The Dragonfly Pool

But the prince must on no account be allowed to go free—there could be nothing more dangerous. Berganian patriots could use him as a rallying point, or there could be an attempt, now or later, to restore the monarchy.

“Somebody has blundered and will be punished,” said Stiefelbreich. “I made it perfectly clear that the prince was to be seized immediately after the assassination. Our plans for him have been in position from the start: he is to be taken to Colditz and kept there as a prisoner of the German Reich.”

Earless and Theophilus looked at each other. The bodyguards had heard of Colditz—everyone in their business had heard of the grim fortress in east Germany from which no one could escape. It had been a mental hospital for years; the cries of the patients incarcerated there were apparently still heard at night by superstitious peasants who lived nearby. Since the Nazis had come to power, Colditz had been used to shut up all the people who had displeased Herr Hitler: social democrats, gypsies, Jews. No place in Europe was more feared.

“The prince will be well treated,” said Stiefelbreich. “There is a special part of the castle kept for political prisoners. Later, if he cooperates with our plans for Bergania, he may be released, but if not . . . Well, children do sometimes have to be sacrificed to a Greater Cause. But he must be found, and quickly.”

“The trouble is,” said Theophilus, “we’ve only seen him from a distance, riding in the procession, and there are hardly any photographs, so if he’s hiding on purpose it might be tricky. He seems to be a very ordinary-looking boy—brown hair and brown eyes, they say, but that doesn’t tell you much. Now, if he belonged to the Royal House of Hapsburg it would be easy. The Hapsburgs are so inbred that their upper lips reach right up to their nostrils—you can recognize a Hapsburg anywhere, especially if you see them trying to eat. And if we were looking for a Bourbon, like in the Royal House of France, we’d be searching for someone without a chin. But as it is . . .”

“I suppose he doesn’t have a birthmark?” said Earless hopefully. “They’re a big help, birthmarks are.”

But Stiefelbreich had lost patience. “You can question the palace servants—no doubt you’ll find ways of making them talk. But if the boy isn’t found and brought here in the next twenty-four hours, God help you both.”

Matteo returned to the camp in the late afternoon, looking as though the devil was at his heels.

“He’s vanished,” he told the children. “There’s no sign of him. If he falls into the hands of those traitors . . .” He broke off. And under his breath. “Oh God, where is the boy?”

Julia brought him a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese and he took it, but it was obvious that he had no idea what he was eating.

Then Tally put a hand on his arm.

“I think I know where he might be,” she said.

Matteo went so fast, scrambling up the side of the waterfall, that Tally could hardly keep up with him.

He knew the place so well; his happiest times had been at the pool with the king. The woods surrounding it, the creatures in its depths, had helped to make him a naturalist.

They reached the top and the pool lay before them. There was nobody there. The water was as still as glass; the water lilies might have been carved in stone.

Then, behind a large boulder on the other side of the pool, something stirred.

Karil had not been crying. The boy was a long way beyond tears, in a state of shock so extreme that he could barely connect with the world, but after a moment he recognized Tally, and Matteo was glad that he had brought her in spite of his misgivings.

“We came to help,” she said, taking his hand.

Matteo waited, letting Tally talk quietly to the boy. Then came the moment when he focused on Matteo and said, “I saw you in the square. You were my father’s friend, and . . .” But he could not go on.

Matteo knelt down beside him. It was time to tell his story.

“Yes, your father was my friend, the truest friend I ever had. We shared a tutor, we rode together, we went climbing together. I looked up to him, but really we were like brothers. We used to come here and talk about all the things we were going to do. He knew he’d be king one day, and he was going to be a different kind of ruler—give his people more freedom and more say in how the country was governed. Bergania was going to be a model for the world.

“When the time came to go to university we went to Basel in Switzerland. It was a heady time for Johannes—for your father—it was like the door of a cage opening. He was so happy to be free of the bowing and scraping. We met all sorts of people—idealists and dreamers and poets who wanted to make everybody free. And Johannes was going to do that, with me to help him. I suppose most people guessed who we were—but it didn’t matter; we were students first and foremost.

“And then, while we were in our last year, the old king—your grandfather—died and Johannes had to go back to Bergania to be crowned.