Rikard probably didn’t have very much sex appeal: he was too nice and burly for that. Girls tended to see him more as a friend, confiding their unrequited loves to him. He was quite attractive, just a bit too ... heavy. His features were solid; his thick, dark eyebrows dominated his face, his mouth was generous and good-natured, and his cheekbones were broad. Rikard wanted a girlfriend of his own because his colleagues were always talking about their girlfriends or wives, but he didn’t have any confidence in himself. When you haven’t got that, you lose a bit of your charm. Rikard thought that he was a crashing bore, and nobody could talk him out of it. But when he was absorbed in his work, he would forget his inhibitions and become enthusiastic.
He had had a girlfriend once. However, when it turned out that she was only interested in him when he wore his uniform, he was sad and withdrew to lick his wounds. Later on, he saw the girl with a soldier. Rikard wondered what would happen when one day the soldier was in plain clothes?
The trouble was that Rikard was still too young, and so were the girls. They weren’t able to appreciate his qualities. He would need a more mature woman for that, so surely that day would come?
Right now, he was very much focused on his work and was becoming a respected and well-known figure on the street.
He didn’t know that Death was walking the streets in his city, and that little, inconspicuous Agnes was heading for her great horror.
Chapter 2
Rikard continued his patrol around the city. Now the streets were so quiet that he had time to dwell on himself and his life. Something had occupied his thoughts incessantly in recent days. It had to do with Nataniel ...
He was a peculiar boy. He really was!
Rikard vividly remembered his third birthday a while back. Benedikte had solemnly handed the boy the mandrake and a number of other objects from the Ice People’s treasure. Everybody had been struck by how genuinely delighted he had been. He had arranged all the other objects on low hooks on the wall, ruthlessly chucking the teacloths and towels on the floor to make room for the new items. He treated the mandrake like a doll. He had been given a small bed for it, and he dressed it in beautiful red silk, speaking to it and feeding it with the best he could find and, and if he left Linden Avenue, carrying it on a string around his neck. It was much too big for him, but just like Heike many years ago, it seemed that he regarded the mandrake as his best friend, and the mandrake seemed to relax and be at ease with Nataniel.
In the end, Christa had feared that he would wear it to pieces, and he wasn’t allowed to play with it so much anymore. It was given a special place in Nataniel’s chest of drawers, where he could look at it and talk to it as often as he liked. But he wasn’t allowed to pick it up. It was fine to look at it but not to touch it.
At first, Nataniel took the ban greatly to heart, but he soon got used to it. The boy amazed Rikard constantly. He didn’t see him all that often, because Nataniel wasn’t allowed to go to Linden Avenue very much. They were afraid that Tengel the Evil, whose attention was constantly focused on the place, would discover his existence. Of course, the others told Rikard about the boy’s peculiarities and the quite extraordinary things he had done, considering how young he was. All the things he knew. All the things he was thinking about. His eyes, which would suddenly darken as if in sorrow or beam with delight when he succeeded in vanishing out of sight of his parents, only to appear when they least expected it. They didn’t have to worry about their belongings disappearing, because Nataniel always knew where they were.
When Nataniel had turned four a fortnight ago, Rikard had been visiting Christa and her large family. Something shocking had happened, which none of them understood.
All those who lived at Linden Avenue, together with the Volden family, were there. The atmosphere had been good when all of a sudden Nataniel had turned quite stiff and stared at them. He said: “There’s somebody in my room. I must go up there straightaway!”
His father, Abel, asked: “What do you mean?”
“I think they want me to come. I think so.”
“Who are they?” his mother asked, but Nataniel had already left the room. They all looked at one another and then slowly followed him.
When they were still on the stairs up to the bedroom, they stopped in horror. Shocking sounds could be heard coming from the boy’s room; there was roaring and flashing as in a thunderstorm, and when they looked out of the windows, they could see the glow from his window upstairs. A blue-white light, coming and going.
“It can only be the black angels,” Benedikte muttered.
They walked hesitantly up the stairs. André had to restrain Christa, who wanted to rush upstairs and save her son.
Then they were on the landing.
Two huge wolves were sitting outside Nataniel’s door. As the group approached them, the beasts bared their teeth.
Old Henning said nervously: “You mustn’t go any closer. They won’t do us any harm, but we should listen to their warning.”
Rikard had never seen the black angels’ wolves before, but he had heard a lot about them and how close they were to Marco and Ulvar, Imre and Vanja. And now Nataniel as well ...
He felt his body vibrate with fear and respect as he stood face to face with the huge animals. He knew that the wolves were actually black angels, who could transform themselves into animals when it suited them. He almost wanted to bow deeply to these strange creatures.
Once more, they heard the roaring and saw the lightning sparks coming from the room. Nataniel let out a loud scream.
Christa was terribly shocked and frightened. “Young Nataniel is in there!” she whispered. Suddenly they heard a deep man’s voice, which seemed to speak calmly to the boy. They heard his young voice answer but were unable to catch the words.
Nataniel cried.
He was only four after all. All the grown-ups, standing outside, were trembling with fear even though they weren’t part of the tableau. So what would you expect from a little mite?
“Could it be Imre?” asked Christoffer nervously.
Benedikte replied, just as nervously: “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
They clung to the hope that it was Imre. Then they heard another male voice – a strange, half chanting voice. At that moment there was a loud moan from Nataniel, which slowly turned into a scream of the deepest despair: “No! Please stop it! Promise me that you’ll stop it!”
Christa was scared out of her wits and tried to enter the room, but the wolves wouldn’t even let her walk across the landing. They moved closer to the group, forcing them back towards the stairs.
Nataniel was praying, as if for his life: “No, not that! Not that! Please!”
Abel was as white as a sheet, and Vetle and Christoffer had to take care of Christa, who was on the verge of collapsing. They all felt an urge to scream, but at the same time they wanted to try to hear what was going on behind the closed door, so they were silent.
Now the wolves had forced them down to the floor below. Intense flashes of lightning appeared, casting a glow across the landscape outside, and from the first floor there was more roaring and flashing as the chanting voice rose to a thunder. Now they picked up the words, which were totally unknown to them, a language that didn’t resemble anything they had heard before.
André whispered with pale lips: “That isn’t Mar. I’ve heard him conjure, but this sounds quite different.”
Nataniel had stopped crying. They didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad sign. Then the conjuring also ceased. There were no more sparks. Everything was absolutely quiet upstairs.
They looked at one another. Did they dare?
The