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Varning för mambor: Ch. 4 (1/1)

The Wurst School Trip Ever

Varning för mambor: Ch. 3 (1/1)

Chapter 3: The doorbell rings

When the house was finally empty said Charlotta: „I'll go and buy some chains. For all doors, the ones to the cellar as well. We were lucky that we had our luggage upstairs. Him on the stairs, did he se you? „Not unless he had cat eyes. Because I didn't know where the light switch was, so I didn't turn teh light on.“ „Very good“, said Charlotta. „Then he still doesn't know for sure that you're here. I'll go and get the chains as soon as the shop opens. I'm scared, Tonio. Don't opn the door – and never answer the phone when it rings! Promise you won't!“ Antonio promised he woudln't. „Three doors, so three chains“, she said. „And we can't live on scrambled eggs and bacon forever, so I need to buy food as well. That might take a while, I'll probably meet half of the town while I'm out. Be careful with the windows! If the Major's wife from next door catches a glimpse of you she'll be here in fifteen minutes to use our phone. Her's is broken whenever she needs it to be.“ When she was gone it was suddenly very quiet in the house. Antonio made sure that all doors were locked, let down the blinds on the side of the Major's house and went on a little discovery tour. All around he found traces of distruction, left by the radio amateurs and model pilots. He took an expert look at Nils' remote-controlled torpedo boat in the kitchen and Micke's new compact little two meter transmitter up in the tower. Smiling, he remembered his own little room in basement of his mother's house in Calle San Sebastian in Las Palmas. All the treasures which had been sitting in the shelves... When he came into the cellar he immediately saw the sign on Henrik's door: „Beware of the inventor“. His smile grew wider. The door was locked, but the key to the common room had been left in the lock, so he didn't have any trouble getting in. He could tell right away that a mothodical brain lived here. Not a single item was in the wrong place. Nit a single spiderweb and the bed was made tidily. To his surprise he found five set rat traps in varying sizes on the bench below the window. But there was no cheese or any other bait in it, they were all new and shiny. Antonio looked at the window and thought he understood. He had an idea. If Henrik protected himself from intruders through the window he might also have some kind of surprise for people coming through the door. Indded – there was a red silk thread stretched in front of the door to the boile room, so fine that no one would notice if it tore. Henrik wanted to know if someone had been in his room while he was gone! Antonio turned around and found another thread at the other door, the one he had come through. The end had come loose when he had opened the door, and lay on the floor now. Suddenly he heard the doorbell ring upstairs. But he only listened, until the visitor got tired of ringing. He had promised it to Charlotta – and besides, he had found a couple of boxes he was really interested in. The biggest one of them had a lable that said: 1A: Magnetic substances, condensers, copper sticks for magnetization. On the next box it said: 2A: Funnels, tubes, pumps, jars for salt water, jars for desalted water. The third box, 1B, contained connecting wires, pins, and other electric devices. „Ah, a rival“, murmured Antonio. „He's working on a desalting device! That explains the strong guide rods that were connected to the biggest rat trp. He uses them as that power switches for the magnetization. Magnets can indeed deionize water, so salt was created in the process. He had read that in the New Scientist. Unfortunately this method wasn't very effective. But if this boy here was just as imaginative as he was organized – well, you never knew. He still had a long way ahead of him, of couse... Now the door bell upstairs rang again. Antonio irritatedly put Henrik's boxes back. And while the bell continued to shrill, he fastened the silk thread on the pin in the door hinge, since Henrik probably wouldn't be happy about his visit. He silently closed the the door and went into the pantry. Through the window in there he could see the stairs outside without being seen himself through the curtains. A pair of black shoes below a pair of black trousers stood and stepped from one leg to the other impatiently, and a few long brushes were leaned against the railing. The bell rang again. Antonio didn't move. He was looking for a bike or a car outside on the street, bu coudln't spot a vehicle, not in front of Charlottenruh, and not in front of any of the neighbouring villas. The man with the black pants rang about fifty times, but then he gave up and stomped down the stairs. The further down he got, the more Antonio could see of him. Black shirt, black hands – a black face! A chimney sweeper! He limped a little, as he walked to the gate. There he stopped and looked back at the villa, checked every window from the attic to the cellar. Antonio sank down behin the wall. Had he seen him? Apparently not, because the chimney sweeper wasn't satisfied. He walked a few steps in every direction, checked both gable sides. In the end he limped through the gate and waved at someone down the street. A big cream white American car rolled up to him and stopped in front of Charlottenruh. When it drove away Antonio caught a glimpse of a white sheep fur blanket on the seat... „A chimney sweeper driving around with white fur covers“, mumbled Antonio. „Something you can only find in Sweden.“ He went into the kitchen and had just put on a pot of coffee when the telephone rang. He rushed out into the hall and reached out for the receiver – was it Charlotta? But his hand froze in mid-air. Don't answer the phoen, Charlotta had said, so it couldn't be her calling. The ringing went on for five more minutes, until it was finally quiet again. Waht if something had happened to her? If that was why she called? He looked at the time. She had only been gone for half an hour. He had to conatin himself and tried to relax. He returned to the kitchen and his coffee and found seven cookies in the back of a cupboard. He had reacher thethird one when he saw the post car turing around the corner. A small stack was pushed into the mailbox at the fence and the car moved on to teh villa next door, where the ceremony was repeated. Antonio had opened the door a few centimeters already, when he say a round, rosy lady in an apron walking down the stairs of her house to the mailbox. She was not looking at the mailbox though. He almost twisted her neck, trying to not leave Charlottenruh out of her sight for one second while she picked up the newspaper and a couple of brochures. Antonio quickly closed the door again and cursed his thoughtlessness. The Major's wive of course, who Charlotta had warned him of. When would he get used to being locked up? To hide and be on the run? But all of this would come to an end soon. Only one more moth – at worst. Then... He began packing his bag and heard the telephon ring again. Someone didn't give up so easily. Charlotta had been gone for more than an hour by then. How often would the telephone ring before she came back? He decided to vacuum, something that didn't happen very often. This way he would ot hear the phone. He found a vacuum cleaner in a closet and had just just put the plug into the outlet when the door bell rang. Antonio cursed in Spanish, sneaked down into the basement again and watched the stairs outside. This time it was a pair of blue jeans and black shoes. When the visitor finally left Antonio saw that he was carrying a long brown envelope. A telegram delivery. That had to be important! He considered running after him and calling back the delivery man, when a Taxi turned around the corner. The delivery man saw the taxi ad ran away surprisingly fast, although his foot seemed to be injured. But the taxi drove past Charlottenruh and caught up with him. Charlotta – sweet, blessed Charlotta – leaned out the door and stopped him, and he handed the envelope over to her. The taxi turned on the street and and stopped in front of the gate. Charlotta got out, loaded with a bunch of bags, quickly paid the driver and hurried inside. Antonio stood and hold the telegram for a while, not saying anything. „That's a self-made telegram“, he finally said. „They used an old one, and a very thick glue. It's clumsily made, but apparently they really want to know if I'm here. Or scare me. A limping chimney sweeper, a limping telegram delivery man, another visiter, who might have limped as well, although I didn't see him. And a lot of telephone calls. You have to be careful Charlotta. Can't you go on holiday somewhere? I'm so worried about you – especially when you're not home.“ „You're just hungry that's all“, she smiled. „How about a paella?“ Soon a appetizing smell began to fill the house. Antonio set the table, while he told her about his morning. „Weird how there's nobody ringing the door bell now“, said Charlotta. „No a single phone call since I came back either. Almost as if they know there's no point anymore, since I would answer the phone now. By the way, the mail – I'll go and get it.“ She went outside – and came back empty-handed. „Wasn't there anything?“, asked Antonio, surprised. „No, nothing“, Charlotta said scarcely. But in her pocket there was a postcard from Paris – the same sender as the telegram. And the same four words: 'Give up or else'. They were addressed to: Antonio de Rivero, Charlottenruh, Svedinge, Suéden. Someone knew already, or was it only a an assumption? Was Antionio really safe here? Like she though when she had convinced him to come here? The door bell rang? Charlotta went to the hall and whispered to Antonio: „Do you think it's Santa this time? A limping Santa?“ And the threw the door open with such force that the earl, who stood in front of it, fell down the stairs and sat down on the door mat. „Was that you?“, Charlotta asked in surprise. „And I thought it was Santa.“ „And what did Santa ever do to you?“, the earl asked coolly and got up clumsily. „Well, nothing – except for limping“, Charlotta said mystiriously. „I'm limping – at least now I am“, muttered the earl and limped up the stairs as if he had several broken bones. „It smells good“, he continued as he entered the kitchen. „It does, doesn't it?“, Charlotta said proudly. „You can have some, as a compensation.“ „What's your problem with limping Santas?“, the earl insisted. „besides, there's a lot to compesate for.“ He put half the paella on his plate. Charlotta explained that Antonio had an eventful morning. „The first telephone call was me“, said the earl. „I had two free periods, but no key. And since we had to lock every door... When Antonio didn't open I went to the café down the street and played chess with Robban. In the end we only had our kings left, so it took a while.“ „Who won?“ „Robban. He told me he'd buy me a coke if said he won. So I did. And then I saw that you were home when you got the mail. What's up with that postcard anyway? We never get postcards...“ „There was no postcard“, Charlotta interrupted him nervously and winked at the earl. And after she gave him another plate of paella with extra shrimps, he played along.

#varning för mambor

Varning för Mambor: Ch. 2 (1/1)

Chapter 2: Mousetrapped

There was hustling and bustling in the carpenter's room. It had been threen years since someone had cleaned it, and Henrik loved cleanliness and order. He sweeped the floor and wiped the cupboards until he finally thought it looked like the laboratory of a young, successful inventor had to look. The only thing he could do nothing about were the windows, which had no other curtains than three year old spider webs. He sweeped the thick, grey layer aside and then suddenly realised, that now everyone could look into the lighted room. It felt like standing on a stage, with an audience down there in the dark. He quickly switched off the light. Then he spread his bedsheet and his blanket on the mattress on the floor, put on his pyjama and lay down, determined to sleep. But he couldn't find any peace. Someone could smash the window and climb inside, now that his ivention was within reach. He got an idea then and got back up. In box 1A there were five rat traps in different sizes, they were stacked at the very top and weren't hard to find. He took them out, set them and placed them on the bench underneath the window. He was already looking forward to the painful destiny of the uninvited guests. Now he would surely be able to fall asleep. He crept back under the covers and turned his back towards the window, but itt didn't help. The streetlights cast a sharp, angualr light into the room, so the contours of the window painted a glowing, white square on the whitewash. He desperately pulled the covers over his head, but his wristwatch glowed in the dark and the hands crawled slowly over the face, minute for minute. It didn't take long until his eyes were glued to the white square again. Surely they stood outside and spied on him. That's how it was for all inventors: villains were always out to steal their million-dollar idea, until the patent was through, he had read that in his book. Had there not been strange calls in the past week? And the day before yesterday he had seen a guy at the café down the street and monitor Charlottenruh. Wait a second – hadn't there just been a quiet squeaky sound from the window? Henrik did not dare to move. He only continued to stare at the white square o the wall and listened. Because now it was quiet again. For fifteen minutes he lay stiff as a statue and began to think that he had imagine everything, when he heard the creak again, this time very clearly. And there – a shadow slowly moved across the white plane, a black arm handled something at the edge of the window. Was someone trying to get in through the window? Now he'd had it. He jumped up from his bed, opened the handle and threw the window open. An ice cold wind swirled a few leaves into the room, but apart from that the night lay still on both sides of the street light, which he could see from window. No sign of the shady figure. But Henrik wasn't satisfied. The shadow was exactly what he had been waiting for – and he was not going to get away. He stuck his feets into his slippers, ran to the door and through the back door into the garden. It was freezing cold, but Henrik barely felt it, despite his thin pyjamas. He went past his own window and around the corner to the front side of the villa – but he didn't see anyone. He walked a little more slowly along the other side and stopped now and then to stare out into the darkness. Finally he stood in front of the stairs to the cellar again and had to accept, that not even a rabbit was visible behind the leaves. Now he began to realize that he was shivering from the cold, and hurried down the stairs – and noticed that he could not open the door. He had forgotton to snap the lock when he had run outside. It was two in the morning, it was at least four degrees below zero and there he stood in slippers ad striped pyjamas and could not get inside. He jittered on to the kitchen door and carefullypulled at it, although he knew that it was hopeless. Would he be forced to ring the door bell and be yelled at by an angry Charlotta? Or knock at the window of the common room in his striped pyjamas, and be laughed at by the earl? He had to do something, if he didn't want to freeze. How much could a glass pain for a basement window cost? One hundred? That would be worth it. Then he could pull his mattrass to the boiler room and sleep. He had the whole night to come up with a story he could tell to the others. He had already picked up a suitable stone to smash the window, when herealized, that the window was not locked. Of course – he had forgotten all about that when he had chased after the shady figure! He dropped the stone, pulled the window open with stiff fingers, crawled inside head first, carefully, centimeter after centimeter, to not fall into the rat trap. He was almost inside, when he suddenly felt a pair of ice cold hands arounds his ankle, pulling him back out, He remembered the black figure and now everything became too much for Henrik. He screamed: „Heeeeelp – thief – heeeelp“, so the earl, Nils and Micke fell from their mattrasses and rushed to the door to the carpenter's room – which was locked, of course. But now Henrik had gotten a tight hold of the window frame, and the shock gave him the strength to kick back with his free foot. He felt that he had hit the bull's eye, someone cursed out there and loosened his grip around his other foot so suddenly, that Henrik flew head first trough the window, across the bench, and crashed-landed on the floor. He sat still for a few seconds, feeling, if nothing was broken. The he crawled to the door to the common room, just to be on the safe side, and turned the key. Inside tumbled three boys, and Henrik pointed his darring finger at the window, where the four of them now saw a bulky silhoutte, which tried to open the window again. Henrik was so shaken that he only managed a broken: „Thief... there... you can see him yourself... he was in here... and – he...“ Now the figure had managed to open the window and a head looked inside „Did you get him?“, hissed a voice. He tried to climb in trough the window, „I've heard him creep around the house for a while now, so I went upstairs and looked outside. And that's where I caught the bastard when he tried to climb in here – sadly I only got his foot - but you have him, right?“ It was Ulli's voice. Micke switched on the light. Ulli's upper half was inside already, with Henrik's slipper in his hand. Henrik sat on the floor and stared at him with a stupid expression. Ulli looked around the room without spotting his thief. „Where the pharao did he go – you didn't let him get away, did you?“ The earl pointed wordlessly at Henrik, the he went back to the common room. But in the doorway he turned around again. „I'm sure the thieves have a lot to say to each other, but please be a little quiet, honestly people want to sleep!“ Nils and Micke left for their air mattrasses again, fuming with anger. Ulli hissed: „What the hell were you doing out there?“ But he didn't bother to stay and listen to Henrik's long explanation, before stomping back to the common room and slammed the door behind himself. Henrik sat on the loor for a few minutes. Had he fallen asleep and only dreamt the black figure outside the window? Had it never existed? He got up, locked both doors twice, and was about to tur off the light when his eyes fell on something near the threshold to the boiler room. The biggest one of his rat traps. It had snapped shut. How did it end up there? Had he pulled it down with him when he slid in – or...? He wasn't going to investigate the mystery of the rat trap any further. He had been laughed at enough. But his thoughts ground on as he tried to sleep. Had someone climed in trough the open window while he himself had been on the other side of the house, stepped into the trap, kicked it off, and then...? The thief couldn't have gone trough the common room, because the door had still been locked when Henrik had landed on the floor. So he must have climed out again – or left trough boiler room. From there he could have walked trough the whole basement and up into the house... he could go wherever he wanted... Henrik suffered where he lay. He was still cold and shivered under the covers. And the scornful laughter of the others was still ringing in his ears... and it would not stop in the morning and not during the next week... this was something they would never forget... He crawled deeper under the covers, pulled it over his head. It was past three, when he finally fell asleep. He did not saw the shadow, which darkened the white square on the fall for a moment, as someone limped past the window.

The next morning Nils didn't have a sore throat, he didn't feel sick at all. Amd it was Thursday and that meant he had to get up, even if one had chased thieves at two in the night. If it had been real thieves, at least, but Ulli and Henrik didn't count. Nils sleepily regarded a fat spider, which had built a pretty new net above his bed. Poor thing, he though, we destroyed her old home when we brought our mattrasses here last night. Distruction of the environment. The spider obviously agreed, because it suddenly dropped down and dangled only a few cetimeters above Nils' yawning mouth. Nils was out of his bed within a second, found a catalogue in the closest corner – and the animal population of the common room was reduced. The stuck his head through the door, looking fresh and almost freshly washed. „Hurry up and you'll get breakfast“, he called. „Kent is here with the Plymo as well. It was only contact switch that was on strike last night. Now he filed it, so he can give us a ride if we hurry.“ Soon all boys sat around the kitchen table and ate scarmbled eggs and bacon. Charlotta seemed happy. „It's so good to be home“, she sighed, contently. „Although I couldn't find any bread.“ „That's no surprise“, said the earl. „With Ulli in the house. He always sneakes into the kitchen at night... ow, what the hell, your legs are so long“, he shouted and rubbed his shin. „Then it must have been Ulli who rummaged around here last night“, laughed Charlotta. „Ich thought it was Rutger. He used to sleepwalk when he was young.“ „I wasn't in the kitche last night“, Ulli said angrily. „I only went up the stairs and out the door when I heard Henrik break in – although I couldn't know it was Henrik. „I did not break in“, said Henrik dignifiedly. „But I was forced to get back in somehow, after I was out there chasing you.“ „You weren't chasing me“, shouted Ulli. „I only came outside after I heard you stomping trough the flowerbeds.“ „One thing after the other“, said Charlotta warily. „And the whole story, please!“ She got to hear it from six mouthes at once. When it was finally quiet again, she insisted: „But one of you was in the kitchen last night. In the parlour as well, I know I closed the door to the hall last night befor I went upstairs.! „Someone was halfway up the stairs“, said Antonio. „But he turned around when I came out into the hall. I thought someone forgot his pyjamas, so I went back into our room and went back to sleep, when I heard that he was on his way back downstairs.“ „It surely wasn't me“, said Ulli sourly. „Ulli never lies“, the earl assessed amusedly. „He doesn't know how. And apart from Ulli none of us was upstairs, I know that, becaise he would have had to climb over me. My mattrass lay right in front of the door.“ Henrik didn't say anything. It wasn't hard for him to imagone how the intruder had managed to come in. He hadn't fotgotten his open window, or the rat trap on the floor, but it didn't make much sense to tell the others about it now. The only thing he could do was look out for someone with a limp. Because whoever stepped into the rat trap surely wouldn't dance ballett today... „How he got in here none of us can know“, sighed Charlotta. „Only that some uknown person was in our house tonight. And I imagined Svedinge to be the safest place on earth! At least it's nice to know that uncle Kullenberg still sits in his tower at night to look at the stars. I saw light up there last night, and I waved at him. I'm sure he waved back at me.“ „Uncle Kullenberg?“ Antonio looked like a question mark. „Do I need to be jealous?“ „Surely not“, smiled Charlotta. „The uncle is at least eighty-five years old. Stars are the only thing on his mind sice he turned twenty, and he put a dome on his family's merchant house down on the spit of land on the other side of the habour basin. It has always been pretty high, after all every new generation added a new storey to the building, after the sales increased. Then he bought a fine telescope and started sitting up there every night. That wasn't very beneficial for the sales, of course, but uncle Kullenberg was the best godfather in the world to me. He always told me to to wave at him whenever I see light at the tower. And he promised to wave back. I – well, I felt so much safer whe I saw the light up there last night... and I waved...“ Micke, Ulli and the earl looked at each other and said nothing. It wasn't necessary to tell Charlotta that uncle Kullenberg had never turned eighty-five. He had been dead for five years now. The firm was closed and his observatory turned into a museum. Several private collections were lodged in the rest of the house, an aquarium and a big terrarium among others, which ranked among Svedinges most interesting sights. When they had thanked Charlotta for the breakfast hastily and sat in the Plymo, the earl said to Micke: „I didn't know uncle Kullenberg haunted the place! I thought the only place around here with ghosts was our castle.“ Micke didn't listen. „I just wonder who waved back at her.“ „Waved back?“ „Yeah – at Charlotta of course! She said there was light up there last night, and I don't believe in ghosts.“

#varning för mambor

Varning för mambor: Ch. 1 (1/1)

Chapter 1: Water the Palm Tree, Boys!

The train rushed through the Novermber darkness. Inside the compartment it wasn't very bright either, only one of the reading lamps was switched on, and cast a sleepy light on a lady, who sat curled up into a corned beside the window. The big collar of her fur coat was up and hid and allowed but a small glance at her sun tanned cheeks and a straigh, coal black fringe. She sat unmoving and looked at the lights gliding past outside the dark window pane. Now and then she cast a worried look at the man lying strecked out on the other bench with a news paper covering his face. They were alone in the compartment. Still he did not turn his head when she whispered: „Maybe you should move to another compartment now, Antonio. This is my home, someone might come in and recognize me... and wonder, who you...“ She suddenly fell silent. Outside in the corridor a man slowly walked past their door and stared right at them through the glass pane of the door. „There he is again“, she whispered nervously. „The guy in the green loden coat who watched us in the café at Kastrup. I recognize the coat. Although he's wearing glasses and a hat now...“ The man on the bench lifted the newspaper and smiled at her. „A Spanish Señora doesn't care about any guys coat but her husbands – especially only a week after the wedding! Besides, we're in Svedinge soon. Don't worry, querida.“ She looked at her watch. „Yes“, she said. „Only five more minutes. Then we're home and you can finally feel safe. Ahh, it will be so nice to close the doors of Charlottenruh behind und us – and hear how quiet and peacefull everything is.“ „And what about the boys“, mumbled the man underneath the newspaper. „Your newphew and his radio club you allowed to use the house?“ „Them!“ She smiled and shrugged. „He'll be fine, somehow. The last time I've been home he was a charming six year old who ran away from home to Copenhagen to see the Elephants in the zoo. Everyone was completely hysteric and though he had been kidnapped. Until he came home in a Jaguar who had given him a ride. He was crammed with sweets and very pleased, because now he knew the elephants had been fed. Rudger's a real Borgensköld – he'll always be fine. He can bring his toys to the basement – there are always a couple of empty shelves. The club can do something else for a couple of months while we're home.“ She sighed happily. „Wait until you see my pretty yellow parlour with the golden furniture...“ She stopped and crawled deeper into her fur coat. „Uh, there he was again“, she whispered without moving her lips. „That was the fourth time he walked past , he looked right at me with his cold eyes. I'm so scared, Antonio!“

Presently, four members of the Svedinge radio amateur club stood around the big table in the pretty yellow parlour and admired Ullis new diode laser. It wasn't Ulli's private laser, of course. After a great deal of persuation he had been allowed to borrow him from his tiny physics teacher, generally known as Atom. Ulli had to do measurements for his extra credit, which was about finding our how far a laser could reach during different weather conditions. Now he stood and reverently held the small gadget between his thumb and index finger. „Well, thousand bucks for that tiny things“, huffed Kent, the club president, enviously. „Are you going to tickle the moo with it – although, it probably can't reach that far?“ „The moon – what's that supposed to be good for?“, shouted Nils, a small, skinny boy with more freckles than there was place for in his face. „There' no one to tickle up there. But if you'd point it at the headteacher during the christmas celebration, so he'd be nlinded by the sun while he stands and babbles about the sun which has left us, and the night, which walks on silent soles... that would be something... he's been talking about those silent soles for the past fiftee years...“ „How do you know? You weren't even born hen – during the first fourteen years, I mean“, grinned Ulli. Nils pretended not to hear him. He was experienced in that, after all he was the smallest as well as the youngest club member. Earl Rutger Archibald Stanislaus Leopold Ferdinand Roderick von Borgensköld from Thoringe castle was the second youngest, but there was nothing wrong with his ears. And since he himself thought that none of his many names was appropriate no one tried to use any them. Everyone knew there could be painful consequences – unless ones wasn't much older or stronger. Therefore he was simply known as „the earl“ in whole Svedinge – in lack of a better name. Now he stood and regarded the evil little gadget in Ulli's hand and smiled to himself. If only he could get a hold of it – so many possibilities – so much fun... Kent saw his smile. „It's probably for the best if we put a sign on the door that says 'beware of the laser“, he laughed. „'Beware of the earl', you mean“, muttered Ulli. „I guess I have to lock it up, that's the only way...“ You'll have to buy a really good safe then, the earl thought amusedly. The front door flew open and a pair of boots was thrown into a corner. A tall boy threw a motorcycle helmet on a hatrack. „Did he allow you to take it home?“, he shouted, while he peeled off his leather jacket. „Yes, come here and you'll see“, Ulli said proudly. „It's fantastic. Not bigger than a small screw and still it can reach for miles!“ „Nils is going to sit here and blind the headteacher when he's giving his speech at the Christmas ceremony“, chuckled Kent. „That doesn't work“, said Micke matter-of-factly and walked into the long parlour with long steps. „Of cours it works“, said Ulli, offended. „It doesn't work“, insisted Micke. „Because for one thing, it can't shine through walls. And for another thing, Nils has to be present at the ceremony, or he won't get his A in histor- ah! What the hell...“ Nils was half Micke's size but he had his sneaky methods of getting revenge. And he would never get an A in history. Not since he had claimed Cain and Karl XII had lived at the same time. Ulli carefully raised the laser, cleared his throat and was about to give a small lecture, when the phone rang. Nils picked up. „It's for you!“, he called out to the earl. „An aunt, who wants to talk Rutger Archibald Stanislaus Leopold Ferdinand Roderick August...“, he giggled. The earl glared at him threateningly. How did Nils know about the name August? After the earl had barely managed to scratch it from the classbook? He reached for the receiver. And then the others witnessed with amazement as he straightened his back and stood at attention. He covered the speaker with his hand and hissed ove his shoulder: „Water the palm tree, boys! It's the crone is back from the Canaries!“ When he saw that his words didn't hit home, he said into the speaker with a friendly voice: „one second, Aunty“, and rushed into the parlour. Er fratincally gestured at the soldering irons on the antique golden table and the fivehundred other devices standing, lying or hanging on the chairs and the silk sofas, and whispered nervously: „Clear up this junk. Down into the cellar. Aunt Charlotta came home. She's at the train station.“ Then he was . back at the phone and sounded like little Lord Fountleroy. „Yes, of course, Aunty. But do not take a cab, they're so cold here on Sweden, you could catch a cold. We have our ow limousine, we'll come and get you, of course... we'll bring a blanket...“ It was obvious from the earl's intonation that he was talking to a ninety year old – at least. The ninety year old seemed to protest half-heartedly, but didn't have a chance. „Kent left already, he'll be so disappointed, Aunty. He'll be there soon – if he doesn't run out of gas, if he does it'll take a few minutes longer... yes, it is a big red Plymouth, you can fit all your luggage in there... coffee? Yes, we'll take of that – and sandwiches, if Ulli hasn't eaten them all...“ The conversation went on for a long time. The earl talked and talked while he conducted the others with his hands and eyes. Transmitters, circuit boards, and ETS scales went down the staors to the basement in a stream, mountains of magazis and catalogues flew after them. Someone pulled the tablecloth from the table with the lion's paws, so small pices of wire and capacitors whirled across the floor, the dirty covers protecting the yellow silk of the sofas hit Micke on the stairs after he brought his three fine receivers downstairs – and all the time the earl was talking. Hadn't the car arrived yet? Weird, Kent must have run out of gas after all... the earl rolled his eyes at Kent, who sighed and went to door. „Drive a detour with the hag“, whispered the earl with his hand over the speaker again. „Fifteen minutes extra, at least!“ Kent nodded and left. They heard the old Plymo cough into gear. Now they had no more than fifteen minutes. At best. But it did end being fifteen minutes. The earl and just hung up the receiver when the door bell rang. With a look into the hall everyone grabbed a big load and and vanished through the cellar door. There was traffic jam, the earl and Ulli collided and fell to their knees and picked up what they had been carrying again, when the bell rang for the second time. The earl said something that sounded suspiciously like “damn it“, and threw everything on one of the yellow silk sofas. The he arranged his lips to a polite smile, looked innocently at the door and opened. Outside stood a man in an overall and a tool boy in his had. With some effort, but very clearly, he said: „Phone broken? Misses de Rivero...“ And he made a doubtful pause. He had dark eyes, which manached to catch a quick glance through the door to the parlour, to see the battelfield ad the three sweaty boys, who, in full panic, tried to carry as much as possible and dropped half of it again. The man on the stairs didn't say anything, he just smiled with a row of white teeth. „Misses de Rivero?“, he repeated. The earl dropped his polite smile and swallowed. This was the second one today. And the sixth one this week. Which meant: it hadn't been six different visitors. One had been there twice, another one had tried it at least three times, with different glasses and beards. The earl really felt like reaching out a hand to tear this well trimmed specimen off his upper lip, but he didn't have time for that. „There's no Misses de Rivero here“, he hissed. The man seemed rather confused and took a cautious step foreward. The earl shook his head and said in a determined voice: „No Misses de Rivero here – no Madame de Rivero – no Frau de Rivero – no – no – no!“ He saw a hint of embarassment – or was it fear – in the man's face, but ignored it and slammed the door shut again. Then he rushed back to his treasures on the sofa and ran through the cellar door, where he crashed into Ulli for the second time, who was on the way up. The others pricked up their ears, but not for long. Ulli came up the stairs, cursing quietly, when the bell rang again. „Hey“, whispered Nils at the earl through the cellar door. „Maybe you should come up here – in case it's her this time.“ „Nonsense“, hissed the earl from downstairs. „It's probably just aother weirdo. You open.“ „Absolutely not“, said Nils. „I only take care of my own aunts.“ A new signal sounded from the door and someone rattled at the door impatiently. „That's her, hurry up“, whispered Nils. The earl too the stairs in three big jumps. „Kent promised us fifteen minutes“, he said angrily. „It can't be her.“ Now someone was punding against the door. The earl pulled it open and yelled: „I said there's no Misses de Rivero here...“ And then he fell silent immediately. Because outside stood a very elegant lady in fur and looked just as angry as im. With the same green eyes and the same black hair. The whole stairs were covered in suitcases and a taxi vanished at the end of the road. The earl understand. Aunt Charlotta seemed to have some kind of chambermaid or nurse, that wasn't so unusual when you were ninety. But where was she herself? And what about Kent? He stuck on his smile again, opened the door wiede and asked politely: „Where is the countess? Please be so good and come in.“ „Where is Rutger von Borgensköld?“, replied the lady coolly. „My little nephew, with whom I spoke on the phone?“ Normally the earl was quick to regain his composure, but this time he needed a few seconds until the penny dropped. Aunt Charlotta wasn't ninety years old! She was in her forties, and she was angry. Actually, she was furious. The earl cast a tentative look into the parlour and realized that she had various reason for that. A sharp look from her green eyes let the smile on his lips freeze. „R-Rutger“, he stammered. „... he...“ „Rutger, yes. My nephew“, she repeated. „And what's going on here?“, she continued as she walked into the parlour. „Have you been celebrating carneval here?“ By then the earl had won back control over himself. He was usually good with old ladies. Things would be alright as well. He tried to smile again. This should work. „Rutger, that's me, aunt Charlotta“, he said quickly. „You?“, she said. „You're supposed to be my sweet little Rutger?“ She looked him over. There was a quiet giggle from the corner of the room, where Nils stood and hid a soldering iron behind his back. „Well“, she said curtly, after she had eyed him from his black hair to the hole in the big toe of his sock. „I see a familiy resembance.“ It didn't sound like a compliment. „And what did you say when you opened the door? Something about a 'Misses de Rivero'?“ There something tense in her green eyes. „That was nothing“, said the earl sheepishly, while he began to carry her suitcases into the house. „There was some guy trying to sneak into the house, he asked for some woman. For a week people have been askig for a Misses de Rivero, we even thought about putting an ad in the paper: there's no Misses de Rivero in Charlottenruh!“ He laughed about his own smart idea. Aunt Charlotta didn't think it was such a funny idea. Not at all. She grabbed the earl's arm, si he dropped one of ther suitcases on his toe. „How did he look?“, she asked. „The man that was here.“ „Him“, said the earl, and picked the suitcase up again patiently. „He looked like some kind of telephonist. Althuogh – there was something weird about him – the overall didn't fit – and our telephone wasn't even broken.“ „Where did he go“, she interrupted. „Did you see where he went?“ The earl shook his head. „I couldn't. We were in a bit of a hurry...“ He gestured his head towrds the parlour. „We had to...“ „How many are you?“, she interrupted again. „Usually we're seven“, said the earl. „Although Sven isn't here tonight, he's home in Thoringe...“ „Skip the ones that aren't here“, she said, irritated. „Which ones are here?“ „Ulli Andersson, that's him – from Anderssons in Thoring, you know, Aunt – the farm below the castle – and that's Micke Dahl, the one behind the sofa. He's from Thoringe as well – and Kent, him who left to get you, he should be back soon – and then there's Henrik – oh damn, he's still upstaitrs and doesn't know anything.“ „And him over there?“ She pointed at Nils. „That's Nils, my friend. He's from Svedinge. We're the youngest, we're working with model planes. The others are radio amateurs. Except for Henrik at the moment. He went insane and started working on something top secret. She eyed the four boys who stood in the parlour and looked embarassed. „You seem alright, I take that risk. I have to get a hold of this telephonist. Will you help me? He can't be far.“ Nils dropped his soldering iron and ran. The earl was halway out the door already, Micke and Ulli not for behind, when Charlotta shouted: „Stopp! Close the door, Rutger. Listen! You can't just run around and make a fuss. There might be others looking for him – but you have to find him first. Then you'll come back through the kitchen garden, so no one sees him when he comes in. And be careful!“

At home in Charlottenruh, after the boys left, Charlotta stomped back and forth in the parlour. She didn't notice the ugly butn in the yellow slik of the sofa, from that one time when Nils had forgotten to pull the soldering iron's plug. Mechanically, she climbed across a pile of dirt. Why hadn't they just taken a cab home? Why had they called first? It was all her fault. Maybe someone had found him already – one of them! She shivered and looked out of the window, but only saw the same old streetlights. She didn't see the chestnut tree behind it, not the man in a loden coat in the tree's shadow. But he saw her. So she was home now, he thought, pleased. So he had been right. It was her he had seen on teh train. Nowthey just had to wait for the man. They had plenty of time... She thought she must haven stood there for at least half an hour when she heard a quiet sounds from the kitchen. Could the boys be back already? She stood still and listened, but now it was silent again. There was no light visible through the glass pane in the door – had she switched it off? It had been on when the boys lift. Still it was quiet, but someone was there – somewhere close... she felt it, without knowing hom. Finally she yanked the door open and reached out her arms for the light switch in the dark. But her hands didn't find the light switch. Instead her hand touched something rough and warm. She wanted to scream, whe someone inside whispered: „Is it you, querida? Are we finally alone?“ A few minutes later Charlotta stood in the kitchen at the stove and tried to find space for a kettle. The old shutters had been closed for the first time in six years – along with a few kilos of dust. Her Antonio sat at the kitchen table and and looked contently at the piece of cheese and a basket filled with bread, which stood btween the earl's helicopter and Nils' newest cadio-controlled torpedo boat. „This is Señor Antonio de Rivero“, smiled Charlotta, when the boyse came stomping through the door sullenly. „We got married last week in Las Palmas. So there is a Misses de Rivero in Charlottenruh!“ „You didn't lock the kitchen door“, laughed the Señor. Es spoke a mixture of Swedish and English, with which he managed to express himself completely understandable. „So I came in through the back door, after you slammed the door in my face, Rutger. You must be Rutger, right? You look so much like Charlotta.“ „Mhmm“, muttered the earl. „Althoughmost people just call me earl. That's... that's easier to say.“ „He doesn't like being called Rutger“, cheeped Nils. „Or Archibald. Or Stanisl-“ He broke off, because someone pinched his arm. After several cups of coffee and sandwiches said Charlotta: „Well, I think we should go to bed. It's getting pretty late.“ You didn't have to be a genius to understand what she meant. The boys got nervous. „It's only that...“, began Nils „You see, aunt...“, said the earl. „The last bus to Thoringe left already. And we all live in Thoringe. Except for Nils, of course, but his father and mother have gone to Stockholm yesterday, so we promised them he could stay here.“ That's when it began to dawn on Charlotta. “So you can't get home tonight, none of you?“ What about your Limousine?“ „Well“, said the earl. „After all Kent never showed up again...“ „You mean, he ran out of gas?“, said Charlotta drily. „Nah, the car probably broke down. It does that every now and then. It's from 1948 and...“ „I understand“, sighed Charlotta. She was from 1938. „And then there's Henrik“, stammered the earl. „He's been sleeping here every night for a while now, so no one breaks in and steals his ivention. „At least that's what we assume“, grinned Ulli. „Henrik bought a book called 'How to be an Inventor' a few months ago, and a white coat, and he started locking his door. The invention must be connected to rats somehow, he bought a package of mouse traps...“ „I saw him through the window of the hardware shop“, exclaimed Nils. „He has rats up there?“ Charlotta's voice became shrill. She gave her husband a desperate look. He soothingly puts his hand on hers. „We're really tired, isn't there some kind of common room?“ „Of course“, the earl said hopefully. „A big one with an open fireplace. And a carepneter's room and a sauna... and a photo laboratory, and...“ „Fine. Then I suggest all of you sleep there tonight, so have our peace up here, because we really need it. Then you can talk the rest out with Charlotta tomorrow. But to try to get Henrik and his zoo down there as well, be so kind. Oh, and one more thing, boys. I can't explain everything to you just yet, but I have to ask one thing of you: please don't tell anyone that I'm here! There are people who really – really – want to find me. It would harm me and Charlotta, if they did. That's why Charlotta arrived alone tonight. I don't even exist. Now I'll get my small bag I left outside when I came in.“ He went to the back door, while the boys trotted upstairs to get their things. Micke, who was the last to go, suddenly heard de Rivero curse in the foyer. The shocked expression on Charlotta's face said the rest. „Are you sure you left it there?“, she asked. He replied something in a irritated voice and came back in. „What did you have in there? I hope not your pass?“ „Only a toothbrush and some clothes“, he said tensely. „But from now on all doors in this house will be locked.“ Micke thoughtfully went up the stairs. We was this Señor de Rivero?

#varning för mambor

Let The Old Dreams Die (Låt De Gamla Drömmarna Dö) by John Ajvide Lindqvist

PREFACE

When I first saw the finished version of the movie Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In) at the Göteborg Film Festival 2008 I was speechless. I had visited the location on three occasions, I had sat with Tomas Alfredson and looked at various scenes, talked about the cuts. I had seen a few raw versions on bigger and smaller screens. However, still nothing could have prepared me for seeing the movie's final cut, with all sound effects, at Draken cinema's giant screen. It was an adventure. All pieces had fallen into place and the movie was a little masterpiece both as a Swedish movie and an example of the horror genre. Later this opinion would be supported by an incomparable rain of awards all over the world and I am forever thankful to Tomas Alfredson for how he managed my story. There was only one thing that fretted me after the film ended, and that was the end itself. When Oskar is on the train with the box with Eli inside at his feet, on his way to a new life. Although I had written the manuscript myself it wasn't until after the show at Draken that I actually understood what the end implied; that Oskar becomes a new Håkan. Someone that will have the terrible job to be Eli's human help, provider of blood and home and so on. That was what the end said. The fact that I did not understand that earlier obviously suggests that I have a certain amount of cork in my brain. Recently I saw the premier of the American version under the name of Let Me In. I like this version a lot as well but that what was only hinted in the Swedish film was crystal clear in the American one. Håkan had been with Eli since he was a boy of Oskar's age. So it's not hard to imagine what fate has in store for Oskar. Don't get me wrong. I think it is a decent end, a considerable interpretation of the story and the deliberately open end I left in the book. But it is not my end. I willingly admit that I wouldn't have written the short story which shares its name with the book at hand if it hadn't been for the movie. I want to share my version. Låt de gamla drömmarna dö has gone through a lot of changes, but only when I accepted that it had to be a story standing on its own two feet was I able to write it well. A version in which Oskar and Eli are only secondary characters. A love story, but with other main characters. It is my favourite in this collection and I hope you are going to like it. Now I said everything that was to be said. [..]

#let the right one in #låt den rätte komma in #so finster die nacht #låt de gamla drömmarna dö #john ajvide lindqvist

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 10 (1/1) [FINAL]

Chapter 10: The dog days at the Hotel Mirador

They hadn't thought something was going to happen at the Hotel Mirador before nine in the morning. But when they rolled down the last hiss before the hotel the whole community was in uproar. Spaniards and Tourists came running onto the roadway and risked their life between all the cars that dashed by. Policemen on motorcycles and policemen in cars didn't care in the least about the traffic, they moved into the same direction as everyone else: down to Mirador... “The only thing missing are police on horses”, said the horse bitterly. “We have to go o and stop on the other side of the road and then sneak closer, otherwise we're just going to end up in some police car.” “We? Speak for yourself”, said Kent angrily. “My fingerprints are not on some Madonna's cheeks. My holiday fund consists of exactly fifteen more Pesetas and aren't taped under a goddamn wardrobe.” He turned and stopped in front of the Hilton Hotel. “This isn't only about my five thousand anymore”, sighed the earl. “Give me my jeans, let's take a look over the cliff at out hotel, if we can.” He went into the Hilton and came back immediately, with a straw hat the size of the mill where, which covered most of his face. “Don't look at me like that”, he grinned. “I didn't steal it, they sell them at the souvenir shop!” He wave and disappeared in the crowd. Fifteen minutes later three Mexican sombreros appeared between the bushes on the cliff above the hotel Mirador. “That's insane”, said Micke and starred down at the hotel. “At least a hundred dogs in front of the foyer... and fifty police cars – there comes another one – and one, two, three... eight press photographers craning their neck!” “And there, under the palm trees, that's Pollenkräuter who's talking to two policemenb”, said Sven. “He looks really nervous...” “He's got every reason to”, muttered Micke. “It must be him who tipped the journalists off.” A new summer hat appeared and the earl lay down beside them. “I was so damn unlucky”, he panted. “As I walked down the street a police car stood beside the road and asked me for the way to the Mirador. I didn't dare to say a thing, because they obviously thought I was a Spaniard, and I saw no reason to prove them wrong. So I just pointed in the direction, but then they made me get on the car and asked me to show them the way, because they didn't know which hotel it was. I didn't want to end up in front of the Mirador, so I pointed at the Savoy down at the beach instead, and then I managed to get away before they realised they'd been fooled. Then I ran – oh boy, did I ran! But I didn't come here straight away, I took a long detour – where is Nils?” “No idea”, said Kent. “There's the airport bus, but it can't drive up, of course, because of all the dogs. And there are more of them arriving, look at the beach!” “The bus stopped in front of the garden gate, looks like they want to get out the the passengers trough the back door.” Sven was so excited that he whispered superfluously. “Every single citizen of San Augustin is in front of the hotel, after all.” “Now someone opens the back door. It's Pedro – and there are the Bergendahls...”, murmured Micke. “... and Ulli and Krister and the bridal pair, but where is Peter?” The earl got so excited that Kent had to pull him to the ground again. “There is the headteacher and his wife – no, but look! The dogs!”, shouted Micke and forgot all caution. As soon as the headteacher's wife took ten steps outside the door the dogs stormed from the main entrance to the garden. The ran up the bus, but they didn't get very far. A couple of shaggy collies took the fence with an elegant jump, Boxer hopped, small dogs went for the gate... a minute later the whole big garden was one single mass of whimpering, yapping, jumping dogs. In the middle of the jumping stood Misses Berg, wide-eyed, hand stuck out above her head – a handbag and a shopping bag with a Moroccan pattern dangled in the air. “There's something very wrong here”, said Micke, shocked. “That's the headteacher's wife they go for. “Where's Stefan?” “He's over there, talking to Pollenkräuter and the two hotshots in uniform – no, now he's going to help the headteacher's wife...” The earl stood up, and this time not even Kent noticed. “Well, the guy knows how to deal with dogs – but now he's giving up... now the police is going to shoot at the dogs”, said Micke and stood up as well. “There's Nils – they caught him, he comes in a police car, and there are Juan and all his brothers...all of them are pointing at poor Nils...”, the earl said through gritted teeth. A few shots thundered over the heads of the dogs, but they didn't let it scare them, but continued to jump and push towards the headtacher's wife, who looked stupefied and screamed for help. The chain of policeman drew closer, their batons raised – but the dogs seemed to be blind and deaf for everything that wasn't the headteacher's wife. Nils was ungently pushed out of the car and towards the policemen. One of the immediately opened Nils' bag and reached inside. Then he screamed so loudly that they could hear it up at the cliff, and pulled his hand back quickly. He held it in front of Nils face, and from his mouth it was obvious that he ad a lot to say. Nils stood there and looked small and abandoned. The other policeman grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Nils shook his head vigorously. Suddenly Diode jumped out of the bag and bit the uniform pants, and was kicked between the other dogs. Shots resounded, making the palm leaves whirl up, batons were flung through the air, the headteacher's wife screamed and Nils cried. Pollenkräuter waved his arms desperately and Stefan tried to push the dogs aside. “They are going to shot them for real”, whispered Sven, shocked. That's when the earl had enough. He threw the Sombrero to the ground and climbed and skidded down the mountainside. Then he ran down to the hotel, wound through the dogs andclimbed onto one of the garden tables, a couple of meters from the headteacher's wife. “Misses Berg!”, he shouted. “Throw the bag to me, that's what they're after!” At first she didn't hear him in her panic. She just screamed, while the dogs tor her jacked with their eager claws. The earl had to shout a couple of times – but finally she spotted him and fell silent. “Throw the bag over here!”, yelled the earl. She threw the handbag at him. “No – not that one, the other one”, screamed the earl and pointed at it. She threw the Moroccan bag to him, the one she was forced to buy at the bazaar. At the moment the bag hit the table there was a confusion among the dogs. Soon the headteacher's wife stood alone, but the earl had to stay on his table to protect his feet and ankles. Leaning on the headteacher, she staggered towards the bus, but she didn't get far before a couple of policemen stopped her and brought her to one of the police cars. The earl carefully turned around to the press photographers, who ceaselessly and with sparkling eyes continued to take pictures. “A knife, please*”, he called. Five knifes flew threw the air. Then the cameras began clicking again. The earl collected one of the knives and yelled shouted something in Spanish at the police. The two policemen – and the headteacher's wife – stopped and stared. The earl acted like a great magician. He raised the bag and began cutting off the straps. Everyone was looking at his fingers, which worked slowly and effectively. Even the dogs had calmed down a little, and stood, growling and craning their necks in wait. “He's going to pull out a white rabbit – or a colourful silk scarf you can wear”, said Micke wryly. But the earl didn't pull out a white rabbit. From the third cut in the bag he produced something small, which sparkled green in the sun. He held it up for everyone to see. The dogs got wild again and jumped and pushed towards the table. Another cut – and another one – and out of every cut the earl took another small jewel, sparkling red or white. When the whole bag was cut up he shouted: “Now the bag is empty, now I'm going to throw it away, so we might have a chance to get inside, if we hurry up!” He put all the gems into his pocket and threw the bag as far away as he could. The dogs hesitated for a second. The earl and the Madonna's jewels – or the bag? They could not reach the earl on his table, but the bag lay on the ground and smelled so tempting... soon there was a big bawl for the bag. The earl jumped off the table and raced towards the back door. Now the policemen started moving. The two who had talked to Pollenkräuter ran towards the hotel while they were screaming orders at their men. After a quick realignment the whole hotel was surrounded and the armed guards stood in the lobby, watching every exit with threatening eyes. This time the earl would not get away. First two policemen brought the headteacher's wife, politely but unrelenting, and then the remaining guests of the Mirador who had made it into the bus already. They watched the bus leave with mixed feelings – and with it the flight to Sweden. Pollenkräuter had followed the policemen and stood in the lobby as well, and waved his heads in front of Stefan's face, who looked pale and tensed. “Mhmm”, growled Micke. “Seems like Mister X noticed the cat's out of the bag...” “The dog, you mean”, grinned Sven. “Where's Diode, by the way – and Nils.” He never got an answer to that question. The police chief, Señor Garcia, approached the earl, who stood at the counter. “Well, what are you waiting for”, said Señor Garcia in upright English. “A cup of cappuccino”, said the earl. “We haven't eaten since last night. Pedro should...” “The jewels”, interrupted the police chief brusquely. “Give them to me! All of them!” The earl emptied his pockets onto the counter and a murmur went through the room, when the pile of gems sparkled on the black plastic plate. Garcia continued: “El Professor Pollenkräter informed us about your plan to prevent a sacrilege in Teror. Prevent!” Garcia laughed. “El Professor is a smart man. But gullible. Facts ate all that matters to us. Clear, cold facts. We found 50.000 Swedisg kronor from a robbery in Sweden under your wardrobe. We also found your fingerprints on the Madonna's face. We've got witnesses who state that you and your accomplices were seen at the cathedral tonight. The stolen jewels lead to place you were held captive. You wanted to feel the parish clerk's son so they would turn off the alarm and let you out. You fled from the police – and then you obviously stole another car to get her despite the barricades. And hen you plotted for your accomplice Señora Berg to smuggle out the jewels...” He dramatically turned towards the headteacher's poor wife, who leaned against one of the guards, still shaking. “Where's the rest of the offerings, Señora?“ The headteaher's wife didn't have to answer, because now the lift door opened and Peter walked into the lobby. “I've looked everywhere”, he said to Stefan, who stood and waited. “In every room, even on the roof, but those damn boys from Svedinge where nowhere to be found. Neither is Vera Nilsson...Ah, there you are!” He smiled his usual smile. “Where the hell...” He suddenly spotted the headteacher's wife between the grim policemen and quickly walked over to her. He put his arm around her and turned towards the police chief. “Señor Garcia“, he said seriously, and continued in Spanish. Señora Berg is a lady. She's above suspicion.” “I'm sorry”, said Garcia stiffly. He gestured towards the jewels. “We found those in her bag.” “Fanstasktiskt”, murmured Peter in Swedish and regarded the gems. The he said quietly to the earl, this time, however, in Spanish: “Be careful – don't try to make a fool of the Spanish police, I won't be able to help you then. No one will. Tell the truth, they're very competent!” He smiled at Garcia. “My compliments to you, Señor, you found the jewels already, although it's been only a couple hours since they were stolen. But I can assure you – Señora Berg is innocent.” Garcia looked annoyed. “She must be involved”, he said coolly. “The jewels were found in her bag.” Now Pedro arrived with the earl's cappuccino. The earl looked at the cup longingly, but didn't touch it. “The Señor is no thief, Sir”, he said. His English wasn't flawless, but he was obviously understood, because Garcia sneered and pointed at the gems. “It wasn't her own bag, Sir”, insisted the earl. “The thief swapped them so she would smuggle the jewels trough customs for him – without her knowledge.” “Nonsese*”, said Garcia. “She's an accomplice – just admit it, so we can but an end to this.” The earl slowly took a spoonful of milk froth. Sven saw that he was shaking. But the froth ended where it should, and the earl gave Garcia an innocent look through his long eyelashes. “Somehow the bags were swapped this morning”, he said. “The bag must have her bag. And since we listened heard a conversation between the thief and his accomplice, we knew that they were going to swap the bags. So we marked the Señora's bag before went to Teror. It said Berg...” He wrote the name on the paper slip Pedro had left beside his cup and gave it to Garcia. “So it said BERG at the bottom of the bag, that should be easy to check...” Suddenly a voice came from behind the earl. It was Krister. “I don't like the earl”, he said. “But fair's fair. I saw some guy in the Bergs' room today, while they were having breakfast. And he held such a bag I his hand.” “You didn't say who it was?” It was Stephan who interposed the question. “I only saw his back as he crept into the room”, said Krister. “And I was over at the lift. Bur he wore white jeans, a blue shirt and white and red sneakers – I think.” Peter translated Krister's Swedish to Spanish. “No”, corrected the earl. “Not 'red shirt'. Krister said 'blue shirt' – you did, didn't you?” “Yeah, I think it was dark blue”, said Krister. Peter changed his translation. “Well, nobody here seems to be wearing a blue shirt”, said Señor Garcia. “But the witness report is still interesting, so I guess we have to check the bag. Stand in a row and show your bags.” Misses Berg turned her bag inside out – without result. The bridal pair was allowed to pass, too. Stefan took his bag from his luggage demonstrated it with a smile. Nothing remarkable. Krister's own bag didn't have a name written on it, either. Garcia glared at the earl. “Where's the thief now? Everyone has showed their bags.” “Not everyone”, said the earl quickly. A little too quickly. He's scared to death, thought Sven. Although he looks so cool. “The is one person who hasn't showed his bag. He is also the only one wearing a blue shirt, although you can't see it under the blazer – an he's wear red and white shoes. Just like he did yesterday, when the five of us saw him at the cathedral yesterday...” “He's lying. They can't have seen me in Teror, because I was wearing a...”, it bubbled out of Peter. At the same moment he realized that he had just tipped his hand. After an angry look at the earl he stormed towards the glass wall, grabbed a chair and smashed one one the big panes and jumped out. He didn't get very far. He hadn't worn gloves when he touched the Madonna's jewels. The dogs immediately noticed the pheromone smell on his fingers and chased after him. After only a few meters they had caught up with him – and then he was easy prey for Señor Garcia and his men. There was a big confusion in the lobby. The headteacher's wife sat in the corner and cried with relief. The headteacher stood beside her and promised her again and again: “Never again, love – never again! Next time I'll make sure they get a scholarship to study lichens on Gotska Sandö – in in Siberia – and then you and I will go to Mexico...” In another corner Pollenkräuter had called a press conference and cameras flashed in competition with the Madonna's jewels. Señor Garcia deluged the earl with questions in English, Spanish and German at his own will, and the earl replied, mostly in Swedish. But that wasn't a problem, because Stefan stood beside him and translated. “That's why the police send me after the robbery in Svedala. Because I speak a little Spanish, I mean”, he said humbly. “In the night of the robbery we got a tip the robbers were going to escape to Gran Canaria the next morning. I didn't have time to go home, so they woke up some poor guy who works at Nordiska Kompaniet in Malmö, and was allowed to pick whatever I needed. I didn't have more than fifteen minutes, though, or I would have missed the flight at Kastrup.” Garcia sounded impatient. Stefan translated. “He wants to know whether you have an idea where Peter's accomplice is, you know, Dynamite-Kalle.” The five boys had a pretty good idea where Dynamite-Kalle was. Micke pointed at the place the robber could be found on Garcia's map, and two policemen were about to leave when Kent shouted after them: “Take the Seat or you'll never gt up there.” The policemen exchanged a look, shrugged, and climbed into their comfortable Mercedes. Weird foreigners!

“And we thought is was you”, Sven said to Stefan after Garcia had left and the whole gang sat in front of a sumptuous breakfast in the dining hall. “When we saw you in front of the police station in Las Palmas.” “Not 'we'”, said the ear, with his mouth full of ham roll. “I thought rather quickly that it was Peter. The first time was when you told me about what you heard in hallway, about the bags. It was Peter, who led our group to Ben Ali and made sure we all got the same bag. And it was Peter who came to the pool to check who had listened to them on the stairs. He said he came to pick up the people for the trip, but he never did that before. And Peter already knew that Nils had Diode in his bag at the café at the Kasbah. The thief who was bitten the night before must have told him, because Nils didn't tell anyone but us. And it was Peter who asked him to leave the bag at the bus when we visited the cathedral, and got angry when Nils took the bag with him and didn't come along. So Peter had no chance to look inside and he was forced to attack Nils at the park. Nils said the people were pretty aggressive towards Peter. Apparently someone saw him when he attacked Nils. They shouted things at Peter, but Nils doesn't understand Spanish.” “If only I could understand why he did it”, said Sven. “He had gambling debts and had to get the money somehow”, said Stefan. “So when Dynamite-Kalle was looking for an accomplice last year he grabbed the chance. He was smarter than Kalle, too, so it was him who did the planning and Kalle took care of the dirty work back in Sweden. The theft in Teror was supposed to be their last coup.” “It's sad either way”, said Sven slowly. “I liked Peter. He was decent and nice to us... and now he's going to serve time in a foreign country... for all eternity.” “He didn't mind framing us for the theft”, said the earl coldly. “He'll be extradited to Sweden”, said Stefan. “For the robbery in Svedala and every thing else we can prove against him. Yes, the robbery. I'll have to talk to you about that, too.” The earl yawned loudly. “Later, okay?”, he begged. “Do we still have our rooms?” “Normally we wouldn't”, said Stefan. “But I took care of that.” “Where's Nils?”, asked the earl and stood up. “I saw him chasing after the dogs on the beach”, smiled Stefan. “He'll show up again.” “Hey – before you go to bed”, called Sven after the earl. “When did you write 'Berg' at the headteacher's wives bag? They were on a trip the whole Saturday...” The earl interrupted him and said tiredly: “I never wrote Berg on any stupid bag. I just knew that the jewels were supposed to be smuggled in one bag, but I had no idea which one. Not until I saw the dogs jumping at the headteacher's wife... so it was...” He yawned. “It was nothing but a giant bluff, but Peter was so nervous at this point that he fell for it. He couldn't really check it either, while we stood there and looked at him. Good night!” And he vanished through the door.

Exactly one week later all examinations were finished, all papers where signed and the small travel group from the hotel Mirador sat in a plane back home to Sweden and ate small, small sandwiches from their small plates. “Thank God we brought more food”, said Ulli, who had managed to get a subtle sun tan in the extra week. “You're going to share, right?” He looked at Nils' well-filled bag. “What's in there? Can I see?” Kent tried to grab the bag but he might as well have tried to move the statue of liberty. Nils resisted with a temper no one was used to from him. “That's my bag”, he shouted with angry tears in his eyes. “It's none of your business!” There was an echo coming from the bag. A yapping and yelping, just as angry as Nils, and the bag almost fell from his lap- Nils paled. He looked at Kent pleadingly, with round, light blue eyes. “You're not going to tell on me? They'd take Diode and shoot him. I can't pay the quarantine, that's too expensive...” “Of course he has to go to quarantine”, said Micke brusquely. “The club can't have an illegal dog, you must understand that. And what if he's rabid, there are rabid dogs on the Canary Islands. It can take months until it breaks out. But...” Micke and the rest of the gang exchanged looks. “We suspected you were going to smuggle him into the country, so we agreed to use the reward from the Madonna's jewels for an honourable cause.” Nils beamed with joy and opened the bag's zipper a bit. The honourable cause stuck out his head, with one ear standing upright, the other pendulous, and put his clumpy paws over the edge. “Thanks, you're awesome”, said Nils. “Don't thank us, thank the Madonna, laughed Micke. “You probably shouldn't thank anyone until you see how he looks in six weeks. A bit of a collie, a big of a poodle, a bit of a dachshund – a great bit of a mastiff!” “That's no problem, we'll just rename him to Monster”, said Nils lovingly and scratched Diode behind the ear.

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 9 (2/2)

“It was fully insured”, the earl said calmly. “They'll have bigger things to worry about. Jewelry heist, sacrilege, fencing, things like that. But it'll be alright. Somehow.” “Hey – there's a cave up here.” Micke's voice sounded hollow and came from somewhere above their heads.”The biggest cave ever. And the tired tracks go right in.” That got the rest of the group moving. Even the mild Canary nights were nippy at this height. The wind pulled at their thin shirts. As soon as they reached the shelter of the cave it got better. Micke had been right. Although it barely was a cave, more of a big stone room. In the shine of the flashlight the tire tracks were clearly visible – a lot of tire tracks. “He was here a lot”, said Micke. “Always with the same car, too, the tire tread is always the same...” “Weird guy”, said Kent. “One time's more than enough for me. Until they build a proper street at least...” “Did you realise they renovated?”, exclaimed Sven. “The walls are almost straight.” “And here are benches”, called Nils and flopped down on a ledge that had been carved out of stone. Wall. “A Guanche grotto”, said Sven without excitement. “Like the ones they used to bury their mummies, that's what Peter said. Do you see any mummies?” “I see one”, grinned Micke and pointed his flashlight at Nils who lay on his ledge and pretended to sleep. The moment when the light fell on the bench Sven saw the footprints. There were a lot of footprints on the floor, a well-trodden path. The weird thing, however, was that all footprints stopped a few meters from Nils' bench away. From this point only Nils' reeded soles continued in a long, lonely line. “Can I get your flashlight for a second?”, asked Sven. “Why do the footprints stop there? And look...” He went ahead an pointed at the floor. “Here is only half a footprint.” He scraped his fingernails over the ground. “Here is some kind of edge...” All four kneeled on the in the dirt in front of the line where the footprints stopped and scratched. They felt the thin ledge of a flat stone plate, about two meters long. “If only we had some kind of lever”, sighed Sven. “But you do”, exclaimed Nils and sat up on the bench. “There's an iron bar over there – beside the entrance – in the corner!” Kent stood up and fetched the bar, which was all rusty, except for the tip, where the iron was shiny from usage. “Nice”, said Micke appreciatively and and grabbed the bar with his strong hands, tucked it under the ledge and pushed it down. There was a scream – and Nils, who had jumped off the bench was gone. The plate had lifted itself in front of their shocked eyes, and a gaping hole opened before their feet. “Nils”, shouted the boys. “Can you hear us?” “I can't really avoid that, you're pretty loud”, squeaked Nils down in the hole. “Can I get a flashlight?” Micke lay down on his stomach and gave Nils his lamp. There was an excited whistle. “There's food down here, guys – tons of it. Ham and herrings – and flour – were they going to bake? And coffee – and...” Suddenly he fell silent. Then he said quietly: “There's also something else. Get me out of here, will you?” “Calm down. What is it that's down there?” “They look like dolls... but very big ones. And... and... and... no, damn it – I want to get out. It's so dark and so musty...” “A burial cave”, whispered Kent. “One they haven't found, with all it's old mummies.” “I said get me out of here”, cried Nils. “What are you waiting for?” Micke reached out his hand and was about to pull Nils up when his tone of voice suddenly changed. “Wait a second – what the heck is this? I was just going to take a few cans... or maybe five, but here are some cans that are only taped up. The ones in the very back.... oh noooooo, you're not going to believe this...” Nils' voice sounded almost reverent. “What is it?” Kent began to sound anxious, “Hurry up – he might come back any minute.” “Money”, whispered Nils. “Thousands and thousands of Kronor. This can is full of them, and there are more cans – the earl's peanuts are nothing compared to this...” That's when they heard it. A car came up the road. In the bend the gear wheezed with effort. It was still far away, but all of them understood which car it was. “That's Dynamite-Kalle of course, he's returning to his hideout”, said Sven. “And he's armed...” “Quick, Nils, up with you”, shouted Micke. “He's coming! Hurry up!” The cans clattered. “It doesn't matter if you don't put them back tidily”, screeched Kent. “Get him up, Micke!” First came the bag with Diode, who whimpered anxiously. Next was the flashlight, and then a can filled with ham. “Are you insane”, growled Micke. “Are you going to bring the whole patry? Do I have to get down there an get you?” That hit home. With reddened cheeks and pockets bulging with cans, Nils crawled over the edge. “You can't imagine”, he panted. “There's a whole supermarket down there.” Micke pushed him towards the cave entrance and pushed the plate down. Then he ran and put the bar back in its place. “Did you find a place to hide?”, he called. “Here's a cliff, a few meters upwards. There is space for all of us. If only Nils can keep the dog quiet.” “Turn the flashlight off”, shouted Micke. “He might see it.” “No risk yet. With that engine it'll take a while”, sighed Kent, and thought of the Pontiac. When all of them were finally on the cliff and Nils had managed to silence Diode in some incredible way, Sven grabbed the flashlight and ran back to the cave. “Idiot”, shouted Kent after him. “Someone has to wipe away out footprints”, explained Sven. “Or he'll know right away that we were here.” “Hurry up though!” Sven almost flew. But he wasn't quick enough. He didn't make it out of the cave, before two headlights coloured the cave entrance white. Sven threw himself to the side before the car turned in, and crawled on one of the Guanche benches on the wall. There he lay and pretended to be a mummy which had been dead for six hundred years. The car slowly crawled through the cave entrance and stopped at its usual place. The driver cranked down the window and leaned out, a strong flashlight in his hand. He let the light beam wander through the whole cave, directed it at the ground and the walls. Sven felt his arms and legs slowly become as stiff as the limbs of a really mummy. The light beam grazed his back, but his jeans and his new, dark blue shirt seemed to melt with the darkness in the niche and the beam moved on. Finally the driver was satisfied . He started the engine again, and turned the car around so it faced the entrance. He leaves again – let him leave again, thought Sven, and felt sweat running down from his forehead to his cheeks. But the other one didn't leave. He stopped the engine instead and got out of the car. Sven followed the would of his steps. Would they come his way? Now he heard the sound or iron on stone. Then a scratching sound – the hole was open again. Ay minute he would notice that someone had been down there and searched through his cans – and he would come back up again and first find Sven, and then the others. Something had to happen, right now. Sven jumped from the bench and crept up to the edge of the hole. He was about to give the stone plate a kick when he saw a head at the same level as the edge. The criminal was on his way up again. “Mind your head”, shouted Sven. “I'll shut the hatch now!” The man turned around and gave him a hateful look. “Jump back down”, screamed Sven with his hand on the plate. Then he saw the muzzle of a gun pointed at him. “Move”, said the gangster coldly. “Or else...” Sven threw himself to the ground and heard something whistle pas him – then a bang. He had managed to pull down the stone plate. He got back up ad stood on the plate, calling the others. Soon the stone was weighted down but more than two hundred kilos. “Was that Dynamit-Kalle? Is he dead?”, asked Nils sensationalistic. That's when Sven first realised that might have killed the man. That maybe he was a murderer. Although it was an accident, he though, and he did shoot at me, I had to defend myself... but if he's dead I'm still a murderer... He felt that he was going to be sick, and jumped off the plate and ran towards the cave entrance. “I have to get out of here”, he said hoarsely. “Right now...” At the same moment he heard and angry knocking from below. “Let me out, you rascals”, shouted someone. “Or I'll grind you to mincemeat.” Sven felt all weak and staggered over to the bench to sit down. “Maybe we should let him out?”, he whispered. “He might be injured.” “Have you lost your mind completely now?”, asked the earl angrily. “He can't be seriously injured, you must hear that. He's got enough air, too, the plate isn't air tight. So he can stay where he is. He's a nice present for the police, and we can really use that. But we can't stay here the whole night either, go and bring as many rocks as you can, so he can't open the hatch without help.” Micke and Kent took turns and soon they had gathered a pretty impressive pile of stones on the plate. In the meantime the earl had inspected the car. “The key's in the ignition”, he said happily. “Now we're going to be car thieves as well. But that's no big deal compared to sacrilege and...” “Stop bragging”, said Kent, irritated. “That's not funny.” “I think it's very funny”, said the earl cheerfully. “They would have caught us right away with the Pontiac, but the police isn't looking for a small yellow Seat. Thanks, aunty Vera”, he shouted. “The tank is full, too. How generous!” While it hailed threats from below the boys got into the small car. “Kent and I sit in the front, you and Sven squeeze in the back”, Micke said to the earl. “And what about me? And Diode?”, asked Nils anxiously. It was so like the others to leave him alone between mummies and criminals. “I can take Diode between my feet...”, said Micke. “... and you'll lie across our legs”, said Sven. Nils could imagine a more comfortable place, but he gave in. If one was the smallest then he was the smallest. “Okay”, he said. “But only under one condition. We eat first.” He got a can of liver pie from his bag and a can of ham from his supplies from the cave. He held them out towards Kent expectantly. “What about an opener?”, said Kent. “Don't you have one?” Nils couldn't believe it. “We're not on a camping trip.” Micke turned all of his pockets inside out. Sven looked disappointed and the earl laughed out loud. Nils took the ham can and slammed it against the stone wall, hoping to hit a pointy stone – but it was in vain. “What a good cam”, smiled Micke. “But if you want to come along you should get in the car now.” Firs Nils went to the edge and threw the the can down into the abyss, and heard it jump from cliff to cliff. “Serves you right”, he muttered. Then he got into the car and made himself comfortable on Sven and the earl's knees. The way down wasn't nice, but it was better than the way up. This time they knew the road was getting wider the farther they got. But when they arrived at the bottom they didn't know which way to go. “Always south, that's shorter”, said Micke, who was cold. “Across the mountains!”, said Kent uncomfortably. “Let's rather go north, via Las Palmas. That's the better road. Besides, the police thinks we went south, so they'll surely wait for us somewhere down that road.” “There'll be roadblocks everywhere, that's for sure. But they're waiting for a rot Pontiac, not a yellow Seat...” “They are waiting for five Swedish thieves”, clarified Micke sourly. “With jeans, one plaid shirt, two blue t-shirts, one...” “Wait, I've got it”, interrupted the earl. “I'm still wearing my swimming trunks, since we were at the beach this afternoon – I mean, yesterday afternoon. Did you bring yours? There's a difference between five Swedish boys in jeans and with a bad conscience, and five boys in swimming trunks. Especially if we're not looking so miserable, like Micke... Although we'd have to wait until the sun rises, of course, or it'd look weird...” “It's going to look weird anyway”, said Micke. “They're not used to Swedish boys in swimming trunks at seven in the morning here in the Canary Islands... but go one, I brought mine, we can give it a try...” He puled the corners of his mouth up to his ears, and only looked more freezing. “Is that good enough?” “Not really”, said the earl. “Have you heard the joke about the elephant who tried to smuggle a sandwich trough customs...?” Micke groaned. “Okay, okay”, said the earl. “But what about the one about the Scot who...”

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 9 (1/2)

Chapter 9: All Radio Amateurs go to Heaven – Right?

Down by the tower Micke suddenly stood still and warily eyed ever door and window of the old building in front of him. He had head something. A cat? Or had it been a scream? At the same moment Sven jumped from the backseat of the Pontiac. “Look!”, he exclaimed and pointed upwards. Micke obediently looked up at the clouds. A romantic night sky with shining stars. “Oh, yes, very pretty”, he huffed. “But I though I heard something, a cross between Nils and a cat – but more Nils. We somehow have to get into this shabby...” “Yes, but look! The clock!” “Yes, it's fast”, said Micke. “I've noticed that, too... it's only...” “The clock!”, exploded Sven and pointed. “The hands!” Finally Micke understood. “Holy Petrus”, he gasped and starred at the minute hand, which moved back and forth in a rapid pace. “The Madonna performed another miracle”, intoned Sven. “The earl is no Madonna”, said Micke. “I just hope that no one's going to see him, or there'll be a huge uproar. I just wonder what he wants.” “He's having fun of course – as usually”, Sven said jealously. “One of us should have gone with them to keep them in check.” “I never met someone who could keep the earl ins check”, Micke said scarcely and followed the movements of the minute hand on the clock-face. “I don't think this is one of the earl's private little jokes”, Kent said from behind the windshield of the car. “It could be some kind of message... maybe a code...” “Unlikely”, said Micke. “If it was the hand would stop according to a certain system...” “At this very second the hand stopped. It stopped at the correct time, the hour hand just before eleven, the minute hand at ten. “Do you see the little dot over there?”, Sven asked excitedly. “Between the middle and the five? It's moving, isn't it?” An supernatural wolf cry was heard. “That was no angel, they don't scream”, said Micke. “How would you know, have you met one before?”, said Sven. “But Nils screams like that, he was supposed to in the revue, if it hadn't been for one of his white mice which... oh no, what was that?” There was a weak sound at the pavement underneath the clock. Sven rushed over there and began looking around. There was a lot to see: Caramel bonbon wrappers, cigarette stubs, balloon shreds, paper napkins. The three boys searched the ground thoroughly, but found nothing that didn't belong there. But then Micke happened to kick an empty match box that didn't fly like it was supposed to fly, but landed only half a meter away. Micke picked it up just to be sure, weighed it in his hand and the quickly pulled out the drawer. Inside he found a small collection of Peseta coins and a shred of a shirt. “I need the flashlight”, he called quietly. Sven and Kent came running. In the light of the flashlight they managed, with some difficulties, to read a few words that had been written on the fabric with a pen: “X trapped us in tower jewels gone help us QUICK Marcelino” “Great”, muttered Kent trough his teeth. “That happens when you let those rascals go to a church... let themselves be trapped in the tower, out of all places...” “Oh yeah”, Sven said confrontationally. “I'm not sure if it would have gone much better if an older model...” “Pssst”, whispered Micke. “Someone's coming. I hope the earl sees it and stops the hands. The guy said he lives over there, right?” He started out for the little house Marcelino had pointed at. “Let's see if my ten Pesetas were a good investment. At least Marcelino's probably the only one who can switch off the alarm for us. If his father really is the parish clerk. That was a kid with imagination...” “I'll stay here and have an eye on the church – and the car”, said Kent and slipped behind the steering wheel again, while Micke and Sven walked off. “There's light in the window – what are we going to do if it's papa church clerk who sits up there and polishes the church silver”, said Micke nervously and bent down to pick up a hand full of pebbles. “Then we'll tell him everything”, decided Sven. “It can't get much worse than it is now. He's taking a nap behind the porch door, as you see. Now throw!” The pebbles flew and clattered against the window pain like a machine gun in the silence. Sven and Micke retreated uncertainly and hid behind a tree in the planting. The window opened immediately and a a black curly head was stuck out. It wasn't Marcelino, but a slightly larger copy. Micke and Sven reappeared and Micke whispered: “Marcelino?” The head was pulled back and for a few minutes nothing happened, apart for the fact that it sounded like a muffled version of the wild west up there. Then, suddenly, the whole street was crowded with Marcelino copies in seven different sizes and mistrustful looks. “He did tell the truth about his seven brothers”, whispered Sven after a quick count. “But where's the kid himself?”, said Micke trough the corner of his mouth. The oldest of them had obviously understood the question. “Marcelino little fool”, he explained. „He better stay home. Now you tell us!“ They stood in a threatening circle around the boys and Micke told selected parts of the story. He wished the earl was with them – something he didn't usually wish for – but the earl would have been able to make everything sound much more believable, he was good at that. After they brothers had heard the story of the theft of the Madonna's jewels the circles around the two Swedes got tighter. Micke hastily pointed out that Marcelino had promised to help them and explained, that two of their friends were locked inside the church because they had tried to stop the thieves. The tallest of the seven looked at Micke and Sven scrutinizingly. “Okay”, he said, after a consulting look at the others. “Me Juan. Marcelino is a fool. You helped him. But we search you all before you go. Micke nodded. “Of course they have to search us before we go”, he said to Sven, while Juan quietly walked back into the house. After a couple of minutes he came back with an old key that was half as big as Marcelino. Then they marched over to the church, all seven of them, with Micke and Sven in the middle. Non of the Spaniards said a word, but their eyes never left Micke and Sven. “Thank good we've got a clean conscience”, Sven said shakily. “Mmmh”, muttered Micke. “I hope that's going to help.” Soon they stood in front of a little side door to the cathedral. Juan put the key into the hole and pressed some buttons on a screed that was hidden behind a gilded board with the Madonna on it. “Vamos”, he commanded harshly. The group walked trough the nave towards the pulpit. Suddenly Juan uttered a scream and bent down. On the floor lay a small cross with a pink glass stone in a silver frame, attached to a simple silver chain. He gave the boys a dark look. On the way up the stairs to the Madonna the found another small, cheep piece of jewelry and the heavy atmosphere began to turn threatening. When they reached the balcony the brothers stopped in front of the poor Madonna, who stood and asked for help with he eyes – without her pretty dress, without he jewels and her presents. There was a new deliberation, with bitter looks and Sven and Micke, which ended with the Spaniards dragging the boys down the stairs to the door to the tower. “Now I'm nervous although I've got a clean conscience”, murmured Sven to Micke. “I understand them, the situation looks pretty damn suspicious”, replied Micke. “I just wonder how we're supposed to get away – but first we have to free the earl and Nils anyway, so there's no point in trying just yet.” Juan went ahead with the flashlight. The way trough the church seemed longer this time. The brothers' grip was anything but gentle and Juan walked slowly and searched for more jewelry. Finally they reached the door. Then Juan quickly picked up a small, beaded heart and dangled it in front of Micke's eyes. “You not go, we call the police. You...” He continued in Spanish, but Micke and Sven got the gist of what he said about them, their parents, their grandparents, their country any everything else, that was somehow connected to their roguish behaviour. He was talking for a long time, an apparently wasn't going to stop anytime soon, when he was interrupted by a gut-wrenching scream from the altar: “Socorro!” And once again: “Socorro!” The brothers looked at each other in shock. Juan dropped the golden heart and ran into the direction the screams, which turned more shrill now, came from. After a second of hesitation the other brothers let go of their captives and raced into the same direction. Someone hissed from the side entrance: “Come on, boys – we're in a bit of a hurry. Run!” Three seconds later they were outside and raced towards the Pontiac. Kent had started the engine already, the tires squealed on the pavement and the car rolled towards the road. Behind them their heard the shrill sound of the alarm through the open church door, and saw how lights were turned on in all windows. “Now hell has broken loose”, said Kent. He leaned forward and stepped on the gas. “Charlotta's two hundred horse powers be blessed. How the hell did you get out?” “It was Marcelino. He didn't trust his brothers”, grinned the earl. “They trapped him inside a closet before they left, but they did that before and you learn certain techniques.” (It was obvious that he was talking from experience.) “So he followed you to the church and waited until they had let you in and then switched off the alarm. Well, the rest was easy. While his brothers picked up the jewelry and looked at the Madonna Marcelino let us out and hid behind the altar. Then he just had to scream at the right moment, and the boy really has a great voice.” “Poor Marcelino”, said Sven, and finally got a bad conscience when he thought of the seven angry faces. “Don't worry, he's clever”, said the earl with admiration in his voice. “And they'll soon have their hands full with the police anyway...” “So will we, soon enough”, Micke said quietly. He hand sat and looked trough the back window. Far behind them there was a small dot of light, visible every time the street was more or less straight. Although Kent drove faster than he actually wanted to on the small road, the dot was a little bigger every time it reappeared after a sharp bend in the road. “They know the way”, muttered Kent bitterly and tried to step a little harder on the gas, “Hey, rather the police than the hillside”, said Micke insistently. He remembered the view down the slope from when they had gone the same road from Teror a few days earlier. “We could stop somewhere and climb away from them”, suggested Nils, who loved climbing. “You're insane, they were born here. They would have caught us in a few hours... it's better to give up...” “That's easy for you to say”, said the earl. “You're not the one they're after. But I've got an idea. Do you remember that little mountain road? Behind the turning with the weird stone? We could go that way, maybe they'll drive straight on...” “We'll try”, said Kent grimly. “Maybe we can turn around somewhere and drive back to the hotel from the North – they won't expect that... we have to be back before eight o'clock tomorrow if we want to catch out flight...” “Now it can't be far anymore, keep your eyes open for the stone pillar”, said the earl. They spotted at the last second. The dot of light behind them had come so close that they were able to make out two headlights before they vanished behind the next bend. “There probably still are two kilometers between us”, guessed Micke. “Thank God”, said Kent and slowed down a little, while he was looking for the turning. “I didn't really want to climb up that road without lights. “You can just stop a few hundred meters up the road”, suggested Micke. “I have a feeling that you should rather not stop on that road”, muttered Kent uncomfortably. “If we one wants to get going again, that is, if you get my drift...” Micke got his draft. He remembered the yellow car that had looked like a tiny yellow fly on a vertical wall. “They probably won't see us anyway”, comforted the earl. “They're just starring ahead and looking for our back lights, they know that we have a fast car...” Now Kent found the street. If you could call it a street at all. Two tire tracks in the grass, a rugged cliff to their left and grass ledge with a few sharp rocks to their right. After a few meters there was only darkness to their right. You didn't need a lot of imagination to guess what the darkness meant. And the whole time the tire tracks wound upwards in sharp bends – and upwards, and upwards... “That's like flying looping loops, only the other way round”, cheeped Nils. He liked flying, but this was worse. Farther down they suddenly saw a small dot of light leaning into the curve. “Now their heads are running hot”, grinned the earl, pleased. “Yeah, they probably won't guess that we're ascending to heaven”, Nils said, scared. “How optimistic you are. I figure there are worse places we could ascend to”, pointed Sven out. “You two be quiet.” Kent sounded nervous. The twenty centimeters to their right had shrunk down to ten by then. And the cliff to their left scratched at the car wall. “Now they're gone”, shouted the earl. “They fell for it, we're safe!” That's what you believe, thought Micke, you sit in the backseat. The ten centimeters had become five. “Shouldn't we stop”, he murmured to Kent. “Then we won't be able to get going again at all”, replied Kent brusquely. “We have to keep on moving. We saw the yellow car! The tire tracks go on, so it must be possible, obviously. And besides, how are we supposed to get back to the hotel without a car, it's not exactly easy turn around here.” Micke gave no response. He tried to relax, but his hypnotized eyes could not stop following the five centimeters that had become four – and were still shrinking... and the black abyss beyond them... In the backseat, where no one knew what was happening in front of the car, there was nothing but joy and triumph. “Those idiots”, laughed Sven. “Where's the picnic?”, shouted Nils. The earl was silent. It shouldn't be hard for the seven parish clerk's sons to describe a red Pontiac with five Swedes inside. The police was probably building road blocks all over the island already. Yes, the police – a thought appeared in his mind. It wasn't a nice one. “Hey.” He poked Nils in the side. Nils had managed to get a hold of a cheese sandwich and was chewing happily. “Those electricians that were swarming trough the hotel today to check the ports – el dueño was all agitated – what did they do in our room while I was in the bathroom?” “They crawled along the walls with a voltmeter and, one of them was in the wardrobe... but just when you came up the stairs he went over to the boiler and started checking the pipes over there...” “What pipes?” Micke had listened to their conversation over his shoulder. “There are no pipes over there?” “Of course, the gas pipes”, said the earl with a hollow laughter. “And now those so called electricians had a whole evening to look under the wardrobe as well. The police knows how to search a room. So I should be pretty deep in the soup when we come back. Especially if they find my fingerprints on the Madonna's cheeks... You didn't happen to try and wipe away here tear when you were there after me? No, I didn't think so.” “What the hell did you touch her for?”, asked Micke angrily. “Aunty Vera – Dynamite-Kalle, I mean – held my hand up to her cheek and it was a little hard to refuse”, said the earl. “What happened anyway? What they caught you?”, asked Micke. But he didn't listen to the explanation sputtering from the backseat. He whispered to Kent: “Now we really have to stop, there are only two centimeters left.” Kent nodded, and took his foot from the gas. “Stop the fucking car – NOW!”, screamed Micke. Because the two centimeters were suddenly gone. Kent put on the heartbreak. The car stood still, but when if you moved it the vehicle swayed a bit – and it shouldn’t have done that. At least not in this way. “Don't move”, yelled Kent. “If only I could understand – the tire tracks go on – and we can't drive closer to the cliff. How the hell did he drive on? The yellow one?” “He had a small Seat”, said Micke. “We have a Pontiac. There's a tiny difference in the tire width...” “So we've got only three tires on the road now”, asked the earl coolly. “Yeah, I hope that the three are on the street completely, at least”, Kent said dully. “Someone has to crawl out and take a look. But we can't open the doors on the left, the mountain is in the way...” His voice failed him. “And the doors on the right aren't that convenient either.” Micke tried to sound like a stewardess after the plane had lost both wings – carefree and cheerful. “You have to wiggle out, Nils – wait, here's the tool bag, take the screw-wrench and break the back window!” “Why am I the one who has to wiggle out? Why always me?”, protested Nils. “Women and children first”, said the earl. “And since we have no women on board... But tell my parents I said goodbye”, he continued in a grave voice. “Tell them I'm sorry that...” “Stop fooling around”, hissed Kent. “It might be a matter of seconds. And you, Nils, when you get out you sit down on the bumper at the very left. Take the flashlight and report. And you move very carefully...” The earl too the wrench and smashed the window, which rained down in a million little bits on the road . “Good for you that it's shatterproof glass”, he said to Nils. “At least you won't have to buy new clothes later.” Nils climbed onto the seat with shaky knees. First he lowered the bag with diode on the trunk. The he wiggle slowly trough the back window. He tried to keep to the left as much as possible. There still was an uncomfortable tilt to the right when he was out of the window. Sven, who sat to the ver right, moved to Nils' place. “Half of the back wheel is over the edge, too”, Nils cried shrilly from outside. “But I stay on the bumper until you fall.” Kent muttered something unintelligible. “Sven's next in line”, commanded Micke. “And stand on the bumper when you're out.” “How are you supposed to get out then?”, whispered Sven. “We'll take care of that, just move along now.” “But Micke...” “Go!”, shouted Micke. Sven fell quiet and wiggled out. But when he was outside he stubbornly sat down on the left side of the trunk. As far to left and at the back as he could. “Next one!”, he called. “Now you”, ordered Kent. “No”, said the earl. “I'm staying until one of you us out, otherwise there will be an overbalance at the front. And then I'll never make it out – then we're going to fall, all three of us, when I'm only halfway trough the window.” Micke turned around to protest. But the earl looked determined. “You can try to throw me out”, he grinned. “Now hurry up a little. You have to think of us others, too. Don't just sit there and slouch.” Micke was on the backseat already. He glared at the earl, but saw, that it was pointless. The earl sat like glued to the seat. Micke gave up and continued to craw trough the back window. “Down with you, and stand on the bumper, then I'll sit on the trunk”, he said to Sven. “I'm heavier than you.” “Now it's your turn”, said the earl to Kent. “You first”, said Kent. “„You sit in the front. Don't you understand“, tried the earl. „No, I don't understand“, said Kent quietly. „I'm the captain of this ship, and I stay until everyone else is out. But let's do it like this: while you climb out I move to the backseat to the left. As soon as your feet touch the ground I'll follow you. You won't get rid of me that easily. Now go!” Both of them felt the slight tilt to the right. The earl moved fast like a snake and Kent was over the back rest the same second. The earl landed on the ground and held on to the bumper. Then he saw the wheel move, millimeter for millimeter... “Hurry up!”, he called out to Kent. Sven and Nils put their whole weight on the bumper, but the Pontiac weighed more than two tons. Kent threw himself out of the window, Micke jumped off and pulled Sven back, Kent rolled over the trunk and landed at the others' feet. The next second they saw the right taillight vanish in the dark. At the same time the left one was lifted. They heard the crunch when the body of the vehicle slid over the edge – the right taillight vanished as well – then everything was quiet. And when the crash finally came it sounded dull and ghostly. The earl got down on his stomach and carefully crawled to the edge. “What a nice bonfire”, he reported eagerly. “At least we don't have to bother destroying the pheromone anymore!” Sven was in a state of shock. He stood with his back against the cliff and held on to a couple of sharp rocks with both hands. “Shouldn't we climb up?”, he said brokenly. “Before the road vanishes as well – down there...” No one replied. Sven screamed in full panic: “Aren't you there? You, Kent?” “I'm here”, said Kent's calm voice. “I flew a little farther than I intended to, but I'm in once piece and almost clean.” “What about you Micke?” “Here”, replied Micke from the ground beside him. “I'm here, too”, said Nils. “Did someone bring the sandwiches, by the way? We're hungry, Diode and I.” It was a questionable joke, and the everything was silent again. Finally Kent said: “Damn it, that was a close call. What are Charlotta and Antonio going to say about the Pontiac?”

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 8 (2/2)

“Let's bounce”, whispered Micke, relieved, and reached for Sven's hand. “And be careful, okay, I saw something beside the side entrance, they've got an alarm system...” “Wait”, squealed Nils. “I'm coming along...” He felt sick, he always did when things started to become dangerous. “The hell you will”, whispered the earl and grabbed his arm. “Come on now, we'll become saints.” he pulled Nils into a niche and, where the sculpture of a saint stood in black crape. The earl hastily looked around but no one seemed to take notice of them. People pushed towards the exit with all their might. Moreover it was completely dark inside with only the candles burning. “Stand in front of that guy”, commanded the earl. Seconds later Nils was draped in a black cloth, which smelled like attic. But that didn't matter, now that no one could seem him anymore he felt better. He could just pretend he wasn't there. “You really look like a saint when you're invisible”, snickered the earl. “I'll stand in the next niche. There's another saint. And then we're going to wait until the church is empty.” Half and hour later it became completely dark, without the floodlights directed at the church, and their light seeping trough the windows. It smelled like smoke and candles and it was so quiet, that Nils thought he heard the sculpture behind him in the niche breathe. But not for long. Someone pulled off his veil and there stood the earl – although Nils hadn't heard him coming. “We have to hurry up”, whispered the earl. The crept down the isle and up the stairs on quiet rubber soles. Then then they stopped and listened. Nils flinched, “Hey – there was a flash at the side entrance”, he said quietly. “Just a passing car”, whispered the earl reassuringly. “And the crooks in the hoods? Where did they go?” “They were just checking out the location”, replied the earl. “They'll come back later, I didn't hear them. Give me your flashlight.” “Which flashlight?” “Ours of course, the one you have on your bag.” “I don't have any flashlight, you said you were going to bring it on the plastic bag so we don't have to wake up Diode...” The earl hissed something that didn't belong in a church. “I saw a box of matches downstairs, before – when it was still light”, Nils said meekly. “Okay, those will have to do”, whispered the earl. “Wait, I'll get them.” Before Nils could say that he wanted to come along the earl was gone and Nils stood alone in the half-darkness and had more time to think than he needed or wanted. Why were they whispering anyway, the earl and him? Although they were alone in the cathedral. Because they were, right? He looked down into the nave, where the light painted oddly deformed windows on the stone floor and the benches... rigid, unmoving monsters... but over there, where he had seen the light flash before – the monsters weren't unmoving over there – although it was probably just a car... The earl was gone for a few minutes, but to Nils it felt like half an hour. The church wasn't so quiet anymore. A bench creaked – a church mouse nibbled on something somewhere – there was a bang at the pulpit, as if something fell to the floor... he thought he heard someone cough and that was the earl of course – but the earl didn't have a cold, so it was probably just another bench creaking... Nils and stood and comforted himself that he was completely frightened when the earl finally returned with a small burning match in his hand. “Take the box and give light while I paint the Madonna”, said the earl. “But be careful with the veil, it'd probably burn like hell...” Soon they reached the small, black figure of the Madonna. “I need light now!”, commanded the earl and climbed on the socket. He lifted the veil and pulled it up over her halo. He fished the rubber gloves from the bag and took the pipette and the test tube – but then the match went out. “Another one”, he whispered. Nils lit another match. “Why did you cough down there?”, he asked innocently. The earl turned around abruptly, so the veil slipped from the halo again. “It was you who coughed”, he hissed. “It was you, right?” They stared at at each other for as long as the little flame burned. Because both of them suddenly realised that they had not imagined the cough. Someone had coughed – and it hadn't been the earl – and it hadn't been Nils either... “Another one, quickly”, whispered the earl, very quietly. “And try to make it burn a little longer – you don't have to be so damn scared to burn yourself...” Nils lit and didn't say anything. His hand trembled and the flame flickered but the earl managed to pull up the veil again and paint the pheromone on the big sapphire – and the emerald – and the white diamond on he white silk dress. The next match – and the earl painted on wildly, on the golden tiara and the golden goblet and the crucifix and... Then he heard a small sound from the bottom of the stairs, threw the brush into the bag, sealed the tube and let it follow the brush. “Matchbox”. He breathed and let it fall on the tube. He was about to take off the gloves when the last match went out. But then they didn't need it anymore, because the light beam of a strong flashlight came up the stairs. Behind the flashlight they saw two black robes. A pair of eyes flashed underneath one of the hoods, and from the other came a deep, scornful laughter. “No, but – Jiminy Crickets – do you see what I see? He's wearing gloves, the tiny tot. the famous radio detectives are making some extra money, hm?” “Shut up, Kalle”, came a hoarse whisper from the other robe. “Throw them into the tower and lock them in!” “With pleasure”, croaked Kalle. “But first the little earl needs to pat the Madonna, you're supposed to touch her, so...” He brutally grabbed the earl's hand and tore off the rubber gloves and held his hand against the Madonna's icy cheek. “There we go – no we left a nice little salute for the police, you're supposed to be nice to the police”, continued Kalle. They recognized aunt Vera's thin voice. “And then we spread some bric-a-brac so they'll find you”, he said and snatched a few simple offerings, that poor people had given to the Madonna as a sign of their gratitude. “We'll put the silver cross on the stairs. You left it here, of course, so your little fingers rouched it, too”, ordered Kalle and dragged the earl along. Nils reached out a trembling finger to touch Diode's nose, so he would be quiet. “The brass goblet is going to look nice over here...” Kalle continued to give things to the earl, who had to spread them on the floor of the church, until they reached a little door in the wall. Kalle took out a big picklock from his robe – and after a couple of minutes the door opened. “This is were we're going to place the golden heart, right on the threshold”, he said, pleased. “And now in you go, you have it nice and comfortable here. And the police will be here very soon, so we have to leave this holy halls – towards heaven. Fitting, isn't it?”, he bragged. He pointed the flashlight at a thin nylon cord dangling from the window under the roof. “All we have to do is pull the thread and a rope ladder comes down, I placed it there from outside myself, a damn piece of work, I can tell you, thank God someone used to be an acrobat, back when there were more circuses than now – that was the day my friend here missed your bag outside. You almost saw me...” There was a long whistle coming from the Madonna's balcony. “He's a little impatient, my friend, so bye. We take the dough and you go to jail”, he whickered. “Oh boy, the police will be dying to know where you hid your spoils.” He threw the door shut. The next thirty minutes were no fun. The earl was hissing with anger, Diode whimpered and Nils felt so sick, that he couldn't even haven eaten a marzipan tart if he had had one. They climbed up and up the spiral staircase and found a door now and then – but never a key. “If only Dynamite-Kalle hadn't smashed the vase with the listening device on the porch, then we could at least call for help”, groaned the earl. “Or if you at least had the flashlight, then we could morse for help. If only we had a window...” If, if, if, thought Nils angrily, but he didn't reply. There was no point when the earl was in this mood. All he did was light another match and let it burn until he almost burned his nails. When they had climbed upwards for what felt like several miles they med a group of plaster ladies with wings, who must have been standing there and collecting dust since the Stone Age. That's when they finally reached the top of the staircase. On the other wall there was a strange apparatus, with gears and cogwheels. Behind it there was a giant, circular glass pane. “The bog clock”, said the earl with interest and immediately began to examine the screws and nuts with a new gleam in his eyes. Nils had spotted something else. On the left side of the big clock-face there was a porthole. And unlike all the other doors they had come across this one had a key hanging on a hook next to it. The earl had grabbed the match box impatiently and now stood and looked at an axis leading from the clockwork to the middle of the clock-face. “Hey...”, said Nils. “Shut up”, hissed the earl. Nils carefully put the key into the hole and slowly pulled open the porthole. The earl was too eager to care about what Nils did. He had unfastened the axis and carefully twisted it. He had to use all his strength, but obviously it worked in the end, because he looked very pleased. “The boys down there are probably getting worried by now”, he said over his shoulder to Nils. “They must have checked the entrance to see if we're going to come out soon...“ Nils stuck his head through the porthole. Very true. They had moved the car to the back of the cathedral and down there Micke paced up and down the Square and wore down the stone plates. Nils was about to utter one of his infamous wolf-cries when he saw a giant, black object come hurtling down on him – just in the right position cut off his head. He cried “heeeeeeelp” and pulled back his head quickly enough to only feel the puff of air in his red hair, when the black object passed the porthole. Nils dank to the floor and held onto his shaking knees. “You a-almost be-beheaded me”, he stammered. “What were you doing out there anyway”, the earl said coldbloodedly. „Even you must know that clocks have hands?”...” “Y-yes, b-b-but hand d-d-on't move s-s-so fast...” Nils still had trouble stopping his teeth from chattering. “No – of course not... those here are a little special”, smiled the earl mysteriously. “Do you have a pen?”

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 8 (1/2)

Chapter 8: The Clock goes too fast

The earl always said: everything would be fine. But this time he didn't really believe it himself. They had to convince Kent to miss out on the beauty of a Easter holiday evening to drive them to Teror. “He doesn't even know why”, said Micke grimly. “And we can't risk it to tell him either”, said Sven. “He swore to eat his swimming trunks if we get involved in any trouble this week...” “They have a party at the disco, too – because that's the last evening and all...” said Nils. “He basically lives at the disco, and he has since we arrived”, Micke said sourly. “Sometimes he's at the beach, too”, Nils pointed out truthfully. “If Annika is at the beach, yes. It's not very likely that she'd like to spend Easter Sunday driving to Teror to soak the Madonna's jewels in dog pheromone just to help Kent help the earl to catch some professional thieves...” Sven stood up. “I'll go go swimming” “Hey – sometimes Annika is at the beach without Kent – with Krister”, said Nils, and sounded like Agent 007. “I saw them.” “How does she do that?”, said Micke, impressed. “She's a smart girl”, said the earl. “Of course, it makes sense that she want's to see a little more of the Canaries than just Kent”, said Micke sympathetically. “Like Krister for example?”, asked the earl drily. “Nah – not Krister, of course”, admitted Micke. They sat around the whole afternoon and made brilliant plans and scraped them again. “If he says no – then he means no”, said Micke. “As stubborn as he is.” “So we have to make him say yes right away”, said the earl. They dreamed about it at night and the discussion continued the next morning and there was no end in sight, until they came into the lobby after breakfast – that's were the situation began to look up. Because that's where they found Kent, pale and tense, back in the corned. He sat and read a Spanish newspaper like he understood Spanish, and at the best table at the window sat Annika and laughed with Krister. The earl whistled happily and was about to walk over to Kent to help him translate when a big red Pontiac parked in front of the entrance. The chrome sparkled in the sun, illuminating the whole lobby trough the glass front towards the the street. The earl and Nils, Micke and Sven stopped where they stood. And stared. “What a car”, said Nils reverently. “You don't think...”, whispered Sven to the earl. The earl did not reply. It was too exciting. The chauffeur, in a black livery with some discrete silver applications, walk into the lobby without looking left or right. They boys' eyes followed him. “What if he asks for you”, hissed Nils. But he didn't. He went to Pedro, said something, so quietly that not even the earl's eyes managed to pick up a word. Then he left again, climbed into a taxicab and vanished in a cloud of dust. No one really noticed, everyone was looking at Pedro. No one had ever seen Pedro run, but no he moved unnaturally fast between the crowded tables to where Kent sat. “Your car, Sir”, he said very humbly and handed him an envelope and a pair of keys. Now the red splendor stood outside and Kent sat inside and stared at a piece of paper and looked like a question mark. Every pair of eyes inside the lobby was, full of curiosity and envy, looking at him – even Annika's. When Kent noticed her gaze he looked at Pedro graciously and said: “Thank you”, and fished a few random banknotes from his purse. “Fine car, Sir”, said Pedro, and slipped the money into his pocket. “Yes, not bad”, said Kent slowly and stood up. On the way out he casually said to the boys: “Do you want to take a little joyride?” “Of course, why not”, grinned Micke. When they walked past Annika and Krister's table she stood up and said, smiling: “I can surely come along, too?” “Unfortunately there's no place for you in the car”, said Kent. Although the car looked as if there was place for at least eight persons weighing a hundred kilos. The motor started. Kent steered onto the street and drove a few hundred meters – and non of the boys said a word. When they were not visible from the hotel anymore Kent handed the earl the letter and said brusquely: “Naa? What is this about?” “Can you drive us to Teror on Easter Sunday? In the evening?”, blurted the earl out without trying the tiniest lie. “Or I'll go to prison.” “Okay”, said Kent. “Under one condition.” “Whatever you want, as long as you promise to drive us.” “I promise! If I can keep the car today and tomorrow – until we have to leave”, said Kent. “And non of you none of you will mention that it's not mine.” “We promise!”, said the boys hastily, before Kent could change his mind, and the matter was settled. For two days Kent sat with one hand on the steering wheel and elbow outside the window and drove everyone, gave everyone who wanted a ride – everyone but Annika and Krister. In the meantime he heard the whole story, not everything at once, but in small bits, until dinner on Easter Sunday, when he looked at his steak sand sighed: “Well, I guess that's it for my swimming trunks, when we come home to Henrik. I should have gone on a trip to Lapland instead, as a field biologist, to count wolves or something.”

They left at six o'clock on Easter Sunday. Flower garlands on the fences, tree tops that looked like clouds of blue flowers, Banana tree forests... as far as the boys were concerned they could have been in a residential estate back on Svedinge. They sat quietly with their eyes on the road, which rolled by quickly – because what would happen when they arrived? “Great car, but couldn't Antonio send us send us something cheaper?”, said Micke, worried. “He wrote it's a Anti-Salzos company vehicle, you know, the desalination plant... It was the only one her dare to give to us, the other cars aren't fully insured...”, grinned the earl. And then they were quite for a few more miles. The earl checked every half hour if everything they needed was in the pheromone bag. Nils sat and wished he had a sunburn, too, like Ulli, so he could have stayed at home. When they reached Teror they were so tense that they wanted to turn around and drive back to the hotel. Everyone but the earl. He wanted to go back home, too – but not before he knew who Mr X was – he had a lot of suspects, but... They parked the car a few blocks from the cathedral away and stepped right into a happy Easter market with small carrousels, booths with caramel bonbons and cotton candy and simple jewelry, which was sold right on the sidewalk. “Seems like a big Fiesta”, said Micke, and at the same moment he felt something hit his stomach with full speed, so he doubled over. The missile was a head with black curly hair above a small boy's body, which came flying out of a booth in front of them. “What the hell?”, shouted Micke and grabbed his arm. The boy delivered a quick excuse in Spanish, which was a little hard to understand, due to a caramel bonbon, which barely fit into his mouth. The explanation came marching towards them from the booth. A big, strong guy with a robust cane, ready to hit, made for the boy and the only problem with his wordy response was that none of them understood it. The young boy managed to slip behind Micke, who suddenly realised that he had become a shield – or an obstacle, depending on from which side you looked at the matter. The booth soled caramel bonbons – the boy had a bonbon in his mouth... Micke immediately understood what was going and went for the easiest solution: A ten-peseta bill he took from his purse and offered to the man. The cane stopped in mid air, as the eyes of the man examined Micke from top to bottom: shirt, jeans, socks and shoes. How much could he demand? „No, no – cien pesetas pot lo menos”, he said finally, at least hundred pesetas, and was about to continue his rant, when the caramel bonbon hit the dirty ground in front of him. From the safety behind Micke's back came a spate of words. It was a gross bonbon – old and chewy and oily and bitter... not even worth half a peseta... The man hesitated. Micke resolved the situation by slowly closing his fingers around the bankbote again. “Okay”, said the man hastily, grabbed the money and walked back to his booth with dignity. “Good”, sighed Micke. “A fight probably wouldn't have been that successful.” The boy came out from behind his back, bend down, picked up the caramel bonbon and put it back in his mouth. But first he wiped it on his shirt with a sunny smile. „Muchas gracias – thank you. Yo Marcelino.” He pointed at himself, and the at the small house behind the cathedral in a sweeping gesture. “That my house. Mi padre – my papa – church janitor.” He out out seven fingers. “Tengo – I have – seven brothers. Can us help you? You have help me.” “No thanks”, smiled Micke. “You have help me ahora – now. Tomorrow I can help you, sure?” “Sure”, said Micke nervously, because now they heard choral singing from the street and people flocked to the cathedral. The procession was close. Marcelino understood. He gave them a hint to follow him and opened a way in front of them with small, point elbows and well-placed steps on naked toes. When he had managed to provide his new friends a place of honour in front of the cathedral gate he vanished in the crowd like a well-oiled sardine. “We're too visible here”, whispered the earl and slowly retreated. The opening in front of them filled immediately and soon they were hidden behind two closed rows. Now the procession slowly came up the road to the church. It was a spectacular sight. The crackling torched shone a light on the choirboys and monks, the choirs stopped between the houses, and finally the veiled Madonna came floating in her little chair, high above all heads. Right in front of her walked a group of people in black, ankle-long robes with big hoods that covered the whole head – and two narrow lots for the eyes. “Damn, they look like the Klu Klux Klan”, said Micke quietly. “Just some religious brotherhood”, whispered the earl. “Normal people, not very frightening – but... look!” He tugged at Micke's sleeve. “Those two over there – the ones walking in the back – do you see their shoes?” The last two robed brothers were white shoes. One of them a pair of white lace-up shoes with small heels and the other one a pair of modern sneakers in white and red- “That's them”, hissed the earl. “I recognize aunty Vera's kicks. Down with your head, Micke, they're going to see you!” The next moment they had walked past them, and trough the gate. The Madonna was right in front of them now. People fells to their knees and crossed themselves, others cried – but for the boys the ceremonious atmosphere was ruined . “Who was the other guy?”, whispered Sven. “Who has shoes like that?” “Everyone does. Even the Headteacher has a pair, to jog on the beach”, giggles Nils. “Although his are blue. So it wasn't him.” “Stefan's are red and white, I know that”, said Micke. “Because last night he spilled Sangria on them and he laughed and said it didn't matter because the colour was the same... no, stop!”, he yelled over his shoulder, from where the masses no, that the Madonna had passed them, tried to push into the cathedral. But nothing Micke said or did helped – one minute later they were uncomfortable pressed trough the cathedral gate and tossed trough the aisle. They managed to fight their way to a pillar behind which they could hide. “Where have they gone?”, said the earl quietly. “The black ghosts are over there – can you see any with white white shoes?” “No, either they took them off ad have black feet, or they are gone”, said Sven and looked around anxiously. “It feels as if someone is starring at my back.” “You can bet on that”, said the earl drily. “At least two hundred people, who'd like to have a pillar to lean against, too...” The mass went on and the minutes crept by like stop-and-go traffic. They good headaches from the smoke and all they heard was the idle bells jingling now and then. The priest stalked around in his black robe and seemed to be in a big hurry, although the boys did not understand why. Their legs became numb from their toes upwards. “Take your elbow away”, hissed Nils angrily. “Which elbow”, asked the earl cheekily. “That one”, said Nils and hurled around, so thee earl's elbow fell from his shoulder. Diode heard that there was something wrong with his master and growled dully in his bag. “Shut up, children”, spit Micke. “We're not your children”, said Nils and the earl in unison and immediately were friends again- But people turned around and stared it was probably a good thing, that the mass was finally over.

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 7 (1/1)

Chapter 7: With Madonna's Help

Micke and Sven still seemed to think it was an April Fool's joke – a vicious one – when the earl climbed in trough the window the next morning and declared: “It's eight o'clock and the bus leaves in an hour.” “We're on holiday”, growled Micke into his pillow. Sven didn't say anything, he just crawled deeper under the blanket. The earl went to his bed and inconveniently took out a matchbox, opened it and talked to the content. Then he meddled with Sven's blanket for a while. “That's right”, he babbled. “Crawl on, he's not dangerous, he's asleep after all...” Sven didn't like the tone of his voice. But he wasn't going to let the earl trick him and get up. “See you later then”, said the earl cheerfully and climbed trough the window again. When he was outside on the porch he stuck his head in once more and said silkily: “I put the matchbox on the table in case you find her – she crawled under Sven's blanket. She only bites when she's scared, Cucarachas do that when they're scared, so you can continue to sleep, Sven... she's not dangerous – usually...” He heard Sven yell when he walked up the stairs. He felt a little sorry for the poor animal, because it didn't actually bite, not even when it saw a ghost, but he comforted himself by reminding himself that now they'd at least catch the bus. And they did, and between nine and ten o'clock the boys should have studied the agronomical problems of the Canary Islands that were visible outside the bus windows. But they didn't care one bit about tomato plants or banana plantations or the water supply or the land distribution, they were deep in a discussion about their own problem: How were they supposed to find Professor Pollenkräuter? Like usually everyone was clueless, but the earl knew that it was super easy. “Of course we'll find Pollenkräuter”, he said cockily. “Think of Svedinge – you can knock on any door and ask for me...” “.... and they'll always know where you are. For some reason. But we're talking about a polite, modest and orderly professor – who was the last one to call you polite, modest or orrderly?” “Stop squabbling and listen”, whispered Sven. “The problem is solved. Do they have a microphone or what?” “Unlikely, just their natural abilities”, grinned Micke. “... but where are we going to meet? After you visited Pollenkräuter?”, said Stina three rows away, and it was audible in the whole bus, ever single letter.” “You can come along?”, replied Bergendahl. “Me? I need a new bag”, protested Stina. “You just got a bag on the bazaar...” “Not one like that – I want a crocodile leather bag – or lizard – or tortoise – maybe...” “Yuck”, said Bergendahl, shocked. “Tortoises are almost extinct. And crocodiles, those utterly fascinating creature – you could just buy a synthetic bag?” “Synthetic bag!”, snorted Stina. “Here reptile bags are a few hundred Kronor cheaper than back at home – so where are we going to meet?” “They've got something called a Catalina Park here. I'll come there there when I'm done. Make sure you're back at the same time!” “When are you done?” “How am I supposed to know?” Misses Bergendahl sighed. Then She said firmly: “I'll be there at two o'clock. When you're not there then I'll go shopping again, they they they've got cheap shoes here – and...” “I'll be there”, said Bergendahl quickly. The four boys exchanged a look, but said nothing, and when Bergendahl, after he had waved his wife goodbye, marched into some alley, he was followed by four shadows. “Of course he knows exactly where Pollenkräuter lives”, said Sven excitedly, while he carefully peeked around a corner. “Weird neighbourhood”, said Micke and warily eyed the old houses, whose graceful wooden beams looked like they could fall apart any moment. The quarter slowly became more respectable, but after they had crept around house corners the boys' optimism slowly faded. Bergendahl happily trotted up and down streets in the the unbearable heat, stopped now and then to admire artfully adorned gates, or consulted his map, and then invincibly continued his hike “I should do something for my shape”, groaned Sven, when Bergendahl, when Bergendahl stopped in front of an old gate with an emblem and brass rivets and took out his camera. “That's it”, exploded the earl. “Don't lose sight of him”, he whispered. “I'll be right back.” He stopped a taxi and asked: “Señor Pollenkräuter? El profesor?“ The driver smiled and his dark eyes sparkled greedily, while he opened the car doors. “Momento”, said the earl, ran back and whistled for the others. The taxi drove around, trough small streets and the drive never seemed to end. “We drove past that house already, I swear”, muttered Micke. “At least once. Do you have money, by the way?” The taxi driver pricked up his ears and turned his head. “Dinero?”, he asked and pointed his index finger at the taximeter, which climbed unnaturally quickly. “Mucho dinero!”, he said hotly. „Un poco dinero“, said the earl a little uneasily and began searching in his pockets. „Tengo cincuenta pesetas...“ The driver growled something that did not sound friendly and half a minute later the car rushed around a corner and stopped in front of a artfully gate with an emblem and brass rivets. Now they saw the sign on the sculpture like gate post, which said: „Institutuo Pollenkräuter“. The earl payed fifty Peseta and turned his pockets inside out just to be safe, and the taxi peeled out. The four of them look at each other and burst into laughter. “At least three times he drove around the neighbouthood...”, panted Micke. “... and we've been in the right place to begin with”, cried Nils. “Psst”, coughed Sven. “Bergendahl is probably still in there...” “Then we only have to listen”, said the earl. “Because if he is we'll hear him.” When they carefully opened the gate the looked right into a small patio with and old fountain, which dabbled sadly, a mosaic floor and long ways between pillars. The earl was right. They heard Bergendahl. They could not hear anyone else, but him they heard him really well. “Maybe he didn't find the professor and talks to himself”, said Nils. But that turned out to be wrong, because at this moment the long Bergendahl and a small, ball-shaped uncle with big glasses walked trough the door. Bergendahl stopped now and then and gave a speech and waves his hands bout, but then the other man sheepishly tugged at his coat and guided him towards the gate and the road. The boys pressed up flat against a wall on the other side of the patio, but neither of the gentlemen had the time to notice them. Bergendahl talked and the Professor was busy pushing him. “What a technique!”, whispered Sven to the earl with admiration. After the small, round one had finally bowed, pushed his guest on the street and closed the gate,he sank down on one of the stone benches at the fountain and tried his forehead with a tip of his white coat. He looked all exhausted. The boys still pretended to be statues. After some minutes Pollenkräuter suddenly looked at them and said: “Na, und was kann ich für Sie tun?” They weren't prepared for that. German wasn't one of their specialties. They hemmed and hawed a little and finally the earl brought out: “A little pheromone, please.*” [*=English] “Nicht viel”, added Micke, and with that his vocabulary was exhausted for the time being. Sven didn't say anything, but Nils indicated with his thumb and his index finger how little pheromone they needed. “Only a little bit”, he said in flawless Swedish, since that was the only language he spoke. “You're Swedish, too”, said Pollekräuter miserably. “Usually I don't need more than one of those on one day, especially if it's Bergendahl. I speak Swedish”, he went on. “I lived in Sweden for four years. So you want some of my pheromone. Do you have an idea how many days and night it takes to make one single milligram of the pheromone?” The boys silently shook their heads. “I'd show you, but I'm a little tired today. Of course you can't have anything of my pheromone. And you can't buy it either, it's not for sale. I'm sorry. We can meet up another time, but right now, I'm afraid...” me made a gesture towards the gate. They were about to leave when Pollenkräuter shouted after them: “And what do four Swedish boys need a dog pheromone for? A school project – or maybe a little prank?” Sven turned around and sounded bitter: “We are trying to prevent a theft in Teror – we're trying to catch the guys who are planning to steal the Madonna's jewels. But forget about it...”, he added with a lump in his throat. The small scientist turned red and hastily got up from his bench. “La virgin de los pinos? Ist es möglich?”, he blurted out. “Excuse me, is it possible. Come back. Sit down – yes, over here – and tell me everything!” The earl explained and Pollenkräuter listened carefully. Nils added: “And they surely have guns, and we don't....” “And we don't really have any proof either”, exclaimed Sven. “But if the police saw them with umpteen dogs at their heels...” Pollenkräuter was silent for a couple of minutes after they had ended Then he laughed. “You'll get your pheromone”, he said. “Or better: the Madonna will get her pheromone. You see, at the moment my little institute is in a difficult financial situation. I tried to make more money, but it didn't work out, and finally I went to Teror – that was last Sunday – and went to see the little Madonna and asked her for money for my work. You made think it's weird that a modern scientist asks a stature for help, nicht wahr?”, he tossed in in German. “But I'm a catholic. The small figure in the church is only a symbol, but it's the power behind the image you're praying to when you're in trouble, that's what my parents taught me when I was a little child. Now my institute is in trouble, after many years of hard work and the Madonna is my only chance... and then I'm visited by four Swedish boys who ask me for a drop of my pheromone to help the Madonna – the absolutely only thing I can help you out with!” Pollenkräuter crossed himself. “Follow me up to the institute and you'll get as many drops as you need.” As they climbed up the stairs he explained: “Pheromones are odorants females excrete to attract males. The animals' incredibly sensitive organs of smell can sense a pheromone over a big distance. Many scientists in the world work on this problem at the moment. In our institute we managed to isolate a substance female dogs excrete and we're about to performed a series of experiments that will surely succeed. That is, if we can continue our work”, he added bitterly. “The most important substance we found so far is called Matylparahydroxyl-benzoat. This is what you need.” They had arrived in a small, simple laboratory at the second floor of the old house. Pollenkräuter walked over to a black worktop and picked up a very small test tube with a cork from a test tube rack. “Are ten drops enough?”, he asked. Without waiting for a reply he continued: “And here are a pipet and a couple of rubber gloves. Do not forget to burn the gloves as soon as you can. Throw the test tube and the corks into the fire, too.” He thoughtfully thrummed his fingers on the desk for some minutes. Then he said with a small smile: “Maybe I'll come down to San Augustin on Sunday, so see how things went for you. This is the first time my pheromone was useful to someone.” And more to himself he mumbled: “We'll see – maybe it's useful in more ways than one...” He turned to the boys again and said gravely. “And do not forget to tell the Madonna who gave you the pheromone!” The boys hurried outside, the precious test tube carefully wrapped in cotton on a small carton boy inside an old plastic bag Pollenkräuter had given to them. When they turned around the next corner they ran into Peter and the rest of the group, who were about to enter an old house. “Ahh, there you are”, Peter called. “You're just in time to see the Christoph Columbus house... hurry up a little, we don't have all day...” “How unfortunate”, mumbled Micke. “I'm so thirsty...” “Is there anyone who actually wants to see the housed?”, asked the earl quietly. “Because I don't have time, I have to make a phone call.” “And Diode and I want cake, can't we skip?”, whispered Nils. “What do you mean by skip”, said the earl coolly. “We simply have better things to do.” “Where have you been, I was worried”; said Peter, irritated, and curiously eyed Pollenkräuter's plastic bag. “We visited an acquaintance of an acquaintance”, said the earl vaguely and that wasn't even a lie. All four of them were acquainted with Bergendahl, better than they would have liked. “Just come along now”, said Peter commandingly. “De Rivero asked me to have an eye on you, you know that!” “I was just about to phone him”, the earl said politely. “Do you know where I can find a phone booth?” “Just around the corner”, said Peter. “Just don't run off a-” “Good”, interrupted the earl. “Come on, boys, we'll see you later.” He cheekily waved at Peter, who looked after them for a long time. “I wonder if he's going to get a shock when he sees the car”, grinned the earl when they turned around the corner. “Not to mention Kent, who's supposed to drive it...” “What car?” It sounded like a chant. “The one Antonio is going to lend us. How did you think are we going to get to Teror and back? There's the phone booth.” The squeezed in together. The earl reached into his pocket and found a slip of paper with Antonio's number on it. “I hope they're not in the hospital”, mumbled the earl and dialed the number. But it was Antonio himself who picked up, and he did not sound like he was dying. “Tony, we need a car”, said the earl bluntly. One didn't have to lie to Antonio, not much at least. “What do you need a car for”, asked Antonio suspiciously. “We want to go to Teror on Easter Sunday to see the mass – the late mass, and it could be a problem to get home afterwards”, said the earl a little nervously. He heard that it was a weak excuse. “You want to go to the mass?” Antonio sounded surprised. “Charlotta's family has a lot of unexpected sides, but...” “Yeah, we're supposed to give a presentation about Easter traditions after the holidays”, said the earl in an innocent voice. Antonio said something brisk in Spanish at the other end of the line. “Excuse me”, the earl asked politely. “I said it's – damn it! – that we're sick when we're supposed to take care of you”, hissed Antonio. “They want to borrow a car”, he obviously explained to Charlotta. “Does your nephew usually study Easter traditions during the Easter Holidays? He doesn't even have a driver's license.” “Kent is going to drive us”, said the earl quickly. “Otherwise we have to go with a group who wants to stop at the Catalina park...” “No, they are not supposed to do that”, insisted Charlotta and took the phone. “You'll get your car, you're sensible boys after all”, she said. “I just hope your Easter traditions aren't armed.” She laughed. The earl changed the topic. “How are you doing”, he said courteously. “Oh, we'll be alright, but we're still contagious”, said Charlotta. “Is Peter taking good care of you?” “He treats us like we're in kindergarten”, said the earl sourly. “And how many criminals did you catch so far?” “That's hard to say, they are a little hard to count”, replied the earl truthfully. “Just be careful”, said Charlotta suddenly very seriously. “You'll call before you leave?” “Of course. Everything is going to be alright, you know that.” “And now we'll eat cake”, said Nils, as they stepped out on the street again. “Agreed”, said Micke. “But where?” They wandered trough small streets and argued past one restaurant after the other. If Micke liked the menu Sven thought it was too expensive. And when Micke and Sven agreed the earl thought there were too many flies. Nils was just hungry the whole time. Suddenly Sven stood on the breaks and hissed: “Pssst, I spy with my little eye someone we all know.” A bit away from the street a tall man with a mustache came down the stairs of a building that almost looked like a palace. He stopped on the sidewalk, apparently unsure where to go. He spotted the boys, turned around hastily and walked into the other direction. “Well if he wasn't happy to see us”, said Micke. “I wonder how he got here, he wasn't on the bus.” “He's got some fine friends, too. At least the live in a nice house. Come on, let's take a look!” When they arrived at the gate leading into a big patio they a a sign which said: Guardia Civil. “The police”, said the earl. “Wow. I wonder why he didn't want to be seen...” “Do you think they brought him from San Augustin?”, whispered Nils anxiously “If they did they let him go again – for now at least.” The earl sounded pensive. “It must be the Swedish police that sent him to investigate a little...” “What if he comes to take you next?”, squeaked Nils. The earl did not reply. But he walked a little faster. After a few more blocks they found the Catalina Park and a nice restaurant in the shade. “If this is the hotbed of sin in Las Palmas then I love sin”, sighed Sven contently and slurped a coke with clicking ice cubes. Soon a Swede and his wife appeared, sweaty and tired, but happy with a shiny crocodile leather bag that looked like plastic and a plastic bag that looked like crocodile leather. And a few hours later the blue bus stopped in front of the hotel again.

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 6 (1/1)

Chapter 6: The Boys become Money Forgers

At Nils and the earl's flat the three other conspirators heard the receiver crackle and looked at their watched about every minute. Nils' felt worse and worse as time went by and the earl did not return. Because he was without a doubt the better climber. And he was smaller and looked more innocent when he was caught. Then the telephone rang. “The guy's insane, how did he manage to call”, muttered Micke and picked up the phone. “Esweden speaking”, said Pedro's voice, very proud of his English pronounciation. “Hello – is this the earl?”, screamed someone. “Henrik!”, exclaimed Sven. “No, it's me – Sven.” “Is the earl there? I found his robbery”, yelled Henrik, so Sven had to hold the telephone a meter from his ear away. Micke and Nils heard as well as he did – and the neighbours probably too. “No, the earl's trapped in some in some closet”, screamed Sven. “Fine – whatever you do, don't let him out”, shouted Henrik. “But tell him that there was a robbery I a bank in Svedala, Saturday night. They blew up a safe carried of 650 000 bucks – Monday was payday in a factory. No one noticed it until Sunday morning when the security arrived around five o'clock. They think a professional did it, Dynamite-Kalle is what they call him, and he's super dangerous says the police...” “Was some woman involved?”, screamed Micke. “An old lady...” “You don't have to yell at me”, yelled Henrik. “You 're busting my eardrum. And they didn't mention an old lady...” Now they heard the earl's voice trough the receiver. ““I'm stuck. The old lady comes: You have to lure her out. I'm stuck...” “That's him”, shouted Henrik. “Are ladies all that's on your mind at the moment? By the way, are you sure the earl is going to pay for the call?” “Not a nickel.” Micke laughed maliciously into the telephone. “He's completely broke.” “Oh”, gasped Henrik and hung up. “Good”, whispered Micke. “We don't have time for him right now...” “Dynamite-Kalle”, said Nils with awe, while profanities and sneezes sounded from the receiver. And finally a bang – then silence. “This Dynamite-Kalle”, repeated Nils shakily. “What if it's him who came? It was a man's voice that cursed...” “Yeah, if Vera was alone the earl could have just crawled out from under the bed – or where he's hiding – and told her that he's looking for his slippers – and that he confused her flat with his”, said Sven. “The earl usually comes up with better excuses himself”, snorted Micke. “Since this Kalle guy is there we can't scare them out, probably not lure them out either. He's super dangerous after all, said Henrik. But I'm sure he'll be interested in the earl's fifty thousand...” “The earl is going to get super dangerous if you lose his money”, said Sven. “Of course we won't”, interrupted Micke. “This is what we'll do...”

Fifteen minutes later a stack of neatly cut papers lay on the table and the hotel's notepaper was completely used up. A couple of travel brochures were topped as well. Because they rustle so nicely, said Nils and cut out the last few papers. Then he vanished trough over the balcony and Sven stuffed the money into the same plastic bag the earl had used. Two minutes later they saw a small monkey-like figure climb up the lamp post. Then they saw nothing anymore, the lamp went out and it was dark. Micke and Sven switched off the light inside the flat was well and sneaked outside and down the stairs. They walked over to the palm tree and Micke poked around the stone hard desert ground with his knife until there was a small hole. “That should be enough”, he said. “in case she has a flashlight...” At the same time Nils rushed over to Vera's bungalow. When he reached the porch he yelled, as loud as he could: “Ulli! Is the earl with you?” “Why would he be?”, said a gloomy voice from the window in the flat on the ground-floor. “I'm sure he's up to something more fun. Was that everything?” “We found the earl's money”, shouted Nils. “Sven found a box that was buried underneath a palm tree. It's filled with grands!” “Tell that to someone else”, said Ulli tiredly. “Come over and take a look”, called Nils, who knew he wasn't taking any risk. It took Ulli five minutes and a lot of effort to turn over in bed. Now Nils heard steps up on aunty Vera's balcony. “Are you sure the earl isn't with you?”, he complained. “He'd be so happy if he got his money back.” “Leave...”, muttered Ulli, but he was interrupted by aunty Vera's voice: “Did you really find the money?” She stood and bent over the balcony railing. “Yeahh”, said Nils. “We found the earl's money, all of it, Sven stumbled across it, it was buried in a box.” “You know, it's actually my money”, she said and came down the stairs. Today she can run, although no one's helping her, thought Nils sourly, but he switched on his most boyish smile and assured her: “Nooo, it's the earl's money, it was stolen yesterday.” “Wait a minute, I'll come over”, Vera said happily and stormed into the darkness between the palm trees without thought. “I counted them, fifty bills”, called Micke's voice. “Can I see them?”, said Vera breathlessly when she arrived. “Last night someone stole money from me as well and it was exactly fifty thousand.” “Peseta?”, said Micke innocently and stepped behind a palm tree. She acted like she hadn't head the question. “Can I take a look at them”, she asked. “I'll recognize my money.” She chased Micke around the tree. Micke sidestepped skillfully, while his eyes were fixed on the balcony. Wasn't there a shadow slipping down the stairs? And if so, who was it? The earl or Dynamite-Kalle? “It'll be for the best if we bring it to the hotel and let the police whose money it is”, he suggested. “Yes, because it's the earl's”, said Nils. By then he was so angry that he had almost forgotten what kind of money she tried to steal from the earl. “We'll come along, too”, shouted Sven. “I'll just go and lock the door.” He had to buy some more time. „No, no police, there will only be an interrogation an a lot of paper work”, panted aunty Vera. Bloody hell! The boys were running round each other in the dark, it was impossible to know which of them was Micke – the one who had the money. “Maybe we'd end up not getting a single öre.” The long shadow over there – no that was the other one, the one who was called Sven. “I'd rather give him one of my grands, he surely didn't have more than that.” “Of course he did, six thousand at least six-thousand, he was going to buys some expensive radio parts, here, we're they're custom's free”, said Sven quickly. Now there definitely was someone moving on Nils and the earl's balcony – he recognized the creak of the door... “Let's say six-thousand then.” The old lady sounded defeated. “Count them and give the rest tom me, I can live with the loss.” “Okay”, said Micke, who was suddenly right behind her. Be began counting out loud: “One, two, three, four...” She turned around quickly and grabbed the bag: “Well, looks like we're even!”, she shouted triumphantly and was already on the way back to her flat. “Stop!”, yelled Micke after her. “We said six-thousand and I only counted to four... we'll go to the police!” “You might want to ask your friend the earl first”, she warned them. “I don't think he wants to go to the police. And if he's that dumb I'll just tell them that he's the one who stole the money from me...” They heard her scornful laughter in the dark and her heels clatter up the stairs. The the door slammed shut. “That went well”, grinned Micke and pointed at the lamp that had just been turned on in the earl's flat. “We freed him!” But when they arrived upstairs the earl stood in the door and looked super dangerous. To say the least. But before he exploded Micke said quickly: “Have you looked under the wardrobe?” The earl dropped down on the floor and inspected the brown paper. “Are they still there?”, laughed Micke. “Now cone on, let's go to the hotel and eat something while she calms down.” “He, you mean”, said the earl as he stood up.

One hour later the Flan was gone from their plates up in the dining hall and the others had heard everything. Except for Kent, of course, who had vanished to the discotheque during an early stadium of dinner, and Ulli, who got his food on a tray. The earl had told them about the nylon stockings, the cigar butts and the line on the map, and the the rest of them had shared their respective version of the conversation with Henrik. “Six hundred fifty-thoustand”, the earl said dreamily. “I wonder what he did with the other six hundred thousand he didn't lose on the toilet...” “You checked the bottom of the wardrobe, of course”, said Sven. The earl jumped up. “No, for heaven's sake, I forgot to do that. Why should I have done that – I didn't even know about the rest of the money. You have to lure her out once more – him, I mean – so I can quickly...” “You're quickly not going anywhere, once a day is enough”, insisted Micke. “And then there's the other thing on Saturday. That's more important, because you never know what's going to happen to poor the Donna they were after at church. Besides, we don't know anything about the other guy. We thought he was living with aunty Vera . Now we know that she's a he, so it wasn't Mr X who answered the phone, when you eavesdropped, but Vera herself...” “Yes but the ladder”, said the earl. “The ladder might not have anything to do with the whole story, it might belong to some petty crook who uses it to get to the hotel area without being seen. But who's Mr X?” “I'm thinking of Stefan”, said the earl. “He's so awfully nosy. If it's not him, then the groom – or the bride – or Krister... no, not Krister, he's too young. Sadly. In any case he has to live in the hotel, if they met on the staircase to the pool. I've got one more idea, but...” “Maybe we should talk to Peter”, interrupted Micke. “He's a great guy and it's his job to solve problems... and he's good at his job...” “And he's devilishly cunning too”, added the earl. “Although...” “Although he doesn't like you, yeah, we know”, said Sven impatiently. “But there are a lot of people who don't – great guys. And Peter has got some contacts here, he can talk to the police...” “And we're talking about two dangerous criminals here”, agreed Micke. “If you go and rat me out we'll be talking about three criminals”, the earl said angrily. “One juvenile delinquent., I don't know what they're doing to those in Spain , but I've got some guesses. And it can take years until I get extradited to Sweden. What will poor Charlotta say? And Antonio? We'll have to catch them ourselves. The worst part is that I almost got who Mr X is this morning – there was something someone said in the café at the Kasbah, something that wasn't right – or a little too right... but now I can't remember what it was. It was just a tiny detail... but then something else happened before I'd finished my thought...” The maître walked passed their table and looked tauntingly at their empty white tablecloth. The waiters were already placing the chairs on the other tables around them. “When did all the others leave”, murmured Micke sheepishly and stood up. The others followed him, but when they entered the lobby the earl whistled and whispered: “Come here, will you?” He stood in front of the noticeboard and looked at a map of Gran Canaria which was pinned to top of the board. “This is the line he traced”, he said and pointed at a road on the map. “It must be an terribly steep road – look how bendy it is... but here it meets a bigger road... and that road – are you seeing what I'm seeing?” “It leads to Teror”, exclaimed Sven. “So that's where...” “Exactly”, interrupted the earl. “Do you understand what that means?” He looked at Micke and Sven. Micke didn't manage to reply, because someone gave him a friendly slap on the back. “We don't have to forgo your company tomorrow, am I getting that right?”, laughed Peter behind them and pointed at a notice about a trip to Las Palmas. “If you manage to get up in time”, he added with amusement, looking at Nils, who had barely been awake for the past hours. “We'll leave at nine o'clock, but you won't regret it, I promise. We'll visit Christoph Columbus' house, you know, he started from Las Palmas when he left for America. And we'll take a look at the Guanches museum, it's really interesting. And if that's not enough I'm sure there are a lot of criminals in Las Palmas that are just waiting for the Radio Detectives – well, are you going to come along?” “Sounds promising”, grinned Micke. “Especially the last point”, the earl said coldly. “If I'm going to wake up in time”, said Sven hesitantly. Nils didn't say anything. He just yawned. “Do we have to decide now?”, asked Micke. “It's pretty late.” “No, there are free seats on the bus. So you can decide whenever”, smiled Peter. “So long!” And he went to the lift, which for once wasn't disabled and moved upwards. “Do you think he's heard what we said?” The earl whispered, although the entrance was empty now. “How long did he stand there?” “No idea”, said Micke. “But it doesn't really matter, I still think we should talk to Peter... hey, where are you going?”, he interrupted himself when the earl turned his back towards him and hurried towards the exit. “Up to some cave”, said the earl over his shoulder. “My only chance, I guess, with friends like you.” “Stop”, called Micke, and tried to stop him. “We need you help now. Because you do get that they're after the Madonna of Teror? And her jewels? You've never been dull.” “Of course I get that”, the earl said curtly. “As soon as I saw that the street leads to Teror, they talked about a Donna in a church after all... but that's no reason to go to prison? She'll have to settle for cheap trinkets for a few years, until she gets new jewels. Something modern. So if you talk to Peter I'm gone... maybe I'll find a ship in the harbour or...” When the boys stood in front of the hotel the atmosphere was more than a little charged. Even Diode growled in his bag. “We could ask the headteacher for help?”, squeaked Nils. “Or even Bergendahl? They know the earl's no criminal.” “Well, I'm not so sure about Bergendahl...”, said the earl miserably. Then his face lit up. “I've got it”, he exclaimed. “And if that doesn't work we'll ask them for help and catch the robbers... Bergendahl is going to see this professor Koppenkoller or what's his name...” “Pollenkräuter”, corrected Micke. “He's almost a Nobel prize winner!” “Bergendahl said he works with pheromones”, continued the ear, while they walked between the palm trees. “He managed to produce a pheromone for dogs. One drop is enough and all male dogs in the area come running... do you understand? If we can drip a little bit of dog pheromone on the Madonna's jewels before they steal them, what's going to happen when Mister X and his friend come back here? How many dogs are there on the beach between here and Playa Inglés? A few hundred?” “The poor robbers“, said Micke and laughed. “So we'll go on this trip tomorrow and pay Pollenkräuter a visit as well...”, continued the earl. “And Pollenkräuter will surely give you a package of pheromones if you asked him nicely enough”, grinned Micke, who seemed to take the whole thing for some kind of April fool's joke. “It'll be fine”, said the earl. “The Madonna can help a little as well...” “Okay – if you can wake up Sven”, smiled Micke and pulled Sven with him trough the door.

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 5 (2/2)

“What are you sulking for? He needs a coke”, rumbled Micke at Sven and Nils and dropped his beach bag beside the earl. “Get a cappuccino instead”, cheeped Nils. “Both, thanks”, said the earl absentmindedly. “And something to eat. My grey matter needs energy... where's Kent?” “He went to bring Ulli some ice cream – did something happen?”, said Sven, sinking down on the chair next to him. “You bet. We're in out life's fix and we somehow have to get out. They want to snitch on us.” Micke came back and put down four cokes and one cup of cappuccino on the table. “I have no clue what's up with Pedro”, he grinned. “He almost threw the stuff at me, I had to duck...” “He's an ungrateful bastard”, the earl said sourly. “I was only trying to help him a little...” “That explains a lot”, laughed Micke. “Your help is infamous.” Nils sat and sipped the milk froth from the earl's cappuccino, until only the jet black, bitter coffee was left. Nils liked milk froth, the earl liked coffee, it was good division of work for only half the money. “Why are you sitting here?”, asked Nils in between two sips. “I'm waiting for a phone call”, said the earl. “And I will until we get home, if Pedro has a say in it.” “Spit it out already”, said Sven impatiently. “What kind of fix are we in?” The earl told them about the phone conversation. “So I either have to catch them or they'll catch me once I smuggle out the money...” “You'll just have to leave them under the wardrobe then”, Sven said lightly. “We'll come here once a year and take a couple of thousand and have a nice time. If nobody else wants the money...” “And then there's this other thing going on, too”; groaned Micke. “Why does this always happen to us.” “Right, the two whispering on the stairs”. Said Sven excitedly. He loved mysteries. “Sunday, they said, donna something...” “Women can be addressed with 'doña' in Spanish, but which woman do they mean?” “And which church... sine woman who's going to go to church, and who's carrying valuables – it could be any chruch”, said Micke miserably. “Did you recognize the voices?” The earl shook his head. “But it was room 46”, he said, and his face lightened up. “That must be in Kent and Ulli's bungalow, their room is umber 45. Wait... that's where the old lady lives – maybe she has a secret roommate? It was a male voice after all...” Then the phone rang again in the porter's lodge. The earl jumped to his feet and stormed ahead like a bull in a bull's fight. The chair fell over and spilled out. He elegnatly jumped across the table and reached the phone before Pedro appeared from the kitchen. “Hey”, she shouted. “It's the earl...” “Hey”, interrupted Henrik, and sounded like he had been stuck on the phone for the past hour. “Were you the one who's been blocking the line? The telephone has been ringing constantly and whenever I picked up some guy said you weren't there, what's up with that? Although I should have expected it, that I can't even have my peace when you're on the Cansry Islands, it's...” “Shut up, this is expensive”, hissed the earl, who heard the periods tick like a metronome in his ear. “Answer me instead, will you! Was there a big bank robbery in Sweden the say before we left?” “Not that I remember”, replied Henrik. “Although I've been working the whole day, so I didn't manage to take a look at the newspaper. You're playing detective again, aren't you! Holy mackerel, I'm so glad I'm at home and don't have to crawl around the bushes... it's snowing here, by the way, I've been clearing snow the whole afternoon, and it's supposed to snow even more tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow...” Finally the earl managed to get a hearing. “I don't care about the snow, can you please try to think. Now robbery – or a burglary – or...?” “No, it's been pretty calm for once – and you surely won't come home before Sunday?” Henrik sounded scared. “Me might stay a few more years, you never know”, said the earl with a sense or foreboding. “But if you remember something you'll call, room 44, Hotel Mirador, San Augustin - room 44. We'll pay the call when we get home, I swear.” “A few years you say...” Click. The call was interrupted, and behind the earl stood Pedro, smiling maliciously. The earl gave him a poisonous green look, but since Pedro didn't know the earl he just kept on smiling as the earl walked back to his table. “So, what did mother say?”, shouted Sven. “She's happy to be rid of us”. Said the earl. “And she said it's snowing at home. She cleared and cleared and cleared... Let's go, so we can talk.” When they reached their flat the earl walked around and checked if every window and the door were properly locked. “Paranoia”, said Micke and worriedly shook his head. “They must have a bug somewhere”, whispered Sven dramatically and looked under the table plate. “Not here – but what about the wardrobe – maybe under it...” “Don't even say that in your sleep”, exploded the earl. “I promise I will only dream of bottomless wardrobes in he future”, swore Sven. “Okay, but jokes aside, we have to find out who's aunty Vera's roommate. Although I have no idea how we're supposed to do it...” “That's easy. Nils climbs on the rood and looks trough the window”, the earl said airily. “He just has to lie down on the rood and look over the edge...” “Absolutely not”, said Nils. “Who's going to take care of Diode when I'm dead?” “I'm much more curious about who's going to take care of Diode when you're going home on Sunday”, said Micke drily. “Micke's too big”, the earl continued. “And Sven climbs like a cow...” “A cow climbs better”, corrected Sven. “So Nils is the only one who's left”, said the earl. “Why can't you do it?”, said Nils rebelliously. The earl tried really hard, but he couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to refuse. So he said reproachfully: “Fine, I'm going to do it. But remember, it's you fault if I fall into Vera's evening coffee... or if she's going to bake me in her oven.” “You're too skinny”, said Nils indifferently. “Give me your flashlight and your monitor”, sighed the earl with a sour look at Diode. That was the first time Nils had put his foot down. “What are you going to do with the monitor? You're nor going to go inside, are you?”, worried Micke. “We'll see. It'll work out somehow”, said the earl lightly and closed the door. But before he vanished he said over his shoulder: “You can listen to the receiver – just in case...” It was almost dark outside, only a single street lamp cast its light on the small, dry piece of lawn in front of the house. In aunty Vera's flat every window was lit, so the earl did not even dare to consider coming across the balcony. He somehow had to get up to the roof. But how? He took the flashlight and began examining the cliff behind the house. Soon he found a ledge that seemed usable. He pulled himself up, meter after meter, with the help of bushes and shrubbery and realized, that it was easier that it had seemed from below. Further up there was a trail. When he had reached the top the real problem turned out to be reaching the other roof. If I was Tarzan, he though, and had a nice liana or ... He carefully took a look around with the flashlight and quickly found what he had been looking for. A ladder leaned against he cliff, barely hidden behind a few bushes. So aunty Vera's roommate wasn't Tarzan either... and right now he obviously wasn't home, since the ladder was up here. The earl didn't waste another second. He dragged out the ladder and carefully leaned it against the roof. Now he had to hurry so the uninvited guest wouldn’t find the ladder in the wrong place if he happened to drop by. The earl took off his shoes and tiptoed to the other side of the roof. There he lay down flat on his stomach and carefully stuck his head over the edge to look into the living room. Yes, there she sat in her arm chair, he head bent over something – it looked like a plate with a piece of paper on it. Cpiöd it be a map? She held a pen in her hand and slowly traced a line with it. The earl suddenly realized that she wasn't wearing her gloves. And he smiled maliciously when he saw a big pink band-aid, standing out against the tanned skin of her right hand. Nils had done a good job. And Diode – the earl remembered the thief's cries when Diode bit him: “Not again”. So aunty Vera hadn't been the victim but the culprit, that first night when Nils had brought her home, the earl had suspected that for a while. But who was her accomplice? At the moment she was alone. The earl let his gaze wander over the whole room, looking for a sign of the unknown person, but the only thing seeming suspicious was a big ashtray in front of her on the table which was overflowing with cigar butts. No one had seen Vera Nilsson smoke, and especially not big cigars, like the ones in the ashtray. He pulled his head back. Now he had seen what he had come to see. Either someone lived with the old lady or he often payed her long visits. And he did not use the stairs but came over the roof. But who was it? If only the earl had a chance to hide the monitor... if someone could lure out the old lady – only for a couple minutes... he made plans, one better than the other, and was about to pick one when the light on the balcony went out, the door was opened and heavy steps walked down the stairs. He was a little disappointed to miss out on the fun. Some of his strategies had been pretty entertaining. But he wasn't really surprised either, he knew that things would work out somehow. He pressed down on the roof until the steps faded away. Then he climbed down to the balcony. The rest was almost ridiculously easy. He pulled the window open and climbed in. First he had to find a hiding spot for the monitor. The room's furnishing was about was boring as their own flat, so it wasn't simple. If only there were some potted plants – or a vase with flowers... The earl made a quick decision. There would be a vase with flowers. He rushed down the stairs, crept around the corner and capped a few paperflowers. The he made his first mistake. He though the bouquet looked a little plain, so he added some geraniums. In the small kitchen he found a red jar that worked well as a vase. The monitor vanished between the paperflowers and when he placed the jar on the table he thought the effect was pretty nice. But who had brought the flowers? I needed to look like the cleaning lady had been there. He emptied the ashtray, made the bed in the bedroom and closed the curtains. Then he did the dished a little more quickly than what was good for them, but the glasses ans saucers did not belong to the old lady anyway, so she wouldn't have to be upset about it... After he was done he was rather proud of himself. She had it much more comfortable than she deserved, the old witch... Now the earl should have left, many things would have gone different. But he couldn't know that aunty Vera hates both cake and ice cream and thus skipped the desserts. Omelet wasn't her favourite food either, so dinner didn't take very long. Still everything would have ended well if it wasn't for the earls incurable curiosity. The old lady and had sat and looked at a map or something, when he had looked it. Why shouldn't he take a look at that too? The only problem was that the map was gone, or at least it was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't in the desk drawer or the pantry either... not in the bathroom cabinet either – instead he found a razor and some aftershave lotion – which did not surprise the earl. He continued searching, lifted the carpet, looked under the pillows on the sofa and rummaged around the kitchen cabinet. , but didn't find anything. He was about to give up when he saw the two camels behind the armchair looking unnaturally melancholic – even for camels. It seemed like they didn't like hanging askew. He took the painting from the wall – and look at that, there was the map, taped to the backside. “I'll hang you up again right away”, he comforted the sad camels and placed them with their noses down down on the table. Then he directed the flashlight and the map and immediately saw the read line aunty Vera had traced with her pen. It was a serpentine road that wound its way down to the coast in hairpin bends trough the mountain passes of Arinaga – and the earl was about to look at its destination when he heard heavy steps outside. It was too late to escape over the balcony. The steps sounded from the lower stairs up to the second floor already. He quickly placed the painting I the wall again, so the camels hung even more askew. The he rolled under the sofa and pressed against the wall. But the whole time he repeated: “I'm stuck. The old lady comes: You have to lure her out. I'm stuck – you have to lure the old lady out...” He stopped abruptly. The steps were really close now and the front door opened. He really was trapped – and his hiding place wasn't really comfortable. He also regretted that he had not vacuumed, his nose was itching, so he was forced to carefull raise his arm to pinch it hard with his thumb and index finger. The old lady switched on the light. “What the hell...”, heard the earl – and it wasn't a female voice. It was the mysterious roommate! And he didn't seem grateful for the earl's cleaning attempts at all. “Who the hell was here and ransacked – and where is my ashtray...”, muttered the voice. “I said I didn't want anyone in here... damn zealotry...” The earl realized that the dust under the sofa was more than he could stand. It tickled, tears welled up in his eyes... he raised the other hand and pressed it to his nose was well – but it was in vain. He lay stiff, waiting for the inevitable catastrophe, but at this very moment he heard from above: “Damn geraniums... achoooo!!!” The earl's own sneeze was drowned in a series of violent sneezes above, which made the glass pane in the door tremble so much that the earl thought it broke when he heard something shatter on the balcony. “Bloody botchery – serves them rigtht that the vase broke... achoooo – help, I need a tissue... achooo – I'll give those bloody idiots a piece of my mind tomorrow... achoooo!!!” The door closed and a heavy body fell down on the sofa, so the earl had to draw in his stomach. He heard the ashtray being pushed across the table. “Where are my cigars, did they nick them – ah, no there they are – achooo!!!” The last sneeze drowned out the earl's last sneeze – almost. He felt the bottom of the sofa touch his nose when the man made a sudden movement. “What the hell was that?”, muttered the voice. “That sounded as if... but it must have been my own sneeze, you can get hallucination from less...those blasted geraniums, they stink to high heavens... ahhhh, this is much better!” The smell of strong cigar smoke spread in the room and the guy was right. The earl's nose calmed down as well and it became silent in the apartment. The earl had time to focus on the fact that the carpet was cheap and not exactly a mattress. Soon his whole body hurt. The only thing he dared to move was his head and just when he did that he suddenly saw the shoes. They stood less than half a meter from his eyes away and it was a pair of white laced shoes with half high heels. And above the shoes there were brown nylon stockings and a pair of strong ankles. A pair of ladies' stockings!

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 5 (1/2)

Chapter 5: The Earl becomes a Marriage Impostor

The next morning Peter stood at the reception and checked off every who had signed up for the trip to the Kasbah, the great bazaar in the south of Gran Canaria. The bus already stood in front of the hotel when the earl came rushing with Nils upon his heels. “All my money has been stolen”, he cried from the hotel entrance. “Every single öre.” “Almost”, corrected Nils. “Sixty-five danish öre were left. And a whole fiver, Swedish!” “Oh, shut up”, sniveled the earl, who had reached Peter by then. “It was so much more money before!” Peter turned towards him, “Where did you keep it?”, he asked. “In your desk drawer?” “No, I'm not that stupid. I kept it in her.” The earl stuck the dirty box towards Peter. “I hid the box under a tile on Micke and Sven's porch.” Micke and Sven had reached the entrance as well. “Someone broke the tile loose”, said Sven. “And we didn't hear a sound. We slept soundly the whole night”, said Micke, and his tired face with the dark circles under his eyes did not even blush. “You have to call the police! The poor boy can't even afford ice cream now.” “But he does”, began Nils. “He still has sixty-five...” “So you knew the idiot was keeping his money under your porch?” Peter's face had turned read with anger. “At least you should be sensible enough...” He turned towards Micke, who interrupted him: “We did not know. The earl and Nils sat upstairs on the balcony when we found the tile and the box. The earl heard us and rushed downstairs, saying the box belonged to him...” Peter glared at the earl. “Why didn't you leave the money here? And how much was it?” “It was too much to leave it here”, said the earl, pouting. “I don't trust the hotel.” “Yes, but how much was it?”, repeated Peter and grabbed the earl's arm. “A few hundred, maybe?” “A few hundred!”, screamed the earl hysterically. “It was much more. A huge amount. You have to call the police!” The entrance was crowded with hotel guests who were going to go on different excursions and now they gathered around the boys and Peter. “Was ist denn hier los?”, asked a worried Lady in German. “Forget about the police”, said Peter. “You're not going to get that money back. Or – do you have an insurance?” “Only an accident insurance”, sniffed the earl. “Then there's no point in calling the police. There's a gang of thieves who live up in the mountains and come down at night to cause trouble. When did you bury the money?” “Last- … night”, hiccuped the earl. “Sometime around... one in the morning... I think...” “Obviously someone hid in the bushes and watched you”, guessed Peter. “Then he only had to collect it. Did you really bury everything you had ?” “Of course, the box was full.” Peter looked at the box thoughtfully, then he flared up: “You damn little pighead, it serves you right that you lost every single öre! If you only left the money with me...” The earl was a touching sight, standing there and hanging his head. There were tears in his long eyelashes, which covered his sparkling green eyes. The Germany lady said angrily: “Der arme Kleine, ist er doch süß!”, and impulsively opened her elegant white handbag and put a couple of banknotes in the earl's sun hat. After a few minutes the hat was filled with small banknotes and there were protests against the heartless Peter in various languages. Suddenly the earl held a bundle of colourful banknotes in each hand. “Oh wow”, said Nils with big eyes. “Well can you at least say thank you?”, hissed Peter. “So we can finally leave.” The earl awkwardly bowed to the German lady and stormed outside to the bus with flushes cheeks. Micke and Sven sat on the backseat and giggled. “You'll be a marriage imposter once you're a little older”, whispered Micke. “How much did you get?”, asked Sven. The earl stuffed the bunch into his pocket without counting. “It's a crying shame”, he muttered. “But I couldn't walk around and give them back either.” “If you want to get rid of the money all you have to do is say it”, grinned Micke. “Where's Ulli by the way?”, he then asked and turned to Kent. “In bed, the moron”, Kent said seriously. “He's done with a fever and some nasty blisters. He's been sick yesterday already, you saw how he could barely sit in the bus to Teror. Don't go and visit him, you'll only be greeted with a lot of ugly words.” Peter heard him, “Yeah, it's a shame that it happened to him out of all people – he's such a decent boy”, he said with a black look at the earl. He obviously wished Ulli's blisters on somebody else... Before they got out in front of the big bazaar building Peter picked up his microphone. “Stay close to me in the beginning so I can help you bargain”, he said. “Then, when you've learned the technique, you 'll be fine on your own and we'll meet up in one hour in the café. You can buy literally everything here: bags, cameras, calculators, jewelry.... but remember: always lower the price to at least half of the original proposition!” It was like Arabian Nights. A jumble of walkways and simple booths, loaded with goods, and salesmen who came running as soon as you slowed down only a little bit. Bergendahl made that mistake. He happened direct his gaze at a briefcase lying in a pile of briefcases on a table. The next second a dark-skinned boy waved the briefcase in front of his face. “Billig Señor – gute Qualität – very bra- magnifique – only... one thousand five hundred....” Bergendahl replied politely: “No thank you”, and tried to walk on. But the boy danced ballet in front of him and waved the briefcase. “Okay Señor – you can have this for only – sehr sehr billig...” The boys voice became more shrill, his gestures almost threatening. Bergendahl saw the rest of the group vanish around the next corner, bushed the boy aside with his big hands and rushed on. He had just found the Headteacher when he heard someone behind him shout: “Damn Smålandians!” He looked at the headteacher in surprise. “How for heaven's sake can he know that I'm from Växjo?”, he said. The headteacher wanted to say that it was obvious. But he didn't really have a reason to insult Växjö, so he didn't say anything and continued to walk between the booths while visions of the Epa, their supermarket at home in Svedinge, appeared in his head. Little, clean and peaceful Epa... The group had now stopped in front of a booth where something special seemed to be happening. Colourful garlands lined a pile of shopping bags, all of them the same – natural-coloured leather with a pretty Moroccan pattern around the edges. The owner, a big strong Arab with a white turban, came out and talked to Peter, frantically gesturing at the pile of bags. Peter raised his microphone. “We're lucky”, he said. “Ben Ali over here – he's celebrating a jubilee today. He's waiting for his thousandth customer this year – and this customer must be part of your small group. Since Ben is too polite to pick a single person he declared the whole group the jubilee group. He'll give a bag to all ladies and single men. The bags only cost only eighty pesetas, about five Swedish kronor. That's pretty cheap.” The hunky Arab brought a bunch of bags from the booth and began handing them out. “Too bad I just bought a light bag before we went on holiday”, whispered the headteacher's wife. “You surely won't mind getting another one”, whispered the headteacher. “At this price!” “Then we'll have to pay more for our luggage on the flight back”, she said miserably. When Ben Ali reached she vigorously shook her head. “No thanks”, she said. “I've got one already!” She showed the bag to him. Ben Ali seemed surprised at first and then looked at Peter for help. He said something in Arabic. “He said that you'll get her for thirty pesetas, so about two kronor”, explained Peter. “No thanks!” Red spots had appeared on her cheeks. “It's not about the money, I just don't want another bag. We don't have any space left in our luggage. With a scornful gesture the Arab three the bag to the floor and released a tirade which only Peter understood. “You'll get it for 50 öre, Misses Berg”, said Peter. “And now everyone got a bag. Look, me too, I'll give it away.” “Who are you're going to give it to?”, asked Annika coquettishly. The girl Kent danced with every night. “Someone whose birthday is next week”, laughed Peter. “I'll be on holiday in Sweden then.” “Mine – I mean it's going to be my birthday”, said Annika quickly. “Saturday next week.” “You're a little liar”, said Peter. “Your birthday is in December, I saw that on your ID... but seriously, Misses Berg, I'm sure you know someone back in Sweden who'd like to have such a stylish bag? I'm feeling sorry for poor Ben Ali – look, his business competitors are laughing at him!” “Oh, the whole situation is so embarrassing”, Misses Berg said in a shaky voice. “Just take it, so we can finally get away from here”, the headteacher said sheepishly. He took out a couple of pesetas and grabbed the bag. The money quickly vanished in Ben Ali's pocket, he said a couple of words to Peter and gave Misses Berg a radiant smile. “What did he say?”, asked Sven. “That Misses Berg is the toughest haggler he's ever met”, laughed Peter. “He regrets that she's married already...” When the group finally sank down on the chairs I the café, exhausted from all the shopping, there was barely room for coffee between the bronze bowls, alabaster lamps, carpets and spyglasses. Peter went around and complimented everything. Everyone had made great deals, he said. When he arrived and Nils and the earl's table he pointed at Nils' old bag, which stood right on the table, and laughed: “You should think of the waiter's poor nerves, Nils... you don't need to serve up the puppy!” Sven whispered into the earl's ear: “He's a damn nice guy – even if he does not like you.” “Hmmm”, murmured the Earl absentmindedly. In the afternoon the whole gang lay at the beach – except for Ulli of course. Nils had run up to the apartment to fetch his camera and Kent was in the water. “Hey, Micke – what did they say again – about the bags – the guys in the stairway, you know?”, whispered the earl. “What?”, murmured Micke sleepily and turned around. “Hurry up, before Kent comes back – what did they say?” “Forget it”, grumbled Micke. “We might have misheard.” Sven sat up. “Don't even try that, I heard it clearly. First something that sounded like 'Kasper' and then... 'Promise to take care of the bags'.” “What if he meant the Kasbah”, said the earl and looked around carefully. “And the bags... Ben Ali basically forced us to buy the bags.... at the Kasbah...” “Go get a screw driver – I think you might have a few ones loose”, groaned Micke and felt if was getting a sunburn at the the back. “What's so suspicious about some bags. A fiver for a bag – that's a present!” “Exactly”, said the earl, but he didn't manage to say anything else, because now Nils came running, completely out of breath. He stopped, making the sand whirl up, and mysteriously put one hand in the pocket of his swimming trunks. “You'll never guess what I found”, he whispered. “You can't imagine...” “No, we really can't”, growled Micke. “And that's what they call a holiday.” Nils sat down and slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, together with something rustling, something beige-pink... The earl didn't need to see another centimeter before he tackled Nils and threw him down on the sand. “Put them away, before someone sees them”, he hissed. “Quick. How did you find them?” Nils was so shock that he obediently put the money back into his pocket. “And close the zipper, will you?”, commanded the earl. “Yes, there was a cucaracha on the floor when I came in. When it saw me it hid under the wardrobe so I got a bowl to trap it until you'd arrive. When I crawled under the wardrobe so accidentally ripped off one corner of the brown paper and under it I found... there were bundles of grands... they were taped to the bottom of the wardrobe – in rows – we're rich, you guys – or I am, at least”, he added quickly. “It was me who found them, after all. Ten percent of it – as a finder's reward, I mean... maybe it's a whole million... and if they're real, let's take a look...” “Put them away, I said, and be quiet!”, warned the earl, who saw Kent coming up the beach. “It's fifty thousand, and I am the one who found them.” “Na-uh, it was me!”, shouted Nils. “Just so you know!” The earl pulled Nils to his feet with not exactly soft power. Diode, who finally understood that his master was being attacked, danced around the earl and yapped and tried bite the earl's toes. But the earl's footwork was in one class with Mohammed Ali's and within a couple of seconds he had steered Nils to the ice cream kiosk, which had a soothing effect on both Nils and Diode. With a big cone for each if them they sat down at a table in the corner and the earl began to explain. After a five minute long monologue he ended with the words: “...and now you give me the money – under the table – so no one sees it. And then you'll be quiet. Or else..” Nils reluctantly handed the bank notes to the earl. “And what are you going to do now?”, he whispered. “Don whisper”, said the earl, irritated. “Everyone will think we're up to something.” “Yeah, but we are!”, whispered Nils. “Can't you just give them to the police?” “And how am I supposed to explain why I kept it for so long”, huffed the earl. “No, I have an idea. Run back to the others. And not a word. I'll go to the hotel and bring back the money, and then I'll make a call. “Try to get out the cucaracha first”, Nils begged. “Or I'll have to sleep in the bathroom tonight.” The earl promised, and vanished. Fifteen minutes later he asked the porter for a call to Suecia. Pedro's satin eyes looked suspicious, he waves his hands and let out a spurt of quick Spanish. Then he turned his back towards the earl and opened at comic book. The earl didn't say anything, he just walked behind the counter to the phone. He had just managed to dial the whole number when Pedro noticed him. He grabbed the receiver and said something in Spanish again. This time the conversation was short, and very easy to understand. “Dinero”, he shouted. “Pagar.” Money. Pay. And he repeated that for some time, while the earl pondered. He had taped his own money under the wardrobe as well and he wasn't really in the mood to go and get it. And besides, now everyone knew that he was poor as a church mouse. So he obviously could not afford an expensive call to Sweden, Pedro was right about that. Finally he interrupted the Spaniard, who sounded like a hanging record, and said. “But the call on the bill Antonio de Rivero promised to pay.” The magic spell worked and the call was finally registered, but it would take a while. A whole while, said Pedro happily. The earl ordered a coke and got it, although not until he handed over the payment. He sat down, while his thoughts circled around the miserable fifty thousand kronor. The customs control o their flight back would be fun. Maybe they wouldn't even make it to customs, somebody obviously was determined to steal the money back... There was a ring at the reception. He got op and waited for Pedro to call him. There was another ring, but no call. “Are you waiting for a call”, laughed Stefan and stopped at the earl's table.. “Yeahhh – my mother...” The earl raised his eyebrows and sighed. Stefan nodded understandingly and sat down. “You can wait until Sunday then, Pedro has to welcome new guests, hang up keys, organize more blankets, run to the kitchen and organize cake, he's more often elsewhere than he is here to take care of the telephone. He still seems to pretty laid back.” The ringing stopped just as Pedro came back. Stefan was right, he seemed pretty laid back. If he had just walked a tiny, tiny bit quicker he would have made it. Now he picked up a news paper and rested a little. “And you, who lost all your money”, said Stefan. “Yeah, but they boys promised to help me out, so I'll be fine. Although it sucks, of course, I've been saving for a long time.” The earl lay a little tremble in his voice. “Yeahhh, I'm sure he had a lot of money with you?”, Stefan pierced the earl with his gaze. “Yes, it was a whole lot”, the earl said casually and thought, that this guy was wrong if he thought he could cross-examine him. His father had tried it himself, plenty of times. “How much did you lose?”, Stefan pressed him on. “There so point in thinking about it”, sighed the earl and looked at Stefan mildly. “But it was a lot – a whole lot indeed.” “Maybe I could help you to get it back. I have a lot of contacts. But I'd have to know how much it was”, complained Stefan. “I never counted it”, the earl said nonchalantly. “Was it more than a hundred kronor?”, Stefan tried again. “More than a hundred?” The earl's smile suggested that it was a ridiculous suggestion. “More than five-hundred?” The earl grinned enigmatically. “Ah, now I head the phone ring again”, he lied and walked over to the porter's lodge and stood behind the counter. Pedro was gone again, so the earl sold a couple of magazines and some cigarette packages to some guest, and put the money on the rubber plate. He cleaned up a little while he swore to himself that he would pick up every call that came in. He stealthily looked at his table. Now it was empty. Stefan had finally give up. Then then phone rang. The earl calmly went behind the partition, looking like it was the most natural thing in the world, put in the plug and picked up the headset: “Hotel Mirador”, he said quietly, and tried to roll the “R”, as Spanish as possible. „Cuarenta seis”, said someone, just as quietly as him. So it wasn't his call, it was someone who wanted to speak to room number 46. Now the earl should have have explained that Pedro wasn't there, that's what Ulli would have done, or Kent or Micke. But not the earl, that was too complicated. Instead he cast a quick look at the switchboard and then plugged in the right connector, the one for room 46. Then he should have politely put down the hadset, of course. But despite all efforts no one had managed to make the earl become a polite boy, so he kept the receiver in his hand. And when he heard the first words he did not waste another thought on putting it down. Because the quiet voice spoke Swedish, and it wasn't only quite now, it was whispering. “Is it you?”, it said. “Of course, who else – but can you maybe speak up so I can actually understand you?” “I speak how I like. Pedro might recognize my voice...” “So what? He doesn't understand Swedish. Did you find the money?” “My contacts didn't hear a sound, and there would have been one if someone had found fifty thousand... I think the boy's bluffing. He's damn smart... but he made some hints about how much he's lost. We have to keep an eye on the whole radio mafia, they're a hazard.” “Na, na, na – are you scared of a few little boys?” The man in room 46 laughed. He had a think voice the earl thought he knew from somewhere. But from where? “Of course they bight sometimes, no one knows that better than I do, but If I'm ever going to catch one of them alone I'll make them come out with the truth. He definitely doesn't have the money in his room, I can promise you that much. Why don't we just say to hell with those five thousand and let him go. A few words to the customs officers? We'll be able to afford that soon – Saturday evening, huh?” “Pssst”, hissed the first voice. “Remember, the walls are thin...” “It was a damn clamor. But the church is open...” “Be careful, I say.” The whispering voice almost went up to falsetto. “Alright, alright, boss, calm down. The place will be open until ten, I take care of that last night. And I placed our luggage up at the porthole, like we said. Everything's ready now, if only we can get the jewels trough customs. “The old hag will take care of that, no one would suspect her, especially not she herself...” Someone tore the headset from the earl's head, so his earls almost came off as well. Pedro's satin eye no longer looked like satin, more like burning coal. The earl did not understand a word of the Spanish sputtering out of his mouth. Special expressions, apparently. But he still got the main idea. He hastily slipped out of the revolving door and sat down at a table at the window, as far away from Pedro and the reception as possible. Pedro wasn't an ally anymore, if he had ever been one, which the earl doubted.

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 4 (1/1)

Chapter 4: Micke gets angrier and angrier

When the earl reached their little apartment they stopped on the threshold. “Someone did not like the furniture”, the earl said finally. “And how thorough he was”, Nils said, deeply impressed. “He threw all our things on the ground. Where they do not belong.” “And the other way around”, said the earl with a look at the rug, which hung over the backrest of the sofa. Thank God I didn't hide them under the rug, he thought. “He packed out our things, too, how nice of him”, Nils said angrily. “It'll take all day to collect my things from the kitchen floor. And look at the sofa, what is peter going to say?” “I don't care one bit what Peter is going to say”, the earl said coolly. “It's not our fault the thief got angry when he saw the sofa cover. I got angry too when I saw it for the first time. Not quite this angry, though”, he said smugly. Maybe the thief hasn't even found the money, the thought. He tore apart the whole sofa, after all. “Funny that he didn't search in the wardrobe”, he said loudly and bend down to pick up a shirt. At the same time he checked the underside of the wardrobe. Yes, the brown paper he had used to cover the banknote seemed untouched. “We have to call Peter”, Nils said gloomily. “Yeah, you can get him, you're faster”, said the earl generously. He wanted to be alone at the apartment for a while. “We have to report it immediately before they think we caused the chaos ourselves... Swedish vandals, you know.” Nils vanished like a flash. The earl dived under the wardrobe. All of his fortune was still there! Now all he had to make sure of was that no one of the staff found the money while they cleaned up the room thieves... or the thief. The earl focused all of his energy and when Nils finally found Peter the Apartment looked almost normal again. The only trace that was left of the destruction was the ruined sofa. Peter looked at it with disgust. “And look at this stain”, the earl said cheekily. “If only I knew what he did to Nils' blanket.” “And yesterday someone stole my duct tape, two brand new rolls”, complained Nils. “It seems like as soon as we go outside someone comes in here.” “Indeed, what a hotel.” The earl sounded shocked. “Where we have to live with folks like this!” Peter seemed to seethe. “Is anything else gone? Beside the duct tape?” “Not even a plaster”, said the earl. “Although we don't really have very expensive plaster either. All out clothes are still there. Maybe they weren't the right size.” He grinned. “Or he didn't like our style.” “Are you sure you didn't cut the holes in the sofa yourself?”, asked Peter suggestively. “Because the stain isn't very hard to explain, is it? The puppy – where is it, by the way? While we're talking about stains?” He paused and looked at Nils. Then he said harshly: “But alright, I'll pass it on so you might get a new sofa tomorrow – or the day after tomorrow. Or the day after that.” “And the blanket?”, insisted the earl. “You can keep that for a while longer, in case there will be more stains”, said Peter mildly and left. The rest of the evening passed quietly and peacefully. Although Pablo gave Nils' bag such a threatening look that Nils, to be on the safe side, kept it on his knees under the tablecloth, and he was especially cautious when smuggling little bits of food inside to keep Diode calm. But finally the puppy got too uneasy and wanted to be let down and move. So Nils hastily ordered an extra piece of chocolate cake – and then Diode rather wanted to take a nap. For at least a week. When thy came back home the sofa was replaced and a clean blanket lay on Nils' bed. “Fantastic”, said the earl. “I just wonder how the vandals came in here. We locked the door this morning.” “Yeah, but the cleaning lady always leaves the window open, it's open now”, said Nils. “Should we close it?” “The we'll suffocate”, said the earl. “Besides, now the thieves know what's up, that Nils and the earl only have ugly things, which no thief would want to steal. Switch the light off, I want to sleep.” Nils reached out for the light switch. At the same time he happened to look at the curtains and uttered a scream. “Look”, he said and pointed at the hem of the curtain with a trembling finger. The earl burst out laughing when he saw what it was. “It's only a Cucaracha”, he said dismissively. “They are everywhere around here.” “I'd like to go home then”, Nils said sourly. “The brochure didn't say anything about them.” The Cucaracha stood completely still and clung to the curtain. But you could tell by her long thin legs that it could run as quick as a spider if it wanted to. It looked like a cockroach but it was as big as a small mouse. “I'll go and get a bowl from the kitchen”, said the earl and jumped out of bed. “Make sure it doesn't run away.” The monster probably won't move, thought Nils, if anyone's going to run away it'll be me. “It likes the colour of the curtain”, decided Nils when the earl came back with the bowl. After some efforts at persuasion the earl managed to get the beast into the bowl and went outside on the balcony and emptied the bowl over the railing into the bushes below. At least that's what he though, but he was in such a hurry that he did not notice that Micke was leaning over the railing on the porch below and looked up. “What the pharaoh are you doing up there...”, he started confrontationally. But then he didn't say anything for a while. The Cucaracha was a unusually clear message. When he finally got it out of his mouth he yelled “just you wait” and rushed up the stairs. It took a while to calm Micke down, everyone who almost swallowed a Cucaracha would have gotten pretty angry. And Micke was very angry. Finally they managed to get him down the stairs and Nils closed the window with a bang. “Or I'll swim home”, he threatened. “Rather than sharing a room with a Cucaracha.” He did not know how long he had slept when a pillow in his face an a scared whisper from Nils' bed woke him up: “There's a Cucaracha on the roof – don't you hear it?” The earl was suddenly wide awake. If what he heard was a Cucaracha it was an exceptionally big one. “Pssss”, he whispered. “Lie down and pretend to sleep. Maybe it's armed!” Nils didn't have to hear that twice. He lay stiff as a board and shut his eyes so tightly that a few tears squeezed out from under his short eyelashes. The earl peered around from under his long eyelashes and listened. There was a shuffling sounds from the roof above the window. It surely was a person who wanted to pay them a visit without going the regular way and maybe being seen by Sven and Micke. Unfortunately they had shuffles so far by then that they would have collided on balcony if the earl went to get help. Now the earl saw a pair of black legs standing out against the curtains in the shine of the single streetlight. Then there was a clonk and a key carefully being inserted into the keyhole. The door opened millimeter for millimeter. A sharp, thin ray of light came trough the crack. It was hard to keep your eyelids form twitching when the light hit them, but it must have worked because the light moved on across the floor and the man closed the door behind himself. He stood still and listened. The earl faked a tiny snore and turned around in his bed, to have a better view in Nils' direction. The ray of light crawled across the floor, searching the room methodically. Suddenly he stopped. He had found the bag standing on the floor right below Nils' pillow. The earl saw the figure creeping towards Nils' bed and became worried. If only Nils has the sense to lie still and pretend to sleep, he thought. But if the guy touches the puppy who knows what's going to happen. And if Nils though of something smart... the earl considered everything he could use as a weapon, and picked the lamp, which probably came from North Africa and had a socket made of heavy bronze. He slowly moved his hand without moving the blanket one millimeter. If the worst came to the worst... Now the visitor had reached the bag. He looked at Nils and carefully bent down and reached for the strap. Nils sat up jerkily but before the earl managed to grab the lamp socket something unexpected happened. At the same moment the bag was lifted Diode finally awoke from his sweet dreams of chocolate cake and sense the smell of a stranger. The ancient instinct to defend his owner's territory took over for the first time and he growled, sat up and attacked. The earl heard someone hiss: “Damnit – now I've had enough!” The bag slid across the floor and Diode began barking as loudly as his thin throat could. Now an angry knocking sounded from Sven and Micke's apartment, and the Micke voice shouted: “If you're not going to shut the mutt up I'll come upstairs and wring your necks!” The sound isolation between the two floors wasn't all that effective, so they could hear someone stomping around the flat. Now it was a make-or-break situation for the stranger. It could only be a matter of seconds until Micke found his shoes and came up the stairs. And Diode made it clear that he was curious to taste the intruder’s lower leg. Around the little house windows began to light up. The stranger retreated to the door, crept out onto the balcony and barely managed to pull himself up on the roof before Micke threw the door open. “Is there no one who can give the brute a pack of bubblegum so it'll finally shut up?”, he snapped. “Or a Cucaracha – they're very effective for shutting people up – but that might be a little to much for a dog's small throat?” He looked after the earl in surprise as he wordlessly pushed past Micke and climbed onto the roof. Nils came tumbling and took a hold of the dog, who was still barking like crazy. Micke grabbed Nils' arm. “Come one, let's go inside”, he whispered. “And don't wake him up! You're not supposed to wake people who sleepwalk, specially if they're walking around on the roof. They never fall was long as they're asleep.” “Ah”, said Nils. “The earl isn't sleepwalking. He's chasing that guy who broke into our flat. He ran away when you came. Diode bit him – good dog”, he praised and scratched him between the earls. Micke seemed a little confused and sat down on the sofa for the second time that night. “We need another room, Sven and I”, he said faintly. “A cucaracha and two burglaries in one night – that's too much. I'll complain to Peter, you can't live in a house with people with such an imagination.” Now the earl returned, dirty and angry. “He got away”, he hissed. “He climbed up the cliff at the backside of the house like a chimpanzee, I had no chance to catch a glimpse of him. If I could only understand how he got up there!” “The phantom has vanished as quickly as always”, said Micke sarcastically. “If you could tell me one small reason why one single existing person would want to chase after two boys – two boys who are almost always broke? Only one tiny reason?” The earl thought that he knew fifty thousand reasons, but he stayed quiet. “Well, do you think we can sleep for a few minutes?”, Micke continued. “Or what's going to happen next? A white lady, maybe? Or green marsmen? But if there is one more disruption tonight I'm going to buy a tent tomorrow. For you!” “He was pretty angry, she should probably be quiet”, said Nils and tiptoed to his bed, after he had closed the door behind Micke. “It would be better if you didn't snore.”, he said and crawled udner the covers. Five minutes Later Nils and Diode were asleep. But the earl wasn't. He was too worried and that was a feeling that was so new to him that he almost thought he had just eaten too much cake... Three times Nils had been attacked on one day. All three times he had been lucky, but not even Nils could be lucky every time. The worst part was that it was the earl's fault, after all it was his money the thieves were after. So the earl had to do something, before it was too late. He pondered for three whole minutes, almost a record for him, then he crept into the kitchen. He soon found a plastic box with a lid, a spoon and a strong bread knife. Then he went back to the bedroom and listened. Diode had crawled out of Nils' back and lay and slumbered comfortably on Nils' new blanket. The earl decided he'd rather risk the blanket than waking the puppy, and snuck to the door on bare feet. He stood on the balcony for a few minutes and listened again, but everything was quiet. It was completely dark outside although it was past three in the morning. At home it would begin to dawn now, thought the earl and realized, that it felt twice as lonely to be lonely away from home. He walked down the stairs and now the critical part of his program began. Because if he woke up Micke once more that night... He remembered that he saw the intruder as a black shadow trough the window, so he made sure to stay under the window sill and crawled forward on all fours to the end of the porch, where had seen a loose tile when they had come back from dinner. He took his knife and levered the tile out without problems. Now it was all or nothing. Had the tile been placed on cement – or had they settled for placing it on sand. I wouldn’t have been able to move the it if it was cement, he thought hopefully and carefully poked the spoon under the tile. The ground gave in – it was sand. The earl started digging. The sand he scooped up landed up in the closest flower box. The poor petunias could hardly do worse than they were doing now. Soon he had dug a hole big enough to swallow the plastic box completely. But before he put it inside he thought he could allow himself some finesse, and put some Danish change into the box, along with a Swedish fiver. The he closed the lid and placed the tile so carelessly over the hole that everybody should notice that it had been moved during the night. You could even see the blue plastic trough a crack. The earl had worked very diligently and now he was tired. His knees did not like the hard stone plates and he was starting to shiver in his thin pyjama top. He wistfully though of his warm bed and turned around to crawl back to the stairs. Halfway across the porch he suddenly he heard a whisper above his head: “Badly done work. You could put the tile back tidily at least!” The earl sighed. Now he was busted after all. Sven's head stuck out of the window and Sven's eyes watched him critically. “Don't let me disturb you, but your knees are all dirty”, he remarked lovably. “Well”, said the earl. “That's it, I guess. I suppose I'm not allowed to come in. Otehrwise I can't explain anything. Just don't wake up Nils! I don't think he's able to keep a secret.” Sven's head vanished. The earl heard him ask carefully: “Can he come in?” He didn't heard Micke's reply but the door opened and the earl thankfully slipped into the warm flat. “So, I'm really curious about that explanation”, said Micke. The earl heard that he needed a really good excuse this time. “Yeah – we can't go on like this, Nils and I, and get attacked about once every hour. Something has to happen.” “What's so exciting about Nils?”, asked Sven eagerly, while Micke yawned and turned his pillow over his pillow to find a cool spot. “Well, it's not actually Nils”, the earl said carefully and looked at the bed. “Although it would probably help if he didn't act so secretive about his bag all the time. But he doesn't dare to let anyone know that he carries Diode around in it, he's scared Peter will throw the dog out on the streets again. The thieves already searched our flat yesterday when Nils ad I were at the beach. They were careful, but we noticed it anyway because I hadn't closed my suitcase before we left. And it was closed when we came back.” “So it was them who stole the infamous duct tape?”, asked Sven. “No, it wasn't them who stole it”, said the earl. “They didn't find anything, so they thought Nils was carrying around the fifty thousand bucks in the bag he never separates from...” “What fifty thousand bucks?”, shouted Micke and suddenly sat up in his bed. “Don't tell me you're carrying around fifty thousand pesetas? More than three thousand kronor!” Sven sounded shocked. “Not fifty thousand pesetas”, the earl said weakly. “Fifty thousand Swedish kronor in grand notes. I found them on the plain. At the toilet.” Micke fell back down on the mattress, covering his ears with his pillow. “Don't say anything else”, he groaned. “And we'll forget what we just heard. You can take care of your criminal activities yourself.” “Criminal activities”, aped the earl. “You sound like the Swedish news. Now wake up!” “I had no chance to fall asleep”, said Micke faintly. “As you might know. So you found fifty thousand at the toilet and decided to be a wealthy earl for once. Where is the money now?” “He buried them under the porch”, said Sven angrily. “So messily that everyone can tell. He seems to hope that someone else is going to take it. He broke out one of our tiles.” “Oh no!”, said Micke and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “If you want to get rid of the money you can bury them under your own damn porch!” “We could be murdered in our sleep!”, said Sven nervously. “What sleep”, said Micke gloomily. “Calm down”, grinned the earl. “I don't want to get rid of the money at all. But not keep it either. Not longer than I have to. I just want to catch the person who stole it in the first place, if he stole it, or wherever he got it. But I don't want Nils and me to be eliminated in the process. Because now they searched our apartment once again and this time Diode made it more than clear that he's in the bag, and nothing else. So the only logical conclusion is that we carry the money around with us. The next time they will try to search our bodies and you never know how that ends. I'll go to Peter tomorrow and cry a bit about how I lost my whole pocket money – which I buried under a tile out here – soon the whole hotel and half of San Augustin will know, at least the more criminal half. And then the one the fifty thousand belonged to will think one of the master thieves Peter told us about stole the money from my hiding place. So Nils and I finally have our peace, because Mister X is going to think we don't have the money anymore. Pretty smart, huh?” “Too smart for me”, sighed Micke. “If only I wasn't so tired... but the thief must notice that the hiding place is empty and what's the point then?” “You're being unusually thick”, said the earl and continued patiently. “The one with the fifty thousand is asleep right now...” “Him, yeah”, said Micke. “... so he doesn't know about the hole under the tile. The he hears the story tomorrow when I go to the hotel to complain. So there will be no one actually found the money under the tile, it's just supposed to seem that way. If I report the theft they think some master thief earned the spoil his life, so they'll finally leave Nils and me alone, while he looks for the money at someone else's place instead. I'll make it sound like there was a big sum of money in the box.” “Ho do you think is the thief?”, asked Sven curiously. “No idea”, said the earl. “Stefan can't be the one who turned the apartment upside down, he went to Teror with us. But he could be the one who attacked Nils. In this case he has an accomplice, someone who has a key to out door.” “I wonder if all keys are the same”, said Micke. “And it could have been the same guy attacking Nils and the sofa. At least if the yellow car is involved. Maybe the driver knew a shortcut through the mountains. He could have arrived fifteen minutes before we did, maybe more...” “He worked quickly then”, said the earl. “You should have seen the apartment, it looked like someone turned over ever piece of sugar in the kitchen before he was satisfied.” “There's still good old aunty Vera, don't forget her”, said Sven. “She was too shocked to come along.” “Yeah but she was attacked herself last night”, argued Micke. “If she really was”, said the earl. “One of those who stood in front of me in the toilet line must be involved in the case, that's the only thing I'm completely sure of. One of the must have lost the money after all. And it seems like he – or she figured out that I must have taken it, and decided to steal it back.” There was a short silence. The earl saw how Sven and Micke looked at each other. “Should we tell him?”, Sven asked finally. “I guess we have to. This changes everything”, said Micke reluctantly. “So, we were going to take the lift down from the pool this morning. But there was a blackout again, so the lift striked like usually and we had to walk down the stairs in the dark. We were wearing sneaker so no one heard us. But when he reached the third landing we heard two Swedish guys whisper on the landing below. The acoustics is great on the stairs, you hear a lot more than you'd think. Either way, the whispering began to sound suspicious, so we stopped and listened.” “Could you really hear what they said?”, asked the earl eagerly, “We could make out a few things”, said Micke. “One of them said something about 'finding the money'. He could not hear the other one's reply. But the first one was furious and hissed – so clearly that we understood every word: 'I can't be that hard to take a bag from a little boy'. And then the other one answered: 'Little boy, my ass! He bit down like a rattlesnake. Try it yoursef'. The first one tried to calm him down and then the number two asked something about Easter. One replied: 'dona soon... new dress'. And then he laughed. It sounded pretty creepy between all the whispering. The the second one asked something that was really hard to understand, but it sounded like 'Kasper... get the bags'. The first one was about to reply when sme idiot walked past us and bumped into Micke and apologized a lot in German.” “Then it became really quiet downstairs. We quickly sneaked up the stairs again and hid in the pool between all the other people, because the whisperers weren't supposed to know who had eavesdropped on them. We didn't want to get involved”, sighed Micke. “Did someone come up the stairs?”, asked the earl. “No, they must have given up”, said Sven. “We stayed in the pool until Peter came with his microphone to announce the departure of the bus.” “And you did not recognize the voices?”, wondered the earl. “No, they were whispering the whole time”, said Micke. “We couldn't even be sure if they were men or women.” “Anyway, let's not tell anyone about this”, suggested the earl. “At least not now. Ulli is going to go insane.” “Kent's probably not too keen on eating his swimming trunks either”, laughed Sven. “”But where are the fifty thousand now?” “Like all famous detectives say: it's better if you don't know”, said the earl mysteriously. “I'll see you tomorrow!” He was out on the porch before Sven you make him talk. When the sun went up it was finally quiet in the boys' bungalow.

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 3 (1/1)

Chapter 3: That's how it goes, says Peter

Twelve hours later Diode managed to wake up Nils. The fact that the pup had been awake for some time was visible at several places in the room, including Nils blanket. “The mutt should wear a diaper”, the earl said angrily. And Nils squeaked: “What is peter doing to say? And the maître?” “If we turn the case inside out they won't notice anything. At least for a couple of days”, comforted him the earl. “But you can't let him sleep in your bed anymore, that much is clear.” “He can sleep in the bag I kept the cigarettes in”, decided Nils. “That way I can carry him around without Peter noticing anything.” “What a sedan”, laughed the earl as they walked down to the beach with Diode sleeping in Nils' bag. The sand was barely visible between the sun beds and sunshade and people frying in their sunscreen. Peter walked up to them. He smiled his blinding toothpaste smile when he saw Nils' bad. “More smuggled goods?”, he asked. “Poor Pablo, the maître, he was a nervous wreck when I saw him in the dining hall this morning. He talked about nothing but cigarettes... You're going to come along on the trip this afternoon?” “What trip?”, asked the earl. “The one I mentioned yesterday on the bus. We're going to visit the cathedral in Teror. With the Virgin del Pino, you know, the one with all the jewels... The boys did not know. “You're really talented at not listening”, said Peter. “Is that all you learn at school today? Well, she's the patron saint of Gran Canary and as in gratitude for the help she offers she gets a new expensive gem now and then, or other presents. The bus leaves at twelve, right after dinner.” “Does the whole group go? “, the earl asked hastily. “Stefan, too?” “Stefan told me he's definitely going to go”, assured him Peter and looked a little confused. “So, are you going to come along?” “Sure”, called the earl and vanished in the direction of a strong back close to the water. “Some twerp you are”, he shouted and ran to the water and scooped water with his hollowed hands and yelled “there you go” as he spilled the water on Ulli's back. Ulli laughed and said: “Some more, please.” But Peter did not laugh. “Not a minute longer”, he called out to Ulli. “Put a shirt one, hurry up, then you might have a chance. Otherwise you're going to spend the rest of the week in bed.” “Well”, said Ulli. “That goes with a holiday on the Canary Islands.” And thus he turned around, with his front facing the sun. “Fine”, said Peter. “Tell me if you need a doctor.” “A pretty grave guy”, murmured Ulli under his sunhat. “It burns a little after a while, but it's bearable.” At non the bus stood in front of the hotel entrance and filled with sunburnt Swedes. All of the earl's suspects were present, except for the old lady who was, according to Peter, still shocked from the past nigh's events and did not want to come along. “And you've been there, too?”, he questioned Nils when the boys arrived. “Why didn't you mention anything this morning?” “Oh, I don't think it's anything to brag about. We detective are used to a lot of things”, Nils said humbly. “I'm sure they won't try anything like that again, my teeth are very sharp.” “That's good to know, I'll be careful then”, smiled Peter. “But what did you do with the money you got for the cigarettes?” “I left it at home”, Nils said. “So people will finally leave him and his bag alone”, explained the earl. “But you still brought it with you, as I see”, observed Peter. “Just a little picnic”, replied Nils cageyly, and covered the opening of the bag with his had to stop the picnic from sticking out its nose. The bus was more than full, so nobody objected when Ulli decided to stand up. “It's nice to move a little, after lying around on the beach the whole morning”, he said with a strained smile and jogged on the spot. Peter looked at him ironically, but didn't say anything. They drover northwards over Las Palmas and continued their way westward, then turned back south, right to the center of the island. “Now you see the true nature of Grand Canary”, began Peter and took his microphone. “The proud vegetation, deep, green canyons with banana plantations, everywhere you can plant a banana tree, it's breath taking...” “Look, Gustav”, said a loud voice behind the earl and Nils, “there they are growing... it really is a nicotina glauca...” “This” Bergendahl's squeaky voice was full of disdain. “This obviously a Cestrum, you must see that – a cestrum parkei, you can tell by the lance-shaped leaves...” “nicotina have lance-shaped leaves, too”, said his wive Stina stubbornly. “And look at the pretty tubular flowers, there are a lot of them at the roadside...” “As you see, all house plants you know from Sweden grow here as well, only bigger”, shouted Peter, to drown out the Bergendahls. “There you can see wild geraniums cascading down the fences... and over there, a fir tree...” “It was a nicotina”, nagged Stina from the back. “Look at this picture!” Peter lowered the microphone in defeat and people hissed “psssst” from all sides. “glauca”, repeated Bergendahl, unmoved. The earl decided to add to the conversation as well. “Look!”, he shouted. “There was a snake! At least two meters long!” Peter raised his microphone again and thankfully butted in:. “There are no snakes on the Canary Islands, you must have seen a rope”, he said resolutely. “It was no rope”, Nils joined in, with a mischievous look at the earl. “It was a hose.” “No”, shouted the earl. “It was a black cobra...” “There are no black cobras”, yelled Bergendahl from the back. “Of course there are, Gustav, darling – don't you remember the pitch black cobra Lanning found on Sumatra in 1927...”, insisted Stina. “It was a hose”, nagged Nils. “No, it was a pitch black cobra from Sumatra!”, yelled the earl. “Stop this nonsense”, hissed Kent from the seat in front of them. “Do we always have to be ashamed of you?” He glared at the earl. “We are entitles to quarrel as well, if everyone is”, said the earl with a pointed look to the back of the bus. “Because it was no rope or hose...” “Not a snake either!” Micke had gotten up from his seat and turned around, looking daggers at the earl. “Okay”, said the earl. “No snake!” They continued heir trip with steep cliffs on the one side and tree stubs on the other side. Nils had his eyes closed, the earl was thinking. “I called David Pollenkräuter this morning”, squeaked Bergendahl. (At least one hundred decibel, the earl whispered to Nils.) “I promised to visit him on Thursday. He finally managed to figure out the formula for his dog pheromone – amazing – absolutely epochal. Only a few drops on this stone, for example – and we'd have a mass dog walk. Hi, hi, hi...” He giggled ear-deafening about his joke. “Hundreds of dogs would come running – only males of course. There are a few other things we need to talk about, there were some outrageous mistakes in his last essay in The Scientist...” “Who is this Pollenkräuter?”, asked his wife. “Don't you remember David? Who fled two Sweden during the second world war. He studies in America and now has an Institute here in Las Palmas.” “Ah, now I remember”, smiled Stine. “He always came on Thursdays, he liked pancakes...” “Can you be quiet for one minute?”, Peter yelled into the microphon. “Now we're almost there. At the end of the fifteenth century the Blessed Virgin revealed herself in a pine tree which grew at the place where the marketplace was built. You'll see the memorial in a few minutes. Pines are called pino in Spanish, so the Madonna standing in the church is called Pine Madonna, la virgen de los pinos...” “It must have been a pino canariens”m Bergendahl said eagerly. “The one with the alsmot ten centimeter long needles, you know...” “No”, interrupted Stina. “It obviously was a pino pinonero, the one with the umbrella shaped crown. Can't you imagine her looking out from under the umbrella...” “Quiet, I said”, yelled Peter, who had run out of patience. “Please take a look at this house with its distinctively carved wooden beams, they are... yes, what is it now, Nils?” “Can we eat something here?”, asked Nils, and looked at the raw lounge and black nose sticking out of his bag with a troubled expression. “Probably not”, Peter said scarcely. “We're only visiting the cathedral. Then we're heading home over the mountains. Ah, here we are. We'll leave our bags and everything in the boys, they do not fit in a catholic cathedral. And the ladies have to cover their heads, a use a handkerchief if you don't have a scarf...” “I'm not coming along”, Nils interrupted him again. “I need a coffee break. Is there a kiosk or café around here?” Now Peter looked dejected. “You can try it at the park over there. But what are you doing with the bag?”, he hissed. “You'll lose it, and I'll end up being the one who's got to look for it.” “I won't lose it.” Nils happily rushed to one of the benches in the shade under the blooming trees. The rest of the group obediently followed Peter to the cathedral. With it's two towers it looked way too big for the small town. “It's amazing that people can afford such a big church”, Sven whispered to the earl. Peter heard him and replied sourly: “The poorer you are the more you need the Madonn's help, don't you? But you can't understand that, of course.” When they entered the church he pointed a gallery above the altar. “There she is”, he said. “Can you see the black thing – that's her. She's wearing a mourning veil, now, during the Easter week, just like the other images of the saints in the niches. The veil won't be removed before Monday. So we can't really see her today...” They walked up the stairs and were immediately greeted by gifts for the Madonna, expensive presents made of gold and silver, among some small worthless things. “People often fall down on their knees in front of the church, or in front of the Madonna, or they promise her to walk the whole way to Las Palmas if only she's going to help them”, explained Peter. He pointed at a couple of dirty footballs. “One game ended 3:1, the other one 2:0. Imagine the AIK (*football club/team from Stockholm) asking for some divine help now an then”, he smiled. When they reached the little figure covered in black clothes Peter lifted one of the veils with an anxious look down at the church. “As long as nobody sees me”, he whispered. They caught a glimpse of a small, child-like face with a big, golden halo. She wore a snow-white liken dress, embroidered with expensive stones. “Look, she has an Order of the Polar Star”, said the headteacher knowledgeably. “Two of them!” “Hers a probably a little more expensive”, said Peter. “One of them is a big emerald in gold and the other one... no, that's enough, people down there are staring already.” He quickly let go of the veil. “On the evening of Easter Sunday they carry her trough whole Treror with a big parade, you should see it”, he said, as they walked out. “Although the travel agency has planned the big farewell party at the beach, with the whole pigling and the dance at the restaurant, so we probably won't be able to organize a trip that day”, he sighed. “I can't believe no one tries to steal her valuables”, said Sven. “It looks pretty easy.” “I advise you not to try”, Peter said drily. “First off, they have an alarm system. And How are you going to get them trough customs? The whole island would hunt you as soon as they notice the theft... the little Madonna is very popular.” They stepped out into the sunlight. “You have fifteen more minutes to stretch your legs”, said Peter. “But then the bus is going to leave – so don't be late.” In the meantime Nils and Diode had a very pleasant time. Nils wasn't very interested in Madonnas, but a cold coke and a piece of chocolate cake, that was his thing. And a bowl of water for Diode, who did not like coke. “Smart dog”, said Nils. “You take care of your teeth.” They had the small park all to themselves. The locals obviously preferred their cool homes. Nils picked a bench under a big tree, covered I blue blossoms. Now and then he threw a little twig and Diode eagerly ran after it and they could have done that the whole day, but at some point Nils looked at his watch and realised that he had to hurry. He placed Diode in the bag again, despite his desperate protests, but he could not bring himself to dash off right away. Diode had to calm down first – in the worst case they'd be a few minutes late. He pulled the zipper shut and only left a small opening for air. Then he rocked the bag back and forth ad closed his eyes. This was where he wanted to live when he was older. He could have an electric shop – or a kennel, he wouldn't even have to search for dogs... He could not dream on. Suddenly he felt that he wasn't alone. Someone stood behind the bench, someone dangerous. Thoughts were rushing trough his head. He kept his eyes closed, but tensed his muscles. The other person didn't make a sound and stood absolutely still, but Nils knw that he was there, close enough that it made no sense to try and run. And then it happened, while he sat and waited, something was thrown over his head. Nils kicked and struggled, but something was tied around his arms, he was completely helpless. He only heard branches break and the puff of air of someone moving past him. Then Nils started to how. He howled like a fire department siren during an emergency. It only took half a minuted until the little café around the corner was completely empty and people gatehred from all directions. “You should become an opera singer”, said Peter's calm voice in front of him. “I knew you'd be late and came looking for you. Fortunately. Otherwise you would have been late and – well, I don't know what would have happened. But anyway, you can stop screaming now, I'll untie you... he tired you to the bench – what a professional knot... here you go!” Nils did not close his mouth until he felt that his arms were free again. He threw his bonds off, and realised that it was his own jacket! “Didn't I tell you to come along to the cathedral?”, grumbled Peter. “Now let's go, before someone calls the police.” “Where did he go?”, asked Nils and stood up shakily. “He ran away when he saw me”, said Peter. “I only saw his back as he ran. And he did run! But now hurry up, the bus is waiting.” The crows grew by ten more bystanders every second, and it hailed friendly and worried questions in Spanish which eventually became less friendly and finally sounded almost threatening. “Can't you look a little more happy? They must think I'm your brutal father”, said Peter nervously. “And where is your bag?” “My mag – he must have taken it”, Nils said miserably. But then he remembered. “I threw it into the bushes, just when he put the jacket over my head.” Nils dived into the closest shrubs. “Here it is!” “You're amazing”, said Peter with real admiration in his voice. “But let's go now, I can hear police sirens. And try to look happy, or else...” It wasn't hard to look happy now that he felt Diode move in his bag. He pulled up he corners of his mouth, his eyes sparkled, and a relieved murmur went trough the crowd. They let Peter and Nils pass. The police sirens approached quickly. When they reached the bus Peter pushed Nils trough the door and yelled at the driver: “Drive! Drive as fast as you can, so we are as far away as possible when the police arrives.” He sank down on his seat and dried the sweat on his forehead. “That almost went wrong”, he groaned. “We could have been stuck at the police station the whole night. It's hell being a guide with the two of them on the bus”, he told the headteacher, who sad behind him. “You can't plan five minutes ahead. They are naturals at making life difficult for you.” The headteacher sighed. “Although it obviously wasn't Nils' fault this time.” Pater said bitterly. “It's never his fault, it just happens.” The headteacher sighed again. As if he didn't know that. The bus tore along the narrow mountain road , honked, passed cars and other buses. They raced trough sharp bends – and the whole time they climbed upwards. Nils sat and gold-plated his bravely for everyone who wanted to hear his story, and did not cheapt out on the gold: “And if Peter hadn't come and chased away the gangster I would have freed myself from my jacket and caught him”, he said. “If only I could understand what he wanted”, said the earl with surprise. “You don't look that wealthy. And he did not even try to take your money.” “It must have been the bag he was after”, said Micke. “A normal bag, old and tatty”, murmured the earl. “No sensible robber would fight Nils, just to get his bag... only if... and in that case it wouldn't be a normal robber...” He tried to remember which of the passengers he had seen during the fifteen minutes after they had visited the cathedral. He came to the conclusion that he hadn't seen any of them, since he had spend the first ten minutes in a line in front of an ice cream kiosk. The most important ten minutes. “Do you think we'll get that one”, asked Sven suddenly and pointed at the road. A small yellow Seat drove in front of them as if its life was a stake. But it was a pretty steep slope and despite the heavy load the bus caught up, meter after meter. “He set his mind on passing every other vehicle”, grinned Micke and nodded at the driver. “And the little one's motor is so clapped-out that we'll pass him easily – before the bend.” “Not before the bend”, said Ulli, who was still standing in the gangway for some reason and had the best view. “He drives like a racer, the guy in front of us, looks like he doesn't want to be passed for the life of him. We won't catch him before the bend, I bet five pesetas on it.” “Ten on the bus”, said Micke. But the little yellow one seemed to have some power reserves and the distance between the grew even bigger the closer the got to the bend. “The Madonna helps him, that's not fair”, laughed Micke and began to search for ten Pesetas in his purse, just when the Seat leaned into the curve. Half a minute later the bus reached the bend and the boys craned their necks to see if the Seat's lead had grown. But now the little yellow car was nowhere to be seen. The road lay straight and empty ahead of them. Not until they had left the bend a few hundred meters behind them spotted Sven a do fighting up the cliff. It slowly crawled forward like a fly on the wall. “That guy's completely insane”, said Micke quietly. “What if he skids off. “Yeah, I wouldn't want to drive up that road”, said Kent. “I saw the turning – some kind of cattle track, only a few tire tracks went right up the wall. They started ta the funny stone behind the bend.” “I've seen the car before”, said Nils hesitantly. “It stood in front of the hotel yesterday.” “How many yellow Seats are there on Grand Canary?”, hissed Ulli, who was in an exceptionally bad mood. “Five-hundred or a thousand?” “Well”, began Nils. “But that one...” “It's gone”, shouted Sven. “Vanished between the clouds...” “It's the car of Saint Peter”, said Micke in awe. “I think want the Seat when the time comes...” “We're on our way to the Petrified Storm, as the mountain chain on Grand Canary is called”, said Peter in the front and raised his microphone. “You can see the waves of high, rugged, volcanic mountaintops, one after the other. When we're a bit higher up we'll stop at a viewpoint from where you can see the Teide, the volcano on Tenerife– 3716 meters high. Up here in the mountains there are grotto's used by the the Guanches, the native inhabitants if the island, who were defeated by the Spaniards. The Guanches bury the the dead down there, they found several hundreds of mummies in only one grotto. The Guanches embalm their dead the same way the Egyptians did it and that prompted the discussion whether there is some sort of relation between both peoples...” Peter continued his lecture without raising his voice, and with some anxious looks at Bergendahl, who was snoring peacefully on his seat. Sometimes he briefly looked at the earl, who sat and brooded. And Nils, who was busy feeding Diode cookies without Peter noticing anything. There was no big interruption and Peter looked almost relaxed, when the bus stopped on the hotel's parking lot about an hour later. He helped Misses Bergendahl out of the bus and asked: “You'll come along to the Kasbah tomorrow I hope?” “Kasbah?”, she repeated quizzically. “Yeah”, said Peter and turned to the whole group. “The Kasbah is our bazaar here on the island, not far from here, at the Playa del Inglés. The ladies can buy fancy handbags for outrageously low prices, although you have to be able to bargain of course. They sell cameras and calculators as well – yeah, it's almost easier to list what they do not sell. It really is a tiny Orient”, he smiled. Nils didn't listen. “Look – there it is”, he said. Two meter from the bus away stood a yellow Seat.

#varning för hundliv

Varning för hundliv: Ch. 2 (2/2)

When Nils arrived at the wooden stairway, just where he had stood when he had spotted Krister, he met the earl, who was involved in a heated argument with the woman from the plane – the one with the bride bouquet. They stood and each pulled on one side of Nils' bag. “I just want to see who it belongs to”, she shouted and tried to reach the zipper. “I'm the one who found it!” “But it's Nils' bag and he's my friend”, hissed the earl. “That's what you say, yes,”, said the woman hotly. “There he comes”, the earl said resolutely. “Nils, is that your bag? She was about to steal it when I arrived!” “Of course that's my bag”, Nils said indifferently. He was still shaking. “We need a little milk or something, so he won't die”, he shouted. “Oh no, how cute”, said the woman and let go of the bag. “Have you been crying”, the earl asked with surprise. Nils sobbed throughout the whole story, while the three of them went into the hotel. That's where they met Peter. “You must be kidding!”, he exclaimed when he saw the dog in Nils' arms. “Didn't you hear what I said in the bus earlier? That you should stay away from the stray dogs? They can have anything from lice to rabies. And what are you going to do with it when you'll go home? Just let it run, they always survive somehow...” “Do you really think he could run?”, interrupted the earl. “And then survive somehow?”, said the woman angrily. When Peter saw the small, weak body his eyes became softer. He vanished inside the bar and soon returned with a bottle of lukewarm milk, a bowl, some bread and a few pieces of meat. “Take him back to your apartment, el dueño will be furious if he sees the dog in the lobby”, he said. “But give him the meat outside on the porch and then set it free. Remember that, will you! If you knew how much trouble I have with those damn dog lovers who play with a dog for a week and then leave it up to me to chase them away once they're gone...” He looked after them with a sense of foreboding. In the kitchen of their apartment the boys prepared a feast on the floor, but the little dog showed no interest in it. Not until Nils took a spoon and began feeding him milk did he understand that he was invited to eat. But Nils did not managed to make him eat more than half a cup of milk and a little bread. The he fell asleep on the blanket on Nils' bed. “What are you going to call him?”, asked the earl. Nils thought about it for a while. “Since he's the smallest member of the radio amateurs I think Diode fits him. Because that's the smallest radio component I know.” “Ah”, said the earl. “I'll be going downstairs for dinner then. You can babysit Diode.” Nils made a long face. “And what about me? When am I supposed to eat?” “Well, I guess I don't have to spent the whole night eating”, the earl said graciously. “I'll be back in an hour or so.” And he went to the hotel, whistling happily. The rest of the group had already gathered at the dining hall and reached the roast beef. “It must have been a a very old an experiences bull in his last fight, one that's been taking part in bull fights for year”, said Ulli, who held his knife poised to attack. “The poor Toreador – it's easier to cut the plate.” “Why the hell did you stay at the apartment?”, asked Micke. “Did you not see the pool at the roof? We've been bathing the whole time.” “I guess you do in fact look a bit cleaner”, said the earl and spooned his soup. Then he told them the story of the saved puppy. “It was him.” The earl shamelessly pointed at Krister, who did his best to vanish in his corner. But the wall remained unyielding, so he grabbed a hotel brochure and tried to hide behind it. Unfortunately it only covered half of his face, so he finished his dinner in record time and left the hall, followed by judgmental comments. “What a greedy guy, no table manners at all.” “Didn't his parents teach him how to behave...” The earl looked around the dining hall and realised that he was lucky. They had ended up at the same hotel as all of his prime suspects. The guy with the brand new clothes sat a few tables away, and of course he had bought an elegant club blazer and a white silken shirt was well. He had just finished eating, discretely put some money under the plate and left. At the table behind him sat the newly-wed couple, with the withered rose bouquet between them, and shared a deep look. And beside the window sat the old lady, sweating in her flowered dress, a woolen jacket, a silk scarf wrapped around her neck and head. May I never become an old lady, thought the earl. She's even wearing lace gloves! The Bergendahls and the headteacher and his wife had just left, reported Ulli. “Bergendahl wants to get up early, of course, to wake up the canary bird. And the headteacher looked like he lost his appetite when he saw us coming in. Although we did bow and pull off our hats.” “Poor him, he probably needs a really nice holiday”, said Sven, and did not know how right he was. They had made it to the chocolate cake when Nils appeared. “Stefan is nice enough to look after him”, he panted. “I ran the whole way – dinner is not over yetm is it?” “What Stefan?”, the earl asked sharply. “Him with the pats. That cos 398,50.” “Him!” The earl sprung up. “What if he steals my... I mean, your bag. You've been si scared of thieves, why do you let him inside?” “I didn't. He was inside already”, said Nils with his mouth full of soup. “He climbed in trough the widow. And I took my bag with me, although he promised ti have an eye on it as well. But I can need it here – business-wise”, said Nils mysteriously. “Diode surely won't mind, after all it was he who saved him down at the beach. So he's not scared of him. So since he's looking after...” “One second”, interrupted Ulli. “Who's scared of whom?” It always was a little hard to follow Nils' muddles explanations, once he got into his stride. But Ulli didn't get any explanation, because now the earl threw his napkin at Nils' face, pushed back his chair so it squeaked like a car spinning out of control, and rushed to the door. “Scoop a few paces of cake into your bag and come with me”, he ordered on the way. “Hey”, shouted Nils after him. “Some gangster stole my duct tape. And Stefan asked if you found his purse in the bathroom on the plane?” The earl stopped. He made a 180-degree-turn and walked back to the table. “What purse?” “He said there wasn't any money in it, but it was a noble leather purse and you were I line behind him, so he though you might have found it. Because the purse was gone when he went to the bathroom the next time, you know.” “Do I?”, the earl said sarcastically. “Oh, right, that must have been when you dropped Krister's bag in the first class”, grinned Nils. “That must be it”, said the earl. “And out of all people you let him inside – and left him alone in our room?” He looked at Nils murderously, turned on his heel and left. “So did you find it?”, Nils called. “No, I did not find a purse”, replied the earl truthfully. “If hadn't promised faithfully...”, said Kent. “...you could think the earl got entangled in a new mystery”, Ulli completed his sentence. “But we did promise – all of us – or didn't we?”,he asked and eyed Sven suspiciously. “Do not look at me”, laughed Sven. “I only know one mystery. How am I supposed to finish this last piece of cake.” Kent stood up. “Right, I guess I'll see you later then”, he said. “I'm going to the discotheque. I saw a girl I know a bit from home.” Micke kept him company and after two pieces of cake Ulli left as well. Sven looked at Nils inquiringly. “Hey, the earl has really been a little mysterious tonight. Didn't he mention anything – nothing suspicious? That he might be involved in?” “No, not a word. He barely said anything to me the whole day. And anyway – even if he had said somthing, I surely wouldn't tell you, just so you know”, Nils said tauntingly. Then he peered around the room ans whispered: “But someone broke into our apartment and stole something while were at the beach.” “Stole something?”, Sven asked quietly. “The duct tape, you mean? Or anything more?” “They might have taken more”, claimed Nils. “I didn't check yet. But my pants were tidily hung up over the back of a chair when we came back, so someone must have been there. And the duct tape was in my bag, I know that for sure. Maybe a couple of apple rings, too, I was about to count them when Stefan came in.” “So it's not exactly a bank robbery”, said Sven and yawned. “I think I'll return to the flat an go to bed. Are you coming?” Nils shook his head and began looking trough his bag. He hard heard something interesting from the table behind him. Now he's gone insane, too, thought Sven. There he sits rummaging trough hit bottomless bag, looking like he's won the lottery... “Are you honetly going to stay here all by yourself?”, he pressed Nils. Nils glared at him. “Get lost”, he hissed, “or shut up, because I'm listening.” Another mystery about apple rings, though Sven with amusement. But he can solve that one he himself, and thus he left. Nils had found on of his cigarette packages and put them in the corner of the table, right at the edge so the brand name was visible. It felt like having chosen an especially fat worm and putting it o the hook and waiting for the bobber to vanish under the water surface... Behind him the loud voice continued to lament: “... and can you believe that the guy didn’t have a single good cigarette? Only those Spanish smokes ad English ones, that tasted like dish water. And they can't understand a sensible person either. I tries cigaretto Princo but I got a bag of sawdust instead...” The voice was suddenly lowered to an excited whisper: “Hey, look at that! Are you seeing what I'm seeing?” Nils smiled a secret smile, like a mafia boss... The owner of the voice had stood up and walked over to him. “Hrmrm”, he cleared his throat. “... I suppose it's not possible to buy a cigarette? I mean – you won't manage to smoke all of them tonight, will you?” “No, I'm not even a smoker”, said Nils calmly. “You can buy the whole package, uncle.” The man looked as if he saw paradise. He took out his purse and out eight Kronor on the tabe beside the cigarettes. “What a lucky coincidence”, he shouted. “Thank you so much.” He grabbed the package and was about to put it in his pocket. “I'm sorry”, said Nils politely, “but actually they cost fifteen.” “What the heck do you mean?”, exclaimed the smoker. “I should know that a box of Prince costs eight Kronor!” “Not that one”, insisted Nils and reached out for the package. “The shipping costs a bit, too – and the risk to smuggle in Swedish cigarettes has to be payed as well. So fifteen Kronor are a pretty good price.” “Oh, damn it”, hissed the man. “There will surely be Swedish cigarettes at the normal price in Las Palmas. “Yeah, that might be true”, Nils said mildly. “You can buy them there then. Tomorrow”, he added slily. The man laughed. “I see, you're a business,am. Alright, here you have your exorbitant price. You do not happen to have more boxes?” “I do have a couple more...”, said Nils. “And right now they're only fifteen kronor...” “ Give me two more then, before the price goes up”, grinned the smoker. “We won't get to Las Palmas until the day after tomorrow – did you hear this, Åke,“, he called to the table behind him. “This boy sells Swedish cigarettes!” The news soon spread from table to table. The customers grumbled about the price but the hunger for their usual cigarette brand outweighed their avarice in the end and within fifteen minutes Nils secret compartment was empty. Which was very fortunate, since now the maître d’hôtel came running, with a speed that did not really suited a maître. He carried a big basket in one hand and angrily grabbed Nils' bag with the other one. He chattered in Spanish for a while and Nils heard the word cigarillos several times, so he assumed it was about the cigarettes. It sounded as if the chief waiter did not like them – not at all. He obviously needed to calm down, he looked absolutely exhausted. Nils looked at him, dewy-eyed. “No cigarillos – no – nein – non.” He opened his bag. “Sour apple rings, yes – ja – si...“ He began picking single apple rings from the bag, amidst general laughter. The maître raised his basket, which turned out to be filled with Swedish cigarettes of various brands, and began walking among the tables. When he angrily explained how much they cost Nils decided to go home and sleep. It was probably about time... he quickly brushed past his former customers and pretended not to hear he what they shouted after him. It wasn't hiss fault that cigarettes were custom-free on Gran Canary! When he arrived at the foyer Sven was long gone. Outside of the neon light circle of the hotel it was pitch black, only a few weak lanterns lighted the narrow path between the houses, where most of the guests lived. Nils stood and hesitated to take the first step out into the night. He wasn't really sure how to find the right bungalow either. There had been two basket chairs and table on Micke and Sven's porch and the railing had been freshly painted with red anti-rust protection paint, that was the only thing he remembered. But what if all railings had been painted today? He felt panic welling up inside of him, when he heard a croaky voice behind him. “Oh, I'm very lucky. You must be one of the boys from the house beside mine. Would you be so kind as to help an old lady – if I could hold on to your arm, I'm so afraid to trip in the darkness. I can carry your bag in return.” It was the old lady from the plane. Nils did not have to go alone, any maybe the old hag had a better sense of direction as well. Although he pretended to have overheard the part with the bag. He preferred to carry it himself. He offered his arm, let her lean onto it, and slowly struggled along the bath between the bungalows. The walked past the first and second row of houses and Nils realised, that there were two basket chairs on every porch. However, the railings had not been painted here. In the third row there were shiny red railings and also a palm tree Nils was sure he had seen trough the window. “Here it is”, he shouted. “We have to go this way.” But the old lady appeared to be deaf and stumbled on and held on to his arm so tightly that his only chance was to tear away, and Nils wasn't that rude. He white gloves steered him mercilessly into the darkness of the fourth row, there the street light did not work for some reason. “This is where I live”, she croaked and loosened her grip around Nils' arm. “The fourth house I think.” Nils could not let her stumble on all alone, so he followed her, although he knew it was stupid. Suddenly he felt someone someone grip his bag. Someone who was much stronger than him. But Nils was quick to react and and flexible. He got angry, too – no one was going to take his money! So he did not let go but leaned in and dug his teeth into the hand pulling at his bag. Jack London's big leader of the back couldn't have done it better. Someone cursed and the grip on the bag slackened. Nils screamed, too, and he had unexpected sound resources in his narrow throat. As soon as he was free he ran back to the third row – and there, on the balcony behind the palm tree, stood the earl and stared out into the darkness. “Must you sing that high”, said the earl drily. Nils closed his mouth and rushed up the stairs. “Lock the door, hurry up”, he whispered. “There was a whole gang down there, it was dark and they tried to steal my bag but they did not manage to because I bit them And the old hag wouldn't let me go that's why we got lost, she's really strong. I wonder what happened to her, they surely took her handbag...” The earl stood at the window and carefully looked trough the blinds. “No, there she comes, and she's still holding her handbag. Must have been a very polite gang”, he grinned. “Maybe it was a smoked who wanted your cigarettes...” “Cigarettes”, snorted Nils. “I sold them all”, he bragged and took his earnings from the secret compartment. “Fifteen bucks for each box.” The earl whistles. “How many of them knew that you've become a millionaire?” “The whole dining hall of course”, Nils said carelessly. “Almost all of them bought something, at least the Swedish guests. Where's Stefan by the way? He must have been here when you arrived?” “He sure was”, said the earl. “He was halfway in the wardrobe. He was looking for something warm to cover Diode, he said. Sweet, isn't it?” “You don't like Stefan”, said Nils resentfully. “Although it was him who saved Diode.” “I'm just wondering”, said the earl thoughtfully. “There's something wrong with Stefan.”

#varning för hundliv

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