Читать книгу The Ice People 03 - The Stepdaughter - Margit Sandemo - Страница 7

Chapter 2

The Count returned after a few minutes. “I’ve given my wife the sleeping medicine,” he said abruptly. “I’ve also told the servants that we don’t want to be disturbed. You’re right – Henriette is so emotional, she’d speak too quickly and too loudly about things that are best kept quiet. I’ve found a small toy which my son always cradles in his arms when he sleeps. Everything else has been laundered.”

Sol took the soft ragged doll. “It’s made from cloth, which is fine. May I sit down?”

“But of course. Please forgive my lack of courtesy.”

Sol sat down and said: “Now I must ask you to be absolutely silent.”

The room was as silent as the grave. Not even the sounds from the street outside could be heard. The room was dead silent for quite some time. Sol held the ragged doll to her face. She sat motionless with closed eyes.

Finally she began to speak. Her voice was monotonous, and she almost whispered. “Darkness ... cold ... not much room.”

The Count was just about to ask whether the boy was alive but restrained himself.

“He’s sleeping,” said Sol in her normal voice. “Or he may be unconscious. I can’t tell. I sense anxiety and great fear and loneliness. But this was a while ago. Now he doesn’t feel anything.”

‘Oh, God,’ thought Count Strahlenhelm. He didn’t dare to think any further. Everything seemed so unreal to him and then this woman, on whom he should pass judgment, had brought him hope in his despair. What was he to do? No, at this very moment he was a father more than anything else. His profession was totally irrelevant here. In an instant, it had ceased to exist.

Nevertheless, something troubled his mind and conscience. He could hardly cope with the thought that he found it difficult to escape from: What about all the other “wise women” he’d sentenced, showing no mercy at all in the name of justice?

Then he realised that Sol was talking again, mostly a mixture of questions to them and words that she wanted confirmation of.

“He’s blonde with thin, downy hair. He’s between one and two years old – closer to two, I’d say. He’s dressed in velvet. Purple velvet. A wide lace collar.”

The Count cast a questioning and surprised glance at Dag.

“I haven’t told her anything,” whispered Dag.

It was as if the unfortunate father took courage from these words. He straightened his back and new hope shone in his eyes, which showed that he hadn’t slept properly for several days. He was quite a handsome man in his way, much older than his wife; slim and well dressed, with a sharp eye. He looked in excitement at his exceptional guests.

Sol was enjoying the moment. She was allowed to use her talent and she was the centre of attention. Nevertheless, the fate of the child frustrated her, setting her nerves on edge.

“We must hurry,” she said impatiently. “We must act swiftly, very swiftly.”

“But where is he?” the Count shouted.

“I don’t know,” hissed Sol. She was no longer able to control her manners.

“Has somebody taken him?”

“No! I don’t sense any evil. Now be quiet! I feel something.”

The judge was so absorbed that he didn’t even register the way in which she spoke to him.

Dag was immensely proud of his sister but also concerned about how everything would end. He’d grown up with Sol and Tengel’s remarkable gifts, but even so, he’d never really felt comfortable with them. They were far too removed from his own psyche. Suddenly he noticed that his hands were tightly clenched. What had Sol got herself into? All he could do was pray for a happy end.

“I see a hasp,” said Sol, her fingers playing nervously with the doll. “A hasp that’s stuck.”

“Has somebody locked the door on him?” the child’s father asked hoarsely.

“No, the hasp is in the darkness.”

He wanted to ask how she could see all this since it was so dark, but he was afraid that his question would be too naïve.

“He’s locked himself in somewhere and is unable to get out.”

The Count was on tenterhooks. His eyes showed that he was agitated.

“Here in this house?”

Sol was uncertain. “I don’t think so. I don’t sense that he’s close by. But he can’t have gone far. After all, he’s a little boy. How did he disappear?”

“I was in the next room, which is my office, together with Dag who was studying. My wife was entertaining one or two of her friends. They were sitting talking in the drawing room. The boy was playing on the floor. His nanny was in the nursery preparing to change him, and when she came to fetch him, she asked where he was. This was when they discovered that he wasn’t there.”

“How long ...?”

“They thought it had been about a quarter of an hour since they’d seen him last. He’s a very quiet child who tends to play a lot by himself. Find him, Miss Sol! I beg you ... Please do your best.”

She nodded. “Where was he sitting?”

The Count pointed. “There. On the floor by the open fireplace.”

Sol rose and went over to the open fireplace. She knelt and touched the floorboards lightly with the palm of her hand. She seemed confused.

“Something must have happened. Something you’ve forgotten.”

“That’s impossible. We’ve searched everywhere a thousand times, every corner of the house ...”

“He isn’t in this house.”

The Count sighed. “There’s nothing we’ve overlooked.”

“Well, how did he get out then? Was he able to open the door by himself?”

“No, but as you can see, all the inside doors to the rooms remain open. He couldn’t possibly have opened the street door and the door to the garden was closed, which was why we thought that somebody had taken him. But you don’t think so?”

Sol stood up, shaking with agitation and irritation. “There’s something here ... Do you have a dog?”

Yes,” the Count said, surprised. “A big, fierce dog.”

“Is your dog capable of opening doors?”

“Yes, it can open the door to the garden. But that door was closed when the boy disappeared.”

Dag got up and went into the adjoining room. There was a door which the ladies wouldn’t have been able to see where they were sitting. Sol and the Count followed him.

“But the dog wasn’t indoors,” objected the Count. “It was tied up in its place beneath the kitchen window.”

“Outside in the garden?”

“Yes ... that is to say, not quite. Round the corner by the kitchen garden.”

“Did you tie it there?”

“No, I don’t know who did it. Probably one of the servants.”

“So you never examined this at the time?”

“No, the dog was never discussed because it had been tied up in its usual place.”

They looked at the door that led to the garden. The handle was too high for a child to reach. But ...

Dag placed his hands on the handle as if they were the paws of a big dog, and then removed them.

The latch released itself and it was easy to imagine how a big dog could push open the door. Dag stood quietly for a moment, gazing at the door. Slowly and silently, it swung back on its hinges and the latch engaged with a click. Now the door was locked once more.

“Yes, but the dog was tied up in its usual place,” the Count insisted.

“The question is when was the dog tied up?” said Dag. “It could have been after the boy disappeared and before the ladies realised that he’d gone.”

“I’ll find out at once who tied up the dog and when,” said the Count. “You see, we’ve thought all along that somebody entered the house unnoticed through the entrance door and abducted the child. Wait a moment while I ask the servants.”

“Not now,” said Sol quickly. “We mustn’t allow ourselves to waste our time on things that are of little importance. I sense that the dog was involved, and that’s enough. Let’s go into the garden.”

The garden wasn’t very big. A thick hedge and the wall of a large neighbouring house encircled it on two sides while on their right were old sheds that formed a boundary to the next property. They walked towards the sheds, passing the kitchen garden to their right. The dog lay there next to its kennel. It stood up as they walked by, wagging its tail. Dag went over and patted it.

Sol had already walked past all the sheds. A perpetual clucking told her that one was a hen house and a pig snorted at her from another.

“Of course, we’ve searched all the sheds,” said the Count. “Every single one.”

Sol nodded. “He isn’t here. Have you tried to let the dog track the boy by sniffing?”

“Of course, but it’s not a tracker, and although we can borrow one from one of our acquaintances, the trail has grown too old now. It rained all through the night when the boy went missing.”

The wall to the neighbour’s house was without any cracks, so only the hedge was left.

Sol crept on all fours along its full length, and occasionally she would lie down flat on her stomach.

“Your clothes,” exclaimed the Count. “They’ll be completely ruined.”

“Never mind,” she retorted. “A child’s life is more important. Start searching here!”

The two men obeyed.

“The hedge is much too thick,” said the Count. “We’ve already searched its full length.”

“You wouldn’t believe what a child is capable of,” said Sol.

Dag had poked his hand in between the thorns and said: “Don’t you think this gap is too narrow?”

The others came to see. Sol lay flat down like a pancake, pulling herself halfway into the hedge.

“It seems impossible, but if he left the garden, then this must have been the place,” said Sol. “We wouldn’t get through but maybe a two-year old child? Is he small for his age, Your Honour?”

“Yes, I suppose he is and he’s only nineteen months old. But he couldn’t have crawled in here. That’s impossible!”

“Well, he did!” said Sol, wriggling her way out of the hedge. “Look what was caught in the thorns!”

She opened her hand and produced some thin, blonde strands of hair.

“Albrekt!” shouted the Count. “This is the first trace of him.”

“Look under here,” said Sol. “Then you’ll see that if he crawled to the right inside the bushes, he’d come out somewhere else.”

The Count did as he was told. “Yes, that’s a possibility – and yet it’s incredible!”

“Children are incredible. What’s on the other side?”

“Shops. The backyard belongs to them.”

“What day of the week did he go missing?”

“It was a Sunday. We’ve searched in there as well. The whole neighbourhood has searched for the little boy.”

Sol sat on the ground. She was dirty and her face bore scratches from the hedge – but she was still unbelievably sweet to look at.

“He crawled through here. I’ll bet my blessed soul that’s what he did,” she declared.

Dag thought: That’s easy for you to say, Sol. As far as I know, you never cared much about the blessedness of your soul.

“Are you able to describe his whereabouts in more detail?” asked Count Strahlenhelm.

“No. However, I detect a smell - though I’m not able to say what it is. It’s a familiar smell, but I can’t tell what it is.”

“Can you see the surroundings before your mind’s eye?” said Dag softly. “Can you see what lies outside?”

“No, I didn’t see anything outside, and inside was so small and narrow, with very few objects. Something big and black was standing in one corner. At least I think so, but I can’t really remember and now I can ‘see’ nothing. It was only in there when I sat with the ragged doll.”

“I’ll fetch the doll,” said the Count.

“No, I’ve already seen everything that’s possible for me to see through the doll. But I think it’s a wooden object that smells. Oh, I know it sounds stupid, but the word ‘thumbscrew’ keeps coming to me.”

“Some sort of press?” asked Dag.

“Well, yes maybe” Sol replied, hesitating. “This might be, but I’m not sure.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” said Dag. “How could the little chap have managed to lock himself in? Surely he couldn’t reach that high?”

Sol glided her hand over her brow. “I think I sensed something next to the door. He must have stood on it.”

“And not been able to open it again once he was inside?”

“Probably not.”

“What small shed would have a hasp on the inside?” asked the Count, who had accepted Sol’s exceptional abilities.

“Only one as far as I know,” said Dag drily.

“No, not a toilet,” decided Sol. “I wonder if it’s a corridor.”

“With another door then?”

“Maybe, but I couldn’t see one.”

“Sunday?” said Dag thoughtfully. “The little boy must have been screaming for a long time without anybody hearing him. Especially in the merchants’ quarter.” Sol turned back to the hedge. “We need to crawl through there,” said Sol, tossing her head in the direction of the hedge.

“We don’t have to. We can go round,” said the Count, eagerly tramping in the direction of the house.

“Sol, you look terrible,” mumbled Dag.

Count Strahlenhelm heard him and stopped. Together they helped to tidy her up and brushed off their own clothes.

It didn’t take long to walk round the block and into the backyard on the other side of the hedge. There they saw some small sheds and a great many old barrels. Several rats ran in all directions as they entered. The Count shivered.

As they walked through the house, Sol had picked up the doll again. She stood with closed eyes, grasping it tightly to her. She hardly noticed the young lad who ran across the yard. He gave her an inquisitive look just as the servants had done while they watched from the windows when Sol and the two men stood by the hedge. The lad hurried out into the street and they were alone once more.

“I’ve sensed all that I’m able to. There’s no more I can do,” Sol said.

“Please try again,” begged Dag.

She was relieved to discover that Dag had confidence in her – more than once he’d made light of Sol’s abilities. Now she allowed herself to relax, let go of all thoughts, emptying her mind completely.

“No, the child isn’t nearby,” she said. “Count Strahlenhelm, we must hurry. His breathing is very weak. We must hurry and I don’t know where he ...”

“If he crawled through the hedge and isn’t here ...” said Dag.

“Then he must have gone out into the street,” finished the Count.

“Do you think the gate would have been open on a Sunday?” asked Sol.

“It must have been. We haven’t got time to find out now,” answered the judge.

They hurried through the archway and back into a side alley that lead to the main street.

“Somebody is bound to have seen him here,” said Dag.

“Not if he’s hurried into another yard” said Sol. She stopped. “The smell ... if only I could remember what it is. A kind of metallic, oily smell ... it stings the nostrils.”

“Is he nearby?” the Count whispered.

“Not as far as I sense.”

The little boy’s father let out a heavy sigh.

“If I were a tot who’s just entered a completely strange street, what would I then do?” pondered Dag. “I’d look around ... Would I have turned round and gone back? No, he can’t have done so because he isn’t here.”

A horse and a cart rumbled past out on the big street.

“Actually, my little boy isn’t very brave,” the Count said hurriedly. “The sounds from the main street would frighten him.”

“Then we’ll walk in the opposite direction,” decided Sol.

They hurried to the narrow street while they examined whether all the gates were locked.

“Look,” shouted Dag, “there’s a wide gap under this gate. He may have crept through here.”

“And this gateway looks very much like our own,” said the Count eagerly. Sol noticed that the older man was trembling like a hunting dog who’d found a spoor but hadn’t been let off the leash.

They opened the door and entered an arched entrance with a second door that lead into another street. This was a shortcut between two streets. Nothing else.

“No, here we’re too far from home,” declared the Count as they stood together looking up and down the second street. “This must be wrong.”

“By this time the boy would be panicking,” Dag said calmly. “Now maybe he’s running around helplessly because he can’t find his mum or dad. Or perhaps something caught his attention – an animal maybe. It was on a Sunday and the streets would be pretty deserted.”

“Look,” exclaimed the Count. “Look at that sign down there ... on the right! Could this be something, Miss Sol?”

“Printing office,” she read. “Printing office? Yes! Printing ink was that smell I sensed earlier on.”

They practically raced to see which of them could get there first and they all burst into the printing room at the same time.

“Hello,” said the Count, trying to catch his breath. Two men were working at the presses, surrounded by drawers of type and trays, and he greeted them both. “I’m Count Strahlenhelm. Have you heard that my little son vanished three days ago?”

“Oh, was that your little boy?” the older of the two replied. “Yes, we’ve heard about it. But you live at the other end of the street, by the rose tree, don’t you?”

“Yes, but we’ve some indications that he might be here. Do you have a small room in which there’s an old press?”

The two men look inquisitively at each other. It was obvious that they didn’t understand very much of this invasion of agitated outsiders. “We’ve only recently taken on this printing office,” the younger of the two said slowly. He could well have been the son of the oldest man in the printing office. “We haven’t seen anything of the sort.”

“Do you have a backyard?”

“Yes.”

“May we have a look around?”

“Certainly.”

They made as if to open a door at the back of the printing office.

“No,” said Sol. “The child must have entered from the street. Everything else would have been impossible.”

They hesitated. Then the printer said: “There’s a gate from the street but it’s locked.”

Dag had already rushed out into the street, closely followed by the other four.

“There’s a gap underneath, look! He could have crawled through there.”

The printer produced a large key and unlocked the gate. They entered the backyard, which was well kept and tidy. There were several doors which, when opened, revealed a toilet and woodsheds, which they quickly searched but without success.

“No,” said the Count in a dejected tone of voice. “This was a dead end.”

Sol stood stock still and closed her eyes. “Quiet! He’s here. Very close. I can feel it, I really can. Oh, please be quick, for goodness sake!”

Both the printers looked at her in surprise. They didn’t understand what was going on.

“But there aren’t any more doors here,” said Dag.

“Not apart from the back door to the printing office,” said the older of the two men.

“My little boy would never be able to open that!” said the Count.

The man turned to his son: “Weren’t you here last Sunday?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Was that door open at any point?” snapped Dag.

The younger man pondered the question. “Yes, I suppose it was when I went to the ...” He broke off and made an embarrassed gesture in the direction of the toilet.

Dag shivered. He knew what these toilets looked like. There was nothing but a dark trench dug into the earth where one looked for an unoccupied space on the ground to do what was necessary. They were very unpleasant places.

“And you didn’t hear anything then?” asked the Count. “A child crying or something along those lines?”

“Not as far as I can remember. But it could be that I didn’t notice.”

Sol had already walked over to the door to the printing office while the older man opened it for them.

Now they were all inside the printing office, this time at the rear.

“That particular smell,” Sol whispered. “Yes, here it is!”

“How can my little boy have got in here?” moaned the Count. “Such a very long way from home. It really doesn’t make sense to me. Where would he be? There’s nowhere to hide!”

“And the printer who was here last Sunday must surely have seen him, at least in here,” said Dag. “Sol, I think you’re on a false trail.”

Sol was convinced, however. A lot of thoughts and impressions were raging inside her. She turned feverishly to the young man. “What did you do when you came back in here from the yard? What did you do then? Think carefully! This is important!”

He sent her a confused look. “The last thing before I left for home was to lock the door.”

“That’s not enough. Go into the yard and come back through that door.”

He obeyed reluctantly. “First I closed the back door. Then I made sure that everything was ready for Monday’s work. After that I tidied away some bits and pieces. Then I left through the main door, which I locked behind me.”

“And that was all?”

“Yes, that was all. Well, yes, and, of course, I locked the door to the storeroom.”

“The storeroom?” they all yelled.

“Well, the door behind those shelves over there that leads out to the backyard. I almost forgot about it because we hardly use it.”

The Count was already by the door. There was a low door behind the shelves. He tugged at it, but it was locked.

“Was this door open last Sunday?”

“Yes, I’d been in to fetch some things there.”

“Where does it lead to?” enquired Dag while the printer unlocked the door.

“It runs along the back of the house. We use it to store everything we don’t use – and a lot of old stuff was left before we took over. We haven’t got round to clearing it yet.”

They opened the door and saw a narrow corridor with a lot of junk in it.

“Let Sol go first,” said Dag.

They waited for her to go in.

“Is there a small cubby-hole in here?” she called.

“No. This is just a passage-way to the wheelwrights store in the house next door, which is over there ...”

Suddenly the older man stopped abruptly, open-mouthed. “What? Is this door locked all of a sudden? We normally keep it open! There’s only one single door between us and the wheelwright’s, but there’s an old second door this side that’s never been closed.”

“Isn’t there an old press inside somewhere?” the son asked.

“There could well be - we haven’t had time to examine it all. Oh, dear. The door is locked from the inside!”

At that moment, the Count threw himself, shoulder first, at the door. It opened outwards and Dag squeezed his hand over the top of the door, tugging at something. Could it be a hasp?

“Please help me, for heaven’s sake!” Dag shouted.

The men eased their fingers along the top edge, squeezing the door open. The youngest printer found an iron bar and slid it into the gap. With a heave, the hasp gave way and the door flew open.

Before them was a tiny dark room with another door on the opposite side. Inside, in one corner, they could see an old wooden-screw press stacked high with junk. On the floor, in front of their feet, there was a clutter of timber plank off-cuts. And there, with his cheek resting against one plank, lay a little boy in purple velvet – with very wet pants.

The Count let out a groan as he lifted up the tiny, limp body.

“Oh, God!” he whispered. “Dear God!”

“Good heavens,” exclaimed the older printer. “Fancy him laying here! But how could you know that ...?”

“We just followed a trail of clues,” answered Dag, who wasn’t interested in finding time to ponder about it.

“But it’s strange that you haven’t heard him?”

“We would hardly have heard anything in the printing office. There’s such a lot of noise in there. And like I said, we don’t come in here very often. Oh, dear. What a tragedy ... The little mite getting lost this far without being seen!”

The two printers led the way back into the main printing office.

“Is he alive?” asked the Count in a trembling voice. “Albrekt! It’s Dad! We must take him to a doctor at once ...”

“That’s not necessary,” said Dag calmly. “Sol has helped my stepfather for five years and she’s just as practiced in the healing arts as he.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the Count let go of the little, limp body he’d been cradling.

“Yes, now we could have done better with Tengel’s healing hands,” Sol conceded. “But the boy is alive, Count. Although his time was beginning to run out.”

Now there you go again, thought Dag to himself. Surely he’d have managed a few more days? But Sol loved to over-dramatise just a little to make life more exciting.

“We must get him to drink some water,” continued Sol. “It’s dangerous to go for so long without water.”

“The quality of the water isn’t so good,” said the printer. “We only use it for our work. But we’ve got some wine ...”

“Is it fully fermented and matured?” asked the Count.

“First class,” replied the printer.

“Well, then let’s try it,” said Sol although she was somewhat doubtful of his description.

While the men fetched the wine and poured it, Sol shook the little boy. “I can’t do anything until he’s awake,” she told them.

“Come on, you adventurous little mite.”

She slapped the little boy lightly in the face which was too much for the father. “Now listen ...” he protested.

“This won’t do your son any harm,” she interrupted. “He’s waking up.”

“Thank God,” whispered the Count.

Sol didn’t quite agree who deserved the thanks but she wisely kept quiet about it. “Come with the wine before he faints once more,” she said.

Eager hands held the mug to the boy’s lips. Instinctively, the boy tried to drink and swallowed a sip or two before he coughed, caught his breath and began to cry loudly.

“There, there ... your Dad’s here,” soothed the father, lifting him out of Sol’s arms. “Everything will be alright.”

The boy fell asleep – or fainted – on his shoulder. The Count’s eyes were brimming with tears which he didn’t bother to hold back.

They thanked the printers for all their help and walked home.

“We must give him some strong medicine as quickly as possible,” said Sol while she ran to stay abreast of the Count, keeping an eye on the sleeping child. “Will you allow me to treat him?”

“Why, yes! Of course, if you’d be so kind,” replied the Count. “But please don’t say anything to my wife yet,” he begged, “in case something should go wrong. I very much hope that she’s still sleeping.”

Inside the house there was feverish activity. Amazed and agitated servants rushed back and forth, heeding Sol’s every command. The child’s soiled and dirty clothes were pulled off and the boy was placed in a tub of warm water.

This gradually brought him back to life and Sol managed to get him to drink a warm drink with all the strength-giving herbs she owned.

Sol was enjoying every moment that she was the centre of attention. She probably made the whole process a little bit more impressive than it needed to be by looking thoughtful and raising her eyebrows dramatically as she produced each small bag of herbs. She acted out the impression that each time she was making a momentous medical decision. When he caught her eye, Dag gave her a knowing look. He understood his sister only too well!

The little boy began to cry a little and was lifted out of the tub by impatient hands, waiting to dry him. He was quickly wrapped in warm towels. Then the nanny dressed him in dry, warm clothes after his sore bottom had been attended to.

“He’ll surely survive, won’t he?” the Count asked Sol.

“Oh, yes. But he mustn’t be exposed to the cold and you must continue to give him the herbs that I prescribe. You must let me know at once if he runs a temperature or begins to cough. Little by little, you must give him proper food.”

‘You’re playing this for all it’s worth,’ thought Dag with an amused grin, ‘almost too much really.’ However, with everything happening, nobody else had noticed. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help feeling very proud of her!

“Well,” said the Count, breathing a sigh of relief. “Will somebody go and wake up my wife?”

One of the older women disappeared. Shortly afterwards a yell could be heard, followed by rapid steps down the stairs.

“Albrekt?” shrieked the Countess from a distance. “Is it true? I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it...”

Then she stood in the doorway, pale-faced and swaying on her feet.

Her husband held up the little boy for her to see and with a cry she rushed forward and snatched the child from his arms. She held him so close and tightly that he began to protest.

Sol now understood why the Count hadn’t wanted to wake his wife as soon as they returned. They’d never be able to treat the little boy in peace because of her overwhelming maternal feelings, and it was obvious that they’d need to act with great care when the time came to remove the poor little boy from his mother’s loving arms.

Finally, the Countess had calmed down so much that she could speak without sobbing. “Where has he been? Where did you find him? Who found him?”

“Little Sol here found him,” said the Count softly.

“Oh, no,” said Sol with false modesty. “I think all three of us helped. I found the trail – but you men had the power of logic.”

“What trail?” wondered the Countess.

The others exchanged knowing looks and Dag cut in quickly, “A lock of hair was caught in the hedge ... and after that there was really only one course of action.”

This was admittedly a simple explanation but nobody wanted to dwell further on the details.

“We must arrange a service of thanksgiving in the church,” said the Countess.

Dag wasn’t the least bit surprised to see a look of disdain on his sister’s face.

At long last, Sol was shown to her room. Later, an extravagant dinner was given in her honour and became a fitting occasion on which to celebrate the day’s events.

Sol’s visit to Denmark had begun in the best way possible. She was the heroine, and she was relishing every moment!