Death Under the Bridge

by Cate Martin

  "Not a problem," he said. "But you better take off." He pointed with his chin and I saw the first of the police cars coming around the bend behind me.

  "Thanks!" I said, then slid back down the embankment to the river bank and jogged along the path back to the highway.

  I really wished I knew what shortcut my grandmother had taken.

  Chapter 7

  I crossed the bridge back to the north side of the river, then followed the trail down the steep slope to the main road that ran through Runde. But once I was down there looking east towards my grandmother's house, I knew that wasn't really where I needed to be next. I didn't question the feeling, I just let it guide my steps past the meeting hall and up the river to the cavern behind the waterfall.

  I had been here just the day before, but only a handful of times before that, and never without my grandmother. What was I thinking?

  I straightened my spine and tried to put as much confidence as I could into my voice. "Which Thor is guarding?" I called, as mormor always did. I didn't think it was a coincidence it was always Thorbjorn when we'd come before. My grandmother clearly had a fondness for him. But who would it be this time?

  Was I finally about to meet one of his brothers?

  But there was no answer to my inquiry, and after a few minutes I started to feel a bit silly just waiting there. I went further in.

  The passage to the inner caves was unblocked, and when I reached the fire cave, I found it empty. At first I thought the fire had gone out, but it was just banked down to a low glow of embers. There was plenty of wood nearby if someone wanted to build it back up to a roaring bonfire.

  It was possible whoever was on guard duty was patrolling somewhere down in the deeper caves. But I would've thought they would block the passageway to Runde first.

  The deeper caves, filled with things that mormor never spoke of and Thorbjorn only maddeningly hinted at. Was that passage also open and unguarded? Was that what had lured me here? Somewhere down there was the cave that was now Halldis' prison cell. And just that thought made my skin crawl, like I could feel her sensing my presence there in the cave. Like she knew I was alone, without mormor, without Thorbjorn.

  I had a flash of a thought - what if I was following her summons again, like I had before? - and then found myself racing up the stone steps towards the meadow at the top of the waterfall, back up to the sunlight.

  The image came back of her hands, those intricate motions. Was she somehow still casting spells?

  Was she directly below me now?

  That thought really had my heart racing, and by the time I reached the dry, brown grasses of the meadow at the top of the waterfall, I was in a full run. I didn't slow down until the houses of Villmark were all around me. Those modernist homes with their tidy little gardens surrounded me like a comforting hug, and I finally felt safe enough to slow down to a walk.

  Safe, and a bit silly. I was behaving like a little girl, letting nightmares control me to the point I was jumping at every shadow. When my grandmother and I have a spare moment, I would ask her yet again about the safeguards she had placed to protect the Villmarkers from Halldis. I knew she had taken every precaution, and I had absolute faith that the power Halldis had was like a candle before the bonfire of what my grandmother could do.

  But it wouldn't hurt to remind that scared part of my mind another time that we were safe now.

  I walked to the center of town, nodding hello to the people I recognized or those who recognized me. It didn't seem like a large village, but I still had met all too few of the Villmarkers. The ones who went down to the meeting hall to mix with the people of Runde at least semiregularly were familiar to me, but there were many more that preferred to stay in their own village. Getting to know them was going to take more work from me. I should really make a point of doing that soon.

  I took the north road from the center of town, climbing the hill until the road ended at its summit in a little park. The last house on my left was where the Thors lived. I knocked on the garden gate, but no one was in the garden. The morning chill was quickly burning off, promising another warm Indian summer day, although the clouds were drawing ever closer to the sun. I knocked again, louder, but there was still no response.

  I had come too far to turn back now, even if I didn't really know why I was there besides having a feeling I was supposed to be there. Still, I felt like a complete criminal as I tried the gate latch and found it unlocked. I pushed the gate open, then hesitated.

  My grandmother had a habit of just walking inside of any home in Villmark and Runde, both without waiting for an invitation, and no one ever seemed to mind. I suspected this was a measure of respect she commanded everywhere she went. But did that extend to me?

  I was only crossing the yard, not breaking and entering, I reminded myself, and forced myself to walk up to the front door and knock on it. Then knock again. And a third time.

  Maybe no one was home? I turned to look back towards the gate I had left standing open, but my feet wouldn't move. I needed to be here, but why?

  I turned back to the door and reached for the doorknob, but a different impulse kept me from turning it. I just didn't have my grandmother's disregard for social niceties.

  I don't know how long I stood there with my hand on the doorknob, caught between conflicting motivations, not able to move a muscle. But suddenly the door was thrown open with such force it tore the knob from my grip. I stumbled back, shaking my hand more in surprise than actual pain.

  "Oh, Ingrid," Thorbjorn said. He tried to look up at me, but then shut his eyes against the sun behind me. "Come in." He didn't wait for me to respond, though, just grabbed my shoulder and propelled me inside so he could shut the door and block out the offending sunlight.

  "You finished that whole huge mug of beer last night?" I guessed.

  "That was only the first of many," he said. "I'll be right as rain as soon as I get some coffee and eggs in me, though. How about you?"

  "I could use some of both," I admitted. "I've been up for a while but left the house in a hurry this morning. There's been a murder."

  "Another one?" he said, still squinting when he looked at me like I was too bright for him.

  "I think it's just a Runde matter," I said as I followed him down the hall to his family's kitchen. It featured a row of large floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an amazing view of the rest of the village on the hillside below. Luckily that view was aimed southerly and somewhat westerly, and the sun was a few hours away from reaching inside if the clouds didn't swallow it up first.

  "Oh, good. My brothers left me some coffee," he said as he examined an immense stainless steel urn, the sort I associated with business meetings or church functions, places where a lot of people needed coffee all at the same time. All five Thors still lived with their parents, but even given that, it looked like a lot of coffee for seven people.

  Thorbjorn filled a mug and set it on the kitchen table, gesturing for me to have a seat. I slid into the chair then put my face into the steam rising from the mouth of the mug, inhaling the aroma. I can take or leave the taste of coffee and generally prefer drinking tea, but there's nothing like the smell of roasted beans.

  "You like it?" Thorbjorn asked as he filled a second mug for himself. "I can show you the shop where I get it in the marketplace. Nilda and Kara's aunt roasts the beans herself."

  "It's not contraband here?" I asked.

  "No, but the rules for getting that sort of thing are quite complicated," he said, taking a long swallow from his mug. "You can ask my dad about it sometime. He's the member of the council who mostly deals with trade issues."

  "I have so much to learn," I said, taking a sip. I could see why he hadn't offered me any cream or sugar; the rich flavor needed no such adornments. "Wow."

  Thorbjorn tried to grin at me but couldn't quite manage it. "Eggs?" he asked.

  "Do you want me to-" I started to say, but he put a hand on my shoulder before I could get up from my chai
r.

  "Absolutely not," he said. "This is not my first hangover, thank you very much."

  "I wouldn't have thought so," I said. "I'm guessing the arm wrestling went on for a bit after I left?"

  "There were... other events as well," he said as he took an enormous cast-iron skillet down from a hook and gave it a showy spin in one hand before setting it down on the stove. He had to use a match to light the burner, but in most respects the stove worked just like a modern one, if as oversized for a single family as the coffee urn was. He left it to heat up and started cracking egg after egg into a stainless steel bowl.

  "Your brothers got up earlier than you?" I asked as I watched him crumble sausage into the skillet. I could smell fennel and garlic in addition to the meat.

  "The ones who came home at all," he said. "Two of them were on forest patrol. It's not unusual for that to mean being out for a few nights at a time."

  I sensed he wanted to wait until he had food in him before conducting any serious conversation, so I just sipped at my coffee and watched him brown the sausage then pour in the eggs. A few minutes after that he finally set a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage in front of me, then sat down across from me with his own.

  At first he ate without speaking, forking mouthful after mouthful without interruption in a studious rhythm. But then finally he paused to take another gulp of coffee and looked up at me.

  To my surprise, he seemed to be totally right about just needing coffee and breakfast to be right as rain. His eyes were clear and alert, as if he had just gotten a full night's sleep after a quiet evening at home. "You said something about a murder?" he said.

  "Like I said, it's probably just a Runde matter. And the police are already working on it," I said.

  "But that's why you were up so early this morning, I'm guessing," he said between bites.

  "Mormor and I both, yes," I said. "The body was found under the new steel bridge. You know the one. We sailed past it yesterday?"

  "Sure," he said. "I regret my words."

  "What words?" I asked.

  "When I told you about the build and destroy cycle of the bridge there, and I said steel was going to make things interesting. No, what I said was, it would be fun to see what happened next. I didn't think it would be murder."

  "I'm not sure this is related to that," I said. "He might not have even been killed there. We can't tell."

  "Just a weird coincidence?" he asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe it is related in some way. Since the dead body was a Nelsen, and the kid who found him was a Sorensen, and those are the two families that have been having a property dispute over that bridge since the founding of Runde."

  "I can't help you with that," he said. "In fact, I don't know what I can help you with. Besides breakfast."

  "Yeah, thanks for that," I said, looking down at my empty plate. I had been hungrier than I had thought.

  "Did you come here just because you were hungry?" he asked.

  "I don't know why I came here," I admitted. "I was going back to my grandmother's house after the police arrived to take over the crime scene, but instead I found myself walking here. I just felt like there was something I needed to do here."

  "In Villmark, or in my house?" he asked. I shrugged. Then he gave me a sharp look. "Wait, you came up here alone? Not with your grandmother?"

  "No, she's still recovering from yesterday," I said. "Are you angry with me? You look angry."

  "I'm not angry with you," he said. "I should've felt you crossing from Runde to Villmark and I didn't."

  "Well," I said, but couldn't think of a diplomatic way of pointing out his hangover, or the fact that I had obviously woken him up when I had knocked on the door. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, letting some random urge out of nowhere dictate what I do."

  "Not at all," he said with a wave of his hand. "You don't have full access to your magic yet, but that doesn't mean it isn't trying to communicate with you anyway it can. I think trusting your urges is the smart play." Then he got up from the table and gathered our plates to take them over to the deep sink already filled with soaking dishes.

  "Do you need help washing up?" I asked.

  "I don't think that's why you were summoned here," I said, but before either of us could say more we were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Although you can help by seeing who that is," he said.

  "Sure," I said, and went back up the hallway to open the front door.

  It was Loke. And he didn't look surprised to see me in Thorbjorn's house.

  "Loke," I said. "Thorbjorn is just in the kitchen."

  "I'm sure he is, but I'm actually here for you," he said with a sly grin.

  "Me? How did you even know I was here?" I asked.

  "Well, where else would you be at this hour?" he asked, but then raised his hands as if in defense when I narrowed my eyes at him. "Also, Mjolner is waiting at the gate. That's usually a dead giveaway."

  "Mjolner is here?" I asked, leaning around Loke to see that my cat was indeed sitting on top of the gatepost, calmly grooming his sleek black ears.

  "That's not the important bit," Loke said. "You better bid your farewells to Thorbjorn. Andrew is at your grandmother's house."

  "Why does that sound dire?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him again.

  "I don't know," he said with a careless shrug. "People tend to think everything I say sounds dire. I don't intend it. All I know is Andrew is at your grandmother's house, and she flagged me down as I passed on the street to send me here to fetch you."

  "She knew I was in Villmark?" I asked.

  "Mjolner probably tipped her off," he said.

  "But what does Andrew want?" I asked. "Did the police find out something?"

  "Police?" Loke said, raising his eyebrows with a questioning air that I didn't think he was faking. "Sorry. I was given orders, not information. The only way to find out is to go back home."

  "Right," I said, and held up a finger to tell him to wait for me as I headed back to the kitchen to say goodbye to Thorbjorn.

  I still had no clue why my gut had sent me here, but I wasn't having any luck figuring out what it was, and the person who could help me most was my grandmother. So I might as well head home.

  But I couldn't quiet the nagging feeling that I was missing something.

  Chapter 8

  I gave Loke a rundown of my entire morning as we walked back to my grandmother's house. He listened intently without interrupting, but drew me to a halt just before we climbed up onto the porch.

  "This urge to see Thorbjorn," he said. I expected to see his eyes dancing at me, but he looked, for once, completely serious. "What was that?"

  "I don't know," I said. Mjolner was squirming in my arms and I bent to let him go run through the dried remains of the herb garden.

  "Come on. Do better than that," he scoffed. "You've been under a compulsion spell, right? You've also followed magical feelings before. Was this like either of those?"

  "Maybe like the second one?" I said.

  "You don't sound sure," he said.

  "Maybe because I'm not sure," I said. "The feeling was strong as I went to Villmark, but as soon as I got there, it just sort of faded away."

  "I thought it led you all the way to Thorbjorn's house," he said. "Ingy, think carefully. Were you guided the whole way?"

  "Don't call me Ingy," I said, but when he put his hand over my eyes, I let him close my eyelids, and I thought back to what I had been feeling but not really paying attention to before. "No. The feeling sort of tapered off, and I guess I figured as long as I was there I would go see Thorbjorn."

  "I thought so," he said, and I opened my eyes to see him smirking.

  "That's not helpful," I said.

  "Sorry, helpful is not really my thing," he said with his trademark casual shrug. "But seriously, when you get these feelings in the future, take more note of them."

  "I guess I didn't realize I wasn't," I said. "But thanks for the advice. Shall we?"

 
He nodded, and I skipped up the steps. The moment I swung the door open, the smell of fresh waffles, butter and real maple syrup washed over me.

  "There she is," Andrew said, or tried to say. The waffle packed in his mouth muffled his words.

  "Here I am," I agreed, getting out of my boots as quickly as I could and running to take over the waffle iron.

  "I've got this," my grandmother tried to insist, but Loke was already there beside her, guiding her to a chair. It was a sign of just how exhausted she was that she let him do that.

  "Nora? Are you not feeling all right?" Andrew asked. He looked guiltily down at his syrupy plate, now empty of waffles.

  "Oh, yes," she assured him. "I just had a bit of a full day yesterday."

  "And an early morning," he said. "I should not have sent Carl and Tobias to wake you."

  "Nonsense. I needed to know," she said. The waffle light went from red to green and I lifted the lid, then forked the hot waffle onto an empty plate. I handed it to Loke, who set it in front of my grandmother.

  "So Luke said you needed me back straight away?" I said as I poured another ladle-full of batter onto the iron and closed the lid.

  "Yes, things have gotten a little complicated while you were away," my grandmother said, not touching the waffle in front of her. I gave Loke a pointed look, and he slipped into the empty chair beside her to start buttering it for her.

  "I haven't been gone long," I said, then glanced at my watch and realized it had been more than an hour.

  "Where were you?" Andrew asked.

  "I took a walk. I needed to think," I said. "What's happened? Did the police say something?"

  "No, not to me," Andrew said. "They chased me out of there as soon as they arrived. But one of the junior officers, a fellow named Foster, told me they would keep the Nelsen family informed of the investigation as it proceeds. So that's something."

  I remembered Officer Foster. He had had a pretty tough time the last time he had come to Runde. My grandmother maintained some sort of magic that made people either not notice Runde or to forget it the moment they left. He had come down to Runde proper to question me but had had trouble remembering who my grandmother and I were from moment to moment even as he was talking to us. But then, he had been in the meeting hall when he had tried to question me about Lisa's death. That was the very heart of my grandmother's protective spells. I hoped he had fared better on the far side of the river.