by Kirsten Boie
Jonas sat on the white-painted fence next to the little gatehouse in Morgard, waiting to be picked up. Cars drove along the narrow road that ran past the entrance to the school grounds. Sunday. In the school’s front parking lot, where mothers, fathers, and chauffeurs dropped off the day students every morning and picked them up again every afternoon, there were now just two cars; their hoods were covered in sticky lime blossoms, and the sweet scent hung heavily from the trees in the hot and hazy air.
It’s crazy hot, thought Jonas. The von Thunbergs had lucked out with the weather again.
He turned and looked over the school campus. In the oppressive heat he could see the flagpoles on either side of the gravel drive that led to the main parking lot; the alternating flags of Scandia and the school coat of arms hung down limply. On the gate and along the fence, colorful triangular pennants fluttered briefly in the breeze whenever a car passed by.
Jonas leaned forward in the hope of spotting Liron’s car the moment it turned around the bend.
Amazing to think I’m back here, at the top school in the country, when this time last year I was in hiding. He looked at his brown legs, tanned even darker by the sun. There’s hardly a southern noble or oil tycoon or mine owner or real estate magnate who wasn’t once a student here. And now, he thought cynically, they’ve finally let in a few northerners as well.
His mother had insisted that Jonas must go to Morgard, even though she had left him and his father soon afterward in order to marry a wealthy nobleman from the south. She’d always been obsessed by getting in with the rich southern families, despite being a northerner. How completely and utterly pathetic, thought Jonas.
Then, when Malena had been sent to a boarding school farther to the north of South Island, Liron had protested that they should be allowed to stay together. “What about Jonas and Malena? They’re like brother and sister. Why do you want to separate them now?”
At Malena’s school the children were mainly middle-class, and some students, on scholarship, even came from poor North Scandian families, because the king wanted her to get to know people from different backgrounds. But it had been impossible to reason with his mother, and Jonas had been sent to Morgard to “mix with the right people.” It had taken a long time to get used to life without Malena. Liron was right; she had been like a sister to him, and now he was shut away with the sons of rich southerners while she was at a school with real people. She raved about it with shining eyes: the freedom! She would tell him at length about where all her friends came from, the strange jobs their parents had, the way they lived. Two girls in her grade — one of them top of the class — actually came from the north, and their parents didn’t even have enough money to pay for them to go home for a weekend!
“I do know what it’s like, Malena. I come from the north, too,” Jonas had said.
“Oh, you!” Malena had replied with a dismissive wave of the hand. Jonas was Jonas — she’d never really thought about where he came from.
But it’s a whole ’nother deal at Morgard, he thought. He remembered the way they had stared at him at first. If it hadn’t been for Perry, who couldn’t have cared less about all that social status stuff because he was so shattered by his mother’s death at the time — if I hadn’t been in the same dormitory to talk with him during those dark nights of our first year, Jonas thought, who knows? I might not have a single friend at this school.
And for a long time Perry was the only friend. Jonas was still a blackhead as far as the other boys were concerned — the barbarian from the north. It didn’t matter to them that his father was the king’s advisor. In fact, that just made it worse, as their parents were suspicious that his father was putting all kinds of northern ideas into the king’s head.
Cars drove past him and turned to go up the driveway. Where was Liron? He had said explicitly that they should go to the party together because there was a lot to talk about.
At last a limousine flying the Scandia standard rounded the bend.
“Liron!” shouted Jonas, jumping down from the fence. “Liron, over here!”
The man was just wondering whether in this heat it wouldn’t be better to put on a linen suit rather than the ceremonial uniform he usually wore to garden parties, when his cell phone rang. The Toreador Song from Carmen. It was the phone he’d registered in his chauffeur’s name, and he knew exactly who was calling him.
For a second he thought about not answering, but then he decided it would be better to find out what Bolström had to say. After all, that was the only reason he had turned on the phone this morning.
“Bolli,” he said, “sorry, not a good time. The party’s about to begin. The condensed version?”
“Oh, I’ll get straight to the point, Captain: What were you thinking yesterday?” hissed the voice on the other end. “Hanging up on me like that! You think you can manage without me?”
“We’ve always managed without you, Bolli,” the man said coolly. He would wear his ceremonial uniform. It was important in his position to radiate authority. “Trust me, we’ve got everything under control. It’s getting better every day. Didn’t you see for yourself yesterday?” He held up the hanger holding his shirt. Bother. He’d have to wear a tie as well. He hated these sudden heat waves. Up here in the north of the island the summers were not supposed to be so hot. The days should be long, clear, sunny, just as they were when he was a child. Wispy white clouds floating across the blue, picture-postcard sky, the air just warm enough to make it a sheer pleasure to take a dip in one of the island’s many lakes …
“Yes, yes, the pipeline wasn’t a bad move,” said Bolström, breaking into his thoughts. “But things have got to go faster, old friend, or we’ll never be able to get rid of these northerners. There are more of them than us southerners, and they’re always going to vote for their own people if we don’t slam the door shut now! There were good reasons why they were never given the vote before!”
The man took out the silver cuff links he’d been given for Christmas, an expensive gift from a child. He would wear them to show he appreciated the thought, even though he didn’t particularly like them. He sighed. “Listen, Bolström,” he said. “The king, curse him, still has far too many supporters for his reforms, even here in the south. They think, ‘Oh, human rights, wonderful! It’s only fair. We really want to see the northerners prosper. One united Scandia, and justice for all!’ They think it would be good if our universities were stuffed with blackheads. That’s what they call justice, Bolli! They really believe in it!”
There was a pause at the other end. “And the military?” Bolström asked in a low voice. “How far have you got with them?”
“You think we’re not working on them?” hissed the man. “How stupid do you think we are? All of us sitting here waiting, ready to go. After all, they’re hardly likely to be against us. Every single general comes from a good southern family. But it’s still too soon to strike. First we have to soften up all the naïve idealists, and that’s what we’re doing now. When they can’t get enough decent food to feed their children, even the most liberal southerners will soon change their tunes, believe me. Then they’ll cheer every machine gun we use to blast the blackheads out of parliament!” He pressed a half-smoked cigarette into an ashtray on the glass top of the desk, and lit another one.
“Don’t you tell me what you have to do! I’m the one who planned it all!” said Bolström. “But now we need to have soldiers all over the country. And what about the king? He’s the one who landed us in this mess in the first place! What are you doing to undermine him and his family? Nothing! It was the same when we were at school together — you were always such a time-waster, it drove me crazy. You’ve got to tighten the screws!”
“It’s all fine and well for you to talk. You can just sit there in your tropical paradise, relaxing from dawn to dusk, and whenever you get bored, you pick up the phone to give me a long-distance lecture.”
“Captain!” Bolström yelled in frustration. “T
he time to act is now!”
“Look, the press is working on whipping up dissatisfaction. People over here are getting angry, only you don’t hear about it all the way on the other side of the world. The royal glamour is already getting nicely tarnished — in case you hadn’t realized, I’m doing more than my share on that front, too. Be patient. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“Say what you like, Captain, I’m coming back,” said Bolström. “Things are reaching a crisis point, and I need to be there. Just make sure that I can enter the country without any hitches — have some of your people among the border police. I’ll let you know the time of arrival so you can see to it that the right people are on duty at the airport.”
The man said nothing for a while. “And Norlin?” he asked at last. “Are you going to leave him behind?”
“There’s nothing I’d like more,” said Bolström. “We’ve got no use for him now. The whole country knows he was involved in the king’s kidnapping last year. Besides, he’s drinking more than ever. But he knows too much about us, Captain, he knows too much. I can imagine just what he’d do if he realized I’d returned without him — he’d notify the press over here, and then it’d be curtains for us all. For the time being, we have to keep him in tow. Later we’ll see about the best way to … cut him loose. Perhaps an unfortunate ‘accident’…”
“Whatever it takes, eh, Bolli?”
Bolström gave a rueful laugh. “I’m committed to the cause,” he said. “Completely. And while we’re at it, we’ll think up a nice ‘exit strategy’ for the king and his family, too. Use your imagination. I’ll see you soon.”
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was too hot to go running.
Jenna could feel the sweat on her forehead, and wiped her brow with her forearm. She really didn’t want to go to the summer party, and no one had officially invited her — but of course she was expected to go. When the commander in chief of the army held his annual garden party, it was simply taken for granted that the whole royal family would gather there, to stand on the lawn and chitchat in the sunshine, while the fountains sprayed and the caterers glided smiling and silent among them. Presumably with trays full of disgusting little jam sandwiches, thought Jenna, as there isn’t anything else to eat in the whole country. Great!
Until this morning, she had avoided even thinking about the party. By now she knew precisely how these events proceeded: She’d be expected to circulate among the different groups, talking and smiling, saying nice things to everybody while everybody said nice things back to her. You’re a princess, Jenna! Our country looks up to you! And the future of our family depends on what you do!
She sat on a boulder by the edge of the forest in her tracksuit and sneakers, breathing heavily. She’d run twice around the outside of the school campus, but there had been no sign of Jonas. Big surprise, since nothing ever went right for her these days.
Jenna looked at her wristwatch: three o’clock. She’d skipped lunch, and breakfast as well. Strange that she didn’t feel hungry at all. She’d have liked to bump into Jonas, even though she knew she’d turn bright red as soon as she saw him — she felt sick at just the thought of it.
A wind rustled the leaves. Maybe there’d be a thunderstorm; it was definitely hot enough for it. Then, boohoo, the party would have to be canceled. That would serve the von Thunbergs right! Jenna looked up at the sky.
When she lowered her eyes, she saw one of her bodyguards coming toward her across the grass.
“Princess?” he said. How was it possible to say the word in a tone that made it sound like the worst possible insult? “Your mother has come to get you. She’s annoyed that you’ve made her wait.”
Jenna stood up. She had to pull herself together. She had to go to the party whether she wanted to or not. You can’t make the world, or even the von Thunbergs’ party, disappear, by covering your eyes like a silly child, she told herself.
“I’m coming,” she murmured, and began walking back toward the school.
Liron got out of the car and signaled to the driver to do the same. “Take a walk, why don’t you, Carlson?” he said. “I get so few opportunities to talk privately with my son.”
He and Jonas wandered a short distance away, and Liron affectionately ruffled his son’s hair. Then he gave him a quick hug. “Jonas!” he sighed.
For a fraction of a second, Jonas laid his head on his dad’s shoulder, then lifted it again self-consciously. He was too old for such things now.
“Thanks for stopping,” he said.
“I don’t think you’d have been waiting for me, son, if you didn’t have something important to tell me,” said Liron.
Jonas nodded. “It’s about Jenna,” he said. He felt himself turning red — it was the heat, that’s all, he told himself. “I’m worried about her, Liron. She … It’s getting worse all the time.”
“Tell me,” said Liron, taking off his jacket and hanging it over his arm.
“I don’t know everything that’s going on,” said Jonas. “The boys’ wing and girls’ wing are kept pretty separate, so I only see her occasionally, when we’re out of school. But it’s obvious that she’s more and more miserable. And she’s got no friends; not one. I get the feeling that the other girls are being deliberately mean to her. Why did her mother have to send her here of all places — the worst school she could possibly go to?”
“Because until a year or so ago, she was just an ordinary girl — in fact, a poor girl — and now suddenly she’s supposed to be a princess. Morgard will educate her for her new life. She has to learn to adapt. I’m afraid we can’t let her change schools. The only person who may be able to help her is you.”
There’s nothing I’d rather do, thought Jonas.
Every so often, another car would drive past them, raising a cloud of dust. Liron took a couple of steps onto the grass, which despite the heat wave was still a shiny green.
“There are plenty of people who’ll do anything they can to make a fool of her, Jonas. In public, too, if possible. If they make her look like a mockery, it’ll help them to undermine the authority of the royal family. And they’re using every method at their disposal to do precisely that. Jenna is just a means to an end.” He looked around. “But they’re planning something much bigger than just humiliating the royal family, Jonas. I’m sure of it. There are more and more signs.”
“Who are?” asked Jonas. “What are you talking about?”
Liron stopped. There was no one on the lawn, and there were no trees or bushes nearby in which someone might have planted a listening device. It was safe to talk. “All those behind the plot against Magnus.”
“But that was Norlin’s plot!” said Jonas. “He was the one who kidnapped the king! He was power-hungry, you said so yourself! He wanted to be king, or at least viceroy.”
“True, Norlin was power-hungry,” said Liron. “But on his own he never could have … Think about it, Jonas: Who exploited Norlin’s regency? Who would have benefited if it had gone on any longer?”
“You mean the rich southerners, like Bolström,” murmured Jonas. “So where do you think they all are now?”
Liron shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t know exactly who else was involved in last year’s plot against the king. Bolström and Norlin fled the country, and we didn’t know who else to interrogate in order to find out. But there are still traitors in Scandia, Jonas, cheering the king, clinking their champagne glasses with him at the palace, dancing across the lawns at Osterlin during his summer balls, and making speeches about how wonderful it is to have justice across the land and free elections! But take my word for it, secretly they’re all hoping to turn back the clock and reverse the reforms, and they may well have been hatching their plans for months.”
“I guess I should have expected it,” said Jonas. “Why would they want to give up their privileges? It would be a miracle if they did.”
“You see where I’m coming from, then,” said Liron.
“At schoo
l the rumor’s that you’re in league with the rebels,” murmured Jonas. “They think I can’t hear what they’re saying — or maybe they want me to hear. They say it’s government by and for the north, and that you never broke off your contact with the rebels.”
Liron’s cell phone rang, and he reached for it in his jacket pocket.
“Liron!” Jonas pressed. “Is it true?”
Liron put his finger to his lips and listened. “No, everything seems to be in order here,” he said into his phone, and looked around. “The clock on the gatehouse is working, and if it’s not a generator they’ve … So it’s just in Holmburg? I see, the cables across the dam. In that case I presume there’s no chance of the king making his speech on TV tonight.” He nodded. “Right, as soon as possible,” he said. Then he closed his phone.
“Dad!” Jonas insisted.
“Someone’s cut the power supply to Holmburg,” said Liron. “There’ll be no electricity till the lines are repaired. And today’s the day when Magnus was going to make a speech asking both north and south to be patient.”
“You think it’s them?” said Jonas.
Liron shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone will say it’s the rebels,” he said wearily. “But how many people knew about Magnus’s plans?”
“Well, the TV people did,” said Jonas.
Liron nodded. “Indeed, you’re right,” he murmured. “And who is in control of them, I wonder … Come on. Let’s go. Von Thunberg doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
He beckoned to Carlson. The chauffeur stamped out his cigarette and pulled his key from his pocket.
“Wait!” said Jonas, grabbing his father’s arm. “You never answered my question. Are you still in contact with the rebels?”
Liron looked at him. “Nahira is an old friend, not just the rebels’ leader,” he said, gently loosening his son’s grip. “You know that, Jonas.”