The Princess Trap (25 page)

F
or a while,
Jenna just sat looking at Perry. She didn’t dare go to him, or take his arm to comfort him. Because if his suspicions turned out to be true, what comfort could there be?

Only when it was completely dark, and the voices and laughter of the guards had gradually faded away, did she finally sit down next to him. She felt utterly helpless.

“Perry?” she whispered. He had hidden his face in his arms. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. “Perry? It may not be like that at all. There could be a completely different explanation.”

Perry slowly raised his head. Jenna saw to her relief that his eyes were now dry. But there was also a coldness in them that made her shiver.

“And what sort of explanation might that be, Jenna?” he asked. “We’ve been through it all. If my dad is part of this plot —”

“But why do you insist on thinking he is?” Jenna pleaded. “It doesn’t have to be that way!”

“Doesn’t it?” said Perry. “Last year you saw how
your
father was mixed up in a plot against the king. Why does someone
have
to be a good person just because he’s a father? Criminals have kids, too. And do you know how much oil the Pettersons own on North Island? And bauxite mines? Not to mention our huge flocks of sheep and our farms …” His voice trailed off. “There’s no way my father could want the reforms.”

In the forest, the unsuspecting blackbird repeated its song. This was the time of night when the horned owl flew off in search of its prey.

“He wouldn’t allow it,” said Perry. “The idea that he might lose out. That one day he might even lose everything. He’ll be afraid, just like the rest of them, that the reforms are only the beginning. He’ll have gone in with the people who are planning the coup. Not the rebels, Jenna — the opposite. All the time that Bolström was in exile, they must have stayed in contact. Who knows what they’re planning now? And I went and told my father that we’d discovered the depot … God, how naïve! How totally, shamefully stupid!”

“But he still wouldn’t hand over his own son to Bolström!” insisted Jenna. “Perry, your father wouldn’t do that!”

Perry shook his head. “Maybe he didn’t think it through,” he said. “Maybe he panicked, and the only thing on his mind at that moment was ‘How can we stop those kids from blowing our cover?’ Maybe in all the excitement he just felt he had to warn Bolström, and only realized later what that would mean for me.”

The blackbird was still singing.
Oh, be quiet
, thought Jenna.

“Then Bolström informed the men who’d captured us,” said Perry. “That was the call to the car.
My father
is the one who betrayed us, Jenna, and I’m to blame. Why did I trust him?”

“Perry!” whispered Jenna. The harshness of his expression frightened her. “Maybe he isn’t …”

“There’s no maybe,” said Perry, and Jenna could see that in the last few hours something had changed in him. Perry was no longer the boy she’d met in the navigator’s house. Why couldn’t he lie to himself just a little?
He understands too much — that’s what Jonas always said — and once he’s understood something, he can no longer ignore it.
Jenna stroked his arm. She didn’t want to think about Jonas.

“Well, we’ve got something in common, then,” she whispered. She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t take this terrible burden off his shoulders. But maybe she could console him a little with the knowledge that he was not alone. “My father’s a criminal, too.”

Perry didn’t seem to notice the hand on his arm.

“Yes, they’re both criminals,” he said. “But last year when he had to decide whether to let you go or kill you, your father chose to save your life, even though it meant his own downfall. But
my
father, Jenna …” His voice began to tremble. “My father has betrayed me. He’s sacrificed me. His property, position, and reputation are more important to him than my life.”

“Oh, Perry,” said Jenna.

The blackbird in the forest had stopped singing.

Petterson had left Osterlin to go to his own estate, where he could talk freely. He’d pretended that the groundskeeper had called to tell him there was something wrong with his favorite mare — a valuable animal — and that he had to see her for himself in order to decide what was to be done.

“Your son is being held hostage and you’re worried about a horse?” Margareta had shouted at him. “Peter, I don’t understand you!”

“What difference does it make whether I wait here or at home?” he’d answered. “I’ll come back, Greta, though maybe by then it’ll all —”

“No!” she’d screamed. “No! How can all of you be so …?”

He would have to hurry back to her. He didn’t even park the car in the garage.

He rushed up the stairs to his study and closed the curtains. A pointless thing to do — even if someone saw him on the phone, how would they know who he was talking to, and what about?

“Bolli!” he said when the call was answered. “Bolli, I want to know —”

Bolström said something.

“But I told you straightaway!” said Petterson. “It was obvious something had to be done to stop the children from talking about what they’d seen! But now you’re holding them prisoner and using them as hostages! I’ve seen the photo.”

Bolström tried to interrupt, but Petterson wouldn’t let him. “Yes, it’s fine that you’ve put even more suspicion on the rebels, and yes, it would be even finer if we actually got hold of Liron! But you don’t honestly think they’ll make the exchange, do you?” He was breathing hard. “And in any case, you wouldn’t go ahead with it, would you? You’re not going to release the children, even in exchange for Liron. If you were, you wouldn’t have needed to lock them away.” He waited a moment. There was silence on the other end. Bolström did not contradict him. “So what are you going to do? With the children, I mean?
What are you going to do with my son?
”

The answer was cool and calm.

“Is that a promise, Bolli?” asked Petterson dubiously. “You swear you’ll set them free when it’s over?” What else could he say? He knew Bolström only too well. Even at school, he’d been as cruel as he was brilliant. He’d tormented anyone he could torment, just for the sake of it. And he’d had a nickname for everyone — a name that fit, but was often mocking. Petterson himself had been lucky: You could live with being called “Captain.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you, Bolli,” he said softly. “And whatever impression you may have had in the past, I am far from indifferent to the fate of my son, even if he is a wimp.” He listened for a moment. “Tell me as soon as you’re ready.”

When the conversation was over, Petterson went to the window and gazed thoughtfully outside. Somewhere in this darkness, Bolström was holding his boy and the princess prisoner, but he wouldn’t say where. When they’d saved the country, and the reins of government were firmly in their hands, Bolström would set the children free — or so he said. How stupid did Bolström think he was, then? Would what they knew no longer pose a threat? No one must ever know that the hunger being suffered now was not the work of the rebels but of himself and Bolström. Bolström was far too clever not to realize the danger if the children talked.

Slowly he went downstairs. He must go back to Margareta. She was already furious with him. For the moment, the children were safe, because Bolström still needed them. There would have to be new photos every day.

But afterward? Once power changed hands?

And, worst of all, there was nothing he could do about it.

T
hey sat, wide awake,
on the ropes and nets, waiting for the morning, even though everything was sure to be the same as it had been the day before. Why was Jenna longing so much to see the sunrise?

A few times she had tried to sleep, but just a few feet away Perry sat so stiffly upright that the very sight of him immediately jolted her awake.

Perry’s theory had to be right. It was the only explanation that made sense. And how could he sleep when he’d been betrayed by his own father?

If there had been a church clock anywhere nearby, they would have heard it toll the hours. If it had been lighter in the hut, they might have been able to see their watches. But for now they just sat there.

A confused blackbird let out a high trill, which was answered by another. The sound was comforting, though.

“Stupid birds,” murmured Perry. “It’s the middle of the night.”

For a moment all was still, and then a third blackbird responded.

“Maybe it’s almost morning now,” said Jenna. “Maybe we slept on and off after all, and the time’s gone by. Lots of birds start singing before sunrise. I wonder how they know, when they don’t have clocks.” At a time like this, Jenna also wondered how she could even be thinking about birds.

The blackbirds continued to hold their conversation. Perry jumped up.

“These birds have no more clue about the sunrise than we do!” he whispered. “If you get what I’m saying, Jenna. Let’s just hope that the guards are asleep.”

At that moment they saw the beam of a flashlight ranging over the window. At least one of the guards was on duty. Since nightfall, the man had been patrolling around the hut, sometimes close to it, sometimes farther away. The blackbirds fell silent.

Perry sat back down again. “Then again, maybe not,” he murmured. “They probably wouldn’t be that stupid.”

Now Jenna understood. “You mean the blackbirds,” she whispered.

“No blackbirds in the world sing at this hour,” Perry answered softly.

For a while, all was silent. Then both of them sat bolt upright.

The blackbird sounded close enough for them to reach out and grab it.

“The guard on patrol!” Perry hissed anxiously. “He’s bound to realize —”

Then everything happened very quickly.

They heard a shout, footsteps, someone falling to the ground, more footsteps. There must have been a lot of men. Crashing sounds, but no gunshots. Then the door was kicked open.

“Everything all right?” said a gruff but cheerful voice. Flashlights suddenly threw a ghostly brightness over the shore and the forest, and in their glow Jenna saw a face that she knew was somehow familiar.

The old man turned around. “Have you taken everything off them?” he shouted. “Especially their phones? Check that none of them have managed to send out any messages!”

Seven other men — the youngest not much older than Jenna and Perry, and the oldest so stooped he was almost doubled over — were outside the hut, tying the hands and feet of the guards and gagging them. There were four cell phones lying in the sand nearby.

“So far, so good, Kalijoki,” said the youngest rebel. “They were snoring like pigs. I never thought my first mission would be so easy.”

Perry leaned against the doorframe. “Blackbirds sleep at night,” he said. His voice was trembling.

“Fortunately so did the guards!” said the old man, laughing. “But you’re right, we should have thought of something a bit more subtle. If the fellow who spent the whole night wandering around the hut with his lamp knew the first thing about nature …” He shrugged his shoulders. “They watch too many movies, these kids,” he said. “Don’t know enough about the world they live in.” He beckoned to the boy to bring the cell phones, and they disappeared into the deep pockets of his shepherd’s cloak.

“All right, let’s go,” he said. “We might get some sleep tonight yet, eh?”

The rescuers pushed the guards through the narrow doorway past Jenna and Perry. Jenna didn’t want to look at them.

“Once they’re in, take off their gags,” ordered the old man. “We don’t want them suffocating. And no one’ll hear them, no matter how loud they shout. Let’s hope that one of their group will come along in the morning and find them. Otherwise, they’ll get mighty bored sitting here all day.” He laughed. “Are you two good to walk? We have to go a little way on foot.”

Jenna nodded.
Kalijoki
, she thought, recognizing him at last.
The old man whose sheep had blocked the road.

“Thank you!” she whispered. “Thank you for rescuing us!”

“Piece of cake,” said the old man.

Jonas had found it tough going, lugging his heavy suitcase. The uneven slabs of pavement had made its little wheels rattle, and the whole time he had been afraid that the handle would snap under the weight.

But he knew he couldn’t wait for the car in town, or in daylight, so he dragged his bags to the agreed-upon meeting point, just three hundred feet from the sign marking the entrance to the town. He sat down there on an old stand for milk churns that was weathered by many years of wind and rain.

When he saw the bobbing lights approaching over the stones and potholes of the forest track, he jumped down. The pickup truck came to a halt.

“Hey, Lorok,” said Jonas.

“Hi, kid,” said Nahira’s most loyal follower. “You really want to take that thing with you?” He nodded toward the suitcase. “Think you’re going on a cruise?” He laughed.

They didn’t speak during the journey. And Lorok still drove like a maniac.

“This is it,” said Lorok. “Out you get.”

The shack looked derelict. Only the satellite dish on a tree stump showed that anyone was living there. Jonas slid down from the seat. “Thanks,” he said.

In the doorway of the shack, with only the flickering light of the television behind her, stood Nahira. “Jonas!” she said.

Before he had even reached the shack, Jonas had to ask. “Did you really kidnap them? Do you really want to swap them for Liron?”

Then he came close to her. For a moment she seemed to want to ruffle his dark hair, but she let her hand fall. “Come on in,” she said. “Of course we didn’t. What do you think we are? But that’s going to change in the next few hours.”

Jonas looked around the room. There were three mattresses on the floor, and the sound was turned down on the television. Obviously Nahira and her people hadn’t been using this hideout for long, and they clearly had no intention of staying much longer.

“It was very risky, Liron giving you my number,” she said. “Your father has taken too many risks altogether. He kept saying that the same people who tried to seize power last year would do it again, and yet he went on acting as if he didn’t believe it himself.”

“He didn’t exactly give me your number,” said Jonas apologetically. “He concealed it in a riddle. But why did you meet yesterday? He must have realized how dangerous that would be!”

Nahira looked at the screen. The midnight news. “It’s the day
before
yesterday now,” she corrected him gently. She left the sound off the TV.

Then she turned to him. “This time it was my fault,” she said. “I’d found something out — or rather Lorok did — that seemed to provide proof of what we suspected. I wanted to show him. So I was just as careless as he was.”

“But he … There’s still the death penalty for high treason,” said Jonas.

Nahira looked away again. “We don’t know how we can rescue him,” she said wearily. “Liron’s only hope is that this whole business will be over soon. That the plot will be exposed and everyone will know he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And how’s that going to happen?” whispered Jonas. “When we don’t even know —”

Meonok burst into the room. The door slammed against the wall behind him.

“They got ’em!” he cried, pumping his fist triumphantly in the air. “And they’re bringing ’em here!”

“Who?” asked Jonas. “Who have they got? Who’s got who?”

No one answered.

“Are they all right?” asked Nahira.

Meonok shrugged his shoulders. “Going to throw them a party?” he asked.

“That’s not exactly in the budget,” Nahira said. “The way things are at the moment, we haven’t even got anywhere for them to sleep.”

The TV was showing the same pictures it had for the past two days.

“For who?” asked Jonas. “Nahira, have you got Liron?”

Nahira shook her head, and gave him a tired look. “I’m sorry, Jonas,” she said. Then she signaled to her men. “We’ll have to do as we’ve done before — cut some fresh branches. Lorok, Meonok, make a camp for three.”

“Now? In the dark?” protested Meonok. “Can’t they just sleep on the ground?”

“The boy can help you,” said Nahira. “Hurry up, so you finish before they get here.”