by Kirsten Boie
“Did anyone get hold of the king?” Von Thunberg’s eyes went from Petterson to Liron to Margareta.
“What can Magnus do about it?” asked Liron. He raised his eyebrows almost as high as his hairline. “We’ve taken every safety measure a country can possibly take …”
“Except calling in the military!” von Thunberg stated. “I’m not allowed to mobilize my men, even though for decades it’s worked perfectly well.”
“Perfectly well?” repeated Princess Margareta. “Von Thunberg! This is now a free country!”
“But when it was under our control at least it was free of smugglers!” von Thunberg exclaimed. “And now every illegal substance you can think of is being brought in, to ruin our youth and, worst of all, to provide the rebels with more than enough money to stock their own arsenals! How can you all stay so calm? They blew up the pylons …”
“… so that Magnus couldn’t give his speech,” said Princess Margareta.
“… though everything’s almost back to normal again,” Liron countered.
“… except the oil pipeline, and now they’ve compromised border security! We thought — and Magnus tried to convince everyone — that if the reforms went through and the north was made equal to the south, the rebels would withdraw and we wouldn’t need to fight them anymore. No civil war! But look how wrong we were!”
“Magnus never said it would be easy,” said the princess. “Never. He knew the transition would bring plenty of new problems.”
“Problems!” cried von Thunberg. “You call it problems, Your Highness, when a whole country is starving?”
Liron came away from the window. “I didn’t notice anyone starving at your party today, von Thunberg.”
“And maybe you didn’t notice the pipeline being blown up, either!” von Thunberg retorted. “Or Holmburg’s disrupted electricity supply! Or the fact that our customs men were seized by masked bandits at Scandia’s largest airport this very day and locked up in a janitor’s closet!”
Petterson laughed, and von Thunberg spun around to glare at him.
“I’d like to know what you think there is to laugh at!” he snapped.
“There’s something funny about the whole idea — you must admit it, Thunberg,” said Petterson. “The janitor’s closet, I mean. When I picture it …”
“Peter!” said Princess Margareta, shaking her head.
“We can’t wait any longer!” von Thunberg said, resuming his argument. “The new constitution still gives the king the right to call in the military in the event of a national crisis.”
“There’s no way you can call the current situation a national crisis,” said Liron.
Petterson glanced at von Thunberg.
“Well, I’d say …”
At that moment a cell phone rang. They all listened for a second to see if the ringtone was theirs, then Liron reached into his jacket pocket. “Yes?” he asked, turning away from the group. “For heaven’s sake, Carlson, surely you can manage that without me being there!”
He went to the window, an angry scowl on his face.
“No, don’t make a big deal about it. It’s just some silly kids’ prank. It’s not likely to start raining on the way back!”
On the other end of the phone, the talk was fast and furious.
“I really haven’t got time now for such kids’ stuff, Carlson!” snapped Liron. “Fix it, and if you can’t, it’s not the end of the world.” He flipped the phone shut. “My driver,” he explained to the room, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry. He was in something of a state. Someone’s broken the windshield wipers on the car.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll be blaming that on the terrorists, will you, Thunberg?” said Petterson. “Even if it is the Minister of the Interior’s car.”
Von Thunberg gave him a withering look.
“I suggest, General,” said Princess Margareta, nodding as if to indicate that as far as she was concerned it marked the end of the discussion, “that we talk this over again soon, together with my brother. At the moment, the situation does not seem to me to be so critical as to warrant missing the rest of your delightful party.”
“Well said, Your Highness,” said Petterson with a satirical little bow.
“Thank you, kind sir,” said Margareta.
On his way out, Liron laid a comforting hand on von Thunberg’s arm.
Von Thunberg shook it off. “If you can’t see what’s happening … you’ve only yourselves to blame,” he said angrily.
Perry walked up to the main house. The estate was likely to be crawling with guards. He’d seen men with submachine guns near the gate. But they would mainly be watching out for people trying to get in. The rebels wouldn’t often get the chance to find all the country’s VIPs gathered in one place.
When he reached the house, he went around the corner to the servants’ entrance. The guards would not be particularly interested in what came out of there. If he was smart, it shouldn’t be too difficult.
He smiled. Nothing could be too difficult now, he thought — absolutely nothing. The hardest part of all was now behind him, and how easy it had turned out to be! Why hadn’t he dared to do it earlier? “Did you really think I didn’t like you?” Malena had said, as if he’d been a fool ever to imagine otherwise.
In the little yard in front of the stables there was a large truck with a tarp roof — probably for tables, chairs, and awnings — a laundry van, and several minibuses. There were also several large wire bins on wheels, like the ones they used at school for the dirty linen.
Perry leaned against the wall of the house. Apart from a man putting down a tray, the backyard was empty. The waiters were obviously circulating among the guests. The man left. Now was his chance. He went over to one of the big wire bins.
He had no idea where he would end up — presumably in a laundromat somewhere — or what he would do when he got there. But it had to be worth trying. One step at a time. Anything was better than the military academy. And after all, wasn’t today his lucky day?
He pushed the bin onto the lift of the laundry van. If he was going to hide in it, he didn’t want anyone wondering why it was so heavy till he was well clear of the place. He pressed a button inside the van, and with a low hum the lift raised the container.
When he heard footsteps approaching, he pushed the bin up against two others at the far end of the van as quickly as he could. He buzzed the lift down again, crept to the bin, climbed in, and pulled the soiled tablecloths over his head. His heart was thumping, but nobody came.
Malena understood why he had to run away. “You’ve got no choice,” she’d whispered. “Once you’re gone, maybe your father will realize how much it matters to you! Then he’ll let you be and forget about his stupid military academy.” Then she had sat there with him, cheek to cheek. “And I’ll wait for you,” she said. “It’ll be really romantic, just like in the movies! Everything will be OK.”
He heard more footsteps in the yard, and huddled down under the linens. Malena was right. Everything would be OK.
Jonas jogged gently across the lawn, wending his way between the guests. He didn’t care when some of them turned to look at him — he’d long ago learned not to take any notice.
But where could Perry have gone? Had something really happened to him? And why had he left Jenna and rushed off like that, joining the search like an idiot, as if he believed Perry might really have disappeared or been kidnapped?
He slowed down. The sounds from the party were muffled now.
Jenna! he thought. I was just about to … and then I didn’t. At least Perry’s dad saved me from making a complete fool of myself.
He looked over his shoulder. Was she still standing in the same spot? Maybe he should go back. He was such a coward! Perry had done it, even with all his shyness and hang-ups — Jonas would never have guessed he’d have the guts — while he himself had chickened out and run away at the first chance.
OK, he vowed, if she’s still standing there w
hen I turn around, I’ll go back. No matter how stupid it looks or what she thinks of me, I’ll just do it. Bite the bullet. Ask her out right now …
He scanned the lawn; she was nowhere to be seen.
OK! thought Jonas. So it won’t be today. Plan B: I’ll see her tomorrow at school. Maybe when we go running. I’ll get there really early and wait for her. Where’s the best place, so none of the guards at the fence can see us?
Behind a clump of trees he came to the summerhouse. He had to admit it was a seriously romantic spot. Props to Perry for thinking of it! Maybe they were still there. Maybe old man Petterson had simply missed the place. Climbing roses practically covered the glassless windows and the doorway. Jonas poked his head inside and ducked under a hanging branch to enter the little room. The air smelled of fading paint, and the waxed wooden floorboards were shining. He sat down on the wraparound bench.
Tomorrow, then, he thought, and leaned his head back against the wood. I’ll definitely do it tomorrow.
A dark shadow suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Ylva!” he said in surprise, sitting up straight.
“Oh, hi, Jonas!” she whispered, as if she hadn’t noticed him before. “You’re in here! I thought …” She stopped midsentence and looked down at the floor in embarrassment.
“What?” asked Jonas. He could really do without this on top of everything else.
Ylva looked helpless, standing there in front of him with drooping shoulders and bent head — helpless and fragile in a way he’d never seen before. Ylva was strong, everyone knew that — strong and self-confident. She was captain of the field hockey team, and the toughest player on the lacrosse team, too. But now she stood there like some lost little girl, and through the western window the last rays of the sun were falling on her long blonde hair, lighting it up like spun gold.
“Oh, nothing,” she murmured. “It’s just that — it’s all kind of overwhelming, you know? All those people. The noise. I was just looking for somewhere quiet to get away.”
“Uh, me, too,” Jonas bluffed. What other reason could he give for sitting there all alone in the summerhouse?
Ylva sat down beside him. A delicate scent, a bit like lemon, joined the smell of roses and paint. It was coming from Ylva’s hair. “Do you mind if I sit here with you for a while?” she asked, still not looking at him.
“Yeah, no problem,” said Jonas, itching to get up and out of there. But he knew it wouldn’t have been kind to leave her on her own after she had just appeared, looking so unhappy and so vulnerable and so totally un-Ylva-like. He didn’t get it — the party wasn’t that bad. And it was her house, after all!
He didn’t know what to say, and the silence between them became more and more prolonged. It was a different kind of silence from the one between him and Jenna.
Suddenly, Ylva looked up, as if she’d just made a decision. “Jonas!” she whispered, and at that moment he understood. Oh my God, he thought, this can’t be happening. But he knew what was coming even before she said it. Maybe it had been the same kind of silence after all. “Jonas, I …”
Her hands were on his shoulders, pulling him toward her, and he couldn’t help but move closer. Then she put her hand behind his head, and her face was right up against his, forcing her lips onto his mouth.
No, no, thought Jonas. I don’t want to do this! I just don’t understand girls! But then he stopped thinking altogether. His whole head was swimming, and Ylva’s lips were on his and wouldn’t let go, and his mouth opened without him even realizing it.
No! He had to free himself — from her hands, from her lips — and he didn’t want this feeling, not with Ylva. Oh God …
“Ylva!” he managed to say. He found it hard to breathe. “Ylva, please! I …” He tried to catch his breath. “Please. Ylva. I … I don’t want to do this.”
Now was the time to tell her that he was interested in someone else. But again she was looking so small and defenseless, almost desperate, and how could he make her even more unhappy? “I’m sorry, Ylva. I … I just don’t feel that way about you.”
Jenna had watched Jonas disappear across the lawn. I’m almost positive he likes me, she thought, but why did he run off? If only that horrible Petterson hadn’t chosen that precise moment to arrive! Malena’s not the only girl in the world, Jonas had said, and he’d blushed when he said it, hadn’t he?
She went across to the buffet table. She wanted to talk to Malena. Though could she really say, “Hey, Malena, I saw you before in the summerhouse, you and Perry. Sorry, didn’t mean to spy. But anyway, I saw you, and I just wanted to ask …”
Could you ask another girl how to do that kind of thing … who made the first move, said the first word …?
Of course you can, thought Jenna. Why not? And Malena was her cousin. Jenna might not do everything exactly the same way she had — it might all be totally different between her and Jonas — but it still could be useful to know how Malena and Perry had worked up the courage. And tomorrow at the latest, when Jonas and I meet, or maybe in the morning when I go for my …
No! It should be today. The two of them were simply too shy. She’d seen it over and over again in the movies: boy and girl dithering away and nobody making the first move.
She took a deep breath, then set off determinedly in the direction Jonas had taken. She suddenly knew that she would never forgive herself if she let him go like that. She was Princess Jenna of Scandia, and today she would be successful at whatever she did.
The summerhouse loomed up behind the clump of trees. Jenna knew she would find Jonas there. She had told him about Perry and Malena, so that it would be the first place he’d look, logically.
Carefully she lifted up the branch that blocked the nearest window. Her heart was beating so fast and so loud, she was sure Jonas would hear it. But she couldn’t flake out again; she was determined to do it: At last she would tell him how she felt. She took a deep breath, then leaned forward to look inside.
On the bench opposite sat Jonas, just as she had guessed. But he was not alone. Ylva!
Malena’s not the only girl in the world … The words came back to haunt her. How could she ever have thought he meant her?
Jonas’s head was facing away, twisted at a strange angle. Between him and Ylva was far too large a gap, and yet … they were holding each other. They were …
No! thought Jenna. Not Ylva!
She turned away. She didn’t want to look into Ylva’s eyes, which were staring at her, mocking, hard, triumphant, over Jonas’s tousled hair. Jenna began to run. Behind her she could still hear Jonas’s voice: “Please,” he said. “Please, Ylva!” And she ran and ran and ran, and it was as if she had never in all her life known how deep and dark and terrible despair could be.
The laundry van traveled through the dusk. How much longer? thought Perry. They had strapped the bins to the inside of the van with belts so that their little wheels wouldn’t set them rolling around the floor, but they kept bumping against each other all the same as the van drove along the uneven roads, and their metal frames clashed and clanged.
Perry was well hidden. No one had noticed him. The gigantic tablecloth that covered him still smelled a little of detergent, with one large, oily stain that stank of fish. After what he estimated was a few miles, he ventured to take the cloth off his head. Here in the back of the van, he figured no one could possibly see him, and it ended up being so dark that he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face.
When they got to the laundromat, he could slip away into the night. The plan was simple but genius, he told himself.
The van rounded a sharp bend, pressing Perry hard up against the frame of the bin, and finally came to a halt. He pulled the tablecloth over his head again and tensed his muscles in preparation.
Someone opened the rear door of the van. The halogen lights that illuminated the laundromat’s parking lot threw a faint orange glow into the back. Perry peeked out to see two men untying the bins nearest to the do
or and pushing them onto the lift. Then came the soft hum of the machinery as they were hoisted down.
“We’ll just unload them tonight,” said a tired voice. “You push the bins, and I’ll hold the door.”
Perry could hear their footsteps, and the jarring scrape of the metal wheels over a stone surface. It had to be now. This was the best chance he’d get.
Wire clanged against wire as he threw off the cloth and carefully climbed out. He crept quickly to the open door and jumped to the ground.
The air smelled of evening. Old brick buildings lined three sides of the cobbled square, with the fourth side open to the street. Perry kept crouched close to the ground and ran as fast as he could, keeping to the shadows. The two men had disappeared into one of the buildings, and he could hear them pushing the bins, exchanging a few words and laughing.
Almost! thought Perry. And then he saw the moped.
It was standing up against the brick wall, right beside the exit onto the road, and in the light of the streetlamps it glowed a deep red. Although it was an old model, it was polished as shiny as new. It probably belonged to one of the two men.
It’s stealing, thought Perry as he looked to see if the moped was locked. But he had no trouble softly pushing it over the rough stones. He didn’t start the motor. It’s stealing, but how stupid are people, leaving their keys in the ignition!
Then he saw the high iron gate. The men must have opened it before driving the van into the yard. No wonder the owner of the moped would have assumed it would be safe inside.
I’ll send them some money, I swear. As soon as I can get into my account.
He began to run, pulling the heavy moped along beside him. He wouldn’t start the motor until he was good and far away from the laundromat. If the men heard it and came after him in the van, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
