potential targets that the rebels might want to attack, like the pipeline yesterday. We need soldiers on the streets! Show the people we’re not prepared to sit back and let ourselves be attacked. Otherwise, won’t they get the impression the government’s simply doing nothing — or even that some members of parliament are on the rebels’ side? People are already talking.”
“You forget, General, that I can only order the military to intervene in internal affairs in the event of a national crisis,” said the king. “And can we honestly call this a national crisis? Times have changed in Scandia, thank goodness.”
“But the mood of the country is changing, Magnus — we can all sense it,” said Petterson. “Even the people’s respect for the royal family has been dwindling over the last few months. All those articles recently about your niece! The free press is full of criticisms of current policies, what with all these shortages — you must have seen that for yourself — and they’re holding you responsible, too. And now the pipeline. You’ve got to take action! Let Thunberg bring in his men before it’s too late!”
The king looked down at his steaming cup and blew on it before taking a sip. Then he made a face. “Too hot,” he murmured.
“I’m against it, Magnus!” said Liron. “Totally against it. As Minister of the Interior, I do not want to see this country suddenly swarming with soldiers. We could easily lose control. We’re on the right path now, but we need more time.”
“You think so, Liron?” asked the king, looking thoughtfully at him. “Of course, that’s what I’d prefer.”
Margareta entered the room through a side door. As she passed, she kissed Petterson on the cheek.
“Why don’t you make a speech to your people, Magnus?” she said without any further greeting. “Try to explain the problems of transition to them. Ask them to be patient, the southerners as well as the northerners. You’re king — they’ll listen to you.”
“Should I inform the TV stations, Magnus?” asked Petterson. “Maybe tonight, after the news? The people of Scandia usually spend Sunday evenings watching TV, now that the reception is so good everywhere.”
The king nodded reflectively. “Maybe,” he murmured.
“But don’t wait to bring in the military until it’s too late, Your Majesty!” urged von Thunberg. “There’s a lot of resentment building up.”
The king looked at his watch. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “I’ll have to bring this discussion to a close. I have an appointment. And, Thunberg, I’m sure you want to get back to your estate as soon as you can — I’m sorry I had to send for you on such an important day.”
J onas 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
“You forget, General, that I can only order the military to intervene in internal affairs in the event of a national crisis,” said the king. “And can we honestly call this a national crisis? Times have changed in Scandia, thank goodness.”
“But the mood of the country is changing, Magnus — we can all sense it,” said Petterson. “Even the people’s respect for the royal family has been dwindling over the last few months. All those articles recently about your niece! The free press is full of criticisms of current policies, what with all these shortages — you must have seen that for yourself — and they’re holding you responsible, too. And now the pipeline. You’ve got to take action! Let Thunberg bring in his men before it’s too late!”
The king looked down at his steaming cup and blew on it before taking a sip. Then he made a face. “Too hot,” he murmured.
“I’m against it, Magnus!” said Liron. “Totally against it. As Minister of the Interior, I do not want to see this country suddenly swarming with soldiers. We could easily lose control. We’re on the right path now, but we need more time.”
“You think so, Liron?” asked the king, looking thoughtfully at him. “Of course, that’s what I’d prefer.”
Margareta entered the room through a side door. As she passed, she kissed Petterson on the cheek.
“Why don’t you make a speech to your people, Magnus?” she said without any further greeting. “Try to explain the problems of transition to them. Ask them to be patient, the southerners as well as the northerners. You’re king — they’ll listen to you.”
“Should I inform the TV stations, Magnus?” asked Petterson. “Maybe tonight, after the news? The people of Scandia usually spend Sunday evenings watching TV, now that the reception is so good everywhere.”
The king nodded reflectively. “Maybe,” he murmured.
“But don’t wait to bring in the military until it’s too late, Your Majesty!” urged von Thunberg. “There’s a lot of resentment building up.”
The king looked at his watch. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “I’ll have to bring this discussion to a close. I have an appointment. And, Thunberg, I’m sure you want to get back to your estate as soon as you can — I’m sorry I had to send for you on such an important day.”
J onas 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
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