The arena’s underground car park wasn’t built for dignity.
It was designed for delivery vans, dim lighting, ventilation shafts, concrete pillars and people who believed no one was watching them as they slipped through side doors. It smelled of cold cement, tyre marks, disinfectant, beer and that sort of mystery that always seemed less glamorous in an underground car park than up above beneath the chandeliers.
Between two rows of parked cars stood five hijacked plastic rubbish sculptures from the Arena ice rink.
A silver jellyfish lay on its side. Two seahorses made from jerry cans stood as targets in front of a charging point. An archway made of fishing nets leaned against a concrete pillar.
Magnus had immediately declared it a sport.
“Concrete stick shooting,” he said. “The Hessian version. You don’t need a lake, just too much self-confidence.”
Some of the Austrian cadets from the Bär year group were standing around him. Some were holding bottles of mineral water, others beer, two cadets cockily holding glasses of aquavit as if they were chemical samples. No one was drunk enough to be dangerous. But several were already clearly more relaxed than the Leopoldine Military Grammar School would have put it in its annual report.
Dennis Mutoi had just been watching at first.
With the stern expression of a class representative who was already mentally preparing three warnings, two apologies and a plausible explanation for the school management.
Magnus picked up one of the sticks snatched from above—which no one should have had—placed it on the concrete and pushed it with solemn concentration.
The stone glided surprisingly well across the smooth garage floor, brushed past an old puddle, spun indignantly and struck the silver jellyfish right on the head.
The cadets cheered.
“Hit!” cried Kromoser.
“That wasn’t a hit,” said Mutoi. “That was vandalism with a sporting twist.”
Magnus bowed. “In Hesse, we call that talent.”
“In Austria, we call that an insurance claim,” said Eder.
According to the rules that Magnus had invented and nobody had stopped in time, a hit meant you had to choose: aquavit for the brave, beer for the ordinary, mineral water for people with a future. Kromoser reached for the beer. Höller took the mineral water and pretended it was a strategic decision. Kalaschek asked whether one was allowed to drink even if the shot missed, because otherwise the system would discriminate against performance.
Mutoi sighed.
“That is pedagogically reprehensible.”
“Then play for pedagogy,” said Magnus.
That was the mistake.
Mutoi stepped out of the circle, pulled his gloves tighter and picked up the second stone.
“Austria versus Hesse,” he said.
The cadets immediately fell quieter. Not really quiet. Just in that focused way young people have of turning a pointless game into a matter of national honour.
Magnus grinned.
“Finally, someone here is taking marine conservation seriously.”
Mutoi took aim, targeting the wave of plastic bottles, and pushed the stone.
It glided cleanly, elegantly, almost with discipline across the concrete, swerved at the last moment to avoid a streak of oil, and struck the wave so precisely that it didn’t topple over, but spun once on its own axis and came to a standstill again.
For a second, there was absolute silence.
Then the cheering erupted.
“Austria!” shouted Eder.
“Physically dubious,” said Magnus. “But morally impressive.”
Mutoi helped himself to a bottle of mineral water.
“We’re cadets. We’ve got to form letters again tomorrow.”
“On concrete?” asked Höller jokingly.
“If Mr Stromberg’s paying, probably on concrete too,” said Mutoi. Then he looked at the rows of his year group mates. “Right, since we’ve had a lot of applause today, there’s going to be a little team competition. But everyone take off their jackets so nothing tears or gets dirty. Lay the jackets out in alphabetical order on that black saloon car over there. And then the line-up is as follows: to ensure equality, the cadets Bauer, Berger, Björkhagen, Bögös, Brunthaler, Caba, Eder, Fliesser, Gludovacz, Greilinger, Haberl, Hebberling, Höller, Holzinger, Kabicher, Kalaschek, Karner, Kassan and Kniewallner will play alongside student Magnus from the Ignatius Grammar School in Fulda. And playing alongside me in the team for Austria are Köck, Komarova, Kromoser, Kronawetter, Leitner, Löw, Neuber, Otti, Pfingstner, Ringhofer, Rosegger, Sackl, Sadnik, Schmalzl, Schmid, Schneidhofer, Schörghofer and Walch. We’ll play over thirteen rounds: “Whoever has the most hits at the end, their country is the winner in the fight against marine pollution – and pays for a round for everyone.” Thunderous applause, whether out of amusement or enthusiasm, confirmed the teams’ selection. As there was only one curling stone, Kalaschek ran forward to fetch it from behind the plastic wave and bring it back to the starting line.
Cadet Sackl rummaged in her handbag for a piece of chalk. “I’ve still got this from carol singing at the barracks,” she laughed, drawing a neat starting line between two pillars.
Then they heard the rumbling.
Not the smooth glide of a game piece. Not the hum of a delivery van. It was a heavy, metallic clatter, interrupted by a gasping breath and a very quiet Spanish curse.
Paloma emerged from the service corridor via a ramp at the very back.
She was pushing a flat metal trolley in front of her, on which lay three dark metal rings the size of cartwheels, each secured with straps. The rings were large, cold, heavy and looked so little like gala attire that even Magnus lost his grin for a moment.
Paloma stopped, looked at the plastic sculptures, the curling stone, the cadets, Magnus, the drinks and the archway made of fishing nets.
“I’d better not ask,” she said.
Magnus looked at the trolley.
“Shouldn’t the service staff just be serving towels or drinks, rather than… What on earth is that?”
Mutoi stepped forward immediately. Posture. Voice. Authority. A hint of aquavit fumes in the air, but not yet in his gaze.
“Mademoiselle, do you require assistance?”
Paloma exhaled as if she’d been waiting for precisely that question and had simply forgotten to ask for it.
“Yes. Very urgently. These rings need to go to the harbour. A boat is waiting there for this special cargo. The gentlemen upstairs have decided that everything must go immediately, because at Galas, apparently, someone always realises too late that the harbour has a harbour. And then they sent me, because I’m rather clumsy at serving.”
Kalaschek leaned over one of the rings.
“What is that?”
“Art,” said Paloma.
Magnus raised an eyebrow.
Paloma looked at him and corrected herself.
“Technical art.”
“Danish?” asked Höller.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, I’m just a simple chambermaid.” Paloma put on her most innocent smile, for here she had a group of willing helpers who could save her a lot of work if they would lift the heavy rings into the van.”
That convinced the cadets more than it should have. Mutoi walked round the van and examined the safety catches.
“To the harbour, then.”
“To the harbour,” confirmed Paloma. “A boat is waiting. If it isn’t, I’ll have a very personal chat later with a man who claims navigation is a matter of character. Please just help me lift the items into the hotel’s delivery van. I’ll manage the rest on my own. At the harbour, one of the dockworkers will help me.”
Eder was already reaching for the van. “We can help carry.”
“No,” said Mutoi immediately. “We’ll coordinate.”
Magnus laughed.
“Now the ocean is being saved by the military.”
Mutoi ignored him and turned to the cadets.
“Kromoser, Eder, Höller, Kalaschek — come with me. We’ll help with the loading and go along to the harbour. Komarova, you’ll accompany us.”
Cadet Komarova, who had been leaning against the fuel pump with a bottle of mineral water in her hand and a very clear look in her eyes, raised her head.
“In what capacity?”
“As a chaperone,” said Mutoi. “Mademoiselle shouldn’t have to sit alone in the car with five men.”
Paloma looked at him. Then she smiled.
It wasn’t a big smile. Just warm enough to convince six young people that being helpful had just become an international mission. And at the same time, she had to think about how to get rid of this overly helpful crew, because her real friends on the pier would be extremely displeased if she turned up with a handful of eighteen-year-olds.
“How chivalrous,” she said. She pointed to an ice-white van with the Stromberg logo emblazoned on the side. Immediately, the assigned cadets pushed the van over there. Höller opened the door and wondered: “Is this an armoured vehicle? The doors are as heavy as if they were made of steel.”
Komarova eyed Paloma, then Mutoi, then the rings.
“Chivalrous is often the word men use when they lead a woman into a problem they haven’t understood themselves.”
Paloma nodded in agreement.
“I like her.”
“I don’t yet,” said Magnus. “She drinks mineral water and doesn’t believe anyone.”
Mutoi stood his ground.
“Komarova’s coming with us.”
“Agreed,” said Komarova. “But I’m sitting up front.”
“Of course,” said Paloma.
“And I’m keeping the map.”
“Even better.”
Magnus moved closer to Paloma and lowered his voice.
“You know we didn’t drag the plastic waste sculptures down from the empty hall.”
Paloma tried to ignore the strong smell of Magnus’s Aquavitatem.
“I hope so.”
Paloma glanced briefly at the young people who were already lifting the rings into the van together.
“They’re helping me because they believe that adults know what they’re doing.”
“That’s morally risky.”
“Yes,” said Paloma. “But more practical than getting drunk.”
“Are you from Portugal? Because of the accent?” asked Cadet Kniewallner, whereupon Cadet Pfingstner struck up a little ditty: “Beautiful Isabella of Castile, with all your trinkets, come back to me in Spain.” Then he continued more seriously: “You can see that this young woman is from Spain.”
Cadet Fliesser chimed in: “I’ve been to Montserrat Monastery; an impressive complex, almost like St Peter’s Archabbey in Salzburg.”
Mutoi was already issuing orders by the car.
“Kromoser on the left. Eder on the right. Höller, secure it. Kalaschek, don’t touch it until I say you can.”
“Why always me?”
“Because you asked if you’re allowed a drink when you miss.”
“That was philosophical.”
“That was an attempt at manipulation.”
Together they hoisted the first ring into the cargo hold. The metal was heavier than the cadets had expected. Kromoser swore under his breath, Eder gritted his teeth, Höller nearly slipped and was steadied by Komarova grabbing him by the collar.
“Thanks,” said Höller.
“Don’t slip,” she said. “That ruins trips.”
Paloma watched with Magnus as they handled the second and third rings, even though he repeatedly emphasised that Hessen was historically more responsible for mechanical engineering than for mysterious port cargo. In the end, all three rings lay securely lashed down in the hold.
Paloma slammed the stern doors shut.
The sound was dull and almost too final.
Mutoi stepped in front of her.
“We’re coming along.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is. You said special cargo. The Bear class doesn’t let a lady with special cargo drive through Copenhagen alone. And when I think of the sort of dangerous characters who might be loitering among the dockworkers.”
Paloma looked at him.
“You’re very young for such a big responsibility.”
“You grow with the task. Besides, we’re off duty until midnight today.”
“Then we’d better be faster than the task.”
Magnus grinned. “That quote’s going in the school newspaper.”
Paloma had made her decision in a split second. Three rings’ worth of security was definitely better than arguing with the others again. And if these friendly cadets really did escort her, she’d be out of the garage in no time, and the gatekeeper at the exit would ask even fewer stupid questions than if she’d driven out alone.
Komarova was already opening the passenger door.
“If we’re going, let’s go now. Before anyone asks why we’re leaving.”
For a moment, Paloma was actually tempted to hug her. She didn’t. Professional women kept their gratitude in check, especially when they were smuggling neptunium rings out of an underground car park.
“Get in,” she said.
Kromoser, Eder, Höller and Kalaschek climbed into the back of the vehicle, where extra folding seats had been fitted between the toolboxes and the lead panelling. Mutoi took the seat behind Paloma. Komarova sat up front, picked up the city map and looked as though she’d just decided to take charge if things got dicey.
Magnus knocked on the driver’s door.
“If that was an act, it was a very poor one.”
Paloma rolled the window down.
“If anyone asks, you didn’t see a thing.”
“I’m Hesse. We always see things and only understand them later, once Belgium, Britain and the Netherlands have agreed in the Occupation Council.” He tried a grin. “We’ll keep an eye on the cadets’ jackets and carry on playing until they’re back.”
She started the engine.
The cadets in the back were shouting something that sounded like a mixture of a camp-out song, military drill and a guilty conscience. Mutoi tried to restore order. Komarova simply said: “Which harbour pier do we need to go to? Then I’ll look it up and navigate using the map.”
Paloma glanced at her briefly.
“Cargo Pier 9 in the South Harbour. It should only take twenty minutes.” Enough of a head start in case the others escape Ravn. Paloma was thrilled with her improvisation.
“Here. I’ve found it.”
The car rolled forward.
Magnus and the remaining cadets were left behind amidst plastic jellyfish, beer bottles, mineral water and curling stones. The archway made of fishing nets slowly toppled against a concrete pillar and got stuck there, as if it too wanted to emigrate.
The ice-white service van disappeared around a bend in the underground car park.
For a moment, only the hum of the ventilation system could be heard.
Then Magnus said, “I think Austria’s now leading the way in concrete curling.”
Schörghofer looked at him in disbelief.
“Mutoi, Komarova, Kromoser, Eder, Höller and Kalaschek have just driven to the harbour with a strange woman and three very heavy metal rings.”
Magnus nodded.
“Yes. But my hit against the jellyfish still counts.”
Suddenly, a second metallic rumbling came from somewhere deeper in the service corridor.
Heavier. Slower. Accompanied by voices.
Magnus turned around.