rumors."
Reilly shook his head in disbelief. "You had best take an axe and kill off all of Ladegården just to be on the safe side. Cut them down. Right at the root. Best kill Ingerid, too, she's probably reading Jon's diary this very minute."
Again he looked out at the huge ship. The child in him marveled that it was possible for thousands of tons to float. Axel would explain in his usual way that it was a matter of even weight distribution, it was always about that. Also, when you move through enemy territory, he would say, it's a question of putting your feet down with care.
"I'd like to work on a boat," Reilly said. "Being in constant motion, under the sky, seeing new cities, new landscapes. Standing on the top deck at night and gazing at the stars. The feeling of floating, drifting, not being tied to anything. They earn good money too. Not that I care about that."
Here he glanced at Axel. "'Better starve free than be a fat slave,'" he said.
"I'm starting to get fed up with the Koran," Axel said.
"It's not from the Koran. It's just an old proverb."
They fell silent. Reilly savored the gentle haze that filled his head and made him feel brave and brimming with confidence. The drugs dulled his conscience, and he became generous and indulgent toward himself. I haven't really done anything wrong, he thought, I'm a victim. Of circumstance. I damn well am. He looked out at the river again. Then he burst out laughing at the idea that the huge ship might be loaded with chocolate mice after all. He imagined the mice escaping through the packaging and darting around the hold, crawling around the boat and spilling out onto the deck while the crew pressed themselves against the rail and watched the invasion.
"Could you keep it down, please," Axel said. "I'm in pain."
Reilly calmed down and felt remorseful.
"I'm really sorry about your dad," he said.
Axel ignored him. Reilly kept looking at the tanker. Her slow progress, her beauty and elegance on the gray water mesmerized him.
"I've never laid a hand on anyone in my life," Axel said out of the blue. "Not on Jon, or anyone else."
Reilly wanted to reply, but the drugs had made him sluggish and he was incapable of formulating a sentence.
"Have I ever laid a hand on anyone?" Axel asked.
"Not really sure," Reilly mumbled.
"Not really sure?" Axel said. "What sort of an answer is that?!"
But Reilly kept his mouth shut. When Axel lost his temper, it was best to lie low for a while.
A wide, frothing stream flowed into Glitter Lake, and on the bank a woman was watching the sky. She was one of those people whom life had treated well, so she had a little smile at the corner of her mouth. It came naturally to her. Behind her lay a hill surrounded by dense vegetation and farther away a small sandy beach. She was sitting on a rock. Next to her was a canvas bag in which she kept a watercolor block, paints and brushes. She got water from the lake. Glitter Lake was a pretty landscape. She had an eye for detail and she was absorbed by the light which changed constantly as the clouds were driven across the sky by a mild breeze. From time to time the sun would break through, and she would close her eyes, relishing its warmth. There was a green and black whirlpool where the stream poured into the lake, and the churning water had created a wide tuft of foam. A gnarled root from a tree stuck out of the whirlpool. This foreground constituted the subject. The root which had anchored itself in the mud was almost a sculpture in itself. She decided to tone down the cloud formations lest they distort the balance of the composition. The focal point should be low, the sky should play second fiddle. She placed the pad in her lap and started outlining the scene with a soft pencil, and anyone looking over her shoulder
would have seen that she was a skilled artist. She did not hesitate for a second. There was a direct link between her eyes and her hand. While she worked, she enjoyed all the
Reilly shook his head in disbelief. "You had best take an axe and kill off all of Ladegården just to be on the safe side. Cut them down. Right at the root. Best kill Ingerid, too, she's probably reading Jon's diary this very minute."
Again he looked out at the huge ship. The child in him marveled that it was possible for thousands of tons to float. Axel would explain in his usual way that it was a matter of even weight distribution, it was always about that. Also, when you move through enemy territory, he would say, it's a question of putting your feet down with care.
"I'd like to work on a boat," Reilly said. "Being in constant motion, under the sky, seeing new cities, new landscapes. Standing on the top deck at night and gazing at the stars. The feeling of floating, drifting, not being tied to anything. They earn good money too. Not that I care about that."
Here he glanced at Axel. "'Better starve free than be a fat slave,'" he said.
"I'm starting to get fed up with the Koran," Axel said.
"It's not from the Koran. It's just an old proverb."
They fell silent. Reilly savored the gentle haze that filled his head and made him feel brave and brimming with confidence. The drugs dulled his conscience, and he became generous and indulgent toward himself. I haven't really done anything wrong, he thought, I'm a victim. Of circumstance. I damn well am. He looked out at the river again. Then he burst out laughing at the idea that the huge ship might be loaded with chocolate mice after all. He imagined the mice escaping through the packaging and darting around the hold, crawling around the boat and spilling out onto the deck while the crew pressed themselves against the rail and watched the invasion.
"Could you keep it down, please," Axel said. "I'm in pain."
Reilly calmed down and felt remorseful.
"I'm really sorry about your dad," he said.
Axel ignored him. Reilly kept looking at the tanker. Her slow progress, her beauty and elegance on the gray water mesmerized him.
"I've never laid a hand on anyone in my life," Axel said out of the blue. "Not on Jon, or anyone else."
Reilly wanted to reply, but the drugs had made him sluggish and he was incapable of formulating a sentence.
"Have I ever laid a hand on anyone?" Axel asked.
"Not really sure," Reilly mumbled.
"Not really sure?" Axel said. "What sort of an answer is that?!"
But Reilly kept his mouth shut. When Axel lost his temper, it was best to lie low for a while.
A wide, frothing stream flowed into Glitter Lake, and on the bank a woman was watching the sky. She was one of those people whom life had treated well, so she had a little smile at the corner of her mouth. It came naturally to her. Behind her lay a hill surrounded by dense vegetation and farther away a small sandy beach. She was sitting on a rock. Next to her was a canvas bag in which she kept a watercolor block, paints and brushes. She got water from the lake. Glitter Lake was a pretty landscape. She had an eye for detail and she was absorbed by the light which changed constantly as the clouds were driven across the sky by a mild breeze. From time to time the sun would break through, and she would close her eyes, relishing its warmth. There was a green and black whirlpool where the stream poured into the lake, and the churning water had created a wide tuft of foam. A gnarled root from a tree stuck out of the whirlpool. This foreground constituted the subject. The root which had anchored itself in the mud was almost a sculpture in itself. She decided to tone down the cloud formations lest they distort the balance of the composition. The focal point should be low, the sky should play second fiddle. She placed the pad in her lap and started outlining the scene with a soft pencil, and anyone looking over her shoulder
would have seen that she was a skilled artist. She did not hesitate for a second. There was a direct link between her eyes and her hand. While she worked, she enjoyed all the
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