by Tom Thowsen
“We’re visiting my dad,” he told Raja.
“Does it have to be right now?”
“It’ll just be a quick visit. I haven’t seen him in weeks.”
An hour later, they moored the boat at the dock on Lauer, and Willy half-ran up to the small house. He could tell that something was different but didn’t think too much about it. Everything just seemed tidier. The house hadn’t been painted, but the flaky painting had been scraped away. There was even new putty on the windows.
“Dad! Dad! I’ve found a job,” Willy said and threw the door to the Castle open with Raja at his heels. He stopped dead in his tracks. Two surprised sets of eyes looked up at him, or rather at them, from the kitchen. His father and the mother of Lukas Jensen, the young fisherman who’d drowned, were sitting there, drinking coffee.
Ulf gathered his thoughts and flashed his son a smile.
“Congratulations, my dear son,” Ulf said proudly. “You’re a captain...” That had been the dream last time Willy had visited his father almost two months ago. Back then, Ulf had mocked his son’s unrealistic dream of becoming a captain of that ship he was always talking about. The Avenger of Wrath, or whatever it was called... The ship belonging to the honourable Carsten Tank in Fredrikshald, who was one of the richest, most powerful people in the country. What an honour.
“A smuggler,” Willy corrected before he could stop himself. His hand flew up to his mouth. The reactions in the room confirmed just how inappropriate it was the moment he said it. Lukas’ mother’s jaw dropped, and Ulf Lauer gestured so violently, he spilled coffee all over the table.
“Sh! Don’t say that out loud, someone could be hiding behind the curtains.” He shot a worried look around, as if he was actually expecting someone to be watching them. Silence had fallen before he continued. “Who is this?”
“My boss,” Willy laughed. “Raja Romanova.”
Ulf bowed and smiled. “Hello, Raja. My name is Ulf, and this is the new Queen of the Castle, Maja Lauer.”
Willy was speechless. Did he hear that right? Had his father just introduced Maja Jensen as Maja Lauer?
“What? Did you get married while I was gone?”
“Yes. Was I not allowed to do that?”
“Uh... I guess. Couldn’t you have asked me first?”
“What, for permission?”
“No, but... I don’t know. Obviously not. You could’ve at least discussed it with me and Gustav before you went through with it. Is that too much to ask?”
“What, was I supposed to hunt the pair of you down?”
“Are you hearing yourself? You know where Gustav lives, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t going to row all the way into Fredrikshald... Honestly,” Ulf said with frustration. “Have you asked for permission to spend time with this Raja? You should. I’m your dad.” His father’s voice was serious.
Willy couldn’t believe his own ears...
STRÖMSTAD
JUNE 18TH, 1808
The relationship between the neighbouring countries of Sweden and Norway had reached an all-time low. The situation certainly didn’t improve after the Russians invaded Swedish Finland on February 21st. Rock bottom was reached on March 14th when a declaration of war, signed by Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark, was delivered to Stockholm. The Crown Prince lost his father the very next day—some claimed that the ailing King Christian VII died of a stroke, horrified by the news that the war had begun. So, the Dano-Norwegian kingdom had acquired a new king, along with a hostile neighbour who had to be pressured into leaving their alliance with Britain. The Swedish were surrounded by enemies to the east, the south, and the west. They had about 20,000 men to defend their lengthy borders—in a war with two battlefronts! Although the Dano-Norwegians were 36,000 strong, they had a lot of coastline to defend against the British. But the Swedish king, Gustav IV, had more on his mind than just defending the borders. He wanted to use the opportunity to fulfil an old dream of his: to conquer Norway. However, that was easier said than done, so he had come up with a disingenuous plan. During an attack on Strömstad, the Norwegian forces would be lured south and split up as much as possible. Once that was done, the Swedish would advance further along the northern border. On April 30th, the Swedish defended themselves against a Dano-Norwegian attack on Strömstad, but a month later, they lost a battle for the Hvaler islands. In spite of the defeat, the Swedish retained their dominion over the sea and they felt safe from the fragile Dano-Norwegian maritime force. While battles continued to erupt along the northern border, the brigade at Strömstad was nice and comfortable. They made good use of the town’s numerous facilities, including the voluptuous ladies on The Sea Lion, who were always prepared to offer a good time. The excellent service onboard was a definite bonus. The pleasure craft made it possible to go fishing near the Koster islands, eat good food, drink delicious champagne and cognac, and smoke Cuban cigars. It was the perfect place to watch the sun set on the sea.
At three o’clock on the night between June 5th and 6th, something happened that would shake the Swedish brigade at Strömstad to its very core. A soundless figure snuck across the dark dock to which The Sea Lion was moored. The figure climbed onboard and stayed for a couple of minutes, only to disappear as suddenly as they had appeared.
NORTH KOSTER
JUNE 18TH, 1808
It was a bright and beautiful summer evening. A light, sunset breeze caressed the skin of the well-dressed people on board The Sea Lion, which was anchored near North Koster, a Swedish island on the Norwegian border. The seagulls circled overhead and contributed their hoarse screams. A seal was lounging on a tidal island, relaxing in the mild breeze. The sky was a canvas of breath-taking pastels, and the glowing, red sun rolled across the surface of the water to the west. It was a perfect summer evening for a party out at sea, and the Swedish officers knew how to make the absolute most of their circumstances. A string quartet consisting of two violins, a viola, and a cello played Bach’s ‘Air’ on the stern of the ship, while the party-goers occupied the main deck. Their laughter and cheery voices, not to mention the soft notes played by the string players, could be heard from afar. There was nothing to suggest that there was a war going on, or that other people were being shot somewhere else at that exact moment. The war was the last thing on the minds of the fancily dressed, gallant officers and their selected women in beautiful gowns. Tonight was all about enjoying the finer things in life.
A baritone voice drowned out all the others. “Have you heard about the man who—”. The rest of his words were barely distinguishable, but they were met with harmonious laughter of women’s and men’s voices.
“Oh, how wonderful you are, Gunnar! You make me want to kiss you.”
Smack, smack.
“Why, thank you. Would you like a top-up? What would you like to drink?”
“Champagne, please. Just to the rim.”
Chuckle, chuckle.
Squeak! A champagne cork flew across the deck.
“Hey, you! Please don’t touch my fishing rod.”
“No problem.”
“Thank you, I need it later.”
“Right, let’s have a drinking song, folks. Chime in. I’ll fathom the bowl, I’ll fathom the bowl...”
“Cheers, everyone—including you, lovely Miss Bettan.”
“Cheers, Admiral.”
“Yes, cheers to you, Chief Lieutenant Fröjdenstjärna and the lovely miss Bettan. And the beautiful Miss Lisa. And Frida, of course. Wonderful Frida. Let’s all raise our glasses.”
Glasses clinked against glasses.
“Perhaps the quartet could play ‘The Little Frogs’?”
“’The Little Frogs’?”
“That French military march that the British have written the lyrics for.”
“La Chanson de l’Oignon? The Onion Song?”
“Yes, that’s the one!”
The guest raised his glass and the bottle and shouted, “Chime in! Time for ‘The Little Frogs’!”
/> “Cheers to that!” someone else said.
The string quartet immediately started playing the cheerful march and before too long, the well-dressed party-goers were running around deck like frogs, making fun of the frog-eaters. They laughed and sang with one another:
“The little frogs, the little frogs are funny to observe.
The little frogs, the little frogs are funny to observe.
No ears, no ears, no tails do they possess.
No ears, no ears, no tails do they possess.
Quack ack ack, quack ack ack.
Quack ack ack ack kaa.
Quack ack ack ack kaa...”
Sometime later, the party crossed into its next stage.
“Cheers, my dears! Is anyone still awake?” Hiccough. “Bettan! Bettan!” Hiccough. “Please don’t sleep! Guys...” Hiccough. “Fetch me some water... You’re so kind.” Hiccough.
A moment later, there was a splash.
Nobody screamed “Man overboard!”
There was just silence.
FREDRIKSHALD
JUNE 19TH, 1808
The Avenger of Wrath was moored at Fredrikshald and was almost ready to go on a new raid. It had become quite a well-equipped privateer vessel with two cannons and three swivel guns, along with a crew of 40 men who were armed to the teeth. Hand grenades, swords, guns, and muskets—everything a soldier could possibly want. The shipowners, Carsten Tank and Poul Resen Broch, hadn’t been frugal. Week after week, and month after month, they had poured money into the project. However, their investment had yet to yield any returns, in spite of the fact that the ship had already been on multiple raids. The thought of the mounting expenses was a concerning one indeed. It was expensive to keep a ship and a permanent crew, so they had to do something to get to the root of the problem. Was it bad luck or a reluctant crew? After having asked around for some time, they unearthed the issue. The crew was unhappy. They thought the shipowners were greedy—for the food served onboard and for their share of any potential profits. They didn’t want to risk their lives and limbs to make the greedy shipowners even richer. Tank and Broch had taken this concern seriously and decided to do something about it. The crew was promised a higher cut and their provisions would be improved. On top of that, they would have a party with a selection of surprises before they embarked on their next raid. In the aftermath of this promise, the ship was loaded with all the necessities to allow the crew to survive for weeks out at sea. Both shipowners were present to oversee the loading and were impeccably dressed. Tank carried a black top hat, a red coat with glossy brass buttons, white trousers, and black boots. Broch was wearing a light summer suit and brown shoes. Broch’s bookkeeper was clad in a black suit with matching black shoes. The three noblemen stood by the gangway and talked.
“Now, this will be a party to remember.” The bookkeeper nodded towards a couple of men who were rolling barrels of beer across the deck. He could sense the merry atmosphere onboard; the crew was ready to party and they were excited to see these surprises that Tank had promised them. The bookkeeper had a good idea of what these surprises were, seeing as he was the one in charge of the expenses. Aside from the freshly baked goods that were on their way, the party would culminate in a ceremonious horn concert on the dock and a salute from the cannons on deck. Curious spectators, not to mention the families and friends of the crewmen, had already begun to show up.
“You sure know how to spoil them,” the bookkeeper said with a smile.
“I know,” Tank said. “But it’s worth it.”
“Look,” the bookkeeper said, pointing at a ship that was approaching the harbour. It was a two-mast dogger with good wind in its sails. A vessel that the majority of them recognised—a pleasure craft for the wealthy, known for its expensive food and delicate beverages, not to mention its poker, music, and dance. And of course, its other entertainment.
Tank’s jaw dropped. “The Sea Lion,” he said, his eyes wide. “What’s that doing here?” He hadn’t booked the ship, and he gazed inquisitively at Broch, who just scratched his neck and exchanged confused looks with Tank and the bookkeeper.
“Look, boys. There’s the surprise!” one of the sailors shouted gleefully, and the rest of the crew started waving. “Hurray!” they cheered. This would indeed be a party to remember.
There was significant confusion aboard The Sea Lion as well.
“What’s this supposed to mean? Who’s been talking?” Raja asked on the main deck. The spark in her dark eyes was fixed on Willy. He put a spar in place at the top of the main mast.
“No idea.”
“This was supposed to be a secret operation,” she hissed. “We have a traitor in our midst.”
“A traitor?” Willy said. “Well, it’s not me.”
“Someone must have talked. Perhaps your brother?”
“No, Gustav’s mouth is sealed.”
“Did you do it, Armel?”
Armel was at the wheel, having the time of his life. He was in a wonderful mood. “My conscience is clear, mademoiselle,” he assured her with a smile.
Raja continued interrogating the crew.
“Odd and Jens, are you innocent, too?”
“Yup,” the twins said in unison. The short redheads were dangling their legs off the bulwark.
“Great,” Raja said and rolled her eyes. “In that case, maybe someone’s being spying on us.”
“Does it matter?” Armel chuckled. “This is a welcome fit for the gods. Smile and be happy.”
The cheering sailors waved at them from the other ship and there was a sea of people on the dock, including a horn ensemble. The military marching band from Fredriksten Fortress was there, wearing their neat uniforms and marching along with drums and cymbals. They stopped next to the shipowners with their backs straight. What a lavish reception.
“Oh God, Willy,” Shipowner Carsten Tank exclaimed in horror. “What is this nonsense?”
TO BE CONTINUED
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Fictional people:
Willy Lauer, 20, a strong man from Lauer
Ulf Lauer, 54, Willy’s father
Gustav Lauer, 24, Willy’s brother
Raja Romanova, 17, a mysterious Roma refugee
Raja’s family:
Mother: Bogdana, 33
Father: Budulaj, 49
Sister: Ludmila, 15
Brother: Ivan, 13
Brother: Peter, 10
Sister: Dana, 7
Sister: Sonja, 3
Husband: Maxim, 29
Christian Jeppesen, 36, criminal investigator and government official
Jens and Odd Kaspersen, 16, two of Willy’s friends
Armel Dumas, 61, French first mate and Willy’s friends
Atle Christensen, 36, an accountant from Kristiansand
Real people:
Carsten Tank, shipowner and politician
Poul Resen Broch, shipowner and businessman
Nicolai Emanuel de Thygeson, landowner and government official
Hans Iver Horn, leprosy doctor