by Tom Thowsen
SWEDEN
OCTOBER 30TH, 1807
The ferryman nodded to Gustav. “We’re ready to disembark.”
The gangway was in place and the ferry was moored. Willy glanced over to the other side of Svinesund, towards the coach station on the Norwegian side of the small fjord. He mainly looked at the steep cliffside in the background that they’d just ridden down. His heart had been in his mouth the whole way because he wasn’t used to riding horseback. There were no horses on Lauer, and it wasn’t until this year that Gustav taught him to ride the horses at the fortress. Now they rode along on the cavalry’s horses. They were high up on the two beasts, but they were beautiful and sweet animals. Willy was grateful that his horse was obedient and calm as he guided it across the gangway. Once they were safely on the pier, the Lauer brothers mounted their horses once again and continued across the dirt road that snaked its way up the forest-clad hillside. The landscape eventually flattened into fields and meadows, and Willy grew more confident. Soon after, the horses were galloping along, and they continued like that most of the way to Strömstad. The brothers headed towards Skeppsbron, where Raja and her family had likely been when the stolen goods had swapped hands. The merchants were packing up their goods and preparing to head home for the night. The Lauer brothers fetched their horses some food and water, then began talking to people. It didn’t take them long to find someone who could help.
“I remember them,” an elderly lady with a headscarf said, as she patted her clay pipe. “One of them—a guy in his twenties, I reckon, who had a big scar on his cheek—was walking around with a sack full of silver. I don’t think anyone wanted to buy from him. Not up here, at least. He might have had better luck at Surbrunn. Last time I saw him, it seemed like that’s where he was headed.”
“Thank you, Madam,” Gustav said and bowed. “It looks like we’re on the right track.”
“Yeah,” Willy said. “We’re getting warmer.”
“Let’s ask the three of them.” Gustav pointed towards a group of people who were talking on the pier next to a moored two-mast ship.
As they walked over to them, one of the people turned around to look at them. “Could I interest the gentlemen in a bit of fun tonight?”
“What do you mean?” Gustav asked, just as he spotted a group of voluptuous women, smiling at them from a ship named The Sea Lion. One of them even blew him a kiss.
“A trip in the archipelago with our lovely girls. I can get you a good deal...”
Willy raised his hand. “No, we’re not looking for harlots.”
“Is there anything else I can...”
“No, thank you,” Gustav said. “We’re looking for a thief.”
“A thief?”
Willy nodded. “A thief who was here a couple of weeks ago, with a bagful of silver.”
“With a scar on his cheek?”
“That’s right.”
“You should have a chat with the sheriff. He’s the one who arrested him.”
“Oh, is that so? We’ll head that way, then. Thanks for the tip!”
A couple of minutes later, they found themselves in the sheriff’s office.
A bald head with bushy eyebrows and a pair of round, light blue eyes looked up at them from behind a desk. “Gentlemen, how may I help you?”
“Good evening,” Gustav said and bowed deeply. “My name is Gustav Lauer, and this is my brother, Willy. We’re here in connection with a robbery.”
“A robbery? Have you been robbed in town?”
“No, no. We haven’t been robbed. It’s about the priest of Hvaler Church. We’ve been told that you were the one who arrested the thief, a vagabond by the name of Maxim. We don’t know his last name.”
“Ah, that’ll be Maxim Romanov. Yeah, he had his whole pack of scoundrels with him. They were all lying through their teeth, especially his wife. She fought tooth and nail to defend him. You should’ve heard her. Anyway. The priest, you said?”
“That’s right,” Willy said. “But his wife is innocent.”
“Is that so? Do you know her?”
“More or less, but that’s already in Bailiff Christian Jeppesen’s notes in Fredrikstad. He’s the one investigating the robbery.”
“I see. We have the silver right here, and if we get a written request from the bailiff, we’ll extradite that to him. It’s a shame that things have ended up like this. There’s nothing we can do about it, but this animosity between our countries is most unfortunate. That said, I’ll do what I can to put an end to this robbery case as soon as possible.”
“Great,” Gustav said. “Could we get that in writing? Just so we have something to show the bailiff?”
“Of course, Mr Lauer. Would you like some coffee while you wait?”
FREDRIKSTAD
OCTOBER 31ST, 1807
A couple of horses crossed the flat banks of the Glomma River. The riders traversed as quickly as they could, their horse’s manes whipping against their faces as they went. Their sweat steamed up the cold autumn air, while the air coming out of their noses created white clouds in front of their faces. The town of Fredrikstad slowly came into view. The morning sun was gleaming in the thin ice of the moat, making the grass on the ramparts and roofs glow. They crossed the wooden bridge over the moat and the clack of the hooves bounced between the ramparts and the walls. The two entered through the tower gate and continued along the cobbled streets of the town until they slowed down near the armoury. They climbed off their horses and left them with the stable keepers.
“Do you know where Christian Jeppesen lives?” Willy asked.
“That we do,” the stable boy said, pointing over his shoulder to a coach and two horses. “He’s just leaving. Just follow Terje, he’s picking him up.”
Gustav exhaled in relief. “Thank God, we made it just in the nick of time.”
“Yeah, in the last minute,” Willy said. He realised his back was stiff, not to mention his bottom was sore from the final gallop into town. He struggled to walk, but thankfully Terje the coachman happened to notice.
“Climb on up.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Willy said, as Gustav helped him into the coach. It wasn’t long until they’d reached His Majesty’s Bailiff Christian Jeppesen’s residence, and soon after, the bailiff himself appeared with a walking stick. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn when Willy met him on Lauer.
“Here comes Napoleon,” Willy whispered to Gustav before he stood to attention in the coach, while Gustav rushed to the other side of the street.
“Good morning, Christian,” Willy chirped with a wide smile on his face. “It seems we made it just in time.”
“What on God’s earth are you two slackers doing here in my coach?”
“Apologies,” Gustav said. “We didn’t mean to arrive like this, it just happened...”
“Yeah, yeah. Out of the way, I’m running late.”
Just then, Willy jumped down from the coach and extended his hand. “I’m Willy Lauer, in case you’ve forgotten our meeting at the Castle...”
“Ah... Yes, out on Lauer. What brings you here?”
“Gustav and I have solved the case. Do you know Gustav?”
“He seems familiar. Which case is this?”
“The stolen silver.”
“Ah, yes, the stolen silver. Has it been found?”
“You bet.”
“Where is it, then?”
“In Strömstad.”
“With whom?”
“It’s in the safe hands of the sheriff,” Gustav said. He then produced a letter from his inner pocket, which he promptly handed to the bailiff. “And here’s a letter for you, in which he describes the thief...”
“A man with a scar on his cheek, I hope?”
Gustav nodded. “That’s right. Maxim did it.”
“Oh, God is good. Arrest him! Arrest him at once!”
HVALER CHURCH
NOVEMBER 8TH, 1807
The first snow had come to Hvaler,
leaving everything covered with a layer of white. Two inches of snow had accumulated on the tops of the tall pine trees, on the walls surrounding the church, in the graveyard, and on the graves. It glowed in the dark, winter night. People were happy and relaxed. On this particular Sunday, however, Ulf didn’t feel like mingling with the group of people outside the church. He was sad and heavy-hearted. As the years went on, he felt older and lonelier. Especially during this time of year, when most people stayed indoors and struggled to keep out the cold. Out on Lauer, Ulf was saving as much of the kindling as he could for January and February, when the cold would be at its worst. The older he got, the more the cold began to bother him. His body was starting to grow stiff and his joints had taken to aching. Moving was painful, and both rowing and mending nets—the tasks that allowed him to make a living—were becoming increasingly difficult for him to manage. Various everyday activities were being neglected. God knows how this will end, he thought to himself.
He’d been a widow for seven years and the worst of his grief had settled. All the same, he missed Bodil. He often thought back to some of the happy times they’d had, when there was life at the Castle. The house had been clean and tidy at all times with fresh flowers on the dining table. Now, it looked like a pigsty. There were cobwebs in the corners, a thick layer of dusts on the benches and tables, and a selection of dead flies on the windowsills. The place was messy, and he couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. He didn’t have the energy, and as time went on, things got even worse. It didn’t help that Gustav had moved out four years ago, or that he hadn’t seen Willy in weeks.
“Right, I’d better get home and make some coffee,” Ulf mumbled as he started down the graveyard path, the snow squeaking under his feet as he went on his way. He spotted a widow making the sign of the cross by the grave of her late son, Lukas Jensen. Her name was Maja Jensen, and Ulf had known the man she’d been married to. Alf was a fisherman who had died at the age of 50. He didn’t know how old Maja was, but he assumed she was in her late 40s or early 50s—a little younger than himself. She looked good—great, even—for her age, and the last of her children had flown the nest. These days, Maja was living on Herføl by herself in a small, weathered house that wasn’t much better off than his own on Lauer. At least the widow looked well.
Ulf bowed. “Good Sunday.”
The widow lifted her gaze. “And to you, Ulf Lauer. Are you here alone?”
“Yes. God knows where Willy is, I haven’t seen him in a while. Young people, you know. You can’t make them stay.”
“No, I know that all too well. You must be quite lonely, Ulf. May I call you Ulf?”
“Yes. Of course... Maja.”
FREDRIKSHALD
NOVEMBER 12TH, 1807
“I feel so devastated,” Willy sighed as he slumped down on the bench. That was the last nail in the coffin. So much had gone wrong over the autumn. The fight in Kristiansand. Armel losing his job and struggling to find another one because he was so old and fragile. The twins and Willy hadn’t succeeded in finding a steady job either; they just picked up the occasional task here and there to get by. Maxim had disappeared into thin air after having threatened Willy with his knife, and that bothered him more than anything else. He’d finally gotten an order for his arrest and a way to get his revenge for what he had done to Raja, and now the thief was nowhere to be found. He was a thorn in Willy’s side! Who was Maxim allied with? The Devil? One of the Devil’s many demons? No, he should’ve drawn his sword and chopped off the scoundrel’s arm when he had the chance. If he had, then Maxim would be rotting with the other prisoners at the fortress by now, wasting away in his cold, damp cell. He’d have gotten what he deserved and he might even have the mark of the thief on his forehead. Luckily, Willy had Raja by his side. She’d been released from Ebenezer two weeks ago and recovered incredibly well. Her bruises were almost completely healed, and in Maxim’s absence, she and Willy had become close friends. They were like two peas in a pod, and Raja had gotten to know all his friends. She’d even started training with Gustav and the others at the fortress, surprising them by being an excellent shot. She could aim just as well as the rest of them, but she refused to reveal where she’d learnt to shoot. All she offered was a mysterious smile.
Raja pulled him closer. “Don’t be sad, Willy. Just wait and see, it’ll all work out.”
They had just been to see the shipowner, but he had given them the cold shoulder. ‘You need to stop marching into this house without invitation,’ Tank had said in a curt tone. What he said next had crushed Willy completely. ‘I don’t need more people. I don’t need first mates with broken arms or other incompetent staff. Do you understand me, young man?’
“Did you hear what he said? ‘Incompetent staff’. He doesn’t think we’re fit to be privateers, the arrogant bastard. He thinks he’s so much better than the rest of us, all because he has money to his name... Why didn’t he just say that earlier? He could’ve told me that in the autumn. At least then I wouldn’t have wasted time waiting around... But now, he’s gone and crushed my dreams, Raja.”
“There, there. Cheer up.”
“But how will we make a living?”
“In times of need, even the Devil will eat flies.”
“Not during the winter, he won’t.”
“Fine but listen - you say that you want to be a privateer.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Think about it. What is a privateer?”
“A pirate... or, I mean... no...”
“It doesn’t matter how you twist it, Willy. No matter what, you’re moving into grey territory and it can be hard to tell where the line between right and wrong is.”
“You’re telling me. But what are you trying to say?”
“Become a smuggler instead.”
“Wait! You’re a genius, Raja.”
“Not at all. You’re just too fixated on becoming a privateer to see the other possibilities, my friend.”
“You’re right,” Willy acknowledged. The solution had been right in front of him this whole time. In the aftermath of confiscating the fleet and the British bombing of Copenhagen, not to mention the blockade that prevented goods from coming in and out of the country, smuggling had become more and more lucrative. Especially here, near the Swedish border. Raja and her family had already spotted and seized the opportunity. Her brothers had been frequenting towns and beaches lately, and the oars on their rowboat were ready to give up any moment. They’d even rowed to Christiania to sell their smuggled goods.
“Just join us.”
“Do you need another pair of hands?”
“Of course. We get robbed from time to time, you know. We could use someone to defend us. You’re perfect for the job with your sword and gun, my strong friend.” Raja touched his muscular arm, and Willy straightened up with pride. The painful thoughts spurred by the shipowner’s condescending words evaporated like dew in the morning sun. He had his eyes set on a new goal.
STRÖMSTAD
NOVEMBER 14TH, 1807
They had come to Strömstad to shop for goods to sell in Norway. Willy steered the boat into the dock at Surbrunn, where the ship, The Sea Lion, was moored. Raja was standing at the front of the rowboat, eager to jump onto solid ground, while Willy was at the oars, admiring the beautiful view. She was wearing a white headscarf with red flowers, tied in a knot behind her head, leaving most of her hair visible. Two voluminous plaits hung over her shoulders. Her dark hair had an enchanting effect on Willy, just like everything else about her. Her eyes. The way she looked at him. The electric warmth in her gaze. The sensual way she spoke, her Danish sprinkled with something foreign that he couldn’t quite place. Something about it felt adventurous.
“Do you see what I see?” Raja asked, as she jumped out of the boat and climbed onto the dock. She nodded towards the moored pleasure craft that appeared to be abandoned for the season.
“What are you talking about?”
Raja moored the ro
wboat. “The pleasure craft right there.”
“Yeah? What about it?” Willy climbed out of the boat and stood next to her.
“It gave me an idea.”
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“Don’t you see it?”
“A tacky pleasure craft. A renovated dogger. What about it?”
The ship was decorated with a selection of ornaments and brightly coloured carvings. There was a beautiful polished brass lantern on the transom, and on each side, there were two bronze salute cannons, both polished. The two swivel guns looked like they’d be good for sharpshooting.
“No, Willy. I’m looking at your future privateer vessel.”
“They’re probably not looking to sell. Forget it, Raja.”
“The Sea Lion,” Raja continued, reading the name on the ship. There was a gorgeous coat of arms with a picture of a sea lion under the name. The Sea Lion. The name could probably be attributed to the Lion Spring at Surbrunn, where all the rich people went to drink their healing water. She knew that they weren’t far from the spring. She also knew what the ship was usually used for.
Raja peeped through the colourful leaded glass windows. She could just about make out the outline of the luxurious décor, just as gorgeous as the furniture she’d seen in Shipowner Tank’s office. Dark, glossy wood. Polished brass. Persian rugs. Bedspreads of red silk or maybe velvet. It was a lavish pleasure craft by all measures.
LAUER
NOVEMBER 14TH, 1807
On his way home from Strömstad to Fredrikshald, Willy felt a pang of guilt. He’d been so busy over the autumn that he’d forgotten all about his old man, who was sitting alone on the desolate island of Lauer. What if he’d gotten ill or something had happened to him? Worst case, he could’ve been dead in his bed for days without anybody realising. Willy pushed away the thought of all the bad things that could’ve happened. My dad is doing just fine without me, he thought. But it’d be nice to show him that he was finally earning money. He’d earned far more smuggling than he’d ever earned with his odd jobs. He was proud of this new bread and butter, primarily because there was something almost pirate-like about being a smuggler. At least there was the way he was doing it. Raja had bought him a red headscarf in Strömstad, which he bore around his head. He kept his gun and his sword in the belt around his waist. He’d even acquired a new pair of boots.