The Dragonfly Pool (25 page)

She described the gentle countryside, the cedar tree in which a thrush sang every morning, the white-painted rooms, one for each child, which they could decorate in any way they liked. “Of course, being free can be exhausting, but you soon get used to it.”

“I can't imagine being free,” said Karil, “being allowed to do what you want.”

Kit, however, felt that something should be made clear. “We don't play cricket. Not ever. You'd have to put up with that.”

But Karil did not mind about cricket, which was not played much in Bergania.

“Would they let me come?”

“Of course.” As far as Tally was concerned the matter was settled. “Even if you haven't got any money, the headmaster will probably give you a scholarship. I'm on a scholarship, so why not you?”

“You wait till you see Clemmy,” said Barney. “She teaches art and she's the best cook in England.”

The train steamed on toward the border and Karil closed his eyes, dreaming of a place where one could wake each morning among friends, and choose one's day. And Matteo would be there—the man who had been his father's friend.

Tally, on the other hand, was thinking of Carlotta.

Should I smile more? she wondered. But it wouldn't really help. There was still the question of the ringlets. Aunt May had tried to curl her hair once and the results had been disastrous.

And she had never in her life worn a white dress, let alone owned one.

It had not taken long for the people in the palace to realize that the prince was not in a safe place for his own protection, but quite simply missing, and a great search had begun.

The Countess Frederica had rampaged through the rooms, lifting the lids of chests, opening cupboard doors, scouring basements and attics. The king's turnip-shaped aunts searched, too, calling and imploring. So did Uncle Fritz and those of the servants who had not run away in terror after the assassination—for order and discipline were breaking down fast.

After a few hours the countess had swallowed her pride and gone to see the Baroness Gambetti.

“If you know anything about the prince, please tell me,” she begged. “The king put him in my charge, as you know.”

But the Baroness Gambetti knew nothing. “The wretched boy's hiding somewhere, I suppose,” she said. “As though there wasn't enough trouble. Poor Philippe is at the end of his tether.”

And indeed Gambetti could be heard in the bathroom, groaning and being sick.

When the countess returned to her room in the palace she found two army officers who informed her that she would be put on a train and sent back to England first thing in the morning.

“British subjects are no longer welcome in this country,” they said.

“I'm not leaving without the prince,” she had said. “It's out of the question.”

The officers belonged to the new order: men who supported Stiefelbreich.

“You can take one suitcase,” was all they said, and left, locking her into her room.

The countess fought all the way to the station. Her shoes were as spiky as her elbows and her nose; one of the officers who manhandled her had thin legs. Now, sitting in her compartment, the countess allowed herself a sour smile as she recalled his yelps of pain.

Even on the platform she went on struggling. Then, in the crowd of children making their way to the train, she saw a boy wearing an absurd ivy-wreathed hat and surrounded by a group of hooligans who seemed familiar. And at that point she had ceased to struggle and allowed herself to be escorted to a first-class compartment at the front of the train and locked in.

“The guard will open the door when the train is under way,” said one of the officers. “But I warn you: if you attempt to return to Bergania it will cost you your life.”

The door slid open and, looking up, the countess saw the bandit who now had Karil in his charge.

“What happened?” Matteo wanted to know. And when she told him: “What about the bloodhounds? Were they out for the boy?”

“Yes. There are two lackeys of Stiefelbreich's—vile-looking men who look as though they will stop at nothing. They set them off.”

“Can you describe them?”

“One is huge, with a missing ear. But the other one is worse—a slimy little worm of a man with a scar on his lip and a gold tooth.”

Matteo nodded. It was what he had expected.

“But at least they still think that Karil is somewhere close, which gives us a little time.” He turned to the countess. “You do realize, don't you, that once they suspect that the boy is fleeing the country you will be followed. They know how close you were to the prince.”

The countess drew her fierce eyebrows together. “Thank you, it is not necessary for you to tell me this. I am perfectly aware that it would not be wise for me to be seen with the prince when other people are nearby. But whenever it is safe for me to do so I shall appear and do my duty toward him as I have always done. Even on a short journey it is possible for a boy to get into bad habits, and this I shall prevent with all the power that I have. You may expect to see me again in Zurich.”

Left alone again, the Scold allowed herself to lean back against the cushions. She was not a woman who gave in to her feelings, but now she closed her eyes and permitted a few tears to well up behind her lids. She wept for Bergania and the dead king, for old von Arkel, who had been taken away for questioning . . . Above all she wept for the boy who was now an orphan and eating egg sandwiches among children who walked without clothes on toward the showers.

But she did not weep for long, for it was clear that she had one overriding duty and that was to take Karil to Rottingdene House, where his grandfather would keep him safe. Things were done properly there; there was no place where rules were stricter or etiquette was enforced more strongly—and the boy would be surrounded by nobly born relations to make sure that he did not lapse. In Rottingdene House, with dear Carlotta at his side, Karil would be safe until this nonsense was over and he could return to Bergania to be crowned as the country's rightful king.

T
he campsite was deserted. A colored kerchief caught in the branches of a tree, a mouth organ forgotten in the grass were the only signs that a few hours ago children had stayed here and been happy. Soon workmen would come and surround the site with barbed wire—the tents were going to house soldiers of the occupying army.

In the cathedral the king's body lay in state, ready for burial.

So everything was going according to plan. Yet in his room in the German consulate, Colonel Stiefelbreich paced the floor, angry and frustrated. His thoughts were on one thing and one thing only.

Where was the prince?

Every nook and cranny in the palace had been gone over; the king's aunts—tiresome women who would have to be sent to a convent to get them out of the way—had been questioned. The mountain hut of the king's old nurse had been searched, and every stick and stone of the surrounding countryside had been scoured. On the hill, the bloodhounds had drawn a blank.

This meant trouble for Stiefelbreich. He was supposed to hand the prince over to his superiors as soon as they entered Bergania—failure to do so would have serious consequences. A radio message had just come through from the commandant at Colditz to say that everything was ready to receive the prince. A cell had been prepared for him in the High Security Block, the commandant had said. Not that it mattered whether it was a high-security block or not—the whole of Colditz was high security. No one had escaped from that doomed fortress and lived to tell the tale. Stiefelbreich picked up the telephone.

Earless and Theophilus were resting in their room after their all-night search. They were not pleased with the accommodation they had been given above the consulate garages. Theophilus was worried about the effect of the fumes from the cars on his lungs and was spraying disinfectant up his nose.

Earless was sitting on his bed, which sagged under his weight, and worrying about Belinda. There was a man who served in the corner shop at the bottom of their street at home who smiled at Belinda in a way which Earless did not like. He thought of writing to Belinda and warning her, but reading and writing were very difficult for him and as so often before he thought how different things would be if he still had his other ear. The man in the corner shop wouldn't have had a chance if Earless had both his ears.

But when they heard that Stiefelbreich wanted them, both men cheered up. There is nothing like work for taking your mind off your troubles.

“Tell me again exactly what happened with the bloodhounds,” he said when the men stood before him.

“They followed the scent easily enough into the hunting ground, up to that lodge by the gates, but then they started going all over the place, running down the hill and coming back. But that's not surprising—there was a whole stampede of kids up there last night,” said Theophilus.

“Exactly,” said Stiefelbreich, rubbing his chin. “So I think we must face the fact that the prince may have been among them, that somehow he has sneaked out of the country with the children that left on the train this morning. He can't have gone on his own—the passes have all been watched and the roads checked. And if so, it's likely that he might be trying to get to Great Britain—after all, his mother was British.”

“So we'd be looking out for that man the king spoke to in the square perhaps,” said Theophilus.

Stiefelbreich nodded. “Or that woman who looked after him. Mind you, she still thought the boy was here when we put her on the train, so she didn't know anything then. But the main thing is that you must leave at once.”

“Trouble is, they've got a good start on us, on that train,” said Earless.

Stiefelbreich shook his head. “I'll let you have one of the consulate cars—a Mercedes. The train will go slowly—everything's disrupted; we've seen to that, and it stops altogether in Switzerland. But he mustn't get away. If he reaches the Channel and gets over to England, we've lost him. The Führer doesn't want any trouble with the British government—or the Americans.”

“And if we find him—” began Theophilus.

“Not
if
,” snapped the colonel. “
When
.”

“When we find him,” said Theophilus, “do you want him brought back here?”

Stiefelbreich shook his head. “You'll be in radio contact with the SS patrols; they'll take him straight to Colditz. As soon as you have the prince, arrange with them to hand him over. You'll get your bonuses just the same.”

But Theophilus had one more question: “If there's any difficulty . . . there might be a struggle perhaps . . . I take it you want the boy alive?”