Sun on Fire by Viktor Arnar Ingólfsson

somebody have scaled the wall to get in?” he asked.
    “Not a chance. It’s fifteen meters tall, and the security system here is very sensitive—I understand it picks up every single bird that flies in.”
    They continued walking and came to an enormous block of stone that formed the end wall of the next building.
    “This is the Norwegian embassy,” said Arngrímur. “The granite rock was transported here in one piece from a mine in Norway. It weighs around a hundred twenty tons, so it was a huge project to get it here.”
    Birkir approached the wall and gazed up at the huge stone.
    “Had he been here before?” he asked suddenly.
    “Who?”
    “Anton, the victim.”
    “Oh, him. No, I don’t think he’s ever been here before. Konrad told me yesterday that Anton had visited him a few times at the residence. He was eager to come and have a look at the embassy building when the opportunity presented itself on Sunday.”
    “So you hadn’t met him before?”
    “No. I never saw him alive.”
    They met a shortish older man and another, younger one coming from the direction of the Icelandic building. Arngrímur bowed, and the others returned the greeting as they passed.
    “That was the Argentinean ambassador. He’s the doyen at the moment,” Arngrímur said when the men had disappeared into the Felleshus.
    “What does that mean?”
    “He’s the longest-serving of all the ambassadors here in Berlin and is their spokesman or representative vis-à-vis the German government. He came by to offer Konrad his condolences on account of this tragedy we’ve just suffered.”
    “Is it an important position, being doyen?”
    “It can be. Seniority is very important since it determines the ambassadors’ positions in the hierarchy that governs the protocol for all ceremonial occasions.”
    “Does there have to be a hierarchy?”
    “Oh, yes. Before that was established, seating arrangements were a major problem affecting diplomatic relations for centuries—ambassadors argued endlessly about their arrival order at official functions.”
    “Couldn’t they go alphabetically?”
    “Absolutely not. This was a major issue. Pope Julius II tried to establish a permanent hierarchy of states in 1504, headed by the Holy Roman Empire. This was pretty much the system for the next three hundred years, but at the Congress of Vienna, which was held to sort out the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars in Europe, fighting broke out among the ambassadors’ coach drivers over what they saw as their rightful order of precedence. That’s when everyone agreed to place the ambassadors in the hierarchy according to their length of service. So the ambassador who has been at his post for the longest time becomes the spokesman for all the delegations in the city in question.”
    “Does that work well?”
    “Yes, for the most part, though it can lead to bizarre situations, like when the ambassador of that awful Somoza government in Nicaragua was doyen in Washington for several years. But still, it’s better than sword fights between the chauffeurs.”
    “Sword fights might be interesting.” Birkir smiled, then asked, “Did you know any others among Konrad’s guests that evening?”
    “I assisted David Mathieu here in Berlin once. And Lúdvík was introduced to me when he held an exhibition in the Felleshus a few years back. The others I haven’t met as far as I remember.”
    “Do you think that David could have killed Anton?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “It looks like we imported some stone, too, just like the Norwegians,” Birkir said, turning toward the Icelandic embassy on their left. “What is this?” he asked, pointing at its pale-brown masonry.
    “Rhyolite, from Hamarsfjördur.”
    “So you don’t know Starkadur, David’s partner?” Birkir asked, switching the subject again.
    “Maybe I’ve been introduced to him, but I don’t remember it.”
    “You don’t know anything else about him?”
    “Unfortunately not.”
    They