“Do I have to do this now? There’s time for a ride before dinner,” said Karil.
“Certainly you have to do it now,” said the Scold. “You really must stop making an unseemly fuss about this kind of thing.”
It was true that Karil hated being painted and photographed and modeled. It had begun when he was small and a photographer’s flashlight had exploded in his face — but even now he was frightened by the way his father had turned into a portrait and his mother had become a marble statue in the park.
The king was not at dinner. A special meeting of his cabinet had been called to deal with Germany’s new demands and it was still going on.
“Couldn’t I go and say good night to him?” asked Karil. “Just for a minute?” He had not spoken a single word to his father all day.
“Now, Karil,” said the Scold, “you know you mustn’t disturb him in a meeting.”
The meeting had already lasted for four hours. The king looked gray and tired. Baron Gambetti, the foreign minister, sat next to him, leaning forward. His goatee waggled on his chin; his yellow skull glistened with sweat as he stabbed his pencil against the paper.
“In my view it would be extremely unwise to refuse Herr Hitler his requests. He has made Germany into a great power and those who oppose him will be crushed.”
On the other side of the king, the elderly prime minister, Wolf-gang von Arkel, shook his head. A loyal and faithful servant of the king for many years, von Arkel supported his master in his stand against the German Führer.
“Giving in to bullying has never been a wise policy,” he said now, stroking his long white beard. He turned to the king. “I have to assure Your Majesty that your people are behind you.
No one wishes to see storm troopers marching through our country. As for forcing those people who have sought shelter with us back into Nazi hands, it is not to be thought of by decent men.”
Gambetti snorted. “A sensible compromise in which we grant a few of Herr Hitler’s demands in exchange for—”
“In exchange for what?” put in von Arkel. “Empty promises and then more demands.”
The king leaned back in his chair. He agreed with his prime minister, a good man whom he trusted absolutely. The head of the army was behind him, too. But there were others… He looked at his watch. There was time still to say good night to his son. He half rose to his feet and then sat wearily down again. He could not afford to let Gambetti bring the waverers around to his point of view.
The day ended as it had begun, only in reverse. A footman came to turn down Karil’s bed, a second one brought two rusks and a glass of fruit juice on a silver tray. The uniform of the Munzen Guards was put back in the cupboard and the uniform of the Berganian Rifles was taken away to be pressed for the following day. The countess came with Carlotta’s latest picture in a frame and put out the light.
Left alone, Karil got out of bed again and drew back the curtains. The mountains were dark against the sky; the rosy light of sunset was gone. He went over to the other window and looked down at the river and at the row of lamps on the promenade. He could make out the bell tents, and inside them a glimmer of moving lights as the workers finished the preparations for the Folk Dance Festival.
He turned, startled, as the door suddenly opened. Someone had come in with a firm stride and without knocking.
In a second Karil had run forward to embrace his father. He had come to say good night after all, and at once the world seemed to be a different place.
The king did not ask his son whether he had had a good day. He knew full well about Karil’s day; he had had so many days of his own like that when he was a boy. Days when he felt trapped and weary and wanted nothing except to escape into the hills and never return.
“When this crisis is over we’ll go out together, you and I, and hide,” he said, “and they can look for us as much as they want.”
Karil nodded. “Can we go to the dragonfly pool?” he asked. “It’s the right time of year.”
“Yes. That’s where we’ll go.”
For a moment the king stood looking down at his son. The dragonfly pool belonged to his own childhood, before he was weighed down by duties. To the days when he had had a friend to share adventures with. The friend had betrayed him in the end, but the memory of those days still warmed his heart.
After the king had left, Karil stood by the window, looking down at the tents in the park below. Perhaps he would not always be cut off from real people and real life. Perhaps he would get to know the children who were coming. Those few moments with his father had given him courage and hope.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Arrival in Bergania
The Deldertonians came by train through one of the longest tunnels in Europe and suddenly they were in a valley that seemed to be a kind of garden because everywhere there were flowers — in the window boxes of the little houses, trailing around lampposts, hanging down from verandas. Yet when one looked upward, leaning out of the windows of the train, there were the mountains, cold and majestic and very, very high.
For Tally it was as though the newsreel she had seen in the cinema had burst into color and life. She had wanted to come to Bergania because of the bravery of the king and his people, but now she was just glad to be there, in a country she had never dreamed of seeing.
“Make sure you leave nothing behind,” said Magda — and Tally and Julia exchanged glances, for it was Magda who left things behind: her handbag when they changed trains in northern France, her scarf on the boat. As long as she had her briefcase with her notes on Schopenhauer in it, she felt herself fully dressed.
The children scrambled for their belongings. Kit had sat on a tomato sandwich and Julia dabbed at him with a paper napkin. Verity was tossing out her hair — it had to be untidy in just the right way and this took time. Matteo was out in the corridor. Whenever Tally woke in the night he had been standing there with his back to the crowded compartment, looking out at the landscape.
The children from Delderton had three compartments in the front of the train. Then came the group from Germany — well-behaved, good-looking children in dark blue shorts and spotless white shirts. In the second carriage were the Swedes and the French; then came the Italians, the Norwegians, the Spaniards… They had all just begun to make friends at Innsbruck, where the train had halted for a couple of hours.
The station came in sight, its pillars wreathed in roses. As the children got out they were greeted by a blast of music.
“My goodness, they’ve sent a band to welcome us,” said Barney.
At the end of the platform stood a distinguished-looking man with long silver hair, wearing a loden jacket, flanked by two officials with badges and golden chains.
“A reception committee,” said Borro. “Well, well. They must think we’re important.”
“We are important,” said Tally firmly. “We’re here because of goodwill between nations and all that.”
All along the train, children tumbled out on to the platform and re-formed in a line beside their teachers. The Delderton children, who were not used to standing in line, stayed in a huddle, blinking in the warm sunshine.
The band, which had played various national anthems, broke into “God Save the King.” Then the distinguished gentleman with the long gray hair, flanked by the mayor and his aldermen, came down the platform, greeting each group, shaking hands. It was the minister of culture, Prince Karil’s uncle Fritz, who had come in person to welcome them.