All comings and goings there the line of view took in, and most particularly the route into Braaf's storage hulk just across the way.
Rueful, Melander wagged his head in admission. Then proffered: "So?"
"You've plans to crawl out of this Russian bear pit, and I'm coming with you."
"Are you?"
"I am. Else you and Braaf and Karlsson'll be in irons and off to pass your years in Siberia."
"Tsk. Irons, you say, That'd maybe be more burden even than Braaf's armload, just there. More than Swedes ought to have to carry for Russians, aye? What makes you think we're kissing good-bye to New Archangel?"
"Don't come clever with me, Melander, Been watching your trained pack rat Braaf, I have, these weeks."
"Braaf is his own man, like any of us."
"Braaf's operated by your jabber. So's that stiff-cock Karlsson."
"Such powers I seem to have. You'll want to watch out I don't command your sidewhiskers to turn into louse nests."
"You're not the high-and-mighty to command anything just now. You're down the toilet looking up, and don't forget it."
"Come down with this often, do you, Wennberg? Say we wanted to flee, just how would we? New Archangel is the end of the tail of the world, and not much in between it and anything."
"You'd yatter as long as maiden's pee runs downhill, Melander. Time we barter. My silence for your plan."
"Silence I've never much believed in. But school me: why're you interested in notions of fleeing from here?"
"My reasons're yours. Because I'm sick of life under these shit-beetle Russians." Grudgingly: "Because if anyone here is slyboots enough to escape, it's likely you."
"Flattering."
"Which doesn't mean I wouldn't laugh to see you suited up in irons and sent west into snowland, if that's your choice. High-and-mighty can't save you from this, Melander. Decide."
Melander calculated Wennberg, Then the serious smile made its appearance.
"First you preach to poor Braaf of too much weight, now you keep on at me about too much height. Wennberg, I think you maybe underestimate how far a man can stretch himself if he has to. Aye? Can you handle a Haida paddle?"
Melander spent considerable talking that night to convince Braaf and Karlsson that the wisest choice was to shepherd Wennberg into the plan.
Braaf remained indignant about the incident 011 the parade ground. He volunteered to convert the blacksmith into a dead man, if someone would tell him how it ought to be done.
Melander agreed it to be an understandable ambition, and laudable too, but no. Through and through he had thought the issue, and the death of a valued smith such as Wennberg, especially when the killing would have to be achieved here within the fort, would breed more questions than it was worth, "Besides, he is a hill bull for strength—"
"And stupider than he is strong," Braaf put in.
"—and we can maybe make use of him," continued Melander. "Just maybe wc can,"
Karlsson squinted in reflection, then said shortly that what galled him was to be tit Wennberg's mercy in any way. What if Wennberg took it into his narrow bull mind to betray them to the Russians for a reward?
Aye, Melander concurred, that was the very problem to he grappled. "We'll need to set a snare for Mister Blacksmith."
A few nights later, their first time as four.
Karlsson openly appraised Wennberg as if the blacksmith were marrying into the family. Their newcomer was both hefty and wide, like a cut of very broad plank. An unexpectedness atop his girth was the fluffy set of sideburns—light brown, as against the blondness of the other three Swedes—which framed his face all the way down to where I his jaw joined his neck. Except for young dandies among the Russian officers no one else of New Archangel sported such feathery sidcwhi skcrs, but then ¡t could be assumed that no one either was going to invoke foppery against this walking slab of brawn. A time or two Wennberg had re-edged an ax for Karlsson, but Karlsson knew little more of him than those spaced
Learning to Kill: Stories