The Danish Revival

Part Five - Brother Against Brother​

66. Legitimate Business

4th February 1844
Nyhavn District, Copenhagen


“So that’s a deal is it?” said Boudwijn de Vries nervously. The man opposite him was starting to get on his nerves. First, he had demanded they do business here, in this seedy, grotty sailor’s bar, with it’s arched beams, naval paraphernalia and various scruffy, bearded denizens who would pick a fight as soon as look at you. De Vries himself, with the business he was in, was used to this place, but he had been hoping that the man opposite, clearly a gentleman of some quality, would arrange to meet in a rather more up-class establishment, as the drink here could be used to remove barnacles from ships. It was not so.

The second problem was the girl, who clung to the man like a limpet. De Vries assumed she was a whore from one of the brothels, but when he had ventured a question he had just received a piercing stare for his efforts. He did not even know her name, but for some inexplicable reason she seemed to be party to the deal. As a man used to keeping secrets, de Vries naturally found this rather…uncomfortable. Women, especially whores, had no place in the dealings of men.

The man opposite had asked to be called Peder, and was, as far as de Vries could tell, approaching fourty in age. He had short, shiny brown hair, a wide face that complemented a bulky physique, and de Vries’ first assumption was soldier. He was nearly right, as it turned out, but Peder was not going to give away anything about who he was or what his motives were, especially not to some smelly, stained-bearded smuggler.

“It is a deal, my friend,” said Peder. He put his hand out and de Vries took it, shaking it limply and quickly withdrawing. The smuggler sat back as the whore leaned over and whispered something into Peder’s ear. He appeared to listen intently, then turned his head and kissed the girl on the lips lovingly as he had done several times since the beginning of the meeting. De Vries was getting sick of it.

“What’d she say?” Peder turned his attention away from the girl, looking slightly annoyed.

“I’m going to need to inspect the merchandise.”

“O’course, good sir. It’s currently stashed in an abandoned warehouse in Roskilde. Just ask for “Smuzzy”. All perfectly safe it is.”

“Smuzzy? Is that a person, or what?”

“Just go and find out. I already drawn a map.” Peder took the scrap of paper and looked at the vague drawing on it. Thankfully he was already familiar with where de Vries meant, as the map was pretty much useless. He smiled anyway.

“Thank you.” He carefully folded the paper and placed it in his pocket, but not before showing it to the girl, while de Vries watched on cautiously. “May I ask, what are conditions like at the moment? For smuggling…free trading, I mean?” De Vries was initially caught by surprise by the question, but recovered well, twisting his face into a grin.

“Sir, conditions are top notch. Revenue ships are rarely seen off Denmark’s coast, and the police don’t barely seem to exist no more. I go to the Netherlands again next week and bring back new cargo. You want I should reserve it for yourself?” De Vries never missed a chance to make more money, however illicit it may be. Peder chuckled.

“Well, lets see how this first deal goes. If everything goes smoothly then I shall consider another rendezvous with yourself.”

“There’s no problem there, the hard part is done, sir, the merchandise is in the country. You want I should also arrange for the transport of the goods into your custody, sir?” he asked, hopefully.

“No, I can do that myself.” De Vries looked crestfallen, but Peder had turned his attention back to the girl. The smuggler finished the last dregs of his beer and stood up, stretching and shuffling about as much as he could get away with in a bid to regain Peder’s attention. Eventually he looked up.

“You’re going?”

“Aye, I got other customers, you know. None of your quality, o’course, but money needs to change hands. I bids you farewell, good sir.”

Once de Vries was gone the girl leapt off Peder’s lap and took the seat opposite, making sure no one was paying her any attention. Luckily for them, no one was.

“Really, Peder, have we sunk so low that we have to deal with criminals?”

“Darling, it’s not exactly the first time we have done business with such men now, is it?”

“No, but it makes me so sick! And,” she continued without taking a breath, “I’m sick of always being a whore or a serving girl! It is so demeaning!”

“I think you play the role rather well, my love.” Seeing her expression Peder hurried on. “Anyway, you know as well as I that it is essential that we get these weapons in secret. The boss ain’t comin’ back, and this new fool doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.”

“If you say so.”

“Yes, I do. My lads and I will do anything to make the organisation prosper. Even this.”

Peder took a swig from his stein and they left, the beer only half finished. Now, he thought, there is only this Smuzzy to deal with.​

67. The House of Pain

Copenhagen
8th February 1844

It was good to be back in Copenhagen. The warehouse in Roskilde had in fact turned out to be an old government weapons cache, supposedly empty since the closure of the armament factories eight years back. It was still a place were weapons were stored, but now by criminals instead of the government, who had long forgotten that the place even existed.

Peder walked slowly through the Tivoli gardens, deep in thought. The weapons were there, four thousand Dutch made rifles. Smuzzy had turned out not to be a person but instead a code word. The ammunition had been kept dry, and Peder had arranged for the goods to be transported by canal to a certain location in the suburbs of Copenhagen, a house in the poorer areas, an unassuming but large building that looked just like the rest, with extensive space under the ground used mostly for...storage. They would be safe there until they needed to be used.

After a twenty minute walk through the city he arrived back at the house. Someone watching him would have noticed the nervous looks he got from the residents of the street, and the tendency for anyone who recognised him to get out of his way. This was mostly because of the noises that came from the house, the terrible screams and cries of agony, which seemed to seep up from the bowels of the earth into the residents houses. The screams had been less frequent over the last few months, but occasionally a bone-chilling shriek would emanate from somewhere within that house which would give all who heard it nightmares. The gossips all said only one word; torture.

Peder looked up vaguely as a young man came running up to him, out of breath, holding a sandwich.

“Captain,” he said, waving the sandwich frantically, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Hungry work, was it Schwartz?” said Peder, eyeing the sandwich. Schwartz reddened.

“Yes sir. Mr. Dahl is here to see you.” Peder sagged visibly.

“Why didn’t you get rid of the bugger?”

“I tried, believe me.”

Schwartz followed Peder into the building where Mr. Dahl stood, looking slightly annoyed at having been kept waiting. He was a short man with a thin moustache, and spoke with a whiny, high pitched voice that grated on the ears of all but the terminally deaf. He, for some inexplicable reason, was now in charge, of the whole damn thing! What were they thinking?! Surely Chancellor Jonsson had to be having some kind of joke!

“Ah, Captain Kristensen, so good of you to finally show up! I was beginning to think you were dead!”

You wish, you little twerp. “No, just taking care of a little business, ha ha.” The Captain made a gesture to Schwartz, who shrugged in confusion. He tried again, but the Sergeant still looked blank. Mr. Dahl frowned, puzzled.

“Are you all right, Kristensen?”

I would be much better if you would piss off out of my station, you foolish worm. “I’m fine. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

“Um, sure.” Peder Kristensen rushed over to Schwartz, who was idly eating his sandwich, and spoke in an angry whisper.

“What are you doing?! Go get her!” Schwartz looked momentarily blank before he realised what Kristensen meant. He grinned.

“Oh, so that’s what all those hand gestures meant. I thought you were just being obscene.” Schwartz laughed, but stopped when he noticed Kristensen was not. “All right, I’ll go.”

As Schwartz hurried off Kristensen turned back to Mr. Dahl, who was fiddling with his moustache.

“What was all that about, pray?”

“Important police business,” Kristensen said vaguely. “Look Mr. Dahl, I have very important stuff to be getting on with, and I’m sure that you wouldn’t want to impede me in my duty?” Mr. Dahl frowned, and sighed.

“No, I suppose not. I just came to make sure everything is going smoothly.”

“Well it is. Goodbye.” Kristensen escorted his boss out of the building and watched until he was right down the street before heading back inside. His wife was there, still holding an implement of torture.

“I was just about to get a confession, Peder! There had better be a good reason for this interruption!” The Captain strolled over leisurely and put his arms around her.

“Mr. Dahl was here, so in desperation I called you up here so that we could make him squirm, and thus leave. He left anyway, so there was no need, darling.”

Her face softened, and she kissed him passionately, much to the embarrassment of Schwartz who started choking on his sandwich. A couple of minutes later she went back down to her work, and Kristensen went and sat down at the desk in his office and took out a bottle of whisky and a cigar. Settling back, he let his mind wander.

He thought back to the days when Sandlund was in charge. Now there was a man who knew how to command respect! But now things had changed, and they were about to change a lot more. The officers of the LOK no longer respected the government, and the government treated them as little more than thugs, even Jonsson. After all, it was him who appointed Mr. Dahl! Loyalty lay only with Sandlund and Kristensen himself, among most, if not all the officers of the secret police. And now, Sandlund was gone.

Chancellor Jonsson, Mr. Dahl and the whole bloody lot of them will live to regret the day that the LOK was formed, Kristensen thought. And I will be the one who makes it so.​

68. Before the Storm

April 20th 1844

The Danish public had short memories, it seemed. It was not long ago that the royal family’s popularity was at an all time high, with an outpouring of sympathy for the deceased Princess Maria. Of course, it was not long before the liberals began to resurface, voicing the concerns they had had for the last twenty years. No one really liked the absolutism of King Christian VII, it seemed, and a couple of well placed editorials in the Pedersen controlled papers meant that there was mounting, real threat of popular unrest among large sectors of the population, especially the city-dwellers who largely disliked the King.

The Jonsson government, however, was seen as a bastion of liberalism by many, fighting to try and force through as many liberal reforms as they could in an absolutist government. This was a view largely promoted by the Jonsson government itself, especially over the last few months. Of course, not everyone was fooled. The people of Schleswig, especially, regarded Jonsson with a large degree of suspicion following the “Consolidation of the Empire Protocols,” a series of reforms that had largely been lauded by liberals in Denmark. These were strange days indeed.


26th April 1844
Nyhavn District, Copenhagen

Boudwijn de Vries sat in the same seedy bar where he had met with Peder and his whore several months back, and was enjoying a drink…well, not enjoying exactly, for there was something going on. He could not quite put his finger on it, but there seemed to be a buzz in the air, a strange excitement and anticipation among the fellow smugglers, criminals and lowlifes with whom he tended to socialise with.

He shrugged, and took a deep gulp from his stein. As he was putting it down he felt a tap on his shoulder, causing his sinews to tense. I really hope this guy is not going to pick a fight…

“’Ere, you, ‘ave you seen this?”

De Vries looked up into the eyes of a swarthy sailor, who handed him a scroll, rolled up and tied with a piece of dirty string. With immense caution he unravelled it, and stared incredulously at what was written on it. Suddenly there was the light of realisation. De Vries’ started laughing, shaking his head.

“So that’s what you wanted all them guns for, you old dog Peder!”

Kristensen was raising an army, and his recruits were the many criminals of Copenhagen’s underworld. And by the looks of it, people were joining. Lots of people.


Green Cherry Bar, Roskilde
29th April 1844

Over the last few months Jens had been to visit Alpha and his temple of the Ancient Mystic Society of the Gnostic Sect of the Illuminated Brethren of Isis, and thanks to Jens’ pamphlet the order now had a blooming membership, occultists flocking to become initiated into the societies’ secrets. All five members were gathered now, as well as Jens and Eva (who were not members.)

“So I say that the Nobility are not the Elders of Atlantis.” Alpha shook his head vehemently.

“No Eva, you’re wrong, they are!”

“No they’re not. They’re fallen angels so bad that even hell did not want them!”

“No they’re not!”

“Yes they are!” Jens let out a growl

“Look, this is not productive! I want to know about this,” he was referring to the obsidian scrying mirror of Dr. Dee, which he held in his hands. “How do you actually use the thing?”

A member who Jens could not remember the name of shrugged dismissively.

“Oh, that. Just get a copy of Dr. Dee’s Action with the Spirits and translate charms and spells and stuff into Enochian. Use the mirror to concentrate the charm to make it more powerful.”

Jens gaped, and then looked accusingly at Alpha.

“Did you know that?” Alpha blushed.

“Maybe…” Jens sighed.

“Oh never mind. Anything else?”

“Well, I did hear a rumour that might be of interest,” said Alpha wearily, looking at Jens. “Apparently a Captain called Kristensen in the LOK is raising some kind of private army. Four thousand troops, they say!”

“Who says?” said Jens suspiciously.

“Some people I know…they’re not very reputable, I have to admit. In fact, they have no repute at all. But they seemed pretty sure. Pretty sure indeed.” Jens frowned. This sounds big, assuming it was true. I wonder…

“Would it be possible to meet with this Kristensen?” Alpha shrugged.

“I don’t know. That is something you must find out for yourself.”

“Hmm.”​

69. Blood of Our Blood

Ameliensborg Palace, Copenhagen
1st May 1844

Mathias sat in his office, his brow creased into a frown. The time was drawing nearer, and everything was going to plan. He idly picked up a report on industrial production, looked at it vaguely, and then put it back down. There is still one problem of course, he thought, and he could ruin everything. It did not help, of course, that Lars had made the LOK almost into a personality cult, meaning that the hunt for Jens had not even yet started and the secret police was almost out of government control, despite what Dahl claimed. Christ, I don’t even know whereabouts in the country he is.

His thoughts were interrupted by a curt wrap on the door.

“Your grace, Messrs Pedersen and Lindgaard are here to see you. They say they wish to discuss business essential to the state.”

“Yes, yes, send them in.”

Mathias watched as Pedersen and Lindgaard came in, and thought how completely opposite the two of them looked. Both were in their mid-forties, but that was where the similarities ended. Pedersen was lean, composed, and very confident in himself. Lindgaard, on the other hand, was obese, sweaty and always seemed nervous about something or other. Mathias grinned as Lindgaard sat down, the chair creeking ominously under his immense weight. Mathias wringed his hands and smirked.

“So what can I do for you two fine gentlemen?” Pedersen looked at Lindgaard, who nodded.

“We were just hoping that we could go through the plan. You have been very secretive about it all, Mathias.” Pedersen’s voice was level, and gave nothing away. Mathias nodded.

“The king will abdicate on the 15th May, i.e. in two weeks time. He will also renounce all claims to the throne. I will then assume the role of President of the Transitional Government, until elections can be held.” Lindgaard frowned in disgust.

“Elections?! You’re not planning to give the rabble the vote, are you?” Mathias pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed gently.

“Of course I am. I will also order the construction of a parliament (the Folketing), where our elected representatives may debate the issues of the day. Elections will be held every four years.”

“But that’s not the plan!” said Lindgaard, his jowls wobbling worriedly. Mathias looked him straight in the eye.

“Yes it is. You did not let me finish, Claus. I never said that anyone will have a choice, did I? There will be two political parties, separated in truth only by the veil of illusion. All members of the Folketing will be picked by the President, which will be an unelected office and will be held for life. All this will be enshrined in a constitution.” Pedersen was smiling to himself, and Lindgaard’s eyes, dark and piggish, were suspicious.

“Why bother with all this nonsense about elections?” Pedersen shook his head and rolled his eyes, and Mathias laughed softly.

“Because, Claus, if people believe they are free, then to all intents and purposes they are free. And, if people believe they have elected representation, then the same applies. The only truth is how people see things in their own minds.”

“It’s like a conjurors trick,” interrupted Pedersen, “people believe what they see and take it to be the truth. It’s almost like a parlour trick on a national scale, with an entire population.” Mathias frowned.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t have put it like that exactly.” Pedersen shrugged, and coughed. Lindgaard was still frowning petulantly.

“But what of the Royal Family? And Crown Prince Frederik? Couldn’t they pose a problem?”

“They will be suitably dealt with. As for Frederik, he is an imbecile, more interested in whoring and drinking than politics. He’s also incapable of producing an heir, it seems, which would have meant a constitutional crisis somewhere down the road, anyhow. King Christian will cite this as one of his reasons for abdicating.” Pedersen and Lindgaard nodded, satisfied.

“What about Jens Stemme?” There was an awkward silence, and the room seemed to get several degrees colder. Lindgaard, who had asked, looked from Pedersen to Mathias in confusion. “What?”

“Jens is a problem, I admit.” Mathias said blankly. “A bigger problem than either of you may realise. Let me tell you something I learnt from the nobility. Two hundred thousand years ago, when all humankind lived in ignorance on the paradise of Atlantis, there was a war in heaven between God and Lucifer, the latter being cast down to the bowels of the earth. However, there was another war, this time between the fallen angels themselves. Lucifer expelled the eight angels who had opposed him, and they were exiled to the land between heaven and hell, the earth. They are the Nobility.

These angels promised knowledge and eternal life to the Elders of Atlantis, who accepted the angel’s offer. The Atlantean people then, freed from ignorance, made great gains in scientific and spiritual progress, and begun to doubt God’s greatness. Obviously, God could not tolerate this, and destroyed Atlantis in his petty fury. However, the exiled angels had interbred with some of the females, and the offspring of this holy union were found to have mystical abilities far surpassing the rest of the population. This angelic bloodline survives to this day, in all the cultures all across the world. The pagan shamans, the Arabian mystics, and indeed me and you two, have this blood. We are the elite of this world, born to rule.”

Both Lindgaard’s and Pedersen’s faces were aghast, their jaws dropped. This was all entirely new to them, as only Mathias could commune with the Nobility. Mathias continued.

“Those with the blood have power and knowledge that others do not. Jens, it seems, has the blood. He is, quite possibly, my equal, as much as it pains me to admit it. That is why he is such a problem.”​

70. Meeting Near Odense

Somewhere Near Odense
11th May 1844

“Captain Kristensen was not pleased to hear that you were coming, Mr. Stemme.”

Sergeant Schwarz grinned nervously, Jens just snorting in response.

“Well, I think he could be useful to me.” Schwarz frowned, and Jens caught the expression. “And I useful to him.“

It had not been easy finding the renegade captain, that was for sure. It had taken Jens four days of meditation and concentration to be guided to the LOK station, only to find the place abandoned. He had then headed down to the docks, and had various conversations with suspicious sailors and dockworkers. Most had told him to bugger off, but he had been able to scrape together two crucial bits of information; The Fischer estate, Odense.

Jens was vaguely aware that Ernst Fischer was a major landowner on the island of Fyn, and that as a German Dane he was naturally suspicious of the Jonsson government’s reforms curtailing the freedoms of the German majority areas of the Kingdom. Thus, Jens made the journey to Fyn, wasting another three days in the progress. He lodged in a cheap guesthouse in Odense itself, and sent a messenger to the Fischer estate giving word of his arrival, specifically mentioning the name Kristensen. When he had arrived the next day via taxi carriage he was greeted by a very guarded, nervous young man; Sergeant Schwartz.

Fischer’s mansion itself was built of red brick, with two towers on either end giving it the appearance of a small castle. There were various outbuildings, and fields of green that stretched as far as the eye could see. Jens could see that there seemed to be people out on the fields, but he could not quite make out what was going on. They were…of course, they were soldiers! Or, common criminals, lowlifes and smugglers masquerading as soldiers. Jens marvelled at the sight, half filled with wonder and half filled with a strange fear. They’re training vicious criminals to be vicious killers. Something seems slightly odd there…

Jens followed Schwartz into one of the outbuildings, which seemed to be serving as Kristensen’s headquarters. He stepped nervously into the building, and for the first time set eyes on Peder Kristensen.

“Well well,” Kristensen said, standing up. “I’m guessing you will be this Jens, then?” Jens nodded, and put out his hand. Kristensen, his brow furrowed, took the hand and shook. With the formalities over Kristensen visibly relaxed, and sat back down, eyeing Jens carefully.

“So I’m guessing we have matters of great significance to discuss,” he said deliberately, glaring at Schwartz. The young sergeant stared blankly before finally getting the hint, scurrying out of the shack. Jens laughed nervously.

“Um, yes. Let me ask you something, if I may?” Kristensen shrugged.

“Sure. But don‘t expect and honest answer. For all I know you could be a spy or anything, and if you are, believe me, I will find out. Just from observing you. And should you be, you will never leave this place.” The Captain’s voice, as he spoke, remained dead level, and his eyes were cold and suspicious. Jens felt a shiver go down his back.

“Believe me, Captain, I am no spy. I despise Mathias Jonsson and his devilish cronies more than you could possibly imagine.”

Kristensen lay back in his chair, taking an idle puff of a cigar while regarding Jens closely. He has passion. I believe he means what he says. After an uncomfortable pause Kristensen cocked his head and smiled.

“What were you going to ask?”

“Do you believe in the occult?” There was the briefest of pauses before Kristensen burst into gales of laughter.

“The occult?! Are you having me on? Come on man, what sort of a question is that? I don’t have any stick with any kind of mumbo jumbo. God, Jesus, magic, fairies, elves, it’s all the same. Total nonsense.” Jens nodded, expressionless.

“Well, Captain, I can tell you now that it matters not whether you believe in the occult, for I can guarantee that the occult believes, very strongly, in you. I don’t believe in the occult-” Kristensen interjected.

“Well, good.”

“-I don’t need to believe, because I know that it is real.” Jens sighed, and scratched his forehead. “I think I can help you, I want to help you. And I think I can show you that having the occult community on your side will give you an invaluable ally.” Kristensen raised an eyebrow, still smirking.

“Oh yes? This I’d like to see!”

“Fine, then I will show you. What is your plan?” Kristensen hesitated. A nearly perfect stranger was sitting before him, asking for the most secret details of the whole operation. It was absurd, surely it would be totally foolish to trust him! But he did. He could not explain it in any logical terms.

“The plan is to seize Odense by force on the morning of the 14th. My force will storm the city hall, and will also attack the posts of the city guard. Once the city is in my hands, I will make my demands to the government.”

“And what demands are these?” said Jens, dreamily. Kristensen frowned.

“The…the, um, the something. Um…fine, I don’t know, I had not thought that far. Money. Yes, I will demand lots of money.” Jens regarded Kristensen strangely.

“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “rather than holding the city to ransom you could declare it a free city, at war with Denmark. Then you could send out a message to other cities, especially ones in Scheswig-Holstein, to join with you in rebellion. I and my associates could help things along, so to speak, and thus you could be the pebble that causes a tidal wave.”

Kristensen looked at Jens in astonishment. His expression was troubled.

“But that would mean…”

“Civil war. It’s the only way to bring down Mathias Jonsson and the evil spell that this country has fallen under.”

Kristensen nodded.

“Do you think it will work?”

“If there is some good left in this nation, then it must.” Kristensen nodded.

“All right. Let’s do it.”​