INSURRECTIO

by Alison Morton

  ‘I’ll get some bin bags to put our stuff out in the alley, ready,’ said Calavia. ‘I just hope it’s not rubbish collection tonight.’

  By two o’clock, I was really worried. Calavia radioed our situation back to Styrax and advised her we would move now. I was washing my hands in the back basin, when I caught sight through the tiny window of a group of figures in black clothing creeping up the alley.

  Merda.

  I burst into the storeroom.

  ‘Enemy. In the alley. Up on the roof. Now.’

  Calavia shot up and we ran for the service stairs to the attic. The door was locked.

  ‘Fuck. Stand back,’ she hissed. She raised her leg, bent at the knee and arched her back. She slammed her foot against the middle edge of the door. It shivered, but didn’t give way.

  Shouts and the sound of running feet came from below.

  ‘One, two, three!’ We hurled ourselves at the door, shoulders first and it buckled, making an almighty crack as it gave way. We scrambled up the metal ladder and onto the roof. I searched round desperately, spotted a splintering duckboard and jammed it against the roof door under the handle. It might buy us a minute or two.

  Paula’s shop was one of a terrace. We sprinted along to the end where it dropped onto a curved tile roof. We leapt, knees bent. I slipped and landed face down, spreadeagled on the tile roof ridge. Calavia grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

  ‘No time to lie down, Major.’

  We hurled ourselves along the interconnected roofs of the old quarter. I kept my eyes on every single step I took. Gods, nearly tripped on a cracked one. Feet slipping on lichen or dirt. One mistake and we’d be stuffed. Then we came to a dead end. A fretwork parapet, then empty space. And voices behind us.

  Merda.

  Calavia glanced over at the building opposite.

  ‘We can make that. A run of two strides, third one on the edge of this parapet and throw ourselves over the gap. Fourth stride the far side parapet.’

  ‘Juno, you’re so bloody confident, Calavia.’

  ‘Nope, just a question of maths.’ She grinned. ‘I’ll go first.’ She ran back, took a deep breath, two long running strides and launched herself, landing on the opposite parapet, then running another stride for balance. She whirled round and beckoned. I hesitated, then heard thumping at the roof access door. I had no choice. I ran at it, aimed at the other side and threw myself into the air. The parapet hurtled towards me and I landed in Calavia’s arms.

  ‘Well done, Major. Now let’s get out of here.’ We were in the Macellum, the market square, on the roof of a department store. We hurried down through the access door, thankfully only on a loose hasp, and slipped into the women’s powder room.

  ‘Stay here,’ Calavia said. ‘I’ll go and forage some clothes. What size are you?’

  I locked myself in a cubicle and took some deep breaths and the opportunity to relieve myself. Had we lost Atrius? Maybe I’d underestimated Caius’s people. No, there weren’t the numbers on the street and we were off the CCTV coverage. The raid was specific. The only people who knew we were there were the three of us and Paula Atria. Had she waited until her brother was clear, then called the nationalists in? A wave of cold washed over me.

  Ten minutes later, I heard the outer door open, then a soft noise of carrier bags falling to the floor. Water from taps, then a roller towel machine yanked. Was it Calavia? I stayed quiet for a full minute then heard a few bars of a soft version of one of our marching songs.

  ‘Alone?’ I whispered.

  ‘Completely,’ came Calavia’s voice. I unlocked the door.

  She thrust a bag at me and a cardboard shoebox. We changed quickly and became two women on a shopping expedition. ‘The clothes are a bit conservative, but I thought we’d blend in better. I got you a brown wig and headscarf.’

  I shrugged on the shapeless dark green dress and grey anorak and transferred the things left in my jacket pocket to my new clothes. Thank the gods we had our money and fake ID on us. Sensible lace-ups and thick tights completed my outfit.

  ‘Gods, Calavia, I look like my mother on a bad day!’

  She grinned back, looking like a young country bumpkin, complete with below the knee skirt, knee socks and brogues. ‘You can be mine,’ she said and ducked as I flicked my fingers in her direction.

  ‘Very funny. Tell me, why isn’t the security detail in here, pursuing you for shoplifting?’

  ‘I, er, liberated some loud-mouthed woman’s purse. Her male companion had one of those vile nationalist armbands, so I reckoned she was fair game. And he seemed to be doing the buying.’

  ‘Many people about?’

  ‘Not so many as should be.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll take it slowly as we make our way out.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Only one place, the armourer’s house.’

  Clutching shopping bags concealing our walking clothes and boots, we dawdled through the ground floor, passing through the haberdashery and fabric department with their neat rolls of cloth, the wood and glass counter full of ribbons, and customer chairs in front. But nobody was buying. The solemn-faced doorman held the door open and nodded. Out in the street, the first thing we saw was a vigiles patrol car. Calavia’s grip on my arm tightened, but we carried on as if absorbed in our chatter.

  ‘We’ll have to walk. If we get on a bus and they do an ID check, we’re stuffed,’ Calavia whispered.

  ‘Our Helvetian papers should get us through a casual check, but yes, we’re too poor and countrified to be genuine.’

  We kept to the side streets and minimised our shoe noise on the pavement slabs, but it started to rain which accentuated the sound of our steps. After fifteen minutes, we reached the city wall at one of the former pedestrian gates. Locked, of course, but not guarded. I fished in my anorak pocket and produced a small black tool wallet.

  ‘When I was working for Plico I always carried these in my pocket just in case I was ever separated from my field bag. Plico always said they’d be as much use as the treasure of Cathay if you didn’t have it within finger reach.’ Gods, I missed him.

  Calavia watched the street, while I tackled the lock. The gate itself was recessed between two stone houses built after the need for defensive walls, so we weren’t in full view. Nevertheless…

  The lock was old fashioned, heavy and simple. The bottom edge of the door scraped on the cobbles as we tugged it open. We stopped and listened. Nothing but the sound of the rain in the grey and gloom of the late afternoon. We eased the gate open enough to pass through and heaved it shut behind us.

  The Vicus Fabricensium was one block away from the wall, a series of old stone cottages, some still with sheds and workshops at the side. At the end, a rock outcrop sheltered the last three of these artisans’ houses. The armourer’s was the last one in the row, larger and with the back built into the rock. We dawdled along on the opposite side, but couldn’t see any sign of vigiles or nationalists. Nobody was in the street; all the house shutters were closed. A few cars nested in drives here and there; one was already up on wooden blocks due to the petrol ban.

  ‘Right,’ I said, ‘let’s go and knock on the door, or we’ll never get out of this blasted rain.’

  Calavia stood to my right side and kept a discreet watch over my shoulder. The dull sound as I knocked echoed up the street. It probably didn’t travel that far, but it disrupted the silence. Then I spotted a doorbell. Damn. Of course, an armourer would probably have a metal reinforced door. I jabbed the bell push.

  The door opened, but was tethered by a chain.

  ‘What?’ A round face, veined, with dark eyes and topped with a grey bun stared out ferociously.

  ‘Friends of Atrius,’ Calavia said.

  ‘Nope, never heard of him.’ The door started to close, but Calavia had her foot in quicker.

 
‘Plico sends his regards,’ I added.

  ‘Ha! From Tartarus, then. He’s dead,’ the woman said.

  ‘And just how do you know that?’

  ‘Who are you to ask?’

  I pulled my headscarf back and turned my face into the light cast by the street light. ‘Look at me. Do you recognise me?’

  ‘Nah, never seen—’ Her eyes narrowed, then widened. ‘Oh, gods, you’re— You can’t be.’

  ‘Yes, I am and I’m wet and freezing out here.’

  The door slammed, a chain rattled and she flung the door open. ‘Come in, domina, quickly, and your companion.’ She ushered us into the vestibule and went back to secure the door. ‘Please, this way.’

  We followed her across the tiled floor into a side room. She bustled off with our outer garments. A fire crackled in the small grate and thick curtains made it cosy, almost airless. As she came back with warm honey drinks, she bowed. ‘I apologise for my rudeness, domina. Times are difficult, as you must have seen.’

  ‘I understand. The last thing I want to do is draw attention to you, so we’ll go as soon as we’ve finished.’

  ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish; I have two guest rooms, small but adequate. I’m not just being polite.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I studied her face for a few moments. ‘Tell me, did a young man, around thirty, tall, blue eyes, call here this morning?’

  She frowned. ‘No, nobody’s been here today.’

  I exchanged a look with Calavia, who pulled the front window curtains back together after looking through the gap in the shutters.

  ‘Not at all?’

  ‘No, did he have a message for me?’

  ‘He came to ask a few questions about events a week ago.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What do you mean “oh”?’ I frowned at her and crossed my arms. ‘Sit down, Armourer, and tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘It was the evening of the fires. I heard the sirens, then saw the local vigiles fire section engines rush through towards the city gates. I can’t remember last when they went out on a call – it’s quiet around here. Anyway, I was a bit deafened by the noise – my hearing’s not very good after all those years in the factories – and I didn’t hear the calling coming up from the cellar.’ She gave me an embarrassed look. ‘I keep the cellar door locked. Nobody’s used the tunnel in months. I went to the kitchen to bank the range and I heard banging on the cellar door and a child sobbing. I fetched my revolver, tweaked the key and stood back.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘A woman burst out half carrying a girl. The woman swore and shouted at me like I’ve never heard before, and believe me, in the armoury, I’ve heard some.’

  Volusenia, of course, and Silvia.

  ‘I didn’t know her from Juno. She wasn’t one of Plico’s people. She told me you’d sent her, she demanded this, that and everything, but she didn’t have any password or token, so I sent them on their way.’

  ‘You old fool,’ Calavia shouted. She grabbed the woman’s arm and shook her hard. ‘You idiot, that child was Silvia Apulia, Imperatrix Severina’s daughter, with Colonel Volusenia of the PGSF. They were running for their lives. Why in Hades did you think they were using the tunnel?’

  ‘Don’t shout at me! I was told to offer additional help only if they had the right password or token. Everything else was off limits. I’ve had some strange people through here over the years. Mostly, they just go without another word. Not even a thanks.’ She sniffed. ‘The woman wouldn’t give me her name. Just insisted they had to have help. How was I to know?’ She wrenched her arm away from Calavia’s grip.

  ‘Didn’t you recognise the girl?’ I said, keeping my temper caged.

  ‘One girl’s like any other.’ She looked away.

  I moved over to her chair and stood centimetres away from her so she had to crane her neck up.

  ‘So you sent them out into a night of riot without resupply of food and water or transport, or equipment.’ My voice was as icy as the wind off the northern mountains.

  ‘I—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I realised who it was after they’d gone and I rushed out to find them.’ She bowed her head. ‘But they’d disappeared.’ She looked up. ‘What’s happened to them?’

  The flickering firelight reflected the anxiety in her eyes.

  ‘I wish I knew,’ I replied.

  XXV

  We raided the armourer’s supplies and clothes stores, including a field survival kit and handheld radio; I was surprised the batteries were fully charged, but took a couple of spare sets and charger. We had to stay in contact with the others at Castra Lucilla. The armourer flitted around making us supper and drinks. I asked her to retire to her bedroom and close her door. Calavia looked as grim as I felt. We bent over the table to work out what to do next.

  ‘On the good side, we’re resupplied,’ I said, ‘but on the bad side, we have no idea what’s happened to Silvia, Volusenia or Atrius. Not an even balance, I think.’

  ‘How the hell did the nats know we were at Atrius’s sister’s?’

  ‘Either she contacted them after he’d left this morning or we have a leak somewhere else. On balance, I don’t think it was Paula Atria – she had too much to lose. They would have pulled her in as a matter of course and closed or confiscated her business. They may have done it anyway.’ Juno, another casualty. ‘Also, angry as she was at me, I don’t think she would betray her brother’s colleagues.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. Too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘If the nationalists have Atrius, we must consider the whole operation compromised. I can’t imagine Caius’s people would interrogate in line with standard operating procedure.’

  Calavia drew her hand over her eyes. ‘Poor sod.’

  I poured her a glass of water and pushed it across the table at her. Her hand trembled as she lifted the glass to her lips.

  ‘We can’t go looking for him, Pia. We have to prioritise finding Silvia Apulia. That’s our main mission.’ I looked at her steadily. ‘And if either of us is taken, the other one must push on with the mission.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am,’ she said in a dead voice.

  ‘Now you know Colonel Volusenia. What do you think she would do in these circumstances?’

  ‘She wouldn’t let anything interfere with her mission… I think she’d go for safety, let Silvia Apulia rest, so as not to compromise security.’

  ‘Are there any other safe houses? For this Aquila fallback plan, I mean.’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Very well. She’s not going to do anything obvious like going to her sister’s house – that would be dangerous in the extreme. The next logical thing would be an old friend. She’s aiming for the route over the mountains into New Austria, so she’d probably pick somebody on that road.’ I looked at Calavia. ‘Any thoughts?’

  ‘She sometimes goes horse-trekking with a friend who has a stud farm about twenty kilometres from here, but it’s north-west.’

  ‘But safe. And they’ll have been able to take horses from there.’

  Calavia nodded.

  ‘Right, we’ll grab a few hours’ sleep, then we set off for that farm. Check in with Styrax before we turn in.’

  *

  I asked the armourer for the van keys; it was kept for Plico’s operations, so I reckoned I could take it.

  ‘I can’t, domina.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, looking down my nose at her.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean you couldn’t have it, of course not,’ she stammered. ‘But it’s disappeared.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The night of the fires when the woman and girl were here.’

  ‘Show me the garage.’

  She led us through the kitchen and outside down a
narrow passageway to a low stone building. How on earth could a vehicle exit from here? The armourer flicked the light on to reveal a workshop, shelves to the side above a workbench onto which were bolted two vices. Tools were neatly stacked, boxed or hung on the wall with hooks. In the corner was a welding set with gas bottles and metal mask hanging above. More importantly, two large doors opposite us. But no vehicle, just a small circular oil stain on the slab floor. I crouched down. Nothing special. I glanced up at Calavia who shook her head. Just as I rose, I spotted the paper fixed with a piece of duct tape to the underside of the bench.

  The vulture has flown with the eagle.

  I smiled at Volusenia’s use of the nickname her troops gave her. So she’d come back and taken the vehicle. Probably hot-wired it. But where were they now?

  *

  We slid into the night through the side garden of the armourer’s house. The rain had turned to drizzle, but unlike our department store disguises our walking clothes kept the damp off. We crossed the scrub beside the houses, then past a small cluster of cottages, and finally on to open ground. Keeping to the field hedges, we made for a copse two hundred metres from the last house.

  While Calavia checked the compass bearings, I looked back at the city, now under control of Caius’s thugs. Somewhere in there, our comrade-in-arms was facing pain and humiliation and hundreds of thousands were anxious about their present and terrified of their future. We must take it back, throw Caius out and relieve the terror.

  ‘Ready,’ Calavia whispered. Tiny pale green dots glowed through the glass cover of the field compass she held – our only guide on our lonely mission.

  An hour later, a helicopter passed over us and we flung ourselves into the lee of a hedge and waited a good fifteen minutes after it had gone. We traipsed on in silence. After about ten kilometres, my legs were losing strength; the short sleep hadn’t been enough.

  ‘Sorry, Calavia, I’m going to have to rest for a few minutes.’

  We positioned ourselves at ninety degrees to each other to keep an eye out in both directions on the road in the valley below us. Calavia picked a grass stem and started chewing it. I took a long drink from my water bottle and studied her. Despite her competence, she was only a young girl, not much older than Marina, if that. I could have been her mother. My daughter was safe in the EUS, but this one was in as dangerous a place as she could be.