Egholm reached out and rapped at the window, at the imminent risk of breaking the glass.
Sivert stopped, gave a sickly smile, turned round twice where he stood, and made towards the gate.
“Here, you fool!” roared his father, and Sivert stopped again.
“Be quick and come in,” whispered his mother out from the kitchen door.
“Well, why don’t you come? Put on your cap and come along with me.”
Sivert obeyed without a word.
Egholm held the boy close to his side, and they marched down the path towards the beach.
“Go on ahead, so I can keep an eye on you,” he commands. And Sivert walks on ahead with the transcendent smile of the martyr-about-to-be. He knows now he is to die, but it doesn’t matter so much, after all. Going to drown him, he supposes, since they are making towards the water.
“Know what you’ve got to do?” asks his father.