Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 19 - Dragon´s Teeth

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

Yes, he was, Sölve admitted amiably.

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

The girl’s hands jerked.

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

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

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

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

His revenge would be horrible, he promised himself that!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What about an illness ...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stood with the torn doll in his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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