Star and the World

It had been an oversight not to notify them before. She should have checked where the closest telegraph station was before sending it. She would do better from now on.

Greta unlatches the revolver from the holster, places it on the tattered chest in the hallway, and picks up her suitcase. The mayor said he would ask Gustaf, the old constable, to come and help her settle in, and there’s a lot to do before he arrives.

She leaves the revolver on the chest and carries the suitcase up the stairs to the bedroom. She’s not in the academy any longer, and she’s not in the city. This is real life, and there’s no time to play around. She’ll show her superiors in the capital that she’s capable of the task they’ve given her.

Thick dust whirls in the air, and she stops to cough. The King’s order of modernity will be implemented; she will see to it. Then, this will look more like the city and less like the small town she’s used to from her childhood.

She hoists up the suitcase to the landing and drags it the short way into the bedroom. The room is gloomy, just like the rest of the house. Just like any unused house in a small town. The stained window shines a faint light onto the bed, and she can make out the silhouette of a sturdy wardrobe in the corner. An empty oil lamp stands abandoned on the nightside table. It will do for as long as she’s here. She puts the suitcase on the crinkled bed. Everything should be packed; she checked it before leaving. Apart from clothes, there is a briefcase with documents, a law book and a double set of uniforms.

She opens it. Each piece of clothes is folded neatly, and she carefully places them on the bed, stacking trousers with trousers and shirts with shirts in tidy piles that she carries to the wardrobe, where she carefully places them on the shelf. Next, she takes the briefcase and puts it by the door for her to take as she descends. She then unfolds the spare uniform, takes a coat hanger that she threads through it, and hangs it on the door of the wardrobe. Lastly, she tucks the suitcase underneath the bed and looks out over the grimy room. It will do. She won’t be able to call it home, but it will do for as long as she is here.

She takes her briefcase from its place next to the door and walks downstairs. There is a lot to prepare for the meeting with Gustaf. And for helping Miriam. There is no such thing as uncommon wolves, of course, and the legend of the Great Hunt is nothing else than a myth. The townspeople believe in anything, but that would change now.

She sits down by the table, pulls the uniform closer around her in the damp room, and places the briefcase on the table. The leather straps open smoothly, she’s oiled them before coming here, and takes out the stack of papers. The first document is a list of everything she needs to get up-to-date with. The regulation that was passed last year, the law that only involves towns of a certain size, which she, after checking, concluded that this town belonged to, and any law only encompassing this area. It took her two weeks and several trips to the local administration office to get all the data. Next is a list of all town members. She’ll learn their names as soon as she can.

There’s a knock on the door, and she looks up in panic. So soon? She isn’t prepared for Gustaf yet. She glances frantically at the documents stacked in neat piles on the table, puts the briefcase by the chair to leave the space tidy, and hurries to the door, repeating each law silently in her head. At the door, she straightens her uniform, picks up the revolver from the desk, and puts it in the holster by her hip. She better be representable. Taking a deep breath, she glances at herself in the stained mirror before opening the door.

An old man with a crooked back and white, unbrushed tufts of hair sprouting from his head stands outside. His grey jumper is sprayed with what looks to be wood chips.

“Gustaf, at your service”, he smiles. “You are Greta, I presume?”

“I am, sir. You are the current constable?”

“I sure am.”

The man breaks into a smile, and she realises she should let him in and gestures for him to enter.

“Now, we didn’t expect you for a couple of days, but there’s nothing to worry about. Everything is doable. It’s just a shame you got such a welcome. I would have liked to welcome you to a warm house.”

“No need to apologise, sir, the fault is mine.”

He limps over to the kitchen.

“I’ll help you get settled.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ve prepared the documents.”

He waves at her word, puts the leather bag that is slung over his sunken shoulders on the kitchen table and starts to empty it. Small bottles of oil, wicks for the oil lamps, and something that must be from last year's harvest fall out on the table.

“I brought a wheelbarrow of wood; it will keep you warm until tomorrow. I’ll show you how to fetch it after that, and you’ll learn how to do it for the others.”

“The others, sir?”

“Of course, you’ll need to make sure the older ones keep warm.”

“Sir, I’m a constable.”

“I know”, he says simply.

He takes up a bottle and a wick and walks over to the lamp on the window sill. She continues, a slight exasperation slipping into her voice,

“I believe it’s the wood master's job to ensure that the people are warm.”

“It sure is, but we don’t have one. He retired not long after I became a constable, and I took over his duties. There aren’t many wrongdoers around here, so there’s plenty of time to take care of the town.”

He puts the filled oil lamp down.

“Sir, there was nothing like that in the job description.”

“Probably wasn’t”, he chuckles, “but what does the capital know about us in the smaller towns? Is everything else working?”

Without waiting for an answer, he disappears into the living room, and she hurries after him.

“The rats have taken a living in here, I see. I’ll help you clean up tomorrow”, he says, pointing at the corner. “Will you give me a hand with the wood?”

He leaves without a word, and Greta hurries after him. Just as he said, there is a wheelbarrow piled high with logs standing outside. He gestures at her to help him and, very aware of the dirt that falls on her clean uniform, she takes up a log and carries it inside. When everything is stacked by the fireplace, and a fire is burning, he says,

“Swing by when you have time, and I’ll get you up to date with everything. We live in the third house from the mayor to the left.”

Greta nods,

“Of course, sir. I will come prepared.”

He chuckles and waves goodbye.

The wood has left a trail of dust over the floor. There is only so much cleaning you can do in a house like this; it will never be spotless, but at least the dust can be cleaned. She makes a mental note to take care of it once she’s prepared. She sits down by the table and takes up a document. There seems to be a misunderstanding with her tasks. She’ll write to the capital to clear that out. She takes a pen and starts to make notes on the paper.

The sun is low on the horizon when she finally looks up and puts the pen down. She should be all set now to see Gustaf. She stacks the papers, puts them back into the briefcase and stands up. The fire is still burning, but she puts another log on to be safe and leaves the house. The evening has brought the wind to shift, just as she remembers as a child, and she pulls the uniform closer as she follows the street towards the square.

There are fewer people out now, but they seem to remember her from the morning because they lift their hands in a greeting as they pass her. Just like any other town. They are all the same; village life goes on as it always has. But not for much longer now; the King’s order will change that. They will see what modernity can bring, just as it has done in the capital with electric street lights and running water. She turns right at the square and almost collides with a running girl, and she steps aside, bumping into the wall of the house. Soon after, she’s standing by the door to what must be Gustaf’s house. It looks like any other townhouse she’s seen so far, but the outside is polished and spot-clean. She straightens her uniform, clutches the briefcase in her hand and repeats the laws in her head one last time before knocking on the door.

“I’m coming, love, I’m coming.”

A plump woman opens, and before Greta has a chance to introduce herself, she draws her into a hug.

“My love, you must be Greta. Welcome! I’m Lovisa. Come, come inside.”

She ushers her into a narrow hallway similar to hers, only this one is lit and dust-free. Most of the houses seem to be built the same way.

“Gustaf, Greta has arrived!”

She leads her into a living room where a table is set with cups, biscuits, and a coffee pot. Gustaf sits on a chair, already nibbling on a biscuit, and Greta sits down and takes out the documents from her briefcase.

“You won’t have time for that”, Gustaf chuckles at the papers in her hand and before Greta has time to answer, Lovisa comes in with a cake.

“Now, put those away. “

The old lady shushes at her with a smile, puts the cake down on the table and sits down next to Gustaf.

“Now, my dear, I'm so glad to see you. We’ve all been very curious about this new constable of ours. Old Gustaf isn’t what he used to be, most people he’s helping are younger than him.”

She puts a gentle hand on her husband’s knee and smiles.

“There isn’t much happening here, you’ll soon find that out. Our kids have moved out. My oldest son, he's a carpenter now, you must meet him. Oh, you're so young, you're almost like my grandson, he’s a doctor in the capital, I think you’ll like him.”

Greta has barely time to reply and ends up nodding in answer. She glances at Gustaf. He’s nibbling on a biscuit, seemingly unaware, or used to, his wife’s monologue. She tries to cut in with a word, but Lovisa seems oblivious to her efforts.

“Now, why are you placed in this town?”, Lovisa asks after a while, and this time, she waits for an answer.

“The position was free. It is my first job since graduating, and they sent me here.”

“Of course, you go to school nowadays. Gustaf, that was not how it was in your time”, she says and glances at him.

He grunts in reply, and Lovisa fills in.

“It was just a two-day training in the small provincial capital. It was the furthest you had gone then, wasn't it, love?”

She smiles at him.

“You borrowed a horse from your uncle, and it took two days to get there. It’s not like nowadays, when you have the train not far from here. But it was the first and last education that you received about the position. But you liked the speeches, didn’t you? And you had a uniform. Not that you’ve worn it since, but… Oh, you have a revolver?”

She points at the weapon at Greta’s hip.

“Now, you have one too, don’t you?”, she adds for Gustaf. “Has been lying unused in the drawer ever since you got home from the capital.”

She takes the plate of biscuits and offers Greta another. In the brief silence, she sees her chance.

“I was hoping to talk to Gustaf about the role and get up to date about what has been done.

“Of course, how silly of me. I will leave you to it.”

She gets up, and Greta quickly shuffles the papers closer. Gustaf smiles, and she hesitates for a moment before collecting herself.

“I wanted to ask you about the legislation that was issued last year by the provincial city council. How has it been employed here in the town?”

“You mean the law about giving shelter to the homeless?”

“Yes, that's correct, that's the law. How have you employed it here? Has it worked for you?”

“Never used it.”

He takes a bite of the biscuit in his hand.

“But it is a law from the capital. You have to put it to use. It's illegal not to.”

“But we don't have any homeless people here.”

“But even so, you should have done the preparations. It's part of the law to have preparations in place, in case.”

“Oh, is it? I never came that far down on the paper.”

He leans over and snags another biscuit.

“You know, there are so many papers and new laws every year. You can't keep up with everything. The town is a town, and it's working. Wood gets chopped, and kids get born. What else is there?”

“But what have you done then?”, she says, exasperated.

Gustaf says,

“I'm glad you asked, I thought we would come to that. Tomorrow, I will show you all the people who need wood and what days they would be happy to have it chopped. And then it’s Judith, you need to take extra care of her. Deaf by now, can barely hear a thing you say. She will have an extra ransom and biscuits from Lovisa when she’s made them.”

He just keeps talking about all the things that she needs to do. Most of them are about chopping wood and taking care of people. There’s more work to bring the King’s order here than she thought. She’ll need to write to the capital and inform them about the state of this town.

“And there you have it”, he finishes. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to know them in no time. We’re a friendly bunch of people”, he chuckles.

Greta slowly puts back her papers in the briefcase. It will have to wait; she will go along with Gustaf’s antiques for now, and once she’s fully in charge, she’ll have to call a wood master here so she can do her real duties. She thanks him and leaves, already formulating the letters she’ll write in her head.