C14 Chapter 14

The nights in May are short. A dim light made its way onto the stairs in the “Kornblomsten” tower. Ellen had never felt more alert in a restless, neurotic way. She saw Rikard’s earnest, heavy features; anybody could see that he was concerned and growing very nervous. Morahan was leaning against the banister. His deathly pale, yellow face appeared in the dim light. He looked incredibly tired but obviously intended to keep going. Ellen was touched because she realized that he would be supportive, no matter how rotten he felt.

The walkie-talkie crackled. Rikard Brink replied. “How are things?” asked an anxious voice from the team of guards by the gate.

“They’re doing incredibly well; I don’t understand it,” was Rikard’s reply. “By the look of things, Ellen has established some sort of rapport. I don’t like it all. The way she’s gone about it is beyond me, but she’s uniquely talented. She seems to have found a line of approach.”

“I say,” said the guard, shuddering. “We have a chap here. He’s been pestering us for days to be allowed in. There’s something he wants to fetch in the house. Some music, I think it is. He was on a visit here a week before all this happened and he wrote a composition. Immensely valuable, so he says, but perhaps he’s boasting.”

“No, he shouldn’t risk his life for some music. Send him home! Anything else?”

“The journalists want to know more about the Irishman and the girl.”

“There’s nothing to tell ...”

Ellen grabbed him by the arm. Rikard gave her a questioning look. Then he also heard it.

“I’ll get back to you later,” he said and switched off.

From the corridor, they heard the dragging, dull sound of somebody approaching them.

Morahan sat motionless. Ellen’s face showed that she was anxious. She wanted to say something about the music but the sound interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Rikard, I’m scared,” she moaned despairingly and put her head on his shoulder. “This is too great a responsibility to lay on my shoulders. Besides, I’ve no Nataniel here to ask for advice.”

The only consolation Rikard could give her was to hold her closely. He couldn’t tell her what he feared: that something had happened to Nataniel on the way.

“Does it tend to come down here?” Morahan whispered.

“Not as far as I know,” Rikard replied, but his face was stiff with worry.

“It’s seeking my assistance,” Ellen complained. “Oh, please help me, help me, what am I to do?”

Fingers, or something, were scraping along the wall and the door up there, feeling the way.

The three on the stairs had got up. For an infinite number of seconds, they stood stock-still, Ellen with eyes wide open.

Finally, she said in a trembling voice: “We’re on our way.”

“Ellen, you’re not right in your head,” Rikard whispered. “You can’t talk to him. This ... this won’t do!”

Ellen said in an unexpectedly firm voice: “Please listen to me, Rikard. You remember that I spoke to you about turning the problem upside down. I’ll readily admit that he’s not a good creature; he’s very dangerous and evil in his soul and heart – if he has one. But Nataniel once said: even cruelty may need mercy. Rikard, here’s my point: before we can help the Ice People and all our fellow human beings on earth, perhaps we must help him!”

Now the corridor was absolutely quiet.

Rikard looked down into Ellen’s glowing face, which was ready for combat.

“You’re an incredible girl,” he murmured slowly. “This is the area in which you specialize, that you’re able to feel compassion for even the worst creatures. He’s alone in a new, unknown world, even if it doesn’t exactly make him more sympathetic. However, I’m sure you realize that I can’t allow you into the corridor now?”

Ellen turned aggressive: “Why not?”

“What would Nataniel say...? He would never forgive me. No, Ellen, I’ll never agree to that.”

There was a new call on the walkie-talkie. Rikard answered. There was obviously trouble down by the gate. Somebody wanted to come inside and the journalists were trying to tag along; the guard needed reinforcement.

Rikard said to the two others: “Come down with me. I can’t leave you here.”

“We’ll manage,” replied Ellen. “We’re safe out here on the stairs.”

For a moment, Rikard looked perplexed at them, then, after giving them a small walkie-talkie, he hurried downstairs. Ellen and Morahan looked at one another. They exchanged a tense smile, filled with anxiety and fear.

Then they opened the door carefully.

“This is something you feel you just have to do, isn’t it?” whispered Morahan.

“Yes, absolutely!”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you. I may need you.”

The second floor corridor was empty. They walked anxiously up the stairs, hand in hand, hard and despairing. In spite of everything, Ellen’s thoughts were merely a theory. The beast could stand anywhere, ready to attack. Then they would be totally unprotected.

They were up on the second floor. Morahan had to stop for a breather. Ellen supported him lightly as he stood there, leaning against the wall.

“It’s a pity that there was so much to-ing and fro-ing on the stairs,” she whispered. “And I sent you downstairs for the list! How thoughtless of me!”

Morahan just shook his head deprecatingly.

The creature was not in the corridor.

A pale light shone into the farthest corner through the glass wall.

They stood still, unsure where to search. Then Ellen grabbed Morahan’s arm hard.

“Morahan! He’s behind us. Where did he come from?”

Now Morahan also felt an unpleasant sensation on his back. “When he’s in a hurry, he moves differently,” he murmured. Ellen remembered the accounts of how Tengel the Evil could fly through the air in an upright position. They turned around.

The sight of the small, upright, flat-headed creature made them feel sick, but Ellen met the dead eyes with a steady gaze. From the open mouth came some hissing warning sounds, which they were very willing to respect.

Ellen suddenly snapped: “Morahan! Help me! He’s seeking contact! I knew it! I knew it!”

She felt so nauseous that she was green in the face, but with the courage of despair she went on staring at those terrible eyes. Morahan stood close behind her, holding her hands in a firm grip. She felt the corridor turning into a deep, whirling drum, the centre of which consisted of two yellow eye slits. She struggled to abandon all thought and just to be in the present.

Then she intuitively felt with shocking certainty that another soul had taken up room in her. This was something she had experienced before in nightmarish incidents, which she and Nataniel had shared.

Now she was alone. Morahan was kind but without her capabilities.

She had contact. It was eerie beyond all limits, but she couldn’t get away, she was totally under somebody else’s will. This was no human creature. She felt a mean, abominable hostility towards everything and she was terrified that she would succumb to it. She focused on her task. “I want to help you, allow me to help you.” She sent all her thoughts to the creature.

Before she had time to appreciate what was happening, he crouched, straightened his back and like a shot he flew past them, gliding over the floor, and up to the ledge over the cupboards where he crouched, spreading his terrible, vibrating waves.

Very hesitantly, they moved closer.

Morahan asked Ellen: “Did you lose touch?”

“No, it’s there, stronger now. Morahan, something is happening to me, hold me firmly, I’m scared! He’ll kill us if I don’t obey, I know it!”

Morahan could feel how her nails were cutting into his hands, but she didn’t let the creature out of her sight.

The creature up there spread its waves as it hissed. Ellen's face was deathly white. She was tired. She understood the reality: they would have to follow Tengel the Evil wherever he wanted. Otherwise, it would cost them their lives.

The silence was deafening, because the cordoned-off area was big and no sounds from living people reached them. The air was heavy around them, the vibrations exuded an atmosphere of anxiety and Ellen had problems concentrating.

Then she picked something up.

Was it an echo? An echo carried by the wind. Far, far away ...

What was it bringing with it? Tones? Music? Yes, definitely!

Ellen relaxed a bit and tried to walk along by the wall. Tengel the Evil crouched, following her intently with his eyes.

She walked casually past the Jepsens’ door where the evil creature had once been seen, lowering her speed a fraction.

Something flew past Morahan, enveloping him in a cloud of dust and stench. Suddenly, Ellen found herself standing right next to the abominable creature, which only reached up to her chest. However, Tengel the Evil didn’t show her very much attention. All he was thinking of was the door to the Jepsens’ apartment.

He sat with his back to the door, curled up and wrapped in his large cape and with his flat head lowered between his shoulders. Only the eyes took everything in.

“Well,” she said quietly. “Jepsen and his artistic friends. Musicians!”

She was quite matter-of-fact and calm now. Ominously calm. She borrowed the small walkie-talkie from Morahan and called the police outside the cordoned-off area.

“Is Rikard Brink there?”

“No, he was hurt in the uproar and sent to the doctor. Nothing serious.”

“The man who wanted to come and fetch his music ... which family was he visiting?”

“Their name is Jepsen. He’s still here. Do you want a word with him?”

Ellen said that she would. She heard Per Olav Winger being summoned. Then she heard a new voice, reserved and creaky. “Hello, Winger speaking.”

She didn’t like that voice. “What kind of a musician are you?”

“I’m a flautist. Occasionally also a composer.”

Ellen nodded. The reply was what she had expected. She was in some kind of trance; this was the only way she could explain it. She knew, knew that now she was on the right track. The whole conundrum with Tengel the Evil could be solved in a jiffy – because she had found the key to liberating them all!

“Was there something special about the music you want to fetch?”

The voice bleated coldly: “Special? Yes, I suppose you could say that! I’ve been trying to improvise something on the flute for quite some time and was onto something great, you see. While I was visiting the Jepsens about a week ago, I suddenly realized how this formidable motif was to be shaped and I immediately put it down on a sheet of music paper. It was an absolutely remarkable motif. In fact, I’m sure that nobody else has played it before.”

I can well believe that, Ellen thought to herself.

Winger’s way of expressing it didn’t appeal to her. The language he used was slow and detailed, as if it was important for him to sound as eloquently academic as possible.

He continued carefully: “As if that wasn’t enough, there was something bizarre and fascinating about the theme. As I played, I could sense how the skin on my back contracted with a sense of cold ...”

“He felt a shiver down his spine,” said Morahan disrespectfully to Ellen, who couldn’t help smiling.

“The strangest impressions passed through my brain. I seemed to sense an answer. From very far away, like an echo.”

“Like an echo in the wind?”

“Exactly! How did you know?”

“And the flute? Is that at home?”

“No, I left it at the Jepsens’ place. There was such a vulgar atmosphere at the end; the others had been drinking a lot, so much that they never got to hear my new composition, and I grew agitated and left. It wasn’t until I reached home that it dawned on me that I’d forgotten not only the flute but also the music. Then the Jepsens went away and now they’re refusing me access to the building. What’s going on there?”

Ellen cast a discreet glance at Tengel the Evil. He didn’t seem to be absolutely clear in his contours, which could be due to the dust that surrounded him. What was it the Ice People had said that she thought was so crazy ... that he was waiting to hear the theme once more so that he could appear clearly? Or that he had to drink the water of evil in the Valley of the Ice People in order to become strong enough?

They just didn’t understand! They didn’t understand anything! Only she understood it, crystal clear and concise. All he wanted was to end this eternal life on earth. That was what it was all about! And the music played on the flute was to make him fall asleep – forever. This was what her mission was all about. To relieve the world from this scourge. And he was willing.

Her heart was overflowing with compassion. So lonely. So forgotten in a new age where he didn’t belong at all. That was how it was!

She got hold of the walkie-talkie again. “Hello, is that the guard? Let the flautist in! We’ll meet him at the gate. Prepare him for the shock, we haven’t got time for hysterics here. And get hold of a doctor to be in attendance!”

She turned to Tengel the Evil, who was stooping and guarding the Jepsens’ door a couple of metres from them.

“Now you’re to meet your saviour!”

They went downstairs to the front door and Morahan fetched the key to the Jepsens’ apartment. Then they waited.

A man approached them. Ellen said suspiciously: “I don’t think I like that man. Artists are all right, but this one is of the bearded, otherworldly type. He’s much too stiff and polished. A bow tie and a dull, correct appearance. He seems so damn self-assured, Morahan.”

Morahan said with a quiet smile: “Surely artists are allowed to dress well. Still, I know what you mean. He knows his own worth in all situations of life.”

“It will be exciting to hear what he says about this situation.”

They went out to welcome him. He introduced himself quickly, as if he was afraid of damaging his flautist’s fingers. Per Olav Winger had a bony face with unctuous, slightly protruding eyes and a frog mouth. He was getting on for forty, with thin hair combed over a bare pate – a type of hairstyle that’s a disaster in stormy weather. He turned out to be a member of a big, famous symphony orchestra, and judging by his tone, only geniuses were allowed in.

“Very well,” he said, wringing his hands. His fingers moved like gliding snakes. “Now I’ll play my masterpiece once more. My fingers have become strangely restless. They long to hold the flute again. But what is all this nonsense about monsters or demons in a high-rise building?”

His voice was drawling and slightly condescending.

“I’m afraid it isn’t nonsense,” said Morahan. “And it wants to hear the flute! Little Stinker is waiting for you!” Winger looked disapprovingly at Morahan and then gave Ellen a questioning glance. Then he said icily: “Perhaps I may be allowed to fetch my belongings now?”

“Yes, but you’ve been warned. Do you have a strong heart?”

Winger spoke in a condescending tone: “If you think I want to listen to such silly jokes, then you’re very much mistaken. Now I want to go inside!”

Morahan opened the door. “There you are,” he said, matter-of-fact.

The musician stepped in, stepped out – and gasped for breath.

“Yes, the admirer of your sounds stinks,” said Ellen wryly. “On you go! But please be careful, no sudden movements. He’s swift and irritable.”

The flautist gave her a look that would kill and entered the apartment block pompously.

When they had walked up the two flights of stairs, Winger was almost expiring. The stench was so horrible. It was beneath his dignity to talk to them now; in his view, they were probably mythomaniacs. He looked straight ahead, gave an indifferent look in the direction of the landing since he noticed an irregularity in the symmetry of the corridor there; then he looked away again, stopped abruptly, paled, looked up once more ...

They had some difficulty bringing him round again.

When Winger woke up in Jepsen’s armchair, he was looking into the serious faces of Ellen and Morahan.

“I want out, I want out,” he screamed, but their combined strength was greater than his, and finally he just flopped in the chair.

“Where ... where is it?”

“Up on the piano. Behind you.”

Winger yelled as if a bee had stung him. Tengel the Evil had now lost any interest in Ellen. His yellow eyes were gazing expectantly at Per Olav Winger.

They helped the flautist into the Jepsens’ bathroom, where he remained for a while and probably would have liked to stay. Finally, he left the bathroom, yellow in the face. He flatly refused to look in the direction of the piano.

He flopped back in the armchair, and Ellen told him briefly as much as she felt she could disclose. Not a word about the Ice People. She herself was in a peculiar, exalted mood, happily convinced that she now had the solution to Tengel the Evil’s conundrum. All he needed was compassion and assistance – and the flute that was to lull him to sleep forever. Somehow, the flutes had once been mixed up by mistake, so that the signal he was eager to hear was the signal for him to fall asleep. Oh, it was a great day for Ellen, for the Ice People and for the whole world! Only she didn’t say so aloud.

When Ellen had finished speaking, Winger nodded absentmindedly as if he hadn’t listened properly. “Now I’m inspired by a burning desire to play the wonderful tones once more. My desire is irrepressible. Once the world has heard it, I will no longer have to soil my talent by going around selling vacuum cleaners, which I’ve had to do for a while. Disgusting! Where’s the flute and the music?”

“They’re here. But first ...”

Winger interrupted Ellen. He had an ecstatic look in his eyes. “Yes, he’s tired. You’re right, Miss Skogsrud. Very, very tired. And my unique composition will finally give him peace. He’s never been led into death. He’s remained in the transition. The transition to another world: death. Now he’ll be allowed to rest ...”

Ellen nodded. This was how she felt too. Morahan, who didn’t know the whole story, was merely a spectator. He looked at the monster with unfathomable eyes. Tried to understand.

“I’m not sure that your theory holds water,” he said, cautiously admonishing them – but it was obviously an unwanted remark!

What now took place happened so swiftly that nobody had time to avert it. Ellen, who was standing with her back to the open fireplace, saw the creature spring in a huge jump, to land on the broad mantelpiece behind her.

Morahan gasped. “Don’t move, Ellen! Whatever you do, don’t move! Don’t turn around!”

She saw the horrified expression on Winger’s face and knew that she would not turn around.

There was only one thing for Morahan to do, which was to give Winger the flute. He took it with trembling hands. He put the sheet of music on the piano and put the flute to his lips.

Strange, foreign sounds filled the air: crisp tones from many centuries past. Ellen heard a sound behind her. Tengel the Evil hopped down onto the floor and walked closer to the flautist, who could no longer control what he was playing. He stared in absolute horror at the odd creature, but couldn’t move, nor flee, but just had to play the same theme over and over again. Morahan had quietly walked up to Ellen. They looked helplessly at the scene before them.

Before their eyes, Tengel the Evil disappeared, becoming increasingly shadowy until he was only a dark mist. Then that also dissolved and the room was empty.

Winger continued to play a for a while, then he lowered the flute, exhausted and shaking from the shock, but proud.

“You saw it,” he said condescendingly. “What did I say?”

Ellen nodded. She had also seen it. Morahan didn’t say anything.

Suddenly, they noticed a sharp, burning smell.

“The music,” Ellen shouted. “The music’s burning!”

Winger rushed to the piano with a yell, but too late. The paper was already ash. “My symphony,” he moaned. “My symphony!”

“Don’t you know the music by heart?” asked Ellen. She felt almost sorry for him.

“By heart? Do you think you keep such music in your head?”

No, although she herself had heard the notes many times now, they were impossible to memorize. They had been too alien, too complicated.

She turned to Morahan. “You’re thinking about something?” she said kindly.

The anxiety in his dark eyes frightened her. “Yes,” he said. “I thought it all seemed very simple.”

“Sometimes, the simplest is the most sublime,” said Winger. He was elated now that that his fear was abating. “I said, didn’t I, that he would disappear, which he did. Perhaps he didn’t even exist? Perhaps we were given some kind of drug, who knows?”

“Whoever could take it so lightly,” said Morahan. Then he picked up the walkie-talkie and called the police outside. “You can come and get us now. The place is free. No, don’t thank me. It was Mr Winger who had the success. If it was a success ...”

“Oh, don’t be a bad loser,” said Winger generously when Morahan had switched off the walkie-talkie. Now, let’s go out and receive the thanks of the crowd. That is a very pleasant feeling.”

Ellen was so happy, so relieved and elated. She had carried out a terrific deed and she longed to tell Nataniel about it. Everything was over. The centuries-long night of the Ice People was over!

Then they left the “Kornblomsten” tower. Without regret.