Among the Barons

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  “No, no, you don’t understand.” Mr. Grant waved away Luke’s suggestion. “You’re just a child. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ll just have to follow our plan.”

  “I suppose Mr. Talbot could find another fake identity for me,” Luke said reluctantly.

  “Oh, no,” Mrs. Grant said. “You couldn’t get another identity. Not after being seen as Lee. Someone might recognize you. And then where would we be?”

  Luke stared at her in horror. “Then, what would happen to me? Where could I go without Lee’s I.D. card?”

  Mrs. Grant shrugged. “Well, wherever you were before you began passing yourself off as Lee.” She made it sound like Luke had stolen Lee’s identity—like he’d maybe even killed Lee himself.

  “You want me to go back into hiding?” Lee asked incredulously.

  And Mrs. Grant looked straight back at him and said, “Of course.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  For just an instant Luke let himself imagine hiding again. He could go back home with Mother and Dad, Matthew and Mark. But he’d be living in the attic, taking his meals on the stairs again, out of sight. He wouldn’t be allowed to look out windows or even to walk past a window.

  “I can’t,” Luke said weakly. “I can’t go back into hiding.”

  “Why not?” Mr. Grant said. “You were hiding before you got Lee’s name. What’s the big deal about hiding now?”

  “It’s . . .” Luke could only shake his head. They were rich and powerful. How could they possibly understand? Having tasted freedom, having been brave, having volunteered to do something grand for the cause—he absolutely could not return now to the nothingness of life in hiding. “How would you like it if someone told you that you had to go into hiding?” he asked the Grants.

  Mrs. Grant stood up with a flounce.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she said. “I’ve never had to hide. I’m a legal individual. I have rights. I’m a Baron. It’s not the same.”

  “Don’t you think I should have rights, too?” Luke asked.

  Then, looking at the two adults’ stony faces, he began to lose hope. They didn’t care about third children. They’d never thought about whether Luke or anyone else like him should have rights or not. He was just a pawn to them, someone they could use for their own purposes and cast aside when they didn’t need him anymore.

  “That’s not the point,” Mrs. Grant said. “The point is . . .” A sly smile crept over her face. “The point is, it doesn’t matter whether you like our plan or not. If you sabotage our plan, if you don’t act like Lee, you sabotage yourself. Don’t think we wouldn’t be happy to call the Population Police on you.”

  She was threatening him. Luke felt the color drain from his cheeks. He stared into Mrs. Grant’s exquisitely beautiful face, still perfectly made up at three in the morning. She was even still wearing a pearl necklace. What could he possibly say in response?

  “But if you want me to help in staging my death . . .,” Luke began. He was ashamed that his voice came out in a whimper.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that. We’ve got everything planned. We don’t need your cooperation,” Mrs. Grant said with a sickly sweet smile.

  And then the secret meeting was over, and Mr. Grant walked Luke back to his room—to Lee’s room. In a daze Luke changed out of the rumpled tuxedo and into his own pajamas. And then he lay in bed, replaying the whole conversation in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a nightmare.

  We want you to die. . . .

  You couldn’t get another identity. . . .

  You were hiding before. . . . What’s the big deal about hiding now?

  The Grants might as well kill him for real and be done with it, Luke thought. Hiding again would be practically as bad as dying.

  And then a resolve began to steal over him. No matter what, he wouldn’t go back into hiding. Surely he could do something, secretly, as part of the underground resistance to the Government. Mr. Talbot had hinted before at the existence of secret workers for the cause. Luke wasn’t sure if any of them had legal identities or not. He remembered three kids he’d met through his friend Nina—Percy, Matthias, and Alia. They’d once been involved in making fake I.D.’s. He wasn’t sure what they were doing now, but maybe he could help them.

  Luke’s plans were vague and shadowy at best, but they made him feel better. He wasn’t a Baron like the Grants, he wasn’t legal like the Grants, he wasn’t even an adult. But that didn’t mean he had to roll over and play dead when they said to. That didn’t mean he didn’t have any choices. All he had to do was get in touch with Mr. Talbot, secretly. Mr. Talbot could protect him from the Grants’ schemes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Comforted by his plans, Luke had fallen back to sleep when someone began shaking his shoulders once again.

  “Wake up!” a gruff voice whispered.

  It was Oscar this time. Luke actually had the nerve to say, “We’re home now. How can Smits be homesick?”

  “Shh,” Oscar said. “Follow me.”

  Mystified, Luke obeyed. But Oscar didn’t lead Luke next door to Smits’s room. He guided Luke on a convoluted path through the entire house. Only when they stood before a dark door did Luke realize: Oscar had led him back to the secret office.

  “Wh—,” Luke began.

  “Shh!” Oscar said again, urgently.

  He didn’t look around the way Mr. Grant had, only jammed a key in the lock. The door swung open and Oscar yanked Luke inside. Oscar seemed to be pressing buttons the same way Mr. Grant had. The lights came on once again and, Luke noticed this time, the doorknob vanished. Somehow the door seemed to have turned into a smooth wall.

  “How—how did you know about this room?” Luke asked.

  “Lee told me,” Oscar said. “Lee gave me a key.”

  Lee. Luke gulped.

  “I’m Lee,” he said without much conviction. “I never said a word to you about, um, our house. I’ve never given you anything.”

  Oscar gave Luke a look that almost seemed compassionate.

  “We’re in a soundproof room,” he said. “We both know the truth. There’s no need for lies here.”

  Stunned, Luke sank into a chair, the same one he’d sat in with the Grants.

  “Don’t worry,” Oscar said. “I’m on your side. We’re fighting for the same cause.”

  “How do I know that?” Luke asked. “Why should I trust you?”

  To his surprise, Oscar laughed. “Tough little brat, aren’t you? Not like that namby-pamby rich boy I’m supposed to be guarding all the time. You’re not really a Baron, are you? Let me guess.” Oscar narrowed his eyes, staring directly at Luke. “You grew up poor, I bet. Really, really poor. Like me. I just don’t know how you were picked to take over Lee Grant’s identity.”

  Luke didn’t tell him. He stared straight back at Oscar. Defiantly. But he felt as though Oscar had seen past the fancy silk Baron pajamas, monogrammed with Lee Grant’s initials. Somehow Oscar knew that Luke was nobody—and not really brave, not really confident, not really rich.

  Oscar shrugged, as if he hadn’t really expected Luke to tell him anything. Or as if he didn’t need to know more about Luke.

  “I’m going to tell you a story,” Oscar said softly. “Then you’ll know why you should trust me. I’m sure you’ll appreciate hearing the truth.”

  Oscar sat down opposite Luke. Oscar was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that emphasized his bulging biceps, but somehow he didn’t seem like a muscle-bound bodyguard anymore. He looked downright thoughtful, squinting seriously at Luke.

  “The Government wants people to think that everyone’s in favor of our current dictator—I mean, president,” Oscar said sardonically. “That everyone believes that everything he does is just so wonderful and so right. That everyone believes the Barons deserve the privileges they get and the rest of the people deserve squat. But you and me, we know differently, don’t we?” When Luke didn’t answer, Oscar rep
eated, “Don’t we, Lee?”

  “Yes,” Luke whispered. He was still stunned by Oscar’s transformation. Oscar wasn’t the proper, rule-obsessed servant anymore. Even his voice sounded rougher.

  “When something’s unfair,” Oscar said, “anyone with any gumption is going to fight it. Right?”

  Luke nodded. He wanted to say, “Look, I struck a blow against the Government myself. I turned in an informer for the Population Police.” He wanted to impress this new Oscar, suddenly.

  But he wasn’t sure Oscar would be impressed by anything Luke had done.

  “I was eight when I put my first pipe bomb in a Baron’s mailbox,” Oscar said. “By the time I was twelve, I was stealing Barons’ cars. Not for my own benefit—no way! My buddies and me, we’d push those cars into the river. Can you imagine the kind of splash a limo makes? And how the police flock to the shore? We were risking our lives for the cause.”

  Luke swallowed hard.

  “So then Barons moved farther and farther out from the big cities,” Oscar said. “They all got security fences, security guards. They went crying to the Government, ‘Boo-hoo-hoo. Those vandals are out of control.’ And the Government listened to them. They passed new laws—did you know that it’s a bigger crime to destroy a Baron’s property than to kill an ordinary person? It’s true.” Oscar lowered his voice, as if confiding a great secret in Luke. “And meanwhile, ordinary people are starving in the streets. . . .”

  “That’s not fair,” Luke said in a small voice.

  Oscar stood up and started to pace. “That’s right, it’s not fair. That’s why we’re doing something about it.”

  “We are?” Luke asked. He wondered if Oscar was going to say anything about the unfair Population Law, which forced third children into hiding. That was something else the Government had done wrong. Did Oscar know about those kids, who had even more reason than Oscar to hate the Government? Did Oscar care?

  Oscar paused in his pacing and gave Luke a glance that made Luke feel about as big as an insect. And as easily squashed.

  “I’ve been working for the underground resistance for years,” Oscar said. “Our sole goal is to overthrow the Government and the Barons, and to reestablish justice. Equity for all, that’s our motto.” Oscar rested his hands on the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. Luke could tell that Oscar only needed to flex a muscle or two and he could have torn the chair to shreds. But Oscar wasn’t moving. He was watching Luke.

  “You and I both know,” Oscar said, “it’s treason even to say that I oppose the Government. If you reported me, I’d deny everything. And there’d be no evidence to link me to any plots.”

  Luke could tell Oscar was waiting for Luke now, waiting for some sort of cue to go on.

  “I won’t report you,” Luke said. “Why would I do that?”

  “Good,” Oscar said. “We understand each other.”

  He sat down again and seemed to relax back into his story.

  “I’ll admit,” he said. “I was nothing but a two-bit punk in the beginning. I was poor, uneducated—how could I be anything else? But then my friends and me, we got hooked up with some other rebels. Eggheads, we called them. They thought about stuff like political philosophy. Who needs it? But they had the money to do real damage. They taught us about having more of an impact than blowing up a few mailboxes, ruining a few cars, when the Barons could always buy new. They taught us about being subtle. They even trained some of us as accountants, computer experts, electricians, all the trades. So we could create even more problems for the Government and the Barons.”

  “Oh,” Luke said.

  “You know those electrical outages they kept having on the coast? We did that,” Oscar said. “Entire cities, blacked out. Because of us.”

  Luke had never heard of the electrical outages, but he tried to look impressed.

  Oscar sprawled in his chair, as if he was totally comfortable with telling Luke this part of his story.

  “Nobody was supposed to know about us, but we were famous, in our own way,” Oscar said. “Who else dared to do anything? We were cool. We even started attracting a Baron kid or two, rebelling against their parents.”

  Luke looked up, startled.

  “Lee,” Luke said.

  “Yep,” Oscar said, nodding. “The real Lee Grant. Or maybe I should say, the original version.”

  Luke leaned forward, waiting. He realized he was barely breathing.

  “Lee wasn’t our first Baron kid, but he had the best connections,” Oscar said.

  “But why would he—,” Luke began.

  “If your dad’s the richest man in the country, and you’re mad at him, what’s the best way to get back at him? Mess up the Government. Such fun.” Oscar shook his head. “None of us trusted him.”

  “Then, why did you let him join?” Luke asked.

  “Don’t you see?” Oscar asked. “He was Lee Grant What a great weapon for our cause.” He looked down. “Some in our group thought the best thing we could do was to kidnap him and ask for ransom. We could have financed our operations for years to come.”

  “But you didn’t do that,” Luke said, almost as a question.

  “No,” Oscar said impatiently. “We thought he’d be more useful in other ways. And he was. He . . . matured. He was turning into a fine subversive. When he was home on break from school, he relayed lots of plans he stole from his father. Plans that helped us know what the Government was up to so we could counter their activities.”

  “What did he do for you when he was away at school?” Luke asked. In spite of himself, he was fascinated by this new version of Lee’s life. Luke felt like he was putting together a jigsaw puzzle: Here’s one piece showing Lee pulling his younger brother, Smits, in a red wagon. Here’s the piece from his mother: Lee as the gifted musician, the talented athlete, the brilliant student. Here’s the piece from Mr. Grant—Lee as the stubborn troublemaker.

  Somehow that was the only piece that seemed to jibe with Oscar’s story.

  “He went to one of those fancy, richy-rich prep schools. And while he was there”—Oscar chucked—“he tricked all those sons of the establishment into helping us without even knowing it. He was a piece of work, that Lee.”

  “But he died,” Luke said. For the first time he put together what Smits and Smits’s parents had said. “He was killed doing something for you. For your group.” It wasn’t a question. That had to be the “illegal activity” Mr. Grant had referred to. That had to be the reason a Government soldier had shot Lee. Smits hadn’t been lying about that at all.

  Oscar frowned.

  “Unfortunately, yes. He was killed during one of our secret missions,” Oscar said.

  “What was it?”

  Oscar narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide how much to tell Luke. “Last spring we thought maybe we had our chance to act. There’d been an anti-Government rally in the capital. We weren’t part of that—we knew it was doomed from the start. But it shook some people up. A lot of kids died, right there in public, and there were actually some officials who got upset. Public deaths are so much more offensive than private ones.”

  Luke wasn’t sure what to make of this news. Was Oscar talking about the rally that Jen had led and died in? Had the rally had an impact after all?

  “We thought we’d strike while the enemy was in disarray,” Oscar said. “But we had to get weapons out to everyone in our group as quickly as possible. Some of our people were in the far north. Lee was a good cross-country skier. He volunteered to cross the mountains to deliver the munitions.”

  “Munitions?” Luke repeated.

  “Guns,” Oscar said.

  Luke tried to imagine a boy his age, alone in the mountains, carrying guns. He’d never seen any mountains for real, but he pictured them as desolate places. Just snow and trees and Lee, carrying guns.

  “So they caught him. The Government caught him,” Luke said.

  Oscar nodded. “Lee had the sense to try to escape. He knew this wa
s life or death. If they’d captured him alive, they might have tortured him. He might have revealed our plans, betrayed our group. We might all be dead right now if Lee had talked.”

  If Luke had been in Lee’s place, would Luke have been able to be so brave?

  “But your plan,” Luke said. “You didn’t go through with your plan?”

  “Do you see any sign that the Government’s gone? That the Barons’ wealth has been given to the people?” Oscar clutched the arm of his chair—an exquisite leather chair—as if he really wanted to hand it to some poor person. “No. Without our allies in the north, with the Government suspicious after finding Lee, it wasn’t worth the risk.”

  “Oh,” Luke said.

  All this had been happening while Luke was sitting at home wondering what had happened at Jen’s rally. What else had been going on in the country then? How many others wanted to overthrow the Government? Maybe if they all got together—maybe that way something would happen.

  “Did Mr. Talbot know about your plan?” Luke asked.

  “Who?” Oscar said.

  “Mr. Talbot. The man who came to school that one time. He had lunch with Mr. Hendricks and Smits and me, the day Smits ran off and said he wouldn’t obey his parents. . . .”

  A disgusted look was spreading over Oscar’s face.

  “He’s a Baron. Barons can’t be trusted,” Oscar said.

  “You trusted Lee,” Luke reminded him.

  “Lee was a kid,” Oscar said. “He could be . . . molded. Someone like this Mr. Talbot—bah!”

  Luke felt honor-bound to defend Jen’s father.

  “But he’s helped me,” Luke protested. “More than once.” Did he dare tell Oscar that Mr. Talbot was a double agent, pretending to work for the Population Police while he secretly sabotaged their work?

  “Are you sure?” Oscar snarled. “Are you sure he wasn’t just helping himself? Will he still help you when you no longer serve his purposes?”

  And Luke couldn’t answer that. He trusted Mr. Talbot. Of course he trusted Mr. Talbot. But maybe it had helped Mr. Talbot to give Luke a fake I.D., to protect him at Hendricks School. Luke knew about Jen. Luke could tell the Population Police about Jen. Luke could get Mr. Talbot killed.