by Kirsten Boie
The car traveled almost soundlessly through the summer haze. Even on South Island, there were narrow back roads winding their way up and down the countryside, through endless stretches of forest or between thick hedges, behind which the cornfields waited to be harvested before the first thunderstorms flattened them. Here and there you could still see the odd wild rose among the foliage — a white speck amid the dappled green — occasional poppies and clumps of chamomile. Sitting in the back of the car behind closed windows, Perry could imagine the scents and the summer atmosphere in a boundless silence so still that you could hear it.
He pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket. Every summer he had to go to the von Thunbergs’ garden party, and the weather was almost always as hot as today. He leaned back in his seat and searched through the photos on his phone.
He found what he was looking for. She would be there. That was the only reason why he hadn’t protested when his father had called to say he’d be sending a car for him. Malena would be there.
Maybe I’m just jealous of the von Thunbergs, thought Perry. Their perfect lives and perfect parties on perfect summer days. Maybe I should just admit it: I don’t like them because I’m small and weak and I suck at sports — and everything else, for that matter. And now Dad’s sending me to a military academy and I’ll fail there, too. He’d rather emigrate than go there.
He looked at Malena’s photo. He’d taken it when watching the girls play a game of volleyball a few months ago. It was from a distance, of course. It would be way too embarrassing if anyone found out, let alone her! In fact, it was only because he knew it was her that he could actually identify her — raising her arms up in victory after the game. As if she wasn’t the least bit tired and there was nothing in the world that was too big for her to tackle. He ran his fingertip over the display, outlining the figure behind the glass.
She’d be at the party — she was there every year. Even when he was just a little boy, he’d dreamed about her: the motherless princess, as beautiful and as friendly and as smart as a fairy-tale princess. Yeah, right. Wake up, Perry, he thought. Those kind of dreams were OK as long as you didn’t keep thinking they might come true.
Maybe, right from the start, that had been one of the reasons why he’d made friends with Jonas. Jonas had grown up with Malena, and even now he spent the holidays with her, so he knew her better than anyone, and he talked about her as if knowing her was no big deal: how they’d gone fishing and Malena had fallen into the stream; they’d gone riding and Malena had jumped every obstacle; they’d hidden in the palace at night, and no one could find them, and there’d been all this drama afterward.
Now, however, Perry felt nothing but anger when he saw Jonas. Why did Jonas even have to exist? Perry would never dare tell Malena how he felt. It was bad enough knowing that she never wasted a thought on him, but at least he’d never have to listen to her rejecting him: Oh, gosh, Perry, you know I’ve been friends with Jonas forever. And afterward she and Jonas would laugh about him. How on earth could he think that I’d go out with him? His own father’s ashamed of him!
No, Malena would never say that. Not sweet, kind Malena. It would be Jonas! Good thing Perry had never told his roommate what he felt for his childhood friend, the princess. He didn’t even crack yesterday morning, when Jonas kept on asking him. Let him go on thinking that all his stress was about the military academy.
The limo passed through the gate of the Thunberg estate as the clock on the bell tower struck the quarter. His father had sent the car to Morgard, although Perry could easily have traveled to the party with a group of other students. He probably wanted to lecture him again before the party. Why else go to the expense of sending a chauffeured limousine just for him?
They stopped in front of the outbuildings: weathered yellow sandstone covered with roses; clematis and wisteria clinging to the trellises between the narrow windows. From here you had a view over the vast grounds. Among the sturdy native beeches were cedars, ginkgos, and other exotic trees. Now, in the baking summer sun, they threw oases of shade over the carpetlike lawns.
“Glad you managed to get here early,” said Perry’s father, bending down and opening the door for his son.
Like I had a choice, thought Perry.
“Over the last few weeks, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk, Perry. So this is a good opportunity, and we’ve got quite a lot to talk about. I’m sorry you couldn’t join Margareta and me for my birthday.”
Perry didn’t respond. Why would I want to be there, when you’re so wrapped up in her? he thought. And now you just want to talk about the logistics of shoving me into a military academy.
“You know I’ve been concerned for quite a while about your future, Perry. Morgard itself is certainly the best school in the country …”
“I’m not going to your military academy,” Perry stated bluntly. Figured he’d spare his father the bloated introduction. A startled bird flew up out of the rosebushes.
His father’s tone now sharpened. “The fact is, Perry, that’s not your decision to make. As long as you’re still a minor, it’s mine. And it’s my duty as a father to ensure that my son gets the best possible education. Until now, for a Petterson, that’s always meant going to the military academy.”
“For a Petterson!” Perry repeated, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Always. But for this Petterson here”— he pointed at himself —“why can’t it be different? Scandia has changed, so why can’t the Pettersons change? Someday I’ll have to take over all your businesses — oil, bauxite, wool — so what good is military training going to do me?”
His father said nothing for a while. When he did speak, Perry knew for sure that nothing would alter his intentions.
“Scandia has indeed changed,” he said. “And we’re going through a difficult period. There’s nothing more important at the moment for our country than an efficient army. And my son should be trained for that purpose.” He tried to put his hand on Perry’s shoulder, but the boy ducked away. “I have no intention of even discussing with you whether you should or shouldn’t leave Morgard at the end of the school year, Perry. It’s already decided. The only question is when you should start at the academy. And fortunately it’s turned out to be sooner than I’d expected.”
“What?” cried Perry.
“As you can imagine, I’ve been a bit concerned as to how you’ll cope with conditions there,” said his father. “It’s no secret — you’re not very strong. You’ve got no stamina — or dexterity, for that matter. I had my doubts …” Now he did succeed in grasping Perry’s arm. “This year, for the first time, they’re running an introductory course for new students. Over eight weeks in the summer they’ll prepare you for everything you’re going to learn during the following year. During those eight weeks, you’ll have the chance to get yourself in shape, go on long-distance marches under tough conditions, conquer the obstacle course … show your mettle and harden your muscles! After eight weeks, you’ll be a different boy.”
“Eight weeks?” cried Perry. The staff from the catering firm were hurrying back and forth across the lawn, setting up little clusters of chairs and tightening the tent roofs. They pretended not to notice the outburst. “That’s the whole summer!”
“My chauffeur will take you there next week,” said Petterson. “You’ll thank me later.”
“Thank you?” shouted Perry. A waiter in a white shirt and black pants looked up, then quickly went back to counting the knives and forks. “For getting rid of me? Just because I’m in your way now that you’re with the king’s sister? You just don’t want me hanging around at home anymore. Well, I don’t care. I’m not going!”
“As I’ve just explained, Perry,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away, “you have absolutely no say in the matter.” Then, with outstretched arms and a smile on his face, he went to greet a couple who were just getting out of their limousine.
I’m not even worth arguing with, thought Perry, watching him go. I
’m irrelevant — it doesn’t matter what I think or feel. He just has to shuffle me off somewhere so I don’t interfere with his life. His life is what counts, not mine.
With surprise, he realized that he didn’t need to think anymore. He knew exactly what he was going to do without even having planned it in advance. He looked across the grounds to where the first guests were slowly making their way toward the main building. General von Thunberg would soon make his welcoming speech from the steps, as he did every year, once the Minister of the Interior and the king’s sister had arrived. Perry would leave then, while they were all distracted. There was just one thing he had to take care of first. From now on, he had nothing to lose.
“Jenna!” said her mother. She was sitting in the headmaster’s study on a chair embroidered with petits points, a cup of tea perched on the little side table next to her. Of course, when Princess Margareta made a surprise appearance, she couldn’t possibly talk to anyone but the headmaster himself, even on a Sunday.
“You knew perfectly well that I was coming to pick you up! And what do you look like? Now hurry up and put on something sensible. Everyone’s waiting for us!”
Jenna nodded. “I was out running and lost track of the time,” she murmured.
The headmaster gave her the most radiant smile he had ever given her. “These things happen,” he said. “But get a move on now.” It was the tone he used to talk to first-graders — did he really think she wouldn’t notice?
Half an hour later, she was sitting next to her mother in the backseat of the limousine, behind the escort car, and she knew exactly what was coming next.
“For heaven’s sake, Jenna!” her mother said. The motor sprang to life and with a quiet hum the car moved down the gravel driveway and off school grounds. “Can’t you be punctual for once in your life? I can understand that you’re having difficulty adapting to your new role. Peter keeps telling me that it must be hard for you …”
Like he cares, thought Jenna.
“… but you should at least be capable of keeping an eye on the clock. The garden party’s been scheduled for months now.”
“I just lost track of time,” mumbled Jenna again. “I went running.”
“Running!” said Mom. She pressed the control that closed the glass screen between them and the driver, waiting in silence until it was all the way up. Jenna was shocked to see how angry she was. Could a half hour delay really be such a big deal?
I suppose it could, if you’re a princess, thought Jenna. Because you’re not just any old guest at a party, who can slip in unobserved. Everybody’s waiting for you.
“Listen, Jenna, you must have seen that recently the press have been using every opportunity to take potshots at all of us.”
“But why?” asked Jenna. “What have they got against us all of a sudden? They were so happy when the king returned last year!”
“Just how naïve can a girl of your age be?” Mom snapped. An animal ran across the road, maybe a rabbit, and the car braked sharply and swerved a little to one side. Their shoulders almost touched. “If they can make the royal family look ridiculous, then they can also make the king look ridiculous, and he’s on the side of the north. A blow against the king is a blow against the reforms. That’s what it’s all about.”
She didn’t shout. Even when she was so furious that she might have lashed out, she still didn’t. She was a real princess. She was everything Jenna would never be.
“Well, at least try to behave properly at the party. And why on earth did you put on that dowdy blue dress?”
“At home you always said it looked chic,” whispered Jenna. She’d deliberately picked out the dark blue dress to please her mother. “I never wanted to wear it, but you always said it looked ‘simple and unpretentious’…”
“At home?” said Mom irritably. “This is home now! And you’re a princess! And you’re going to a garden party in a cheap blue dress that’s much too small and makes you look like a waitress!”
Jenna felt the tears welling up into her eyes. But she would not cry.
They’d arrived. A servant opened the car door. Ten feet away stood the general, welcoming them with a smile.
Nahira sat on the threadbare sofa, a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. Much too hot in this sweltering weather, she thought as the first drop burned her lips. But I’ll never get through the day without it. I don’t get enough sleep. Too much to think about.
She switched on the old television. It took a while to warm up.
Piece of junk, thought Nahira. But at least now she had a satellite dish she could carry from outpost to outpost and still have some idea of what was being broadcast.
It was a shame that they’d had to abandon their headquarters last summer, because she’d loved that house. Hidden in the forest but so near to the sea that you could smell the salt. Now they constantly had to keep on the move. Still, losing that house wasn’t the worst thing that had happened in the past year.
After she, Malena, Jenna, and Jonas had freed the king and his sister from the clutches of the conspirators, Nahira had hoped for a while that all of this would come to an end — living in remote safe houses, waging a daily struggle to gain equal rights for the north, constantly in fear of some of her own people who thought she was too cautious, too accommodating, and kept demanding more and more violent action. They said she was a coward, and they had stopped listening to her. She didn’t like to think about what they might do next.
And yet it had all looked so promising! thought Nahira. The king free, the country celebrating his return and outraged by the kidnapping. They had quickly acceded to the first reforms.
But now the original plotters were fighting a different fight with different methods. They’d had to change their tactics, and it was difficult to judge what they might be planning next.
Since last summer, she and her people had moved from place to place, never staying long in any one spot, though many of her followers had long since returned to their families in the hope that, after the elections, there really would be the justice, equality, and secure future they had fought for.
There were others, however, who did not trust all the new promises. Nahira stared at the TV screen. Who had set fire to the pipeline and disrupted the electricity supply to Holmburg? Could it have been them? Had she finally lost control over her people?
All she could do was wait, and watch, and try to understand what was really going on in the country.
The fact that she was still in contact with Liron was dangerous. If he was under surveillance, she might be caught that way. She was still regarded as the leader of the rebel movement, and she had never been forgiven for the bombing of parliament last summer, even though that had been a symbolic act — she had deliberately avoided causing any damage or taking any lives. But now there was the pipeline incident, and the disruption of the power supply.
Liron is running even more of a risk, she thought. Merely communicating with the rebels constituted high treason, and that was punishable by imprisonment or even, since he was Minister of the Interior, by death.
The last time she’d spoken to him, she’d told him she suspected there was a spy close to the king. He’d said, “Don’t worry, I’m ultracautious. My cell phone’s secure. And I have to know what information you’ve got, Nahira, what to expect from your people, what we must do to keep peace in the country. It’s a risk I have to take.”
“So you’re cheating on your people, and I’m cheating on mine,” Nahira had said wryly. “Maybe we’re both in the wrong position, Liron.”
He’d been dismissive. “And what would the right one be?” he’d asked.
She hadn’t known how to answer him.
The theme music introducing the afternoon news brief began playing on the TV. The image flickered. Nahira turned up the volume.
“… another problem in Scandia now?” the newscaster was saying with a grim expression on her face. Despite the change in government, it was the same woman who’d anch
ored the news a year ago. “Scandian customs have been asking this question after an unexplained and disturbing incident at Holmburg airport this afternoon.” On the screen were blurred images of the inside of the terminal, with panic-stricken people rushing around while soldiers fired submachine guns. “Passengers from at least three incoming aircraft were allowed to bypass passport control and exit the airport without any form of clearance or documentation; all customs posts in Terminal A were left unoccupied for almost an hour. It was not until an alert passenger noticed strange noises coming from a storeroom and informed the airport police that five customs officers were found bound and gagged. A sniffer dog had been drugged.” Now the screen showed the face of a young man in the green uniform of the Scandian immigration office. His eyes were still full of fear as he spoke into the microphone. “They had stockings over their heads,” he said. “There were too many … They overpowered us in no time. They were definitely rebels, and we …” His face faded out, and the anchorwoman turned to another man in uniform, who was linked to the studio via satellite. Nahira recognized General von Thunberg, commander in chief of Scandia’s army.
“Based on initial reports from the scene, our preliminary conclusion is that this attack was launched by members of the former North Scandian rebel movement,” he said. “We have feared for some time that they might try to disrupt the stability of the current political situation by committing acts of violence, and recent incidents appear to support this theory. Airport officials have yet to confirm a specific reason why customs was targeted, but the obvious deduction is that this afternoon’s attack was for the purpose of smuggling contraband into the country.”
“Are you suggesting the illegal importation of controlled substances?” asked the news anchor. Her expression was now not merely grim, but positively distressed.
The general nodded. “Until today, Scandia has set an example for the rest of the modern world,” he said. “Because our borders were more difficult to cross than those of many other countries, Scandia had been virtually drug-free. Inevitably, opening up our borders was bound to make it easier to import illegal substances, and the rebels can use the profits from their illicit trade to finance the acquisition of weapons …”