“You see, we do know them,” said Tally joyfully. “Even after two days we know they’ll help. Only we must hurry — any minute now they could be closing in on the prince.”
And they did hurry. Even Augusta who didn’t speak much because of her lisp, even Kit who was so easily frightened of people, ran to the other tents. Magda watched them go, crouching on her camp stool, desperately worried. The whole plan seemed mad and dangerous to her, but the headmaster had made it clear before they left Delderton that it was Matteo who was in charge of the trip, and if Matteo knew what was going on, there was nothing she could do.
Not all the teams could come — some of them had packed up already, some had teachers who refused. But less than an hour later, a most unexpected cavalcade set off across the park and made its way up the hill.
The Deldertonians were in the lead; they had draped their hats in so much ivy that it was almost impossible to see their faces. Borro, who was the hobbyhorse rider, carried a bundle shaped like the medieval bladders that jesters used to hit each other with. It contained the clothes that Karil would have to change into before he joined the dancers.
Behind them came the others. Some of the boys had found black scarves, which they had tied around their throats; some of the girls wore black ribbons around their sleeves or in their hair.
At first they walked in silence. Then from the group of children in red skirts and boleros there came a lone voice, singing a song: fado, the saddest, most heartrending music in the world.
And with this lone song, the whole ceremony became real. The children did not forget that they were here on a quest to save the prince, but they remembered, too, that a just and noble king had died that day.
When the voice of the singer died away, there came a hymn from the heartlands of Sweden, sung by the children in blue and white, and after that, from the Yugoslavs, the mournful wail of the fur-covered horn, like an animal in pain.
And as they made their way up the hill, every single child in the throng knew exactly what they were doing and why they were there and was proud to be helping the boy whose father had died so cruelly before their eyes.
“Look!” said Herr Keller, standing on the terrace of the Blue Ox. “It’s the foreign children.”
“They’re paying homage to the king,” said his wife, and the waitresses nodded and said, “Yes, they are honoring the king.”
But if the decent people of Bergania understood what the procession was about, the Gambettis were horrified.
“It’s an outrage — the noise, the disrespect,” said the baroness, peering out of her bedroom window. “They must be stopped at once. Look at those British savages in the front.” She turned to her husband. “You must do something. Call out the police.”
But Gambetti, who had been getting steadily feebler and more afraid since the king’s death, said he had no instructions to call out the police. “And Stiefelbreich’s in a meeting and mustn’t be disturbed.”
“Well, if you won’t call out the police, I will,” said the baroness, and reached for the phone.
“Listen,” said Matteo. “They’re coming.”
Karil crouched beside him on the bare wooden floor of the boarded-up hunting lodge. Matteo had pried aside a couple of planks and they had crawled inside: it was closer to the entrance of the hunting ground than the pool. Matteo had wrapped the prince in his own jacket and was talking to him quietly, telling him stories about his father as a boy. Karil, fixing his eyes on Matteo’s face, tried to listen, but he was still so deep in shock that he heard only the words, not their meaning. The uniform that Karil had worn had been tied around a stone and dropped into the water; everything was ready.
The music came closer. They could make out the sound of Augusta’s violin as she played a Celtic lament.
Matteo pried open another board and now Karil could see them: a whole hillside of children coming to fetch him away. Tally was near the front; she looked very small down there.
“Are they really coming for me?”
Matteo nodded. “You’ll be safe with them. Just join in and do what they tell you, and you’ll be in our tent in no time. And in the morning we’ll get you away to England.”
It was what Karil had longed for as he looked down at the lighted tents from the palace — to belong to the children that lived in them. Now he wanted nothing in the world except to have his father back.
The procession had reached the meadow. Now they formed a circle with the Deldertonians closest to the gates of the hunting ground and the wooden lodge. Soon Borro would slip in with Karil’s clothes and bring him.
But the farewell for the king had taken on a life of its own. Here on the dancing ground Johannes III had to be honored and now everyone was looking to the children from Delderton, who had brought this ritual into being.
“We absolutely can’t do the Flurry Dance,” whispered Tally. “It isn’t suitable at all.”
But what could they do?
“Someone ought to recite a poem,” said Barney. “Something noble.”
And one and all they looked at Julia.
“You can do it,” said Barney.
“No!” Julia’s voice was anguished. “Not in front of all those people.”
“This isn’t about you,” said Tally. “It’s for the king. Say the piece we did in class, about the hunter coming home from the hill.”
Julia looked around the circle of children waiting in silence.
“Please,” said Tally.
Julia did not fold her hands or step forward. She only lifted her head and began to speak the words that Robert Louis Stevenson had written for a much-loved friend. The poem that began:
No one needed to know English to understand what she said. Julia’s voice did it all.
When she had finished there was complete silence. Then suddenly a tall boy in a tunic and leather boots began to click his fingers. A second boy joined in — and a row of boys formed, resting their arms on each other’s shoulders. Music came now from an accordion and a drum, and now the girls broke ranks and twirled in and out of the men. This was not national dancing now; it was dancing that broke all the barriers. It was dancing for everybody who had ever sorrowed and lost somebody they loved.
“Now,” whispered Tally — and Borro picked up his bundle, ready to run for the gate.
And then everything changed.
They heard the roar of motorcycles coming up the path behind them, and three men in police uniforms dismounted. They were part of the new force recruited in readiness for the takeover.
“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.