Stabburet towered over him. He climbed up the narrow steps and unlocked the door. The smell of meat was strong when he stepped inside and he almost hit his head on something hanging from the ceiling. Stifling a scream, he searched frantically for the light switch and for once there was more than one single lightbulb.

He looked up. Bundles hung from the ceiling, wrapped in some kind of gauze. Jack reached up and touched one of them, surprised at the weight.

Cured mutton, he thought and grinned. I have a room full of cured mutton. He discovered that each bundle was labelled with a date, presumably when they were hung up there. Each one was also marked with names. The owners, he guessed. He reached up again and unhooked one of the bundles bearing Agnar’s name. It was surprisingly heavy. The date was last September. He put it to his nose. ‘Oh, my God, this is wonderful,’ he muttered.

Back in the kitchen, he took one of Agnar’s knives and cut the gauze open. He cut a small sliver of the dark meat and put it in his mouth.

‘Oh, my word,’ he said while he chewed. Sweet and salty, and chewy enough to be interesting. It needed some cheese, he decided. Unfortunately, the cheese desk at Jens and Alma’s shop wasn’t much to brag about. There was the Jarlsberg, of course, which the Norwegians seemed to treat like any regular cheese, not the slightest piece of a decent cheddar, not to mention the absolute absence of Stilton or any French cheese to speak of.

He remembered the Viking cheese Jens had given him, and pulled the box out of the refrigerator. It was worth a try. He opened the package and smelled it. That one could give any French smelly cheese a run for its money, he thought. Then he cut a piece of cheese and another piece of the meat.

‘Good,’ he muttered.

But it needed more. Something sweet, something sharp to complement the saltiness. Figs, maybe, if it was possible to get any, and fresh mayo and herbs from the garden, he decided.

There were possibilities here, he thought. Chewing on another piece of cheese and meat, he went into the garden and started rummaging around in the weeds to see what would taste good in a mayo.

Chapter 7

Ninni held the box carefully and headed up the small pathway to the hill. She walked slowly. Her stomach was not in a good mood and she hoped the fresh air would take care of it.

Frikk took his time, sniffing at every bush and stone on his way. She knew he would follow. On top of the hill, she looked down at Agnar’s farm, or perhaps it was time to start calling it Jack’s farm? How was he doing after his ordeal at sea? Hopefully she hadn’t been too rough on him.

‘I couldn’t help it,’ she said aloud. ‘He’s so damned smug.’

Frikk caught up with her and cocked his head as if he was listening. A movement in the garden made her stretch her neck. What was Jack doing?