Stenholm Castle dated back to the middle of the 1500s, when the county’s baroness Lydike Rantzau had the Renaissance water fort built. At that time, Skipper Clement and his peasant mob’s abuses of the Jutlandish gentry under Count Fejde was still fresh in people’s minds and so the new home of the baroness was fortified to withstand a rebellious horde—strong and formidable, with thick double walls, countless embrasures, machicolations, and a moat and a drawbridge. The most attractive feature of the castle was without a doubt the old rhododendron garden in the month of May and the castle park, which was maintained in a natural English style with winding paths and superfluous little bridges arched over artificial ponds. The property stretched all the way down to Gamborg Fjord and continued into the Hind fir-tree nursery.
Below the castle lay Hindstrup, a smaller province town that had an excellent yacht marina, a number of small niche industries, and a central square and adjoining pedestrian zone where a handful of stores struggled for survival. To call it a bustling town would be an exaggeration but people managed to get by, and although most of them were employed in Middelford or Odense, the village was far from dead. Mainly because the house prices were reasonable and the stream of tourists in the summer was substantial.
In Hindstrup, Konrad Simonsen added “trespassing on private property” to the long row of sins he had compiled over the past few days. Luckily he was simply invading a woodshed and luckily the house it belonged to was currently for sale and unoccupied, but he really had no legitimate grounds for his presence there whatsoever. On the other hand, the spot was almost perfect.
He had arrived at night and begun by surveying the main street, a luminous white autumn moon making this possible. Diagonally across from the bakery Kongens Kringle was a library with an informational poster that promised access at eight o’clock the next day. He called the Countess and recounted this to her. She confirmed it groggily. Shortly afterward he found the shed behind a house on a side road off the main street. It was unlocked and filled with firewood, nylon packets with wooden blocks of irregular size piled from floor to ceiling, against one whole wall. Only the long sides of the shed were made of brick. The other two were made with horizontal lathing fitted with wide spaces so that the firewood could dry out in the wind. He made his way past the wood by laboriously moving bag after bag to the opposite wall and realized, once part of the wall had been freed, that this was the place he had been searching for.
To the right he had an excellent view out to the bakery and straight ahead up the hill he saw the outline of the castle. The woods at the end of the castle grounds lay a few degrees to the left, and even with the naked eye in the moonlight one could see most of the edge of the forest. It didn’t get better than this. He fetched blankets and his travel bag from the car. He made himself as comfortable as possible on top of the woodpile and set his alarm. Right before he shut his eyes he shot a last, long look up at the forest and said quietly, “Good night, Climber. I’m going to get you tomorrow.”
Then he fell asleep.
Five hours later, his alarm clock chimed and he started his day as he had finished it the day before, by peeking out between the slats up toward the forest and the castle. In the dark the grade had appeared steeper but the scene was not much different from what he had imagined back home when the Countess—with the aid of some scissors, tape, and a printout from the Internet—had created an excellent map of Hindstrup and its environs. They had placed it on the dining-room table and studied it as intensely as a general’s map before a battle. After a while, Arne Pedersen had suggested a systematized approach, slapping the flat of his hand over different areas of the map as he spoke.
“Okay. Village, castle, castle grounds that run up against the woods, the water, and tree nursery. The woods and the castle are high up, the village below. Let’s imagine that we’re the Climber. Where will he have the best overview of the situation? It’s almost a given.”
He let his finger run along the edge of the woods.
“Here he has an unobstructed view down to the main street. At least on the one side and I’ll bet five rum balls that that’s where Kongens Kringle is.”
The Countess agreed: “Apart from the fact that betting no longer has a place in your repertoire, that fits very well. The building over here is probably the nursing home and it has an odd number. The bakery is probably opposite but he may also live in the village or have access to the castle. The view from there is even better. What is it being used for?”