The Dragonfly Pool

The day ended as it had begun, only in reverse. A footman came to turn down Karil’s bed, a second one brought two rusks and a glass of fruit juice on a silver tray. The uniform of the Munzen Guards was put back in the cupboard and the uniform of the Berganian Rifles was taken away to be pressed for the following day. The countess came with Carlotta’s latest picture in a frame and put out the light.

Left alone, Karil got out of bed again and drew back the curtains. The mountains were dark against the sky; the rosy light of sunset was gone. He went over to the other window and looked down at the river and at the row of lamps on the promenade. He could make out the bell tents, and inside them a glimmer of moving lights as the workers finished the preparations for the Folk Dance Festival.

He turned, startled, as the door suddenly opened. Someone had come in with a firm stride and without knocking.

In a second Karil had run forward to embrace his father. He had come to say good night after all, and at once the world seemed to be a different place.

The king did not ask his son whether he had had a good day. He knew full well about Karil’s day; he had had so many days of his own like that when he was a boy. Days when he felt trapped and weary and wanted nothing except to escape into the hills and never return.

“When this crisis is over we’ll go out together, you and I, and hide,” he said, “and they can look for us as much as they want.”

Karil nodded. “Can we go to the dragonfly pool?” he asked. “It’s the right time of year.”

“Yes. That’s where we’ll go.”

For a moment the king stood looking down at his son. The dragonfly pool belonged to his own childhood, before he was weighed down by duties. To the days when he had had a friend to share adventures with. The friend had betrayed him in the end, but the memory of those days still warmed his heart.

After the king had left, Karil stood by the window, looking down at the tents in the park below. Perhaps he would not always be cut off from real people and real life. Perhaps he would get to know the children who were coming. Those few moments with his father had given him courage and hope.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Arrival in Bergania

The Deldertonians came by train through one of the longest tunnels in Europe and suddenly they were in a valley that seemed to be a kind of garden because everywhere there were flowers—in the window boxes of the little houses, trailing around lampposts, hanging down from verandas. Yet when one looked upward, leaning out of the windows of the train, there were the mountains, cold and majestic and very, very high.

For Tally it was as though the newsreel she had seen in the cinema had burst into color and life. She had wanted to come to Bergania because of the bravery of the king and his people, but now she was just glad to be there, in a country she had never dreamed of seeing.

“Make sure you leave nothing behind,” said Magda—and Tally and Julia exchanged glances, for it was Magda who left things behind: her handbag when they changed trains in northern France, her scarf on the boat. As long as she had her briefcase with her notes on Schopenhauer in it, she felt herself fully dressed.

The children scrambled for their belongings. Kit had sat on a tomato sandwich and Julia dabbed at him with a paper napkin. Verity was tossing out her hair—it had to be untidy in just the right way and this took time. Matteo was out in the corridor. Whenever Tally woke in the night he had been standing there with his back to the crowded compartment, looking out at the landscape.

The children from Delderton had three compartments in the front of the train. Then came the group from Germany—well-behaved, good-looking children in dark blue shorts and spotless white shirts. In the second carriage were the Swedes and the French; then came the Italians, the Norwegians, the Spaniards . . . They had all just begun to make friends at Innsbruck, where the train had halted for a couple of hours.

The station came in sight, its pillars wreathed in roses. As the children got out they were greeted by a blast of music.

“My goodness, they’ve sent a band to welcome us,” said Barney.

At the end of the platform stood a distinguished-looking man with long silver hair, wearing a loden jacket, flanked by two officials with badges and golden chains.

“A reception committee,” said Borro. “Well, well. They must think we’re important.”

“We are important,” said Tally firmly. “We’re here because of goodwill between nations and all that.”

All along the train, children tumbled out on to the platform and re-formed in a line beside their teachers. The Delderton children, who were not used to standing in line, stayed in a huddle, blinking in the warm sunshine.