It had never occurred to Luke before that he had any power over Mr. Talbot.
He didn’t like thinking about Mr. Talbot in that way. He forced himself to stare back steadily at Oscar, so Oscar didn’t see how confused Luke was. Luke crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look certain, trying to look unfazed. Something in his pajama pocket jabbed into his arm—it was the fake I.D.’s he’d taken from Smits’s room at Hendricks after the fire. Did Luke dare ask Oscar about those I.D.’s now? Was it finally time to get an explanation?
No. Luke felt like he’d already made a mistake mentioning Mr. Talbot. It was better to wait and see what Oscar would tell him on his own.
After a second Oscar sighed and said, “Never mind. This Mr. Talbot, he doesn’t matter now. It helped everyone to have you become Lee Grant. It helped the Grants and it helped our cause. It protected us from the Government.”
Luke could have added, ‘And it helped me.” He could even have made it funny, like a joke. That would have defused the tension that had suddenly arisen between him and Oscar. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He kept his lips resolutely pressed together, waiting.
“Yes, you helped us all,” Oscar said. “But there have been problems. . . .”
“I know about Smits,” Luke said. That seemed to be a safe subject. “I know that he told people Lee was dead—”
Oscar waved away that concern. “We can handle Smits. He’s just a little boy. And he has me to watch out for him.” Oscar grinned in a way that reminded Luke of a drawing of the Big Bad Wolf in the fairy tale book his mother had read to him when he was little. Hadn’t there been a story in that book about how stupid it was to let a wolf guard sheep?
“Do Mr. and Mrs. Grant know that you, um, I mean . . .,” Luke began.
“That I know how Lee died? That I know Smits isn’t so crazy after all—just stupid? That I work for the resistance? Do you think I’m crazy?” Oscar peered intently at Luke, and for a minute Luke thought he expected an answer. Then Oscar exploded, “Of course not. They don’t know anything.”
“Well, that’s good,” Luke muttered.
Oscar laughed. “Yeah, you could say that. I just ‘happened’ to show up here looking for work at the right time. ‘Do you need a bodyguard for your sons?’ I asked. ‘Sons,’ I said, even though I knew Lee was already dead. And it just so happened I had perfect credentials. . . .” He smirked. “Perfect fake credentials, of course.”
“Oh,” Luke said. He frowned. “Then if the Grants don’t know, and you’re not worried about Smits—what’s the problem?”
“The Grants are being blackmailed,” Oscar said.
Luke looked back blankly at Oscar. “Blackmailed? Is that where—”
Oscar didn’t wait for Luke to figure out the meaning. “Someone knows what really happened to Lee. And he—or they, whoever it is—has been threatening to reveal the truth to the Government if the Grants don’t pay lots of money.”
Luke stared at Oscar. This wasn’t just about the Grants and Lee. This was his life on the line, too.
“Are they paying it?” Luke asked.
“So far,” Oscar said. “But they want to stop.”
And suddenly Luke understood. Suddenly he knew why he’d been taken away from Hendricks School, why the Grants had called him into the secret room only a few hours ago, why they suddenly had a use for him after months of ignoring him.
“That’s why they want me to pretend to die,” Luke said. “They don’t care about Smits or grieving at all. They’re just trying to stop the blackmail. It’s all about money.” He was perfectly willing to believe the worst about the Grants. But then he remembered—should he have revealed so much to Oscar?
But Oscar was nodding grimly. He clearly knew all about the Grants’ plan.
“I suspected that that was what they were telling you tonight,” Oscar said. “Well, don’t worry. You’re not going to die. Smits is going to die in your place.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
For the longest time Luke could only stare wordlessly at Oscar. Then he managed to croak, “Just pretend, right?”
“Oh, right,” Oscar said quickly. “We’re going to fake Smits’s death, the way the Grants were planning to fake yours. After that, the Grants wouldn’t dare let anything happen to you, because it would look too suspicious to have two sons die in bizarre accidents. And as Lee Grant, you can help the cause. Think of all you can do from this base of operations. They couldn’t stop you. . . .”
Luke remembered what Mr. Hendricks had said before Smits came to Luke’s school: “I’d have a better chance of stopping the wind than stopping a Grant from doing what he wants.” What if Luke could really act like Lee Grant, could really carry off that kind of overwhelming power? He could almost believe in Oscar’s fantasy. Almost.
“But what would happen to Smits?” Luke asked.
“Oh, we’d hide him away somewhere,” Oscar said. “Not that it matters. He’s such a worthless brat.”
Luke tried to imagine Smits in hiding. He’d been miserable enough at Hendricks, which was a paradise of freedom compared with life in hiding. How could Luke force Smits into the same prison Luke had escaped?
“Isn’t there some other choice?” Luke asked hesitantly. “Can’t you just stop the Grants’ plan without hurting Smits?”
Oscar laughed. “Do you really care whether Smits gets hurt or not? This is war. Nothing’s going to be accomplished without someone getting hurt. Why shouldn’t it be Smits? Is there someone else you’d prefer to see in pain?”
Luke went cold. Was Oscar threatening him? Did Oscar care who got hurt? Would he care if somebody died?
“I don’t want anyone hurt,” Luke said in a small voice. “Can’t we do this . . . peacefully?”
This time Oscar’s laughter was overwhelming. It took him a full five minutes to regain control.
“Oh, puh-lease,” Oscar said, still snorting laughter. “Do you avoid stepping on ants, too? Maybe I misjudged you. I didn’t take you for a sissy. I didn’t take you for a Baron lover. Just another drone supporting the ruling class and the Government—”
“I don’t support the Government,” Luke said angrily.
“Well, sure, you can say that,” Oscar taunted him. “But I’m giving you a chance to strike a blow for freedom, and you’re scared some spoiled Baron brat might get treated a little roughly. What’s Smits to you, anyway? What’s he ever done for you?”
“Nothing,” Luke said, but it wasn’t true. Luke couldn’t forget the slow unreeling of confidences Smits had told Luke all those nights back at school. Smits had shared all his memories of the real Lee. Luke had never asked for them. They didn’t make Smits any less infuriating. But Luke couldn’t forget them. He couldn’t forget that Smits wasn’t just a Baron, but a real boy, already deeply hurt, already deep in grief.
How could Luke be responsible for hurting him more?
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight, do we?” Luke asked. “Mr. and Mrs. Grant said they were going to dye my hair and get me braces. Nothing’s going to happen right away. We have time to think this out. Maybe—maybe if we work together we can think of a better plan. . . .”
Oscar snorted.
“I thought someone like you would jump at the chance to help the cause. I thought you were like me,” he said. “I thought you had guts.”
“I do!” Luke wanted to say. “I am! I would!” But the words wouldn’t come. Because he wasn’t sure. Of anything.
Oscar didn’t give him a chance to interrupt.
“Don’t you see?” Oscar said. “You don’t always get time to think, time to consider carefully. We have an opportunity now that we can take or we can miss. And if we miss it, what happens then?” He stared straight at Luke. “I need your answer tonight. Are you with me or not?”
Luke gulped.
“I don’t know,” he said. That seemed to be the bravest answer he could give. It was, at least, honest.
But what place did ho
nesty have around people like Oscar and the Grants?
It was too hard to sit there with Oscar staring at him, waiting for him to decide. Abruptly Luke stood up.
“What are you doing?” Oscar said.
“Um, going back to bed?” No matter how hard Luke tried to sound strong and certain—as tough as Oscar—his voice rose into a question. “I’m—I mean, a good night’s sleep will help me think. Could you open the door for me, please?”
Luke was practically begging. Oscar had all the power now. If he wanted to, Oscar could keep Luke prisoner until Luke agreed to help him. What would Luke do then?
But Oscar stood up, too.
“Just one word of advice before you go,” Oscar said. “Watch out for chandeliers.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Luke woke to bright sunlight streaming in the windows. This, too, seemed fake somehow—like a trick. How could the sun be shining when Luke’s mind was in such turmoil? He looked up at the elaborate light fixture that arced over his bed, and even that seemed dangerous this morning. “Watch out for chandeliers,” Oscar had said. Did the light over his bed count as a chandelier? Was Luke in danger every time he went to sleep?
Luke shook his head back and forth on the pillow. He needed to get a grip on his fears. He remembered what Mother always said back home every time he or his brothers whined about anything: “Count your blessings. Look on the bright side.” Luke’s current problems were a lot worse than, say, Matthew and Mark wanting to play football while Luke wanted to play tag. But maybe he could find a few blessings even now. He began making a mental list.
1. Oscar had been kind enough to warn Luke about the chandelier.
But why? Was it a true warning or just a trick? Luke decided to move on to the next blessing.
2. Nobody was going to blow his cover. The Grants needed him to be Lee. Oscar needed him to be Lee.
But what about Smits? Could Luke trust Smits to keep Luke’s secret?
Luke frowned and abandoned his list of blessings. It was all too confusing. Every blessing hid more danger and uncertainty. It was like the reverse of that saying about clouds and silver linings: All of Luke’s silver linings hid dark storm clouds.
I’ll just call Mr. Talbot, Luke told himself. He’ll know what to do.
“He’s a Baron. Barons can’t be trusted. . . .” Oscar’s words from the night before echoed in Luke’s head. Luke tried to push them away, but the doubts lingered.
Luke wished he could trust Oscar. Oscar was already right there. He didn’t like the Grants any more than Luke did. It would be so easy to agree with Oscar, let Oscar do all the planning, let Oscar save Luke.
If only Oscar’s plan didn’t involve Smits. How could Luke, who wanted freedom so badly, help send another boy into hiding?
And was that what Oscar was really planning to do? In that moment before Luke had asked about Oscar’s plan, “Just pretend, right?” he’d seen a glimmer in Oscar’s eyes.
If Luke hadn’t protested, would Oscar have let him believe that Smits was going to be killed for real?
Was Oscar planning actual murder?
Were the Grants?
Luke had been wrong about a good night’s sleep helping him think. His thoughts were more jumbled than ever. He was more terrified than ever.
“I can trust Mr. Talbot,” he said aloud fiercely.
He slipped out of bed and went into the hall. He tapped on Smits’s door.
“Who is it?” Smits mumbled.
“Me,” Luke said. It was too hard to say Lee’s name to Smits. Especially now. Without waiting for an answer, Luke pushed on in.
“Ever heard of privacy?” Smits said. “Ever heard of letting someone sleep in?”
Smits was still in bed, tangled up in his blankets and sheets as if he’d been fighting with his bedding all night long. His hair stuck up at odd angles, making him seem younger than ever. He was just a little kid. After having heard Oscar’s plan, Luke found it hurt just to look at Smits.
But Luke took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was supposed to be a carefree Baron, lazing around on an unexpected day off from school. Not an illegal third child terrified of murder plots.
“It’s ten o’clock already,” Luke said. “How much sleep do you need?”
He was proud of the way his voice sounded so even and calm—even playful.
Smits just groaned.
“Hey,” Luke said, still forcing himself to sound casual. “Don’t you think we should call back to school and see how close they are to finishing the repairs? See how soon we can go—I mean, we’ll have to go back?”
Luke had picked this ruse on the spur of the moment. It’d be easier to get Mr. Hendricks to seek help from Mr. Talbot, rather than trying to call Mr. Talbot directly. Nobody could deny a boy a phone if he said he just wanted to call his school. Could they?
Smits stared back at Luke as if Smits had totally forgotten about Hendricks School. Then he laughed.
“Oh, good try,” he said. “But Dad’ll see through it.”
“What?” Luke said, suddenly scared that even Smits had figured out what Luke was planning.
“You want to make some more of those prank calls again, don’t you?” Smits asked. “Remember how much trouble we got into last year at Christmas? ‘Hello, is your refrigerator running? Can’t you catch it?’ And then Dad made it so we couldn’t use any of the phones in the house at all, because they all take a special code?”
Smits was covering for Luke once again, telling him information that Lee would have known, but Luke didn’t. Why? Why did Smits want to help Luke?
It didn’t matter. Either way, Luke wouldn’t be able to use a phone.
“We’re basically prisoners here, aren’t we?” Luke asked quietly.
At that moment Oscar stepped into the room. Luke froze.
“Ah,” Oscar said. “A little early-morning brotherly chitchat, I see. How pleasant.” He leaned casually against the wall. Then he very deliberately pulled a headset off his ears and placed it on a chest of drawers beside him. “I won’t need this now that I’m right in the room with the two of you.”
Luke glanced at Smits, wondering if the younger boy got the message, too: Oscar had been listening to their entire conversation. Smits’s room was bugged, and Oscar heard everything that happened there electronically.
Smits’s face registered no surprise whatsoever.
“Yeah, it was pleasant until you showed up,” Smits said.
Luke looked from Smits to Oscar. He felt trapped between the two of them, the muscular man and the scrawny boy. Oscar wanted Luke to betray Smits. And Smits wanted—what?
“Sometimes brothers have secrets they want to share,” Oscar said. “And sometimes they have secrets they need to keep to themselves.”
And Luke saw, staring at Smits’s face, that Smits thought Oscar was saying that for Smits’s sake, telling Smits not to share any secrets with Luke.
What secrets did Smits know?
And what had Oscar told him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Luke took a shower and got dressed. For some reason he couldn’t have explained, even to himself, he transferred the fake I.D.’s for Oscar and Smits from his pajamas into the pants he’d put on. Maybe he just liked having a few secrets of his own. Or—how did he know that his room wasn’t going to be searched while he was away?
Being at the Grants’ house was making him totally paranoid.
Except—was it still paranoia if all his fears were justified?
On the way down to breakfast Luke passed Oscar on the stairs. Luke half expected him to stop Luke and ask quietly, “So what’s your answer now?”
But Oscar only flickered his gaze briefly in Luke’s direction. Otherwise, he acted as if Luke didn’t exist.
He took my “I don’t know” as a no, Luke thought. And the chance to join his cause was a onetime offer. Luke’s heart sank. He wanted to grab the hulking man and beg for a second chance. But how could he? He still didn�
��t want to hurt Smits.
“What’s going to happen now?” Luke asked weakly. He meant, “Are you going to kill Smits or just hide him away somewhere? Or are the Grants going to kill me?”
Oscar didn’t answer, just brushed on by.
Luke stood still, practically trembling. Breakfast, he told himself. I’ll feel better after breakfast. He forced himself to continue down the stairs.
But after a huge meal that he barely tasted, he could think of nothing to do except wander aimlessly around the house. In the living room—actually, one of several rooms that Luke would have called a living room—he found an elegantly curved telephone sitting on a coffee table. Without hope, he picked up the receiver.
A maid appeared out of nowhere and scolded, “Now, Master Lee, you know your father’s got those secret codes on that.”
Luke got an idea.
“Tell me the code,” he said. “You’re the servant. I’m Master Lee. You have to tell me the code.”
The maid laughed. “Sure, and you think I’d know it?” She shook a feather duster playfully at him. “Now, scoot. I’ve got dusting to do.”
Embarrassed, Luke turned away. Master Lee. Right. And Oscar thought that if Smits was out of the way, Luke could manipulate the Grants into serving the cause?
No, Luke realized. Oscar thought he could manipulate Luke into manipulating the Grants. Luke’s only choices were between being a pawn for the Grants and being a pawn for Oscar.
But Luke couldn’t even choose between those two options, because he didn’t know how or when the Grants or Oscar intended to carry out their plans. Why hadn’t he pretended to be more cooperative during both of his sessions in the secret room? Why hadn’t he just lied like everyone else?
Luke sank down onto the nearest couch. He couldn’t call Mr. Talbot or Mr. Hendricks. He couldn’t trust anyone at the Grants’ house. He couldn’t stop any of the plots boiling around him. He couldn’t even tell the difference between the lies and the truths that he’d heard. For all he knew, Oscar might be working for the Government, not the resistance. Smits might always have hated his older brother, Lee. The Grants might be the poorest people in the country, instead of the richest. Or, no—Luke stared down at the finely woven carpet beneath his feet—the Grants’ wealth was one fact that was indisputable.
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