In opstand

by Marieke Veringa

  In an effort to distract herself, Emma opened her eyes and stared outside, but even the landscape gliding past reaffirmed the truth she’d learned today. She couldn’t look at it without feeling her stomach turn. All the farmland, the barns, the paltry little houses, and the never-ending electric fences were prisons hiding in plain sight, right next to her own city. It was there for everyone to see, just like the Ghetto that Uriah was forced to live in.

  Everything, everything he’d told her was so obvious. Why had she never given these things more than a passing thought? Why had it been so difficult to question them?

  When she finally got home, she staggered up the creaking stairs toward the bathroom. And there, supporting herself on either side of the water basin, she bent over and vomited.

  It wasn’t much – just a few drops of phlegm. Since Sophia’s death she’d only eaten a few bites a day, but the sour taste on her tongue was horrible and foul. She turned on the tap and rinsed her mouth before splashing more water over her face.

  When she looked up, her own face stared back at her from the mirror – pale cheeks, dripping strands of hair, red-rimmed eyes. Traitor of the Realm.

  “I can still go back,” she whispered to her mirror image. “I don’t have to do it.”

  If she didn’t, her life would go on and stay the same. She’d never see Uriah again. She’d finally get back to her friends after all their emails. And, even more importantly, she wouldn’t risk dragging Lorelei and Uncle Peter into her own shady business. Emma, just be careful…

  Emma left the bathroom and dropped down on her bed, her back flat on the mattress. The flames in the fireplace had died away and the room was cold. She pulled up the blanket and stared blankly at the ceiling. For better or for worse, the future was in her hands. Uriah couldn’t reach out to Franz Gabriel, and Frieda Groonewald had been knocked off the board like a sacrificed pawn, just like Sophia.

  But she was still alive.

  Emma’s heart beat wildly in her chest. She knew exactly where to find the Angel. What to say to him. One word from her and history would turn around like a river changing course.

  For the first time since Sophia’s death, Emma felt alive.

  6

  The Angel

  Emma

  “WHY did you change your mind?” Lili studied her cousin’s face, but Emma had been practicing her expression in the mirror and she was showing Lili the most sincere look in all of Nethergermany.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I believe Sophia would have wanted me to go out and be in the world again. Meet new people. I got myself a new dress and everything.” She stroked the delicate fabric cascading down her legs. Red like blood. Red like Sophia’s coat.

  The red color of revolution.

  Lorelei held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded and showed her a sweet smile. She hugged Emma. “I’m happy you’re feeling better. You’re right – you deserve a night out.”

  In the past few weeks, Lili had become a big sister of sorts to Emma. It wasn’t that Lili could ever replace Sophia, but her cousin had been there for her to hold her during countless crying fits, to cool down her face with a washcloth, to feed her hot tea and broth whenever she’d refused to eat. Emma felt her chest warm up inside when she thought back to those things. What if I told her? Lorelei could help her. And if she saw the photos taken within the SIDR, the real photos – they’d convince her. Wouldn’t they?

  “Lili – I…”

  “What, Emma?”

  Downstairs, the doorbell rang and Uncle Peter’s deep voice droned: “Ladies! Hurry up!”

  “Come on. Whatever you have to say can be said in the car. Rutger’s waiting for us.”

  “No! I just wanted to…” Emma realized the moment was over. She couldn’t possibly bring this up in the car. Turning around, she let her gaze drift to the red coat dangling from a clothes hanger near Sophia’s empty closet. She still hadn’t decided what to do with it. “I think I may want to wear that one. You think I can?”

  “If you’re sure.” Lorelei took the coat and draped it across Emma’s shoulders. Immediately, Emma felt warm and comfortable in it, as though her sister had flung her arms around her in an invisible hug. “The color matches your dress perfectly, Em. Now let’s go downstairs before we’re too late.”

  Emma followed Lorelei downstairs. Meanwhile, she let her gaze skim the interior of the mansion. The stairs she’d climbed daily for years, the rooms that held no secrets for her. Now that she paid closer attention, she saw that the edges of the Persian rug were quite frayed. It was also obviously positioned in such a way that it was hiding the worn parts of the parquet floor. The colors of the beautiful stained glass window above the staircase had turned dull, the glass panes covered in black spots that sprang into view whenever sunlight hit the window. The top of the stately table in the dining room was warped, and sometimes it took as much as ten minutes before the water from the tap ran hot. Uncle Peter had some money, but they weren’t exactly well-off. Not rich like Frieda Groonewald had been, or like Franz Gabriel still was.

  Then, she tried to look at the house through Uriah’s eyes. The only thing he had was an old shack about to collapse, and a couch that a dog wouldn’t want to take a nap on. Did they even have running water in the Ghettos? Or flushable toilets?

  Emma felt ashamed for not wondering about these things before. Everyone knew that the Realm maintained order, and that each got what he or she deserved. The Aryan race deserved space and freedom. The criminals, the weaklings, and the people resisting this structure by causing trouble for the well-behaved citizens were housed in the Ghettos. Those troublemakers should be glad they had a place to live. She’d always imagined the Ghettos to be some sort of emergency facilities, where the bad apples of society were brought so the Realm could keep an eye on them.

  And now it turned out the Ghettos themselves were the bad apples of the world, rotting at the core. The whole place even smelled like rot.

  She was quiet for the most part of the drive to Yssel Island. Rutger parked the car in front of the small castle of Midgard. He’d wait in the car until they returned.

  The garden was decorated with dozens of lanterns pouring their yellowish light onto the guests milling around among the flowerbeds and the fruit trees. It was a birthday party for Gracia Woutersen, Lili whispered in Emma’s ear. Dame Gracia was Diederich Hoffman’s cousin’s niece. Emma nodded distractedly, scanning the crowd while Lili talked.

  Over there. His back was turned to her, but he swiveled around at just the right time for her to see his face. Franz Gabriel was slightly younger than Uncle Peter, but his whole demeanor and attire exuded the fact that he’d reached a much higher station in life than Peter Petrova. His hair was combed back slickly. In the soft light, the dark-green fabric of his suit shimmered faintly.

  Emma took a step forward just as Lorelei grabbed her arm. Uncle Peter was chatting with a group of impeccably-dressed women. One of them had her arm around a boy who looked to be about ten years old. From the looks of it, he was feeling just as awkward as Emma.

  “Dame Gracia Woutersen,” Lorelei mumbled as she pushed Emma in the direction of the cluster of women.

  “Ah, Lili, there you are,” Uncle Peter exclaimed. Emma didn’t miss the small drops of sweat beading on his forehead. He really abhorred parties like these. “Mrs. Gracia, surely you remember my daughter Lorelei. And my niece, Emma Petrova.”

  “Sophia’s sister.” Gracia’s mouth turned up in a sympathetic smile. “My God, child, you look so much like her.”

  “Thank you,” Emma mumbled. Talking about Sophia was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Her stomach felt like a hard knot tightening by the second. Where had Franz Gabriel gone off to? She needed to talk with him before she lost courage. “You have a lovely home,” she heard herself say politely. “Midgard. Such a beautiful name.”

 
“Isn’t it?” Gracia’s face shone with pleasure from the compliment. “We actually have our own chapel, devoted to Freya. Loki would love to show it to you if you want.” She gently squeezed the little boy’s shoulder.

  Loki? Whatever next for a child’s name? Emma had heard about Diederich Hoffmann’s particular fascination with the Old Germanic religion. It was becoming increasingly popular throughout the country, especially among high-class citizens. The old faith hadn’t really conquered the Northern Netherprovince as of yet, though.

  The boy smiled up at her, but Emma could see his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He seemed bored and out of place.

  “How nice of you to offer, thank you.”

  First things first, however. She had to get to Franz Gabriel. Mumbling an excuse, she left Uncle Peter, Lorelei, Loki, and Dame Gracia behind, folding her hands to hide they were shaking. The man she needed had flitted from one group to the next and was presently standing by himself, taking small sips from a tall glass filled with a golden-colored liquid. Emma hesitated for a beat, then swallowed down her nerves and forced herself to sidle up to him.

  Fortunately, they were a little ways away from the other guests. Her heart was hammering like crazy. If she stood any closer, he’d be able to pick up the sound of her heartbeat, she was sure of it. “Uhm – Mr. Gabriel?”

  He turned toward her. His cold eyes swept over her without betraying a single thought. “I’m sorry. Have I had the pleasure of…”

  “We haven’t met.” Emma spoke quickly. God, her palms were so clammy all of a sudden! “My name is Emma. I’m – I’m the Red Messenger. I need to talk to you. I believe you have something for us.”

  She saw his face change – shock, suspicion, and a nervous glance in the direction of Dame Gracia, who’d gathered her other guests around her and was talking to them.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone anymore,” he whispered. “I thought it was too late.”

  For some reason, his remark set Emma on edge. “Well, it isn’t!” she whispered back. “Can you help me, yes or no?”

  Again, his gaze swerved toward the party-goers. “Not here.”

  She nodded. “Inside.”

  He slunk away into the cool hallway of the castle before Emma followed him as inconspicuously as possible. The entire floor was covered with a thick, red carpet muffling the sound of their footsteps. Above the entrance to the dining hall was a gigantic dual portrait of Adolf Hitler, the first Fuhrer, and his son, who had remained childless. On the other side of the corridor, a smaller painting of Diederich Hoffmann stared back at father and son.

  They all looked alike, Emma realized – the same piercing, black eyes stared daggers at her from all three portraits. She turned her gaze away from the paintings.

  The chapel was a round room accessible via an iron-gated entrance. Inside, dozens of candles were burning, their flickering flames lighting up a statue of a full-bosomed woman with wide hips. The candlelight made her face seem alive.

  Emma turned around to face the man behind her. He seemed to be just as tense as she was.

  The Angel frowned. “Do you have any idea how risky this is – just the fact that we’re meeting up here like this?”

  “I…” I know, she wanted to say, but was that even true? After all, she was just a resistance rookie, even if she was already in it up to her neck. Seeking guidance, Emma looked up at Freya’s stone face, but the goddess just stared back dispassionately. “I understand people die because of this. My sister Sophia is dead.”

  “Sophia.” Franz Gabriel sighed. “So that’s why you look so familiar.”

  Oh no, not this again. She had neither the time nor the patience to take a sentimental journey down Memory Lane. Emma stepped forward and fixed the man with a hard stare. “I’ve been told that you have the power to change everything.” She reached out her hand. “So give me what I need.”

  Silently, he lifted his hand in the air, showing her a ring around his finger before he took it off with a slight tug. “This is all you’ll need to set things in motion.”

  The ring was heavier than she’d expected when it fell into her palm. A large, black stone was set in it. Emma tapped it with her fingernail. “What is it? It’s so – different from other stones.”

  “Twist it.”

  Emma gasped with astonishment when the stone turned like the cap on a tube of toothpaste and came off.

  “It’s a chip,” The Angel clarified, his voice barely above a whisper. “Connect it to your ID stick. It contains all the info we have about the SIDR. Lay-outs, routes, security stations, and timetables. But most importantly, it holds the virus that will incapacitate the electricity powering the fences around the camp.”

  Breathlessly, Emma stared at the small stone. She’d never have guessed. “How does it work?”

  “Don’t worry – they’ll know. All you need to do is remember the code. It’s not on the chip. Listen carefully.” He dipped his head and started to whisper his secret to her – the secret that would enable the people inside SIDR to escape.

  Emma remained behind in the chapel when Franz returned to the garden party. Absently, she toyed with the ring, dumping it from one palm into the other. The idea that this small piece of jewelry had the power to change the world. No wonder it was so heavy. It made her mouth feel dry, her throat constricted.

  Emma cast a look around. A strange silence pervaded the chapel. Did Gracia come here to pray? Did she put offerings at the feet of her stone goddess? Did she even know about the horrors of the SIDR?

  “What are you doing here?”

  Emma turned around in shock, quickly slipping the ring into her pocket. “Loki.”

  “Mother told you to come with me.” The boy entered the room, his hands tucked away in his pockets. His restless eyes took her in, dancing up and down like the candlelight on the statue. “You’re not supposed to enter our house just like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma mumbled, feeling her cheeks burn. “I was just curious.”

  “Where’s that ring?”

  “W-what?”

  “I saw you taking something from the chapel, just now. Some sort of ring.”

  Crap. “I – I don’t have a ring.”

  “And I saw you putting it away. You’re a thief!”

  “Loki! I’m not a thief.” She grabbed his shoulders and shot him a pleading look. “Listen. We wanted to surprise your mother with a special present, but the delivery is late. Mr. Gabriel has left to call the company.”

  “I just saw him outside. He’s not making any phone calls. He’s just chatting to guests. And drinking.”

  Emma moved her mouth, but no words came out. She had no idea what to say. Had he really seen the ring? And if so, could he possibly know what it was? Of course he doesn’t know – he’s just a child!

  “You lied,” Loki concluded. “You’re a liar and a thief!” He spun away from her, slipping out of her grasp. The boy was stronger than Emma thought. For a second, Loki gazed at her darkly before turning around and running out of the chapel, screaming at the top of his voice.

  “Hey! Loki!” Emma ran after him. “Hold it!” She desperately surged forward when her arm hit a large, heavy candelabra. She reached for the thing to catch it, but it was too late. It thudded to the floor and the candles broke in two on the carpet. To Emma’s horror, the red floor covering caught fire almost immediately.

  For two immeasurably long heartbeats, she gaped at the fire, her panic rising as it clawed around the floor like an eager thief.

  Loki rushed back, undoubtedly to find out what all the commotion was about. He stared at the fire for a few silent moments.

  Smoke filled the hallowed space.

  The boy whipped around and fled from the house. She heard his shrill voice. “Fire! Fire!”

  Dizzy with fear, she trailed behind him as she struggled to remain uprigh
t.

  “Emma set the chapel on fire!”

  Damn it… what have I done?

  Uncle Peter didn’t say a single word on the way back home, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Emma sat in the backseat, hanging her head in shame. It wasn’t until they’d almost reached their street and Lili had slung an arm around her that she whispered: “I didn’t mean to.”

  Lili quietly pumped her hand as if to say: I believe you.

  Once upstairs, she slammed her door shut so fast that it popped back open immediately. Growling, she kicked it again, and this time, it remained closed. Emma fell backward onto her bed, allowing the anger to wash over her for a few minutes.

  House arrest.

  Uncle Peter might have believed that she hadn’t torched the place on purpose, but of course Dame Gracia had more power in her little finger than he had in his entire body. And she’d believed her son at his word.

  That little pest! That bored, spoiled rich kid!

  She should be grateful he hadn’t eavesdropped on her conversation with the Angel. Emma pulled the ring from her pocket and held it up in the dim light. The black stone looked like charcoal. It’s all we need to change history…

  This thing meant the end to the Ghettos. The end to poverty, and to Uriah’s sunken face.

  The end to the SIDR.

  But how could this ring serve any purpose at all if the person holding it was locked up with no possible way to contact the Freedom Fighters?

  Three days later, Lorelei knocked at Emma’s door.

  Emma was lying in bed again, her knees pulled up fetus-style. She turned the ring around and around in her fingers, the black stone catching the light on all sides. Outside, the rain beat the window panes with quick, angry lashes, as though it was trying to force its way inside. The drapes fluttered in the draft.

  “Come downstairs. We miss you,” Lorelei said softly.

  Quickly, Emma hid the ring in her coat pocket. “I’m grounded.”