The Dragonfly Pool

“What’s going on here, then?” said the tallest. “You’re not supposed to be out.”

“There’s a curfew,” said the second man. “You’re breaking the law.”

The children clustered around. In a babble of languages they explained what they were doing.

“We are honoring the king.”

“We are performing a funeral dance.”

“It is what we do in our country.”

The policemen, if they understood what was being said, took no notice.

“You must stop this nonsense now, at once, and go back to your campsite or you’ll be in serious trouble.”

The tallest of the policemen lifted his billy club. “Let’s get going,” he ordered threateningly.

There was nothing to do but obey. As slowly as they dared, the children began to walk down the hill. But the Deldertonians had not started to move yet; they lingered still near the gate but how long could they hang back? One of the policemen was making his way toward them.

And then suddenly a truly terrible scream came from the front of the procession and everybody stopped. A second scream followed, more dreadful than the first, and two little girls could be seen rolling over and over each other, pounding each other with their fists. A third joined in; they were the smallest and frailest of the dancers, wearing flounced petticoats with ribbons in their hair, but now they fought and clawed and kicked like maniacs.

The scuffle turned into a fight and spread. Two tall youths in crimson sashes attacked each other with the flags they carried. These children, who had lived together in harmony ever since they came, were shouting appalling abuse at each other.

“You’re a garlic-eating peasant!”

“Everybody knows that in your country they cook babies and turn them into soup!”

“You’re nothing but a fascist beast!”

And all the time the fighting got worse—two boys were pounding each other with their fists. Another came up behind a youth and wrestled him to the ground.

“Look out, he’s got a knife,” shouted a girl, her face contorted with fear.

There were cries of “She’s bleeding!” and “Oh help, help—he’s coming for me!”

The policemen abandoned the loitering Deldertonians and ran downhill toward the disturbance. It was only what they had expected—that these unruly foreigners would start attacking each other. They waded into the middle of the fight, taking the youths by the scruff of the neck, pulling the little girls apart.

Musical instruments were tossed aside, the furry horn let out a frightful cry as they stepped on it with their heavy boots. As soon as they had quieted one group of children, a scuffle broke out somewhere else.

No one took any notice of the children left on the meadow at the top. No one saw a boy run into the forest with a bundle of clothes under his arm, or another boy come out and join the dancers.

It took a long time to control the fighting. Dusk had set in by the time everything was quiet.

“If there’s any more fuss you’ll be locked up,” threatened the policemen.

The children obeyed. They knew that their diversion had worked; Karil had had time to join the Deldertonians, and they marched proudly down the hill and into their tents.

And Karil, on the day his father died, somehow managed to march with them.

Matteo watched till they had gone. Then he slipped through the trees and made his way toward the back entrance of the palace. There were things he wanted to know before he left Bergania on the following day.

It was after midnight when he returned. Karil was lying in a sleeping bag in the boys’ tent. Tod lay beside him wrapped in an old blanket; he had insisted on giving his sleeping bag to the prince.

Karil was sobbing, trying to stifle the sound he made, and Matteo was relieved. The boy’s silent grief had been dangerous. He slipped off his shoes and lay down across the entrance to the tent, but he made no attempt to comfort him. A whole ocean of tears would not be enough to wash away what the boy had endured that day.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Good-bye, Bergania

They packed up before daybreak.

The children dressed in silence—they had decided the night before that they would travel in their dancing clothes; the hats festooned with ivy gave some measure of disguise. If they looked mad and disheveled, all the better. They already had a reputation for being the sort of people it was best to keep away from, and they meant to keep it like that.

There was time only for Tally to whisper her thanks to the little girls who had started the fight on the hillside and saved the prince. They looked smaller than ever, like sleepy butterflies in their flounced dresses, and it was hard to believe that they could have screamed so loudly.

Then the buses came, and the children piled inside.