The Dragonfly Pool

The letters went on through the summer holidays, describing the aunts and Kenny, who was trying to take over the vegetable round with Primrose because his father had become an air-raid warden—but the letters were shorter now, and he could sense her hurt as she asked why he didn’t write back. Then a last letter written in the autumn term—a letter that did its best to be funny about the new gardener who seemed to be about ten years old.

And then no more letters as she gave up hope.

When he had finished, Karil went over to the window and stood looking out. All the uncertainties of the last weeks had gone; he felt very calm and very resolute. It was as though his father’s strength had flowed into him—and he knew exactly what he would do.

Carlotta and the uncles were already at breakfast when Karil came into the dining room the next morning. The uncles raised their behinds but only very slightly, and then—for some reason—raised them a little more because there was something different about Karil today.

But it was his cousin whom Karil addressed first. Carlotta looked pale and had been crying and she rubbed her shoulder from time to time to show that she was in pain.

“I’d like to speak to you privately,” he said to her. “Will you come to the schoolroom when you’ve finished?” And to Uncle Dmitri: “You will excuse me if I’m a little late.”

The schoolroom was at the top of the house—unheated and dismal. Karil had kept Carlotta waiting and the glance she gave him was full of fear and apprehension, but his first words caused her to break out in smiles of relief and even triumph.

“Carlotta, I’ve come to apologize. I treated you shamefully yesterday. Of course stealing is very wicked and very wrong—when I’m on the throne I shall make sure that theft is dealt with most severely—so it’s not surprising that I lost my temper. After all, my great-great-grandfather was known as Karil the Cruel.”

“Was he? Was he really?” Carlotta was fluttering her eyelashes. “I didn’t know that. How . . . exciting. What did he do?”

“Oh, impaled the heads of his enemies on spikes outside the palace gates. That kind of thing,” said Karil, who had just invented this particular ancestor. “I’ll show you when we get back to Bergania.”

“We?” said Carlotta, licking her lips. “Am I going back with you?” But she was a little suspicious. Karil had always refused to discuss his return and turned aside her offers of help.

But her cousin was coming to the point. “You see, Carlotta, I was very angry when you took my letters, but now that I’ve read them I’m really very grateful to you because my eyes have been opened.”

“Have they?” Carlotta was breathing heavily, hanging on his every word.

“Yes, they have. I can’t understand now how I allowed these people to be so familiar and take such liberties with me. Calling me by my Christian name, using all sorts of unsuitable phrases, thinking that I would like to come to their ridiculous school. Reading all the letters together like that made me realize how deluded I had been.”

“Countess Frederica did say she thought you were not yourself on the journey to England.”

“The countess was quite right. I see now that I was so shocked by my father’s death that I had lost all judgment.” Karil shook his head solemnly from side to side. “I don’t mind telling you, Carlotta, that I have had a narrow escape. Of course, I blame myself—I must have allowed them to forget my position—but I assure you it won’t happen again. From now on I am going to prepare myself for my royal duties and let nothing stand in my way. And I rely on you, Carlotta, to help me.”

“Oh, I will, Karil. I will!” Carlotta’s face was flushed with excitement. “I have some really good ideas about how to decorate the palace when we get back—you know how artistic I am.”

“I shall be very interested to hear about them. Perhaps when we go for our walk in the park we can discuss this further. Be sure to be careful and button your coat up well—it’s turning very chilly. That little muff of yours may not be warm enough.”

To the uncles Karil did not go into details about his conversion, but they could not fail to notice that Karil was now a different boy.

“I wonder if you could help me to design a better crest for the House of Bergania,” he asked his Uncle Dmitri. “Our motto is too . . . well, it isn’t strong enough. ‘The Truth Shall Set Thee Free’ doesn’t sound very royal, does it? A perfectly ordinary person could have a motto like that. Could we look through your book?”

“Yes, indeed, indeed,” said Uncle Dmitri happily. “I will think about this—I have some very strong motifs. Mailed fists, of course, and dragons rampant.”

“And something metallic—crossed pikes perhaps. Or axes? Would that be possible?”

“Everything is possible for people like us,” said Uncle Dmitri proudly.

His other uncles, too, noticed with relief the change in Karil.