22nd October
I awoke warm enough this morning, but only because I was thoroughly swaddled in my blankets, Shadow snoring against me. But the moment I poked my foot free, I yanked it back. The cold had claws.
I could not ignore the knocking, though, which commenced predictably at half seven. I forced myself from bed but wrapped the blankets around me, dignity be damned, and admitted Finn to the cottage.
He cast a glance at the stove, winced, but made no comment. He set my
breakfast upon the table.
“What is this?” I said in disbelief.
The loaf of bread was a blackened husk. There was no goose egg, nor egg of any sort, and no butter, but there was a little bowl of something gelatinous and greyish-green.
“Ðangssaus,” Finn said. “My father thought you might enjoy it. It’s a kind of—” He searched for words. “Relish? Made from seaweed. It’s for
toast.”
“This certainly qualifies.”
His face fell. “I’m sorry, Professor. My father arranged the breakfast this morning. And somehow, without my noticing, the bread was knocked into the fire.”
I sat down heavily. “Well, at least the tea is hot.”
He smiled. “I made sure of it.”
I set my head in my hand, which was pounding from the wine. “Might I enquire what I did to displease your father so?”
“It’s not so much my father who is displeased. It’s Aud.” He added quickly, “My father is old-fashioned. He does not respond well to an insult to his goði.”
“What? I said nothing to offend her.” I reviewed the events of the previous evening. “Clearly there has been a misunderstanding.”
Finn looked into the wood box. “Let me assist you with this, at least.”
“That’s quite all right.” A hard, cold anger was forming in my stomach.
“I was just about to get to it myself.”
He raised his eyebrows and made no comment. Seconds after his departure, I heard the sound of an axe splitting wood in the yard.
I admit that I am disheartened by this news. My research requires the villagers’ assistance—I rely as much on local lore as the evidence gathered with my own eyes and instruments in forming an accurate picture of the Folk. That I have already managed to offend the headwoman of Hrafnsvik does not bode well.
I think I can guess the source of Aud’s anger—clearly, she is protective of her niece, and worried that I would publicize her affliction and make a spectacle out of her. I am determined to meet with her at the tavern today to
plead my case.
Or perhaps tomorrow.
