152 Full Moon (1/2)
”I have bad news.”
All the post-meal chatter and banter ceased instantly. Everyone was silent: all eyes were fixed on Sven.
”This settlement, this place is within another governor's district,” said Sven. ”His name is Matti Andersson. He's the mayor of Vuollerim back home, and he's already lodged a complaint with Sonberg. As you can guess, the founders of this settlement have identified us. They've told Andersson we're the culprits. That's why he complained to Sonberg: he knew we came from Sonberg's district.”
”I know Matti Anderson,” someone said.
Everyone turned to look at the speaker. It was none other than Johan, the weakling who had found it difficult to kill other people. Sven raised his eyebrows.
”Go on,” he said.
”I - I know him well. I'm from Vuollerim. I moved to Jokkmokk only a few months ago, to live with my girlfriend.”
”We're not interested in your girlfriend,” Sven said. ”We're interested in Matti Andersson.”
”I'm sorry. Well, to begin with, he wasn't elected. Our mayor, I mean the mayor of Vuollerim, died of a heart attack during that storm after New Year's Day. He'd appointed Andersson as his deputy, so Andersson took over the post. It's supposed to be temporary, they're supposed to elect a new mayor in the spring.”
”There won't be an election this spring, or the next spring, or the next,” said Sven. ”What else can you tell us about Andersson?”
”He's a businessman. I think he owns a logging company and a lumber mill. And a couple of other businesses beside that, but I don't know what they are. I'm sorry.”
”There's nothing for you to be sorry about,” said Sven. ”At least, not yet. Anything else?”
”Well, he's a bit of a showoff. He rides around in a red cabriolet, one of those big American cars. Or on a horse. He's into horses, he has a stud farm and he breeds racehorses.”
”That's very interesting,” Sven said slowly. ”What else?”
”Not much, really. I heard he likes to party. And that he has a collection of old firearms. Muskets, flintlock pistols, stuff like that.”
”That's very interesting,” repeated Sven. ”Does he also collect old glass? Antique decanters, bottles, glass figurines, anything along those lines?”
”Not that I know of,” Johan said. ”But it's funny you should mention that. His wife is an artisan glass maker. She makes stained glass. Lamp shades, windows, decorations. I saw some of her stuff. She's good.”
He frowned, and added:
”That's all I really know.”
”It's more than enough,” said Sven. A change had come over him; he sounded very stern when he added:
They waited until the others had exited the dining hall, with Sven congratulating himself that he didn't terminate Johan like he'd wanted to. And he'd been angry not to have located him back on the farm, furious he couldn't fire his ass!
Well, life was like that. You wanted to do something, you were angry it couldn't be done, then you were happy you hadn't done it after all. One long chain of surprises! And thank God for that; otherwise, everyone would kill themselves before they turned forty out of sheer boredom.
The moment Sven was alone with Henrik, he said:
”Henrik, did you listen to what Johan told us?”
”Yes.”
”Your conclusions?”
Henrik shrugged.
”I don't know enough to draw any conclusions,” he said. ”So the guy is a wealthy businessman and owns... Okay, I have a conclusion. Maybe it's far-fetched, but it sounds like he's in love with himself. The red cabriolet, riding around town on a horse...” He shrugged again, and looked questioningly at Sven.
Sven said:
”That's not bad. I think you may be right. He's one of those jerks who think they're gods because they're rich, and they can fire and hire people. But there was also something else. Didn't you catch that?”
”I'm sorry, Sven. I'm tired. We've been walking and carrying all that shit from dawn till dusk.”
”Why do I have to do all the fucking thinking,” said Sven. ”I'm as tired after today's hike as you are, and I'm tired of all this fucking thinking.”
”Maybe don't think so much,” suggested Henrik. ”You know, delegate tasks and stuff.”
”To whom?” asked Sven. Henrik was diplomatically silent.
”All right, I'll throw a couple of hints,” resumed Sven. ”Ancient firearms. Glass.”
Henrik continued to be silent. Sven said:
”A third hint. Horses.”
Henrik's eyes widened, and he said:
”No. Oh fuck. Seriously. The settlement those horsemen came from belongs to this Andersson guy?”
”I think so. And you'll confirm it. Don't sulk, it has to be you, you're the best scout I have. You'll get a full day's rest. Two days. How's that?”
Henrik sulked a bit more to make his point. Then he nodded, and said:
”You want me to locate that place, and check it out?”
”Exactly.”
”Prisoners?”
”Absolutely not. You can't be seen.”
”Then we'll have to hang around there for a few days to get the full picture. Do I get to choose my men?”
”Sure. Take as many as you like.”
”It doesn't make any sense to take more than three. We'll need to take a shitload of food anyway.”
”How much?”
”Three weeks minimum. Four would be better.”
”It's September, Henrik,” said Sven. ”As you repeatedly pointed out to me, it's harvest time in the forest. Three weeks.”