Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3)

  16

  THE FACE OF THE UNDERGROUND

  Me. Kneeling at the side altar, praying. The lists were clutched to my chest, the names visible, my scarred forehead was bare and the tears on my cheeks gleamed in the candlelight from the altar. The background was carefully blurred, only the safely anonymous crucifix and candlesticks in focus, though a black censorship box had been placed over the centre of the cross. I looked like some sort of tragic angel.

  My cheeks caught fire. My entire face caught fire. I grabbed a couple more, maybe it was a different picture really... nope, same one. The most strictly controlled papers were running articles about the foolishness of prayer and the irrationality of objecting to Sorting, but there I was, my tearful eyes gazing soulfully into the beyond. Who?

  My fingers clenched around the paper, crumpling it.

  “Eduardo! ” Nothing got off this island without his say-so!

  I spun around, searching the room. A lot of faces looked at me, but they all wore startled expressions.

  “Eduardo! ” I shouted again, heading for the door.

  “What? ” bellowed Jon, following me. My anger wavered guiltily – must’ve been ignoring him... I almost turned back – then caught sight of Eduardo in the hall outside and I was across that canteen like a dog after a rabbit.

  “Eduardo, did you take this picture, you... you toad !”

  He stared at me.

  “No, Brother Marcel took the picture. I asked him to keep his eyes open for any good shots. That was clearly a good one. The press seem to agree.”

  “The press seem to agree! How dare you! You didn’t even ask me! Are you trying to turn me into... into some sort of saint or something? Leave the bloody spin-doctoring to the other side, can’t you?” I was spluttering with rage.

  Not a flicker of remorse showed on Eduardo’s face.

  “You were praying in front of the altar, weren’t you?”

  “Yes...”

  “Then where’s the spin-doctoring? I didn’t ask you to pose...”

  “I was praying – that’s private, you bastard...”

  A slight expression actually crept onto Eduardo’s face. A pissed off one. He plucked the paper from my hand and waved it at me, crumpling it further.

  “Don’t you understand ? This is a photograph of someone praying. Praying is on par with murder – as far as the punishment is concerned – and praying in public is worse. And this photo is on the front of every newspaper in the EuroBloc – every single one. This is worth ten Liberations, or ten of your blog posts, maybe a hundred of both! And you’re upset about your privacy !”

  “If you haven’t done anything wrong,” I yelled, “then why the hell didn’t you just ask me first?”

  “You were in bed...”

  “Oh, it was so urgent it couldn’t wait till morning!”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I’m not being ridiculous ! This is a violation and you damn well know it!”

  Eduardo drew breath, then let it out suddenly and bowed. I turned around and bobbed as well.

  “Goodness me, you two,” said Pope Cornelius, “whatever is the matter?”

  “Did you know about this, Your Holiness?” I snatched the paper back from Eduardo and thrust it under his nose. He took it, smoothed it out and held it at a distance, peering at it.

  “I say, that is a beautiful photograph. Very... very emotive.” He glanced up to the top of the page. “Lord Almighty, this is a mainstream newspaper!”

  Eduardo threw me a look that said ‘see’.

  “I sent the photo to the papers, Your Holiness, to see if they’d print it. Margaret... seems to think I shouldn’t have.”

  “I think you should’ve asked !”

  “Ah,” Pope Cornelius held up his hands for peace. “Come, let’s take this in here, shall we...” He ushered us into a nearby common room and shut the door on everyone except Jon, who slipped in behind me.

  “Now we’re no longer providing public entertainment, let me see if I’m understanding this correctly. Eduardo, you sent this photo to the press?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without Margaret’s permission?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought she might be awkward about it.” He shot me a look. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “In other words, you knew I’d mind!”

  Pope Cornelius sighed.

  “You two, really!”

  “That photo is almost without value for our cause,” persisted Eduardo.

  “And my privacy apparently has no value at all! In your eyes! ”

  “Enough, enough,” said Pope Cornelius gently. “The problem is, you are both absolutely right. The photo is priceless but Margaret’s privacy has most definitely been violated. You went too far, Eduardo, and I think you owe her an apology.”

  Eduardo frowned slightly.

  “I apologise,” he said stiffly.

  I glowered at the floor, barely mollified.

  “I was rude too. Sorry.”

  “Well then,” said Pope Cornelius cheerfully. Added more seriously, “There is nothing else can be done, I’m afraid, Margaret.”

  “He could promise not to do it again.”

  “Ah, yes. Eduardo, next time you must ask Margaret, you understand?”

  Next time? My face tingled.

  “She’ll just say no,” Eduardo objected. “You can see how she is about it...”

  “There won’t be any next time!” I cried, “How would you like it, you...” I managed to swallow the last word as Jon found my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Margo, calm down. So... there’s been a picture published, right? Is that... so bad?” I almost yanked my hand from his, but... he wasn’t siding with anyone, he looked genuinely perplexed. “You... uh... you’ve been writing about yourself... quite frankly and openly, as far as I can see. What’s so different about a photo?”

  He genuinely didn’t get it. Oh, he’d some vague intellectual concept of what a picture was, what seeing was, but he couldn’t truly conceive it. He just knew I was upset and couldn’t quite understand why.

  “It’s not the same...” I floundered for an explanation. “I mean, firstly, I write the blog, so it’s up to me, and secondly... a photo... it’s so... narrow. It’s just a split second in time. It doesn’t present a very complete image of someone. So everyone’s going to see this and think this is me.”

  “It is you. Isn’t it?” Jon looked like he was getting a headache.

  “Yes, but it’s not all of me. People could spend the rest of my life thinking of me as Saint Margaret, praying and weeping in full colour, thanks to this!”

  “Hmm...” A look of amusement crossed his face. “Well, next time Bane insists on overdoing it and you throw a bunch of grapes at his head, we must make sure there’s a photographer there to capture it, just to balance things out, how about that?”

  I blushed and tried not to look at Pope Cornelius.

  “Eduardo wouldn’t even send it to them. That’s the point. He’s manipulating how people see me.”

  “You’re the face of the Underground,” said Eduardo, “I don’t think praying and weeping is far from the truth. Perhaps we should get a picture of you all cammed up with your nonLee at the ready, if you really want to balance it out.”

  “I said no !”

  Pope Cornelius cleared his throat.

  “You two, I want you to go off in separate directions and have a good think and pray. Margaret, go and think about how you would feel about this photo and the good it can do the world if it wasn’t you in it, if it was someone else.

  “Eduardo, go and think how you would feel if you were praying in a place of sanctuary, among people you trusted, your guard down after a long, hard day, and someone intruded – and allowed millions of other people to intrude too. Come back here in fifteen minutes and see if you can’t make up.”

  A quarter of an hour later Eduardo murmured a genuine apology
and I reluctantly said he could publish more photos – on the condition he cleared them with Pope Cornelius first. I’d be too reluctant to let anything past; Eduardo was obviously far too ruthless. Pope Cornelius promised to consult me about anything really intrusive and Eduardo and I managed to shake hands and exchange the kiss of peace with reasonable sincerity. And we all went to breakfast together.

  When Jon and I went into Bane’s room after eating we found Bane admiring the front page of a newspaper.

  “Look at this beautiful picture Kyle brought me.”

  I grabbed the newspaper and chucked it across the room.

  “Hey! I want that. I’m going to put it on the wall.”

  “You are not!”

  “Am too.”

  “As your best mate, I must advise you to shut up now,” said Jon solemnly.

  “Huh? Can you get it for me, Jon, it’s two metres to your left. Lovely picture, wish you could see it.”

  “Seriously, mate, she’s just had a knockdown, drag out row with Eduardo about this. The Holy Father had to break it up. I suggest you let it go.”

  Bane’s eyebrows went up.

  “Seriously?” He lowered his voice slightly. “Well, uh, just pick the paper up and, er, stick it in a drawer or something, would you?”

  “I’m not deaf, Bane,” I sighed. “Thought you didn’t like seeing me in tears, anyway.”

  “Well, you look so beautiful. And so... you. Eduardo couldn’t have chosen better.”

  Jon winced. I scowled. Bane eyed my face.

  “Uh... well,” he said hastily. “Have you got time to hang out for a bit? I hardly seem to see you at the moment.” He held out an arm invitingly.

  I settled on the bed beside him and let him put it around me.

  “I really don’t think I can be long,” I said glumly.

  “Workaholic.”

  “We’re all turning into workaholics.”

  “Welcome to New Adulthood,” said Jon, taking out his notebook.

  Eduardo was waiting in the hall when I left the canteen the next day, actually frowning slightly. Huh? We’d settled the whole picture thing, hadn’t we?

  “Margaret.” He nodded as politely as ever. “Could we... go up to Bane’s room?”

  “What is it?”

  “Let’s just... go up there first, shall we?”

  My stomach clenched. What was going on?

  I took Jon’s hand, though he didn’t need help on the stars any more.

  “Margaret,” said Eduardo, as we walked along the upstairs corridor, “I’m sure you know you can’t trust the EuroGov. Anything they say can be a lie.”

  “Usually is,” remarked Jon.

  My heart was pounding against my ribs. Something was up. Something he thought I might need my fiancé around for.

  “Oh, hi Eduardo...” Bane trailed off and frowned. “Eduardo? What is it?”

  Eduardo shut the door firmly and circled the room with a bug sweeper just as he or one of his men did before each planning committee meeting.

  “We’ve had a letter for Margaret,” he said at last. “Obviously we opened it and examined it to ensure there was nothing dangerous about it. But the ink’s not poisonous – only the words. The guys try not to read the post, Margaret, but it’s difficult. When they realised what it contained they passed it to me. Here. Just remember the EuroGov usually lie.”

  I licked dry lips and accepted the envelope, unable to muster any crack about how come letters warranted an attempt at privacy. Pulled out a single page.

  EuroGov

  EuroHouse, EuroSquare, Brussels

  Margaret Verrall (1764584)

  c/o Underground

  African Free States

  30th December

  Dear Ms Verrall,

  I expect you’re wondering why your parents haven’t written to you. You must be getting quite worried about them. So I’m sure you will be relieved to hear that they are safe and well, and currently residing in a Detention Facility – you must forgive us if we don’t tell you which one.

  Unfortunately, as you might well have anticipated after the publication of your seditious novel, they have both been convicted of Personal Practise of Superstition and are liable to be executed at any time.

  Therefore I’m delighted to inform you that the Chairman has signed an Exceptional Warrant to delay said execution indefinitely. The sole condition of the warrant is that you, Margaret Verrall, immediately cease writing the seditious blog known as ‘The Impatient Gardener’ or any equivalent seditious writing.

  You have until the 31st of January to comply with this condition, so I do hope this letter reaches you before then.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Reginald Hill

  Reginald Hill (Minister for Internal Affairs)

  ***+***

  17

  KEEP THE FAITH

  I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving my cheeks like ice. I stumbled to the bed and sank down on the edge of it, the letter shaking like a leaf in my grasp.

  “Margo?” Bane reached anxiously for my free hand.

  “You see why it’s probably all lies,” remarked Eduardo.

  I didn’t. Didn’t see anything. What if it wasn’t lies?

  “Margo?” Bane gently snagged the letter and read it out loud, his voice faltering occasionally.

  “Bastards,” he breathed, when he’d finished.

  “Where’s Kyle?” I asked thinly.

  “Someone’s looking for him,” said Eduardo.

  “They’re lying,” said Jon firmly. “It’s obvious.”

  “Is it?” I’d be very happy to be convinced.

  “Well, for one thing, Bane said your parents and mine were going to stick together. Doesn’t say a word about my parents.”

  “There’s a thousand reasons why they could’ve split up, Jon.”

  My heart drummed painfully in my chest. I pressed my hands to my temples, struggling to think. Jon opened his mouth again, but the door opened and Kyle looked in.

  “Eduardo, did you want me…? Margo? Are you okay?”

  I took the letter from Bane and tried to hold it out to him, but it slipped from my fingers and floated down onto the carpet. Kyle bent to pick it up as Eduardo carefully closed the door again.

  By the time Kyle had read it, he was as white as I felt.

  “But is it genuine?” he demanded.

  “No,” said Jon. “They’re lying! Think about it! They just happened to catch your parents exactly when you started writing your Blog? Unlikely. And if they’d caught them before, they’d have killed them and made sure you heard all about it through the newspapers. It’s too convenient!”

  “That’s not proof,” I said miserably.

  “Well, speaking of proof ! Where’s the evidence? Where are the photos of your parents miserable in some cell? Or dramatically strapped to a gurney? Where’s the lock of your mum’s hair for us to DNA test? There’s no evidence ! ‘Cause they haven’t got them. They’re lying !”

  Kyle sunk into a chair, kneading his forehead.

  “Jon’s probably right,” said Bane slowly, “It’s just a clever lie. They’re trying to scare you into silence.”

  “But we can’t know...” I whispered.

  “No, we can’t know,” said Eduardo. “But I’ll do my best to find out. If they’re alive, in or out of the EuroBloc, we’ll find them.”

  Bane nodded, giving me a look of encouragement, but I shook my head.

  “No... don’t.”

  “Don’t? ”

  “No. Father Mark used to say there were spies even in the Underground. I imagine he was right?”

  Eduardo grimaced and nodded.

  “Well then. If they haven’t got my parents, and we turn the Underground inside out looking for them – if we do find where they are, who’s to say the EuroGov won’t get to them first?”

  Eduardo grimaced again.

  “You’re right. But it does mean you’ll have to decide what to do about this wi
thout any hope of additional information.”

  “They haven’t got them.” Jon sounded totally certain.

  Bane frowned, though.

  “I don’t really think they’ve got them either. But...” He met my eyes. “I think you should make your decision under the assumption... they have.”

  “Huh?” said Jon.

  “If Margo makes a decision based on the assumption her parents aren’t in danger, and she’s wrong,” Bane’s voice had gone even quieter, “well, she’s going to have to live with the consequences for the rest of her life, isn’t she?”

  Eduardo opened his mouth to speak, frowned, and shut it again.

  “It’s not going to make any difference either way,” said Kyle softly, staring at the wall.

  Eduardo took the letter from him. “It’s up to you,” he told me. “No one’s going to be ordering you one way or the other, you know that.”

  Up to me. What to do.

  “I think...” They waited with baited breath – in other circumstances it would’ve been funny. “I think... I need a hug.”

  A collective breath was let out behind me as I crawled into Bane’s arms and burrowed against him.

  “Take your time,” said Eduardo. “I’ll get you a copy of the letter, I’d like to analyse this a bit more.”

  He whisked the original away before I could reply. After a few more moments eyeballing the wall, Kyle got up abruptly and left.

  I snuggled up to Bane, shivering – he tried to pull a blanket up from the end of the bed and winced.

  “Careful, Bane...” I muttered, snagging the blanket myself – he wrapped it around me.

  Thinking was impossible. My mind was just an icy maelstrom, seething numbly. Full of British seawater, by the temperature. We’d gone down to the sea on my birthday during our first weeks here, and even at this time of year it had been much warmer than our summer trip to the sea all those years ago with Mum and Dad... Oh, Mum and Dad... I shuddered and cuddled closer.

  Jon must’ve heard the shudder.

  “I’m going to make some hot chocolate.”

  Two mugs of hot chocolate, a lot of cuddles, even more praying and finally lunch in Bane’s room, and I fetched the laptop and opened it up. The planning meeting had moved elsewhere today.