Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3)

  “Nothing happening,” he confirmed, switching the TV on. Already tuned to Veritas...

  “... crowd in EuroSquare shows no signs of decreasing, in fact, people are still pouring in as we speak. Earlier this afternoon a spokesman came out onto the EuroBalcony and ordered the crowd to disperse, but it has doubled in size since then.”

  Footage showed the main square in Brussels, packed with people. They were waving paper doves on sticks and chanting something. It sounded like ‘Merma! Relfree! Endso!’

  “That’s not Veritas,” someone said decisively. “That newscaster’s from EuroVee...”

  Veritas were re-broadcasting? But they were usually so respectful of copyright!

  “They won’t have a team in Brussels, will they?” pointed out Sister Eunice. “And they’ll want to help this go worldwide...”

  “Oh Lord, please.” Eduardo stared intently at the screen. “Let it go worldwide, let it grow...”

  “What’s Merma, Relfree, Endso?” pondered Jon; other people were asking each other the same thing.

  “To recap,” said the newscaster helpfully, “a handful of people gathered in EuroSquare to protest shortly after news broke this morning of the EuroBloc’s shock annexation of the Free State of Malta in the night. An attempt was made to arrest them, at which hundreds of people rushed to their defence. Thousands of people are now refusing to leave EuroSquare, demanding the EuroGov fulfil what’s become known as ‘MerMa – RelFree – EndSo’ – Mercy for Malta, Religious Freedom and an End to Sorting. A manifesto that could have been written by Margaret Verrall herself, if she wasn’t currently trapped with no communications in the Citadel of Gozo...”

  The newscaster blathered on about me for a bit, as everyone exchanged looks of hope and joy. But the hope in my chest was sickly and leaden. The EuroGov had Bane. Was he dead? Still alive? Dying?

  “My goodness,” said Pope Cornelius. “That’s something. An actual protest in EuroSquare itself. Whether it saves us or not, that’s gold dust. I wonder why the EuroGov are holding off, though?”

  “Probably don’t want an angry mob armed with paving slabs to break down their door and bash their heads in,” said Sister Krayj. “They’ll probably stall as long as it takes to extricate themselves.”

  “I doubt the High Committee are actually in EuroGov House,” pointed out Eduardo.

  “Why else would they stall? They’ll consider this the perfect opportunity to break our Stream of the Underground for good. I don’t expect they’d mind withdrawing from Malta once they’ve got us.”

  “But it won’t break us,” countered Eduardo. “The Holy Father has always taken very good care to have a full convocation of conscientious cardinals tucked away around the world in safe locations, ready to choose his successor. In the scheme of things, it’ll hardly slow us down at all. And their spies and their experts will tell them that. It’ll shut Margaret up, and put a temporary spoke in the Liberations, but that’s it.”

  “It?” snorted Jon. “You think Margo and the Liberations are merely a minor irritation?”

  “No, I don’t. But I also think they don’t want to do Margaret’s work for her. If people are upset, they’ll try and give them time to get bored and go home before they move. And Margaret can’t keep them stirred up whilst that blasted ship’s out there, can she?”

  The Foxes’ hands shot into the air, along with many others.

  Eduardo actually rolled his eyes.

  “Permission denied.”

  “But sir...”

  “But...”

  “My best men couldn’t get out of this trap. You lot are certainly not going to get out, let alone take over a destroyer with a handful of nonLees. Please try and retain just a shred of common sense in this trying hour.”

  The young men subsided, muttering and grumbling.

  “Snow!” cried Father Mario suddenly. He’d been sitting very close to the screen, smiling at all the paper doves. Sister Mari sprang anxiously to his side – he was very old, after all...

  “It’s all right, Father, I know this is very stressful...”

  “That’s what they’re waiting for!” The old man pointed at the screen. “Look...”

  Eduardo went closer and peered.

  “Damn it, he’s right. It’s starting to snow. That’ll clear the square by morning. Well, I suspect anyone who wants to can go and get a good night’s sleep. If all those people will leave the square of their own volition, the EuroGov will be prepared to wait – it’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

  “Do you think I can put Our Lord back in the tabernacle, then?” Pope Cornelius’s hands must be getting pretty tired by now.

  “I imagine so. I’d make a rota of priests and deacons to stand by it, though.”

  Pope Cornelius nodded.

  “Sister Eunice?”

  “At once, Your Holiness.”

  Everyone knelt as Our Lord was put away, then dispersed. For all Eduardo’s sobering conclusion of a mere reprieve, there was a decidedly happy note to people’s chattering and whispering as they hurried from the cathedral.

  I tried to feel happy.

  Wasn’t happening.

  Even in the barely-worth-considering event that the reprieve should become permanent, with Bane gone, I’d swap hours of agony for a lifetime of pain. Couldn’t get excited about this at all.

  I tried to feel happy for everyone else.

  A little easier.

  But it was temporary only. By morning the cold of a mainland European winter would’ve driven everyone home. And as soon as the square was empty enough, the EuroGov would strike. If only there was some way to stoke the crowd’s determination...

  I stood up suddenly.

  “What?” said Jon, startled.

  “I have an idea. Quickly, before it goes dark...”

  Fifteen minutes later the tables were cleared from the canteen and bed sheets were being laid out on the floor by eager hands, as I hovered over them with a paintbrush. Other hands were pinning broom handles and rocks into a fold at the bottom of each sheet for weights, as yet more hands ripped crenellation-length slits in the top end. Within half an hour, our improvised message boards hung from the walls.

  The press were a’flutter, turning their cameras towards this new interest... I ripped off my bandanna, sprang atop a crenellation and pointed defiantly down at the message I’d composed. Hopefully the cameras clicked like mad, because seconds later Eduardo grabbed me round the waist and yanked me bodily from my perch. Several shots cracked into the building in line with where I’d been standing.

  “Are you crazy?” he hissed.

  I just shrugged at him from where he’d deposited me on the flagstones behind the wall.

  “You’re the one who thinks a picture’s worth a thousand words.”

  “Somebody please take her inside!” he begged.

  Jon took my hand and Kyle stood on my other side – bent double, they hustled me quickly to the stairs and away. We went to the TV room to see if it’d worked. I tried very hard to be interested. Everyone else, remember?

  The TV room erupted into cheers when we entered – easy to see why. The Citadel was on the screen, and the message was clearly visible.

  WE’VE DONE EVERYTHING WE CAN TO HELP YOUR CHILDREN. NOW WE NEED YOUR HELP. M.V.

  “It’s genius, Margo!”

  “Brilliant!”

  Kyle was less impressed.

  “That was stupid, Margo! You could’ve been killed.”

  “Boo hoo.” My attention was on the screen – EuroSquare again.

  People were hunched over their omniPhones or grouped around portable TVs, watching the news too. They cheered and clapped and broke into a fresh chant of “MerMa! RelFree! EndSo!” Some people rushed up to a camera as they realised they were on screen and started screaming, “Thank you, Margaret, we’re going to help you now!” Then the newscaster went back to the hanging of the banner message and re-showed my aborted appearance on the battlements. It did look quite dra
matic.

  “Why are they only trying to shoot Margo?” Sister Mari sounded puzzled.

  “I’ve been tried,” I said. “If you can call Reginald bloody Hill signing a bit of paper a trial.”

  “Of course!” said Jon. “They’ve sentenced you to death already, it’s legal to shoot you.”

  “I bet the EuroGov were furious about that missed opportunity earlier,” said Sister Krayj. “I imagine they’ve now given explicit orders for you to be shot on sight. You’d better keep your head down.”

  They’d gone back to the square again, and the scene was encouraging. Groups that had been packing up folding stools and picnic hampers were unpacking them again, single individuals heading off instead, no doubt to fetch cold weather supplies.

  We watched the promising activity until the weather forecast came on at six. Oh no, not good... No actual blizzard forecast, but heavy snow and too much wind.

  “Blast,” said Kyle. “I was hoping that message might just keep them there overnight. As it is, I give it ‘til about one in the morning.”

  I stared at the determined enthusiasm of the crowd.

  “Well, we’ll just have to write another, won’t we?”

  “It’s almost dark, Margo.”

  “And the Lord gave us light! Come on, we need strong stiff wire, we need newspaper, rags – anything that will burn – we need oil, diesel, anything like that, to the canteen. And every halfway nimble set of fingers in this place...”

  There was such a stampede I just clung to Jon for balance until they’d all gone.

  “What about light bulbs?” suggested Kyle. “It would last longer...”

  “Yeah, but if we assemble every bulb and strip light in the place we still won’t be able to make many words and I reckon it’ll actually take longer to wire that up. Plus fire has more impact. Especially at one in the morning.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  This message took some time. Each letter had to be shaped from wire and stuffed with things that would burn. They had to be larger because they’d be harder to read. Then they had to be wired together and the whole thing attached to more wires from which it would hang. Finally, it was put to soak letter by letter in an old horse trough full of flammable liquids, while most people went to a late supper.

  By the time all was ready and we returned to the TV room, it was midnight. The scene in the square was much the same, only there was a lot more snow, and it was still coming down. Some people were trickling out of the square, rather fewer were arriving.

  Kyle proved correct, an hour later an exodus was really getting started.

  “I think it’s time, Margaret.” Eduardo had been lurking in the doorway for the last quarter of an hour.

  “Light it up whenever you like.” Still struggling to be one hundred percent interested.

  Or even sixty percent interested.

  “You stay right there.” He pointed an emphatic finger at me, and off he went.

  Kyle hovered as though ready to hold me down, but I just went on watching the screen. Until...

  “Breaking news from the Gozo Citadel siege...” The picture changed. There was the Citadel, and there was the message, blazing fiercely.

  The effect was ten times better than I’d expected.

  Letters of flame, hanging in the blackness.

  THE SNOW IS COLD, WE FEEL FOR YOU,

  BUT A DISMANTLER’S BLADE IS COLDER STILL.

  M.V.

  ***+***

  28

  A BURNING COAL

  “Wow,” said Kyle. “You were right. Fire is more dramatic.”

  “It’s good?” Jon was responsible for one of the full stops.

  “It’s good,” I confirmed.

  The crowd went wild. The picture cut back and forth from square to Citadel until the flames died down and the smouldering letters finally disappeared altogether. The exodus came to an abrupt halt.

  “It’s so cold in that square, though,” fretted Eduardo, appearing in the doorway again. “If only we had communications, we could arrange a load of blankets or something. But it’s no good. We’ll have to trust someone else has the sense and the inclination...”

  He went away again.

  “Should we start another message?” asked Sister Mari eagerly.

  “I think we can give ourselves a bit of a break.” My fingers were sore from twisting wire.

  Before long, a hot dog van pulled up in the square and began to dispense hot drinks on a donation-only basis. The press went wild. Far, far too many people for one van to deal with – for a time it looked like there might be a bit of a riot. Then some loud-voiced and bossy members of the crowd took control and got everyone into a

  queue. People were soon hurrying to and from the square carrying jerrycans of water to top up the van’s urn.

  “Most of them will be waiting till dawn for their cuppa,” said Sister Krayj ruefully.

  “As long as they think they’re going to get one,” said Jon shrewdly, “they’re more likely to stay.”

  Within the half hour, two more refreshment vans pulled up and opened their hatches, also serving all comers. Far too many people, even for three vans, but still.

  “The EuroGov must be fuming,” grinned Kyle.

  The weather wasn’t co-operating. The snow came down so hard the cameras struggled to see and the wind got up, knifing through the square. The newscaster began to talk gravely about the dangers of hypothermia.

  “Bet the EuroGov put them up to that,” said Jon, after listening intently to the description of the conditions. “But much as I hate to agree with her, if those people aren’t properly equipped, they’re going to have to leave.”

  “It’s not too easy to be properly equipped to stay still for long in those conditions.” Sister Krayj came from a country with that sort of winter. “Most of them have decent enough all-weather jackets on, but it’s not enough. They need gel heat cubes, unlimited hot drinks and ideally blankets.”

  “The moment they leave, we’ve had it,” said Kyle. “I hope they know that.”

  “We don’t want them all to freeze to death, though,” pointed out Jon.

  It wasn’t even three o’clock and people were beginning to leave again. Hard to blame them.

  Engines roared above the murmur of the crowd and three army-style trucks roared into the square. The crowd parted, people starting to run – until they realised it wasn’t soldiers jumping down. The handful of men and women dropping the tailgates were all dressed in something that matched the description of incogniCam and Sister Krayj stiffened at once.

  “Resistance,” she hissed. “Oh Lord, don’t say they’re joining in or it’ll be over... EuroGov won’t hesitate to send in the army...”

  The handful of EuroArmy already stationed around the sides of the square had straightened from where they’d been huddled against buildings, eyeing the peaceful crowd apathetically, and gone on quivering alert.

  But the Resistance – even the people in the square probably weren’t in much doubt about their identity – just began to unload the trucks as fast as they could. Large cardboard boxes were passed down and opened up – soon they were handing out hundreds of little foil thermal blankets, along with tons of gel heat cubes and small quantities of real blankets, heavy jackets, woolly hats, thermos flasks – apparently full – and...

  “Looks like they literally emptied their safehouses of anything they thought might be useful,” said Sister Krayj rather marvellingly, as the closest camera crew gleefully filmed the procession of random objects.

  Once empty, they slammed the tailgates, the engines roared, and the trucks tore out of the square and were gone. Clearly not anxious to stick around.

  “Fancy them helping us,” someone remarked.

  “I just wonder,” said Jon. “Could Francesco and Carla have got on the phone?”

  “Another message?” suggested Sister Mari.

  “Let’s leave it a bit,” I said “It would be so much easier if we could use
sheets again. And we might need the fire materials to last another night, if this drags on.”

  Things went quiet for a bit. Eduardo came to join us, apparently fed up of sitting in his office unable to do anything. Some people nodded off on the TV room floor. Pope Cornelius and Father Mario and some of the older members of our little community had all gone to bed. But the people in the square stayed put, and might they be blessed for it, because half hour after half hour, the wall guards reported no activity outside.

  EuroVee put together a recap of events. They showed the official footage of the seizure of Malta, all very peaceful and organised – showed some carefully selected interviews with Maltese people saying they’d always wanted to be part of the EuroBloc...

  Veritas stopped re-broadcasting at this point in order to show footage filmed on omniPhones by people who’d managed to flee the island and reach Africa. It painted a much bleaker picture. Maltese soldiers, current and retired, trying to fight and being gunned down. Frightened Gozitan families fired upon as they tried to flee. Small boats loaded with refugees blown to bits by EuroBloc gunships as they sought to leave Maltese waters.

  “Why couldn’t they just let them go?” snapped Sister Krayj.

  Many had tried to flee, from the footage. No committed Believer could be in any doubt what awaited them, under EuroGov control. Others had melted into what little countryside the larger island possessed, taking their weapons – ranging from kitchen knives to actual guns – with them. The state that had once upon a time endured fifty continuous days of Nazi bombing without considering surrender wasn’t going to knuckle under easily.

  Finally they returned to re-broadcasting EuroVee’s coverage. The people in the square were extremely agitated, chanting harder than ever. Guess they were all watching Veritas tonight.

  They went back to their little recap soon enough. And showed Bane giving himself up, making his speech...

  Cameras... Spark...

  “Oh my God! He did it on purpose!” Everyone looked at me. “Bane... he did it deliberately!”

  “I’ve yet to see anyone shinny down a rope and walk boldly up to an enemy position whilst giving a rousing speech by accident,” remarked Eduardo.