Eva Ibbotson - The Dragonfly Pool

“I was a bit heroic, I suppose,” he said carelessly — and was put right by Tally.

“Not a bit heroic,” she said, “absolutely heroic. Like someone in a Greek myth.”

Magda, who was always so good when things had been sad and difficult, rubbed Kit’s wrists and ankles and borrowed a hot-water bottle for him from the hotel, and it was agreed that no one would ever be cross with him again. But when Karil said, “It was me they were after, wasn’t it?” Kit, after a glance at Matteo, told the truth.

“They kept calling me Your Highness… and they said I would be all right with them because they were going to take me somewhere coldish. Or something like that.”

“Colditz,” said Karil under his breath. He knew about Colditz only too well.

So Matteo had been right about what he had said at the dragonfly pool. The men who had assassinated his father would stop at nothing till he, too, was in their possession.

“I’m sorry,” Karil said to Kit. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could make it up to you.”

In the old days it would have been easy: his father would have conferred some kind of honor on Kit or his family — a medal, a financial reward. All Karil had to offer the little boy now was concern and friendship, but perhaps it was enough.

The Central Station in the late afternoon was exceptionally busy. News of the takeover in Bergania was splashed over all the newspapers, and many people, thinking that war was very close now, wanted to be home.

The Swiss police might have been slow at first, but when they realized the seriousness of what had happened they could not have been more efficient. The children arrived in two police vans and were escorted to two locked compartments, while the superintendent and a constable kept watch with Matteo on the platform.

“We’ve put an alert out all over the city and its surroundings. With the description the boy gave us, they won’t get away,” said the superintendent.

They waited while luggage was loaded into the van, and newspaper and fruit sellers walked up and down the platform.

Then, when the engine was beginning to let off steam and there were only ten minutes to go before departure, a police sergeant came running up to the superintendent.

“We’ve got them, sir,” he said, saluting hurriedly. “Two men exactly like the boy described. They were sighted in a beer cellar. One hung up his hat — and there it was — or rather it wasn’t — his ear, I mean. We’ve sent for reinforcements to pick them up when they come out. They haven’t a chance.”

The superintendent’s face lit up. “Good. Good man.” He turned to Matteo: “Your lot will be safe now. I’ll let you know what happens, of course.”

He shook hands and hurried away, wanting to be in at the kill, and Matteo made his way to the compartment and the anxious children who awaited him.

“It’s all right,” he said. “They’ve found them.”

He looked at Kit, who was leaning peacefully against Magda, eating a piece of Swiss chocolate.

The boy was safe. The danger was over.

Matteo closed his eyes.

The Countess Frederica was traveling first class. She even had a sleeper — but she was not asleep.

Now that the danger to the prince was over she could think about the future — and the future meant Rottingdene House and that sweet child who always took such care to be pretty, and to please. Once Karil was married to Carlotta, her own work would be done and she could rest.

The children from Delderton were not traveling first class, nor did they have sleepers. They were curled up uncomfortably on the seats, dozing as best they could. Karil, sandwiched between Tod and Tally, was glad of the stuffy compartment, the huddle of people. He felt as though he never wanted to be alone again.

After a while he disentangled himself and made his way out into the corridor. He had expected it to be empty, but Matteo was standing there, his back to the compartment full of sleeping children, keeping watch.

“Can’t you sleep?” he asked, and Karil shook his head.

“Well, it’s not surprising,” he said, letting his arm rest on the boy’s shoulder. “Your father could never sleep on trains either. In fact, he was a lousy sleeper altogether. We used to creep out of the palace at night sometimes — he had the key to the secret door at the back.”

“How did you get to know him? ”

In the darkness, Matteo smiled.

“It was at Johannes’s seventh birthday party. They’d asked a whole lot of suitable children, all scrubbed up and wearing their most uncomfortable clothes. Chosen to be the right kind of friends for him, you know. They made me come — my parents had an estate on the other side of the mountain and I lived a very rough life, more like a peasant boy. I didn’t want to come and I threw a tantrum when they made me dress up in a tight collar. And your father was in a bad temper, too. They tried to organize us into playing party games, but by then we’d caught each other’s eye and — well, we just knew we were going to be friends. And we crept out and found a chicken in the kitchen quarters and climbed on to the roof and made it flutter down the chimney. There wasn’t a fire, of course, and it was a good strong hen and it landed all right, though I wouldn’t do that now. The ladies of the bedchamber, those aunts of yours, were all in their sitting room doing their embroidery, and there was this soot-black squawking chicken rushing around the room! Meanwhile, the people who were organizing the party were frantic, looking for Johannes. After that they said I wasn’t a suitable friend for their future king, but Johannes dug his heels in. It ended with us sharing a tutor and more or less being brought up together.”

“Did you do other things like that… like the chicken?”

“Oh yes, plenty. We smuggled a piglet into a council meeting once, and there were all the usual things that children do — toads in the beds, and booby traps, and pretending to be vampires at night. But mostly we just escaped whenever we could. Your father was absolutely fearless — once we climbed to the top of the gabled roof on the palace and Johannes said we wouldn’t come down unless they stopped asking him to eat semolina forever and ever.”

“I think it must have worked,” said Karil, “because I never got semolina to eat, not once.”

He looked gratefully up at Matteo. Hearing about his father as a boy was the best comfort he could imagine. And as if Matteo could read his thoughts, he said, “He really enjoyed life, your father. That was why I was so angry when he became imprisoned in all that kingship. But I was wrong to be angry — he grew up to be a brave and honorable man.”

But after Karil had gone back to the compartment, Matteo stood silent and perturbed outside. He had promised his friend to look after Karil and he would do so while there was breath in his body — but this war which was growing ever closer would impose duties on every able-bodied man.

“But somehow I will do it,” he vowed. “Whatever it costs.”

When Karil slipped back into his seat he saw that Tally was awake.

“I was thinking about the play we’re going to do next term,” she whispered. “ Persephone . I sort of feel I know quite a lot about the Underworld now and the sort of people who go to Hades. Like Gambetti — he belongs there all right. We could make it really good with the right kind of music. You absolutely have to help us do it.”

“I’ve never done anything like that.”