whisky and a half full tumbler stood at his elbow. ‘I am glad you have returned. It is very dull down below here. But I do not wish to look at the factory.' He reached for the bottle. ‘Have a drink,' he said. ‘Everybody come an' have a drink.' He suddenly crashed the bottle down on to the table top. ‘I do not wish to look at the factory, I tell you.' He pushed the bottle quickly away and raised his withered arm. ‘Why you bring me here, eh?' he demanded of me. ‘Why did you bring me here? Was it to torture me? Do you think I like to be here – marooned in your damned yacht – knowing that if I go up on deck I shall be face to face with the factory – my factory. Ever since you went to lunch with Kielland I have been down here. And I have been thinking. I have been thinking about the ships I owned and the tankers – and Knut Jorgensen.' He slammed his claw-like hand down on to the table top with a violence that shook the room. ‘I do not like to think about such things,' he cried. His voice was slurred and hysterical. ‘It is not good to think about them.' He stopped and his eyes narrowed cunningly. He leaned towards me. ‘What would you do in my position, eh?' And suddenly violent again, he shouted, ‘You'd do what I'm going to do. There is no justice – no God. I have lived through two wars. I have seen evil flourish and the good have been mown down. I tell you – there – is – no – justice.' Then, speaking faster, so that the saliva was visible at the corners of his mouth: ‘But I will make my own justice. I will fight them with their own weapons, do you understand?'

Jill went forward and took his hand. ‘Yes, we understand, Mr Dahler,' she said. Her voice was quiet and soothing. ‘Sit down now. We're all going to have a drink with you.' She picked up the bottle and smiled at him. ‘You haven't left us very much, Mr Dahler.'

‘No,' he said. He swallowed awkwardly and sat down again. He was suddenly a tired and rather pathetic old man. He passed his hand wearily over his face. ‘I have drunk too much,' he whispered. Then, with sudden renewal of his violence, ‘But I will not sit here doing nothing while Knut Jorgensen fills my place. I enlarged it. At my father's death we had five ships, that was all. When the Germans invaded Norway, I had a fleet of fourteen coasters and four tankers. Twenty-three thousand tons.' He seized the tumbler and drank, spilling the whisky down his chin. ‘All gone,' he murmured. ‘Nothing left. Nothing left, damn them – do you hear? God!' He buried his head in his hands. He was crying openly.