Orphan Monster Spy

by Matt Killeen

  Her feet slid away from her, and the floor seemed to be pitching upward. She tried to look Langefeld in the eye but couldn’t focus. The wood in her hand was slick with blood, and Sarah couldn’t think why. The stick . . .

  She jammed it between the legs of the desk and pulled violently. It snapped into several pieces, leaving a thirty-centimeter piece in her hand. She waved it in the air and then tossed it across the room. Sarah’s chest rose and fell as she faced Langefeld across the desk.

  Sarah, the dirty Jewess. Beaten but not beaten. A warmth spread across her face. She wanted to smile.

  “I’m not scared of you.”

  Langefeld turned the desk over with a scream and punched Sarah in the face. Sarah saw a burst of bright lights, like New Year’s fireworks. Langefeld threw her into the next row of desks, and she crashed to the floor. The other girls began screaming and pushing to get out of the way, knocking furniture over in the stampede.

  Langefeld reached down and pulled Sarah to her feet before hitting her again. This time there were no sparks, just a dull grayness with only the vaguest feeling of hitting a chair and landing on the floor.

  Sarah saw the ceiling, the peeling plaster, the heaters that were never on, the missing bulbs in the light fittings. There was more screaming, noise of a struggle, and swearing. Langefeld loomed over her and drew back a fist, but her swing missed as Sturmbannführer Foch wrapped his arms around her and carried her away.

  Sarah closed her eyes.

  She could feel crisp golden crust breaking between her teeth; soft white bread; creamy, cold cheese; and slices of tangy sausage . . . as the dream dissolved to the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, Sarah remembered being happy.

  * * *

  • • •

  “You’re in here far too much, you know that? Mouth.” Frau Klose shoved her thermometer under Sarah’s tongue and maneuvered her face from side to side. A few days later, her fat lip was already healing, but her eye was still swollen. “You’re very clumsy.” She yanked the glass out of Sarah’s mouth and stood up to examine the mercury under a light. “Let me see your back.”

  She pulled Sarah’s nightdress up to her neck and saw a series of horizontal welts running down from her shoulder blades to her backside. Still visible under the antiseptic cream were the scabs where the rod had broken the skin.

  “Even the army doesn’t flog their soldiers anymore. That woman is everything that’s wrong with this country,” said Klose, more sad than angry, reapplying cream where it had rubbed off.

  “Thought you didn’t like us.” Sarah squirmed. Each stroke was exquisitely sore.

  “I don’t. If someone dropped a bomb on this place with you all inside, the world would be a better place. Still, she’s gone now.”

  “Where did she go?” Sarah was surprised, even pleased.

  “Away from here, with her suitcase packed. That SA Arschloch insisted. He had to be stopped from putting a bullet in her head. Lunatics running an asylum, in every sense.” She began to prepare a syringe. “You should thank your little friend for fetching him.”

  “Who?”

  “What’s she called? Mauser. Off like a shot as that obrzydliwa suka laid into you. Found the one person here who would give a damn. Clever girl.”

  Sarah cried out as the nurse pushed the drug into her back. “What about my hand?”

  “What about it?”

  “I still can’t feel one of my fingers.”

  “Can you move it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then get over it.”

  “My wrist is sore,” she complained.

  “Because she broke it. Rest it. Wipe your dupa with your other hand.”

  Then Sarah thought about the Captain, about Elsa, about bombs and flattened cities.

  “When can I get out of here?”

  “I’ve seen to your friend. Not over the hump, but he’s alive. Still sleeping. I gave him some more sulfonamide, but I had to keep some back for you, you selfish księżniczka.” She collected her things. “Stay in bed. If you rub that back on anything, you’ll look like a washboard for the rest of your life.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Ursula Haller,

  You are commanded to come before der Werwolf.

  Midnight in the chapel.

  Tell no one.

  SARAH FOUND ALL the doors from the dormitory to the chapel unlocked. The way was prepared for her. She had considered not going, but whoever it was would find her eventually. Sarah thought of Julius Caesar marching to Rome to declare himself emperor. He stopped at the river, marking the border, knowing that to march his legions across it was a crime. Once he’d done that, there was no way back. It was all or nothing. Of course, it was too late to turn back by then anyway: trouble was coming regardless.

  One way or another, Sarah felt the move had already begun, and she was, like the Roman general, already committed. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere else to go and no fear left. She was also deeply curious. The Ice Queen had to be behind this, and with the Captain still alive, her mission still stood.

  She crept along the wooden floors out of habit, but she knew she could have marched through the corridors whistling. The invitation was probably the work of the Schulsprecherin, and Sarah was under no illusion as to who really ran the school.

  An orange light spilled from the chapel doorway. It might have looked welcoming if it wasn’t for the icy air. Sarah hadn’t worn her coat, as it hurt her back too much. She let her body shiver and breathed into her cupped hands for a minute before entering.

  Don’t creep onto the stage. Let everyone see you, no matter how small your part.

  Sarah pushed the door wide open, scraping and creaking on the stone floor.

  The chapel was filled with hundreds of lit candles. In their light, Sarah could see the pews had been pushed out of the way to make a central space. Eight girls stood in a circle—Elsa, Eckel, Kohlmeyer, and the others—robed in white, like crusading knights from a painting. At their center stood the Ice Queen, her hands on the hilt of a broadsword so tall that its tip sat on the flagstones.

  The need to know eclipsed her suspicions, like a badly written book that had to be read to the end.

  “Enter, sister.”

  The chapel was small, and where Sarah had expected the girl’s voice to reverberate, it was close and muffled. Sarah stepped into the ring, her heart racing. Try as she might to control it, the breath curling out of her nostrils betrayed her. Sarah looked behind the older girl and could see, in one gloomy corner, the silhouette of the three stone hares on the outside of the transept window.

  Endless, circling, always running, but never to be caught.

  The Ice Queen began to talk.

  “Long ago, the Teutonic Knights traveled these Germanic forests, driving lesser peoples from our land, performing acts of valor and self-sacrifice. Our people are only now remembering who we are and where we come from.

  “We stand in this place of worship, a monument to a dying and irrelevant god, as we form a New Order. An Order committed to the one people, the one Reich, the one Germany.”

  The sword was dull and pitted with rust spots, as if it had hung unused for decades. Whatever the girls had planned for her, it did not involve the blade. She glanced at Elsa, but her eyes were hidden from view.

  The Ice Queen raised her voice. “The Führer is human and will one day leave us, but the Reich will last for a thousand years in our care. We are der Werwolf, the fastest and most feared hunters of the forest. We will hide among the weak and overlooked, only to rise when called to devastate, to decimate, to dominate.

  “Ursula Haller, you have shown yourself once intelligent, twice cunning, and thrice strong. You are a worthy daughter of the Third Reich. And now is your time to join us.”

  Sarah felt something wake deep inside her. It bubbled up, entering her m
outh like a train, and exploding into the air before she could stop it.

  She laughed, a surprised and derisive exclamation that subsided into a helpless giggle. Like Caesar, sandals wet and silted, climbing up the bank, there was no going back.

  “Sorry, go on,” Sarah said as she got herself under control, hand in front of her mouth.

  The Ice Queen tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Then the cloud passed.

  “I was very wrong about you, Haller . . . and you go on surprising me. I mistook your size for weakness, your obstinacy for pride. But you are fearless.” She could not keep the admiration out of her voice. Then she smiled, a true, joyful grin that changed her face completely. “It’s a valuable trait. We need women who are fearless. Langefeld liked the means too much, and she didn’t really believe in the ends. Removing her was an act of valor and self-sacrifice.” The smile vanished. “Take hold of the blade.”

  Sarah cautiously took the sword in her hands, using her fingertips to cling to it over her bandage and splint.

  “Tighter, that’s right,” the Ice Queen ordered. “Now, repeat after me.”

  She spoke the lines and Sarah repeated them, lying with the ease of an actress.

  “I swear allegiance to der Werwolf and my fellow wolf-sisters

  With the aim to maintain the Reich for a thousand years in thought and deed,

  To wait patiently until called and then rise like vengeance,

  To commit whatever acts are necessary for our continued glory,

  And I swear that if one dark day the enemies of Germany overwhelm us,

  And I am the last true Aryan warrior,

  My last act will be to destroy all that is within my power to destroy,

  Kill all those it is within my power to kill,

  And, finding myself in hell, to make the devil himself fear me.”

  The Ice Queen pulled the blade up suddenly, and Sarah felt the rough edge break her skin. The other girls crowded about her and wrapped their hands around hers, grabbing and pulling until her blood was smeared on their hands.

  This is insane, thought Sarah.

  “Your pure German blood, mixed with ours,” the Ice Queen whispered reverently, before shouting, “you are now one of us!”

  The other girls threw their hands into the air and began to howl like dogs.

  Sarah choked down another laughing fit and, letting her head fall back, she joined in.

  Take my dirty, filthy, Jewish, lesser people’s, substandard, communist, Mischlings, Untermenschen blood and drink that down, you deluded little monsters. I hope it infects you. I hope you choke on it.

  The others rubbed her gore across their cheeks as they wailed, so Sarah clenched her fist to squeeze out a little more blood and painted her own face. Then she raised her hands and looked into the Ice Queen’s eyes.

  This I swear . . . Sarah thought.

  I will wait patiently until called, and then I will rise like vengeance

  To commit whatever acts are necessary to end your glory,

  And I swear that if one dark day you, the enemies of Germany, overwhelm me,

  And I am the last true German,

  My last act will be to destroy all that is within my power to destroy,

  Kill all those it is within my power to kill,

  And, finding myself in hell, deliver you to the devil myself.

  * * *

  • • •

  The girls were removing their robes and putting out the candles when the Ice Queen beckoned Sarah.

  “Your place in der Werwolf is, like its existence, a secret. Should you wish to continue plowing your lonely furrow surrounded by the feeble and pathetic, then you may.” She turned to go, folding her robe. Sarah raised a hand to stop her and shook her head.

  “Why am I here if the Mouse is so pointless?” Her voice was incredulous.

  “You stood up for someone under your command. That was noble. Such sacrifices may be needed before the final victory. Besides”—her voice dropped—“you have been our shadow these last few weeks. You know your mistake.” With that, Sarah’s elevation became her acquiescence. “And I have been persuaded of your value by others. I think you know what you must do.”

  “Yes, Schulsprecherin,” Sarah said. Submission. Subjugation. She forced a smile, and it felt like grease oozing out of an engine.

  “Good. Carry on.” The Ice Queen marched toward the chapel door as the last few candles were snuffed out.

  “Hello, Haller,” said a voice.

  “What now?” groaned Sarah. She was tired and had lost interest in this game.

  “I thought I should introduce myself properly, now that you’re one of us. My name is Elsa Schäfer.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Wake up. Come on, hup.”

  The Captain groaned and opened one eye. “What in hell’s name did you tell that Polack about me?”

  His voice was still weak, but now it seemed like it was carrying toward her from a distant hill, rather than away into the wind.

  “That you’re a dirty communist Jew and British spy . . . or that you’re a poacher, I forget which. Anyway, guess what? As of last night, I’m friends with Schäfer, or at least whatever passes for friendship among the little monsters,” Sarah reported joyfully, as she sorted through her pilfered food.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “Fun and games.”

  “How . . . Never mind. What do you think of Fräulein Schäfer?”

  Sarah thought about this. “There’s something . . . different about her. Something wrong.”

  The Captain snorted. “There’s something wrong with all of them.”

  “More than that . . .”

  I heard what you did to Langefeld. That was . . . very special. It impressed us, impressed me.

  Just couldn’t . . . she kept . . . she was a bad teacher.

  Yes, she was—and you just took it and took it until she couldn’t do it anymore?

  Something like that.

  That’s very brave, I think. To deal with that. Just the kind of person I was looking for. I like your hair.

  Thank you, yours is . . . really nice, too.

  I think we should be friends.

  Are we allowed friends?

  Oh, yes. Just people at our level. You’re one of us now.

  There was something about her self-confidence, her arrogance that was . . . desperate.

  “Well . . .” The Captain pulled himself into a sitting position, his voice growing stronger. “Tell her I’m away this Christmas, that you’ll be all alone. Ask if you can stay with her. Get yourself in that house. Any way you can.”

  “You’re mistaking me for someone likable again,” she said, handing him some food. But Sarah didn’t feel that way. Not anymore.

  “Fake it. You know you can.”

  She did. She could do this. But what was this? “And then what?”

  “Do the little-girl-lost act. Wander around until you find his labs, find out everything you can. Steal his notes. Sabotage stuff. You’re an amazing thief and a nosy little madam. Just be yourself.”

  “Oh, you have a plan,” she declared theatrically. “Here I was thinking we were making this up as we went along. Very reassuring.” She fished a bottle from the bag and knelt next to him. “Really? I don’t even understand what I’m looking for.”

  “The plan was for you to let me in so I could snoop around. But thanks to your clinical negligence, you’ll be lucky if I’m waiting for you outside in the car . . .”

  He winced suddenly and went pale. Sarah’s stomach heaved at how precarious her triumph was. Not now. Not this close. He’s all I have. She moved in and wrapped an arm around his head. “Have some water.”

  “I’m sick of water. I’ve been in prisons with better service
.”

  “It’s the last lap. Not long to go.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Sarah was at the top of the drainpipe and had just put her arm over the sill when the voice spoke.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  Startled, she immediately lost her footing on the brickwork and began to fall. The girl above grabbed her and dragged Sarah up and through the window. They collapsed onto the landing, Sarah on top.

  “You’re a walking accident, Haller.” Elsa giggled. “Now you owe me your life.”

  “Many thanks,” said Sarah, rubbing her wrist. She was desperately tired.

  “The question stands, though. Why are you wandering around outside? Why are you always wandering around in the middle of the night?” Elsa was beyond curious. This was an accusation.

  “I’m not always wandering.” Think.

  “Tonight, last night . . .”

  “The secret meeting was last night,” Sarah scoffed.

  “But where were you all of last week? Where were you tonight?”

  “Haller? Is that you?” The Mouse was standing in her nightdress at the end of the landing, rubbing her eyes.

  “Yes, Mouse. Go back to bed,” snapped Sarah.

  “Who’s that with you?” The Mouse looked quizzical, but also betrayed. Hurt.

  “Mouse . . .” Sarah looked at Elsa’s face, fox-like, judging. “It’s none of your business,” finished Sarah with spite. The Mouse’s eyes widened.

  “B-but,” the Mouse stuttered. “What are you doing with her? Haller, you don’t—”

  “Go to bed and leave me alone. Now.” The Mouse looked like she’d been struck. Her bottom lip quivered once, and then she ran. Sarah felt dirty, but she wasn’t done. Elsa would demand more. Elsa would want more. “Gottverdammtes girl. Always trailing after me.”

  “Well, some of us are leaders and some of us are followers.” Elsa nodded. “She’s keeping tabs on you, though. If you’ve got a secret, she’s dangerous . . . So what is your secret, Haller?” She grinned the way a dog grins before it attacks.