Margit Sandemo: The Ice People 33 - Demon of the Night

“TAMLIN!”

The others put down their spoons and glasses and stared at her in surprise. She looked away from the chandelier and gave everyone a sheepish look. “It suddenly occurred to me this very moment. The name of the elf from the Scottish forests was Tamlin, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied her mother, “but surely you don’t have to frighten us like that, do you?”

“What do you know about Tamlin?” asked Christoffer with a twinkle in his eye. “I wouldn’t have thought that it’s a legend for an eleven-year-old.”

“I’m almost twelve,” she corrected him. “What’s wrong with that story?”

“I’ve told her a slightly adapted version,” muttered Agnete. “Would anybody care for some more cake?”

But Vanja didn’t give in. “Wasn’t Tamlin nice to all the young girls that had lost their way in his forest?”

Christoffer clapped his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Nice? Well, I suppose you could say that!”

“Enough of that!” said Per Volden sternly.

When everybody was focused on the dessert, Vanja’s glance moved back to the chandelier. She looked sternly at it, with a warning frown. Then she stood up. “Oh, I’ve forgotten to close the window in my room,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll be back soon.”

She hurriedly left the dining room, after making a discreet movement with her hand as if she was waving at somebody. Nobody noticed it.

“Vanja’s so sweet,” said Malin. “But rather absentminded.”

Agnete nodded. “She lives in a world of her own. Sometimes she seems to find it difficult to wake up to our humdrum world. Why don’t we all have coffee in the next room?”

Vanja hurried through the hall and into the oldest part of Linden Avenue, where her room was situated. On the walls were Silje’s portraits of the four children – Sol, Dag, Liv and Are – now restored but just as precious to the new generations. Benedikt Maler’s stained-glass window still cast multi-coloured light on the floor. As she walked past it, she whispered angrily: “How dare you enter the dining room when everybody is gathered there? And up on the chandelier too! Pulling down your trousers like that! You cheeky little brat!”

Tamlin pattered next to her, trying to keep pace, giving her an evil smile.

“I just wanted to listen to your empty talk. And to pull your leg a bit. It’s so amusing.”

Vanja opened the door to her room and let him in. She was really fed up. “And what are you doing in their dreams?”

“Tricking secrets out of them! You know I’m a demon of the night. We belong in bad dreams.”

“What do you need their secrets for?”

Tamlin understood that he had gone too far and answered breezily: “I’m just curious.”

“Then how come you’re not in mine? Now I’ve been forced to lie to them, which isn’t at all funny.”

Tamlin’s face lit up in a cheeky grin, and he sat down on the desk in front of her. “Why would I be in your dreams? You’ve no secrets from me. Besides, I haven’t said anything about the fact that you can see me. So just stop scolding me!”

Vanja stiffened. “Said? To whom?”

Tamlin lowered his eyelids over his yellow eyes. His glance turned cunning. “Nobody. Just the other demons of the night.”

“Do you meet with them?”

He twisted and turned. “Of course not! We just exchange thoughts.”

Vanja didn’t really know what to believe. “You can’t be trusted; you go behind my back.”

“Of course I do,” he replied with a proud smile. “It’s what I enjoy the most, you damn cow!”

“You’re not to talk to me like that. I’ve told you before, haven’t I?”

“Why not? After all, you’re a lot older than me.”

She regarded him pensively. “I’m not so sure about that. I’m really not so sure.”

He had grown a lot. Tamlin was no longer a dear little baby. He had grown and his face was beginning to take shape: the broad cheekbones, the narrow chin that ended in a point, the glistening yellow eyes that were now conscious in a completely different way, the long arms that ended in sharp claws, the hair that now grew down over his forehead and neck ...

He was no longer a little tot. But nor was he grown-up, not even a young man. Vanja imagined that he was around the same age as her, or a bit less. Although he was no taller than a two-year-old, he behaved as if he was eight or nine.

How could he grow so fast? He had only been here about a year, and to begin with he had been no bigger than a squirrel.

It had been a fantastic, wonderful year when she had been responsible for this little imp. Now, however, she was beginning to be concerned.

Tamlin scratched his back.

“What’s the matter?” asked Vanja. “Is it fleas?”

“Hell, no! Scratch me!”

He turned his back to her, and Vanja scratched him where he told her.

“Heavens, Tamlin! What do you have here? A couple of knobs under your skin.”

“They’re my wings, you fool! Have you ever seen a demon without wings?”

“Are they growing the way they should?”

“Of course! Just like the molars you’re griping about such a lot!”

Vanja sat there, completely perplexed. Then she laughed quietly.

“It isn’t anything to laugh about!” he hissed, trying to slap her.

“Ouch! If you don’t behave, I’ll put you out in the cold of winter!”

He bared all his pointed white teeth in a devilish grin. “Do you think you can? I’ll simply return in your dreams, and they won’t be anything to laugh at!”

“You ...! Oh, I’d better go back to the others, otherwise they’ll wonder where I am. Now you be a good boy! No mischief!”

“Yes, yes,” he teased. “Lots of mischief. You won’t be able to recognize your room!”

Vanja gave him a furious look and slipped out before he had time to follow her.

Magdalena Backman passed away: she had been Christer’s widow, and the last member of the Ice People clan in Sweden. And Vanja inherited all Saga’s belongings, which had been in her home. She also inherited Saga’s fortune, which was now immense.

She wasn’t allowed to touch her money. But she got some nice things, which she put in her room, taking care that the room didn’t become overcrowded. Vanja really appreciated these priceless objects. There was a beautiful little rococo desk – Tamlin declared grumpily that it wasn’t as comfortable as the old one – and a rococo chair, and a new bedside table. The knick-knacks, books, furs and jewellery didn’t interest her. She placed them in a bank vault for any children and grandchildren who were keener than her.

“What do you think, Tamlin?” she asked one day as she stepped out of the closet wearing a brocade dress that had been Saga’s when she was a young girl. Vanja would always change in there: she didn’t like to appear half-naked in front of her small room-mate. Now she had pushed her hair up and was gazing happily in the mirror.

Tamlin sat on the table and sniffled. He looked away, full of contempt. “You look ridiculous,” he said, so cockily that it revealed his insecurity.

“No, I jolly well don’t, you snotty brat,” she replied, hurt, waving her hand as if to hit him. He grabbed her arm as quick as lightning and his claws dug into her skin as he stared at her with a horrible, almost murderous look in his eyes.

“You’d better remember that what I say goes!” he told her in a threatening tone.

“If that’s the way you want things to be, our friendship must come to an end!”

“Friendship? I only use you because it suits me. No, but you look all right,” Tamlin said with a gesture towards her clothes, and Vanja smiled.

A few months later – just as Vanja turned twelve – she noticed something she ought to have seen a long time ago: Tamlin was now so tall that his legs dangled over the end of the fairly big doll’s bed.