by Andre Norton
“Where?” There was just a hint of indulgence in Klaas’ question.
“To the marsh island where I was promised a safe hiding place — ”
Klaas shook his head. “You can’t make it there, not even at night. There have been unusual movements of Nazis across country all day. They are on the alert. No, we shall have to take the little one and the other, if she will go, to Varlaam — have you so soon forgotten Wim Smits?”
“But I saw Jaap Smits in London. He said that they were closing down that branch of the underground, that they had been betrayed by some traitor — ”
“Van Oster — ?”
Lorens pondered that suggestion. It might be true. Mevrouw Staats had greeted dear Hendrik as someone high in the underground ranks; if he were the traitor and was detected in time, maybe the passage to the sea would open again.
“In shore here!” Klaas’ order broke through his thoughts. “Hug the bank.”
Hug the bank they did, scraping against it and hauling their way along by grasping the bushes and grass. Then, at a sign from Klaas, Lorens made fast the boat, and they crawled up the bank. There was a field, which had been abandoned to grazing, between them and the tall walls Lorens recognized.
They crossed this and edged along the wall until the gates came into sight. The sentry was there, alert and ready. Klaas nudged Lorens.
“On your feet and hail him,” he ordered. “The rest leave to me.”
Klaas did not wait to argue the point, slipping back into a bush. There was nothing for Lorens to do but follow orders. He arose to his feet and lurched unsteadily forward, trying to counterfeit the appearance of an exhausted man.
“Help!”
The sentry dropped to a half crouch, the bayonet on his rifle swinging up.
“Halt, you!”
“Help!” Lorens wavered to the opposite side of the road, his hand to his head as if dazed. In the half light his drab overalls must look not unlike a Nazi uniform. “The Kapitan — ”
“What makes with the Kapitan? Halt, you, or I shoot now!”
Lorens halted and swayed where he stood, measuring the distance between them. Perhaps if he threw himself forward suddenly —
But there was no need for that. A dark shadow arose behind the sentry. There was a quick lunge which sent the man sprawling out into the road, then they both were on him.
“Come on,” Lorens pulled at Klaas’ shoulder. “He won’t — ”
“He won’t give the alarm” — the other ended his companion’s sentence. “No. And this will be of more use to us than to him — now.” He detached the bayonet.
Lorens was already halfway up the drive. But Klaas lingered to drag the limp sentry into the bushes. He joined the younger man just as Lorens stopped short. A car, its engine still throbbing, stood before the house door.
“He got here first!”
“But he hasn’t gone yet. And from here the game is yours. I am the Old One once more.”
Klaas’ keen face seemed to loosen, actually to flow into the flaccid idiot expression. The straight back curved, all light went out of those black eyes. As Schweid had commented, it was a truly great piece of character-acting.
“ — the young fool! I was trying to help him, and he must let go with a grenade and blow most of us to bits.” The voice floated out of the half-open door. “We can do nothing more here, it is time to go.”
“But why were you with the Kapitan, Mijnheer?” That was Kaatje.
“Need I explain everything I must do for the cause? Sometimes we must pretend to be what we are not — ”
The three figures had come out, and Lorens moved to intercept them.
“And sometimes” — his voice cracked out — “we are not what we pretend to be!”
“You — !” van Oster’s voice ran up the scale. “You are dead — dead with Schweid!”
“I have been reported so before, but I am hard to kill. Mevrouw” — he addressed the taller of the two cloaked women — “this man is a traitor. He is van Oster, a collaborationist, who has been working with Schweid. The Kapitan himself told me so tonight!”
“Lies! I have talked with the Nazis, been one of their council, all for the cause.”
“Whose cause?” Lorens demanded. “Mevrouw, I think for your own safety, it would be wiser to leave here with me.”
“So you will take her to England?” van Oster laughed. “I wonder, my smart young friend — ”
“Who said I was going to England?”
“You did, just a little while ago, you — ”
“He did not!” That was Kaatje again. She had drawn aside a little. “Mevrouw, I have never trusted this man and now — ”
Van Oster threw up his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “All right. Accept the word of this come-by-chance against mine. Go off into the fields with him, and see what it will profit you. But be quick about it! There is not much time left us.”
For the first time the Mevrouw broke silence. “As he says” — she spoke directly to Lorens — “it is his word against yours. He comes with the backing of our organization — you come without any introduction whatsoever. And what happened tonight might just as well conform to his story as to yours. I think that I choose to believe his. Come, Kaatje, we must go.”
“No, Mevrouw, I stay here.”
“You come as you are told!” Van Oster grabbed for her arm, but Lorens stepped between, and the Mevrouw touched the older man’s shoulder.
“Leave her to her foolishness. We do not constrain each other, she has a right to her choice. Goeden dag, Kaatje.”
“Goeden dag, Mevrouw,” the girl answered as coolly.
But Lorens made one last appeal; after all, the woman had saved him. “Please, Mevrouw, you saved my life. I cannot let you go — ”
She laughed then, one of her curiously lifeless laughs. “I assure you, knight errant, I am in no danger. I think I know more of this game than you do. Goeden dag.”
Van Oster handed her into the car, and when they drove off together it was the last Lorens ever saw of the enigmatic lady of Schweid’s manor.
“Are you really going to England?” Kaatje asked.
“We are going to England,” he corrected.
“Not so. Let that be understood before we leave here, Mijnheer. I could have gone out of the Netherlands five times in the last year. But I do not go — ever. There is work to be done — ”
“You’re too young to be mixed up in this.”
“Too young? You do not understand me very well, Mijnheer. Children are fighting this war. And I am not young, I have not been young since May 15, 1940. I was young then, I was even pretty! But I lived in Rotterdam. And so I don’t go to England ever! But to the coast, yes. Shall we go now, Mijnheer?”
With Kaatje’s work-hardened hand in his they started down the drive, Klaas shambling after them.
. . . and she would not come with me to England. Against all of our urging, for Klaas added his voice to mine, there she chose to stay, a valued member of Captain Smits’ organization.
And now I will tell you one big secret. I, too, will work with Wim Smits. Shortly I return to the Netherlands, this time for good and all. It was not as easy as you might think to decide it so. I have certain ties in America to which I must now say good-bye, maybe forever. I have written a letter which took me a day and a night to compose — but in wartime there are many farewells and there is also hope —
To go back is not a choice, it is a duty. There is much work to be done there, even by such a ‘crook’ as I. And then, too, I must watch van Oster.
I do not believe in him, although I have been assured from all sides that his reputation is good and that he stands high in the ranks of the underground. Captain Smits has pointed out to me that his explanation of how he came to be with Schweid that night might well be true. It has been necessary many times in the past for some of us to play double roles.
But I remember now where I first saw his face — in the snapshot van Nye had of his traitor
brother. Then van Oster was wearing the Nazi uniform on his back, just as I am sure he wears it always in his heart. And if I am right — then between us will be war — war to the knife’s edge! Also between him and the power of Norreys stand but two lives, mine and Piet’s. Fortune of war may take Piet at any time, he has chosen to serve on a field from which few return. If dear Cousin Hendrik can finish me quietly, then Norreys is his — a prospect you cannot induce me to think he has overlooked. To be bait for a trap will not be easy — but I shall have Klaas to help me there. And I shall bring down my loving cousin, that I believe.
Just as I am sure of this, so I am sure, my friend, that we shall meet sometime in the days to come — on that good day of days when we shall stand free men in a free world again. For now I know what Soong told me so long ago is true — a man must have faith to fight. I have found such faith in the hearts and minds of my countrymen. To such as Kaatje and Klaas freedom is not a dead word.
To the day of our meeting and may it be soon!
Lorens van Norreys
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1972 by Andre Norton
ISBN: 978-1-4976-5684-0
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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