We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [320]
It was pure coincidence that he'd run into Miss Sophie again. But it was no coincidence that he'd saved Bluetooth. Life had singled him out and found a use for him.
AROUND THE MESS TABLE, Anton told them about a man called Laurids Madsen, who nearly a hundred years previously had fought in a battle on Eckernförde Fjord and had been standing on the deck of a ship when it blew up. Like Moses Huntington, he'd come back down alive. He also told them about a schoolteacher called Isager whose students had tried to kill him by setting fire to his house, and about Albert Madsen, who'd searched for his missing father across the entire Pacific and returned home bearing the shrunken head of James Cook.
Knud Erik, who'd heard the same stories—indeed, he was Anton's source for most of them—interrupted. There were some things he had better knowledge of. He told them about the First World War and about Albert's visions. Then Anton cut in, saying that he wasn't telling it quite right, and Knud Erik realized that when his friend had got hold of Albert's famous boots, he'd also purloined his notebooks and read them.
Anton told the story of how he'd found Albert dead, and together he and Knud Erik told everyone about the gang named after the old captain. Vilhjelm brought up their discovery of the skull of the murdered Jepsen. Knud Erik looked over at the man the crew called Old Funny to see what effect this story had on him. He'll change the subject, he'll deny everything, he thought.
Herman looked distant for a moment, then said pensively, "Vilhjelm is talking about me," as if this was the first he'd heard about his stepfather's murder. "Yes, I killed my stepfather. He was in my way. I was young. I was impatient."
He started telling how, at the age of fifteen, he'd sailed a topgallant yard schooner back to Marstal single-handed, as though his first murder was merely the beginning of the story and the best part was yet to come.
The crew stared at him. They were gripped by the tension of his tale. Old Funny was a born storyteller. All right, so he was a dangerous killer as well. All right, so the captain had been right about him after all. But take a look at him now. He'd certainly been punished.
Knud Erik understood that Herman's pathetic state, legless and one-armed, was a ticket to a free pardon, already granted. There was no need for him to ask for his audience's pity: they gave it to him voluntarily. Old Funny had once been a man. A man capable of killing other men. But what was he now?
Anton, Knud Erik, and Vilhjelm exchanged a glance. They hadn't been expecting a confession and they wanted to investigate further. But Herman's Marstal Adventures were now in full flood and the audience wanted more. "Then what happened?" they asked, and Anton had to tell them about Kristian Stærk and the killing of Tordenskjold. "Did you really kill his seagull?" Wally asked Old Funny accusingly.
Knud Erik couldn't suppress the triumph in his voice when he told them how they'd driven Old Funny out of town simply by staring at him, and how most of the gang members didn't even know that he was a murderer but thought the whole thing was about the death of a bird.
Old Funny looked irritated, as if he regretted his departure all those years ago. Then he winked at Knud Erik and laughed. "You really got me there," he said. Then he started talking about the Copenhagen stock exchange and Henckel, and how he'd lost the inheritance he'd waited to get his hands on for so many years. His life had had its ups and downs.
Vilhjelm talked about the loss of the Ane Marie and about the Book of Sermons, which he still knew by heart. They were welcome to test him if they wanted.
"So you've been in the ice before; you know what it's like," one of the British gunners said. "You practically had a dress rehearsal for convoy sailing."
"Bloody Marstal sailors," a Canadian said. "You poke your noses into everything and you've been everywhere."
Miss Kristina and Ivar entered the story,