'And how far is Gjeiteryggen from Finse?'
'Aba't another fifteen kilometres. An' it's tough going. Yer turn sa'f at Gjeiteryggen an' climb from aba't thirteen 'undred metres, right up ter seventeen 'undred. Let's see nan.' He screwed his leathery little face up till it looked like a monkey's. 'That'll be a climb of near on fifteen 'undred feet — right up ter the Sankt Paal Glacier. Yer go right across the top of the glacier. You'll find a hut up there if yer need a bit of a rest. An' there's posts markin' the route — or should be. Take my tip an' if mist or snow comes da'n, don't lose sight o' one post before you've located the next. You're right up in the Hallingskarvet an' if yer lose yer way, well-' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Ere's compass an' map. The map ain't much good. It's one the Germans made and it ain't accurate. If mist or snow comes da'n, see you got a bearing before it closes in on you.'
I took the map and slipped it into the side pocket of my rucksack. The compass was an elementary little thing, the sort I was given to play with as a kid. I put it in my pocket. 'You stay here until I organise a relief party,' I said as I humped the rucksack on my aching shoulders.
He shook his head. 'You don't need to bother aba't me. I'll make my way back by easy stages. I don't aim ter get cut off up 'ere. It's still early enough in the year for a bit of a blizzard to blow up. Only sorry I can't come wiv yer. But it wouldn't do no good. I'd only 'old yer up.' He got to his feet and stood, rather weakly, holding on to the settle. 'Well, good luck!'
I grasped his hand. 'An' remember wot I says,' he added. 'If yer crossin' Sankt Paal, don't get a't o' sight o' one markin' post before you've located the next. An' there's a 'ut right at the top. Built by the 'otel association for the convenience of skiers. It can save yer life. It saved mine once.' His friendly, wizened face puckered into a grin. 'An' if anybody asks yer, we didn't meet no bloke off of Hval Ti, see. We ain't met nobody. Well, good luck — an' Oi'll be seein' yer da'n at Aurland.'
'Fine,' I said. 'If you can't make it, don't worry. I'll send a party up from Aurland, if you're not with Diviner by the time I get back.'
'Okay,' he said.
He came with me to the door and stood, sniffing at the moonlight and the chill glitter of the mountains, whilst I put my skis on. A thin powder of snow blew in my face. 'Wind's goin' ter get up,' he said. 'Looks like the weather's goin' ter break.' He caught my arm as I straightened up and put on my gloves. 'Mr Gansert,' he said earnestly, 'if you aim ter 'elp Olsen, yer've gotter move fast. They bin gainin' on us all evening.'
'I'll go just as fast as I can,' I said.
He nodded and grinned. I bent forward and thrust with my sticks. My skis slid forward across the fine snow and a moment later I was whistling down the slope in the tracks of the others'