Rise

by Victoria Powell

  “I don’t have anything left to say,” she said bitterly.

  He held her arm as she turned away. “Zo, stop. It’s important.” Zoe turned back. “The city walls. They’re building them up. Why?”

  Zoe looked across at the warehouse doors, considering Toby’s question. “It’s not for us. We have never been able to breach the walls.”

  “When I was stuck at the Erikssen camp Jacobi spoke to me. He said there was a place in the city where he had seen over the walls. He’d seen a view that the cops hadn’t even seen,” Toby said.

  Zoe shook her head. “Let’s discuss this somewhere private.” She helped him hobble to the guards’ rest room. Toby dropped down onto one of the bunks and Zoe sat down next to him.

  “Zoe, do you believe me?” Toby said.

  Zoe shrugged. “Sure, I suppose. A good tower on the west could have a view over the west wall. I doubt that’s the case though. The city was designed so we couldn’t see over the walls.”

  “Jacobi was convincing. I believed him. He thought we could live out there,” Toby said.

  “That’s Jacobi, isn’t it? He was a confidence man,” Zoe said.

  Toby bowed over and rubbed the length of his shin, encouraging the circulation down to his injured ankle. “It’s more than that.”

  “You think he found a way over the wall? It’s possible the cops found out and now they’re patching it,” Zoe said.

  “Maybe,” Toby groaned as he sat upright. “I was actually thinking about what could be outside the wall. What if the cops know about it and are trying to keep it out? Jacobi thought that we should run towards whatever is out there, but what if it’s not friendly?”

  Zoe rested an arm on Toby’s shoulder. “Are you Ok?”

  “I’m fine. My bones are singing bells at me as they mend, that’s all,” Toby growled.

  Zoe sniggered. “Perhaps Emma should’ve left that chest cast on.”

  “Zo, don’t change the subject,” Toby said.

  She stood up and scanned across the room. “I’ve got jobs to do, Tobe. Stop daydreaming about what’s beyond those walls. Jacobi is dead and whatever he saw died with him.”

  Toby let her walk away. She was right. He had jobs to do too, even with his busted leg.

  28 - The Daughter

  The soft polyester duvet on the bed clashed with the shouts and bangs rising up between the floorboards. Such comfort on the verge of imminent danger. Alex sat up in bed, forcing her eyes wide, searching the loft room for signs of people and exits and weapons.

  The banging continued, but far outside her space. The noises stayed at least two floors below. She was in the exposed eaves of the roof. Her room was little longer than the length of the bed. There was a wardrobe to her left, squaring the room into a tight, elbow-knocking space. A door was opposite. She could not see the stairs.

  The voice peeked up again and she recognised the tenor of Mr Simons. Wow he was angry. She saw a clock on the floor next to her bed. It was after seven thirty, she was probably late. Was he angry at her?

  Yesterday had been weird. He sat talking to her for half an hour over a cup of tea, trying to get her history and testing her knowledge of household work. It was quite a challenge to keep her story straight. Luckily growing up with activists meant she met all sorts of folk, including housekeepers. It really was an education.

  Mr Simons gave her a tour of the house, introduced her to Mrs Roberts and left Alex in this room in the attic. She had the rest of the day to settle in, but sank down on the bed at about six o’clock. Somehow she fell asleep, fully clothed and very hungry. That was not like her.

  Opening the wardrobe, Alex found a few formal maid uniforms made of a charcoal grey poly-cotton cloth with a neck frill. She dressed, slipped on a tight pair of ballet pumps and ran a brush through her hair. There was something odd about finding shoes and a few cosmetic things left in the bottom of the wardrobe. Why leave them behind? Why did the last maid leave at all?

  Alex tip-toed downstairs where everything was now quiet. The sitting room at the front was empty and the street outside was quiet. Everything seemed normal. Calm. There was a closed door to the left of the stairs and the kitchen door was open at the rear. The cook was waiting.

  “Hi,” Alex said, waving limply.

  Mrs Roberts ushered her into a chair at the table then bustled around the kitchen, quickly peeking at her. If Mrs Roberts recognised her face then the woman was mad. She wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t guarded, she was just curious.

  The cook returned with a piece of toast and a cup of tea. The smells were intoxicating. When was the last time Alex ate?

  She nibbled silently, cherishing every morsel. Her finger moved across the plate, picking up loose bits of crumb. Alex watched eagerly as the cook took the plate from under her finger, but sagged when the plate went straight into a pan of soapy water.

  Next thing, a heavy laundry basket full of clean linen was dropped on the table and Alex pulled to her feet. Remember Alex, this is a job, not a safe house. Hide in plain sight.

  Alex watched the cook pull at sheets in the basket. She gestured upwards, pointing towards the bedrooms.

  Alex glanced up. “Change the beds?”

  Mrs Roberts grinned wickedly and nodded. She held up her index finger to motion for Alex to wait. Then the cook opened a cupboard and took out the contents.

  “Vacuum? Ok.”

  This would take quite a while. There were a few sets of stairs, at least three reception rooms and she was not sure how many bedrooms. Picking up the laundry, Alex paced upstairs.

  Mrs Roberts was strange. A recluse, she could definitely hear, perhaps she chose not to speak. There were no physical signs to suggest an injury, but anything was enough in this city to crush someone into muteness.

  Alex changed the bedding, dusted and vacuumed the upstairs. The place was a mini palace. The furniture was exquisite, although the woodwork was pine rather than mahogany. There were no little trinkets or photographs anywhere, but what good would they do him? Thinking that through, she accidentally sucked up some rather fine cufflinks with the vacuum, so he was quite peacockish about the way he dressed. It took her fifteen minutes to find the little golden frivolities in the bag. It never crossed her mind to pocket them.

  At twelve o’clock Alex unplugged the vacuum and went downstairs for a glass of water. Mrs Roberts picked at Alex’s smutted uniform and smoothed down her hair. Alex drifted into the same kitchen chair where a ham hock salad lunch appeared without request. Did Mrs Roberts have some secret leaning towards helping illegals or was she just a lonely old woman?

  Again, when the plate was cleared the cook set Alex to the laundry in a little cupboard at the back of the kitchen. It was a welcome distraction from thoughts of Martyn and the Ackersons. Did they escape? We’re they all safe in a new base? This was all new, moving so quickly from base to base. They must be scared. Had Anthony hidden himself away alright?

  For a posh house it seemed to lack some of the basics found even in the backstreets of Falisans. There were no TVs, the radio only played preloaded music, and not even a newspaper was left discarded in the sitting room. Of course, the master could not read a newspaper, but it meant Alex had no way of knowing what was going on unless she stepped out of the house.

  Her dark thoughts cleared when she heard the front door slam shut again. Mr Simons was home. Last night he spent hours grilling her for information. Now she realised, she knew nothing about him, not even his profession. The cook rushed into the laundry and hurried Alex out, pushing her towards the door. Time to work.

  In the corridor Alex could hear shuffling noises coming from the study. That room had been locked all day. She peeked around the corner at a wall of leather-bound books. A great oak desk stood centrally in the room, with a deactivated holoscreen unit just visible at the crease of a central leather mat.

  Alex recognised a document scanner on the left of the desk. That must be how he reads the books. Once the Ackersons had been l
ucky enough to have one to read books aloud to the kids. True, it couldn’t portray the emotion of a book - it sounded rather mechanical and wooden - but it was amazing if the tutors just needed a rest.

  Mr Simons stopped searching through his briefcase, sensing something, and turned to face her in the doorway.

  Alex remembered herself. “Sir. Um, welcome home.” She hesitated. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  He huffed and turned back to his case, snapping it shut. “No, thank you.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” She enquired.

  He turned back to her irritably. “No. As I explained yesterday, I expect my dinner to be ready at 5.30pm. You will clear it away at 6pm. Then I will have tea in the sitting room before retiring to my study.”

  “Yes, sir.” She turned to hurry back to the kitchen. “I won’t disturb you any longer.”

  She heard him grumble something under his breath as she walked away.

  His temper improved when she brought his meal to the dining room.

  “You’ve worked hard today,” he commented.

  It was true, the room sparkled where the tumbleweed of dust had been scraped away. The previous maid neglected the room. Had she been gone long enough for dust balls to gather on the shelves? Tomorrow Alex had plans to take all her pent-up anger out on the silver.

  “Thank you, sir.” She smiled.

  “Yesterday this table was sticky and the room smelt of mould,” he added, disgusted.

  She smirked. “It certainly wasn’t a pleasant place to eat in, I’m sure.”

  She came back at 6pm, cleared the plates and waited for the tea to brew. Life here could be a simple, normal time. Ok, Mr Simons was a bit weird and quite an aggressive person in the mornings, but she would hide and be safe until the next opportunity to re-join her base.

  Her master was waiting in the sitting room, seated on the same chair he had sat in at her interview. An old CD player cycled in the corner, spouting out a soft jazz. She set the teapot and cup down on the table next to him. He barely gave her acknowledgement. This life might do for now, but could she be satisfied with that reaction? She was no wallflower. Alex stepped back and turned to leave the room, feeling disorientated.

  “Miss Bates,” he called when she reached the door. He summoned her back into the room with a gesture from his index finger. “Please, come sit.”

  “Um,” she hesitated before moving to the sofa, “of course, sir.”

  He reached out and turned the music down to a barely audible level. Only the saxophone intermittently breaking through the silence. The teapot rattled on the edge of the cup as Mr Simons guided the two together using the tips of his index finger and thumb as markers. Alex fidgeted restlessly, tried to still her hands and choked back a laugh when she remembered her master could not see her nerves.

  He sighed pleasantly after sipping the tea. “How are you enjoying your time here?” He asked.

  That took her by surprise. “Well, sir. All seems to be going well.”

  He smiled easily. “Your room is suitable? You’re getting on with Mrs Roberts? The work is not too hard?”

  The job had merely been a distraction for her. She hadn’t thought about whether she had been treated fairly compared to other maids in the city. This was a stopgap until she could reconnect with the Ackersons, however long that would take.

  She shrugged, then remembered her situation. “Everything is fine, sir. Mrs Roberts seems firm but fair. She has given me a bit of guidance about the house, I suppose.”

  “Good,” he said sweetly, taking another sip of tea. “What of your past work? What was that like?”

  Is that what the next half hour would be, repeating her back story? Alex was good at story telling. Here was a time to put her practice into action.

  She cleared her throat. “This is my first live-in position. I worked as a shift maid for a year. It was a good job. There were a couple of us working in a seven-bedroom house for a family of five. The kids were a nightmare.” She stumbled over her word. “Sorry, it doesn’t matter.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure you will have lots of stories to tell from here too. Just know which ones are private.”

  “Of course! I.... Anyway, there were a few of us working in the house, so I mostly focused on maintaining the bedrooms and linen. It was a basic job with a basic wage.” She finished, watching him for a response.

  “And you lived at home then, with your parents?” He probed.

  “Yes,” she answered curtly.

  He raised an eyebrow curiously. “Why did you leave?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “I was offered a job as a waitress. The hours were better and the wages were good. My mother was sick, so I wanted to be closer to home during the day.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr Simons said.

  “They both passed away recently,” she answered the unspoken question. “That’s why I was looking for an in-house position. I lost my home when my parents died.”

  “It’s a tough place right now.” He patted his cup consolingly.

  Alex let herself smirk, but controlled her voice. “Yes, well. They had a violent end.”

  “Sympathisers?” Mr Simons asked.

  She felt repelled by the suggestion. “Not all of them are bad.”

  “I know, but many are. Hundreds of innocent people died over the last five years when the Monmouth or Erikssen groups set off bombs across the city,” Mr Simons insisted. “Millions in taxpayer money has gone into repairing houses and shops they destroyed.”

  He was right. The Erikssens and Monmouth groups were responsible for seriously evil catastrophes. They haunted her nightmares for years when she was a kid. If she had known at the time that Penny Mitchell was an Erikssen - controlling her, sedating her - then ... her reaction would have been different. Penny did not hurt her, but only because she needed her. Who knows what would have happened if she had been someone less useful in the Ackersons.

  “Not all illegals are like them.”

  He scoffed. “Is it better to be in a group that frees dangerous people? The softer groups might not target police in the street, but those cops still get shot.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Alex said.

  “Really?” Mr Simons teased.

  She smoothed down her skirt and calmed herself. “What about the police then? They’re no angels. The illegals mainly riot because the police are so... lawless. They’re hanging people for looking at them funny. There’s no balance between the crime and the punishment.”

  Mr Simons pursed his lips momentarily. “Chicken and egg?”

  Alex stopped herself from saying that the nuclear bombs came first. The Tamerian Empire came first. The first Ambassador to order zero tolerance was first.

  Mr Simons filled the pause. “What would you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He took another sip of tea. “If you could make the next move, like playing chess. If you could decide for either side what would happen next, what would you do?”

  She brushed the question off. This was getting way to serious for only their second proper conversation together. It reminded her of a thought she had earlier that day.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do, sir?” She saw his strange expression. “As in, what’s your line of work?”

  He scoffed. “You think you’ve changed the subject? You’re unfortunately wrong.” He held a hand up defensively. “I am an energy consultant for the police.”

  “Really?” She asked nervously. “So how does that work?”

  “My eyesight isn’t an issue, if...”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” She cut across quickly. He didn’t seem offended.

  He smiled. “I’m on call. If they have a problem then I go out to coordinate an emergency response unit. I do the occasional review of energy options, but energy supply choice is pretty limited. Last time I was called out was when the Monmouth group attacked the solar farm on th
e south wall. Right now, I’m coordinating an upgrade to the water turbines.”

  “So, you don’t actually talk much with the cops?” She needed to know.

  He shrugged. “Not socially. I don’t value their opinions. They’re just tools.”

  “Ok,” she said. “So, what would your next move be if you had a choice?”

  He paused, placing his cup on the table next to him. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Same,” she said.

  “I want peace.”

  “We all do.”

  He shrugged. “Even the police want peace. Every single police procedure is designed to keep the streets safe and quiet. If all the illegals stopped fighting then the police would too.”

  “In the best of all possible worlds.”

  He smirked at her. “This is the best of all possible worlds. I’m sure you’re right, but until I’m presented with the perfect ultimatum that forces both the police and the illegals to comply with peace....”

  “And the Ambassador too,” she added.

  He almost caught her eye momentarily, but then his unseeing gaze wandered away. “Yes, him too.”

  The silence descended heavily and she stood up nervously. “I’ll clear away your empty tea things now, sir.”

  He straightened up in his seat. “Yes, thank you. And I won’t need assistance for the rest of the evening.”

  She looked quickly at the time as she left the room. It was nearly nine o’clock. She still had to finish a stack of chores before bed. Hopefully it would not be too late at night.

  29 - The Guard

  “Hurry up. We’ve only got three hours.”

  Toby stepped out into the rain-soaked alley, leading Sam, Mattie and Jen north towards Central. Mid-morning was the best time for Toby to take his three best scouts into the city. Jen Marley was a bit rusty; she barely left her kid these days, but no one else was sharper in a tight space. In contrast, Sam and Mattie practically lived on the streets. It was easy to lose track of how many times Sam Davies had missed a base move. He’d definitely met all six of their undercover contacts. Mattie Collins spent the last five years working undercover with the police. He would still be there if his face had not been plastered all over the news. Another of their spies jeopardised by Hywel Jenkins. They were always at risk now.