Faces of Nordic Reunification
You are late.
Not that I care, of course, but my employers might not entirely appreciate it when I inform them, as I surely must.
Now, you may call me
Barnabas, and as for your mission-…
My employers? What about them?
Oh, dear me…! You think I’m one of those bunglers in Herr Askman’s motley crew?
Hehehehehehehehehehe… Oh, my!
Forgive me. Herr Askman and his merry men and women perform a veritably useful public service, don’t get me wrong, but they don’t even know the half of it. And if I perform my job properly,
they never will know more than that…
They’re
cute, but sometimes I cannot help but roll my eyes…
Now then, I asked you to come here because I need you to-…
My backstory?
Why, I don’t see how that’s important, but if you insist…
I was the son of a well-to-do burgher in Stockholm. My father got me the best tutors there were in history, philosophy, the classics, modern languages, politics and statescraft, even a little natural science. But he never allowed me to be seen by the public, and so kept me hidden from the world. But I was a clever lad, filled with ambition, so I ran away, determined to make my mark, and-…
No wait, sorry! I was confused! I’m actually originally from Wallonia! Yes! See, my parents abandoned me at birth, and I was sold to a circus, where I was a number in their freak show. To be viewed by the masses as a sideshow attraction. A beast, a creature, not even a real human. But I knew my worth, I knew my talents, I knew my potential and abilities, and so I ran away, and-…
Actually! No, no, no! Now, I remember! The real truth of the matter is, I’m not from Wallonia at all! Dear me, do I even sound like French is my native language? No! I’m from northern Italy! There I was the favourite jester at the court of a wealthy nobleman! I would mock them all, call them all out for their hypocrisy and vices and cruelties committed in the name of bravery and statesmanship, and they all thought I was joking, but I meant it all, every single word. Or perhaps they knew I meant it all, and yet they laughed, for I was so harmless in their eyes, couldn’t threaten them? But one night, one night, I poisoned the nobleman’s best stock of wine that he was preparing for a particularly great dinner reception, and as the corpses were yet warm, I made my way out under cover of night, I fled to Sweden, and here, here I-…
Oh, what am I saying! Surely I did nothing so cruel! No! My existence here is far more mythical, almost
metaphysical. The truth of the matter is, I am but a latter-day incarnation of the Sons of Ivaldi, which these Swedes’ ancestors, the Vikings, so strongly believed in. Held to be real. And so I became real.
Was real. I am a proper dwarf, a master craftsman of the olden days, a trickster and a magical being. My existence depends entirely on people believing in me, and in these times, I must earn the faith in me, and so I-…
Or wait, now that I think about, maybe the story about the Wallonian circus midget was the truth all along? Or maybe the truth of the matter is that I am a Stockholm burgher’s son? Or maybe I really did kill all those people at that Italian dinner reception? Or maybe-…
Well, they all make for compelling narratives nonetheless, don’t they?
The very precise ones you would expect of a mysterious little dwarf…
How about you just pick the one that appeals the most to you?
Or,
or…! If none of them are to your liking, how about you just make up your own? Then you can make up the most marvellous story you want, and leave perfectly satisfied as to what my
true backstory is!
Now then, as to your mission. Here’s a package of-…
information, recently obtained by another person in a situation similar to yours from the office of a fellow with a fancy title at the University of Kiel in the Duchies. What it contains is of no importance
to you… But nonetheless, I am going to need you to deliver it to this address.
Yes, that’s all the way over in Finland.
If you fail…?
Well, we’ll kill you, I suppose.
You don’t want to be killed, now do you?