Eva Ibbotson - The Dragonfly Pool

Karil took a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he said, “What is the name of the school, Grandfather? The one I’m going to.”

The duke told him.

It was Magda who was in charge of the school train so the children were being very careful, making sure she had all their names ticked off and that there wasn’t too much swirling about. They knew that she had been having real difficulties in the holidays with Schopenhauer and the washerwoman whom he had (or had not) thrown down the stairs, and they would not have stooped to play the kind of tricks they might have played on David Prosser.

So far she had not lost a single child — and the children in her own house were settled in their carriage even though there was another ten minutes before the train was due to go. Paddington Station was in its usual bustle: soldiers coming home on leave crossing with soldiers off to their new postings; evacuees who should have been in the country returning home — and parties of schoolchildren in charge of their teachers marching toward their trains.

And now, in spite of all their care, Magda was in trouble.

“There’s one missing,” she said, poking her head around the door and looking anguished. “A new boy called…” she peered anxiously at her list, “called Stephen Bellingham. If you see him, let me know.”

They promised, and went on talking of their plans for the term. Tally was in the far corner by the window talking to Julia, who had not troubled to buy The Picturegoer because her mother never appeared now in film magazines. Kit, to everyone’s surprise, was not crying and saying he wanted to go home.

More children got onto the train. Doors slammed. Verity took her place by the window bar in the corridor so that she could be seen in her new, suitably tattered skirt.

Seven minutes until the train was due to go…

“Here, you have the window seat,” said the boy who had accompanied Karil into the carriage. “My name’s Hamilton. Roderick Hamilton. If I can do anything to help you, I’ll be very pleased.”

He looked at Karil with eager admiration mixed with curiosity. The same look was on the faces of the other boys in the compartment, and Karil realized that once again he was back to being a freak, a person set aside by his birth, to be fawned on to his face and sneered at behind his back. One boy handed him a bag of crisps, another offered to put his bag up in the luggage rack. All stared at him as though he was somebody out of a zoo.

“There’s someone you’ll like,” the boy called Hamilton went on. “The Prince of Transjordania. He’s in the next carriage — I can fetch him for you; I’m good friends with him.”

“No, it’s all right, thank you. Don’t bother him,” said Karil, who needed the Prince of Transjordania like he needed a hole in the head.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a bother — not for you.”

Karil was silent. It was as bad as he had feared — or worse. These boys had been brought up to be snobbish and servile and nothing he could do would break through the barrier.

How was it going to end? How would he ever get away? Escaping from Foxingham would be harder even than getting away from his grandfather’s house. Already, as the boys were marched onto the platform by their teachers, he saw that it was a place where ruthless discipline prevailed. And the ridiculous uniform with its ferocious red-and-yellow stripes would make him a sitting target for his pursuers.

He turned his head to look out of the window — and found himself gazing straight into Tally’s eyes.

“What is it?” asked Julia. “What’s the matter?”

Tally had given a little gasp and was staring transfixed at the railway carriage beside their own.

“It’s Karil,” she said.

Julia followed her gaze and, as they looked, Karil’s arm went up in greeting. It was the same gesture he had made when he was with Carlotta at Rottingdene House, or driving through the streets at home. The only greeting that he knew. A royal wave.

Tally turned her head away. “That does it,” she said. “He’s going to Foxingham to be a prince.”

It wasn’t till she finally gave up hope that Tally realized how much she minded. Fortunately Julia had a handkerchief — and the others hadn’t seen. When she looked up again, Karil had gone.

“The train opposite,” said Karil, completely bewildered. “Where does it go?”

“Oh, that’s another school train,” said Roderick. “It goes to a really weird place called Delderton. We could pull down the blind if you like so that they can’t see us.”

Karil shook his head. “It’s all right, thank you.”

“Would you like to borrow my comic?” said another boy. “I’d be very pleased.”

Karil stared at him blankly. Then he clutched his stomach.

“Excuse me…” he said. “I have to go.”

The others made way for him. “It’s at the end of the corridor,” they said, realizing that a prince would not be able to utter the word toilet — and opened the door for Karil.

As soon as he was out of their sight Karil began to run. Then he jumped down onto the platform, and as he did so he tore off his blazer and his cap and threw them on the ground. The train was wreathed in clouds of steam — no one seemed to have noticed him. He ran for dear life, ran and ran — and now he unwound his scarf and pulled his jersey over his head, and still he ran. He had reached the barrier, which was unmanned now that the train was ready to leave, and cut across to Platform 1 where the Delderton train still waited. Not once did he look behind him; he could not afford to lose a second — but he managed to pass his hand through his hair so that it looked disheveled and unkempt. Anyone seeing him run now would see a boy in dark trousers and a white shirt who could belong anywhere.

He was on the right platform now, and the Delderton train still stood there, though the doors were being slammed and the guard had his flag at the ready. He was raising his whistle to his lips just as Karil managed to wrench a door open and leap onto the train — and the guard cursed him. Those unruly Delderton savages were always late.

The train began to move as Karil made his way along the corridor, looking for the right compartment. Then he found it — and banged on the window, and as Barney pulled back the door he almost fell into the carriage.

No one spoke at first. Then Kit said, “You’ve still got your tie. It won’t go down the hole — I tried flushing mine. You’d better give it to Tally; she kept mine for me.”

As Karil took off his tie and handed it to her, the door slid open again and Magda stood there with her clipboard and her list.

She peered shortsightedly at the children.

“Oh, good, you’ve found the new boy,” she said. “I’m pleased to see you, Stephen. I’ll just tick off your name.”

But on the way out she turned her head and winked.

Even before he opened his eyes Karil knew that he was happy. He had never before trusted the day, but now he sat up and stretched and looked at his little room with its small desk and the single chair and the view out onto the courtyard and the cedar tree, and though he never forgot the death of his father he knew that he was in the one place he wanted to be, and with exactly the people that he cared for.