The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden by Jonas Jonasson

actions was in the Bible, not least in the Gospel of Luke, where one could read about the Good Samaritan. The Salvationist asked Ingmar if he would mind if he read a few lines from the Holy Book.
    ‘Not at all,’ said Ingmar, ‘but read quietly because I need to sleep.’
    And then he dozed off. He woke the next morning to the scent of something baking.
    After breakfast he thanked the charitable soldier, said farewell, and then stole the soldier’s bicycle. As he pedalled away, he wondered whether it was the Bible that said something about necessity knowing no law. Ingmar wasn’t sure.
    In any case, he sold the stolen goods in Lund and used the money to buy a train ticket all the way home.
    Henrietta met him as he stepped through the door. Before she could open her mouth to welcome him home, he informed her that it was now time to make a child.
    Henrietta did have a number of questions, not the least of which was why Ingmar suddenly wanted to get into bed without his damned box of American soldiers’ condoms in hand, but she wasn’t so stupid as to deny him. All she asked was that her husband shower first, because he smelled almost as bad as he looked.
    The couple’s very first condom-free adventure lasted for four minutes. Then Ingmar was finished. But Henrietta was still pleased. Her beloved fool was home again and he had actually thrown the condoms into the bin before they went to bed. Could this mean that they were done with all the foolishness? And that they might be blessed with a little baby?
    Fifteen hours later, Ingmar woke up again. He started by telling her that he had in fact made contact with the king down in Nice. Or the other way round, really. The king had made contact with him. Well, with his forehead. Using his cane.
    ‘Good heavens,’ said Henrietta.
    Yes, you could say that again. But actually, Ingmar was thankful. The king had made him see clearly again. Made him realize that the monarchy was of the devil and must be eradicated.
    ‘Of the devil?’ said his startled wife.
    ‘And must be eradicated.’
    But such a thing demanded both cunning and patience. And also that Ingmar and Henrietta had a child as part of the plan. His name would be Holger, incidentally.
    ‘Who?’ said Henrietta.
    ‘Our son, of course.’
    Henrietta, who had spent her entire adult life silently longing for an Elsa, said that it could just as easily be a daughter, if they had a child at all. But then she was informed that she should stop being so negative. If she would instead serve Ingmar a little food, he promised to tell her how everything would be from now on.
    So Henrietta did. She served pytt i panna with beetroot and eggs.
    Between bites, Ingmar told her about his encounter with Gustaf V in greater detail. For the first but by no means last time he told her about ‘messenger boy’ and ‘scoundrel’. For the second but by no means last time he described the silver cane to the forehead.
    ‘And that’s why the monarchy must be eradicated?’ said Henrietta. ‘With cunning and patience? How do you mean to use the cunning and patience?’
    What she thought – but didn’t say – was that neither patience nor cunning had historically been salient traits of her husband’s.
    Well, when it came to patience, Ingmar realized that even if he and Henrietta had created a child as recently as the day before, it would take several months before the kid arrived and, thereafter, years before Holger was old enough to take over from his father.
    ‘Take over what?’ Henrietta wondered.
    ‘The battle, my dear Henrietta. The battle.’
    Ingmar had had plenty of time to think while he hitchhiked through Europe. It wouldn’t be easy to eradicate the monarchy. It was something of a lifelong project. Or even more than that. That was where Holger came in. Because if Ingmar died before the battle was won, his son would step in.
    ‘Why Holger in particular?’ Henrietta wondered, among all the other things she was still