After a few minutes I looked up to see the girls circling things with quick drops of their pencils to switch colors; Caelyn held two pencils in her right hand so that she had to switch less often. They flipped through their pages pretty quickly, though sometimes they would turn back to earlier pages to note a couple more things.
“Um…can you read that?” I asked.
“Read it?” Caelyn asked, sounding puzzled. “We don’t need to read it.”
“They read it downstairs,” Brid explained. “It’s coded. Ciphered, actually. We look for patterns and repeats. Downstairs, they can use those to guess at common possible words, phrases, or place-names, and then line up all the letters and changes to see if they’re consistent. It saves them time if we look at the pages first.”
“Oh.” I continued scanning my paper, whispering the letters out loud because I thought it might be easier for me to hear than see a repeat. I heard myself say “TXR” a few times, so I circled it everywhere I saw it. Maybe those letters stood in for a common word in Tyssian.
I found a couple other things. Before I knew it, we were being called for lunch. Brid took my pages back, and looked over them, circling other things here and there. “This isn’t too bad.”
Which meant it wasn’t too good, either.
Didn’t they care that they didn’t know what these messages meant?
—
Outside, Annevi turned Tyssia Tag to Tyssia Tackle and managed to bring Tommy—the tallest—down to take in a faceful of moss as she stripped off his armband. My heart was already pounding from running; I didn’t want to land face-first in moss.
I noticed Fredericka, the reader, sitting by herself on a low stone wall by the house.
I sat down next to her. “You don’t like to play?”
“Not really. But they make everyone go outside.”
“Yeah, they told me.”
“Don’t you like it? It looked like you were having fun.”
“I was, but…I’m tired now.” I took off my tiger-striped armband.
She nodded.
“Have you been here a long time?”
“Six months.”
“Who’s been here the longest?”
“Tommy. And then Hamlin.”
“You’re good at reading?
“Yes,” she said, though not in a conceited way.
Everyone here was good at something.
Everyone except me.
“Why did they pick us? Kids, I mean.”
She shrugged. “If people are good at something, does it matter how old they are?”
I shook my head. “I guess I didn’t mean like that. I guess what I meant is that I’m surprised the grown-ups saw it that way.”
“I told you Tommy was the first—his dad’s a mathematician at a university. Tommy used to go in as a little boy, solve puzzles and things at his father’s desk, just to pass the time. Mr. Olivier, who’s here downstairs, had been at the university, too, and he remembered Tommy. He thought a lot of the intelligence would seem like puzzles to Tommy. So they gave him some problems, and he thought of them in a different way than anyone else had. Then they brought him here, and looked for other kids like him.”
“Tommy’s father was okay with that?”
“It sounds like he was glad. It’s so much safer here.”
“What about your father?”
“A grocer. When there’s not a lot of food, it’s hard for him to make enough money for us. We always had something to eat, but he worried about how to pay for everything else. When the test came to our town, it seemed like a good idea for me to sit it. It’s helped them, the money I’ve earned.”
“Do you know what’s happened to your family?”
She shook her head.
“Is it hard not to write home?”
She nodded. “They were going to—at least, I think they were going to—save up the money so that they could move somewhere safer, up north, farther from the border. If they do, I won’t even know where they are.”
Fredericka sounded so sad, I couldn’t help putting my hand on hers. Our hands were cold.
I looked away so she could feel like she had some privacy.
The Examiner was staring at me.
Again.
Because I wasn’t running and playing?
I couldn’t even play right.
The bell rang for the end of playtime. The Examiner rounded everyone up to march back inside and checked all the fresh scrapes and bruises.
As I walked closer, I realized that the Examiner wasn’t upset about the scrapes and bruises; she seemed to be admiring them.
—
Dinner was a potato-and-meat pie with a flaky crust. It was warm, delicious, and filling, though the gravy seemed to stick in my throat.
After dinner, I went to the art room.
I ran my fingers over the crayons, flipped through the stacks of colored paper. If only I could have packed a box to send to Kammi and Tye.
I got a large sheet of paper and a pencil, and sketched without thinking about what I was drawing. After a long while, I got some watercolors, mostly beiges and browns, only hints of color. I worked slowly, letting the layers dry.
The door opened and Miss Ibsen came in.
“It’s time to head up to bed.”
“Yes, Miss Ibsen.” I started to clean up the paints and water.
She looked at my painting.
Four people sat around a table: a man, a woman, two children. They didn’t have features, really. In front of each person was a heaping plate of food. A disgusting amount of food.
“Is it your family?” she asked.
I shrugged.
“The empty chair…that would have been…your chair?”
I rinsed my brushes out carefully.
Miss Ibsen got some pins and hung up my picture.
She put her arm around me at the door.
“WE’LL LOSE A DAY’S WORK!”
“The point precisely,” the Examiner said. “You’re forgetting to be children. You’ll go out for the day and have fun.” She beamed at everyone.
I looked to Gunnar, who shrugged. We would have to wait to know who’d been hit in last night’s bombings.
We got our coats and the Examiner counted us off, five kids to one proctor. I was glad to be with Caelyn and Miss Ibsen.
“Stay with your groups,” the Examiner said. “We wouldn’t want to lose anyone.”
“Because we know too much,” Caelyn whispered.
She nodded at me as the Examiner continued, “Don’t speak to anyone along the way or in the village.”
The Examiner watched us as we left through the south gates. Didn’t she want to go on the outing? What would she do instead?
The ground became soft as we plodded toward the village at the bottom of the hill. The stream was quick and swollen from snow melting above us on the mountain.
Annevi ran by, coat flying behind her, giving people a thwack here and there. “Tag!”
“What if she gets lost?” I asked Miss Ibsen.
“Hooting as she does? We couldn’t lose Annevi if we tried,” Miss Ibsen said. But she didn’t sound mean. She sounded as if Annevi was a delight to her.
I wasn’t loud. I could easily be lost.
“You’ll be all right, too,” Miss Ibsen said. “Go and be with Caelyn.”
I caught up with Caelyn. We walked silently for a while. Then I asked, “Where do you come from, Caelyn?”
“Up north, by the sea.”
“Do you miss your parents?”
“Yes,” she said, but it didn’t sound like an I’m-finished kind of yes. Her breath caught a little, as if she had been about to say more. I waited. “But not because I came here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I missed them before. They died a few years ago. Them and my brothers.”
“Oh no, Caelyn, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged.
“What happened?”
“A flu. I had it, too, but I got b
etter. I lived with my grandparents after that. When they heard about the test, they wanted me to be able to go to university, which they couldn’t give me. They wanted me to be with other children, which they couldn’t give me. At least, that’s what they said.”
Her voice was heavy, as if she didn’t believe these things were worth being sent away for. Or as if there may have been other reasons. I thought of my picture from the night before, of the family like mine with all that food and the empty chair.
We walked in silence for a few minutes.
“Caelyn?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t because they didn’t want you.”
Caelyn linked her arm through mine and we stayed that way for the rest of the walk.
—
The village had a fountain in the middle, and shops. The fountain was dry, but everyone raced around it, feet slapping the cobblestones, a thunderous version of Kammi running ahead to school. Our journey to the village had taken so long that it was lunchtime. Miss Ibsen bought fifty buns at the baker’s and handed them out.
After lunch, we went to the cinema!
I’d never been before.
First they played a newsreel about Sofarender and Eilean forces defending our cities.
“They’re a little behind the times,” the boy next to me whispered.
Our forces were still fighting, of course, but the cities and areas they were talking about hadn’t been attacked in weeks. Tyssia had moved on to other cities.
One of the proctors shushed the boy.
To any strangers in the theater, it would have sounded like an ordinary “shush,” but it really meant: Top-secret. Remember, you know nothing.
Then came the feature. A cartoon!
I knew the story. I’m sure everyone did.
A princess lived high on a hill, as we did.
She was locked in, as we were.
Away from her family, as we were.
She was rescued.
Like none of us would be.
—
After the cinema, we got to explore the shops. We all liked the stationer’s best. In addition to pens and paper, it had gifts and toys.
While everyone else looked at the toys, I wandered over to the crisp new envelopes. I picked one up and smelled it, breathing in deeply, closing my eyes.
It smelled like him. Like Father.
My fingers itched over the sample pens. I could get a picture postcard and borrow a pen for just a minute. The stationer would surely have stamps, too.
Where was Miss Ibsen?
There, by the door, discussing the model aerials with Hamlin and a few other boys. The boys were probably complaining about structural inaccuracies in the models. And begging to bring a few back with us.
I had the money Father had given me. Buying a postcard and stamp would be no problem. I looked at the pictures, all of this village or the mountain. I bit my lip.
Not writing home was a stupid rule. And they hadn’t reminded us today. How bad would it be if someone could trace my location to this village, half a day’s walk from Faetre?
I grabbed a postcard, turned it over, and uncapped a pen.
I paused.
What would I say, anyway?
Happy and safe ~ Mathilde.
I pictured my paintings again.
Maybe just…Safe…Mathilde.
Why couldn’t I think of what to say to them? What would they say to me?
Was this one of those things that Mother had talked about, that the Examiner had talked about? How we protected each other?
That it was easier just to say That was the right choice and march forward, without each other?
“Certainly are a lot of you kids here today!”
I jumped.
A man reached over me, paying for a newspaper at the counter. The headline said BORDER REMAINS STRONG. Another thing said just for self-preservation?
“Where are all you kids from?”
I knew I wasn’t supposed to answer him. But wouldn’t it be worse not to?
“A school,” I said.
“Ah. The school up the hill. What do you study?”
“Math…and reading.”
“Very good.”
Miss Ibsen appeared at my side. She nodded to the man, ending the conversation. Then she took the pen from my hand and capped it.
IN THE MORNING, when all the kids were receiving their updates and tasks, I headed over to Gunnar.
“Lykkelig’s okay,” he said. “Holtzberg got hit.”
His town. His home.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to hide my relief that my family and Megs were okay for another day.
The Examiner appeared beside us.
“Gunnar,” she said, “it might interest you to know that only the northwest area of Holtzberg got hit?”
Gunnar flushed pink, trying not to look too relieved in front of the other boys. He nodded his thanks, and turned to the map with the others.
“Mathilde?” the Examiner said. “Come to my office.”
I hurried to follow.
“Shut the door,” she said once we were inside.
I did and, in response to her nod, took the chair in front of her desk. I waited, heart thudding.
She’d heard about me talking to the man at the shop. Or trying to write home.
After a moment’s silence, she said, “We’ve acquired a prisoner of war.”
—
“What?”
“We’re holding a Tyssian soldier.”
She studied me until I couldn’t wait anymore.
“Why are you telling me?”
“I’m giving you an assignment.”
I stared at her.
“Part of your daily work will now include talking to him.”
“You want me to…talk to him?”
The other children all had tasks that were puzzles.
She nodded.
“Haven’t you already questioned him?”
“I want you to.”
“Every day?”
“There are things you can’t learn in one day.”
I nodded slowly. “What do you want me to learn?”
She continued as if I hadn’t asked the question. “You will talk to him alone, but you will be perfectly safe. I will check in with you every day.”
“Okay.” I still didn’t know what I was meant to learn, but I knew I couldn’t ask her again. She would have answered my question if she’d wanted to.
“You’ll start this morning. Ready?”
I stared at the Examiner as she started to get up. I didn’t move.
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Does he speak Sofarender?”
“He should. If that’s not working, your Eilian is better than your Tyssian, according to the translations on your test, so try that next.”
“What—” I searched for a way to rephrase my questions. “What do you want me to ask him about?”
“Nothing in particular. Just talk.”
“Just…talk?”
“Just talk.”
Just talk.
And report what I’d learned.
“What am I supposed to say to him?”
“Anything you like except about our work here.”
She wasn’t giving me a goal. How could I possibly succeed?
“Ready?” she asked again.
I nodded.
I wasn’t allowed to say no.
—
She led me to an upstairs corridor of offices. Grown-ups glanced at me through their open doors as I passed; none looked twice, so I figured they weren’t bothered to see me in their hallway. They were all dressed like the Examiner and doing what seemed to be paperwork. They were very quiet.
So adults worked downstairs and upstairs.
A lot of different things went on in this building.
Each thing secret from the others?
The Examiner paused at a door. She unlocked it and handed me a key.
“Your key will work on either side of this door. I’m going to lock you in.”
Locked in.
Alone with a Tyssian soldier.
I shivered.
Be brave, be brave.
I wouldn’t really be locked in. I’d have the key.
I took a deep breath, accepted the key, and stepped into the room.
—
I stood in a narrow passage along the side of the room. A metal fence went from ceiling to floor; beyond that was a second metal fence, also from ceiling to floor, so there would always be at least three feet of space between us.
On the other side of the fencing was another door. It had no doorknob. A metal plate extended from the door to cover what would have been the gap between the wall and the door.
There was a cot with blankets; a pitcher with water and a basin; an empty plate, presumably from breakfast; and a bucket with a lid.
And there he was, sitting, knees drawn to his chest.
My enemy had been aerials in the sky.
Bombs.
Hunger.
Loved ones taken away.
I had never pictured a Tyssian before.
He wasn’t even old. Only a few years older than Tommy, maybe eighteen. He wore drab beige clothes. His hair was blond, like mine.
He looked up as I entered and I saw his eyes were blue, like mine.
If I had bothered to picture a Tyssian, I wouldn’t have pictured him to be so much like me. My skin itched, and something heavy settled in my stomach.
He turned even paler as he stared at me. Like maybe I was a ghost.
What could I say to him?
I walked over to the fence.
Was it rude to stare when it was the enemy, when he was in a cage?
Father took me and Kammi to the zoo once.
There had been a tiger.
We couldn’t get enough of looking at the tiger.
This tiger stared back at me, still waiting.
How was I supposed to begin this conversation that was to happen every day?
Standing up taller than him didn’t seem to be right, so I backed up to my wall and slid down, sitting with crossed legs.
I looked at him, and started the only way I knew how:
“I’m Mathilde.”
HAD HE UNDERSTOOD ME? Even if he had, me telling him my name and sitting down as if to stay awhile seemed to puzzle him.
Finally, he said, in Tyssian, “You have a message for me?”
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