Eviskar Island (11 page)

              Morgan continued on about the work they’d be doing and the excitement it would provide.  Most of what he was saying they had already heard during gatherings in New York and Reykjavik and on the bus ride to Olafsvik.  He was obviously really into his profession, and although the students were looking forward to their summer jobs, it was difficult for them to work up a high level of enthusiasm by just listening to him talk.  They had to actually be there.

              Jack and Marcie were leaning against the counter.  Morgan’s back was to them, and while their leader droned on about excavation protocol, Jack explained to his young admirer the astronomical reason for the long northern summer days.  Marcie was, to say the least, in heaven.  Not only was her cabin on the ship the neatest accommodation she’d ever experienced, but Jack Malinowski was giving her his undivided attention.

              In a page of Marcie’s notebook, Jack drew a circle to represent the Earth in cross-section and then ran two mutually perpendicular lines through its center.  “Okay, say this is the Earth, this is its axis of rotation and this is the Equator,” he began, “You can see that if one’s latitude is high enough and if the Sun’s declination is high enough—that is, if their sum is greater than ninety degrees—then even when the Sun is on the other side of the Earth, at local midnight, it will still be above the northern horizon.

              “The Sun’s maximum height above the Equator, its maximum declination, is about 23 ½ degrees.  That means only at latitudes above 90 – 23 ½ or 66 ½ degrees can the phenomenon of twenty-four hours of daylight be observed.  That latitude is called the Arctic Circle.  Eviskar’s latitude is about 76 ½ degrees and that means the Sun’s center won’t set until August 17
th
.  Also, due to the effect of atmospheric refraction and the fact that the Sun isn’t a point source, some part of the Sun will lie above the horizon for several days beyond that.  Only in the last ten days or so of our stay there will we experience darkness.”

              “Wow, that is so cool!” Marcie exclaimed with her characteristic enthusiasm.  The outburst, to her chagrin, was loud enough to interrupt Morgan.  He turned around to face them.

              “What’s so interesting?”

              Thinking quickly, she responded, “Sorry, I just, um…what you were saying about the island…it sounds fascinating.”

              Morgan beamed, “It is, isn’t it.  Don’t worry, Marcie, in a matter of days we’ll be up to our ears in archeological work, and I promise, this summer will be one you’ll never forget.”

*  *  *

              Jocelyn entered the break room just as Morgan’s speech was winding down and the others were preparing to leave.  She wore a clean shirt and jeans, light deck shoes and her hair was wet, smelling of apricots.  “Hi, everyone,” she said pleasantly, “did I miss anything?”

              “Not really,” Morgan said, “we were merely brushing up on what we’ll be doing once we get to Eviskar—things you’ll be aware of soon enough.”

              She spotted the tab of a tea bag draped over the side of Marcie’s cup.  “Oh, man, I could so use a cup of hot tea.  What kinds do they have?”  She sidled over to the beverage drawer and began sorting through the contents.

              Marcie leaned over and said in a half whisper, “Jossy, you didn’t take a shower did you?  Don’t you remember what Dr. Sørensen said about the water shortage?”

              “Relax, I didn’t use much.  You’re such a worry wart.  Nobody’ll even notice.  All right!”  She pulled a packet from the drawer, “orange-flavored green tea.  Perfect, just what the doctor ordered.”

              Light conversation and laughter filled the room as Jocelyn nuked a cup of water for her tea.  Marcie gravitated away from her roommate to ask Jack more questions about daily light/dark cycles at high latitudes.  She wanted to engage him in stimulating conversation before Jocelyn finished preparing her drink and inevitably tried to usurp his attention.  Before she could speak to him, however, there was commotion in the hatchway.

              Sørensen walked in followed closely by a slender, petite woman in uniform.  Behind her was one of the crew, also in uniform.  Sørensen bore a worried look and began to speak, but the woman stepped forward and cut him off.

              Captain Katrine Magnussen came from a distinguished maritime family and wore the uniform of the Royal Danish Navy with extreme pride.  Her blonde hair was tucked neatly under her cap, her black deck shoes shined like mirrors, and the uniform that she sported was immaculately pressed.  Piercing blue eyes lined with fine crow’s feet attested to decades at the helm, enduring the effects of sun, wind and salt air.  Although diminutive in size and delicately featured, the way she carried herself indicated that Magnussen was a solid, wizened mariner.  A highly respected officer, she had a reputation not only for fairness and impartiality, but also of someone who harbored no tolerance for anyone who broke the rules.  As commander of the
Stjerne
, she had absolute authority over all that took place on board, and she was about to demonstrate that authority in the civilian break room.  Her laser-like gaze scanned the room and settled upon Jocelyn and her wet hair.

              The captain addressed those in the room in Danish, pausing periodically for Sørensen to translate.  “In the past half-hour there has been a noticeable drop in my ship’s potable water supply.  This is unacceptable.”

Jocelyn knew the lecture was meant for her and she didn’t appreciate it one bit.  Standing a good four inches taller than Magnussen, she wasn’t intimidated in the least.  Taking a shower was no crime.  The woman’s imperious attitude was insulting.  “Just who do you think…”

Sørensen stepped in front of Jocelyn and interrupted.  “I am very sorry, Captain Magnussen.  Perhaps I, uh…perhaps I didn’t emphasize enough the gravity of the water situation in my introductory remarks to our passengers.  I accept full responsibility.  There will be no further problems; I assure you.”

Magnussen wasn’t listening.  She stepped around Sørensen and stood two feet from Jocelyn.  It was at that instant Jocelyn realized her mistake.  The captain’s eyes were cold, almost encouraging the girl to escalate the encounter.  The famous Clint Eastwood line "…go ahead, make my day," radiated telepathically through the captain’s gaze.  Jocelyn fell silent.

“Any further rule violations will result in immediate incarceration.  Our brig, for your information, is located opposite the main crew quarters and has a chain-link door—no privacy.  It also does not have a water supply.  All bodily wastes must be deposited in a steel canister, in full view of any passersby.  Have I made myself clear?”

Jocelyn’s obduracy faded and she looked away, nodding meekly.  Magnussen abruptly turned and headed for the bridge, her subordinate in tow.  She had a ship to run and couldn’t waste any more time chastising passengers.

Sørensen breathed a heavy sigh of relief.  He clasped his hands together in a beseeching gesture and said to everyone in the room, “I assure you; Captain Magnussen does not make idle threats.”  He turned to Jocelyn, “Please do not antagonize that woman, Ms. Delaney.  She is also the chief martial arts instructor on board, and I’m told that she and her husband are the fleet’s Tae Kwon Do sparring champions.  We have little more than a day left in our voyage.  Let us not cause any more trouble.”

*  *  *

Jocelyn remained in the break area after the others had left.  Her mood was one of anger and self-pity.  She was definitely jinxed.  Trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went.  Even the simple act of bathing was enough to get her in trouble.  “What’s next?” she thought bitterly.  “Will that bitch captain decide to execute me for breathing some of the ship’s precious air?”  She suddenly had an overwhelming desire to go back home to Corpus Christi.  The aggravations she’d experienced in just the first three days of this trip made her regret her decision to apply for this stupid program.

Spencer entered the room.  He appeared to be in discomfort; his hair was tousled and he looked pale.  “They got any Pepto Bismol in heah?” he asked as he took a seat at the table and buried his face in his hands.

Recognizing the unmistakable signs of seasickness, Jocelyn smiled, “Hi, Spence, you look a bit under the weather.”

“Yeah, it’s real funny; that’s why I’m laughin’.”

“You want me to ask Morgan for some Dramamine?”  Spencer just shook his head.  “C’mon, I’m just trying to help.”

“You’ve been enough
help
already.  Jack told me all about it.  If the captain had her way, we’d be swimmin’ to Eviskah Island.  She’s pissed at all of us, not just you, even though you’re the one who broke the rules.”

“Hey, I took a
shower
, okay?  It’s not like I killed someone or robbed a bank.”

He looked away.  “Whateveh”

Jocelyn wouldn’t let it go.  “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be really smart, some kind of kid genius, I’d expect you to be more objective, Spencer.”

“Just leave me alone, would ‘ya.  I’m not feelin’ a hundred percent right now.”

Her temper flared.  “Well then, maybe you need something to eat, to get your mind off the miserable motion of the ship.  I’ve been seasick before and I know what you’re going through, Spence: the headache, the shakes and especially the nausea.  About all you can do is to hang in there and try not to think about it.  I remember one time I was out in the Gulf on a friend’s boat when a squall rolled in.  We must have been four or five miles out and the storm was between us and land.  There was nowhere to go.  We just hung on through twenty foot seas.  Huge swells took us on a roller coaster ride.  We’d get lifted up high and then we’d slam down into a trough, sending up a mountain of spray.  One of the girls with us was a heavy smoker.  Being in the confined cabin of that boat, sitting there nauseous and breathing that foul, second-hand smoke—it makes me queasy thinking about it.”

She paused to monitor his countenance.  He was pale and swallowing repeatedly.  His downcast expression indicated he was almost there.  “I’m getting hungry,” she continued, “let’s see what’s in the fridge.”  She bent down and opened the door of the small refrigerator that was under the counter.  Stuffed within were numerous containers of food.  Hardly a square inch of empty space remained—the unit hadn’t been cleaned in quite a while.  She rummaged through an assortment of paper bags, Tupperware-type plastic tubs, beverage bottles and cans, most of which bore labels in indelible marker identifying their owners.  Finally she found what she wanted.  Stashed way in the back was a transparent re-sealable container, the contents of which had been long forgotten.  She opened it and curled her nose.  “Yech!  Some people are so disgusting.  I would never leave something like this in a public refrigerator.  Look…” she shoved it under Spencer’s nose.

Weeks earlier the container had held some sort of casserole, a slice of pie or maybe some stew.  It was now identifiable only as a decomposing organic mass covered with several types of mold.  Greenish slime coated what had once been the entrée, while around the periphery and on the underside of the lid grew delicate feathery whiskers of something both beautiful and pungently aromatic.

What may have been a microbiologist’s delight proved too much for the ailing Spencer.  “Noooo…” the poor boy groaned.  He pushed away from the table and dashed for the trash can by the door.

He almost made it.

Marcie came back just in time to witness Spencer regurgitate the last of his lunch.  “Spencer, are you okay?” she asked with concern.

Jocelyn stepped over a puddle of half-digested chum and slipped past Marcie, making her way to the door.  “He’s just got a touch of ‘mal de mer.’”  She looked back at Spencer with undisguised contempt.  “Don’t worry about him; he’ll live.”

VI.

The
Stjerne
anchored a hundred yards off the Eviskar coast.  The Holloways, the four students and Johan Sørensen stood packed and ready while sailors readied the two rigid-hulled inflatable boats, RHIBs, that would transport them to shore.  Tough and maneuverable even in the heaviest of seas, the twenty-three-foot-long craft had strong, solid hulls and sported inflatable tubes that surrounded the gunwales for added buoyancy and stability.  Most modern navies employed some version of this design as tenders for their warships.

Strong hands reached up to guide them into the RHIB after each traveler had negotiated the short metal loading ladder that had been placed against the
Stjerne’s
hull.  The command to cast off came as soon as Morgan, the last passenger to board, had taken his seat.

Marcie thought for sure they would crash as the boat skimmed the water and rapidly approached shore.  At the last instant, the pilot reversed the engine and the stout hull slid smoothly up onto the gravel beach using the craft’s residual momentum.  No sooner had the Eviskar group exited the boat, the two sailors who’d accompanied them jumped out and gave a hearty yell as they pushed the craft back into the surf and began their return trip.

They had arrived.  The four students stood where they’d landed and surveyed the place they’d gone through so much trouble to get to.  It wasn’t exactly an idyllic tropical getaway replete with palm trees, hibiscus flowers and pretty girls in grass skirts.  It was rugged and desolate, but it was impressive nonetheless, exuding the majestic charm of a pristine locale essentially uninfluenced by mankind.  They now realized how important this settlement was to historians.  How anyone could have made such a long voyage in small open boats now became a topic of wonder.  Much of what Morgan had been telling them was beginning to sink in.

The beach itself was open and broad and consisted of basalt gravel and sand, weathered by thousands, if not millions, of years of wave action.  A few dozen yards from where they landed, three large rubber craft, zodiacs, rested on the gravel above the high tide mark.  Farther inland, the terrain rose gradually and plateaued at a height of about eighty feet above sea level.  It was there that numerous structures could be seen.  Several large canvas tents each at least twenty to thirty feet long and of similar width, had been set up uphill from the zodiacs.  Farther down the beach, to the south, they could make out crumbling stone walls surrounded by ropes, flagging and yellow tape—the remnants of the Old Norse settlement.  That was where they would be spending most of their working hours.

Two people were making their way over from the work site.  Clad in mud-caked work boots, coveralls and wide-brimmed hats they waved and shouted greetings as they got close.  “Welcome, welcome back,” the man in front said.  He shook hands with Morgan and Johan and then gave Debbie a hearty hug.  “It is so good to see you.  How was your trip?”  The words came out in heavily accented English.  He removed his hat to wipe his brow.  With his head uncovered he lost a good six inches to his apparent height and revealed a shock of fine black hair, flecked with grey, atop a round face.  Stocky and fit, his weathered appearance gave the impression he’d be just as comfortable mushing a sled in a minus-forty degree blizzard as he was working at an archeological dig.

“We had…uh…a very eventful trip,” Sørensen replied.  “Ittuk, I have the distinct honor of introducing you to these fine young students who will be joining us for the summer.”  He beamed with pride, as though speaking about his own children.  “During our voyage on the Stjerne, I have gotten to know each of them, and I expect they will be of enormous help on this project.”

“That is wonderful.  It is always good to have youth and enthusiasm around.  It will help to keep us old people on our toes.”

Sørensen addressed the students, “This, my friends, is Professor Ittuk Inunnguaq of the University of Greenland.  He is the one who discovered this remarkable site and he is our much appreciated expedition leader.”

“As usual, Johan, you are too kind.  I must say that local Inuit people, seal hunters, have known of these ruins for many years.  They simply decided to honor us with that knowledge.  We should give credit where it is due.”  He turned to his companion and said something in a foreign tongue.  Reverting back to his halting English he then turned to Debbie.  “Dr. and Mrs. Holloway, if you would be kind enough to introduce our young employees to their rustic accommodations, the rest of us will retrieve the supplies.”

Professor Inunnguaq’s colleague, also a man of Greenlandic heritage, had gone to get one of the zodiacs.  He was now bringing it around to where a pile of crates and boxes sat on the sand—additional supplies offloaded by the sailors of the Stjerne.  The ever inquisitive Spencer asked, “What’s all that stuff?”

“Mainly food and fuel,” said Sørensen.  “In particular, you will be glad that we have a good supply of kerosene for the heaters in our tents.  Even in June the nighttime temperature here sometimes falls below freezing.  We would burn wood, but there is none that grows this far north.  That is another reason why it is so unusual to find evidence of such an old settlement at this latitude.  A major goal of our research is to determine why people traveled all the way up here.  It was for seasonal use, of that we are reasonably certain, but it still doesn’t answer the question: why?”

*  *  *

The women’s bunkhouse was one of the three large tents they’d seen from the beach.  Adjacent to that was the men’s dormitory, and the third one in line was the kitchen.  A fourth tent, located closer to the actual dig site and out of view of the beach, was a combination supply room and infirmary.

“Wow, this is what I call camping in style.”  Marcie was impressed with the living arrangements.  She pushed her rucksack under the cot to which she’d been assigned and then lay down to test its effectiveness as a bed.  “Just awesome,” she added, jumping back to her feet.

Jocelyn was horrified.  “This is it?”

“What did you expect?” Debbie replied.  “The literature we sent with the acceptance letter contained specifics about the accommodations.”

“It said we’d be in a bunkhouse.  This is a
tent
.  And where the heck is the bathroom?  How am I supposed to wash and…stuff?”  She caught herself, realizing that to mention ‘taking a shower’ might be a tad inflammatory after what had happened on the
Stjerne
.

“Actually, Jocelyn, these canvas tents are amazing.  It can be windy and minus twenty degrees outside, but with the flaps closed and the kerosene heater going, we’ll stay warm as toast—in shirtsleeves no less.  Now, if you’ll follow me outside, I’ll show you our, uh, ‘facilities.’”  Debbie smiled at Marcie, “I think you’ll find the way they’ve set up camp is quite clever.”

The three women exited their living quarters through the back door and hung a left.  Located about twenty yards away were two tall canvas enclosures.  The flaps were pulled back and even from a distance it was obvious what purpose they served.  Inside each was a sturdy frame about three feet high which supported a toilet seat.  A small step stool was positioned in front of the frame to accommodate shorter individuals.  Underneath each seat was a ten gallon bucket.

“These are what we call our ‘throne rooms.’”  Debbie flashed a sly grin at Jocelyn, “Any questions?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.  Which one is the ladies room?”

“Both actually.  They’re unisex—first come, first served.”

“I don’t see any doors,” the girl continued, “how the heck can anyone be guaranteed any privacy?”

“It’s obvious; just tie the flaps shut.  No one will bother you; we’re all adults here.  Oh, before I forget, both of you be sure to check the white board in the kitchen every morning.  It lists each day’s work assignments.  The first time either of you is assigned to ‘bucket brigade,’ I’ll come with you to show you where to dump these guys.  Mikkel Dalgaard, one of the other researchers, is a master gardener.  He’s set up a most remarkable compost pit.  All of our biodegradable kitchen waste gets tossed into a trash can and it, along with these ‘honey pots,’ gets emptied daily into the pit.  It’s absolutely amazing how effective the system is.  By next year, the waste we discard this summer will have turned into soil.  There won’t be any residual odor; it will have been completely broken down by microbial action, even in this cold environment.  All of our combustible waste is disposed of by burning.  We use an old oil drum as a burning barrel.  I’ll show you that process as well when the time comes.”

“No way”

“What’s that?”

“I said, ‘no way,’” Jocelyn repeated.  “Debbie, I didn’t sign up to come half way around the world to empty shit buckets.”

Debbie was fed up with Jocelyn’s attitude.  Working hard to control her anger, she said in a calm voice, “Neither did anyone else, Jocelyn.  You’re not being asked to do anything more than the rest of us.  We all have to take our turns at the less desirable chores.”  Jocelyn started to protest, but Debbie interrupted, “If you have any further complaints, please take them up with Ittuk.  He’s the fellow who came to greet us when we landed, and he’s the official leader of this project.  I must warn you though, he doesn’t respond favorably to those who don’t pull their weight.  In fact,” her tone hardened and she looked Jocelyn squarely in the eye, “I feel obliged to note that he will not be as warm, personable and benevolent as your friend Captain Magnussen.  And, Jocelyn—neither Morgan nor I will intervene on your behalf if we feel you are in the wrong.”

*  *  *

Debbie, Jocelyn and Marcie stood at the edge of the pit looking on with interest as Magnus Strøm carefully brushed dirt off of their latest find.  Magnus and his wife Liva were veterans of the Eviskar project, both of them providing invaluable expertise with regard to what they were now doing.  Last summer the team had unearthed the skeleton of a middle-aged woman.  A week ago, while digging in the same area, about twenty yards from the main, stone ‘house,’ they’d found another.

“I believe you are absolutely correct, Liva.  We have the remains here of a young female, of perhaps twenty years old.”

Magnus and Liva were both physicians by training.  He was a retired cardiologist, and she was a pathologist and world-renowned forensic anthropologist.  Together they were the team’s undisputed authorities when it came to dealing with any human remains that were found.  They were also the project’s medical team, bearing responsibility for all physical ailments or injuries that befell any of the archeological workers.

“How can you tell all that?”  asked Marcie.  She was leaning over them, fascinated by the assemblage of bones and nearly completely decomposed clothing that lay before her.

“The gender is readily apparent,” Liva said.  She lowered herself next to the remains and pointed with her pen at the pelvis.  “See how wide the pelvis is?  How far apart the ilia are?  A male pelvis would be much narrower.  Also, this person was probably Scandinavian.”  She ran her fingers along the backs of the upper front teeth and nodded, as if to confirm her hypothesis.  “Yes, definitely European.  The arch of the maxilla and the spatulate incisor surfaces strongly suggest these are Norse remains.  That is important because indigenous Inuit people also might have settled here at some time.

“Her age is difficult to determine exactly, but we can come close.”  She brushed more dirt from the skull and ran her pen along its divisions.  “You can tell the sagittal and coronal sutures are not completely fused.  That means we are dealing with someone younger than, say, thirty.  In addition, all of the permanent teeth are present except for the third molars, what the English call ‘wisdom teeth.’  Those have not fully erupted.”

“Wow, so just from the skull and the teeth you can deduce her age?”

“Those are perhaps the best indicators, yes.  There are others, however.  Another reliable age marker is the major joints.  The end of the femur, right below the knee joint, appears not to have ossified completely.  However, I will need an x-ray to confirm this.”

“That means she was still growing, right?”

“Why, yes, that is correct.”  Liva was impressed.  “You seem to know something of human physiology, Marcie.”

“Not much,” the girl replied modestly.

“Well, for the benefit of the others, I should probably explain my last observation.  You see, an individual’s long bones have cartilage at their ends which grows until he reaches his teens.  The cartilage cells adjacent to the bone itself, as opposed to those nearest the joint, gradually convert to bone.  As Marcie said, that is how we grow.  When our growth rate slows, most of the cartilage will have turned into bone, a process termed ossification, and the cartilaginous zone, called the epiphyseal plate, at the bone’s terminus, becomes very thin.  I conclude that when she died, this young woman was not much older than you, Marcie.”  Liva looked at Jocelyn.  “She was about your age, Jossy.”

“Look at this, Liva.”  Magnus pointed to a spot below the base of the skull.  “It is like the other woman.”

Liva examined the spot and shared a somber, knowing look with her husband.  She then said to everyone present: “Last summer we found a neck fracture which we felt might have resulted when the other corpse was buried.  This one has the exact same injury.  That sort of coincidence seems unlikely.”  After a moment’s hesitation, she continued, “There is a good chance that these two women, who endured so much hardship in this remote place, probably did not die of natural causes.”