Missing

possible, in case he would notice.
    Heino was looking at the Grand Hotel.
    ‘Did you do it?’
    Sibylla glanced at him, surprised at how fast the rumour had done the rounds. Heino wasn’t the newspaper-reading type.
    ‘No, I didn’t.’
    Heino nodded. He clearly felt that the subject had been exhausted.
    ‘Got anything then?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘Nothing to drink. Fancy a fresh roll?’
    He rubbed his filthy palms together, smiling happily.

    ‘Now you’re talking. A nice, fresh roll is a thing of beauty.’
    She rooted around in her rucksack for her cache of breakfast rolls and gave him one. He ate greedily. The few teeth left in his mouth were struggling bravely with the roll.
    ‘Great stuff. A chaser would be something else, though.’
    She smiled, wishing she had any kind of drink for him. Preferably alcoholic.
    Two smartly dressed ladies were approaching, leading a small dog kitted out in a tartan coat. It looked like a large pampered rat. Catching sight of Heino, one of them started whispering to her companion and both speeded up. Heino had been watching them and, just as they were passing, he rose and leaned towards them.
    ‘Good afternoon, ladies. Would you be wanting a bite?’
    He was holding his half-eaten roll in his hand, politely presenting it to them. They walked past without a word, obviously eager to get out of harm’s way without humiliating themselves by breaking into a run.
    Sibylla was smiling broadly as Heino settled back on the bench.
    ‘Watch out,’ he shouted after them. ‘A rat’s coming after you!’
    The ladies walked very fast all the way to the main stairs of the National Museum, stopping only when they got there to check that no one was pursuing them. They were talking agitatedly. When a police car came driving across Skepp Bridge, the ladies’ body language told Sibylla that they were going to hail the police. Her heart was beating faster.
    ‘Listen, Heino, please do something for me.’
    The police car had pulled in to the kerb now. The two women were talking and pointing towards their bench.
    ‘If the pigs come here, you don’t know me.’
    Heino looked at her. The police car started up.
    ‘Don’t I know you? Sure I do. You’re Sibylla, Queen of Småland.’
    ‘Please, Heino. Not now. Please. You don’t know me.’
    The police car pulled in near their bench. Two uniformed police climbed out, a man and a woman. They left the engine running. Heino stared at them, stuffing the last piece of roll into his mouth.
    ‘Hi, Heino. Did you annoy the ladies over there?’
    Heino turned to look at the ladies. They were still standing at the entrance of the National Museum. Sibylla was peering into her rucksack, hoping to avoid police scrutiny.
    ‘Me? No, I’m just quietly eating my roll.’
    To prove his point he opened his mouth wide, displaying what was in it.

    ‘Just as well. Keep eating, Heino.’
    Heino shut his mouth, muttering crossly to himself.
    ‘Easy for you to say.’
    Then he carried on chewing. Sibylla was taking an intelligent interest in a side-pocket on her rucksack.
    ‘Now, has he been bothering you at all?’
    Sibylla realised the policeman was talking to her. She looked up, rubbing her eyes as if a piece of grit was troubling her.
    ‘Who, me? No, not at all.’
    She opened another side-pocket and started rummaging again.
    ‘I’d never bother queens. Specially not the Queen of Småland,’ Heino said earnestly.
    Sibylla closed her eyes, but kept fiddling with the rucksack. One more side-pocket to investigate.
    ‘I like that, Heino. That’s the ticket.’
    The woman constable was trying to round off their chat. To her relief, Sibylla could hear them both walk away and open the car door. Glancing at them, she saw the male PC still holding the door handle.
    ‘What’s your problem? Why are you spying on honest citizens peacefully eating their stuff? So the old hags are out walking their rat and start making a fuss, taking offence at nothing whatever – is that my fault?’
    ‘Shut up,’ Sibylla hissed.

    Heino was becoming heated. The police stopped in their tracks.
    ‘Let me tell you something you don’t know, right? Like, you might just have been of some use if you’d turned up here on the twenty-third of September, in the year of eighteen hundred and eighty-five.’
    The policeman was approaching now, but the woman stayed in the passenger seat of the car. Sibylla began closing the various compartments of her rucksack. Time to