The Dragonfly Pool (30 page)

He was just crossing the track when he heard the sound of pounding footsteps and turned to see two extraordinary-looking people running toward him. One was huge and massively built, and the remains of a spotted apron clung to his baggy trousers. The other was smaller, wearing the remnants of a feather boa, and there was a scar on his upper lip.

They were almost level with him, running hell for leather for the boat in a last effort to snatch the prince.

Matteo kicked aside a fire bucket, threw down his pack . . . and charged.

The children, with Magda, had begun to make their way up the gangway. Standing near the top was the first mate in a smart blue uniform with brass buttons and a peaked cap. And on either side of him were two men in black leather coats and jackboots. Their hats were pulled down low, and what could be seen of their faces made the blood run cold.

“Stop!” said one of them, speaking in a strong German accent. “This is the group I have told you about. There is an extra child here—you will see. There is permission only for four boys—and if you count you will see there are five. And one of them—this one—” he pointed directly at Karil—“is the boy we are seeking. He is a runaway—a petty criminal—and he must come with us.”

The children felt as though they were turned to stone. All the color had drained from Karil's face. He had seen enough in the last weeks to know that the men were from the Gestapo.

“It isn't true,” said Magda, putting her arm around Karil. “All these children are traveling with me—they're from Delderton School in Devon. We've been on a folk dance festival and we're trying to get home.”

“Can I see your passports?” said the first mate.

“They're with the gentleman who is in charge of—” Magda turned around to look for Matteo, but he had disappeared.

“You see, it is a lie. This boy is a dangerous troublemaker—we have a car here ready to take him back to his home. He has run away and must be returned. I have a permit from the German police. Here it is.”

The first mate examined it and handed it back.

“He is rather young to be a criminal,” he said, looking at Karil's white face, his stricken eyes.

“He must not travel,” said the other man in jackboots. “You must hand him over now. At once.”

The first mate had been traveling the route between Britain and France for the past three years and there were things that increasingly upset him. He had seen refugees staggering onto the boat in tears—Jewish children, people with pathetic bundles from the countries Hitler had overrun—and he was getting angry. On the crossing before this one, an old man had sat in silence on the deck, tears running down his face.

“I was growing apricots,” he had said. “Such apricots. If you could have seen my garden! And then they came and said I had to leave, I was a dirty old Jew.”

“I've no time for this now,” he said to the jackbooted men. “If the boy's papers aren't in order it can be sorted out at the other end.” And to Karil: “Get on board, boy!”

Tally began to breathe again. Barney took hold of Karil's hand. “Come on,” he said.

It was all right. They were safe. The leather-clad men were scowling, one tried to grab Karil's arm—and the first mate pointed at the upper deck, where a couple of sailors were sluicing the timbers. The sailors, too, had seen things they did not care for on their recent trips and now they put down their buckets and came forward to the railings.

The men from the Gestapo shrugged. They had been told to avoid trouble with the British navy and now they made their way back to their car, parked on the quay.

The children were almost on board. The first mate stood aside. And then an extraordinary thing happened. Karil let go of Barney's hand, turned—and ran back down the gangway, onto the docks.

Back into certain danger . . .

“Come back, Karil!” yelled Tod.

But Karil ran on. And then they saw why. On the quayside, close to the edge of the water, Matteo was caught up in a horribly unequal fight. He was grappling with one man, trying to stop him from pulling out a knife, while a second man, a giant dressed like a pantomime dame, circled around the struggling pair, landing indiscriminate blows.

And Karil, seeing this, had shaken off the fear and exhaustion of the last days and was running like the wind to help his father's friend.

For Earless, turning his head at Tod's shout, the sight of the prince running toward him was a miracle. He abandoned Matteo and took a step toward the boy. His big, stupid face was lit up with triumph. He had only to carry the boy to the car where the Gestapo men still waited and the thing was done.

“Come on then, Your Highness,” he jeered. “Let's be having you!”

Karil, blind with rage, threw himself at the huge man's chest. He might as well have thrown himself at an oak tree. Kicking, struggling, punching, he found himself picked up, thrown over the giant's shoulder and held there in a grip of steel.

Still grinning crazily, Earless skirted the edge of the quayside and set off toward the car.

But the other children had understood what was happening. They rushed down the gangway and, as heedless as Karil, began to attack the giant. It was ludicrous, pitting their strength against him, but there were a lot of children and there was only one of him. From carrying a single struggling boy to the waiting car, Earless found himself hung with children like a Christmas tree.

Barney was clutching one leg and Tod the other, and though he kicked them away they came back. Julia and Tally were behind him, dangerously close to the water's edge, tugging at his arms.

They were nothing—puny little flies—but Earless had to shift the weight of the boy on his shoulders. Doggedly the giant waded forward, shaking off children as he walked. Augusta had found a bucket, which she hurled at his ankles. He kicked it away, but the ground was slimy with fish scales and seaweed and for a moment he stumbled, only to right himself again.

Kit had joined in the fray even though he had recognized the men at once as his kidnappers. Now he, too, came at Earless, and he and Verity took hold of Karil's legs and tried to pull him free so that Earless had to adjust his grip again, bringing Karil up against the side of his face.

And at this point Karil threw off the last shreds of his upbringing. He swiveled around and in a single ferocious act he sank his teeth deep into the big man's ear.

The effect was instantaneous.

“Not my other ear! No, no . . . not my other ear!” Earless roared, and brought one hand up to his bloodied lobe, while Belinda's tearful, disappointed face swam before him.

He was still holding on to Karil with his other arm—but there was one Deldertonian who had not joined in the fight. Borro had been sorting quietly through the freshly caught seafood waiting in the crates. When he had found what he wanted, he unwound the muffler from his throat and inserted a large and exceedingly spiky crab into its folds. Then he swung the muffler once, twice, three times above his head—and let fly.

His aim was true. The crab landed full in Earless's face. The sharp edge of the shell temporarily blinded him, gouging his eye; the salty liquid and smelly grunge inside the creature ran down his face.

And this was too much. Earless brought up his other arm to clear the debris from his eyes; the children pulled Karil's legs and he tumbled to the ground.

“He's free!” shouted Tally. “Come on—all together.”

One and all they ran forward and pushed. Even so they would not have succeeded, but as Earless stepped backward he slipped on a patch of regurgitated fish left by the gulls. And with a monumental splash, he was gone!

As they looked into the water, Matteo came up behind them. There was blood on his arm, which he had bound up with a handkerchief, but he seemed very pleased with himself.

“What happened to the other one?” asked Augusta. “Did you kill him?”

“I don't think so,” said Matteo, “but one can never be certain.”

In the water they saw a second head and caught a momentary glint of gold before it disappeared again under the waves.

Just then they heard the screech of tires as the black Mercedes driven by the Gestapo's men did a U-turn and disappeared.

As they made their way back up the gangway and onto the boat, they found the Countess Frederica blocking their path.

“This way, Karil,” she said. “I have secured seats for us in the first-class lounge.”

The others waited.

“I'll stay with my friends,” Karil said and, ignoring the scowls of the Scold, he made his way to the pile of luggage on the deck which the Deldertonians had made their headquarters.

The crossing was calm and uneventful. Magda bandaged Matteo's arm and he stood alone by the rails, looking at the water. It was time to relax now; the hunt for the prince had come to an end, and he was so tired he could hardly keep on his feet.

Squashed between the canvas bags that held the dancing clothes, Tally and Karil were making plans.

“There's only another five weeks of term but you could stay with us in the holidays; there's lots of room in our house.”

“I'd like that,” said Karil. “If I don't bring trouble.”

“You won't. You can be ordinary now. We're
very
ordinary. Barney's family has a big house, too, and his parents sound nice, if you didn't want to be with us all the time—though Matteo will probably want to see you, too.”

“Thank you. I'd like to stay with you very much.”

They were three-quarters of the way across when they saw the chalk cliffs above the harbor at Dover—and though it was true they were not exactly white—more a sort of pale and slightly dusty gray, all the children, even those who had been dozing, came to the rails to look.

The boat docked smoothly, but they waited for a while in the harbor before the passengers were allowed to disembark. Then, as they crossed over to the customs shed, Karil stopped dead.

Waiting on the other side of the road was a large black Daimler with an elaborate painted crest on the doors: the coat of arms of the Duke of Rottingdene picked out in gold. And leaning out of the window was a stunningly pretty girl with fair ringlets, wearing a blue velvet beret and waving.

“This way,” she called. “This way, Karil!”

The boy stared at her. Behind him stood the Countess Frederica and two men in the duke's livery. She had sent a cable from the boat.

“Say good-bye to your friends, Karil,” she said. “You won't be seeing them again.”

Karil said nothing. For a moment he wondered whether to make a run for it, but what would be the use? The Duke of Rottingdene was his grandfather, not a thug or an assassin.