The Sea Lion Read online

  TOM THOWSEN

  THE SEA LION

  WILLY LAUER - BOOK 1

  Tom Thowsen

  The White Lady 2015

  Kayaweta 2017

  The Curse of Goodness 2018

  The Sea Lion. Willy Lauer – book 1 2019

  Translated by Catrine Bollerslev

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either a product of the author`s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ©2019 Citadell Forlag

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  The Sea Lion (Willy Lauer Book 1, #1)

  Fictional people:

  Real people:

  COPENHAGEN

  SEPTEMBER 2ND, 1807

  An eerie silence clung to the air, as the clock steadily ticked towards seven thirty on that dark autumn night. Raja, the 17-year-old girl who wanted nothing more than to leave this place, couldn’t help but feel like something was brewing. Her stomach was in knots and her heart was threatening to beat clean through her chest. She felt the prickling of the skin on her arms and legs, along with the rest of her body. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t sit still. They needed to flee this place as quickly as possible, but they were still waiting for a few people to take their seats in the lifeboat. A few of her younger brothers were still missing, and her father and husband had left to go find them. If she went to look for them, chances are she’d find them close to the streets filled with long lines of British soldiers in red coats, unable to contain their curiosity. She’d walked past the soldiers earlier and noticed them preparing for something, most likely another attack on Copenhagen. It seemed like they were waiting for the signal to start firing. This godforsaken war seemed to follow her no matter where she went. It had only been a few months since they fled Moldova and travelled up through war-torn Europe to the peaceful haven of Denmark. They had settled down in Copenhagen, and Raja had come to love the beautiful city. What was once a place that always seemed to be brimming with life was now surrounded by tens of thousands of British soldiers, leaving the residents trapped in its limits.

  The church bells chimed to tell them it was seven thirty. Raja fixed her gaze on a group of soldiers as they jumped into action, lighting the fuses of their cannons.

  “Oh, God,” she said, pulling some of her younger siblings close in an attempt to protect them from what was about to come. A violent cannonade erupted, and skyrockets flew up into the night sky with a cacophonous hiss. It felt like all the lightning bolts and thunderstorms in the world were gathered in the same place and ravaging the earth at once. Clouds of smoke hovered above the ground like a veil between her and the occupied city as din and lights surrounded them. The world around her faded to an indistinct grey mass. The smell of sulphur invaded her nose and made her eyes burn, just as the youngest of the children started coughing and crying.

  “What’s taking them so long?” Raja’s mother asked with obvious frustration. If Raja had to hazard a guess, she’d assume they were simply watching the chaos unfold while the young children sat in the boat and suffered.

  “Should I go look for them, Mum?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Raja climbed out of the boat and onto the dock before she disappeared into the manmade mist. It didn’t take her long to find the men. All four of them were standing in the middle of the havoc, engrossed in the macabre scene playing out right before their eyes. The skyrockets in particular had caught their interest. They’d never seen anything like them before. Sure, they’d seen fireworks on New Year’s Eve, but nothing like this. The skyrockets flew along a curve and into the city where multiple fires had already broken out. The night sky was illuminated by a flickering, yellow glow. All of it felt surreal.

  “What are you standing around for?” Raja shouted at the top of her voice, to no avail. She marched towards her father and pulled him by the arm. “Come on, we’re waiting for you. We want to leave.”

  “I know, we’ll be there in a minute.”

  “No, you’ll be there right now. Mum might explode otherwise...” She started to drag him away, but he ripped his arm from her grip in one determined motion.

  “Calm down. I’m coming,” he said with a laugh, before a sight in the middle of the city caught everyone’s attention.

  “Woah!” the group roared in unison. “Look at that!” A skyrocket had propelled itself into the tower of Our Lady Church. There was a flash as the rocket hit its target, and seconds later, the tower went up in flames. Everyone stood in awed silence.

  “Is this really happening?” Raja said to herself. It was as though a great, big dragon had come to life inside the church, recklessly breathing its infernal fire out through any opening it could find. The flames climbed higher and higher until they were far above the church tower itself. The sky looked as though it had been set aflame. It was a terrifying sight, but Raja felt the hairs on her neck stand up when the bells began to chime by themselves. It didn’t take long after that for the heavy church bells to come lose and crash down into the tower, destroying everything in their path on the way down.

  The soldiers erupted in victorious roars.

  NORWAY

  SEPTEMBER 6TH, 1807

  The whitewashed stone church on Kirkeøy, an island on the outskirts of Christianiafjord, was filled to the brim with villagers dressed in their Sunday best. Twenty-year-old Willy Lauer daydreamed his way through the majority of the service, which mainly consisted of an unengaging sermon about Adam and Eve and the snake in the Garden of Eden. The priest spoke of the fall of man and the rise of sin in the world. He even talked about whether Cain killed his brother, Abel, but none of his arguments were of the slightest interest to Willy. As far as he was concerned, the sound of the priest’s voice was just background noise - a humdrum that he was used to hearing, much like the sound of a coffee grinder. But all of a sudden, something made him sit up straight on the bench. What was that the priest just said? The sermon was clearly coming to an end, and it was time for the prayer.

  “Pray for our brethren in Copenhagen,” he implored of the churchgoers. There had been bad news from the other side of Skagerrak. Willy learned more about what had happened when everyone gathered on the hill after the service.

  Pilot Fritjof Jensen had recently spoken to a Danish messenger who was on one of the ships that had managed to escape, and he was now talking excitedly to a group of men.

  “It’s terrible,” he said. “The entire Dano-Norwegian fleet has been confiscated by the British, and most of Copenhagen has been reduced to ash and ruins. Many are dead and many more are wounded. I’ve even heard that Our Lady Church has been burnt to the ground, but thankfully the Round Tower and the university library remain undamaged, thanks to the efforts of the soldiers and inhabitants of Holmen.”

  “How is all this even possible?” someone asked. “Why hasn’t the Crown Prince done anything? It’s unheard of!”

  “Rumour has it he’s in Kiel with his ailing father. The Crown Prince has left General Ernst Peymann and Commander Steen Bille in charge. But Peymann maintains that surrendering the city is out of his hands. He thinks that decision is for the King to make.”

  “I can’t believe my ears,” someone else interrupted. “In other words, Peymann is prepared to sacrifice the lives of all the residents in Copenhagen? How can he live with that decision? It’s beyond me...”

  “Blame the Crown Prince,” one of the old fishermen said. “He’s the one who landed the Danes in this mess in the first place when he led his forces south towards Prussia. He can’t seem to decide who to side with – Napoleon or the British.”

  Pilot Fritjof Jensen nodded. “Choosing the right side in times like these is harder than it looks. They threaten people with war and God k
nows what other unpleasantries. The Crown Prince must have seen this coming, though. After all, he took the family heirlooms with him when he left...”

  “Honestly,” someone else said, “the British can’t keep this up. Denmark is a neutral country with no interest in warfare. The British know that, and still they continue to fire on Copenhagen and steal our ships.”

  “It’s true,” the pilot said. “But the British fear that Napoleon will use it.”

  “We won’t allow that. We have control of the majority of the army on the Prussian border, so Napoleon can’t command our fleet. A clear signal if ever there was one, but that still isn’t enough for the British.”

  LAUER

  SEPTEMBER 9TH, 1807

  A couple of days later, Willy was mending the fishing net by the boatshed, something he had mastered as a child. Out here on Nord Lauer, an island ravaged by winds and unsupported by the barren earth, he had to survive on what the ocean was willing to give him. The edges of the rocky island had long since been smoothed over by the constant beating of the waves, and there were barely any trees or grass to speak of. The few green specks on the island were populated by sheep, and there were a few hens walking around near the house, which was hidden in the shelter of a small valley. When he wasn’t tending to his fishing equipment, Willy Lauer would sometimes help his dad pilot ships. That was his favourite task because there was a competitive element to it. The fishermen on the outskirts of Christianiafjord, on both sides of the bay, competed with one another whenever a ship came in from sea. First come, first served.

  For that purpose, Lauer had an advantageous position on the outskirts of the archipelago. The fact that Willy was a talented rower was also an advantage. He could beat practically anyone he came up against, and he rarely lost. Other than that, though, he didn’t stand out much. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and was of average height and build in comparison to the other islanders. In short, he was a relatively handsome, young man of marriageable age.

  Despite that, finding a wife was easier said than done. At the end of the day, he was a bad match for most of the maidens in town. Who in their right mind would want to marry a poor fisherman? Nobody. Or at least, he hadn’t found anyone who would yet and that worried him. It was easier to conquer a ship than a bride, Willy thought to himself, as he threaded the mending needle into the boxes of the fishing net that had been tied to the dock. The work was mindless, and his thoughts strayed elsewhere.

  He thought about all the young women in the village that he would love to marry. Amalie, Gudrun, Karin, and Olga. Amalie was the prettiest of the four. She was the daughter of Hans Brun, a merchant with a sizeable fortune who liked to flaunt it, so she was out of the question. He might stand a chance with Olga, however. She spent most of her time in clogs, and her blonde hair was usually down. She was the youngest daughter of Sven Olavesen, a fisherman from Asmaløy who was as poor as a church mouse. So, Olga wasn’t quite as elegant and high and mighty as Amalie. Not only had the brown-haired beauty never so much as looked in his direction, but they’d never spoken either. He had settled for admiring her from a distance, never daring to get too close to her and her fashionable attire. Her wardrobe consisted of dresses Olga could only dream om, Willy sighed to himself, imagining Olga in a pretty dress. She’d be just as beautiful as Amalie. Even more so, in fact. He’d had numerous conversations with her, and even though it had been a while, he knew that she had a kind heart and emanated joy. They’d had a great time together, flirting almost to the point of indecency. Once, they’d even crossed the line. When they both were confirmands in Hvaler Church, she’d flashed her breasts for a second, while the priest wasn’t looking of course. After that, they only saw each other at Sunday service, both of them shy and blushing. Their acknowledgement of the other never amounted to anything past a nod and a ‘Hello’. He didn’t have the courage to go up to her at parties and celebrations, not even on Saint John’s Eve when everyone was playing games and dancing around the bonfire. Instead, Willy just stayed by the fire, watching as one suitor after another asked her to dance. He never followed suit out of fear of rejection.

  As he stood there, lost in his melancholy thoughts, he spotted a boat in the shallows a little further out. To his horror, it was headed straight towards him. He watched as the boat filled with strangers manoeuvred its way towards the narrow bay. Why were they heading towards him? How strange... He wasn’t expecting visitors.

  Willy could barely believe his own eyes. By the time it reached the dock, he hadn’t moved an inch. The boat was filled with men, women, and children, along with loads of luggage. As far as he could tell, this was a family on the run. Two men in shabby, worn coats and felt hats were at the oars, and three women in colourful dresses and headscarves sat in the back surrounded by children of various ages. A man was lounging at the front of the boat. He half-sat up and looked towards the island, only to lie straight back down. Willy noticed that the man had a scar on one of his cheeks.

  “Good morning,” Willy said, when the boat came to a stop a few fathoms away and the men—possibly father and son—rested on their oars.

  The elder of the two turned to face him, baring a row of darkened teeth. “Good morning,” he said in broken Danish. “Are we in Norway?”

  “Yeah, you’ve crossed the border,” Willy confirmed. He assumed they’d fled the war and rowed all the way from Denmark, hoping to avoid Sweden altogether. The border to Sweden was no more than a few stone’s throws away, and chances were that they had crossed the border moments ago. They could’ve easily gone to Sweden if they wanted to, Willy thought to himself. He’d spent a lot of time in his neighbouring country over the years, but not since they’d allied themselves with Great Britain.

  “Where’s the nearest safe harbour?” the man inquired.

  “Skjærhalden,” Willy said, pointing in the direction of Kirkeøy. “Behind that headland, twenty minutes from here.”

  The man tipped his felt hat and smiled again. “Thank you. We’ll head that way,” he said, and the two men grabbed their oars. Meanwhile, Willy’s eyes were glued to one of the women at the back of the boat.

  Oh, God, she’s smiling at me, Willy thought. She was beautiful, with an inviting smile on her lips and a flirtatious gleam in her brown eyes.

  Willy was rooted in place, watching as the dark beauty turned around multiple times to look back at him.

  Perhaps she was unattached ...

  KIRKEØY

  SEPTEMBER 9TH, 1807

  Raja couldn’t stop thinking about the young man on the dock: the first Norwegian she’d met in all her 17 years. Something about his honest, blue eyes had been imprinted on her mind, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. All she knew was that the feeling was something magical. All the same, she knew that she had to forget him out of respect for Maxim, her husband who was 12 years her elder. Maxim was an incredibly jealous man and had no qualms beating her to a pulp over the smallest thing. Sometimes a single look from a stranger was enough for him to turn violent. It was enough in this case, too.

  It started on the way from Lauer to Kirkeøy. “You were smiling an awful lot at that man,” he said in an accusatory voice, loud enough for everyone in the boat to hear. She noticed the look in his gaze. Things took a turn for the worse when they reached Skjærhalden, where some of the villagers received them with marked coolness. They struggled to find a place to spend the night. In the end, they set up camp on a beach in Storesand, under the shelter of the pine trees on the dunes. By then, Maxim had had enough.

  While the others were fetching their luggage from the boat, he finally took his jealous exasperation out on her. Out of nowhere, he slapped her across the face.

  She began to cry.

  “What have I done now?”

  “You spend too much time looking at other men,” Maxim barked at her, practically foaming at the mouth. He was gearing up to hit her again as her hands flew up to protect her face.

  “What, I can’t look at people?”

&n
bsp; Someone tapped Maxim’s shoulder, prompting him to turn around and stare straight into a face distorted by anger. The next thing he felt was a strong hand around his neck, lifting him from the ground as if he weighed nothing. There was no use fighting.

  “Fight someone your own size,” the man said, his outstretched arm locking Maxim in its iron grip, cutting off his air supply and making him dizzy. He tried frantically to free himself from the man’s grip, but his strength failed him.

  Suddenly, a voice called out a warning from behind them.

  “Let Maxim go right now, or I’ll shoot you!” Raja’s father was standing there, aiming his musket at the man he perceived to be Maxim’s assailant. Two of her younger brothers were brandishing their knives, leaving the stranger with no choice but to let go. Maxim fell onto his back, heaving for air like a fish out of water. He massaged his throat as his dark eyes fought to stay focused.

  “Look what you’ve done, you crook. Do you want me to report you to the sheriff? Huh? How dare you show up here and assault my dear daughter and son-in-law ...”

  “Assault? Me? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! Just ask your daughter—she knows what happened, right?” the man said, turning to Raja. She was sitting on the ground, tending to her nosebleed and crying silent tears. “Right?” he repeated. But she remained silent and refused to look at him.

  Her father shook his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

  The stranger gestured dismissively and struggled to find the words. “But, but...”

  “Just leave us alone, won’t you?”

  “Fine, but... Listen...”

  LAUER

  SEPTEMBER 10TH, 1807

  It was a lovely morning in mid-September. Willy and his father, Ulf, were harvesting the crops, the sun beating down on them from a cloudless sky. The seagulls were soaring above their heads and screaming in the wind coming from the south. The air around them smelled like heather flowers and seagrass. Few crops could survive the conditions on Lauer, but the new root vegetable from America was growing against all odds. Potato.