Читать книгу The Ice People 19 - Dragon´s Teeth - Margit Sandemo - Страница 8

Chapter 3

Vienna was Europe’s centre of culture. Haydn lived there, as did old Glück, whom Sölve found to be rather boring: at least his music was – Sölve never had the opportunity to meet the great composer in person. And then there was Haydn’s friend, a child prodigy, a fourteen-year-old boy by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Sölve had gone to a concert with Johan Gabriel to hear the boy’s music and he had been rather impressed. He imagined himself sitting there, the centre of everyone’s attention, producing exquisite melodies. He decided that that was what he wanted to achieve some day: fame and power.

But on reflection he realized that he did not belong in the world of music. He would have to pursue a different path.

It was impossible for two poor youths like himself and Johan Gabriel to keep up with the lavish lifestyle of the upper class. But they could stroll around and look at all the works of art in Vienna in the form of architecture, sculptures and paintings. So that was what they did, and it was on such a stroll that Johan Gabriel confided in Sölve about his latest impossible love: a doctor’s wife by the name of Susanne Frid. Johan Gabriel was so much in love with her!

The husband was extremely jealous, so Johan Gabriel had to make do with admiring her from a distance, but that was something he was used to. The most important thing about the romance was that he had produced a number of fine poems and letters (which were never sent) that had a strong feeling of Rousseau about them. Because at that time the poet was obsessed with Rousseau and his ideas.

Sölve pondered whether he should make friends with this Susanna Frid. So that she really would approach Johan Gabriel. But he decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. In part because his friend would soon find another impossible love on whom to dote, and in part because Sölve feared moving too much into the spotlight.

Right now he had his own career to think about.

He learned the language quickly. He managed his job in the office of a Swedish business consultant very well, although he found the work exceedingly boring. Meanwhile he became an irreplaceable asset to the consul by coming up with certain suggestions that he later implemented by applying some of his exceptional talents. The consul was impressed and, without knowing what kind of snake he was feeding, he let Sölve ascend in rank and promoted him to become his own personal secretary.

Though that was a very impressive position, it was not good enough for Sölve.

He aspired to higher things, and he definitely didn’t plan to return home that summer! He wrote a friendly letter to the family about how he was doing so well now at work that it would be unwise to take a career break. But he eventually intended to return as a high-ranking official and settle down wherever his parents and grandmother Ingrid wanted him to. If his father wished him to continue in the service of the Oxenstierna family he would gladly do that, but if the choice came down to taking over Gråstensholm then he would be equally satisfied doing that, for he had always thrived in Norway and was certain that he could fulfil his duty there.

He received a letter in which his parents and grandmother expressed satisfaction with his decision but said that he wasn’t to wait too long. Ulvhedin had recently died, at the age of ninety-seven, and Ingrid was no longer young.

They didn’t mention the fact that Ulvhedin had passed away joyfully during a drinking orgy that he and Ingrid had enjoyed all alone at Gråstensholm. The old giant had reached a state of intoxication from which he never awoke, and everyone agreed that he had had a dignified death. Well, perhaps not everyone would have taken that view, but the church and the moralists were never informed of the circumstances.

Well, at least that beast is out of the way, Sölve thought gleefully. So he no longer needed to worry about getting caught!

At this point even he was able to see the yellow spots in his eyes. They both impressed and worried him. Indeed, there were even times when looking at them made him euphorically ecstatic. Not to mentiom that no one knew him down here in Vienna.

He started to retreat from Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna’s circle of acquaintances. He did not want his friend to notice the transformation he was undergoing.

The separation did not prove difficult, because they had naturally grown apart from one another. They met on one last occasion, in the evening, because Sölve did not want the sharp sun of Austria to shine in his eyes.

This time Johan Gabriel was in very low spirits. He was absentminded and melancholy, and in a gloomy voice he read aloud his own epitaph since he was never going to have his Susanna.

It was with half an ear that Sölve listened to “Ode to Camilla at the Start of an Illness”. Johan used the name Camilla for Susanna when he was being romantic. In the poem he dreamed that she let a flower fall on his grave, dedicating a few affectionate tears to her love’s sad resting-place. And he wished that death would hurry and cut him down, like a withered straw awaiting a scythe.

But it probably wasn’t meant that seriously, for Johan Gabriel managed to survive this heartbreak as well. He no longer had any influence on Sölve’s life. That evening would be the last time the two childhood friends would see each other.

The future fate of Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna is well known. After four years he returned to Sweden where, by virtue of his amiable personality and intelligence, he became a kind of court bard to Gustav III. After a while he was made a member of the State Council, a position for which he had absolutely no qualification. But that did not matter, since Gustav III was intent on ruling alone. Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna was merely a figurehead with a prestigious name and fine manners. He did not prosper in his post and remained poor his whole life, even though he managed to marry into a wealthy family. His greedy father in-law was always sitting on the money. However, his family life was peaceful and contented, his wife was pleasant and they had a son. Unfortunately, the birth took its toll on his wife and she never fully recovered from it. Johan Gabriel lost her much too early.

His poetry was his strength. He himself was never at ease in a hard and materialistic world, and he was truly happy only for brief periods in his life.

Sölve’s life followed a different trajectory, and was also completely different from what he had expected.

It changed its initial course as soon as he had his first encounter with the Wiesen family.

This was on New Year’s Eve, 1773, at a gathering held by the Swedish trade consul at his home. Sölve had been invited as the consul’s most trusted confidant, which he should have regarded as an honour. But then, it had been Sölve’s little unseen manipulations that had enhanced the consul’s reputation and finances.

Sölve had now begun to wear a wig in order to avoid attracting too much attention. He had a well-justified feeling that he ought to keep a low profile if he was to reach the goals he had set for himself. He wasn’t exactly proud of being invited just for the sake of formality. He was green with envy at the sight of the consul’s gorgeous home, filled with the art treasures of Vienna. Sölve himself lived much too meanly for a man of his standing. But that was soon going to change, he decided, upon seeing all the glory surrounding him.

In various ways that we don’t need to go into, Sölve had learned to dress suitably to frequent the superior homes of the middle class. He had turned into something of a dandy, wearing a lace-frilled shirt and gold embroidered waistcoat, bottle-green velvet jacket with long tails, dazzling white, tight-fitting knee-breeches that left little to the imagination, white stockings and elegant shoes with silver buckles and rather high heels.

He did indeed look good!

It wasn’t long before he discovered a young girl who drew his attention.

She was sitting between her parents, who seemed to watch over her like hawks. The father was big and very fat with piercing eyes below thick black eyebrows; the mother was severe and had a very visible moustache on her expressionless face. But the girl, the girl! Ooh, Sölve thought. It wasn’t that she was all that beautiful, because she really wasn’t. But she was attractive and pleasing to look at.

Those eyes! They burned with a glow that revealed much too clearly that this girl-child was full of sensuality and desires that she had not had the chance to experience. While seeming so properly modest, the sly glances she cast at Sölve flashed with repressed lust.

You’ll get your share, my girl, Sölve thought, you’ll get your share. Trust me, you have found your equal!

A young man was buzzing around the family: Sölve found him indescribably boring and it appeared the girl did as well. The young man gave the impression of being an overly nice, well-meaning sort of person who would bend over backwards for other people. And it appeared that he had obtained a kind of favour in the eyes of the girl’s overbearing parents. Not that he was given the slightest chance to get close to the girl. No, no, but he was allowed to fetch delicacies and a cushion and assist the mother in smoothing out the creases of her crackling black skirt.

Sölve asked the consul who they were.

He learned that the father was a highly influential jeweller, the mother was of noble descent, and the family name was Wiesen. The daughter, Renate, was literally worth her weight in gold. The young suitor? Unfortunately, he was a man of such distinguished descent that he did not need to work. He was the youngest son of a rich family and rather simple-minded. The girl’s family would most probably choose that young man for her. Because it would, of course, be the parents who would make the final decision about whom she would marry.

Well, upon my word, thought Sölve. He wasn’t about to let such a fine opportunity for marriage pass him by.

After dinner there was dancing. Sölve had, together with Johan Gabriel, learned all the dances that were fashionable in Vienna, and when an appropriate amount of time had passed and the girl had had the chance to dance with the boring youth – whose name, it seemed, was Carl Berg – Sölve ventured across the floor. He noticed how Renate’s eyelashes quivered as he approached her and she cast her eyes down. But her hands clenched her lace handkerchief. Sölve bowed to her father politely, introduced himself and respectfully asked for permission to have the next dance with his beautiful daughter.

Wiesen stared at him with his half-closed, fish-like brown eyes and asked in a creaky voice whether he wasn’t the trade consul’s secretary?

Yes, he was, Sölve admitted amiably.

The jeweller looked him over again before barking out a “No!”

The girl’s hands jerked.

Sölve grew red in the face. He would now have to take that ignominious walk all the way back across the floor. It was worse than running the gauntlet.

Wiesen should never have done that! Had he known whom he was facing he would most likely have allowed Sölve to have the dance!

Even then, the story would probably have ended the same way for the girl. But she wouldn’t have dragged so many others down with her.

As Sölve walked away with everyone’s eyes following him, rage boiled within him. And that brief walk, his march of shame, resulted in a fast and intense step on the cursed one’s descent towards his downfall.

His revenge would be horrible, he promised himself that!

The first thing to do was to climb through the ranks. A secretary had no power.

He happened to be on relatively good terms with his employer, the trade consul. Although the consul could be condescending, he was, despite everything, willing to help, especially after Sölve had helped him (in his hidden way) through some complicated cases.

So Sölve did not want to push too hard when it came to the consul. But he needed his position!

He knew that if the consul ever needed replacing here, he would be the first in line. That would have to do for the time being.

It was unfortunate that Sölve was not in possession of the magic potions and secret herbs of the Ice People. Except for the mandrake, which would not collaborate with him. He grieved at the thought that he could not make a quick trip to Gråstensholm and fetch the entire collection, but then he decided that he would try to carry out his plan without it.

It was necessary that the consul should fall ill for a period of time. How was Sölve going to manage that?

He had never learned anything from the older cursed ones, simply because neither he nor anyone else had suspected that he shared their secret powers. Now he cursed his own stupidity in not going to Gråstensholm sooner in order to learn a few things from grandmother Ingrid. But then he remembered that he had feared Ulvhedin’s piercing gaze, and the fact that he wanted to preserve his secret.

And he had a talent that few of the others in the family had possessed: he could control people and things remotely, and he could attract anything or anyone he wanted.

In this case he needed to use it to make the consul sick.

For a moment he thought back to the consul’s home, filled with all those goods and riches. If the consul were to die ...

No, the house was unlikely to end up in Sölve’s hands. He needed to think in more realistic terms.

What about an illness ...?

In the end, Sölve did what he had read about in arcane books in the great library in Vienna. He obtained a few strands of hair from the consul’s office, hoping that they weren’t from the consul’s wig, and set about making a doll that resembled the consul as closely as possible. Sölve had his own apartment now and could work completely undisturbed. He ate out and did all his cleaning himself. No one ever showed up unannounced.

The doll was a good likeness of the consul. The strands of hair were now attached to it.

The best thing would be stomach trouble, Sölve had decided. But how did one go about initiating that? Finally he got a piece of fine string and tied it tightly around the consul doll’s wide waist. To be on the safe side he pulled it so tight that the doll ended up looking almost like a wasp. That would have to be sufficiently painful!

But would it be enough? Shouldn’t he perform an incantation over the doll?

Sölve didn’t know any, but he made up some chants that sounded convincing.

Now it was just a matter of waiting until the following day ...

The consul was not in the office when Sölve arrived in the morning. One of the poor old scribes from the front office came running out, agitated.

“Our respected consul has fallen violently ill,” he said, his eyes wide and hungry for sensation. “The doctor has been with him all night and they think it is a twisting of the large intestine!”

“What are you saying?” asked Sölve, faking consternation as he sizzled with triumph inside. “Is it serious?”

“It most certainly is! The doctor doesn’t think he’ll survive!”

A hot wave of fear rushed through Sölve. That had not been his intention. He had been too thorough in his endeavour!

“I’ll run to his house immediately to see if there is anything I can do,” he said, looking genuinely pale and fearful.

“Yes, I know how close you are to our dear consul,” the scribe said, almost touched. “But do you think it is wise to disturb him?”

Sölve had already left. But he did not run to the consul’s house. He ran home as fast as his legs would carry him, fumbled with the key and rushed inside. The doll. Where was it?

He ripped and tore at the thread but it was so tightly tied that he could not get hold of it properly. With trembling hands he fetched a knife and slid the blade under the thread. But it sat so close that the knife had gone right through the clothes and almost all the way through the doll by the time Sölve managed to remove the thread.

He stood with the torn doll in his hands.

“Oh no,” he whispered, white as a sheet and sweating. “How is this going to end?”

He picked up the doll intending to throw it into the fireplace but stopped himself. That might be dangerous, too! Instead he hid it far under his mattress.

Then he ran to the consul’s house, where he met the housekeeper.

“I heard ...” Sölve began. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, Master Lind,” she sobbed. “You’ve arrived too late! Our highly respected consul passed away a few minutes ago. It burst ... the twisting of the intestine was too violent. He was in terrible pain. And now he is gone!”

Sölve stood there, completely dumbfounded. The woman, noticing his ghost-white face, rushed to find a chair into which he sank.

“No,” he quietly lamented. “No, no, no!”

He had enough presence of mind only to think the rest. What have I done? What are these deadly forces I possess?

The doctor came out and had to tend to the devastated young man, and Sölve heard the doctor mumble to the servant, “How touching to see such devotion to one’s superior!”

Sölve ended up taking over the consul’s work. By then he had had time to calm down and analyse the whole incident more rationally. It had undoubtedly benefited him greatly.

But he was outraged to discover that he would not be allowed to keep the position of consul. He was just deputizing until the arrival of the newly appointed official from Sweden – a man older than him, which outraged Sölve doubly. So he decided to take revenge on those who had made the decision.

But that act of vengeance would have to wait. Right now, he needed to strike while the iron was hot. Or rather, while he still had the title of consul.

Now he could approach Wiesen again and ask for permission to court his daughter. That would be just the beginning, of course. After that he would work his way into that family until both the daughter and the family’s entire fortune were his. Then he would get his revenge on those cruel parents! They were going to know just whom they had managed to insult!

When he looked at his reflection in the mirror he got a fright. His eyes were no longer dark brown. They weren’t even brown, they were as yellow as light amber. It was both frightening and at the same time fascinating to look at. He had seen grandmother Ingrid’s eyes: they were probably the most yellow anyone in that family had ever had. Ulvhedin’s had gleamed more cunningly in yellow and green, ever-changing and unpredictable.

Sölve’s eyes were beautiful. And they had a magnetic effect on women – he had seen the evidence of that many times. The demimondaines he met on the street shot him inviting glances, but they weren’t the kind of women he wanted. He wanted to marry Renate, partly to get hold of her fortune, partly because she had this almost elusive, intense sensuality about her that he was determined to explore. He was also determined to get his revenge on her snooty parents! Once he was married to their daughter he would be in a position to humiliate them!

He made sure to write home. He boasted greatly and claimed that he had become a consul. Who would be able to testify against him? He was slightly worried about the situation back home. His mother had been suffering from lung disease for a long time and now his father, Daniel, was also suffering from it. Ingela was contemplating marriage, and everyone wanted Sölve to return home.

But he couldn’t! Not with those eyes of his!

While he was making thorough preparations in advance of approaching the Wiesen family, a letter from home in response to his own had time to reach him.

It was from Ingela, and seeing her handwriting on the envelope made him nervous.

After he had read the letter he had to lie down on his bed, fit for nothing.

Ingela blamed him for never returning home. Their mother and father had read the letter in which he wrote that he had become a consul and they had been very proud of him. But they were both now dead. When their mother died it had been as though their father had lost his resilience, and he followed her that same week. Ingela had married a young farmer in the locality and now their childhood home was deserted. What was she to do with it? She had settled down in Vingåker for good. She had been working as a housekeeper for Axel Frederik Oxenstierna, Johan Gabriel’s brother, and she had retained that position after her marriage.

In other words, Gråstensholm would fall into Sölve’s hands. But grandmother Ingrid was lonely – why didn’t he return home soon?

Father and Mother dead? Was he never to see them again? Another tie to normal human life had now been broken for Sölve. That evening he was vulnerable for the last time. That evening his heart felt weighed down with the sadness that reached him from far away.

By the next morning, he was as hard as stone. There wasn’t much left of the human Sölve.

There wasn’t much time left now. He would have to hurry and approach Renate’s family before the new consul arrived.

Never had he put so much effort into dressing properly! He cleaned, polished and brushed everything, acquired a new wig and several new items of clothing. No one would be able to point a finger at anything!

He would also need a dowry. Something he could offer her. More than the title of consul. So Sölve approached something new: a bank!

He had never been into one before. He made a minor transaction, but one that required the bank clerk to leave his desk. And then Sölve tried a new trick. The clerk could see Sölve sitting in his chair in the office all the time, but it was just an illusion. In a moment’s inattention on the part of the clerk, the real Sölve moved behind him and with some neck-breaking manipulations he managed to smuggle a leather bag full of money into his inner pocket.

No one could suspect him. After all he had been sitting in his chair, far away from where the bank’s cash was stored.

The cashier had not seen a thing. He bowed politely and told Sölve he would be welcome to visit the bank again. He did not notice that Sölve had great difficulty standing up straight without tipping over.

It was even more difficult to walk out of the building but he managed it by a hair’s breadth.

Back in the safety of his own home Sölve counted his loot.

It was a lot more than he had expected. He sat for a while completely dumbfounded over having acquired so much money. And he had to promise himself never to fall into the temptation of doing it again. He had had luck on his side this time, but you couldn’t get away with doing something like that repeatedly without getting punished for it. They knew he had been in the bank that day, and there would be a big commotion because of the theft and someone would have to take the blame. Sölve didn’t care who they blamed. The main thing was that if he were to return and another robbery were to take place they would surely grow suspicious. “The man with the yellow eyes ...” He was much too easy to recognize, that was the worst thing about being cursed.

Then it dawned on him that he was rich now. He could acquire a better place to live, perhaps a horse and carriage. Was there really any limit to what he could get?

Yes, there was, of course!

But he would have to have something with which to impress his future in-laws!

The next day Sölve was ready. He prepared to approach Renate’s house.

How happy she would be!