Henry hoped he wouldn’t stay long enough for that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After several daily visits, Andeal obtained his first reaction from Hans Vermen. He had decided from the very start he would not inflict on their prisoner what he had lived through. Every day he brought the captain his meal, and while the man ate, Andeal chatted. He talked about his parents and his time in Altaer, studying electrical engineering like his mom. He talked about Maniel, about the weather outside, or the most recent news on the National Radio. Anything. Vermen occasionally rewarded him with a nod or a snarky comment. He never engaged the discussion. After ten, thirty, sometimes sixty minutes, Andeal picked up the empty plate and left. Their forced guest might as well have been a statue.
Today Vermen gulped down his meal as though he hadn’t eaten in days. He set the bowl down and laid back on his mattress. Andeal frowned but finished his account of the weather outside. Experience had taught him that when one lost track of time, sanity soon followed. He refused to keep a prisoner in conditions that’d risk driving him insane.
“Leave me alone,” Vermen said the moment he fell silent. “I never asked for company.”
“No need to ask to receive.”
“What if I want to be rid of it?”
Andeal chuckled despite the captain’s seriousness. “I cannot imagine why you’d want such a thing.” Truth was, he could. A misguided sense of duty or a complete ignorance of what imprisonment was. Both, most likely. “If you’re tired of my talking, you should consider participating in the conversations more.”
Vermen didn’t rise to the bait. He stared at him, lips sealed, until Andeal had enough. With an exasperated sigh, he rose, snatched the bowl, and made for the exit. Stupid stubborn captain. He’d erected a wall around himself and refused to let it down, not even for his own sake. Perhaps rotting in his cell for days would make him change his mind.
The bed creaked. A strong hand grabbed Andeal’s shirt and jerked him. As the dish slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor, Vermen stepped aside, pulled him back, and slammed him against the wall. The shock sent waves of pain up Andeal’s spine and light flashed before his eyes. The captain’s warm fingers wrapped in a tight grip around his throat. Well…at least he no longer squirmed at the thought of touching him?
“I’ve had enough of your game,” Vermen said. “What do you expect? You think coming here and chatting will turn me into a traitor? I have vowed my life to protect and serve Ferrys. President Kurtmann put it—and all the United countries—back on their feet after the Plague. I am proud to defend the Union, like my brother before me, and I will not break my oath.”
“No?” Andeal wriggled against the wall. His heart hammered against his chest. He could tell him the truth, that he was trying to make Vermen’s stay bearable. But that wasn’t all, and he’d at last made a dent in the fortress. He intended to push it. “Tell me, proud defender, why don’t you kill me now and escape? Why did you leave your troops to go running after Seraphin?”
Vermen’s grip faltered and Andeal gulped the welcome air. His shirt stuck to his arms and back from sweat. Perhaps provoking him wasn’t the best idea. The man’s eyes narrowed. He pressed his body closer.
“I asked permission. I am charged by General Clarin to hunt your lot down.”
“I investigated. They called you a deserter.” Anger flashed in the captain’s eyes and he shoved him hard into the wall. Andeal gritted his teeth against the throbbing in his back but continued. “You disobeyed and risked your entire military career to kill Seraphin, yet you never shot him. What now? What is next for Captain Hans Vermen?”
His question went unanswered. Vermen let go, spun on his heels, and returned to the bed. A new mask hid his feelings. Andeal rubbed his neck. His words had hit a nerve. All he needed was to go just a bit further. He cleared his throat, hoping the captain would turn around and look at him. No such luck.
“If you had answers for this question, you would’ve tried to escape.”
Andeal bent and picked up the dropped bowl. The leftover sauce had spilled into a lovely white pool. Vermen could clean with whatever he wanted if it bothered him. For now, Andeal left his unwilling guest to his thoughts.
It occurred to him this spat might fortify his resolve and hatred for the rebels. Andeal hoped this dangerous game would be worth it.
* * *
The message taunted him.
Henry had flattened the rag on his empty school desk, next to the face-down family picture. At this distance Henry could see brown scribbles in the familiar cursive of his father’s handwriting but not read them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, either.
Henry had avoided reading it in his first few days. It could wait: he wouldn’t leave until he was certain the soldiers were no longer in Ferrea. Instead he had rested his still-sore muscles and visited the dining area. The network of tunnels still confused him, but he had learned the path to the large cavern by heart. There always seemed to be a handful of rebels there—more at any given time than Ferrea’s entire population. The population of four. If Paul, Kinsi and Tia hadn’t left yet. The thought had dampened Henry’s mood on his first visit. He’d sat alone at a table and watched as rebels played a game in which they threw tiny sacks of sand at a wooden board with holes of different sizes. The larger the hole, the fewer points it was worth. Cheers and taunts echoed off the stalactites with every throw.
After a while one of the rebels invited him to play. He had the angular nose and dark traits typical of Burgians, and an easy smile to go with them. The latter might’ve been inviting if not for his bright red hair. Henry had never left Ferrea in his life but even he knew that was how Burgians marked those they exiled for petty crimes. He’d refused. They had laughed and teased him for his obvious fear. The Burgian—his name was Joshua—repeated his offer on the second day, then the third, until Henry gave in and proved to them what a terrible shot he was.
Through all of this something nagged at his mind, however. Sometimes the rebels would discuss their operations. They would argue over which suppliers to see next, or how long it’d take Seraphin to finally execute Captain Vermen and whether or not they’d find the evidence they were looking for. Although mention of the cold execution sent a shiver down Henry’s spine, it was the rare talk of evidence that bothered him. True, the rebels seemed more concerned by food supplies—which he approved of—and vengeance—which made him uncomfortable. But wasn’t the paper trail their ultimate goal? He couldn’t get Andeal’s words out of his head. He had thought Henry might know something. He was wrong, but what if that something was in the message?
What if the very words sitting on his desk right now contained an answer to the rebels’ problems?
Henry didn’t know what to expect anymore. The man Andeal and Maniel spoke of was not the father he’d known. Would these words come from Lenz Schmitt the hero or Lenz Schmitt the deserter? Or better yet, would they be from the father? Henry briefly reached for the rag, then pulled back his trembling hand. Panic quickened his breath and drilled a hole in his stomach. Better not to hope for the father.
He cast a glance at the tiny, stifling room. Was it growing narrower? No. That was him. Henry forced himself to take deep breaths. He trailed his gaze along the contour of his desk, switching from inhaling to exhaling as he passed a corner. It worked better with rectangles such as doors, like Tia had taught him, but with time the void in his belly diminished. He continued until his hands no longer shook.
He could read this message. He had to. Eight years of false hopes and riddles were enough.
Before he took the plunge, he closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the winds. Let it be personal and meaningful. Let it justify the departure and mend his wounds. Let it answer his questions.
A strange calm settled over Henry Schmitt. His eyes fluttered open and he let his gaze find the first of his father’s words.
“Henry, if you have this I must be dead. I’m sorry I never came back. Now listen, you
better have kept that balloon safe. Inside it a double pocket is sewn. You’ll find a recording there, and important papers. Get the word out. This cannot be silenced.
Lenz.”
You’d better have kept that balloon safe. Henry reread the sentence, again and again, anger speeding his heart. Keep the balloon’s envelope safe. Words scribbled on a memo, left in the dead of night as Lenz vanished from his life. And now, words written in blood on a scrap of cloth, crashing into him with more strength than the waterfall outside.
With a cry of rage, Henry threw the bloody message across his room and slammed his fist on the desk. What did he care about the balloon? He wanted love, not another ghost-given mission! He shouldn’t have read it. Lenz had never cared about him.
He rose and his chair crashed to the ground. Fresh air. He needed fresh air, to help him think. He stumbled across the room. The cavern’s walls closed upon him but he escaped through the door. As he exited, Henry smacked into Andeal.
“Henry! I was just coming to…what’s wrong?”
“You were right. About the information.” Henry’s voice was rough. He strode back to the torn cloth on the ground, picked it up, and shoved it into Andeal’s hand. “Here. Take it. Read it. In fact, why don’t you follow his orders and accomplish his will? He’d love it, I’m sure!”
“Henry…” The engineer did not look down or close his fingers around the rag. His blue eyes were filled with worry.
“No, it’s fine, really. I’m only good at eating noodles and being a coward. You can be his son. I’m tired of it.”
Henry pushed past him to the exit, even though he had no idea where to go. Anything was better than here. Andeal called after him but Henry refused to slow. What a great idea he’d had! Lenz Schmitt had sacrificed himself for Andeal and Maniel, so why didn’t these two finish his dirty work? They were capable, courageous, willing. Perfect candidates.
And while they spread the word about whatever was in that balloon, he could build the tranquil life he deserved.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Three more days and he still hadn’t attempted an escape. Was Andeal right? Did it prove he could not decide where to go, or who he was? Nonsense. He was Captain Hans Vermen, proud defender of his country…and a deserter? He rubbed his arm, as though he could remove an invisible layer of dirt. Andeal must be lying. They had said no such things. Lungvist would’ve told them it was impossible, he would not desert. If he returned now, would they give him a chance to explain? He’d gathered more information on the rebels by following Seraphin than anybody in years. It had to count for something. If he could escape, they would crush the ragtag band and end this ridiculous threat. If he could escape.
Andeal had implied it wouldn’t be so hard. And the longer he waited, the less suspicious they’d become. He could stay, observe, gather information.
Stall.
He had their location. What else did he really need?
Vermen straightened up and slid off his tiny mattress. He could not remain here another minute. He had a rebellion to squash and a reputation to retrieve. The captain stretched his muscles and approached the door. He reached for the handle but as his fingers closed around the wood, the chain outside rattled. Vermen’s heart jumped and he backpedalled as the door opened.
Andeal’s wife stood in the opening with his meal. Although he had never met her, half of his blue companion’s chatter was about his oh-so-wonderful wife and he had no trouble identifying Maniel. Her dark skin had no hint of blue in it. Nothing strange in her dark hair’s long braid either. She wore a dark orange robe, black leggings, and knee-high boots. He could not find a single unnatural thing about her. Somehow, he had expected her to be just as weird as Andeal. Vermen averted his eyes, ashamed of his ridiculous assumption.
She stared at him until he stepped further back, then set the plate on his desk. Did not say a word as she turned back to the door. Vermen’s heart pumped faster. No. She couldn’t leave him like that. He hadn’t had any news in the last…three days? He wasn’t even certain of that anymore. He closed the distance between them and grabbed her forearm.
“Wait!”
She turned around in slow, uncaring movement. Her high cheeks and thin smile formed a perfect mask of disdain.
“Yes?”
“Where’s Andeal?” His voice shook. He cursed himself and wrestled control over it. “Did something happen?”
“No, nothing.” Maniel lowered her gaze to his hand and he let go. She brushed her arm off before crossing them. “Except for the part where you bruised his entire back and left clear strangle marks on his neck. He will not return if I can help it.”
Vermen’s stomach tightened but he refused to let it show. He lifted his chin in defiance. It was for the best, really. Until now he hadn’t realised how much he relied on Andeal to keep track of time and entertain himself. He needed to find another way, to depend only on himself. Maniel continued with a resolute calm that clashed with Andeal’s mirth.
“If it were up to me, you would be in a small and cold cave. Alone.”
“Well, we don’t always get what we want.”
“I haven’t tried yet, captain. Do you wish me to?”
Their gazes locked and he held her stare. Did he want to be transferred to another room and forgotten? Without Andeal’s timely visits, his thoughts whirled down the same spiral every day. He would think of his brother, of all they’d shared. He’d remember his abrupt death and the swirling anger when he’d learned the perpetrator had escaped. All these years he’d dogged Holt, coining the term “White Renegade”, unraveling their plots, capturing rebels, trying to worm his way up to him. He’d had him, at last. Always, he came back to that last confrontation with the Regarian. To his failing courage, his inability to avenge his brother. A flush crept up his cheeks and he lowered his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
He regretted the admission the moment it escaped his lips. It shouldn’t matter where he was held. He’d escape, return to the Union army, and give them the hideout’s location. What difference would Andeal’s visits make? When the troops arrived, he’d be caught with the rest of the bandits. Better not to get too attached. Vermen’s fingers played with the fabric of his pants but he tried not to show his discomfort. Maniel tilted her head to the side.
“Interesting. Too bad we don’t always get what we want.”
She gave him a sweet smile and waved as she left. Vermen stood, speechless, as the door closed and the clanking chain was put back in place.
* * *
Andeal sat at his large angled desk, studying the blueprints before him for the hundredth time. A single mistake would mean a crashing death for the first rebels to use his machine and no matter how often he verified his math, terrible nightmares haunted him. What if the helium didn’t suffice? What if the propeller was too heavy? What if Lenz Schmitt’s idea was unworkable?
He had to admit, however, that he would not catch any flaws today. He spent more time staring at the smooth cavern wall than at the numbers. His mind was elsewhere, with the strange prisoner he’d wanted Maniel to meet. She had to see for herself how different he was from what they’d imagined. Andeal wondered what could take her so long, why she had not returned an hour ago, as expected. Could they really have talked that long?
Heavy strides from the corridor warned him of her return. She slapped her feet on the ground with too much zeal. Not a good sign in his experience. Andeal leaned in his rotating chair and turned toward the bedroom’s door.
Maniel flung it open as she entered and smashed it closed even harder. He set his pencil down and rose from the desk.
“He is the most arrogant, prideful jerk I have ever met—and I spend my days around Stern! How you can stay hours in there is beyond me.”
Andeal strode across the room and wrapped his arms around his wife. Her immense frustration could mean but one thing. “So you talked with him.”
“I—” She pushed him back. “Curse you, Andeal. Yes, I talked
with him and I didn’t like it.”
“Do tell. You said you’d put the food down and leave.”
Maniel’s eyes narrowed. She knew him, knew what he wanted to hear.
“I tried, but he held me back. He grabbed my wrist and asked about you.”
“I knew it!” His heart soared. He’d worried about how Vermen would react to their last fight—that if Andeal pushed too hard, the captain would push back and his allegiance to the army would grow deeper. “I told you, Maniel. He’s not a brainwashed idiot.”
“He looks every bit like one.” She moved to the desk’s chair but did not sit, staring at his blueprints instead. “But he’s not. Which means he’s more dangerous than you think, not that he’s a friend.”
“He could be. He must be.”
Her hand tightened around the armchair and she turned around, rage lighting her dark eyes. “Must be?”
“Yes.” Andeal wiped his palms on his pants. At first it had only been his instincts talking but now he had a practical reason. Lenz Schmitt’s message was clear: there was a recording sewn into the balloon envelope. It had to be about Galen Clarin, which meant they might at last leave Mount Kairn to expose the horrible scientist. “We might be on our way soon. Would you leave him behind, locked up?”
Maniel’s jaw tightened and she closed the gap between them in one deliberate stride. Andeal’s heart squeezed tight. With Maniel, you knew you’d crossed a line when she contained her fury into a calm, unwavering anger.
“We are not talking about a generic soldier. This is Captain Hans Vermen. Is there a single season since we’ve known Seraphin when we haven’t heard his name? When we haven’t learned the danger of underestimating him? He short-circuited half of our operations, can be blamed for all of our deaths. Must I name them, Andeal?” Her face came inches from his and she looked down. Her slender finger tapped his chest with every name she gave. “Erika. Desmond. Andeal. Jus––”
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