150 The Magical Properties of Potatoes (1/2)
Their victory had a downside: it left them with plenty of baggage. They talked about making a crude sled. One man would pull and another push, and they'd both lift the sled as necessary to pass over obstacles.
But making a sled involved staying where they were for the night and part of the next day. In the end, Sven said:
”We can leave some of the stuff here, and retrieve it later. That, or we turn into fucking camels and carry it all. I'm ready to turn into a camel.”
If Sven was, so were his men - Lasse and Henrik knew the rules. They agreed grumpily, and the three of them moved off shortly thereafter, trying not to stagger. Everyone was carrying a heavy satchel, two sets of leather clothes, and a sack slung over the shoulder. They were all wearing armor and carrying shields and weapons and what remained of the food they'd taken with them.
On top of that, they were tired. It had been a very productive but very tiring day. They were all secretly glad when it got too dark to continue their journey.
This time around, Sven took the first watch. It was a clear night, and the full moon made keeping watch more difficult, not easier: the moonlight cast shadows that moved with the moon's passage, altering shapes.
Sven had taken the first watch because he wanted to think things over before waking up on his farm. But his thoughts were constantly interrupted: did that crack mean someone was approaching, or was it just one of the sounds made by a living forest? Was there someone moving behind those trees? As a result, when he staggered out of the bedroom of his country home, simultaneously pulling on his leather jacket, he didn't have a plan.
That was very quickly fixed by Olaf Berg. He was waiting for Sven in the main room, his ass perched on the corner of Sven's desk. When he saw Sven he let out a whoop of joy and said:
”I was about to commit a grave sin, and go and wake you up. We have a problem.”
”Just one?” asked Sven.
”Just one that's new. But it's a big one.”
”What is it?”
”The guys working in the mint have been stealing coins.”
”Let me make myself some coffee,” Sven said. He did, and in the process found out there was just one half-kilo pack of coffee left.
”This is reserved for our personal use,” he told Olaf. ”No one else gets to drink coffee, just you and me.”
”Thank you,” said Olaf, visibly moved by that great honor. ”I've sent out a couple of teams to look for supplies. I gave each ten crowns in silver and one in copper. I hope this meets with your approval.”
”They'll need transport if they manage to buy goods worth ten crowns,” said Sven.
Sven drank his coffee in silence for a while, frowning heavily. Eventually he said:
”So what's the story with the minters?”
”Two of them have been stealing coins. Small denomination, they didn't touch the gold or the silver.”
”They didn't steal a lot, then.”
”Around half a krona each. Forty eight and fifty one ore, respectively.”
”Who found them out, and how?”
”I did,” Olaf said proudly. ”I look into the mint every couple of hours to collect coinage, and take a quick inventory. You know, to make sure they send what we need from the New World. Two hours equals almost a full day over there, and it takes two days for ore to reach Svenborg.”
”They must have been remarkably stupid to try and steal something with you around,” said Sven. Olaf beamed.
”I don't make any notes while I'm there,” he explained. ”I write everything down once I'm back in the office you set up in the study.”
”Christ, Olaf,” said Sven. ”You have a mind like a steel trap.”
He glanced at the kitchen window and added:
”Is it warm outside? It doesn't look good.”
”It's cloudy, but there's no wind. It's really warm if you keep moving.”
”So let's get moving,” Sven said, and they both went to the mint.
The six minters present in the mint were working with great gusto, maybe because it was nearing the end of their shift. Olaf ordered them to stop, and assemble in front of Sven who stood silent, looking at each man in turn. Olaf had told him who the thieves were on the way to the mint. They were the two best minters he had. They'd been recruited precisely for their metal-working skills. He couldn't afford to lose them.
When the six minters had assembled in a line abreast Sven said, very careful not to look at anyone in particular:
”Some of you have been stealing from the mint. I want everything taken to be placed on that table.”
He pointed to the table on his right, and waited. He didn't have to wait long. The two thieves stepped out of the line, walked up to the table, and began digging small copper coins out of their pockets. They were so eager to cooperate that they arranged them in small piles of five for easy counting.
”Anyone else?” asked Sven, staring just a little bit over the heads of the remaining four minters. One of them bit his lip and lowered his head and broke the line to walk up to the table and deposit a single small coin.
”That's a brass twenty-ore piece!” exploded Olaf. ”You weren't supposed to make those yet. We are very short of zinc.”
”It's a prototype,” said the minter. ”You said you wanted a prototype made so that you could examine and approve it.”
”What? When did I say that?”
”The very first day, when we started operations. I was to show it to you on your next inspection. This inspection,” he corrected himself.
Olaf turned and looked at Sven. Everyone was looking at Sven. They were all awaiting his judgment and sentence.
It was going to be a lenient sentence, because Sven was pleased. The way things went meant they were all scared shitless of him. When Sven spoke, everyone listened and did what they were told to do.
And anyway, he couldn't afford to lose three minters, two of which were the best ones he had. He took a couple of steps towards the three repentant thieves standing by the table, and said:
”Why did you take those coins? What did you need them for? You've got a place to stay and you've got food, all free of charge. And on top of that you're getting a monthly payout, based on the profit we make.”