Amberville - By Tim Davys Page 0,2

of power. The bird was one of the most dangerous animals in Amberville, and directly or indirectly he controlled most of the organized crime in the district.

“Undeniably,” replied Eric, trying to keep a light tone of voice, “you know where to find me, too.”

“You look after your friends,” said Dove. “And I must of course congratulate you on all your successes.”

Eric nodded and smiled but felt a chill along his spine. He didn’t know what Dove was getting at. Eric Bear was in the prime of life and felt that he had much to be proud of. Presumably Dove had read something having to do with Wolle & Wolle. Since Eric had become boss above Wolle Toad and Wolle Hare, a fair amount had been written about him in the press.

“Thanks,” said Eric.

“You’ve got a lovely place here,” continued Nicholas Dove.

Again a din was heard from out in the hallway. Not quite as ear-shattering as when the door was knocked down, but sounds of the same type. Eric turned around and saw how the apes were smashing the lovely pink sofa to bits.

Emma, he thought in a panic that crept up from his belly toward his throat. Emma. She’s going to be crushed.

“Why…?”

Eric tried to sound relaxed, and nodded out toward the hall where the gorillas continued to kick and strike what was left of the piece of furniture.

“They’re taking a break,” said the dove. “Surplus energy. It’s just as well that I get to the point before your entire lovely apartment is destroyed.”

Eric swallowed and nodded. Sweat was pouring down his back, but it might just as well have been the hangover. He didn’t want to appear materialistic, but the pink sofa hadn’t been free. And Emma would never understand. She knew nothing about Eric’s youthful years; he’d never dared tell her that he had once worked for Nicholas Dove. To others he hinted at this and that about his past because he thought that made him more exciting. But Emma wasn’t as easily impressed.

The gorillas had finished in the hallway. With decisive steps they went through the living room into the dining room, where they let themselves go on the dining room furniture: the table and chairs.

Just so they don’t see the crystal chandelier, thought Eric. It was a copy of an eighteenth-century piece signed de Clos, of which only four existed.

The very next moment hundreds of crystal prisms crashed against the parquet floor.

“Eric, you know me,” said Dove, adjusting his scarf. “I’m not one to beat around the bush, I intend to get right to the point. I’m on the Death List.”

“The Death List?” Eric repeated foolishly.

“That’s right,” nodded the dove without a hint of hesitation.

“But,” said Eric, feeling uncertain as to whether the dove was joking, “are you really sure that…there is something like…I mean, I know that it…”

Eric fell silent.

“Does that have any significance?” asked Dove without interest.

Eric had heard the rumor of a Death List since preschool. As an adult it was hard for him to believe that a list actually existed. The Chauffeurs worked according to principles known only to them, and that of course gave rise to speculations. The Chauffeurs in their red pickup picked up old stuffed animals, “the worn and the weary,” as the saying went. No one knew to where the old animals were conveyed, but they disappeared and were never seen again. It wasn’t strange that the Chauffeurs were feared, not strange that you wished there were some sort of list; anything at all that made the Chauffeurs’ nighttime runs seem less random. The Environmental Ministry was mentioned in this regard, because the Environmental Ministry was responsible for the city’s transports and for the so-called Cub List. But it was improbable that anyone at the ministry had the task of giving stuffed animals a death sentence.

“Perhaps it has a certain significance,” Eric said carefully.

He didn’t want to glance in the other direction, toward the dining room; the sounds were sufficient to understand what was going on.

“If there isn’t any Death List, then you can’t very well be on it.”

“That,” dismissed the dove, “is a hypothetical line of reasoning that doesn’t interest me. I came here for a single reason. I want you to track down the list and remove my name from it.”

The silence that ensued only lasted a moment. The gorillas in the dining room were fully occupied with the chairs, which were more solidly constructed than it might seem.

“Why me in particular?”

“You owe me a few