'I'll be there,' says Ture.
Joel thinks.
Opposite the courthouse are the marshalling yards. There are always goods wagons waiting to be connected to some train or other the next day.
'I'll be waiting for you next to the goods wagons,' he says. 'At midnight. But I shan't wait long.'
'What happens at night?' asks Ture.
'It's not sure that anything will happen at all,' says Joel. 'But there's a secret society.'
'I'll be there,' says Ture. 'My room is in the attic, but I can set up a ladder.'
Joel is in a hurry now. The potatoes ought to have been boiling on the stove already. Samuel will soon be home. And he has to prepare for tonight as well. Being the only member of a Secret Society is one thing. Not being alone any more will be something completely different.
'See you, then,' he says. 'I have to go home now.'
'Where do you live?' asks Ture.
'You'll find out tonight,' says Joel.
It's only when he's bounding up the stairs that he remembers he was supposed to collect a kilo of coffee from the shop.
He unlocks the door and before he's even taken off his boots he checks to see how much coffee is left in the tin on the shelf over the stove. Enough for one more day, so he can breathe again. His dad would have gone through the roof if they'd run out of coffee.
He can go and get the coffee himself, Joel thinks, as he sits down on the cold floor in the dark entrance hall. I haven't got time. Being responsible for a Secret Society means that you only seldom have time to boil potatoes.
Joel curses the kindling in the stove that refuses to light. He runs through all the swearwords he knows, forwards and backwards, but still he can't make the wood catch fire. He starts running through his range of swearwords once again, at top volume; but he calms down when old Mrs Westman starts bashing on her ceiling with her walking stick.
At last it starts burning. Joel gives the potatoes a quick scrub, and pours some water and a pinch of salt into the big pan. Four big potatoes for Dad, three little ones for himself.
Then he goes to the showcase and carefully lifts up Celestine and takes out his logbook. Samuel might turn up at any moment, so he doesn't have much time before the heavy footsteps start echoing up the stairs.
He's caught on to the fact that it's easier to think when he writes. And there's an awful lot of things he needs to make up his mind about.
Just what should he tell Ture?
The Secret Society hasn't exactly done very much. Can he really admit that he's the only member? He thinks about what Ture has said, about what's going to happen in a week's time.
Joel has never seriously thought about running away. You have to know where you're going to when you run away. You have to have a plan, some special aim in mind.
If he knew the whereabouts of his mum, Jenny, he could have set out to discover what she looked like.
If he'd had a telescope like Ture, he could have hidden behind a bush and spied on her. No doubt she is so like him that it would be like examining yourself in a mirror.
Children do not take after their parents, he decides, as he puts another piece of firewood into the stove. It's the parents who take after their children.
The only times he's thought of running away have been when he's been angry with his father. That time when he was given a stool instead of a kite, he thought about wandering off into the forest and lying down in the snow to die. His dad would find him the next morning when he set out into the forest to work.
He listens for footsteps on the stairs, then sits down at the kitchen table again. I'll have to use my imagination, he thinks. I'll have to make up whatever doesn't exist for real.
If Ture is going to run away next week, he'll never find out that what Joel tells him isn't true.
He writes down the names of his classmates that he likes: they can become members of The Secret Society. The ones he doesn't like, such as Otto, will be excluded. They have committed serious acts of treachery and been forced out of the society.
He also writes down the name on the grave he generally jumps over in the cemetery. Nils Wiberg is a member of the society who died in mysterious circumstances. Then he remembers Rev. Sundin, the old dean, who died last year, the day after the end of term. He can also be a member who died in unusual circumstances. And the judge who died on the steps outside Stora Hotellet! What was his name? Törnqvist? He can also be a dead member.
He suddenly recalls what Ture had said. About living over the courthouse, and his dad being a district judge. That means he must be the replacement for Törnqvist, he decides. Now I have something I can show Ture. The icy step he slipped on and broke his neck.
That was as far as he got, as the front door banged and he could hear footsteps approaching up the stairs.
He listens to the stamping of his father's feet. What do they sound like today?
It's quite loud, but he doesn't sound angry or weary. They're not bottle-steps today, more like storytelling-steps. Real seafarer's strides.
Even so, there's something not quite right about them. There seems to be a sort of echo.
Joel hurriedly replaces the logbook under Celestine and sticks a fork into the biggest of the potatoes.
The flat door opens and Joel understands why the footsteps sounded so odd.
His father is not alone.
Behind him is a woman in a red hat, black overcoat and rubber overshoes. Joel recognises her immediately. It's Sara, who works as a waitress in the local bar. Big-breasted Sara, who wanders around balancing trays and beer bottles and is always laughing so that you can see the big gap in her bottom teeth.
That slut! What's she doing here?
Joel has occasionally been in the bar to sell copies of the local weekly paper. He's watched Sara weaving her way among the tables carrying bottles and a rag. If anybody gets drunk or tries to grope her breasts, she shouts for the ill-tempered bouncer Ek, who's always fluttering around like a bat outside the Gents. Between them they eject the drunkard or the groper. Joel has seen such goings-on as he's moved from table to table, trying to sell newspapers.
He doesn't know what her surname is. But he doesn't like her. Her breasts are too big and she smells of perfume, beer and sweat. There have actually been occasions when he's thought it's a good job she isn't his mother.
But here she is now, standing in the hall and laughing just as loud as she does in the bar.
Why is she here? Joel asks himself uneasily. Why is she hanging up her overcoat and taking off her overshoes? And why is she still wearing that red hat?
They come into the kitchen and Joel notices straight away that his father smells of beer. Beer and sweat and wet wool.
But he's not drunk. He isn't swaying and his eyes are not red. But his hair is standing on end, and Joel doesn't like it when his father looks like that.
That slut Sara is still wearing her waitress outfit, he sees. White blouse with a beer stain in the middle of one of her enormous breasts. Black skirt with a little hole in one of the seams.
Joel is getting more and more worried.
This is the first time his father has ever brought somebody back home after a day working in the forest.
Joel has always thought that his dad's friends are sailors plying the various oceans. Friends who are waiting for him to drop that axe, pack his sailor's chest standing in the hall, and set out once more for the endless seas.
How could he bring this slut back home with him?
'Sara's come back with me for a cup of coffee,' says Samuel, patting Joel on the shoulder.
'There isn't any coffee,' says Joel quick as a flash.
'What do you mean by that?' Samuel asks. He's smiling all the time.
'We've run out,' says Joel. 'I didn't have time to go to the shop. There's enough for you tomorrow morning. But not for her.'
'Never mind,' says Sara with a laugh. She pats his cheek.
That's when Joel decides he is going to kill her. It will be
the next mission for The Secret Society, once they've found the dog that headed for a star.
'So you are Joel, then,' she says. 'Haven't I seen you in the bar now and then, selling newspapers?'
Joel doesn't answer.
Samuel shakes the coffee tin. Strangely enough he doesn't seem to be angry. He ought to be. Inviting somebody back for coffee only to find that Joel has forgotten to call at the shop as usual.
Can that slut in the red hat really put him in such a good mood?
He suddenly has an awful thought.
Perhaps his father is going to remarry! In which case Joel would risk having brothers and sisters with Sara as their mother . . .
No, that can't be possible. A sailor can't marry a waitress in a bar.
'A lovely place you've got here,' she says, wandering round the kitchen and having a good look.
'It's annoying that we don't have any coffee,' says Samuel, giving Joel a dirty look.
'Oh, it doesn't matter,' she says. Then she pats Joel on the cheek again. Her hand is big and red and rough.
'How did it go at school today?' she asks.
Joel mumbles something inaudible in reply.
'You're a real misery today, aren't you?' says Samuel, sitting down on the sofa.
That's a betrayal. Joel is petrified. Whose side is he on? Is he putting on a show for Sara and her red hat? Is he letting his own son down?
Sara sits down on Joel's chair and straightens out a fold in the tablecloth with her big hand.
'You can invite me to coffee another time, Samuel,' she says.
So she intends coming round again, then? If she does I shall run away, Joel thinks. Samuel can sit here on his own, gaping at her red hat.
'I'm going to my room,' says Joel.
He closes the door, goes down on one knee and peers out at the kitchen through the keyhole.
He's afraid his father is about to disappear. Sara with the red hat has started to eat him up.
When she speaks he nods and smiles and seems extremely interested.
What are they talking about? A new grocer's shop that's due to open shortly. Why is he interested in that? He's never the one who goes shopping!
Plums. Prunes. Good for constipation.
Why is he pretending to be interested in that?
Nearly half an hour later he kneels down again and looks through the keyhole. His knees and back are aching, but he has to keep an eye on his father.
I'll kill her, he thinks. If I don't, she'll take my dad away from me.
In the end she gets to her feet.
Joel can hardly straighten his stiff knees and barely has time to dash over to his bed, lie down and pretend to be reading a book.
Samuel opens the door.
'Sara's leaving now,' he says. 'Come and say goodbye.'
I don't want to, he thinks. But of course, he does go out into the kitchen.
''Bye, 'bye, Joel,' she says as she buttons up her coat. 'The next time you come to the bar, I'll make sure the customers buy all your newspapers.'
Then they're alone, Joel and his dad.
'Did you hear that?' asks Samuel. 'Go there and sell lots of newspapers and earn a bit of pocket money.'
Joel lays the table while his father fries some pork. He clatters away with the pan, humming an old sea shanty.
While they are eating Joel decides to get his own back. He can see that his dad is thinking about Sara all the time. He must get him to think about something else.
'I want a bike,' he says. 'I'm the only one who doesn't have a bike.'
But his father doesn't hear him. Sara with the red hat has started eating up his thoughts.
'A bike,' he says, louder this time.
Samuel turns to look at him.
'I beg your pardon?'
'I want a bike. I don't want to be the only one who doesn't have a bike.'
'Of course you shall have a bicycle,' says his father. 'I've already been thinking about that. The next time I collect my wages we shall go and buy you a bicycle.'
Is that really true? wonders Joel. Has he really thought about it of his own accord?
Suddenly there's so much that Joel doesn't understand.
Is this what it's like to be grown up? Doing and saying things that children don't understand?
'It was fun to have a visitor,' says Samuel. 'Usually it's just you and me, sitting gaping at each other.'
'Are you going to get married again?' asks Joel.
'No,' says his father. 'I haven't got round to thinking about that. But it does get lonely sometimes.'
'Tell me about my mum,' says Joel.
Samuel puts down his fork and gives him a serious look.
'Soon,' he says. 'But not just now. Not when I'm in such a good mood . . . '
When they've finished eating Joel builds a little cabin in his bed. His blanket and the bedcover over two chairs make an excellent hiding place. He creeps inside it and starts thinking.
Far too much has happened at the same time.
First of all the boy with the snowshoes turns up. And they'll be going out together tonight. Then Sara comes visiting. And next his dad says that of course Joel can have a bike.
That's too much.
Thoughts are buzzing around inside his head and Joel has trouble in pinning them down. He knows you have to take one thing at a time, but that's easier said than done just now. What he would most like to do is to go to sleep and dream about The Flying Horse. But he hasn't time for that. He has to make preparations for the night. He has to be absolutely clear about all the things he's going to make up so that Ture doesn't start suspecting anything. But it's not easy to concentrate because Sara keeps intruding on his thoughts in her overshoes and her red hat, and with the big hand she keeps using to pat him on the cheek.
The cabin doesn't help. He just feels impatient.
He goes into his father's room: Samuel is sitting in his chair with his eyes closed, listening to the radio.
Joel does something most unusual. He sits on his father's knee.
'Phew, you're as heavy as a tree trunk,' gasps his dad. 'You're crushing the life out of me.'
On the radio some nasty-sounding voice is bleating on about a journey with a motorbike and sidecar through Italy.
'Genoa,' says Samuel out of the blue. 'I've been there.'
'But I haven't,' says Joel. 'Not yet, at least.'
Samuel chuckles so violently that his stomach bounces up and down. But he doesn't explain why he's laughing.
The sidecar trip comes to an end and is followed by some marching music. Samuel beats time with one foot. But soon he hasn't the strength to keep Joel on his knee any longer.
'You're too heavy,' he says. 'I don't understand how you can be so thin and yet weigh so much.'
Then he turns serious.
'Sara,' he says. 'The lady who was here. She had a boy just like you once. But he died in a fire. Him and his dad. They were living a long way from here at the time. She moved here after that. It must be hard to be reminded of it all every time she sees somebody like you.'
When Joel has gone to bed and his dad has sat with him for a while and tucked him in, he thinks about that fire.
As long as Sara doesn't eat up his dad, she's welcome to come round for coffee some time.
As long as she doesn't take his dad away from him...
He lies in the dark and has trouble in staying awake. Several hours to go yet before midnight, a lot of waiting to do.
He would really have preferred it to be another evening. It's never good to have too much to think about at the same time. Even so, he eventually hears his dad gargling in the kitchen, and then everything goes quiet.
He lies in bed watching the luminous hands on his alarm clock. They are moving incredibly slowly towards midnight. At a quarter to twelve he tiptoes out through the door. He thinks the hall still smells of Sara.
It's a calm, starry night. Maybe Ture won't turn up, he thinks. Even so, he hurries along the deserted streets an
d stands in the shadow of a goods wagon in the marshalling yard.
The white courthouse with its columned balcony is in darkness. There's no sign of any light at all.
Joel waits . . .
5
In the far distance Joel can see the yellow clockface in the church tower. If he screws his eyes up, he can just make out the two hands. Five minutes past midnight.
He stamps his feet to keep warm.
The goods wagon beside him is big and dark, like a dinosaur chained up in its cage.
He imagines a goods wagon being able to think. What would happen if a goods wagon started growling? Who will go hunting for a goods wagon if it breaks away from its chains and escapes?
'Only people can think,' he whispers to himself. 'Only people . . . '
He suddenly gives a start.
He has the feeling somebody out there in the darkness is looking at him. He turns round quickly, but sees nothing apart from the silent goods wagons.
He gazes over towards the district court, but everything is dark and quiet. No lights in any of the black windows.
He starts to feel scared. Somebody is watching him in the darkness. He's quite sure of it, even though he can't see nor hear anything.
He holds his breath and listens.
Somebody is breathing close by.
He listens again, but thinks he is imagining it.
Then he feels a hand on his shoulder.
Death, he thinks. It must be death. An iron talon digging into his shoulder . . .
He screams into the darkness.
'Did I scare you?' asks Ture, who is standing behind him.
When he sees that it's Ture, it registers that he very nearly peed himself. That would have been catastrophic. When you pee yourself and it's freezing cold outside, you first feel warm, but then it soon gets so cold that you can't stop shivering.
'I'm pretty good at creeping up on people,' says Ture. 'I've been watching you for several minutes. Who were you talking to? I heard you whispering.'
'To myself,' says Joel. 'Could you hear me?'
Ture nods.
Joel can't see properly, but he has the impression Ture is smirking.
Joel is beginning to feel unsure about his secret society. He doesn't know enough about Ture. What kind of thoughts does a person have when he says he's a nobleman and, in all seriousness, claims that his name is von Swallow? The only thing Joel is sure is good is the heroism rule he has invented.