Stig’s face is a mask of confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘So you didn’t climb the rigging and take it up to her?’
‘No! I told you. We argued and then I left. What is this?’
He’s so good at this – lying. I grab his arm and he frowns in surprise. The impressions from his jacket are weak and fleeting: apprehension, confusion and a residue of guilt. I search for a deeper emotion or memory stained into the material but there’s nothing. Of course, that’s why he bought new clothes. He knows how my gift works and that things have to be worn a while to absorb a person’s memories. Why buy new things unless to deceive me?
Stig pulls away. ‘Fy faen! If you want to know something, you only have to ask.’
‘OK. So why are you wearing new clothes?’
‘What?’
‘Answer the question.’
An injured look flashes in his eyes. ‘They were in the sale and . . . if you must know, I wanted to put the past behind me. I’ve still got Dad’s coat, but I decided it was time to stop wearing it.’
I think back to the leather trench coat he wore in the cabin. At the time I presumed the bitterness, jealousy and hate it contained came from his father. But maybe I was wrong, maybe it was all Stig. He said he’d left home because of family arguments, but now I know he broke into Mormor’s cabin because he was on the run.
A cold rage rises inside me. ‘Did you push her, thinking the harness would save her, or did you do it up wrong on purpose? Were you made to do it?’
Stig recoils as if I’d slapped him.
I search his eyes, desperately hoping that it was an accident or it wasn’t really his fault. That he will admit what he did, but say he never meant for her to die.
Some of the crew walk in our direction and he waits for them to pass, then leans towards me. His pale blue eyes drill into me, but I refuse to back down or look away.
‘Just admit it Stig. I know everyth—’
‘How could you think that of me?’ He speaks over me, his voice low and edged with danger. ‘I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I had nothing to do with Nina’s death.’
I start to argue, but he turns and stalks away.
‘Stig!’
He keeps walking and doesn’t look back.
‘You promised to tell me the truth!’
He shakes his head and keeps going, and I clench my fists. Even if he came back, he would only make up some story. How many more lies are there, I wonder? Like a magician’s knotted handkerchief, I could pull and pull and more would come out; one long thread of lies, each more colourful than the last. I’ve been such a fool. When the draugr attacked him, I went into the rotting heart of the tree and begged Hel for his life. I couldn’t bear him dying. I risked my life to save him – a murderer and a liar.
19
YOUR WORD AGAINST HIS
‘M
artha, wait!’ Ruth appears behind me, her long auburn hair dancing wildly in the wind. She must have followed me up from the field. She watches Stig stride away then turns to me and frowns. ‘What’s going on with you two?’
I don’t answer and she gives me a coy smile. ‘You said you spent a few days together and then he left, so come on – spill. I’ll find out one way or another, so you may as well tell me everything.’ She gives me a playful nudge. ‘I am psychic, you know.’ I start to answer but then my eyes fill with tears. Ruth sees my face and her expression changes. ‘Oh, sweetheart, whatever’s wrong?’ She wipes my cheek and whispers, ‘I didn’t do your makeup for you to cry it all off.’
I mutter, ‘Sorry,’ and she folds me into a hug. ‘Come here, now.’ She smells of fresh laundry and rosemary and suddenly I have an urge to tell her everything – about Stig and Loki and the wager. And then a feeling that isn’t mine fills my heart: longing followed by choking guilt and shame. I’ve felt the same emotions in her shawl before. She desperately wants to go back to Ireland but she’s afraid. It’s so unfair. Why should she miss out on seeing her daughter grow up because of something that wasn’t her fault?
She links her arm through mine. ‘Come on, let’s go to the canteen. You look like a girl who could use a tea with ten sugars.’
I glance at the big top. If I’m going to contact Odin and ask for his help, I have to find the crooked mask. ‘Sorry, I can’t. There’s something I need to do.’
She pulls me close. ‘Oh, shush. You can spare five minutes. Something tells me you didn’t apply for the job here by chance. It’s about time you were honest with me, don’t you think?’ I try to resist but she drags me away, past the costume trailer and then into the maze of caravans. We round a corner and the white canteen tent appears, its door flapping in the breeze like an invitation.
It’s a relief to step into the warmth, and the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon almost makes me feel hungry. Rows of trestle tables and benches fill the room and there’s a glass serving-counter at the front. A group of elves sit to my right; behind them a man with antlers bites into a sausage and chats to a woman covered in tattoos. On the other side of the tent is the mime artist in makeup I saw before. He stares out of the large window panel next to him and looks so sad I can’t imagine his face ever changing.
Ruth walks over to a table sagging under the weight of a silver urn and a mountain of cups, while I take a seat. A moment later she hands me a drink and sits down opposite. ‘They’re still doing breakfast if you’re hungry?’ I shake my head and try to smile, but my mind is elsewhere. I can’t stop thinking about Loki and the wager. It feels so surreal, like a nightmare I might wake up from at any minute. I can’t sit here drinking tea. I need to find that mask.
Ruth sips her drink then lowers her cup. ‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?’
I think back to our conversation in the psychic tent. She knows Stig took off before the police could question him a second time. Maybe I should tell her; she might be able to help. I lean forward. ‘You know how Stig disappeared before?’ Ruth arches an eyebrow and I continue. ‘He was hiding in my grandma’s cabin in Skjebne. He broke into the place and was there when I arrived.’ She gives a disapproving tut and I keep talking. ‘It was freezing and he had nowhere else to go, so I let him stay.’ I glance at the people around me. No one is paying us any attention, but I lower my voice anyway. ‘Stig lied to the police.’
Two women enter, both with masks around their necks. One wears her long blonde hair in plaits, her cheeks flushed pink, and the other is older and has cropped fair hair. She points at her shorn head and cries, ‘How could he?’ The other woman picks up a bowl of apples and murmurs, ‘I don’t know, I think it makes you look younger,’ and her companion yells and knocks the bowl away, sending the fruit bouncing across the floor.
Ruth twists in her seat. ‘What is it with people here lately?’ She rolls her eyes then turns back to me. ‘Sorry, you were saying?’
More masked performers enter. One of them wears a grey cloak. Hope jumps inside me, but then he turns around and I let out a sigh. It’s some other man, not the actor who plays Odin.