Sixth Seal

by Thornbrugh, Josh

  “Why don’t you take a break? Go get some water and sit down for a while. I can manage on my own.”

  Amelia looked around as though part of a conspiracy. “I’m not allowed another break for a few hours, Miss.”

  Hannah had heard rumors of the Nazis literally working people to death, but she had never really witnessed it first hand. She wondered how long it had been since this woman had eaten.

  “Is there a commissary here?”

  Amelia nodded.

  Hannah took off her security badge and handed it to Amelia. “Here, I want you to go to the commissary and tell them you’ve been ordered to deliver lunch to Miss Klein in the archives. If they give you any trouble, tell them I’m working directly for Doctor Altman and he has given me free reign over this facility.”

  She accepted the badge, but Hannah could tell she was confused and perhaps a little reluctant. She took Amelia's wrist and gently rubbed the Star of David. She brought it to her lips and kissed it. There was a glimmer of recognition. A perceptible wave of relief washed over her.

  “When you return, bring the food into the archive room. I may not be here when you get back, so I want you to find a secluded spot where you can eat in private.”

  Amelia’s eyes were rimmed with tears. “God bless you, Miss.”

  Hannah nodded, then unlocked the door and put the key back in Amelia’s hand. “Go ahead. And remember to show them my badge.”

  An abrupt squeaking noise startled Amelia. She turned quickly, nearly dropping the keys. The sound seemed to be coming toward them from the next aisle. Both women stood still, holding their breath, until the front of a book cart poked around the end of the shelves. Hannah heard Amelia sigh and saw her body relax.

  “Sorry, Miss. It’s just Peter. He often comes by and helps me put books back on the shelves.”

  Peter looked to be no older than ten or twelve. His tousled chestnut hair stuck out from beneath a cap that was a size too big. He grinned when he caught sight of Amelia, revealing a missing front tooth.

  “Hello, Amelia. There weren’t very many books left out, so I almost got them all put away.” He pushed the squeaky cart to one side of the aisle, and walked up to meet the newcomer.

  Amelia turned to Hannah. “Peter, this is Miss Klein. She will be doing some research in the archives. Why don’t you see if you can help her while I go downstairs.”

  “Yes, Amelia.”

  “Thank you, Peter. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  Hannah watched Amelia walk back down the aisle. She started to follow her to make sure she made it down the stairs when Peter grabbed her hand.

  “Are you Hannah?”

  “How did you know my name?”

  “Jacques told me to keep an eye out for you. Actually he told all of us, me and the other boys, to keep an eye out for you. He wants to meet with you.”

  Hannah’s heart raced. “Have you heard from the Bishop?”

  “No, Miss. I don’t go to the church much. Usually Jacob or Charles takes the food to the Bishop. I mostly run errands for Jacques and help Amelia when I can.”

  “But Jacques must have met with the Bishop if he knew to look for me, so the Bishop must be alright.” Despite the obvious logic, she was still very worried about what had happened to the poor man after the SS had found her on his doorstep.

  “I suppose, Miss. Can you come with me now to see Jacques?” He pulled on her hand.

  She looked back down the aisle, wondering where Niklas was and whether or not her list was keeping him busy.

  “Don’t worry, Miss. I know a back way out of the library.”

  The tall shelves made Hannah feel like a mouse in a maze. She hoped they were rushing towards reward rather than punishment. Peter led her deftly through row after row until, at last, they were standing in an alcove. The room beyond held several rows of tables with odd-looking machines perched on them. The closest table had a small stack of punch cards on top of it. Hannah picked one off the top and examined it. There was a row of abbreviations and below them the card had been punched out in several places. A swastika was embossed toward the upper middle of the card and the title underneath it read, census. She was about to ask Peter about the cards when he spoke.

  “They’re census cards, Miss. The Nazis use them to keep track of the Jewish people.”

  So that’s how they’ve been so successful at rounding up and corralling her people like cattle, she thought. Leave it to the Nazis to automate genocide. The anger that lived somewhere deep inside her began bubbling its way to the surface. She wanted nothing more than to throw each and every one of these vile machines to the floor. A gentle tug on her sleeve brought her back to her senses.

  “Don’t worry, Miss. These Hollerith’s don’t work anyway.” He must have seen the question on her lips because he answered before she could ask. “Me and the boys took out a few of the pieces.”

  Hannah chuckled, her anger subsiding. “Won’t they just repair them?”

  “Probably, but it takes ‘em a long time. Nobody here knows how. They have to get someone all the way from Berlin to come work on them.”

  Hannah put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Peter.”

  He smiled, and then pulled her forward. “Come on, Miss. We need to hurry.”

  Peter led her around the tables of broken machines and stopped in front of a large window. He lifted the latch and pushed the two panes outward. He was over the threshold and standing on the fire escape in a matter of seconds.

  He poked his head back in. “This way, Miss, don’t worry, they don’t use this side of the building much.”

  When she was through, Peter closed the window and then motioned her to follow him down. Her boots clicked on the iron steps, each one making her tenser than the last. Peter stopped in front of her, peering cautiously into an open window. A moment later he waved her on. They continued down the next flight until they came to the end.

  “We’ll have to jump down, Miss. It’s too hard to put the ladder back up from below.” He winked at her. “We don’t want ‘em Nazis getting suspicious.”

  He climbed over the edge, hung on with both hands, swung his feet out a little, and then dropped to the ground. He landed on his feet, then fell on his bottom, looking none the worse for wear. He stood and dusted himself off before motioning for her to jump. She wished she had put on her breeches this morning instead of her uniform skirt. Oh well, she thought, perhaps a brief peep show would be Peter’s reward for all of his hard work. She turned around and slid over the edge, her skirt slowly riding up until she managed to get her lower half over the railing. She kept a firm grip on the edge and slowly rocked her body back and forth. When she felt the time was right, she released and landed firmly on the ground. She stood, pressed her skirt back in place, and looked at Peter. His mouth was agape.

  She smiled and shook his shoulder. “Hadn’t we best be getting along?”

  He shook himself out of his reverie. “Oh, yes, Miss. This way.”

  The back of the University looked to be a commons. There were wrought iron benches and tree-lined pathways spiraling outward from a stone fountain. There was no water flowing down from Venus or the strategically placed clamshells below her, but it was still a thing of wonder to Hannah. It reminded her of what she was fighting for.

  Just like most of the streets, the commons was also deserted. Apparently the Nazis were all work and no play.

  “We need to run fast to the hedgerow along the street, Miss. Hopefully nobody will see us through the windows.”

  Hannah nodded. Peter took off like he’d been wound up tight. She followed, catching up with him quickly. They ran side by side down a graveled pathway, through a line of trees, out into an open area, back through another line of trees and out again, until finally reaching the hedgerow. Peter put up a hand and motioned for her to keep low. He pushed through a narrow opening in the hedge and paused. Apparently he was ch
ecking to see if the way was clear.

  “Alright, Miss. We need to run across the street and into the alley as fast as we can.”

  Without hesitation, Peter pushed through the hedge and darted into the street. She was still pushing her way through when she noticed Peter was already across. He was in the alley waving his arms frantically. Then she heard the familiar sound of a Citroen’s engine. She froze, hoping she was still hidden well enough. Peter pressed himself to the alley wall, as the engine grew louder.

  A moment later a black Citroen rumbled past. It was befitted with two Nazi flags on the fenders. Had that been Henryk inside? He was the last person she wanted to run into. She dreaded the next time they would meet. She still didn’t know what kind of unspeakable things he had in mind for her.

  The Citroen turned a corner. Hannah waited until its noisy growl faded from earshot. Peter was waving her on from across the street. She pushed through the hedge and darted across without looking back.

  “That was close, Miss. Good thing you’re such a fast runner.”

  She took of his cap, tousled his hair even further, and then set the hat back askew on his head. “Good thing I have such a good guide.”

  He blushed a little, straightened his cap, and then led her down the alley. When they reached a rough door near the end, he knocked three times in quick succession, then three times more, and finally ended with two short knocks. The door opened narrowly, revealing a wary eye.

  A gravelly voice came from within. “Is this the one Jacques spoke of?”

  Peter nodded.

  “Very well,” said the man. He opened the door and ushered them into a tiny kitchen.

  When Hannah was inside, the man shut the door, and then pushed her up against it. He patted her down, presumably looking for weapons. She tensed, but kept control of herself. She knew he was just doing what was necessary to protect his compatriots.

  “Sorry, Miss. Jacques doesn’t let outsiders in with weapons.”

  “I understand.” She paused, waiting for an introduction.

  He looked as if he wasn’t used to such niceties, but he complied nonetheless. “I am Gregory, but I’m of no importance. Jacques is the man you want.”

  The stout man rubbed his palms on a dirty apron, then ran his fingers through a head of thick, dark hair. Despite his height, there was something about him that was commanding, forceful even. He seemed to be a man of little nonsense. No doubt he was an invaluable asset to the Resistance. He uttered something to a slender young man washing dishes in the opposite corner of the little kitchen. The young man jumped to action, quickly gathering items from the pantry.

  “Best to talk business over a meal. Let’s introduce you to Jacques while the kitchen puts some food together.”

  Gregory guided them through the narrow kitchen, through a curtained doorway and into a small dining area. There were several patrons who looked to be local. She detected the briefest note of panic on their faces when they saw her, but something in Gregory’s demeanor must have allayed their fears.

  “This way, Miss.” Gregory held back another curtain as they passed through.

  They were alone in what looked to be a private dining area. There was only one table surrounded by four ornate wooden chairs. The walls were a deep red crowned at the ceiling in gold filigree. A single, large painting of the battle of Waterloo stretched nearly from floor to ceiling behind the table. The room looked slightly too formal for such an establishment. Perhaps they occasionally hosted a local dignitary here.

  Gregory pulled the dining table away from the wall, slid a chair out of his way, and then pulled back on the thick gilded frame of the painting. To her amazement there was an opening behind it. Gregory knocked on a makeshift, recessed door with the same series of taps as Peter had upon their arrival. The door opened inward to reveal a dimly lit room with a small table at its center.

  There were several men on the inside, but she knew instinctively which one was Jacques, and he wasn’t the one at the door. Jacques sat at the head of the table, papers spread out before him. He looked up and caught her gaze. His dark, black hair was pulled tightly back, framing a rugged yet gentle face. Even in the dim light, she could see his deep blue eyes sizing her up. His voice matched his features, rugged yet gentle.

  “Please come in, Hannah.”

  She nodded and then turned to Peter, leaning down to look him in the eyes. “I need you to go back to the library for me. If Niklas starts asking about me, try to stall him, make something up. Oh, and watch out for Amelia for me.” This time she winked at him.

  Peter smiled, took off his cap and tried to straighten his hair as if presenting himself for duty. “Yes, Miss.”

  She gave him a salute and watched him scurry off. Gregory helped her through the narrow opening into the hidden room. He closed the door behind her. She could hear him sliding the table and chairs back into place.

  “Please have a seat, Hannah. We have much to discuss.” Jacques cool eyes met hers.

  Hell Hath No Fury

  Everything went black. The world returned to her, as though it was a great machine warming up after having been left idle for too long. Ana was vaguely aware of a voice droning on in the background. She struggled to make sense of her surroundings. The mahogany desk was gone, as were the windows. She was still strapped to a chair, but it was a different chair in a different room. There was nothing but a muddy light with an indeterminable source, and an incessant droning emanating from the void. It was like a litany being repeated to her at high speed. It was too fast to make sense of. She strained to separate an identifiable strand from the constant barrage. Alpha. A wave of elation ran through her. She definitely heard the word alpha. She listened for it again. There. It repeated once every few seconds. If she could just make sense of the last word, maybe she could break it down. Omega. The contorted face of the old man, Martin, flashed before her, angry and shouting. Was it a bit of memory? What had he done inside her mind?

  More of the world came into focus. The room was much larger than she had first been aware, as though a fog lifted to reveal that which had been hidden. Hospital beds? There were four hospital beds in front of her; three of them occupied. An old man in one, a middle-aged woman in another, and a child, a young boy in the third. They were all asleep, or at least they appeared to be. Each one had an oxygen mask and tubes of various lengths connected to their arms and poking out from beneath their blankets. She now realized part of what she thought was the litany, was actually the blips and bleeps coming from the monitors positioned next to each bed. She tried to drown out the noise of the room and focus solely on the stream of words.

  Alpha. DivinationUplinkInitiatedProtectorateDigamma. Omega. The litany cycled through her mind again. With each pass she isolated words and slowed the pattern down, until each word came to her one after the other. Alpha-Divination-Uplink-Initiated-Protectorate-Digamma-Omega. It was the book. It was speaking to her. She realized it was waiting for a response to something that she initiated. Again, a memory of Martin’s face flashed before her. How long was he inside her mind, bending her to his will? It was so hard to make sense of things. What was it that he kept saying to her? Where is the Eye of Jupiter? Initiate the sequence?

  Memory returned to her. Martin ripped through her being, digging for what he was after. He had done what so many others failed to do, including Doctor Gabriel. He brought her memories back to her. Not just those of this life, but those of the others. There were so many others. She had indeed been Joan d’Arc. She remembered burying the book beneath the sanctuary, and then cursing those who were after it while the flames danced before her eyes. She cursed the Horsemen on that day as they watched her burn to death. Part of that curse also wiped the existence of the book from her memory. She spent the next lifetimes wandering the world in varying states of sanity, knowing she was meant for a greater purpose, but unable to remember what it was, until finally it came to her on her thirteenth birthday. She had been l
ittle Hannah Klein then, and it was the first time in nearly five hundred years she remembered her purpose. Now she remembered it all over again. It wasn’t what she had assumed. The litany interrupted her thoughts, and at last she understood it. Alpha-Divination-Uplink-Initiated-Protectorate-Digamma-Omega.

  “Scry divination. Imperio a protectorate digamma. Respondere.” She spoke the words in one of the accepted command languages able to invoke the book’s core functions.

  The litany stopped. The scene in front of her eyes was replaced with another. There was no sound. She was looking at a small room with a clean, modern couch. A family portrait in oil hung above it. The face of the old woman in the painting looked familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to her. Ana’s field of vision was fairly narrow and everything seemed distorted, as though she was looking through a fish bowl.