"Kim Stanley Robinson - Vinland" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

"You are sure?" the minister asked.
The professor nodded. "Trace elements show the
ore came from upper Quebec. Chemical changes in the
peat weren't right. And nuclear resonance dating
methods show that the bronze pin they found hadn't been
buried long enough. Little things like that. Nothing
obvious. He was amazingly meticulous, he really thought
it out. But the nature of things tripped him up. Nothing
more than that."
"But the effort!" the minister said. "This is what I
find hard to believe. Surely it must have been more than
one man! Burying these objects, building the
walls--surely he would have been noticed!"
The professor stopped another swallow, nodded at
her as he choked once or twice. A broad wave of the
hand, a gasping recovery of breath:
"Fishing village, kilometer north of here. Boarding
house in the early nineteenth century. A crew of ten
rented rooms in the summer of 1842. Bills paid by a Mr.
Carlsson."
The minister raised her eyebrows. "Ah."
One of the graduate students got out a guitar and
began to play. The other students and the volunteers
gathered around her.
"So," the minister said, "Mr. Carlsson. Does he
show up elsewhere?"
"There was a Professor Ohman in Bergen. A Dr.
Bergen in Reykjavik. In the right years, studying the
sagas. I presume they were all him, but I don't know for
sure."
"What do you know about him?"
"Nothing. No one paid much attention to him. I've
got him on a couple transatlantic crossings, I think, but
he used aliases, so I've probably missed most of them.
A Scandinavian-American, apparently Norwegian by
birth. Someone with some money--someone with
patriotic feelings of some kind--someone with a grudge
against a university--who knows? All I have are a few
signatures, of aliases at that. A flowery handwriting.
Nothing more. That's the most remarkable thing about
him! You see, most hoaxers leave clues to their
identities, because a part of them wants to be caught. So
their cleverness can be admired, or the ones who fell for
it embarrassed, or whatever. But this guy didn't want to
be discovered. And in those days, if you wanted to stay
off the record. . . ." He shook his head.
"A man of mystery."
 "Yeah. But I don't know how to find out anything
more about him."
The professor's face was glum in the firelight as he