There were gasps of amazement from those in the front. I looked past them, unbelieving

Marita stopped outside the Icehotel’s entrance, an archshaped opening carved into the ice. The double doors, also of ice, were hung with reindeer skins, the interweaving of brown and cream in the coarse hair making them look dark from a distance. Ice columns, so smooth they might have been carved from a single block, stood on either side.

Marita was in full flow again. “The Icehotel is not only a hotel, but also an art gallery. The rooms house ice sculptures of the highest quality. Between the hours of 10am and 5pm it is open to visitors, but for the rest of the time it is a hotel.” She smiled dreamily. “But an unusual, in fact a unique, hotel.”

She gripped the antler handle and pulled. The doors opened smoothly. We followed her inside, pushing and treading on each other in our hurry. “This is the foyer,” she said, with pride in her voice. There were gasps of amazement from those in the front. I looked past them, unbelieving.

Emptiness

Two rows of fluted ice columns stood on either side of the foyer, directing our gaze to the ice chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. It was suspended by an impossibly thin cord, the cream candles protruding at all angles like crooked teeth. Through the far wall where the ice was thinner, shafts of blue light streamed in. An emptiness reminiscent of an ancient cathedral lay on the place. Yet despite the stillness, the air shimmered like a veil drawn back by an unseen hand.

“Would you look at this place?” Mike said, breaking the silence. “So are the candles ever lit?” “They are at night,” said Marita. “Won’t they melt the ice?”

“They are special candles which give out little heat. Look closely. They are arranged so their flames point away from the ice.”

Liz was crouching, examining the ground. “I don’t believe this. There’s snow on the floor.” She glanced up. “It’ll turn to slush, won’t it?”

Marita removed a glove and scooped up a handful of snow. “The atmosphere in the Icehotel is too dry for condensation to form, so the snow doesn’t get wet. It is more like sand.” She let it fall, and turned her hand to show us her dry palm.

“It’s the same everywhere in the Icehotel. The exception is the bar where the heat and perspiration from many bodies can raise the humidity level.”

“And what happens then?” said Harry. She kept her expression blank. “The ice on the ceiling melts and drips into your drink.” I smirked. Harry seemed less than amused. Marita indicated we should look around, so we wandered among the columns. Jim poked a suspicious finger into the snow. Robyn, who’d been watching, yapped so loudly that heads turned. She stomped away. He straightened and followed her like an obedient puppy.

Liz was turning in a slow circle, a frown of concentration on her face. “You’ll get dizzy doing that,” I said.

“This place is like a rabbit warren. If I need a pee in the middle of the night, I just know I’m going to crash into these ghastly columns.”

“The lights in the chandelier will be on, didn’t Marita say?”

“You think they won’t burn out?” She looked at the candles doubtfully. “If you run into one of these columns face on, it’s goodbye Vienna.”

“Good point. I’m staying in my sleeping bag and crossing my legs.” After a quick glance around, I said in a low voice: “Liz, you know things about drugs. What’s Coumarinose used for?”

Surprised

She seemed surprised by this shift in the conversation. “It’s an anticoagulant. Why?”

“Wilson Bibby swallowed some on the plane. Why would he need an anticoagulant? To prevent deep vein thrombosis while flying?”

“Anticoagulants are prescribed for people who have abnormal heart rhythms. They either reduce the risk of strokes, or of heart attacks. Or perhaps both,” she added. “But don’t quote me, I’m not a doctor.”

“You’re saying Wilson might have a heart problem?”

“And if he’s taking Coumarinose, he really shouldn’t be drinking or smoking.”

“Why do you think he appears to care so little about his health?”

“Because the rich do rather believe they’re immortal.” She shrugged. “Anyway, why are we talking about him? Let’s explore.”

We moved deeper into the foyer, following the tinkling sound of running water. A circular ice fountain, decorated with leafy ice grapes, stood beneath the chandelier. The bunches curled round the stand, climbing to the rim of the basin where they spread thickly. The water was pumped through an arrangement of ice lilies. It flowed out through the stamens, swirled round the basin, and drained away.

Jane Galloway held a finger under the stamens. “Why doesn’t the water freeze?”

Marita’s lips twitched. “Partly because it is constantly moving, and partly because it is almost 100% industrial-strength antifreeze.”

“Yikes.” Jane pulled her hand back as though she’d been stung. Mike nudged her and smirked. She nudged him back harder.

Marita raised her voice in tour-guide mode again. “The Icehotel is built from ice harvested from the nearby river, which is frozen at this time of year, of course. When you’re on the river, you’ll see workmen removing next year’s blocks for storage.” She paused for effect.

“That means there are areas of the river which will not be frozen over. You must take great care on the ice. If you fall in, even with a snowsuit, at these temperatures your chances of survival cannot be guaranteed.”

“I read that the river Torne is particularly fast flowing,” Jane said.

“Not at the moment. It is” – she frowned, trying to remember the word – “sluggish. However, when the snows melt in spring, the current is strong. Objects in the river, including those on the river bed, are swept into the Gulf of Bothnia.”

Impressed

She waited for this message to sink in. We looked suitably impressed. Even Harry managed to keep a straight face.

“You may have noticed there are no windows in the foyer. When the Icehotel is constructed, low voltage cables are buried in the ice, and tiny lamps are fixed to the walls to provide illumination. A few rooms have a glass ceiling window, and light comes in that way also, although the ceiling windows are intended primarily for viewing the aurora borealis from the comfort of your room.”

“Are we likely to see the aurora?” I asked eagerly. She fixed me with her gaze. “We are in a period of maximum solar activity, so there is a high probability of seeing the aurora this week.”

“Where’s the best place for viewing?”

“The easiest to reach is probably the river.” She hesitated. “But there is another place, a viewing platform at the top of the church tower. You have to climb the steps as there is no elevator. I haven’t been up myself, but I am told that it is worth the effort.”

More tomorrow.

Icehotel, available on Amazon Kindle, is Hania Allen’s debut novel. Her second book, The Polish Detective (Constable, £8.99), is the first in her new series featuring DS Dania Gorska and is set in Dundee.