Embla was glad she’d spoken to him. It had felt good to know that he’d taken her seriously and was going to help her find out what had really happened to Lollo.
Ever since that phone call, Embla had gone over and over what she remembered. Sometimes she felt as if her head were about to explode. It was only when she was with Elliot and Nisse that she was able to relax for a while.
Within minutes the bathroom door flew open and Elliot shot into the hallway, still singing his hunting song to the accompaniment of the toilet flush. The melody was catchy, but the lyrics were a little monotonous, as they still consisted of just one word: hunting. He used different stresses and tones; he had clearly inherited his father’s musicality and knew how to perform, but it was starting to get tiresome. This had been going on for several days, ever since Embla had given in to his pleas and Nisse’s assertion that she ought to let the boy find out what it’s like to go hunting.
Embla still wasn’t sure it was a good idea to take a nine-year-old on a fox hunt. She had been fifteen when she first went out and had kept putting this forward as a reason to wait. Nisse had objected on the grounds that he’d been the same age as Elliot when his father had taken him hunting for the first time. But Embla knew the two situations weren’t the same. The tradition had been in her family’s blood for generations, but that wasn’t the case in Elliot’s family.
Familiar sounds from downstairs penetrated her consciousness: the hiss of the coffee machine, the clink of plates and bowls, footsteps crossing the creaking floor, the low hum of voices on the radio. Her uncle Nisse was making breakfast.
As usual he was up first. He’d always been an early riser. That’s what happens when you own a small farm. The animals have to be fed and stalls mucked out first, before you move on to the job that provides you with a regular income. Nisse had worked at the sawmill for nearly all of his adult life. He had just retired two years ago, and unfortunately he was now a widower. He and Aunt Ann-Sofi had no children, but Embla had always spent a lot of time with them. She loved the countryside, the forest, and the animals. Maybe she’d always felt more at home here than with her large family in the middle of Gothenburg, she reflected.
She was a late arrival, the child no one could really be bothered with. Her three older brothers had, each in their own way, taken up a lot of space. All three had already started school by the time she was born. Her strongest recollection from her childhood was loneliness. Fortunately she’d had Lollo . . .
At the thought of her friend she gave a start; she was suddenly wide awake.
“Breakfast!” Nisse shouted up the stairs.
Embla yawned and stretched before reluctantly clambering out of bed. She opened the roller blind, then stood gazing out the window. Much to her surprise, heavy snow had fallen overnight. Around six inches had come down earlier in the week, but now at least eighteen inches had accumulated. Another reason not to go hunting today. And it was cold. The thermometer outside her window read twelve degrees Fahrenheit, and a strong wind was still blowing.
“Hurry up, Embla!” Elliot shouted impatiently. He had to go back to school in two days, after the February break. He couldn’t wait to tell his open-mouthed classmates about going hunting; a charter holiday in Gran Canaria or a ski trip to Åre didn’t even come close.
Elliot could hardly sit still; his whole body was quivering with excitement.
“I can have a gun, too, can’t I? Like, a little one? It doesn’t have to be loaded. Or maybe a bit, just in case a bear comes along.”
“Elliot, there won’t be any bears. They’re asleep in their dens during the winter. We’re only going out to see if we can spot a fox,” Nisse said.
“A fox? But I need a gun in case a wolf turns up! We’ll shoot him dead! BANG!” He aimed at an imaginary animal in the hallway, his body jerking with each shot he fired. “POW! POW! BANG!”
“That’s a powerful recoil you have there,” Nisse commented, winking at Embla.
She smiled at him, but she still wasn’t sure taking the boy hunting was a good idea. The snow, the cold, the fact that he was only nine . . .
“And Seppo has to come, too!” Elliot exclaimed, pointing to the sturdy elkhound lying by the fire.
When the dog heard his name, he opened one eye and pricked up his ears. But when he realized it wasn’t time for food, he closed his eye and went back to sleep.
“No, Seppo isn’t the kind of dog we use for hunting foxes. He’s trained to deal with moose and deer,” Nisse explained patiently.
“So what kind of dogs hunt foxes?”
“Smaller dogs, often terriers. For example—”
The ringing of the landline interrupted him. Nisse went over to the phone on the wall by the door.
“Good morning! How’s life out there in Herremark?” he asked cheerfully.
Embla immediately knew who it was: Harald Fäldt, her mother and Uncle Nisse’s cousin. Nisse had spent quite a lot of time with Harald and his wife over the years, but Embla hadn’t seen them for ages. She could hardly remember when they’d last seen each other . . . Oh yes, Harald and Monika had thrown a big party at the guesthouse they ran. A summer party—midsummer, perhaps? She wasn’t sure; she must have been seven or eight years old.
“Did you use a little gun when you were my age? Do you still have it? Can I borrow it? Please?”
“No, Elliot. There are no children’s guns. And I didn’t get a gun of my own until I was eighteen, and I’d passed my hunting exam,” Embla explained.
Elliot frowned, looking confused. “Your what?”
“My hunting exam.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, it’s kind of like school.”
He thought for a moment, then his face lit up. “Did you learn stuff about guns?”
“Yes, but you also have to learn a lot about animals, and about the rules and regulations. Guns are very, very dangerous; you could easily shoot a person if you’re not careful.”
Elliot nodded, his expression serious. It didn’t last. “So after you’ve been to this school, you’re allowed to fire guns?”
“Yes. But you have to be eighteen.”
He rolled his big hazel eyes and let out a huge sigh.
Nisse turned to Embla. “Could you have a word with Harald? There’s a problem in Herremark.”
Embla stood up and took the receiver from her uncle.
“Hi, it’s Embla,” she said. She wasn’t sure what to expect.
“Good morning—cousin Harald here. Well, not your cousin, Sonja’s and Nisse’s. Although we are related.”