by Mark, David
Chivers looked up in anticipation.
‘We want to know everything you know.’
It was only when he turned around Justin saw Ulrika. He had been avoiding her, barely daring, or wanting even, to look at her. She caught her eye. Instead of an expected bashful distance, he was surprised to see her eyes shining, taking in every tiny move Sebastian Chivers made.
He saw it was the feeling of light that set it apart. ‘Art is a lie that lets us see the truth.’
‘Shakespeare?’ Daniel ventured in a dry voice, steely eyes pinning Chivers to his seat.
‘Picasso,’ Justin said.
‘A painting can be like an oriental carpet.’ Chivers said eloquently.
The thought comforted him somehow.
They sat down at the table; Ash at one end with Justin opposite Chivers, Ulrika sitting opposite Daniel, both looking thoughtful. Except for Conrad, who was rocking in the chair.
Chivers asked the question for him. ‘So how did you know about Mr. Agard?’ He smiled a half smile, elbows on the table, resting his chin on the interwoven fingers of his hands, looking at Ash.
Conrad nodded and Ash took the lead. His answer surprised not only Chivers, but himself, and Ulrika as well, judging by the way she jerked in response. ‘It’s none of your business.’ He sent a piercing look in Justin’s direction. ‘It’s a long story,’ he shrugged. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well, in my line of business I rarely allow myself the luxury of conjecture. However, in this instance, it seems to me there is more to this painting than meets the eye, ’ Chivers said unabashed, pointing a fat podgy finger at the painting.
‘The runes...’ Ash prompted.
‘Runes yes old bean, well, as well as being a source of archaeological study into iron-age communication, they also have another significance that is should I say... a little less scientific. The question is,’ he lowered his forehead slightly, looking up. ‘Where do they come from?’ He turned to Justin. ‘Do you know your Norse mythology?’
‘A little.’ Daniel said on his behalf, looking at Ash with a twinkle in his eye.
Chivers licked his lips, ‘Per–haps I am getting a little ahead of myself.’
Justin felt the hurt more deeply as he looked across at Ulrika; she was staring at Ash, as if waiting for something he wasn’t providing. It hurt even more when she smiled at him, sober in the realization she wasn’t the sort of girl he thought she was.
He switched his attention to the Hangman instead: at the brush strokes which had a certain energy in them; accurate not articulate, capturing something that could only be appreciated from a distance. The subject was the sallow body of a man hanging from outstretched arms from the boughs of a tree, his feet hanging a man’s height above the ground. He looked at the application of orange and yellow paint, following the angle and direction of his arms, upwards. ‘I thought it was a Blake.’
‘I believe this painting of yours and my work are somehow intrinsically intertwined.’ Chivers said smoothly. ‘Blake, no. Agard, a most extraordinary artist and archaeologist, yes. It is Joachim Agard who painted this piece my dear fellows. And that is why I am here; I have come a long way.’ He looked across the table to the form of Conrad who had been listening to every word.
Daniel stood up and walked to within two paces of the painting. ‘Art and archaeology, eh.’ He laughed for a reason Justin failed to grasp.
‘What we perceive to be a pattern, when we really look at it, is just composed of lots of different strands – yet how they all relate together, that’s what it’s really about,’ Chivers continued.
Finally, Ulrika leaned forwards, looking annoyed at the distraction. ‘So you don’t know, then?’
Chivers looked surprised. ‘Know what, my dear?’
‘What they say, the runes?’
He shook his head, ‘I’m afraid my abilities on that front only stretch as far as historic texts, and a limited appreciation of artistic endeavor,’ he chortled.
‘So you really don’t know?’ Daniel repeated, stealing a look in Ash’s direction before taking a step forward, lowering his voice. ‘Then you can’t stay.’
‘You’re here because you’re only scrounging around for a bit of dosh,’ Ash added.
Exasperated, Chivers looked around in surprise. ‘As to the subject, I know Herodotus once said,’ he closed his eyes, ‘And the manner in which they offer up the captive is not by sacrificing him ... on an altar only, but also by hanging him to a tree, as a cruel form of death.’
‘Thus, then, do the inhabitants of Thule live.’ Ash continued, drawing a look of astonishment from Chivers.
‘My words, you know Herodotus as well?’
Ash noticed the looks of surprise, saying in a quieter voice, ‘History was the only thing I was ever really good at.’
‘Thule?’ Conrad said, stopping his rocking. ‘What the hell are you on about man?’
Chivers squinted back through crunched up eyes, as if trying to make a point.
‘Thule is the lands of the Nordic Gods,’ Ash said on his behalf.
‘Yes.’
‘This is what this painting is all about?’ Conrad asked. ‘Gods?’ He said the word as if it was something unpleasant to the taste.
‘Absolutely. Thule,’ Chivers gave back, receiving a look of surprise from Conrad to reward his efforts. He nodded at Ash, ‘sacred lost land of the North.’
‘I know one of the runic inscriptions. Does Hörgrlund mean anything?’ Justin ignored the look of indignation from Conrad.
Chivers shook his head. ‘Horger... what did you say?’
‘How much then? What are you after? It’s money, come on man, spit it out,’ Ash said rudely.
‘Oh, very well,’ Chivers said, looking defeated as he slumped in his chair glancing across. ‘Of course, I have a financial interest in the piece. Really, there is no mistaking the style, only the authenticity. And as far as I’m concerned, it is quite authentic. Joachim Agard, Ikim Agar, take your pick.’
‘Ikim A-gar.’ Justin repeated.
Chivers shook his head. ‘No. Ag-ár old bean. Ikim Agar. I’m surprised you have never heard of him. It is an absolute gem. And no. I have no idea about runes and all that...’
Daniel shrugged, looking away. ‘It’s easy, the translation; easier than we expected, rune for letter. It’s the translation of the letters into something that makes sense that’s the hard bit.’
‘So you translated them then?’
‘It takes a little time to get it right.’
Chivers nodded, looking happier by the moment.
‘These rituals, the kind of rituals where they sacrificed kings; it’s been bothering the hell out of us, why someone would want to paint something like this,’ Daniel continued in his lilting American accent. ‘I mean, what’s so special about it anyway? There must be literally thousands of valuable pieces floating on the market. So why this one?’ He tapped the table with his hand with each word. Daniel looked across at Ash, jerking his thumb at the Hangman. ‘Come on, this guy’s a dead ringer for Odin. Admit it.’ He looked at Chivers. ‘Odin live in Thule did he?’
‘Well, yes, yes of course.’
‘Thought as much,’ Ash turned to look around, eyes resting finally on Chivers once again. ‘Well. Unless I’m mistaken, that is either a monk who pissed off a Viking called Rómund; or, Odin himself, as Dan reckons.’ He looked across at Chivers with a smirk. ‘If you can help us solve that little mystery, then you can stay. Old bean.’
‘There are really two ways of looking at and understanding the world. In essence, there are the traditionalists – and then there are the occultists.’
Ulrika could hardly believe what she was hearing. She felt elated. And scared... and still, totally confused. She thought of Chivers’ words, mind working, wondering which world this outspoken prat of an Englishman belonged to. Was it the world of ordinary everyday people, or the world of the criminal? One thing she felt for sure, it was connected with Thomas Denisen, caught up
within a shadow-world; a world of dark people and darker deeds she had become a part of. And it involved Joachim Agard, a name so obviously familiar to Ash, Daniel and Conrad.
For a moment, she felt a sense something bad was going to happen and shuddered inwardly at the thought. She desperately wanted to get out. Her attention was drawn to Justin who was resting his head in his hands, quiet and watchful. Justin had avoided her of course, but that was to be expected; he had known less than she had hoped for. She felt sorry for him, feeling some remorse for...
Conrad laid it on the table: ‘Cut to the chase Chivers, time is running out.’
Chivers’ face became serious, all traces of joviality fading as he met the eyes of those before him. ‘The painting is definitely Odinic. Agard was a traditionalist, to some. But he was also an occultist.’
Ulrika realized he was speaking the truth. Perhaps she was the only one to know what he was talking about... so how did the painting fit into what had been going on at old Hörgrlund?
And why kill for it?
Chivers waved his hand at the painting. ‘One of Odin’s names is Hangatýr, the god of the hanged.’
‘Odin hung himself?’ Justin said.
‘The legends tell us so.’ He looked around at the inquisitive faces, then at the painting. ‘You didn’t know that?’
‘Know what, exactly?’ Conrad said, looking up from his fingernails.
Chivers peered at Conrad with an almost theatrical sense of modesty. ‘That this little masterpiece commemorates the sacrifice of Odin. For knowledge.’ He smiled piously. ‘According to legend, Odin by hanging himself, sacrifices himself to the gods.’
‘But he is a god,’ Ash said.
‘It was only by being a god, and sacrificing himself that he could receive the magic of the runes.’
‘Because he’s a god?’
Chivers smiled. ‘It’s all rather...’
‘Symbological,’ Ash finished.
‘Symbolical,’ Chivers corrected, ‘power and the power of the word. He hung for nine days, staring down into the waters of the well of Wyrd, abode of the Nurns, until the runes came to him from out of the infinite waters. This is what Agard painted. It has been written that Agard was portraying a momentous event...’
‘Oh bullshit,’ Ash blurted.
‘My dear chap, runes were not letters as the alphabet, they represent the forces of, well...’
‘Well what?’ Ash said in derision.
‘The universe.’ Daniel said on Chivers’ behalf.
Ash snorted.
‘No, he’s right,’ Daniel added, sitting up. ‘It’s magic he gets, from the waters of the deep...’ Daniel exchanged a look with Ash. He looked at the painting on display. ‘Agard painted something Ash, he god-damned painted something that had happened!’ He stood up, eyes alive now. ‘We have the runes on the frame, and Odin. That’s telling us something isn’t it?’
Ulrika waited for more, but Daniel seemed to sense he had said too much and fell quiet. She noticed how Ash looked thoughtful and fell quiet. So why did Agard paint it in the first place?
The story had always captivated her... it was what had made her look at Tived in the first place. And now she regretted that. Christ, how she regretted it.
‘It’s telling enough for someone to want to kill for it, that’s what it is,’ Justin said.
‘Knowledge,’ Ash said, zeroing in. ‘So, this could be understood as the hanged man upon the gallows. As some kind of... Odinic-rite bullshit something?’
‘Explain,’ Conrad ordered sharply, staring at Chivers menacingly.
The fat shit of an Englishman jumped, then looked up at the ceiling. ‘Let me see, Odin hung on the sacred tree for nine days and nights. In return, he secured from the Well the spring of knowledge, or, no, he secured from the spring, the well of knowledge, eighteen charms, or runes,’ he added, looking up.
Ulrika sat up, feeling like she was about to discover something. ‘It could that have been Agard’s reason for painting it, runes give knowledge,’ she ventured. ‘Is that it?’ But knowledge of what?
Chivers nodded. ‘But there is nothing about burning.’ He sat back and folded his arms. ‘Now that really does puzzle me...’
Ulrika turned to the painting, taking in the flames enveloping the upward arms of the figure, flames reaching high above his head into the tree. It was symbolic, it had to be. Thomas had mentioned something about the painting being special... she hadn’t been sure what he had meant by that. ‘So, the painting represents Odin, as the burning Hangman of the Gallows,’ she said. ‘After or before he receives the runes?’
‘Odin, sacrificing himself. For knowledge.’ Justin repeated with a nod.
‘He painted something like, universal then, but something based on what he had experienced himself,’ Ash replied glancing at Daniel.
Chivers nodded. ‘Quite extraordinary, since no one knows what ever happened to him.’
‘Who – Odin?’ Ulrika asked.
Chivers rolled his pork-like eyes, ‘No, Agard.’
‘This painting must be worth a lot of money. That’s why you’re interested.’
Chivers looked offended at Ash’s insinuation. ‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Of course I have an interest in the subject. It is the only spiritual piece Agard ever painted that I am aware of.’
Ash was still glaring at him. ‘So now we know it’s Agard. How much? Spit it out.’
Chivers was looking around like a peacock or peahen, or whatever it was they called those birds, his head bobbing up and down, from side to side, looking more and more uncomfortable. She smiled at his discomfort, enjoying the sight of it.
‘I couldn’t really say...’
‘Occultism you said,’ Justin raised his head in Chivers’ direction. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’
The fat-shit Englishman just looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘In Agard’s case it meant understanding the world and our part it in, things that can’t be explained by science alone.’
Everyone turned to Chivers expectantly.
‘Know what I think?’ Ash shot back. ‘I think you’re full of shit Mr. Fucking Chiv-arse, or whatever your name is.’
Chivers sent Ash another offended look, withdrawing into himself as Justin stood up and walked past the table to the painting, studying it, closely. Ulrika smiled to herself as she watched him look at the figure, the old man; Odin. At the tree to which his backward sweeping arms were tied.
The church. She had heard Justin speaking of it. He and Ash had been there the day they had picked her up. To see the Pastor. Why had they been there? She didn’t think any of them had been telling her the truth. And neither had she. She could have laughed, a den of wolves all lying to each other, Chivers included. The real reasons he was here he was keeping to himself. She wondered what Almquist would do when he got here. She thought about how she could get back to Stockholm: She wasn’t interested in the truth anymore... she just needed to get the hell away from this fucking place.
‘We don’t know for sure if Denisen was pushed or fell, only the mutilations were performed after the event.’ He stared at the blank wall in front of his telephone. ‘As unpleasant as they are, these are not the cause of ending someone’s life.’ He listened to the rest of it, raising his hand to rub his fingers across his beard, looking deeply troubled. He hung up, satisfied that would provide him with more time. As for the fake lawyer’s letter, a dodgy painting and the realization that he was part of something that also possibly involved Oskar, he was on his own. Oskar hadn’t been where his record said he should have been either, placed where his CV had said he had worked.
He sat blankly in front of his desk, casting an eye over the records he’d requested the day before from Central, trying to figure out how the hell he could deal with this added complication. He decided to keep it to himself and shelved the Oskar issues. He needed to know more. The Hangman... Oskar had mentioned the Hangman.
He accessed one of Elin’s reports from his
computer, using one finger, taking his time to locate the file from the current documents directory. It was the most used directory of any investigation. Gustav never went to Æsahult church. But Anna did, he recalled, though Gustav told him she hated the place...
Gustav was a man who had a passion for solitude.
Somewhere, he still had a copy of Gustav’s voice.
Could it have been Anna’s painting? He tried to remember her. A quiet, austere woman she was, one of few words. He gave up on his search and returned to the ops room, nodding at Oskar who was now sitting at the table staring at the board.
‘The Hangman of the Gallows, it’s an interesting name.’ Lindgren said disturbing his thoughts. ‘No wonder he wanted to have it copied.’
An interesting name for an interesting painting, interesting enough to kill someone for it.
He stared at the enlargements of the painting mounted on the boards with a feeling of detachment. The hardest part was the possibility he had misjudged a situation, misjudged someone. Why were all his investigations always so god-damned complicated? Like walking blind in a maze for the deprived.
Thomas Denisen had been confirmed as a dealer in works of art forgery, provided a reason for involvement of... who? He processed the new information: Justin’s neighbor had never had a housekeeper. Justin had been lead from the start. That was even more disturbing, despite the distance of time or geography.
Lindgren got up and walked over to the boards. In his hand he had a map which he dutifully pinned up to a new, fourth board, the project taking up all the available space across the width of the conference room. He pinned the top of the map, unrolling it to the bottom, pinning each corner in turn. He walked to the second board, removing four large red-topped pins. ‘Here...’ he tapped the board, placing the next pin to the right of lake Unden, ‘... is the homestead, opposite the shore of Æsahult church.’ He placed the third pin south and east of Tived. Trollkyrka.
Elin left her office and joined them, sitting down at the end of the long central table illuminated by lights hanging from the ceiling, rendering her skin a stark white color.
