The Shaman's Daughter

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by Christoffer Petersen


  “Mitti Mathiassen’s?” Atii snorted. “I’m amazed.”

  “I know. What are the odds?”

  “Not that, P.” Atii slowed at a junction. “I’m amazed you didn’t open it.”

  “It wasn’t a bill, and it wasn’t something I ordered.”

  “It was a letter. You don’t order letters.”

  “You know what I mean.” I turned my head as Atii drove past the station. “Where are we going?”

  “Your apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.” Atii caught my eye as she slowed for a roundabout. “It’s time to open the letter.”

  Atii made tea after scouring the kitchen for coffee. She mentioned something about stocking my cupboards, but I barely heard her. I just stared at the envelope on my kitchen table.

  “What if it’s not meant for me?”

  “You found it in your mailbox?”

  “Yes?”

  Atii shrugged. “Then it’s meant for you.”

  “But Mitti got one…”

  “In her mailbox. So…”

  “It was meant for her.”

  Atii grinned and said, “Two peas in a pod.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a saying. Something about peas and a pod.” Atii sighed and then flicked her finger at the envelope. “Just open it. We have to get back to work.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll do it,” she said.

  “No.” I grabbed the envelope as Atii lunged for it. The table creaked as she bumped into it.

  “It could be a love letter.” She flashed me another one of those wild-eyed looks, only this time her eyes shone with mischief.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Aap,” she said, as she circled around the table.

  I went the other way, mouth twitching, grinning as Atii lunged one way, and I darted the other. I shrieked. Atii laughed. We toppled one chair onto the floor, before we both bumped into the back of the couch, sliding over the back of it until, legs hooked over the back, our heads dangled over the edge of the cushions.

  “Open it,” Atii said, blowing my hair out of her face.

  “Fine,” I said.

  I picked at the flap of the envelope with a quick-bitten nail, slid it open, and then teased out the contents, only to blink and cough in a fine shower of purple glitter.

  “Nice,” Atii said, rolling to one side. She tumbled onto the floor and picked herself up. “We’ll be wearing that for weeks.”

  “Yes,” I said, swinging my legs off the back of the chair until I was sitting on the couch. I peered into the envelope.

  “Well?”

  “There’s a ticket or something,” I said.

  “And?”

  I pulled it out and said, “And I think we should go.”

  I drove. Atii picked at the glitter from her cheeks, cursing when she found more in her hair, on her chin, stuck to the gloss she wore on her lips.

  “She’ll only get confused,” I said, slowing for the roundabout, accelerating out of it.

  “If she calls the number on the ticket?”

  “Exactly.”

  “If she can even find her phone, in all that mess.”

  “She called us this morning, Atii. Remember?”

  “Aap. It’s not like I can erase it from my memory, or my nostrils.”

  “Be nice.”

  “I am nice.”

  “Mitti is…”

  “Special?” Atii laughed. “Sure. And of all the special people in Nuuk, you two got a special letter.”

  I slapped Atii’s arm. “You’re jealous.”

  “Of all that glitter? That’s exactly what I am. And,” she said, adopting a serious tone. “Keep your hands on the wheel, Jensen. Training is over, you know?”

  I did know, just like I knew, that Mitti Mathiassen was perhaps not the most suitable random person to be invited to a school play. Sure, it’s always the thought that counts, but I wondered if the teacher should have given a little more thought to who the children in her class might invite to the play.

  “But then it wouldn’t be random,” I said, as I slowed to a stop outside Mitti’s apartment block.

  I turned the engine off and tapped the steering wheel.

  “P?”

  “Thinking,” I said.

  “No.” Atii turned in her seat. “No, that’s not what you’re doing.”

  “What?” I said, turning to look at her.

  “You’ve got that look, P.”

  “Right, okay, I’m frowning again…” Although, I wasn’t until I thought about it.

  “Not that kind of look. This is your determined to do something you probably shouldn’t look.”

  “I have one of those?”

  “Way too often.”

  I turned back to look up at the first floor of the building. Spotting Mitti’s apartment wasn’t difficult, although most of the balconies could do with tidying up.

  “Why not,” I whispered.

  “I’ll tell you why not,” Atii said, pausing as I opened the driver’s door. “It won’t end well.”

  I climbed out from behind the wheel, stopped in the street and peered into the car. “This is one of those random acts of kindness, Atii. I’m supposed to do it.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t expect me to.”

  “I don’t.”

  I shut the door and crossed the street, scuffing my boots in the grit as I walked the last few metres to the apartment block. I stopped as a young girl and boy popped out the door, banging it against the wall, before careening onto the path. The boy, giggling and out of breath, bumped into my legs and I caught his arms, holding him until he found his feet. Atii twisted around the girl as she caught up.

  “How are you doing?” I asked the boy.

  He looked up just as another burst of sunlight burned through the clouds, shining on the boy’s face, reflecting in the tiny spots of something on his cheeks.

  “Glitter,” I said, as the boy wriggled out of my grasp.

  I watched him go, chasing the girl onto the street, until he tagged her, and she stopped to count before chasing him in return. He ran back up the path and I called out to him as he passed.

  “Do you know Mitti Mathiassen?”

  The boy slowed, nodded once, and then shrieked, just as I had when Atii chased me. He darted inside the building with the girl hot on his heels. I looked at my hands and turned my palms towards Atii as the sun caught the glitter I had picked up from the boy.

  “Not so random,” I said.

  Atii pointed at the door as it banged shut. “He lives in the same block.”

  I nodded. “He knows Mitti Mathiassen.”

  “I’m still not coming, P,” Atii said.

  “I know.” I dipped my head towards the door, and said, “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  The lights in the school Aula dipped, plunging the makeshift stage into darkness as the teacher arranged her pupils in a line for the applause. The parents in the audience clapped and cheered, but Mitti clapped loudest. The lights clicked back on to full power, illuminating the children’s faces, and highlighting the smile on Mitti’s. I turned to Atii sitting beside me and whispered in her ear.

  “Aren’t you pleased you came?”

  “I’m here under protest,” she said.

  “Then stop smiling,” I said, nudging her with my shoulder.

  After three curtain calls, the teacher thanked everyone for coming – parents, friends, and the special random guests.

  “Please stay for refreshments,” she said, adding the number of the classroom where we could find, “Coffee, juice, and cake.”

  Mitti was the first to rise, shuffling her way along the row of seats as she made her way to the classroom.

  “I’ll keep an eye on Mitti,” Atii said, with a nod to the teacher walking towards us.

  I watched her go and then stood up as the teacher st
opped beside our row.

  “You got my letter,” she said.

  “Yes.” I held out my hand to greet her. “I’m Petra.”

  “I know. We live in the same apartment block. But you keep such odd hours.”

  I shrugged, and said, “I’m a…”

  “Constable.” The teacher smiled as she let go of my hand. “I’m Sapiina Cortzen. I live on the floor above. I have…”

  “Two children,” I said.

  “Aap.” Sapiina’s cheeks flushed as she caught my eye. “I thought we should meet, so you were my…”

  “Random guest?”

  Sapiina smiled. “Not so random after all.”

  “Not very,” I said, as I spotted the boy from Mitti’s apartment block. I watched as he ran to catch up with Mitti and Atii.

  “It was an idea I had. RAM: randomly addressed mail. Like computer RAM,” Sapiina said. “Perhaps it could have turned out differently.”

  “I’m glad it didn’t,” I said, pointing at the boy as he took Mitti’s hand on the way out of the Aula. “I think it turned out perfectly.”

  The End

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  About the Author

  Christoffer Petersen is the author’s pen name. He lives in Denmark. Chris started writing stories about Greenland while teaching in Qaanaaq, the largest village in the very north of Greenland – the population peaked at 600 during the two years he lived there. Chris spent a total of seven years in Greenland, teaching in remote communities and at the Police Academy in the capital of Nuuk.

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  By the same Author

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  featuring Constable David Maratse

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  GREENLAND MISSING PERSONS

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  THE EXPLORERS

  featuring Ludvig Mylius-Erichsen

  THE FJORD OF EVIL WINDS Novella 1

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  The Shaman’s

  Daughter

  By Christoffer Petersen

  Copyright © Christoffer Petersen, 2021

  AARLUUK PRESS

  Christoffer Petersen has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

 

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