The Sea Lion Read online

  Bogdana made the sign of the cross. “Mary, mother of Jesus. Who did you steal this from?”

  “The parsonage.”

  The revelation reignited Raja’s father’s anger because Maxim had adamantly refused to tell them the source of the silver the day before.

  “From the parsonage!” Budulaj Romanov shouted, gesturing frantically with his hands, as his furious eyes fixed themselves on Maxim. “Have you lost your mind? We’ll have the authorities on our backs before we know it. Have you considered that they might put a price on each of our heads?”

  “I have. But we’re in Sweden now, dear father-in-law.”

  Maxim blinked as his smile spread even wider than before. He felt safe sharing the truth now that they had crossed over into Sweden; the risk of his father-in-law forcing him to return the stolen goods had decreased with every nautical mile.

  “Think of the poor priest.”

  “There’s nothing poor about him,” Maxim grumbled. “He’ll be fine. It would’ve been much worse if I’d stolen from one of the fishermen.”

  “No, I don’t like it! No matter how you spin it.” Budulaj gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’ll have to fix this yourself.”

  A few hours later, the family sailed to the Swedish town of Strömstad and set up shop on Skeppsbron between the various stalls filled with fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, and lobsters. The group braced themselves for the work that lay ahead. Ludmila walked around to find clients for her mother, who was telling people’s fortunes in a tent. Meanwhile, Raja changed into a colourful dress, complete with a selection of bangles and jewellery. Barefoot and light as a feather, she danced to the cheerful sound of her father’s accordion and her brothers’ violins. The younger children walked around, collecting whatever money they could in their hats, whereas Maxim stalked the market with his bagful of silver, looking for potential customers. Strömstad was the perfect place for this endeavour, seeing as the town was popular amongst the rich people of Sweden. Some brought their ill here to be treated at Bojarkilen, the first heated bath house in Sweden, whilst others came to the town to drink from the healing waters of the Lion Spring at Surbrunn. The town was designed to fulfil the desires of the rich and wealthy, to the point that there was a series of beautiful avenues lined with shady tress where the tourists could stroll and maintain their milky white skin. This way, they could never grow tanned like the working class people.

  After a couple of failed attempts at selling the silver on Skeppsbron, Maxim changed tactics and went down to the healing spring at Surbrunn. While he was there, he found a ship called The Sea Lion moored at the docks and equipped with two swivel guns – two small cannons mounted on swivelling stands on the transom. The boat looked like it was used for excursions in the archipelago. The captain was standing on the gangway helping his well-dressed guests onto deck.

  Maxim rushed over to the boat, only to be stopped by the skipper.

  “No, there’ll be no soliciting here. Get out of here, you crook.”

  An hour later, he was brought in for questioning by the sheriff of Strömstad, but seeing as Maxim spoke neither Norwegian nor Swedish, Raja had to interpret. The entire family was standing in front of the sheriff while he leaned back in his chair, observing the group with a serious expression on his face. His eyes shifted from one member of the family to the next, as if they were all guilty.

  “Which one of you stole this silver?” he asked.

  Raja spoke to Maxim.

  Then she said, “My husband says he hasn’t stolen anything...”

  “Then your husband is a liar. That silver is worth a fortune, and I doubt it’s something you lot have brought from home. So, better cough up an explanation!”

  Raja turned to Maxim again.

  “He says he found it in the forest...”

  “Where in the forest?”

  She turned back to Maxim.

  “On one of the islets in the archipelago. He thought it was God showing us mercy...”

  The sheriff scrunched up his face, as if he’d eaten something bitter.

  “God showing you mercy?”

  Raja nodded.

  “Yes. My mother’s ill, and Maxim heard that Strömstad was home to a holy spring that could cure the ailing. So, he was intending to leave both my mother and the silver at the spring. I assume there are priests here, as well.”

  Her response made the sheriff slam his fist down on the desk, the impact making the pot of ink wobble perilously.

  “That’s a lie! I have witnesses who have confirmed that he was trying to sell the silver.”

  Raja dismissed the accusation with a wave of her hand.

  “No, not at all. They must have misunderstood my husband. You see, he speaks neither Norwegian or Swedish. He was just walking around, showing people the silver in the hopes that they would point him in the direction of the spring. Surely we’re not the first to bring offerings?”

  The sheriff shook his head in resignation.

  FREDRIKSHALD

  SEPTEMBER 18TH, 1807

  Willy trudged along the dark entrance to Fredriksten Fortress, overcome with sadness and exhaustion. He’d spent the past four days searching for the fugitives in the hopes of finding Raja. Over the course of his search, he’d visited every town on the eastern side of the Christianiafjord and walked down more streets than he could count, desperate to find a lead. He’d been to Moss, Fredrikstad, Sarpsborg, and Fredrikshald, all to no avail. There was no trace of the family.

  He’d decided that it was time to seek out the support of a good friend - someone he’d been missing. Willy was proud of Gustav for having clawed his way to the top. It’d been four years since his brother had started working as a recruit at the fortress. Gustav had risen through the ranks until he was offered the position that all of the richest people in the country had their eyes set on. The poor fisherman’s son had become the Ammunition and Equipment Manager at the fortress. Gustav had been in the right place at the right time, but he hadn’t gotten to where he was by virtue of luck alone. He’d always been a pedantic man. Ever since his childhood, Willy’s brother had had a knack for keeping his things in order—and God have mercy on the poor soul who didn’t put his things back after using them. They were in for it, to put it mildly. I’d sign off on that, Willy thought as he walked along. He wouldn’t be able to do much beyond signing his name, though. Aside from his name, he couldn’t read or write, and the only reason he knew that much was because Gustav had taught him. At the youthful age of five, Gustav had already mastered those doodles. All by himself, at that.

  Willy had always looked up to his older brother with immense admiration. He wanted to be just like him, but he knew he never could be. He wasn’t as intelligent as Gustav and he’d made his peace with that. He hadn’t seen his brother in a couple of years now, though. All the same, he knew where to find him, and before too long, he was knocking on Gustav’s door.

  “Come in,” a voice responded, so Willy opened the door and stepped inside. “One moment,” the voice continued in a corner. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

  Willy looked around the room. The walls were lined with bookcases overflowing with equipment of various sorts, and as expected, everything was in its place.

  Then a familiar face appeared in the corner.

  “Oh, hi! I didn’t realise it was you!” Gustav’s face lit up. “It’s great to see you.”

  The brothers embraced one another.

  “You, too! How are things?”

  “Things are good, just working and all that, you know. How about you?”

  “Well, what can I say...”

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Dad?”

  “Oh, no. He’s good as ever...”

  “I imagine he’s busy with his lobster fishing.”

  “Tell me about it. It’s been a good season so far.”

  “Glad to hear it. To what do I owe this visit, though? Do you need my help?”

  “Maybe.”
>
  “Go on, then. Tell me more.”

  “I’m not even sure where to begin,” Willy said as he began recounting the events of the past week to Gustav in just as much detail as he’d given Jeppesen, if not more. In any case, he didn’t make the slightest attempt to hide his feelings for Raja this time.

  “Oh, my days,” Gustav laughed. “You seem a little smitten, brother.”

  “Smitten? Me?”

  “Cut it out, it’s plain to see. With this Raja Romanova. Well, I’ll be damned. Right... And now you’re on a quest to find her.”

  “Stop it. Right now! It’s not funny. This is a serious matter.”

  “I know, I know. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Gustav said. He hadn’t lived at home since Willy was a lanky 16-year-old with peach fuzz and a squeaky voice who was too shy to talk to anyone. If a girl so much as looked at him, he’d be guaranteed to blush. And here he was—a full-grown man on the lookout for a woman. And not just any woman, but a married one whose husband beat her and who was hiding from the long arm of the law.

  “But enough about that,” Gustav continued. “You’ll be hearing from Jeppesen soon, I’m sure. I doubt it’ll take long to find them. That should put your mind at ease.”

  “You think...”

  “Of course. Just relax, things will work out in the end. You’ll see. I promise to be as helpful as I can.”

  “Great,” Willy said in relief.

  “What else is on your mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just thinking about your plans. You’re in your twenties now...”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Oh, come on, Willy. Do you mean to tell me your dream is to stay on Lauer until the end of your days?”

  “Why not? Fishing is the only thing I know how to do. Where else would I even go?”

  “I had no idea things were that bad. Do you have any friends?”

  “Friends?”

  “No friends?”

  “Maybe Lars.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “We talk outside the church sometimes...”

  “Good grief, dear brother. Do you realise you’ve become a hermit?”

  “I guess I have, yeah. But what am I supposed to do? I’m not like you, Gustav. You’re so outgoing and talented.”

  “That’s not what this is about, dear brother. It’s about looking at your options rather than fixating on your limitations. You have to get out and see the world.”

  “And leave Dad?”

  “Yes, at least while he’s still in good health. I’m sure he’ll be fine without you for a couple of years. So, what’s your dream?”

  “My dream... I don’t know, perhaps to get married? As long as I can keep fishing, I’ll be happy.”

  “Find a job in town. It’s crawling with women here.”

  “In town? On the mainland?”

  “Yeah, I can help you get started. I’m sure I could scrounge up some tasks for you at the fortress. That way we’ll even get to see each other more often.”

  “Thank you, but...”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t want to be on the mainland. I belong out at sea. Maybe I could become a captain instead. There’d be money and a wife in that, don’t you think?”

  “A captain, you say. That’s easier said than done... You could become a privateer.”

  “A privateer? What’s that?”

  “Forget it, I was joking. It is possible nowadays to become a legal pirate, so to speak. I imagine you weren’t aware of that.”

  “Oh?”

  “You just need the king’s permission in the form of a letter of marque.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As God as my witness. It’s a possibility, but it’s not for you.”

  “Why not?”

  “As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s a deadly profession. You could get killed.”

  “Well, if the Swedish besiege the fortress, so could you.”

  “Hypothetically speaking, that’s true, but being a privateer is far more dangerous. You’re actively looking for danger. You’re on the open seas with nowhere to hide—an easy target for a British warship. Have you seen them?”

  “No.”

  “Neither have I, but I’ve seen drawings of them. I should have one lying around in my desk.” Gustav opened a drawer and pulled out the illustration.

  “Let’s see.” Willy grabbed it. “Oh, wow, a floating fortress.”

  “HMS Victory. That was Admiral Horatio Nelson’s ship in the Battle of Trafalgar. It crushed Napoleon’s fleet. Three full cannon decks. I believe there were 110 cannons altogether. If you come across a ship like that, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Let’s put it like that.”

  “Dear God, I can imagine. That’ll probably be your last battle.”

  “Even if not, it’s not much better to end up in the brig.”

  “The brig?”

  “That’s where the prisoners go. You would be put in chains on an English warship with nothing but the prospect of a long, painful death to look forward to.”

  “If I get caught, that is.”

  “Correct.”

  “It could make me a rich man, though.”

  “That’s true, but it’s not worth it. I’d advise against it, dear brother. Once our father has left this earth, you’ll be all I have left. Remember that. Let me find you something down by the harbour instead. I might be able to get you work on a barge or something. Maybe even on a ferry. That way, you’ll still be out at sea.”

  “Wait, you consider ferrying to be out at sea?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good grief, brother. When did you become a landlubber?”

  FREDRIKSHALD

  SEPTEMBER 19th, 1807

  The next day, the brothers found themselves crossing the bridge in Fredrikshald, leaving behind the southside, where the houses lay in the shelter of the imposing cliffside, on top of which the fortress stretched towards the sun and its blue skies. In spite of the sunshine, it was a chilly day. Throughout the hillsides, the leaves upon the treetops were sporting beautiful autumn colours.

  Once they reached the middle of the bridge, they stopped to lean against the railing that overlooked the Tista River. From their viewpoint, they could see the rolling hills on the Swedish side of the Iddefjord. Although their several attempts to attack both the fortress and Fredrikshald itself had been unsuccessful, their enemies across the fjord refused to give up. Nowadays, the Swedish were allied with the British.

  “Look at all the timber down by the river,” Gustav explained, pointing in the direction of the sawmill. “It’s overflowing with lumber and the piles keep growing. Nothing’s coming in and nothing’s going out.”

  “That must be affecting a lot of people,” Willy said.

  “It really is.” Gustav nodded, a grave look cast across his face. “There’s a steady stream of companies going bankrupt. The blockade is threatening to take out pretty much every businessowner in town.”

  “It’ll be hard to find a job after all this is over.”

  “In the long run, definitely. But I’m sure I’ll be able to find something for you.”

  “If not, I want you to help me write to the king.”

  “What do you want to send to the king?”

  “A request for a letter of marque.”

  “That’s funny. You can forget all about that, but there is talk of preparing privateered vessels. A couple of days before you arrived, I heard rumours of a vessel named The Avenger of Wrath.”

  “Nothing left to the imagination,” Willy chuckled. “I want to captain that ship. You wouldn’t happen to know the name of the owner, would you?”

  “There’s two owners. One of them, businessman Poul Resen Broch, is in Fredrikstad, and the other lives here. It’s Carsten Tank, who I know personally...”

  “Wait, what? You know him?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

/>   “Forget it.”

  “No can do. We need to speak to him—now!”

  “Now? As in today?

  “Of course. Where does he live, anyway?”

  “No way! Are you mad? He lives right over there, but you can forget all about speaking to him today.” Gustav pointed in the direction of the fields out west, where a castle-like house surrounded by a beautiful, English garden resided. For many years, the Tank family had been known for selling timber to England, and Gustav had heard rumours that they had imported English topsoil and used it in their gardens. On a few occasions, he had spoken briefly to Carsten Tank, but their interactions had never been personal.

  Despite this, Willy refused to give up. His dream was to become a captain; he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since Gustav put the thought in his head yesterday. Captains earned lots of money, lived in lovely houses, and married beautiful women. If he became a privateer, he’d undoubtedly become stinking rich. He imagined it to be just like the life of a pirate, full of treasure troves filled to the brim with gemstones, coins, and jewellery of the finest gold and silver that money could buy. With all that to his name, he’d be able to propose to the elegant Amalie. He could marry Olga, the poor fisherman’s daughter, and buy her the most gorgeous gowns. But more than anyone else, he wanted to marry Raja, even though she was taken by that horrible man. With all that in mind, nothing could stop Willy from getting his way.

  “Let’s go.”

  As they began their walk, they met five men from the town militia which, according to Gustav, was under the organisation of First Lieutenant Anders Stang. The men rode along on horseback, dressed in their expensive uniforms - round hats with feathers and pompons, dark green coats with yellow buttons, velvet collars, and yellow epaulets, bandoliers fitted with a sable, light vests, trousers, and half boots. Behind the horseback militia was a motley crew of soldiers, most of whom bore no uniform. These soldiers formed the Prince Christian August Corps, all under the organisation of Johan Henrich Spørck. They spent their days training alongside the crew at the fortress, and the soldiers offered Gustav a nod of recognition as they passed him. Willy straightened his back as they walked, feeling himself grow taller with every step.