The Book of The Dead by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen [Petersen, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

9

“A network of allies, Ataata. You always said that blood was best, but blood can only get you so far. You had allies, those who helped because they understood, they recognised the need for a strong hand, and they supported it. But you always said the best allies were those in need, those who, through a simple act of kindness or generosity, would forever be in your debt. You taught me – and I remember – that sometimes, when a potential ally had no needs or weaknesses, then a need could be created, or a weakness developed. You always said to put money away for a rainy day, that men in the south knew that, and they knew how many days of rain they might expect in a single year. They looked strong. They acted strong. But you always knew how to make it rain, Ataata. Always.”

I reached for the glass of wine, but it was empty. There was still half a bottle left, but the shock of discovering that Innaaq had a brother encouraged me to check the ice in the bucket, and to make a flask of coffee instead. I sucked at one of the smaller pieces of ice, enjoying the salt of the sea before the ice melted, tickling my tongue with the purest of water, preserved in the ice for thousands, perhaps millions, of years. The larger pieces of ice cracked in the pan as I heated them on the gas hob, releasing pockets of ancient air into the cabin with pops and spits. Some things were worth waiting for. And, as the ice melted, I thought of the Paniula men, their scheming, and their long-sighted plans.

I picked up Innaaq’s diary as the water melted, turning the pages in the steam of ancient ice evaporating inside the cabin. It was clear to me and anyone who might read Innaaq’s diary that he was in awe of his father, which helped explain why he had focused his wrath on me. I’ll admit that I did my best to forget all about Innaaq Paniula after what had happened in the south of Greenland, and I avoided news articles and the gossip on social media for that very reason.

“But if we ever meet,” I thought, turning the gas off when the water boiled. “I’ll be sure to tell him exactly that. I wasn’t interested.”

I had no idea of the effect his arrest had caused, or how many people had come forward, feeling safer and accusing Innaaq’s father, Sergeant Aksili Paniula, of extortion of all kinds, with financial and sexual extortion at the top of a very long list. But I didn’t doubt that it would hurt Innaaq even more to think I didn’t care.

I did care about the people, of course. But as for the Paniula men – no. Nothing.

“Until yesterday,” I said, making coffee that Aamuusi would approve of.

The planning bothered me. But as abhorrent as it was, it was also intriguing, and I returned to Innaaq’s diary,

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