‘May I have access to the attic?’
‘The attic? Why do you want to go up there?’ Oswald looked like he couldn’t believe his ears.
‘I thought I could put some of Madde’s things there so I have more space here.’ She gestured at the shelf behind her, which was full of books and notepads.
‘The attic is unusable, didn’t you know that? No one has access to it.’
A question about the padlock was on the tip of her tongue: why had someone bothered to use a new lock there? But she swallowed it; she didn’t want to disrupt his good mood. Morning assembly was in an hour and Oswald would be speaking to the staff. The two of them had just finished going through his mail, and she had printed out his schedule for the day.
‘Just toss all that crap. Why should we keep Madde’s stuff? If you find anything valuable you can put it in the basement.’
The basement. Perhaps that would have been a good hiding spot for the family history. Sofia decided to search there too. She was obsessed with the idea of finding it, sure it would be the key to her own book.
There was a knock at the door and Carmen Gardell stepped in without waiting for a response. Her skirt was so short it was a miracle her crotch remained covered as she sat down before Oswald. She rested her elbows on the desk and cradled her face in her hands. The scent of her perfume wafted through the office.
‘We should get started today, Franz, don’t you think?’ Gardell flashed a coquettish smile at Oswald.
‘Of course, I just have to prepare the staff. You’re welcome to go to the annexes and have a coffee in the meantime. I’ll meet you there.’
Gardell ran her hands through her mane of hair and licked her lips to moisten them.
Didn’t Oswald realize she was hitting on him? It was so ridiculous that Sofia had to clamp her lower lip between her teeth to keep from laughing out loud. But it seemed to have no effect on Oswald, who remained polite but cool.
She’s not his type. He is turned on by something completely different. What, I don’t know.
‘Has the staff gathered, Sofia?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sure enough, everyone was waiting in their lines down on the lawn. Three red caps were conspicuous in the back. Stefan from the household unit, the one who hadn’t taken down the Midsummer pole, had joined Madeleine and Helge in Penance.
Sofia stood beside Oswald at assembly these days, always with a notepad and pen in hand. It felt strange to stand in front of the staff; it gave her a certain amount of authority. She could see their faces and reactions. Today they looked a little nervous, as they always did when something new was going on. Change could have an immediate effect on anyone — it might mean an ‘all hands on deck’ situation, where people were expected to leave their usual jobs and help out with something else, sometimes around the clock. Or Oswald might make known that someone had messed up, and if anyone tried to hide something the assembly might take a turn for the worse.
‘We have one of Sweden’s top PR experts here,’ Oswald began. ‘You are not to blow this opportunity the way you did with Magnus Strid. Carmen’s going to take pictures of you as you work, and she’ll interview you and put together a story and a brochure we can send out to the media.’
A wave of relief washed over the group. She was surprised how easily she could see and feel it. In an instant, the lines of worry on their faces smoothed out.
‘You must look respectable. Please talk with her about all the positive aspects of ViaTerra. But avoid trying to explain the philosophical concepts. I’ll do that myself. And I think those of you in Penance should remove your caps for a few days. Bosse, you can turn the dining room computer on again. Just for the time being.’
No one said a word, but she could see tiny smiles pop up here and there.
‘Sofia will go around inspecting your work areas so everything looks nice. I’ll be spending most of my time with Carmen and our guests. It’s important for you all to get enough sleep, by the way. No sleepwalking, please.’
A threefold relief: sleep, computer access, and a little free time. At least for Sofia.
‘And no swearing. Don’t leave any junk in the courtyard. Be polite to our guests and try to avoid tripping over me and Carmen when we visit your areas. Just a few days, okay? I want you to do your very best. Questions?’
A single hand went up. It was Mona’s.
‘Does . . . sir, does this mean that the rules you read last week no longer apply?’
Oswald stiffened.
‘Are you serious? Are you really that stupid?’
‘No, sir, I just wondered . . .’
Oswald turned to Bosse.
‘Bosse, did I say anything about the rules ending?’
Bosse shook his head; he looked like an eager schoolboy who knew the answer to a tricky question.
‘Absolutely not, sir. Not at all.’
‘Did I say anything about last week’s rules?’
‘No, sir. You did not.’
‘Good. For a moment there I thought I was being forgetful.’
Someone tittered but quickly checked themselves.
‘All I said was that you’re expected to behave yourselves in the coming days, right?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘You might want to test Mona’s IQ and make sure she’s actually qualified to work here.’ He turned to Bosse, who nodded and glared at Mona. ‘Then that’s that. I’m sure I don’t have to list the consequences you’ll face if one of you screws up again.’
He left them and headed for the annexes. Sofia lingered behind.
A small group of colleagues had gathered around Mona while the rest remained in their lines, curious about what would happen next. Katarina and Anna were the first to attack Mona. Anna strode up and grabbed her arm, while Katarina stood before Mona, who stared down at the gravel.
‘Are you really that slow?’
‘Do you want to ruin things for all of us, you bitch?’ Katarina asked, giving Mona a little shove in the chest.
Mona didn’t even try to defend herself; she just kept staring at the ground. Sofia felt a jolt of pity. She was also worried about losing Mona to Penance — that would mean an unstaffed library.
‘Let her be!’ she roared. ‘Bosse’s going to test her IQ. Didn’t you hear Franz?’
Anna and Katarina were startled out of their attack. Katarina was about to open her mouth again, but Sofia interrupted her.
‘That’s all. You can all get back to work now.’
A pleasant mixture of warmth and strength spread throughout her. This is what it feels like to have power, she thought. I work for Oswald and no one can say a damn thing, because he’s not here and I’m in charge.
The staff scattered and soon only she and Bosse were left in the yard.
‘Do you have any IQ tests?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. If we don’t, we’ll find some online. We’ll manage.’
She spent the hours before lunch walking around the property finding out how the projects Oswald wanted done were progressing. She took notes and spoke to the staff. Back in the office she turned her notes into a checklist on the computer. Her feet were sore, but her realization was still intoxicating. Being Oswald’s stand-in meant sharing in some of his power.
*
‘That was quite a performance at assembly,’ Benjamin said when she came home that night.
‘A performance? They were going after her; it was nuts!’
‘Right. You restored order.’
She couldn’t keep herself from telling him about the cottage and Karin Johansson. She just had to talk to someone, because she was so excited about all of it — the family history, the history of the manor, and the thought of writing a book — she thought she might burst.
But the more she shared with Benjamin, the more upset he looked.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked at last.
‘I don’t want you going to the cottage anymore, Sofia. You have to stop snooping.’
‘But why? What’s wrong with you?’
‘That has nothing to do with ViaTerra. You’ll only get distracted. Don’t you realize how important your job is?’
She was immediately annoyed. Like he was the boss of her. As if his role in the ethics unit meant he had the power to keep her under control. She said the first hurtful thing that came to mind.
‘Do you think I’m going to work here forever? That this is some sort of lifelong assignment?’
‘It is, Sofia. And you’re breaking all the rules right now.’
‘I’m so damn tired of your negative attitude. God forbid you do something that’s against Franz’s stupid rules for once.’
They fought long into the night. Even after they finally made up the air seemed to tremble with spitefulness, and she couldn’t fall asleep. She didn’t understand him. How could he have turned from the best guy in the world into a whiny, nagging idiot?
He dozed off before she did. She laid her head on his chest and found that his heart was still beating fast and hard. He was upset even in sleep. In a way, he’s right, she thought. I can’t dig through all of this and do my job at the same time, yet I can’t just let it go.
The fight had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and it was still there when she woke up in the morning. But it vanished quickly after that, because everyone seemed so happy out on the property. Anna had cleaned the annexes so that every surface gleamed. Katarina waved from the flowerbeds, where she was watering new plants. Even Simon in the greenhouse looked freshly shaven and alert, and the new security guards had received their uniforms.
Everything she’d requested had been done. And when Carmen Gardell walked by and flashed her that perfect, snow-white smile and said, ‘Thanks for your help,’ she felt truly valuable.
Who am I, really? It’s become a constant question during my journey. I think about it as I gaze out of dirty train windows, wander unfamiliar streets, and rest at night with only the sky above me.
Fredrik Johansson is dead and probably already buried. So who has risen again; who is leading this search for truth?
There’s something magical about having no name or identity, like finding yourself in the thin mist between dream and reality.
The feelings from my dream linger, but real life slowly becomes sharp and clear.
I know where I’m going and who I’m looking for. But I don’t know who I will become.
Right before I leave Sweden, I happen across the article.
I’m standing in a dusty little convenience store, flicking through the daily papers — it’s become something of a morning routine. And suddenly, as I turn a page, the little story turns up.
‘Tragedy on West Fog Island,’ it says.
I read it, feeling strangely pleased; the article is short and insignificant. It says I hit my head on the underwater boulders at Devil’s Rock and was pulled out to sea. They are incompetent idiots. Those rocks are way too deep down; you can’t hit your head below that cliff.
It’s almost too good to be true.
Fredrik Johansson isn’t just gone, he has been completely erased.