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the north, they say, beyond the pine forests, in the land of the reindeer herders. Though why anyone would choose to live in such a cold, inhospitable place I can’t imagine.”
    Her gaze narrowed. “Why ever do you ask, child? Surely you’re not thinking of going there?”
    â€œOf course not,” said Gerda. “I only wondered where she had gone.”
    â€œBest to get yourself home as quick as you can, child,” said the coachman’s aunt, giving the dough an emphatic punch. “Much as I enjoy the company, your family must be missing you sorely.”
    â€œYes,” Gerda murmured. “Yes, I suppose they must.” She felt a sudden spasm of guilt, sharp as a cramp in the belly.

    The coachman helped himself to the coffee pot, and a large slice of the apple-cake his aunt had just set out to cool on the window ledge. He sat down in the big armchair by the stove, and put his feet up on a needlepoint footstool.
    â€œHappened to hear some news in town today,” he remarked through a mouthful of apple-cake.
    â€œOh yes?” said his aunt, wiping her hands on her apron and pouring herself a cup of coffee. She sat down in the chair opposite, leaning forward expectantly.
    â€œThe lady from the big house, the Baroness . . . ”
    Gerda put down her book. The coachman looked across the room at her. “You were asking where she goes, summers?”
    Gerda nodded wordlessly. Her heart was thudding. She felt short of breath.
    â€œSeems she goes way up into Norrland. She has a big house on the Torne River, north of a place called Vappa-Vara. Reason I know, I picked up a missionary at the harbour, off a northern ship. He’d just come back from taking the good word to the reindeer-folk who live in those wild parts. We got to talking, and he told me stories about this beautiful, rich, fair-haired woman who had built a great house at the edge of the pine forest. The reindeer folk are mortally afraid of her, it seems — they think she is some sort of witch, or sorceress.”
    â€œWell now, I never heard that particular thing said about her,” observed the coachman’s aunt, appreciatively. “Why do you suppose they would think such a thing?”
    â€œWell, you must remember, these are poor godless folk, full of all kinds of heathen notions. And a beautiful woman like that, choosing to live all alone in a great house in the midst of the wilds — why, it would be an odd thing if they did not think she was a witch.”
    â€œWell now, Miss Gerda,” said the coachman, “I have found out what you wanted to know, for what good it will do you. And I wouldn’t say no to another cup of coffee, if you would be so kind.”

    â€œHow late it is,” said the coachman’s aunt, yawning.
    â€œAre you not ready for bed, child?”
    â€œIn a little,” Gerda replied. “May I borrow a book from the shelf?”
    â€œWhy, my dear, help yourself. They are my son’s books; I’m not much of a reader myself. But he’ll not begrudge you the use of them, I’m sure.”
    Gerda waited until she was sure that the coachman’s aunt had blown out her candle and settled into her feather bed. Then she crept to the shelf and took down the heavy, gold-stamped atlas. Sprawled on her stomach on the hearth rug, she opened it to Mercator’s map of northern Europe.
    A country without roads, without cities. On the west, uncharted mountain wastes; on the east, a jagged coastline plunging into the icy northern seas. In between, a land of rivers, moors and marshlands, and trackless pine forest going on to the world’s edge. How could she hope to survive in such a wilderness? And what hope had she of finding Kai?
    She shivered and hugged herself. Then she put the book back on its shelf, lit a candle, and made her way to bed.

C HAPTER N INE
    R itva sat up in bed and saw her dead grandmother crouched in a corner under the