Jaws of Death by Paul Adam

Author:Paul Adam
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409024552
Publisher: RHCP

FOURTEEN

Max had never been to Sweden before. In his imagination, it was a strange, wild northern region, covered with snow and ice and thick pine forests and populated by tall blond people who wore fur hats and got around on skis or reindeer-drawn sleighs. So he was surprised – and maybe a little disappointed – to find that Arlanda Airport, twenty-five miles north of Stockholm, was just like every other airport he’d visited. It could have been Heathrow, except it was smaller and cleaner and the signs were in Swedish as well as English. There were certainly plenty of tall blonds in the arrivals area, but none of them was wearing a fur hat, and as for snow and reindeer, well, there was no sign of either, unless you counted the stuffed toys in the airport shop.

On the flygbuss into the centre of Stockholm, Consuela told Max a bit about the city – how it was known as ‘the Venice of the North’ because it was built on a series of islands, connected by bridges. She’d done some sightseeing when she’d come with Max’s dad and thought it was one of the most beautiful cities she’d ever visited. She’d loved the fresh sea air, the architecture and old houses, and the fact that wherever you looked there was water, either at your feet or gleaming in the distance between the distinctive Scandinavian buildings.

Max saw it for himself when they got off the bus outside the central railway station and took a taxi to their hotel, driving along the edge of what Consuela described as the oldest part of the city – the Gamla Stan – with water on one side of the road and a row of ancient houses on the other, with occasional glimpses of a tall red-brick church tower and an elegant stone façade that Consuela said was the Royal Palace.

The taxi crossed a busy traffic intersection that formed a bridge to the island of Södermalm, then passed the Tunnelbana – Underground – station at Slussen and began to climb up a hill. Over the stone parapet at the side of the road, Max saw boats in the port, and green, wooded shores along the shipping channel that led out towards the sea.

The taxi turned left up another hill and stopped outside a five-storey brick building with a sign outside that read HOTEL KATARINA. Across the road was a small public park with rocky outcrops, patches of grass and a path leading to a stone church that was topped by a green copper spire. On the slope in front of the church nestled a ramshackle little wooden cottage that looked as if it belonged in a fairy tale.

Consuela paid the taxi driver with some of their Swedish kronor, then they picked up their luggage – they’d travelled light: just a small overnight bag each – and went into the hotel. The foyer was bright and modern: a varnished wooden floor, a reception desk made of pine, a seating area with steel-framed armchairs and a glass-topped coffee table covered with colourful magazines.

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