The Princess Trap (30 page)

Petterson could feel the fear rising, and his heart was pounding. He couldn’t just sit here waiting till the soldiers arrived and aimed their guns at the palace. Who knew what they would do with him? He was sitting in a trap.

“No, no, no!” he cried. Why hadn’t Bolström contacted him? “Blast you, Bolli, call me! This is my coup as much as yours!”

His cell phone remained stubbornly silent. What he heard instead, though, was a stifled cry from behind him.

Margareta had opened the door and was standing there holding a tray on which sat a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

N
ahira gazed at the man
in the silken robe. “Norlin,” she said.

How many years was it since they had last met? During the incidents last summer she’d seen him on television with his hair dyed white and blue contact lenses concealing his dark eyes. Now his hair was growing black above his pale, bloated face.

Once she had loved him. Once they had even been engaged, when they were both fighting for the cause of the north. Then he had decided to leave her and join Princess Margareta in a life of luxury. And finally, last year, he had forced his way onto the throne. Meeting him again under these circumstances was grotesque.

“Nahira!” said Norlin. His voice sounded like a plea, his hands were trembling, and he looked old. “Nahira, you must have something here to … I need …”

“What?” asked Nahira. What was he talking about? They had captured him, and he ought to be grateful her men hadn’t killed him. So what was he rambling on about now?

“Something, Nahira, you must have something —” His voice broke off. She could see the sweat pouring down his forehead. “I can’t go on, Nahira. Once we were … Something, you must have something …”

Nahira couldn’t take her eyes off him. Was this the same Norlin who for a short time had actually ruled the country? “Lorok,” she said. “See if we’ve got some liquor for him somewhere. He’s no use to us like this.”

Within seconds, Lorok was back with a bottle. “We were keeping it to celebrate our victory,” he said reproachfully.

Nahira took it from him. “If we succeed in beating the conspirators, there’ll be other places we can get supplies for our celebration party,” she said, unscrewing the top. “Here, drink.”

It was amazing to see how quickly the alcohol took effect. Norlin seized the bottle with trembling fingers and raised it to his lips. As one gulp followed another, his body began to relax, his hands stopped trembling, and, when he finally put the bottle down, his eyes were almost clear.

“Thank you, Nahira,” he said. “You’ve saved my life. I’ve got this little problem at the moment, which I shall attend to as soon as —”

“Shut up!” said Nahira. She couldn’t stand the way he turned pompous the moment he’d regained some sort of control over his shakes. “Just keep quiet, Norlin! Saved your life? Who knows how long we’ll let you keep it.”

Norlin smiled. He raised the bottle to his lips again, but this time took just a single sip, which he kept in his mouth for a reflective moment.

“You were always against bloodshed, Nahira,” he said. “And when I tell you what I know —”

“Well, that I
am
interested in,” said Nahira, leaning against the wall. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Perry and Jonas, Lorok and Meonok. Where was Jenna? It was hardly surprising that she found all this unbearable. “What are you doing running around Scandia in your bathrobe? And what are you doing here of all places?”

“Perhaps you could let me have a chair?” said Norlin.

Nahira rolled her eyes. He actually believed in the royal role he’d been playing! He was pathetic.

“I’m on the run from Bolström and his men, Nahira. They’ve betrayed me! They simply used me last year, those traitors …”

“I know what happened last year,” said Nahira. “What I’m interested in is now. Today. This moment. What is Bolström planning? That is, if you’ve managed to retain any of it into your pickled brain.”

Norlin didn’t seem in the least offended. “He wants to kill me!” he cried. “As soon as he’s taken over the country — ‘saved’ it, we say — I shall only be in his way. He’s not even afraid to —”

“Norlin, you fool!” cried Nahira. How could she ever have loved this man? Even if it was years ago, decades ago, how could she not have seen the hidden side, the real Norlin? “For heaven’s sake, just for once think of something other than yourself! I’m asking you about the country.
What does Bolström intend to do with Scandia?
If you want us to spare your life, then tell us what you know!”

Norlin looked confused. “After we’ve saved the country?” he murmured. He tried to put the bottle to his lips again, but Nahira snatched it out of his hand.

“Not after!” she yelled. “Before! Now! How does he plan to stage his coup? And when? What is to happen where and when, Norlin? We need places and times!”

Norlin nodded. His eyes were fixed on the bottle as he spoke. “Tonight at two o’clock,” he said. He reached out his hand. “They’re going to march on Holmburg. They’re going to take over the parliament building. And the palace. What’ll happen to the king and his family will depend on how they respond. If they’re loyal to the friends of the motherland …”

“He makes me sick!” Jonas interrupted.

“… then they’ll be allowed to live and the king will stay king. But if they resist …”

“Me, too,” added Perry.

“… then unfortunately Bolström will be forced to adopt certain measures …”

Nahira did not wait to hear any more. She had already taken her cell phone out of her pocket. “Yes, at two o’clock in the morning!” she said. “The fishing boats are in the bay? We’ll meet at the dam. That’s the only land route — they’ll have to come in that way.” She listened for a moment. “Of course there aren’t enough of us! But can you see any other way?” She closed her phone and looked at Lorok. “Let’s roll,” she said. “Meonok, lock this wreck in the mill and leave him his bottle.”

Slowly she climbed the steps, through the second floor and up the narrow stairway to the gallery. Jenna was sitting there on the wooden floorboards, hunched up, her head on her arms and her arms around her knees.

“Jenna,” said Nahira, running her hand over Jenna’s hair. “You must come with us. There’s no point in hiding yourself away. There’s no hiding place from life.”

When Jenna raised her head, Nahira saw to her surprise that her eyes were dry. “Why do I have to have a father like that, Nahira?” she whispered.

“Come on, Jenna,” said Nahira. “We need you because you’re you. It doesn’t matter who your parents are.”

She put her arm around Jenna’s shoulders. As the two of them went down the steps, they could hear Norlin beating the door of the granary with his fists. “What’s the meaning of this?” he was shouting. “Are you leaving me here to die? Let me out!”

Jenna turned her head, and Nahira could see that her lips were trembling.

“He doesn’t count, Jenna,” she said. “The only one who counts is you.”

Then she took her to the waiting car.

Margareta was crying. The king had his back to a fireplace in which no fire had burned for many years.

“Well?” he asked.

Margareta knew she should be grateful that the palace servants were still loyal to them. Given what she was now beginning to understand, that kind of devotion could by no means be taken for granted.

She looked at Petterson. He was sitting in a deep armchair, with two servants behind him. Old Bergson was holding a kitchen knife in his gnarled fingers. He looked ridiculous. They had not told the palace guards: Who knew which side they were on?

“Well?” asked Magnus again. It was astonishing that Petterson was making no attempt to escape or even to defend himself.

“I know nothing,” he murmured. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Magnus! It’s the truth! Bolström isn’t speaking to me anymore!”

“But he’s got the children, hasn’t he?” cried Margareta. At first, when she’d realized Petterson had been deceiving her all this time, she’d felt only anger and pain. How could it happen? Why her? Once it had been Norlin, and now it was Petterson. Then she’d thought of Jenna again, and fear had overtaken despair. “Are they still alive?”

Petterson shrugged his shoulders. He looked as if he didn’t care about anything.

The king moved closer to the chair. Petterson cowered back as if afraid the king would hit him. “I shall never forgive you for what you’ve done to my sister, Petterson,” he said. “But we’ll deal with that later. For the moment, we have more urgent matters to attend to. You will now tell me exactly what’s going to happen next. When are the conspirators going to strike? And where? Who else is involved?”

Petterson leaned forward as if he was about to stand up, but Bergson immediately held the knife to his throat and he sank back. The knife was old, as Margareta could see from where she was sitting, and its handle was worn and rough. But it could still be a deadly weapon.

“How should I know who’s involved?” said Petterson. “Nobody made a list! But it must be obvious even to you, Magnus, that there are many sympathizers who are afraid of losing their property and their future, and of what might happen next in this country. Did you think we would just sit back and let you take away everything that’s been ours by right for generations?”

“Nothing is ours by right,” said the king. “Nothing is yours or mine. What we have is a gift. Can’t you get that into your head?”

Petterson laughed, and the knife came closer to his throat.
Poor old Bergson
, thought Margareta.
He’s almost wishing there was a reason for him to stick the knife in, though at the same time he’s hoping he won’t have to. Such a quiet, gentle old man.

“A gift?” Petterson sneered, and now he actually caught hold of Bergson’s arm. The old man hissed like a snake, and Petterson jerked his hand back. “A gift? How sentimental can you get, Magnus? Has the great romantic Liron addled your brain with his talk of equal rights? What’s ours is ours! Because our ancestors worked for it for centuries! Because the land has always belonged to us, and we —”

This was too much for the younger of the two servants. He had short black hair, and was likely of northern descent. “Because
your
ancestors worked for it, you traitor?” he cried, and Margareta saw that he, too, had a knife. In his powerful fingers, its short serrated blade looked infinitely more dangerous than the worn-out one in Bergson’s gnarled hand. “Did
your
ancestors work in the bauxite mines? Work in the fields till they were permanently stooped to bring in the harvest before the rains came? Did
your
ancestors die before their children had grown up, because the dust from the mines had settled in their lungs?
Your
ancestors worked for it? Say that once more and …”

“Arinoki,” said Magnus. “Put down your knife. As for you, Petterson, you need to tell us what Bolström is planning and give us the names of your coconspirators. And what about the media? What would happen if I wanted to make a speech to the nation now?”

Petterson laughed harshly. “Try it!” he said.

Magnus looked at Margareta, who sat as if turned to stone.

“How could we have been taken in for so long, Margareta?” he asked. “How come we didn’t notice anything?”

Margareta raised her head. “Did we really notice nothing?” she murmured. “All I know is that I didn’t
want
to see it.”

“Sit still, you traitor!” yelled Arinoki. Petterson pushed his arm aside and stood up.

“Bolström is going to march on Holmburg, Magnus,” he said. “I don’t know when. But I do know that you won’t be able to do a thing about it. I’m sure the telephone wires have already been cut. And I’m sure that the only people still serving in the palace guard are in alliance with Bolström. And I know that most of the army are on his side, too. Perhaps not the rank and file, but the officers — southern aristocrats like us. Their men will obey them. And your attitude toward the saving of our motherland, dear Magnus”— again he pushed aside Arinoki, who was making vaguely threatening gestures with his knife —“will determine what is to happen to you. To you, your family, and the monarchy.” Again he laughed. “If you go out on the balcony with Bolström and wave to the crowd …”

“As if to say we’re in favor of this coup?” cried Margareta. “Then you’ll let us live? Is that it? Is that it?”

“You always had such a romantic soul, Greta,” said Petterson, curling the corners of his mouth. “If you hadn’t, you’d never have left Norlin and lived like a commoner abroad. But during the last few months I’ve enjoyed playing the part of your paramour. It wasn’t quite such hard work as I’d feared.”

Margareta jumped to her feet and slapped his face. Then she began to beat his chest with her fists. “You sick … disgusting …”

Bergson grasped her wrist. “Your Royal Highness!” he whispered, and then, shocked at himself, gave a little bow.

Margareta got a grip on herself. She stepped back and breathed deeply. “You’re right, Bergson,” she said. “It’s not worth demeaning myself for a man like that.”

Magnus came and stood by his sister. “So that’s it, then,” he said. “Either we welcome the coup and cooperate with you, or you’ll kill us.” Thoughtfully he wandered across to the French doors. It was still daylight. At this time of year, the summer evenings were full of warmth, and in the center of the circular flower bed in front of the palace, couples sat on the marble sides of the fountain, watching the soldiers parade back and forth in their brass-buttoned coats outside the wrought iron gates. “And then you’ll lay our bodies out in state, and bury us with full honors, five-gun salutes and all the pomp and circumstance. Because the people still love us, as you well know, so you’ll claim it was the rebels who shot us in the back.”