Fog Island. Mariette Lindstein

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      Sofia began to read the project description, which was ten pages long and contained over one hundred bullet points. She couldn’t focus; Madeleine was standing over her like a hawk. Words and letters melted into one another. Her eyes jumped back and forth, searching for the freaking end of all the things she was expected to do. I can’t handle this today, she thought. I’ll read it more closely tomorrow.

      ‘It looks good,’ she said.

      ‘Great! Then I’ll tell Franz you like it.’

      ‘Sure, go right ahead.’

      ‘Okay, we go to bed at ten o’clock and lights out is at eleven. So you have a few hours until then. You’re welcome to take a walk, if you like.’

       *

      The island was as beautiful as she remembered. It was the middle of August now, and the evening air smelled faintly of autumn. But everything was still green, and the paths were overgrown by leafy grasses.

      She went up to the lookout point and sat down to gaze out at the sea. The sun was setting; the sky was slowly draining of colour and the muted blue of the sea paled to turquoise, with a shimmer of pink from the sun. Darkness fell quickly, and black, empty space hung over her. But she stayed put, releasing her worries and her scattered thoughts and letting them float up to the sky. A faint breeze raised gooseflesh on her arms and legs. She pulled on her cardigan and began to wander slowly back to the manor.

      When she returned to the dorm, it was almost time for bed. Madeleine was already there, in the process of undressing. A girl who couldn’t be more than twelve was sitting on the other bed. She had pale blonde hair that was so long it was resting in her lap. Her skin was snow white and she had enormous eyes, like those of a manga character. She giggled and twirled a lock of hair, smiling hesitantly at Sofia.

      ‘This is Elvira,’ said Madeleine. ‘She lives with us too.’

      Sofia said hello, thinking that Elvira looked like she belonged in a John Bauer painting, or at least in school on the mainland — anywhere but here.

      Sofia had expected to spend some time chatting, but as soon as she’d put on her nightgown Madeleine turned out the lights and the room descended into total darkness.

      ‘Oh, I forgot. How do we wake up in the morning?’ Sofia called.

      ‘I’ll wake you,’ said Madeleine.

      So they would still be using mental clocks.

      It was impossible to fall asleep. The sensation of being in a military camp or a prison returned, and it wouldn’t go away. The others’ breathing slowed as they dozed off. She thought about her parents, who had said goodbye as if they would never see her again. Her mother’s nervous tendencies had been dialled up to new levels; she had spouted words like ‘sect,’ ‘cult,’ and ‘bloody trickery,’ only to regret her words and say she was only worried about Sofia. Worried, as usual. Worried about everything. But now Sofia missed her until her chest ached.

      Then came the silent tears. She let them flow until they ran out.

      And then, finally, came blessed sleep.

      ‘Someone’s coming! Go!’ I say, giving her a shove.

      It’s a perfect day. The fog is so thick that you can hardly see the cliff from where we’re hiding in a small grove of trees.

      We’ve been waiting for a long time. She spent the time whining, nagging me to let her go home.

       ‘No one’s going to come, Fredrik. I’m freezing.’

      But I won’t give in. The fog is perfect and I’m not about to squander this opportunity. And someone really is coming. A man, slowly making his way across the heath.

       ‘Go,’ I hiss. ‘And stick out your arms, like a ghost.’

      She glides out into the fog, otherworldly in the black cloak and hood; she seems to be floating.

      The man stops when he catches sight of her.

      She walks to the farthest point of the cliff and reaches for the sea.

      And then she howls like a lonely wolf.

      The man is petrified; he doesn’t believe his eyes.

      She does as I’ve told her and drops down from the cliff. Into the cave, of course, but it happens so fast that she seems to dissolve into the fog.

      The man walks all the way out to the edge of the cliff point. I hold my breath as he looks down. He can’t see her, of course, so he is terrified. He turns around and dashes across the heath like a madman.

      I can hear the twigs of heather being crushed under his feet and his heavy panting — the only sounds that reach me through the thick fog.

      I wait until he’s out of sight and crawl down to her. She’s sitting on the cave floor, giggling. We laugh until we’re gasping for breath.

      ‘We’ll show them who’s in charge on this island, dammit!’ I say at last.

8

      The routines she had hated so much at first turned out to be what made her enjoy life on the island. They had the same schedule every day; all was so minutely planned that there was no time to think about anything but work, food, and sleep. It was easy to fit in. Each person was there on equal terms. Everyone took part in the same routines.

      They woke at seven — at least, those who had mastered their internal clocks did. Sofia was dependent on Madeleine. There were no worries about how to dress; all you had to do was shower, put on your uniform, and head for the dining room, where breakfast was served. Always the same breakfast: poached eggs, whole-grain bread, and organic marmalade.

      Then it was time to go to the courtyard in front of the manor and fall in line for morning assembly.

      Bosse always led the assembly. He took roll call and talked about situations and priorities. Madeleine and Sofia formed one line together, as they were Oswald’s personal staff and worked directly under him. The other lines were for the household staff, the guest services crew, those who worked on the farm, and the administrative staff.

      Each day, she kept an eye out for Benjamin Frisk but to no avail. She stared at each line, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but was disappointed time and again.

      A few weeks after Sofia’s arrival, a faint but growing unrest began to spread through the ranks. Bosse became stiff and distant. The staff seemed restless. Madeleine had stopped attending assembly.

      One night, Sofia asked Elvira what was going on.

      ‘It’s the renovation of the staff quarters,’ Elvira said. ‘No one has wanted to ask you to help out, because Franz created your project himself, but the rest of us have been working a couple hours a day on the first floor. Haven’t you seen us?’

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