The Sea Lion Page 3

  As he rowed, he began to brace himself for what lay ahead, imagining what would happen once he reached Storesand. If he met Maxim, alone on the beach while the others were at the campsite, he’d go straight for the man’s throat. There was no point trying to talk to him; Willy presumed Maxim didn’t speak Norwegian. If he ran into Raja’s father instead, however, the situation might unfold differently. He’d be able to talk to her father and see where that led, then he’d take it from there. He planned to take the same approach if he met Raja on his arrival. In that case, he’d jump straight into negotiations and was prepared to offer her the world. She could even stay with him if she wanted to. It would all be up to her, not her father or Maxim. The pair of them could go to Hell.

  If Raja decided to come live with him—a decision that he was positive would cause outrage and disgust amongst the villagers—the only real problem would be how his father would handle it. Worst-case scenario, he’d slam the door in their faces, but then Willy would just find somewhere else for Raja and him to live.

  Willy was blinded by love when he finally found a sheltered bay where he could pull his boat ashore. The bay was a fair way from the campsite and perfect for sneaking in unnoticed. He promised himself to seek out a peaceful solution and be meek, and to that end he hoped he wouldn’t find Maxim first. He traversed the pine forest with the greatest of care, making sure to keep an eye on his surroundings.

  As he trekked, a sneaking sense of doubt creeped up on him.

  What if she rejects me? What’ll I do then?

  No, that won’t happen. She said she wanted to leave Maxim, but that she was worried about her father’s reaction. As long as Willy could talk some reason into her father, there would be no problem finding a solution Raja could live with. If nothing else, he’d make sure that Maxim packed his stuff and left. It was Maxim’s turn to be chased away. Once that was over, all he could do was see what Raja wanted. He would have to be patient. But she did seem to have a weak spot for me, Willy thought in an attempt to ground himself. He thought back to what she’d said the day before.

  “Stay for a little while. I’d like to get to know you...”

  When he arrived at their campsite ten minutes later, he was surprised by what he found. The campsite was empty, not a soul in sight. The only evidence of occupation was the fireplace, but even the ashes were cold.

  Then, he heard a voice coming from the forest.

  “The band of thieves have left.”

  Willy turned around to see the landowner approaching him. “What do you mean?”

  “The thieves have left with the loot they scraped together yesterday.”

  “Huh?”

  “From the parsonage.”

  “The parsonage, you say...”

  “All the silver’s gone. They realised after yesterday’s service. It must’ve been the drifter. Who else?”

  “So, what happens now?”

  “Who knows? The sheriff’s fallen ill, so the provost has taken the case to Fredrikstad. We’ll see what happens.”

  LAUER

  SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1807

  Later that afternoon, Wily was visited by a gentleman who resembled Napoleon. He was dressed in a uniform reminiscent to the French Emperor, complete with the iconic hat, polished boots, and tight-fitting trousers. He was even wearing the same kind of coat—short in the front and long in the back. As far as Willy could tell, this gentleman was important. His suspicions were quickly confirmed when the elegant man introduced himself as Christian Jeppesen, His Majesty’s Bailiff. He’d travelled a few hours from Fredrikstad and claimed to be on Lauer just to talk to Willy.

  “How can I help you, my good sir?” Willy asked. He always made a point of saying ‘can’ rather than ‘may’ to people, regardless of whether they were a bell ringer or a priest. Sometimes he even emphasised the informal word choice just to signal that they were no better than him.

  The stately Jeppesen had just been helped out of his boat, which was being rowed by some soldiers from the garrison in Fredrikstad. He was now standing on the dock with a briefcase in his hand.

  “You shall see shortly, young man,” Jeppesen said unflinchingly. “Perhaps you might be so kind as to invite me inside...” he continued, as it appeared Willy looked more than happy to discuss the matter where they stood, which wasn’t possible. First of all, the matter was confidential, and second of all, it’d be unwise to open the briefcase outside. There were gusts of wind coming in from the sea, and Jeppesen had to hold his hat to keep it in place as it was. Willy wasn’t interested in inviting an official into the tiny house. He didn’t want to showcase his poverty.

  But as it stood, the man had already invited himself in.

  Willy bowed deeply, and offered the gentleman a respectful gesture. “Come on in, my noble lord. Let’s talk over a cup of coffee. You do drink coffee, right?”

  “Yes, please, coffee would be lovely. With a smidge of cognac, if possible...”

  “Cognac? No, at the Castle,” Willy said, with a sneaky smile on his face, “We just have potato liquor. I’d be happy to offer Sir some of that with his coffee, if he pleases.”

  “No, thank you. Plain coffee will do.”

  The pair started on their way. They passed the boatshed by the dock and continued down the path between the crags until they reached the Castle: Willy’s tiny house. The place was in visible disrepair, with its white paint chipped off in various places, particularly on the southern wall that was by far the most exposed. The small-panel windows hung on rusty hinges, the paint long since faded and the putty threatening to come loose.

  Twenty minutes later, the pair was sitting in the living room with their cups of coffee. Willy used to call the room the grand lounge as a joke. By all accounts, it was a narrow room with a low ceiling.

  Willy’s father, Ulf, was sitting with them. He was pale and quiet, his face almost as grey as his hair. To put it mildly, he looked concerned.

  “I hope my son hasn’t done anything wrong,” Ulf said with a deep furrow between his brows. He stared at Willy, who showed no signs of either fear or a guilty conscience.

  “Well, Mr Lauer,” Jeppesen said. “We’ll hear what your son has to say.”

  “Me?” Willy said, pointing to himself. “Am I being accused of ransacking the parsonage? I assume that’s why you’ve come all this way.”

  “That’s right. That case is indeed the reason behind my visit, but I should add that you aren’t being accused of having committed the deed. Just so that’s clear.”

  “Great. You’re aware I was in church at the time of the theft, I take it?”

  “That’s right,” Ulf chimed in to protect his son. “I can attest to that.”

  Jeppesen nodded with a smile, as he pushed his cup of coffee aside. “I’m aware. Multiple witnesses have confirmed your whereabouts. That being said, I’m required to make a note of everything, right down to the smallest of details.”

  He pulled a notebook, ink, pounce, and quill out of the briefcase beside his chair and placed each item on the table in front of him.

  Jeppesen opened the notebook, dipped the pen in the pot of ink, and talked as if to himself as he began to write. “Start of notes; interrogation of Willy Lauer on September 14th, 1807. Location: Lauer, residence of the above.” The words faded into a series of mumbling sounds. Then he stopped, Willy carefully observed, and continued: “Right, before we start, I would like to make it abundantly clear – to you as well, Mr. Ulf Lauer – that falsehoods of any form could lead to punishment. So, young man. It has come to my attention that you found yourself talking to a girl whose name and origin are as of yet unknown after the service. What we do know is that she belongs to a group of drifters who, for some reason, disappeared from their campsite on Storesand on the day the atrocities in question were committed.”

  “I can explain that.”

  “Good. But we must start at the beginning. Who is this girl?”

  “She’s innocent, I’m sure of it. Her name is R
aja Romanova and she’s a Moldovan refugee. It’s probably...” Willy was about to start talking about Maxim, but Jeppesen interrupted him.

  “Great. Allow me to make a note of that, and then we shall proceed to the next question. How did you meet this girl by the name of Raja Romanova?”

  Willy couldn’t hold back any longer. He recounted the entire story, right from the first day they met to the moment he discovered the empty campsite. He told the bailiff about trying to rescue Raja from her terrible, abusive husband Maxim, who was probably also the thief. Maxim had been carrying a kit bag on his back, making him the only guilty party. Willy launched straight into a description of the thief’s appearance. A short, stick-thin man with black hair and brown eyes and a prominent scar on his right cheek. It wasn’t easy to pinpoint his age, but Willy estimated it to be somewhere between thirty and forty.

  Jeppesen wrote as quickly as he could, then finally thanked Willy for his time.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lauer. I’ve noted down your story and expect you to be prepared to take the stand as a witness when this case is brought before the court.”

  It was shaping up to be a demanding autumn for the poor fisherman, who had no idea that another event was unfolding as he spoke. On the other side of the Skagerrak, a decree that would turn his life upside-down was being issued, but the news didn’t reach him until four days later.

  SWEDEN

  SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1807

  Raja was awoken at sunrise by an infant’s voice. “Potty.” Still half-asleep, she squinted in the direction of the sound to find two round eyes, a pair of chubby cheeks, and an upturned nose. Her three-year-old sister Sonja needed the toilet, and as per usual, she woke up Raja to make it happen. She’d learned to use the potty around the same time her attachment to her blanket began, which she now had to have with her in order to sleep. Yesterday had been an uphill struggle. They’d had to pack their things and leave the campsite on Storesand, and although most of them had not wanted to, they’d fled to Sweden. The whole ordeal was all because Maxim had stolen a bagful of silver from one of the villagers. Even worse, he refused to tell them whose it was. Her father, Budulaj, had been furious, and things had only become worse once they were out at sea. Against all odds, they’d managed to fight their way through the tall waves and strong winds to an uninhabited islet. The group had pulled the boat ashore and turned it upside-down to shelter them against the gales. They kept their belongings protected with an extra sail. Exhausted beyond description, they had all fallen asleep under the open sky.

  “Come on, let’s go find your potty.” Raja picked up the three-year-old and went to find the potty among their mess of belongings under the sail. All of their things were cold and most of them were coated with morning dew, including the boat and the canvas. The potty was at the very front, exactly where she’d placed it before they’d gone to lie down.

  “There it is. Let me know when you’re done. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t leave,” Sonja complained. Her nose was running and she insisted on being carried at all times, preferably by Raja or their 15-year-old sister Ludmila, though she rarely had the time to do so. Their mother had grown too frail to carry the child, so Raja found herself with two people to nurse.

  “Be a good girl. now. I need to go pee-pee and maybe a little poo-poo in the bushes, and then I’ll be right back.”

  Barefoot, she made her way across the cold, moist grass that tickled her calves. Raja squatted down behind a juniper just in time and breathed a sigh of relief.

  In the end, it turned out she just needed to pee, which was a lot faster than the alternative. Sonja was often blocked up, so Raja knew her sister would take a while. She seized the opportunity to gather some firewood. Her search began amongst the round stones a fair distance from the shore, where flotsam had washed up and subsequently dried in the wind and sunshine. She picked up one object after the other, noting that most of them had been broken into small pieces by the powerful waves, only to have been bleached by the sunlight and saline. She could tell some pieces had come from the lid of a barrel since there were no sharp edges on their rounded shapes. There were also a couple of crates branded with the name of a factory: Fredrikshald Sugar Plant. She even stumbled on a steering wheel from a ship that must’ve either run aground or been sunk in combat. Each of these objects have their own story, Raja thought as she picked them up, along with twigs and branches that she gathered in her apron. Then, she heard a voice over the swooshing sounds of the ocean.

  “I’m done!” Sonja was shouting for her.

  Raja went back to the others, who were still fast asleep by the upturned boat.

  Sonja glared at her with crossed her arms, still sitting on the potty.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, in a voice beyond her years.

  “Gathering firewood as usual, so we can have a little food and heat,” Raja answered with a smile, putting down the firewood. She picked a couple of leaves off an oak shrub, and asked Sonja to stand up. Then she wiped the small behind with the leaves.

  “Good girl. Now come help me light the fire.”

  Sonja was more than happy to help with that task, mainly because she loved being involved in anything the adults did. She’d even been given her own chores, like whittling the pieces of wood into splints for the fire.

  “Here,” Raja said, handing her a knife and a crate from the heap. “Make this into some splints for me.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t like our new home,” Sonja said, whittling the wood with a routine hand.

  Raja piled her splints on top of one another on the dry grass and tinder at the base of the bonfire. “Me neither, but I don’t think we’re staying for long.”

  “I want to live in a house,” Sonja said. She missed life in Moldova, when they lived in a brick house just as beautiful as the buildings she’d seen in Copenhagen, and far bigger than the houses she’d seen on Hvaler. Moldova was so much warmer and inviting. She’d even had her own bed.

  Raja furrowed her brow. “Me too, but it’s not easy to find a house.”

  “Can’t we move in with that blond man?”

  “What man?”

  “The one Daddy spoke to who showed us the way.”

  Raja sighed, a sudden tender expression in her eyes. If only it were that easy, she thought, knowing full well that it was impossible. Willy Lauer was the man of her dreams that she would never be able to be with.

  “Oh, no, sweetheart. We can’t do that,” Raja said, getting out her flint and steel.

  “Why not?”

  “Because...” Raja stopped, unable to find the words.

  “Because what?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t know him and anyways, we’ve already left.”

  “Can’t we just visit him?”

  “That’s enough!” Raja sputtered angrily, as she struck the flint against the steel creating sparks and breathing new life into the embers. Before they knew it, the bonfire was roaring back to life. The fire started crackling as the family began stirring under their woollen blankets.

  “Late risers!” Sonja laughed.

  A head framed by long hair popped up from under the blankets. “I’m no late riser,” seven-year-old Dana said, slightly offended. She’d woken up at the same time as Raja, but decided to stay in bed a little while longer.

  “Yes, you are! Na, na, na, na, na!”

  “No, I’m not! I’ve been awake for a long time.”

  “Oh, shut up, chatterboxes,” 10-year-old Peter interrupted. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  A second later, 13-year-old Ivan chimed in to agree with Peter. “Mm,” he groaned, only to roll over.

  That was the last straw for 15-year-old Ludmila. “Urgh! This family is driving me insane. That’s it, I’m running away from home,” she said, and made good on her threat. She jumped up and sprinted across the islet. At this point, the head of the family had had enough as well.

  Budul
aj Romanov placed his felt hat on his head and got to his feet.

  “Right, time to calm down,” he said in an authoritative voice. As usual, he got what he demanded. In the newfound calm, he fetched a black iron pot and a pail of full of mussels from the family’s belongings. He put the pot on the fire and filled it with mussels and seawater. The smell of food lured Ludmila back to the campsite, and the family settled down around the fire, waiting impatiently for the mussels to be done.

  Bogdana sat down between Raja and Maxim, her appearance paler than ever. She had bags under her eyes and her trembling hand was clutching a white, blood-stained handkerchief. Her mother had been coughing all night, and Raja had pulled her closer in an attempt to keep her warm. She’d put a pouch infused with liquor and herbs on her mother’s chest to soothe her.

  “God bless you, my child,” she said, stroking Raja’s dark, thick hair. “What would I do without you taking care of me night and day?”

  Maxim extended his arm and pulled his mother-in-law closer. “Dearest Bogdana,” he said in a deep, genuine voice. “You need treatment for this illness as soon as possible, and that’s why we’re here.”

  “What do you mean?” Raja asked.

  “We’re going to Strömstad.”

  “Strömstad?” Raja asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

  Maxim nodded.

  “I’ve heard the ill can receive treatment there.”

  Raja flashed her husband a sharp look.

  “Where have you heard that, if I might ask?”

  “From a couple of Russians that I met in Skjærhalden. They were talking about a healing spring, the Lion Spring at Surbrunn. People visit from all over Sweden because it’s said to have healing powers. They’ll be able to help you, too, dear mother-in-law.”

  “But...” Bogdana started, only to be interrupted by a new coughing fit. “That sounds expensive.”

  Maxim’s dark eyes lit up, and a wide smile spread across his lips. “Relax, there’s no need to worry. I’ll sort out the money.” He lifted his bag and placed it in front of her, opening it to show her the contents. Cutlery, plates, and cups – all silver.