Harbour

in chains on the jetty had been transferred to Kalle, when he jumped into the sea in a misguided attempt at heroism. Then Simon had skilfully restored the balance by drawing Kalle into the glow of his achievement. Now there was only joy.

Nice, thought Anna-Greta. Polished.

She was relieved, she was confused, she was angry. Mostly angry. She'd been conned. Simon had made her behave like a fool in front of all these people. Not that anyone appeared to have noticed, but she knew. She had lost control. Hypothetically speaking, she could have screamed. She hadn't, fortunately. But the barb was there, and she was annoyed.

'Wasn't that brilliant?' said Johan.

Anna-Greta nodded curtly and Johan ran a hand through his hair, looking over in Simon's direction. 'I think he's absolutely incredible.'

'Yes, but there are plenty of people who can do that sort of thing,' said Anna-Greta. When Johan looked reproachfully at her, she asked, 'Anyway, what did he say to you? Before?'

Johan smiled secretively and pulled a face. 'Oh…I don't really know.'

Anna-Greta slapped him gently on the shoulder. 'What did he say?'

'Why do you want to know?'

'I'm just wondering.'

Johan looked across at the boathouses, where Kalle had embarked on a new tirade, claiming that he would personally throw in the sea anyone who didn't go and see Simon's shows at the local community theatre. Johan shrugged his shoulders.

'He said I shouldn't worry. That he was going to keep out of the way for a couple of minutes for effect.'

'Why did he say that?'

Johan looked at Anna-Greta as if she were making fun of him.

'So that I wouldn't be worried, obviously.' He looked at Anna- Greta and added, 'Like you were.'

She didn't even bother to protest. Johan knew her, and his eyes were sharp. Instead she said, 'Anyway, I think I've had enough of this now. Are you coming home?'

Johan shook his head and looked down into the water. 'No, I want to stay for a while.'

Anna-Greta pulled her cardigan more tightly around her and left the jetty and the crowd. When she was halfway to her house she turned and looked down at the harbour. She couldn't recall ever having seen so many people down by the jetty, not even on Midsummer's Eve.

Johan wasn't there anymore, no doubt he had joined the circle of admirers.

Oh well, she thought. I suppose it was good that he said what he did to Johan. It was considerate of him.

She continued on up towards the house, and although she barely allowed herself to think the thought, she could feel it: But he didn't say anything to me.

That same evening Simon was sitting at the table in his garden with a glass of cognac. The last tender had arrived and there was still no word from Marita. A few youngsters were swimming down by the steamboat jetty.

His whole body was hurting; the worst pain was in his shoulder joints, which he had had to twist almost completely out of their sockets in order to free himself from the chains. It hadn't been a particularly difficult escape because very little rope had been used, but the chains had been unusually tightly pulled, and it had taken him almost a whole minute underwater to get out of them. If he hadn't had that extra minute before the sack was pushed in, he would have had to go straight up to the surface when he was done.

But he had had an extra minute, and he had used it to swim along the bottom to the furthest jetty and climb out, hidden by the boats. He had achieved the desired effect, and he thought the forthcoming shows would be well attended.

Simon raised the glass to his lips and grimaced as he felt a tightness across his chest. He couldn't carry on like this for much longer. It put too much of a strain on his body. He had once ended up with a broken rib when a man had been absolutely determined to chain him up as tightly as possible. After that occasion he had stopped offering a reward to anyone who could do it successfully. People were energetic enough as it was.

The lighthouse at Gavasten flashed in the light summer's evening; the lamp was only a dot, casting no beams across the water.

I ought to be enjoying this.

The performance had been a great success, it was a beautiful evening, and the cognac was spreading its warmth through his stiff body. He ought to be enjoying it all.

But it was often like this. After a successful publicity stunt with all guns blazing, the emptiness afterwards was all the greater. Besides which, Marita had disappeared again, and Simon had already drunk one glass more than he usually did. He didn't want to go the same way as so many of his colleagues, tumbling down into a sea of booze, never to surface again. But on this particular evening he thought he'd earned it.

I suppose this is how it starts, thought Simon, refilling his glass.

He was less concerned about Marita in her capacity as his wife than in her capacity as his assistant. The shows in Naten were due to begin in three days. If she didn't turn up he would have to scrap some of the best numbers: the mind-reading and the hat box. It would still be all right, but he really wanted to put on a good show in this particular venue.

Simon took a deep draught of his cognac and sighed. This wasn't the way he had expected his life to be. It worked, but that was about all. Happiness had got lost somewhere along the way. He allowed his gaze to rest on the water, which looked as soft as silk in the colours of the summer's evening. Far away a gull cried.

Oh yes, happiness exists. Just not right here.

Behind him he heard the slap of footsteps and a faint rattling noise. He turned in his chair with some difficulty and saw Johan pushing a wheelbarrow towards him through the grass. He was wearing only a pair of swimming trunks and a voluminous shirt covered in damp patches, and his hair was soaking wet.

'Johan?' said Simon. 'What have you got there?'

Johan grinned and pushed the wheelbarrow forward. It contained all the chains and padlocks Simon had left on the seabed. He tipped them out at Simon's feet.

'I thought it was a bit of a waste.'

Simon laughed. He would have liked to stroke Johan's hair, but for one thing he couldn't manage to get to his feet at this particular moment, and for another he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. Instead he simply nodded and said, 'It would have been. Thank you. Sit down if you like.'

Johan sat down on the other garden chair and let out a great puff of air.

'However did you manage?' asked Simon. 'They must have been heavy.'

'They were,' said Johan. 'I couldn't lift them, so I had to fasten them to a hook and drag them ashore, one by one.'

That was what Simon himself usually did, and what he had intended to do this time. However, he had no intention of telling Johan this, and he was grateful to be spared the job.

'Not bad,' said Simon.

'No,' said Johan, reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt.

'And then there's this. It was in the sack.'

He handed a thin, wedge-shaped piece of metal to Simon, giving him a conspiratorial look. Simon raised his eyebrows and pushed it into his own breast pocket.

Johan leaned back in his chair and said, 'I still don't understand how you do it.'

'Do you want to know?'

Johan sat bolt upright. 'Yes!'

Simon nodded. 'OK, go and fetch a bottle of Pommac from the fridge. My wallet is on the kitchen table; help yourself to five kronor for bringing back the chains. Then come back and I'll tell you.'

Johan shot out of his chair and raced inside. After thirty seconds he was back. Simon couldn't understand why he'd said that. The words had just flown out of his mouth. He never usually revealed his secrets. It must be the cognac, the atmosphere. And after all, Johan already knew the only part that really involved cheating.

So he told him. When he had finished the Pommac bottle was empty and the bay had darkened to a deep blue carpet, with the flashing light from Gavasten lighthouse drawing thin scratches through it. A bat flitted around