Peder’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He returned it to the bowl and raised his eyes. “Stanislav, there are some secrets in this town that it is best you stay ignorant of. But I will tell you what Ulverja means in our mythology. Have you heard of the Dire Wolves?”
Rook nodded. You couldn’t get his kind of extensive training in the Norwegian language without coming across that. “Sure. Huge beasts that served the Norse Gods, right? I seem to recall that some think that they were intended as symbols of human suffering, but mostly I remember them being vicious killers.”
“That’s right. Ulverja was an outcast wolf, too nasty even for the others of his kind. And that is all I’m going to tell you.”
Rook didn’t get any sense that the old man was willing to give in. “That’ll do, at least for now. But some weird shit is going on in this town. Maybe it’s just the isolation, but I think there’s more to it. You know I won’t stop poking around.”
“You will if they kill you first.”
“Right. What are they gonna do, come after me with pitchforks and torches while I’m asleep in the barn?”
“No, they prefer a quiet throat slitting around three in the morning.”
Rook looked for a sign that Peder was joking and found none. “So they’re going to try to sneak up on me and cut my throat? A perfect stranger who hasn’t done anything to them?”
Peder’s eyes seemed dead when they met Rook’s. “They have done it before.”
That night, Rook put Plan A into effect. Peder had waited in different spots on different evenings, keeping an eye on his animals and anyone who might approach them. Rook couldn’t stand to be that passive, so he had talked Peder into doing something different.
First, they placed cows or goats at the furthest corners of the property. This should increase the temptation for the creature to strike. Second, they both retired to the house a couple hours after darkness set in. Rook crept out another hour later, exiting through a cellar door that provided darkness so complete he could not see his hand in front of his face.
Rook thought of the equipment Chess Team had available, the suits constructed using stealth technology that would have made him nearly invisible. Tonight, he was going old school, wearing a black jacket and pants, with some of Peder’s thick axle grease smeared on his face and the backs of his hands. He knew that most animals would sense him by smell instead of sight anyway, but he’d take any small advantage he could get.
Earlier in the day, Peder and Rook had walked for miles through the land surrounding the property. They had found no sign of any of the bodies of Peder’s lost chickens, goats or cows. This seemed odd, as most predators do not travel far with their captured prey unless they need to feed offspring. The risks of trouble are too great, so most predators opt to eat their meal as soon as they can do so safely. Plus, even for a bear, carrying a dead cow just didn’t seem likely.
So he might be facing something with the intelligence to plan ahead. Rook had questioned Peder about whether any of the townspeople might be behind it, but Peder denied any possibility of that, saying that Fossen would never have stood for such a disruptive situation. That left…well, it didn’t leave much, and Rook wasn’t about to accept the yeti theory at face value.
He prepared himself for the unknown, something his time with Chess Team had exposed him to on a regular basis. In truth, he relished it. He might be in a tiny town in Norway with only a KA-BAR and a fifty caliber pistol, and the stakes might only be some livestock, but it didn’t matter. Tonight, he would hunt again.
He began walking in loops, leaving and entering Peder’s property numerous times. He tried never to stray too far from the corners where the goats and cows were strategically placed. Peder would be in the barn by now, hidden in the loft with a shotgun trained on the unlatched door. Rook knew that they could lose one of the outdoor animals if the attacker were smart and followed Rook’s movements, but he was banking on the change of strategy to increase the likelihood of catching it—whatever it was—in an exposed position.
Nothing happened until about two in the morning. Then, as Rook passed by one of the goats and started to leave it behind, he heard something. Just the faintest trace of sound, but still something different from the wind he’d listened to since beginning his rounds. He stopped and sniffed the air.
He picked up a smell, something like rotten eggs, but even sharper. As he inhaled, the smell grew stronger, as if the source had moved nearer. He turned his body slowly until he could see back in the direction of the goat, though the darkness prevented him from actually seeing the unfortunate animal.