JORDAN’S STORY
The timing couldn’t have been better.
As Adam had predicted, Hartman was in meltdown.
Under torture, it had taken Mink no time at all to break. Having inflicted so much pain in the past, he knew the impossibility of withstanding it indefinitely.
And besides, Hartman was angry.
In his own sadistic way, Mink probably considered himself an artist. An artist plans his work. An artist remains detached from the emotions that interfere with the beauty of the process.
There was no artistry in Hartman, however. Under his hand, there would be no gradual increase in the intensity of the ordeal. No chance to confess and reveal.
Hartman would begin at maximum intensity and build from there, until his victim died screaming. Even the discipline of the Guard did not prepare a man for that kind of pain.
So, Mink confessed. And Mink gave names, any names that came into his head, from Commanders to foot soldiers. No one with a Black Hood was safe from accusation.
And when he died, coughing up his own blood and screaming for release, the ‘cleansing’ began. To be named was to be found guilty and to be found guilty was to be tortured.
And to be tortured meant revealing other names.
Any system’s strength can also be its weakness, for success inevitably carries within itself the seeds of its own destruction. I can’t remember who said that, but in this case, they were pretty well spot on.
The Families, the Hartman Family in particular, had always ruled through division. For thousands of years, dictators had grown fat on one simple truth: that a common enemy creates unity.
And, even before the Fall, the Families were the experts in creating ‘enemies’.
The Espers, the Ferals, the various tribes of savages, up and down the land, who kept the citizens living in fear. In almost a thousand years, the Families had never seriously attempted to wipe them out.
Keep them under control, certainly, but wipe them out? Why would they? When you have a common enemy – a credible threat, with which to scare successive generations of children and their parents – any means you create to defend them, even an army as ruthless and cruel as the Guard, becomes acceptable. Necessary even.
Don’t let them get strong enough to threaten you, but don’t wipe them out either, or you lose your main reason for existence. Then people start to question your methods.
Looked at like that, it answered the question which had been nagging at me since our arrival in the Wood.
How, even with their traps and their superior knowledge of the forest, had the pacifist ’Koi managed to survive for all these centuries against such an organised and ruthless foe? Why hadn’t the Families simply levelled the forest and driven them out?
The answer was simple.
Because they served a more important purpose, simply by existing. The Guard had the band to protect their thoughts from prying minds, so the ’Koi were allowed to exist.
Divide and rule. It was a system as old as the Roman Empire. Probably older. And the Families used it instinctively.
But Adam was introducing it into the world behind the Citadel walls, and once inside, there was no telling where it might end.
Adam de Vries had spent his life reading books. Adam de Vries was a student of history. And in a country of book-burners, that made him just about the most dangerous man in the land.
The delay created by the ‘cleansing’ gave us an opportunity to work out our strategy and by the time Hartman came back to us, to discuss the treaty, our plan was in place.
Leana had made contact with the Scarlet League, and we had unmasked Blakeney, so all that remained was to coordinate ourselves.
At the next meeting of the League, Adam introduced Erin, Bran, Reggie and Alek, and outlined a plot which made all their other exploits seem insignificant.
He still maintained his disguise, of course. As long as there was advantage in his playing the double agent within the Hartman household, there was no point in risking exposure.
If words daubed on walls through the city, or small raids on storehouses had raised public awareness, he asked, what would an incursion into the very heart of the Citadel achieve?
Now that Adam and Min had located the five secret entrances to the basement level of the huge structure, they had a means to get into and out of the Citadel unseen, to do their mischief and water the seeds of suspicion that Adam had already planted.
They were still not strong enough to wage all-out war, but they could chip away, guerrilla-style, undermining the structure, and winning victory one small step at a time.
And the first step was to help in the rescue of the prisoners.
If they could manage to spirit us away unseen and sheet the blame home to ‘person or persons unknown’ within the Citadel itself, it would be a double victory.
That was the plan. It was dangerous and it needed careful coordination and execution, but by the time the details were worked out, everyone involved agreed that it was viable.
The date was set for two days later and the preparations began in earnest.
44
Preparations
The Citadel
February 9, 3384ad
SHARONNE
From the rooftop terrace, you can see the whole city.
As a household guest, there is nowhere Sharonne is denied access to, and the terrace, with its statues and potted gardens, is her favourite place in the Citadel.
But it is neither the view nor the peaceful solitude that draws her to the rooftop in the hottest hour of the afternoon. It is the contents of the bag she is carrying.
Last night, on their return from the final meeting, Armin and Adam brought with them a sackful of dried plants that had been soaked in a fragrant oily compound. Bran assured them it would, when lit, burn with a thick, black, toxic-smelling smoke.
And Bran should know. He, Reggie and Alek have used it on a number of occasions to create diversions and distract the Watchers in the Towers beside the Wood.
Her job is to stuff the plants into three of the ventilation shafts that emerge at intervals on the rooftop.
Not such a dangerous task. Only Family are allowed on the roof and with Hartman otherwise engaged and the rest of the Family too spoilt to go outside until the heat has left the day, the terrace is about the only place in the Citadel where you can virtually guarantee privacy.
Opening the bag, she puts on a pair of thick gloves and holds her breath, as she drags out the first of the plants and stuffs it down into the vent shaft.
Within minutes, the job is complete the gloves are back in the bag and the bag is jettisoned to the unguarded side street a hundred feet below, where one of the League’s junior members is waiting to dispose of it.
Her job done, Sharonne walks calmly back into the building, and returns to her room, to await her role later that night.
ARMIN
The hidden cupboard swings silently into the room and Armin and Adam step through.
They left the Citadel at first light, but having walked out in full view of the garrison, they have doubled back by way of the secret tunnel and entered the basement.
With the depletion of numbers, due to the cleansing, and the Citadel on full alert, due to Hartman’s paranoia, the basement levels are empty. Every Guard and every soldier is on duty above-ground, leaving them both time and opportunity.
With Armin’s range and his particular talent, they are not going to be caught by surprise, so they work quickly and efficiently. Two bottles of a clear, sweet-smelling liquid are emptied into the drinking-water reservoir that feeds the fountains in the dorms and the dining room.
Lisa, one of the League’s oldest members, is a woman who has spent many years as a midwife in the poorer quarters, and she assures them that just a few drops of the magic elixir in wat
er will render a birthing woman pain free and drowsy for the entire labour. Two bottles in a 2000-litre reservoir, should do the same for the garrison, after their evening mealtime.
Soldiers who are sleeping soundly will cause fewer problems as the night wears on, and even those on duty will have lost their edge, if not their consciousness, by the time the plan goes into action.
As for those who do not drink the water – that is a bridge to be crossed when the time arrives.
Just as they are leaving the first basement, heading for the storerooms on the second level, Armin stops and puts a finger to his lips.
‘We have company,’ he whispers, pointing along the north-facing corridor. ‘About forty seconds.’
Looking around, Adam sees a storeroom door. He tries the handle, and it swings inwards. They disappear inside, closing the door behind them.
He uncovers his glo-lamp, and looks around. The room is filled with synth-board boxes, which look like they date from the Fall.
He reads the label on the nearest box, and smiles broadly.
Then, taking his knife, he carefully slits the side of the box and tears it off, revealing the contents, which glow copper in the light from the lamp.
‘The bands—’ Armin whispers the words in astonishment.
Stacked neatly together in batches of ten, are hundreds of the copper necklaces that each member of the Guard has worn for nearly a thousand years.
‘The stockpile,’ he whispers, more to himself than to Min.
Min focuses on the intruders, but they are heading back upstairs.
‘Stockpile?’
‘I read about it once, when I was younger,’ Adam continues. ‘Before the Fall, when they realised that the number of Espers was steadily increasing – and that they had no real method of working out who had the Gift and who hadn’t – they developed a way of blocking their thoughts. Along with the glo-lamps, it’s one of the few bits of pre-Fall technology that survived. Because it draws its energy from the movement of the atoms in the air itself, it can last pretty much forever.’
Armin looks a little lost.
‘Never mind the technology, Min. It was brand new, at the time, so they hadn’t developed it too much, when everything fell apart. The point is, they made tens of thousands of the things, to protect the thoughts of key company personnel and to supply their security forces, so that enemies couldn’t use Espers against them, to steal their secrets.
‘Hartman’s ancestors developed the technology in the first place, and this must be where they stockpiled the bands. It’s what’s given them the edge over Espers for all these centuries.
‘I guess they dole them out to any new Guard, or to anyone who wrecks one.’
He takes a band out of the box and puts it on.
– Can you read me, still?
‘I can read anyone, Adam, band or no band. But the interference is there. It works.’
– Well, let’s see if we can get it to not work.
A few minutes effort, some heavy twisting, and they hear a crack inside the band.
Adam puts it back on.
‘Not a buzz. You killed it. Well done.’ Min sounds more than a little sarcastic – understandably.
Then he has an idea.
‘Wait here,’ he says and sprints out of the door.
Adam waits, holding the bracelet in his hands.
When Min returns, he is carrying a smouldering coal in a small cooking pot.
‘I got it from the kitchen stove. Get me another band.’
Adam obeys and hands it to him.
Min touches it against the coal for just a moment, then blows on it to cool the metal.
‘Okay. Now put it on.’
Adam does so and waits expectantly.
‘Heat,’ says Min. ‘Get it hot enough and it stops working. Looks like we have another job to do tonight. Let’s see how many other storerooms have these things in them.’
Five stores later, they have identified the entire supply, which numbers in the thousands. And they have a plan.
As they move off to finish their preparations, Min is thinking of what it will mean, to destroy so many of the bands in one raid.
A Black Guard without the ability to mask the thoughts of most of its number is no threat at all.
Which is as it should be.
JORDAN’S STORY
There was nothing much for us to do but wait.
In the afternoon, Hartman came to see us for a short while. He didn’t mention the turmoil in the Citadel and he didn’t apologise for leaving us to cool our heels for three days. Not that we expected him to do either.
In fact, he was straight to the point.
‘I’m going to need some guarantees,’ he said, without prelude. ‘If I’m going to be the central power you cooperate with, you’ll have to supply me with weapons. Weapons like they had in the past.’
So much for the science-is-the-work-of-the-devil mantra. I wondered how far I could lead him on.
‘I appreciate your position,’ I began, ‘but it is the policy of the Federation not to affect the balance of power, or interfere in the politics of any planet – especially through the introduction of weaponry beyond the technological level of the society. You understand, I’m sure, the dangers of introducing sophisticated devices into the hands of people without the experience to handle them. But we can help in many other ways.
‘The Council can supply people to instruct you in the development of peaceful technologies to improve the way of life of all the people under your rule – to build houses and roads, to improve transportation and medicine and education. The benefits to you and your people will be immeasurable – and you will be the one responsible. You will possess the most famous name in history.’
I could see in Hartman’s eyes that it wasn’t what he wanted. He cared about only one thing and it wasn’t improving the lives of his people.
As far as he was concerned, the discussion wasn’t over. He wanted weapons, and he had learnt young that what he wanted, he usually got.
The oldest habits are the hardest to break.
A few minutes more of manoeuvring and he was gone, promising to return tomorrow to continue the discussion.
– You should’ve just promised him the weapons. It’s not like there’s ever going to be a treaty with a monster like that, anyway.
Mykal was sitting in the next room, with his feet up on the bed.
– I know I should have, Mykal, but I couldn’t bring myself to – even to trick him. I couldn’t bear to imagine what he’d do if he had real weapons to use. Anyway, come tomorrow it’ll all be over – one way or the other.
– Could you try sounding a little more confident? That was Eliita. A little less of the ‘one way or another’, please.
After Hartman left, we tried to rest, so that we would be fresh for the events of the night to come.
Armin kept in touch, filling us in on the preparations, and trying to keep us calm. The trouble was he couldn’t even pretend to be calm himself – it leaked through his attempt at a Shield, like water through a sieve. I promised myself that if we were ever to escape the Citadel and take him back with us to Deucalion, the first thing I would demand was that he spend at least a year with the Etiquette tutors.
Though secretly, I despaired of them making any headway with him in that length of time.
– Dress dark, if you can, he said. The less conspicuous you can be, the better.
Whatever you thought of Armin, whatever the level of his emotional control, you could never accuse him of sounding like he was twelve.
Berra
Central Region
February 9, 3384ad
LEANA
The child is awake.
It looks up at Lisa the old midwife, and she reads a sense of recognition. She has taken the
child in temporarily, tending her with a gruff kindness, but refusing to become attached. She has too much experience to hold out much hope for an orphan newborn in Berra.
She does not know that the child is Esper. Perhaps it would make no difference, but Leana has told no one – not even Gaia.
If asked, Lisa would probably take the child in for a while, but Leana will never ask it. In the past days, she has formed a bond with the little girl that will not be broken, and whatever happens tonight – if Mykal is saved, or if the plan fails – she will do everything in her power to return and take her away from Berra, back to the Village in the WildWood.
Back to her own kind.
If Mykal is saved –
There can be no other outcome. They have come so far, braved so much. It is unimaginable that it has all been for nothing.
But a plan is just a plan. Every player thinks he can win and every opponent knows he can.
In the end, only the moves count.
Leana bends over and kisses the baby on the forehead, sending a feeling of calm – and love. Then she turns and walks out of the hut without looking back.
45
Endgame
The Citadel
February 9, 3384ad
ERIN’S STORY
At the secret League meeting, when Blakeney called for volunteers to bait the beast in his lair, every hand in the room went up.
Understandable, I suppose, given the lives that they lived, and the cruelty they had experienced from Guard and garrison. But how many others in Berra would have done the same?
Far too few, I think.
I was remembering Jordan and his musings on fate and chance.
Had there been any time in the past nine hundred years, when a group of rebels had organised itself to take on the power of the Families, like the Scarlet League was doing?
If we had landed at any other time in history, would we have been able to find help from such a dedicated and well-prepared group?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
All I knew was that I was grateful they were here and willing to risk their lives, to fight back for even one night.
In chess, it isn’t the complex strategies that impress; it’s the simple, elegant ones. Complexity introduces too many variables and it’s much harder to control.
Dreams of the Chosen Page 28
