The Princess Trap

by Kirsten Boie

  He hadn’t folded his things neatly, just chucked in whatever he lay his hands on: clothes, books, the pictures from the wall above his bed. He’d had to throw his full weight onto the top of the case in order to get it closed.

  So now where do I go? he’d wondered. Who’ll take me in?

  He’d hoped the king might call him, or Princess Margareta. Surely they would know that Liron was innocent and offer him shelter. Wouldn’t they?

  But by the morning, when his phone had still failed to ring, he’d known there would be no word from them. Jenna’s disappeared, he’d realized. How could her mother possibly spare a thought for me? And Malena’s only allowed to call from her boarding school on the weekends, so what can I do till then?

  He’d paced up and down his room, five steps each way. Since Perry had disappeared, too, he’d had the room all to himself. He didn’t want to go outside, or go to class, and have everyone stare at him. And nobody came to find out where he was.

  His father’s voice echoed in his mind. “If something happens to me, just think about these three questions,” Liron had said. He’d probably been expecting a moment just like this. Except Jonas didn’t even know where to begin. “What came three years after the kingdom of Scandia conquered North Island? What was for a long time the tallest building in Scandia, and why? What do dwarfs and wonders have in common?”

  Every so often during the last several months he’d thought about the questions. He’d tried looking things up in the encyclopedia in the school library. The Internet was too risky, because PCs could be bugged and searches could be traced. The questions, no matter how weird they seemed to him, were secret, and no one else must know.

  But the longer he thought about them, the more stupid he felt. North Island had been conquered in 1732 — every Scandian child learned that in grade school. So three years later was 1735, but that year wasn’t mentioned in any history book or encyclopedia.

  The other two questions weren’t any easier. The tower of the city hall, built in 1621 by a German architect, was 300 feet high. But what was the point of asking why it was the tallest building? It was the tallest because it was the tallest building! In the encyclopedia, he’d read that at that time South Island was a member of the Hanseatic League, and people from Sweden, Germany, and Russia had lived in Holmburg then. Could the puzzle be connected with that?

  The craziest question was number three, about dwarfs and wonders. What the heck could they have in common?

  Up and down, five paces up, five paces down. The first two questions were connected with Scandia and its history, but the third was a complete curveball. Maybe he was supposed to put the three answers together somehow. Maybe the combination of all three contained some vital information.

  “Only if something should happen to me,” Liron had said. No matter where he went, Jonas had to find out what these questions meant, and what the answers were, in order to see where they were leading.

  But first things first — he’d been summoned to see the headmaster. On the way, he continued to puzzle over the questions. Then he knocked on the door and was told to enter.

  “You know why I’ve sent for you,” the headmaster announced, without even saying hello. “To start, you’ll hand in your school uniform. I see you’re not wearing it, anyway. Our uniform is a mark of honor.”

  Jonas nodded, and tried to read the expression on the man’s face. “I don’t think any of it’s true,” he began. “And no one who knows my father—”

  “It doesn’t matter a jot what you think,” said the headmaster. Was he enjoying this conversation? Or did he find it awkward? He’d been head for many years — back in the old days, then under Norlin, and now under the new government. He was headmaster of Morgard, and any personal beliefs were of no concern to anyone. His task was to take the school in whatever direction was necessary at the time. “You will understand that I cannot allow your fellow students to share a classroom with the son of someone guilty of high treason.” He opened a file and leafed through it. “Furthermore, I don’t know who will now be responsible for paying your tuition.”

  Jonas looked him straight in the eye. There had been no hope, anyway. He’d had all night to prepare for this conversation, and so nothing could shock him.

  “No worries, dude. I’m good with being an outcast. Got lots of practice,” he said, and waited. The headmaster was too shrewd to react.

  “A car will take you to the railway station,” he said. “From there I presume you’ll know where to go. I hereby abrogate all responsibility for you.” He closed the file.

  Jonas pointed to it. “Are you going to throw that away?” he asked. “Because you’re sure it’s final? Because you’re sure I won’t be back?” He fixed his gaze firmly on the headmaster’s eyes. He wasn’t going to let him off the hook. The headmaster would have to be the first to look away. “Or maybe you’d better hold on to it? To be on the safe side. In case the wind changes. In case you have to welcome me back with open arms.” His voice deepened with contempt. “What sort of man are you? You’re always saying you want to set an example for the students. And yet you always go whichever way the wind blows. So what are we supposed to be learning from you?” He laughed. “Liron will be proved innocent. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that. He’s been framed, and one day you’ll all learn the truth. But don’t bother to apologize then, Headmaster. Unlike the Terminator, I won’t be back.”

  He turned and went toward the leather-padded door without bothering to listen to what the headmaster shouted at him.

  As he pulled the door shut behind him, Jonas felt remarkably clearheaded. He hadn’t allowed himself to be intimidated or even to complain. He had stood up for himself, and he had stood up for Liron.

  He grabbed his bags, which someone had brought from his room to the steps under the portico. The car that was to take him to the train station was already waiting there, its engine running.

  Liron taught me that, he thought, tossing a bag in the trunk. Never let anyone look down on you. And most important of all, no one can make you feel small if you refuse to let them. I taught that to Jenna, too.

  It was a lesson Liron had taught him during the time they’d been on the run, living in a squalid little apartment in the projects, two northerners among all the other northerners in Holmburg. “Every man can keep his dignity. Even if they take everything else away from you, that’s yours to keep forever.”

  At the time, Jonas had thought the words too grand for the conditions — the run-down kitchen with its worn-out linoleum floor, and the dismal concrete buildings outside their window. Almost absurd. High-sounding words for people down so low.

  But all through the night they’d echoed in his head. Who I am is up to me and me alone, and it doesn’t matter what other people think. I won’t ever let anyone make me feel small.

  Suddenly, from behind one of the portico’s columns, a girl came toward him. Jonas was startled.

  “Ylva!” he said. He hadn’t seen her since Sunday evening in the summerhouse, and for the last few hours Liron’s arrest had driven everything else out of his thoughts. Still, he didn’t know just what his feelings were yet.

  Ylva took a step toward him. A suitcase stood between them. Her face now wore the expression that everyone at school was so familiar with: self-confidence and pride. There was none of the uncertainty and vulnerability that had bewildered him two days before.

  “Jonas,” she said. She knocked up against the suitcase, and stopped. “It was obvious you’d have to go.” She looked toward the car and the driver, who was leaning against the open door, listening to headphones. “Jonas, I had to speak to you before you left!”

  Jonas waited. “What do you want to say?” he asked. “Actually, don’t bother. I can guess. Strangely enough, your feelings for me have cooled, is that it? Now that my father’s a traitor. Now that I’m not such a good catch anymore — the Minister of the Interior’s son.” To his fury, he noticed that his voice was trembling. The
talk with the headmaster had been easy. This was far more difficult.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” said Ylva. She pushed the suitcase to one side. “What kind of girl do you think I am?” She glanced over her shoulder toward the driver. “I just wanted … Jonas, I just wanted to apologize. It wasn’t very nice of me. But during the last few weeks, I noticed that it was actually Jenna … Anybody could see it! The way you looked at her. And I wanted to … I’m not in love with you, Jonas. But I wanted to spoil it for her. I just think Jenna’s so … She’s no princess, that’s all.” She took a deep breath. “Jonas, I’m not in love with you, and I wasn’t in love with you on Sunday, either.”

  Jonas stared at her. “How dare you?” he yelled. “How dare you say you were just using me in order to get at Jenna?” He should have realized just how stupid he’d been. But what did he know about girls? The only one he really knew was Malena.

  Ylva shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t seem ashamed. “I wasn’t going to tell you at all,” she said. “I’d have gone on playing the game. I’m sorry, Jonas. That’s what I was going to do. It wasn’t very nice of me, I know, but I mean …” She shrugged. “People do these things, don’t they? And after the news broke yesterday …”

  “You wanted to make sure I didn’t go around telling people that Ylva von Thunberg was in love with me!” said Jonas. “Is that what you were worried about? Unbelievable. Well, no stress, Ylva, your sterling reputation’s safe with me.”

  He picked up his suitcase and went toward the car, but she stopped him with a gesture.

  “That’s not what I came for,” she said. “It was a game, and it was just for fun, all right? But there are much more important things to talk about now. I don’t believe it, Jonas.” Suddenly she looked very determined and even a little excited. “This business with your father. And that was why I wanted to be honest with you, before you left. Something isn’t right, Jonas. It should be obvious to everyone!”

  Jonas stared at her again. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “The plan!” said Ylva. “The one they held up to the camera. Where it says in big block letters PLAN FOR THE COUP. It’s like out of a cartoon or something! You don’t seriously think anyone would be stupid enough to take a plan like that along to a secret meeting, let alone give it a title! These days, nobody even needs to write anything down on paper. That’s obvious to me, and what do I know about this kind of stuff? You see what I’m saying?”

  Jonas nodded. Why hadn’t it occurred to him, too? Even if Liron really was the traitor everyone took him for, he’d never have been so careless as to carry the evidence around with him.

  “Your father’s been framed,” said Ylva. “Last night I couldn’t sleep, I just kept thinking about it. I’m sure there’s something behind all this, only I don’t know what it is.” Very gently she put her hand on Jonas’s arm. “And I’m sorry for what I did at the party, Jonas,” she said. “I just wanted you to know.”

  “OK,” murmured Jonas. “I’d better go.”

  Ylva stepped back. When the car drove off, she gave him a small, stiff wave. She’s got more guts than the headmaster, thought Jonas with surprise. She doesn’t care if other people see her saying good-bye to me. What she did on Sunday was totally vile, but she’s got guts all right. And she dares to think for herself.

  None of the other students was anywhere to be seen.

  After saying good-bye to Jonas, Ylva went slowly upstairs to the students’ lounge. Lunch period was over, and there was no one in the corridors. Early in the morning the cleaning ladies had cleaned the rooms, and their shift was long over. The housemother would be sitting in her office, and now that all the girls were in class, the dormitories would be empty.

  In the lounge there was a dirty cup on the table next to the sofa. The girls were supposed to be responsible for keeping the place tidy, but someone always forgot something. Ylva pulled the door shut behind her. She didn’t want anyone to notice that she hadn’t gone back to class. She looked at the clock above the fireplace, then switched on the television with the sound turned down.

  She threw herself onto the sofa and looked at the screen. It was almost time for the midday news, and just before it began, the station was running a clip of a silent chorus of smiling blonde girls in national costume who were presumably singing a folk song. Something strange was going on. Ever since yesterday, when she’d watched the news, she’d felt uneasy. If her suspicions were right, if the Minister of the Interior had indeed been framed and wasn’t conspiring with the rebels, then who’d set the trap for him? And how come the television people had been there on the spot to film it all? Who was in a position to manipulate the media?

  Do I really want to know? Ylva asked herself. Why? What if I find out something I wish I didn’t?

  The girls on TV had stopped singing. Ylva turned up the sound slightly. I want to know because I need to get to the truth, she thought. And because I can’t stand the idea that I’m being duped. I never could stand people doing that to me. But why do I think it’s happening now? Why do I keep getting this feeling that something’s not right?

  The images of Liron’s arrest and the commentary that went with them were familiar by now. Since last night they’d shown nothing else. “… ransom in the usual sense,” said the anchorwoman, smiling her perfectly made-up smile into the camera. “Instead, the rebels say that they are holding the children hostage, but are willing to exchange them for Minister Liron.” A photo appeared on the screen, showing pathetic little Jenna and Peter Petterson Junior, holding up today’s newspaper. The princess’s face was tearstained. Typical, Ylva thought dismissively. No self-discipline.

  “Enough of her!” Ylva muttered, reaching for the remote. And yet there was still something off. Surely she couldn’t be the only person to have realized it.

  They had disappeared on Sunday evening, pudgy Jenna and wimpish Petterson Junior, whose father was so ashamed of him, and rightly so. But how could the rebels have already known on Sunday evening that they’d need to kidnap Jenna and Perry in order to exchange them for the minister? He hadn’t even been arrested at that point. So why kidnap them? Just to get a ransom? No, it didn’t add up.

  “And finally, some images of what’s happening in towns all across the country at the moment,” said the anchorwoman. “The following footage was compiled yesterday morning in Saarstad, on the northern sound of South Island. Because of the dramatic arrest of the Minister of the Interior yesterday, we postponed broadcasting it, but despite the escalation in the Princess Jenna situation, we would not want to overlook the suffering of the Scandian people.”

  Ylva aimed the remote control at the TV. She had no desire to see yet more interviews with yet more people complaining that they couldn’t get any shampoo. But then a group of about fifty women appeared on the screen. They were wearing headscarves and beating pots with wooden spoons. It was pathetic. “Our pots are empty!” they cried. “Our children are hungry! Down with the government!”

  “Oh boohoo, no shampoo,” murmured Ylva sarcastically. They looked like country bumpkins in their scarves and aprons. Peasants. One of them, right at the front, actually looked like her mother. Without the scarf and apron, with some makeup, she’d be …

  “Mama!” gasped Ylva. She dropped the remote control down on the couch.

  She recognized the shoes. What peasant woman could afford shoes like those? And the woman next to her mother looked just like …

  “This demonstration by the mothers of Saarstad was only the first in a series of protests held all over the country,” the anchorwoman was saying. “Mothers everywhere are protesting the …”

  Ylva picked up the remote and turned off the TV. She didn’t need to see any more.

  She took out her cell phone. After so many years at Morgard, she knew the taxi company’s number by heart. And she didn’t care if she was breaking the rules. The headmaster would never dare expel Ylva von Thunberg from his school, anyway, even if she did disappear on a wee
kday without telling anybody.

  She went to her room to pack her makeup and some money before the taxi came. She had to go home. She had to talk to her mother.

  At some point after they’d eaten, Jenna fell into a restless sleep. When she woke up, she saw that Perry was also asleep, using a coiled rope as a pillow. Judging by the light coming through the window, it was afternoon.

  Jenna stretched and yawned, then reached for the tray. The water had all gone.

  Next to her, Perry, still half-asleep, propped himself up on one elbow. “No more water?” he asked, also yawning. “I’ll tell them.”

  Everything was quiet outside the hut. All they could hear was the splashing of the waves. But when Perry beat on the door with his fists, footsteps hurried toward them.

  “Hey!” shouted a voice. “What are you doing? You’ll bring down the house if you pound on it like that!”

  “And hey to you, too,” said Perry. “You can take the tray, and bring us some more water.”

  The footsteps went away, then came back, and the door opened. “Two bottles,” said a young man. They hadn’t seen him before. He had shaved the hair above his ears, leaving just a strip of blond bristle on the top of his head to show he was a southerner. “But don’t go guzzling them, or there won’t be any left. Then I’ll have to fill them up with seawater.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Perry said angrily. He grabbed the bottles. “Do you realize who we are? When you’ve got your ransom money and we’re free —”

  The young man laughed and blew out his chewing gum. “Then what?” he asked. “Huh, kid? Then what are you gonna do?”