Kannick lowered his bow. He was standing approximately 25 metres away, looking at the empty window. What he'd hit was no great feat, but it was still a challenge to aim for the transparent, shimmering glass, and the arrow had made a great sound as it struck. In his mind he had just skewered the eyeball of General Crook. He went closer and stared at the house, which was empty and abandoned and looked dilapidated in the afternoon sun. He knew that he would find the arrow inside, sticking out of a wall. He looked around for another target because he had one arrow left in his quiver. It was getting late but he wasn't worried about the unpleasantness that awaited him back at Guttebakken. He knew exactly what would happen and had been through it many times before, so it didn't scare him. It was all so pitifully predictable. Grown-ups had so little imagination. Margunn might find somewhere else to hide the key to the cabinet. Chances are it wouldn't be any worse than that. Besides, she would be glad that he'd found the missing arrows, since she knew that he was worried about them. He would discover her new hiding place. And that would be all.
He stared at the old house, at the grey wood, the flat stone steps in front of the door, and the empty windows. He had been inside many times, had been through all the cupboards, had even slept on the old sofa in the living room. He stared at the door. There were several black spots in the wood, and he decided to choose one of them.
He was Chief Geronimo. The door was a Mexican soldier, and the dark spot was his heart. The enemy. They were the ones who had raped and killed the tribe's women and children. He hated them from the depths of his warrior soul!
This time he wanted to shoot from a kneeling position, the way the chief used to shoot. It was a big challenge. He went down on one knee and pulled out the next arrow from the quiver. This one had yellow and red feathers. He put the arrow into the bow and straightened his back. Through the sight he made sure the bow was level. He looked at the dark spots and chose the one in the middle of the door, a little to the left of where the door handle had been. Then he drew, felt the plate slide under his chin and the string of the bow move into place just above the tip of his nose.
Long live the Apaches!
Just the slightest adjustment and he had the spot in his sight. Vaguely he noticed that something was happening. The door opened and a black shape appeared in the entrance. But his brain had already given the command; his grip loosened and he wanted to lower the bow, but he couldn't stop the arrow from releasing. It flew from the string at a speed of close to 100 metres per second.
There was not a sound as it struck. Errki stood on the steps and gave only a tiny start of surprise. Kannick saw the yellow arrow sticking out of his black trousers. Errki looked astonished, but said not a word. Hesitantly he moved his hand to pull it out. Then he caught sight of Kannick. The fat boy.
He recognised the ragged trousers and the bulging body. Now he understood what he'd had in the case he had been clutching as he'd raced down the path with madness in his eyes. A bow. The boy lowered it now. It gleamed red in the sunlight, and the arrow the boy had just shot was sticking out of Errki's right thigh. It didn't hurt. He gripped the arrow close to his trousers and clenched his teeth. It slid out, quite easily. He felt at once something give way, a tight clamp that let go. The boy turned and ran.
Errki did something he hadn't done in years, he ran after him. Hot blood was starting to pour down his thigh. Kannick was gasping for breath, but otherwise not a sound came from his mouth as he raced away. He dropped the bow; he'd never thought he'd be able to do such a thing, but it was hindering his escape, and the black shape that was Errki Johrma was after him! As the terrible seriousness of his situation dawned on him, the strength drained from his body, leaving him empty for a moment. He lost his concentration and began to stumble over low branches and undergrowth. He thought, if I fall now, there's no hope. He was running to save his life; he wanted to go back home to Guttebakken. Home to Margunn and all the others, to the safe life in that ugly building, to Philip wheezing in the bed beside him. Home to Christian, to the dream of defeating all the other contenders for the national championships, home to dinner and freshly baked bread, to the flickering TV set and clean sheets every other week. Life suddenly seemed to him so precious, something he wanted to fight for, and the feeling swamped him.
Then he stumbled, and fell full length, face down in the dry grass. But he didn't give up, he was still fighting; he had to find something to defend himself with so that he could kill his pursuer before his pursuer killed him! He looked around for a stick but found only twigs; there was no stone that he could see. At the end of his tether, he saw his life vanishing, slipping away. He surrendered, rolled up into a ball and lay still. Kannick had never imagined he would die so young. He used the last of his strength to prepare himself. Errki's footsteps were coming closer. At last they stopped right beside him. The man was crazy. He wasn't going to behave like anyone else. That was the worst part, not knowing what to expect. All the stories that he'd heard about Errki raced through his mind.
"He who fears the wolf shouldn't go into the forest," Errki whispered.
Kannick heard the low voice. He didn't move, he was already as good as dead. Cautiously he turned his head and caught a glimpse of the leg of Errki's black baggy trousers. The wound didn't seem to be bothering him. Yet another sign that the man was inhuman. He probably didn't feel pain, not his own, and definitely not anyone else's. He was without feeling. Being inhuman meant that you had no feelings about anything.
"Get up."
The voice was not menacing. It even held a trace of surprise. Kannick got unsteadily to his feet, keeping his head bowed. The beating would come soon, and he had to take the brunt of it on his forehead and temples. A hard slap on the cheek was the worst thing Kannick could imagine. That kind of blow was so humiliating. But nothing happened.
"Back to the house," was all Errki said.
There was something threatening about the fact that he didn't raise his voice. That's the way a sadist talks, someone who enjoys causing pain, Kannick thought. The voice was so clear and quiet; it didn't match the rest of him. He was overwhelmingly sinister up close. Kannick didn't dare look at his eyes. That was something he wanted to avoid for as long as possible, because when he saw them he would be utterly lost.
Back to the house. He was hiding out in the old cabin, had been up there the whole time. He wasn't on his way to Sweden as they'd said on the radio. Going inside that house with Errki was like stepping inside the realm of the dead. Once he was inside no-one would hear him scream for help. He started shaking violently, thinking that now he would be punished for everything he had ever done.
If you don't shape up, Kannick, I don't know what's going to become of you in the future.
The future, which had never worried him before, was not just catching up with him, it was about to vanish. Maybe he would die painfully. The only thing Kannick really feared was pain. His body began shaking so much that the rolls of fat quivered and sloshed. Maybe he still had time to faint and disappear, to sink unseen through the heather, anything to escape this nightmare. But there was nowhere for him to go, and he didn't faint. Errki was waiting. He was patient, because he was sure that he would win, sure that Kannick didn't have a chance of getting away.
Then Kannick saw the gun. In the midst of his despair, a thought occurred to him, a thought from a soul that faced death: if only he could get a bullet in the head instead of being tortured. That was Kannick's last hope. Grudgingly, slowly he started through the grass. He had no idea how his legs managed to carry him; they moved against his will, back towards the house, in the direction he didn't want to go, to his end. Errki followed behind him. He had stuck the gun in his belt with the big eagle on the buckle, and was holding one hand over his wound. His leg was bleeding still, but he would be able to staunch the blood by tying something around it; it wasn't more serious than that.
"You're scared," Errki said.
Kannick stopped and tried to understand what the crazy man meant. Was this part of the torture? To make him feel safe and then deal him a death blow? To enjoy his terror as he realised that he was going to die? He pondered this so long, standing still on the path, that Errki had to give him a little push. Kannick cringed and whimpered softly, but no shot was fired. He started walking again until the house was visible through the trees. He thought they had run for ever, but it was only a few hundred metres. They stopped in what had once been a garden, and Kannick had his second shock. A man with blond hair was in the doorway in brightly coloured shorts.
There were two of them. One to hold him down and one to administer the torture! He tried again to faint, tried to make himself fall forward, but his knees refused to obey. I'm going to die here, he thought, closing his eyes. With bowed head he waited for the shot. Errki gave him another shove in the back.
"That man over there wants to be called Morgan."
Morgan stared at them, wide-eyed. "Hey, Errki! Have you been to the butcher to buy some lard?"
He was leaning against the door frame, looking in disbelief at Kannick's impressive double chin and the thighs that were the same width as Errki's waist.
Kannick scowled at his nose.
"He shot me in the thigh," Errki said.
"Damn it, Errki, you're bleeding like a pig!"
"I said he shot me." He bent down and picked up the arrow. "With this."
Morgan examined it with curiosity, stroking the yellow and red feathers. "I'll be damned. Were you playing Indians? Is there a cowboy out there too?"
Kannick shook his head vigorously. "I was j-just out here p-practising."
"Practising? For what?"
"F-for junior national ch-champion."
He barely managed to gasp out the words. Errki heard quite clearly the sound of a bagpipe, not quite pitch perfect.
"Take him inside." Morgan moved aside to let them in. Errki pushed Kannick ahead of him, wondering what he could use to tie around his leg to stop the bleeding.
"I have to go home," Kannick squeaked.
"Sit down on the sofa," Morgan said harshly. "We need to clarify the situation first. Maybe we can use you for something."
The sight of Morgan's nose made Kannick stare. It looked worse than ever, with the loose part dangling hideously. Its colour reminded him of a rotten potato. He noticed the whisky bottle on the floor, the radio on the mantelpiece, and his arrow sticking out of the wall next to it. The man with the curly hair was obviously drunk. That didn't make him feel any safer. He sank onto the sofa, and sat there feeling dazed, with his hands in his lap. Then came the question he had dreaded.
"Does anyone know where you are?"
No. Nobody knew. They wouldn't even know where to start looking, unless Margunn was sharp enough to check the cabinet, find that the bow was missing and realise that he had gone to the woods. But the woods were huge. It would take for ever for them to find him, and besides, they would wait a long time before they even started looking, and at first she would only send out Karsten and Philip. And they were hopelessly lazy and didn't know their way around very well.
"Answer me!" Morgan said and hiccoughed.
"No," he whispered. "No-one knows."
"Not very pleasant, is it?"
Kannick bowed his head. It was worse than unpleasant, it was the beginning of the end.
"You don't have an ice-cold beer, do you?" Morgan licked his lips. As he asked the question, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a terrible thirst.
This was not what Kannick had expected. "I've got some lozenges," he mumbled.
"OK. Let's have them. I haven't got a drop of spit left."
Kannick stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and took out a box of liquorice lozenges. Morgan grabbed the box, struggled for a moment with the sticky clump of lozenges, and put three in his mouth.
"Allow me to introduce ourselves," he said, smacking his lips. "This is Errki. He's possessed by evil spirits that talk to him and harass him. My name's Morgan, and the police are after me for a little show I put on this morning. We've been killing an afternoon together." And then he added, "It's that lunatic over there who wrecked my nose. Just so you know what kind of person you are messing with."
Kannick already knew.
"So now we come to you. Who are you?"
I'm the one who wants to be called Geronimo. The pathfinder. The champion shot.
"Excuse me? What did you say?"
"Kannick."
"Do you really go by that name?"
"I do the best I can," he said, trying to catch his breath.
"Aha! The boy has a sense of humour!"
Errki had sunk down on to the floor. He had found his leather jacket and wrapped it around himself, gripping his thigh with both hands. "I've seen him before," he said in a low voice.
Morgan looked at him in surprise.
"Where?"
"At the dead woman's farm."
"What'd you say?"
Morgan turned towards Kannick. "He saw you?
Are you the boy who was playing nearby? The one they were talking about on the radio? Are you?"
Kannick lowered his eyes.
"Oh no, this is serious. Damn it all, he saw you, Errki. We've got to get rid of him!"
Kannick gave a startled little squeak, as if someone had stepped on a rubber toy. His long eyelashes fluttered with fear.
"And I heard that you've been talking to the police, right?"
Kannick didn't reply.
"Never mind. That doesn't bother Errki. He's a little strange that way. And we're actually very friendly. It's just that we're bored. We're sitting here waiting for night to come. Which reminds me, it's at night that Errki gets really crazy. His teeth start to grow and his ears get pointy. Isn't that right, Errki?"
Errki didn't answer. He was studying Kannick out of the corner of his eye. Fear was making the boy's eyes light up in his pudgy face. He was chewing hard on his lip, and all colour had left his cheeks.
"Hey," Morgan said, "you didn't bring along a lunch and a thermos, did you? We're starving to death."
"I've got some chocolate in the case. But it may well be melted by now."
Errki reacted at once. He scrambled to his feet and starting waving his hands. "Go and get that case!"
"Calm down," Morgan said. "Get it yourself. Otherwise he'll just run off. And you have to share it with me!"
Errki limped out and began searching for the case. Shambled around in the bushes, keeping one hand clamped tight on his wound. At length he found it, and further away he found the bow. He dragged everything back and flung open the case. Inside lay more arrows and some other things that he didn't recognise, and the chocolate. A Mars bar and a Snickers. His fingers shook as he picked them up and went into the house, holding a bar in each hand. Snickers and Mars, Snickers and Mars. Soft, slightly melted chocolate. One with peanuts and caramel, the other with toffee. The paper rustled. He walked across the floor, weighing them in his hands. Both were good. He liked Snickers bars, but Mars bars had always been a favourite; it was impossible to choose, and he could only have one. Morgan jumped up and grabbed the Snickers. "I'll take that one. You can have the Mars. Fatty can have a whisky in exchange."
Kannick glanced at the bottle standing on the windowsill. He'd never had anything against beer. He enjoyed getting drunk, as long as it didn't happen too fast, but he'd never cared for spirits. He shook his head. The others were busy eating his chocolate, smacking their lips like two children. In the midst of his despair he felt like laughing, but he only managed a pitiful little gasp.
"We're not going to hurt you," Errki said, giving him an odd smile as he spoke.
"That's not something we've decided yet," Morgan said, swallowing the last of the chocolate.
"He doesn't have anything we want. Except for the chocolate."
"Maybe the little dough boy here could help us," Morgan said. "It's all gone to hell, anyway. With or without Jannick."
"Kannick," said Kannick.
Morgan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "I suppose you want to go home to mama, don't you?"
"I'd rather not."
"Is that right? Where do you want to go then?"
"To Guttebakken."
His voice had taken on a defiant tone, as if he had regained hope that they weren't going to kill him after all. The fact that they had eaten the chocolate with such evident enjoyment made them seem much more human.
"And what's that?"
"The boys' home."
Morgan snickered. "Christ, it looks like we're all cut from the same cloth. And just what have you done in your young life for you to end up there? Aside from eating too much?"
"It's a metabolic disorder," Kannick said.
"That's what my mother always said when she was at her worst. Have a shot of whisky, that should help your metabolism."
"No, thanks." He thought about Margunn, tried to picture what she was doing. How many times she would have checked the time. It would take a while before she started to worry. He had a habit of staying out for a long time. Probably she wouldn't begin wondering what had happened to him until evening. But she knew that he'd never miss supper. She'd start looking out of the window around eight o'clock, and another hour would pass before she'd send Karsten and Philip out to look for him. Anything could happen by then! It was a while until evening, a sea of time, alone with two drunk nutcases, and one of them had a gun! Desperation made him cast another glance at the whisky bottle. Morgan noticed him.
"Go ahead. No reason to hold back here."
So Kannick took a gulp. It was his only hope of escape. The first swallow created an internal explosion that started in his throat and worked its way with fierce fire down to his stomach. He gasped for air, wiping away a few tears.
"Take three or four more," Morgan said helpfully as he sat on the floor licking his fingers. "You'll feel great after a while. Tell us why you're living in a boys' home."
"How should I know?" Kannick said, sounding a little annoyed, which he instantly regretted. Maybe he had insulted Morgan.
"You have no idea why the grown-ups put you there? What an idiot you are. Do you think I blame my mother because I became a bank robber? Do you think Errki blames his mother because he's had all the furniture moved around in that brain of his?"
Kannick gave Morgan a lightning-swift glance. Bank robber?
"Just read what it says on his T-shirt. I guess he blames 'the others'."
"Am I being attacked?" Errki said simply. He was busy picking a stone out of the sole of his trainer. Then he started pulling out the laces. He was going to tie them around his thigh, which was still bleeding.
Kannick was squirming on the sofa, he needed it all to himself, he was overflowing like a pudding, and every time he moved, the springs creaked.
Morgan suddenly felt dizzy and faint. What were they doing? How long were they going to sit here? For some reason he couldn't stand the thought of being alone. He couldn't stand to think about them being caught and then each sent off somewhere different, that Errki would be separated from him, that they would never see each other again. He had no-one else. This hot, filthy room, the buzz from the whisky, Errki's pleasant, low voice, and the fat boy with the downcast eyes – he didn't want any of it to end. The very thought took his breath away. Confused, he grabbed for the bottle.
"Root, stem and leaf," he muttered.
Kannick realised that they were both mad. Maybe they'd escaped from the asylum together. Two ticking time bombs. It was best to stay calm. He breathed as lightly as he could.
Errki had moved away. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the old, broken wardrobe. It was peaceful now. The drums and the bagpipe had stopped. He was resting, with his hand on the pistol.