“No, I mean this,” I waved at the screen to indicate the protest, my eyes blurring with tears, “this was what he was trying to achieve – he didn’t just feel guilty, well, he did, but he was trying to strike a spark. He knew it was the only thing that could save us! And he did it!”
“With all due respect to Bane’s heroic sacrifice,” said Eduardo, “it was a very good try, but I don’t think it would’ve quite come off – not without that tear-jerking addition from you...”
The ‘tear-jerking addition’ was playing on screen now. I flinched from my own agonised cries, trying not to watch as Bane’s and my unconscious bodies were hastily hauled off in opposite directions.
Now they showed EuroSquare, as the first protesters gathered within minutes of Bane giving himself up. Bane. You did it... Surprisingly small comfort for his absence.
They recapped quickly the progression of the protest throughout the day, and resumed live footage.
“Hey look!” exclaimed several people. Five A.M. now, but more people were flooding into the square. Thanks to Veritas’s little exposé about Malta?
Veritas cut in again.
“Since EuroVee is clearly being pressured not to mention it, we feel we should report on events taking place around the EuroBloc...
“Oh, wait... they’d like to tell you about it after all...”
And back to the EuroVee broadcast.
“Breaking news from Paris,” said the newscaster, sounding flustered, “where... one moment, we have breaking news from London... First to Paris, where protestors are gathering outside the Departmental Government building...”
Another square, a crowd, growing before our eyes. Swaddled in coats, hats and scarves. Armed with origami doves and croissants. A very angry crowd, despite the stylish doves and the food. Chanting “MerMa! RelFree! EndSo!” but frequently breaking into, “Free Bane Verrall! Free Bane Verrall!” making my heart implode with pain and unbearable hope. Some of them held up photos of Juwan and Doms – Bane had tried to save them both. Was he even still alive?
“Weren’t people a bit surprised to see Bane back here?” I said suddenly. “Last time I blogged, he was still missing...”
“I sent a photo and a press release,” said Eduardo. “Anonymously, as always, so they could print it. I haven’t seen the papers, but I imagine they put it in.”
“And now to London...”
Parliament Square, filling up with people. Holding candles and dove-shaped flags clearly cut from bedsheets and stuck on sticks. Chanting.
“Breaking News from Berlin...”
Another square. Another crowd. A few holding hastily cut out paper doves, but most holding lanterns or trying to shield candles from the wind, which wasn’t so bad in Berlin as in Brussels, but worse than in London.
Madrid. Lisbon. Stockholm. The reports came in, one after another. People in the city squares and outside the government buildings. The entire population of Salperton-Under-Fell appeared to be in the town square. Except the Marsdens, no doubt.
“This is huge.” Eduardo smiled like the cat with all the cream.
“How come people aren’t in bed?” said Kyle blankly.
“Protests in EuroSquare?” snorted Eduardo. “Would you be in bed? You’d be glued to the TV. So were all they, until they decided to go and join in...”
What would the EuroGov do, now it was clear no one was going home? Send in the army to clear the peaceful protestors and their treasured fiction of being a democratic government would be in tatters. But any attempt to seize the Citadel as planned and the protests would probably turn ugly. And they’d have shown their hand as ruthless dictators who didn’t care what the people wanted.
“If they really can’t get people to go away,” Eduardo was saying, in answer to this very question, “they’re most likely to bow to the people’s demands for now for the sake of appearances, and do everything they can to put things back as they like it shortly afterwards. Pretending to democracy’s been their policy for the best part of eighty years. But saying that, each High Committee’s made up of different people, so one can’t be certain which way they’ll jump. I do think we might just possibly have a chance, though. But don’t get your hopes up too much.”
“You’re always so cheerful,” said Sister Krayj dryly.
“Realistic.”
“Can’t everyone protest a bit faster,” I whispered. That tiny grain of hope was like a burning coal inside me. Was Bane still alive? Would he still be alive if and when the EuroGov actually knuckled under? Pretty huge if, surely...
Jon sensed my increasing distress.
“Shall we go and paint some more sheets? It’ll be light in a few hours...”
“To the canteen!” someone cried, and there was another stampede.
I followed, trying not to break down and cry as things slid into something of a blur. I was too tired, the suspense was too much, my hope and terror too great. Part of me just shut down. I functioned like a robot, doing everything I could do to spur on the protestors – to save Bane, please, please, was he even alive?
Soon we were painting over the black paint with coats of white paint so we could reuse sheets. Jon guided me from canteen to cathedral for Mass, from cathedral to canteen for breakfast, like a protecting angel.
At midday the EuroGov announced a Moratorium on Dismantling. There would be no more Dismantling, of the regular kind or for executions, until there’d been a public referendum. The crowds went wild with delight, but praise the Lord, they stayed – they grew. The chant changed to “MerMa! RelFree!” Mercy for Malta. Religious Freedom.
Bane, are you alive?
At six o’clock the EuroGov announced that a referendum would also be held on the question of Religious Freedom.
As night drew on, the protests began to resemble parties. But they stayed.
Bane, are you alive?
“MerMa!” they chanted. And they expanded on their wishes a bit, for this last point. “Mercy for Malta and the Vatican. Free Bane Verrall,” they all chanted now. “Free all the prisoners.”
But another vicious night was forecast.
More snow. More wind.
This final demand – for us, the most important – was at the mercy of the elements.
***+***
29
GOING FOR BROKE
At nine o’clock huge articulated lorries drove onto the site of every major protest the bloc over. ‘Krauss Industries’ it said all over them.
“What’s Krauss Industries?” someone was asking.
“Ulrich Krauss. German billionaire.” Eduardo’s voice. “Built his business from scratch, came from a very poor family. Had a twin brother who...”
“...failed Sorting?” everyone chorused.
“That’s right. I’d say he thinks it’s payback time.”
The lorries were opened up. Pallet-loads of instantHeat camping meals were handed out. Also foil blankets and gel heat cubes. Massive urns dispensed hot drinks. And the question of whether the protests could survive another night was answered. If Ulrich Krauss and his empire had anything to do with it, no one would leave from cold or hunger.
“He doesn’t manufacture any of that stuff,” Eduardo was remarking. “He’s been busy.”
“God bless Ulrich Krauss,” said one of the priests, and I was dimly aware of everyone toasting this with their coffee mugs.
Ulrich Krauss was going for broke, because on top of his articulated lorries he’d set up big screens, and the TV channel he was showing was Veritas. Which was Category 1 Sedition, unlike handing out free stuff or standing in a cold square, both of which were perfectly legal.
People were discussing whether Ulrich Krauss might already be on a plane to Africa? Or whether he might think all this public opinion would keep him safe?
“What do you think, Margo?” Kyle gave me an anxious look.
“Faster,” I said. Bane, are you alive?
Kyle winced. Jon, his arm already around me, held me a little closer.
He looked ready to drop. Or burst into tears. I let my head rest on his shoulder, and his head drooped to touch mine. Brother Marcel snapped a picture. If the dejection of Bane’s pack would help him, show the world. But we’d no communications, so Brother Marcel must be acting on reflex.
The third day of our besiegement was beginning. More artics arrived as Ulrich Krauss laid on a midnight feast, sending people’s spirits soaring despite the persistent snowfall. The crowds swelled, chanting furiously. Even the smallest towns had a protest going now – food outlets had opened their doors and were handing out donation-only food in the places Krauss Industries hadn’t reached.
“Breaking news...” Fatigue had finally driven the newscaster to hand over to a male colleague. “All over the bloc, candles and lights are appearing again in people’s windows as those who cannot get to their local square or government building show their solidarity with the protestors.”
They knocked on some doors and spoke to various nervous elderly people, single mothers with small children, a pregnant lady, some people in bad health... None of them looked like they’d been woken up.
“Decision time for the EuroGov,” said Eduardo. “You can’t get a much clearer majority than this...”
A decision the EuroGov didn’t want to make. They kept quiet. And kept quiet. Released some preliminary details about the promised referendums. Kept quiet some more. The crowds chanted and beat drums and blew horns and rang bells and chanted some more. Bands rocked up and started playing loud protest music dug up from the twentieth century. People danced to keep warm.
As the darkness began to lighten, the EuroGov announced that they were considering the people’s request.
Too much. I flung an untouched cup of coffee at the TV, screaming, “Consider it faster, you bloody bastards! ”
The mug bounced harmlessly off the flexi-screen and Kyle began apologising to the people who’d been in the cold coffee’s arc.
“It’s fine,’ and ‘Don’t worry about it,’ filled the air.
“Sorry...” I whispered, shame-faced. Are you alive, Bane?
“Don’t mention it, Margo,” said Hippo. “Cathartic just watching you do that. I think that’s how we all feel.”
Ulrich Krauss’s screens began defiantly displaying:
Breakfast Menu
Continental (All Depts)
or
Full English (British Dept. only)
The crowd went wild.
And the EuroGov caved.
They announced that they would be withdrawing from the Maltese and Vatican Free states, and releasing all Maltese and Underground prisoners.
Some of the crowd went home. A lot of them, bless their common sense, stayed put to see the EuroGov follow through. So after another day-long hour, footage was released of the Minister for EuroDefence issuing the appropriate orders through gritted teeth and a very unconvincing smile.
Huh? The room was empty. Except Jon and Kyle.
“Where is everyone?”
“They’ve gone to the battlements,” said Jon. “To see if they’re really going to withdraw.”
“You can’t go up there,” said Kyle quickly.
“No...” I stared at the screen. “Did they give orders to free the prisoners yet?”
“They said they had,” said Jon, “you heard them. But that sort of transfer takes time.”
After a while, some people dashed back in, all trying to tell us at once that the tank was driving away and the snipers were packing up and leaving.
“It’s really happening!” squealed Sister Mari.
“Great... Any news on the prisoners?”
“Not yet, Margo,” said Jon gently.
Exhaustion and uncertainty were crushing me. My head swam. Bane, are you alive?
My head was in Jon’s lap. Kyle was laying a blanket over me. I struggled to sit up; it felt like fighting with clouds of
cotton wool.
“No... have to... Bane...”
“Rest, Margo.” Jon pressed me gently down again. “I promise we’ll tell you the instant there’s any news. Just lie quietly till you feel better...”
The evening sun was warm on my face. I opened my eyes. There were my lovely ceiling beams... Bane! I sat bolt upright.
I’d slept all day! What was happening? Had the prisoners been handed over yet? Was Bane among them?
I tumbled out of bed, my head spinning. Not felt this mentally and physically tired since our journey across Europe. I’d been wearing these clothes for three days and two nights, but I wasn’t stopping to change them... I’d almost reached the door when someone knocked on it.
I yanked it open.
Jon. His face white. My heart turned over; my stomach convulsed.
“Did they... find him?”
He came in, closed the door. Strangely ominous.
“They’ve found him. They handed him over with the others. Alive,” he added quickly.
My heart swooped up to the heavens and joy exploded in my chest, but I didn’t take my eyes from his white face.
“There’s something else, isn’t there? Please, just tell me...”
He swallowed. Turned his face away slightly.
“They... decided to dismantle him... one piece each day. The moratorium stopped them. But, Margo, they... took his eyes.”
I spun around, putting my back to him, my hand clapped over my mouth, fighting to smother any sound, because I couldn’t... how could I, make a fuss about this, in front of Jon, who’d never had sight at all...
Shock and joy surged and collided inside me as I fought back that howl of anguish...
Jon gripped my shoulders fiercely.
“Margo, it’s okay. You can be upset. I’m pretty upset myself. I’ve never known what I’m missing, but Bane will... Cry, scream, whatever you want... It’s okay...”
So confusing, so utterly contradictory my feelings. Most intense relief, delight, happiness – most terrible dismay, sorrow, pain. I sank down on the bed, my body too confused to stand upright.
After a few moments literally gulping like a fish as I tried to stop the emotions ripping me apart, I was able to speak.
“Where...?”
“They left him outside the Vatican with some other prisoners about half an hour after handing it back. He’s safe and being looked after.”
“I’ve got to...” Didn’t have the breath for long sentences.
“Yes, the first boat’s leaving in half an hour. Eduardo’s got a place for you on it.”
I clutched his hand.
“And you...”
“And me. Do you want me to help you pack?”
“I can do it. Do your own stuff, you know where it is.”
Jon hugged me tightly and tapped his way out of the room. Returned with a couple of cardboard boxes before I’d got so far as wondering what to put things in. Like a clumsy, manic whirlwind, I ricocheted around the room, dumping my stuff into one box and Bane’s into the other. Trying not to think. ‘Cause I didn’t know what to think. Or how to feel. Bane was alive, praise the Lord! But blind... Poor, poor Bane...
Jon was soon at the door again, clutching his own cardboard box and accompanied by Kyle.
“Are you ready?” asked Jon. “We’ve got to dash...”
Kyle stacked the cardboard boxes one on top of the other and picked them up. I tried to find the energy to object, then simply gathered up the mats, which hadn’t fitted in, and followed them. I took one last look at the room in which Bane and I had had such fleeting happiness...
“Wait...”
I dashed back to the window and grabbed the fuchsia. It looked a little wilted after the last few days, but its purple flower was fully open. Juggling it in my arms with the rugs, I hurried out again.
Jon’s hand encountered the plant where I held it securely on my lap as the speedboat slammed from wave to wave, heading for Ostia.
“You brought that?”
“I...” I broke off suddenly. And the tears escaped at last. “Oh
no... I thought... I thought it’d be cheerful for Bane to look at while he recovered... But...” I tried to contain myself. Pope Cornelius was looking my way and I didn’t want the old man to try and move around in the speeding boat to reach me.
“Shsss...” Jon rubbed my back soothingly. “It’s going to take us all a while to get used to it. Plants make a room smell nice, anyway.”
Grudgingly, EuroTrac released the impounded Vatican train, which they’d had on display for an admission fee, and soon we were rolling past huge crowds and through the Vatican rail portal. The state didn’t look very much different as we hurried through the stone corridors and courtyards. Busy hands were already carefully removing the EuroGov’s (mis)information boards and by the light of the floodlights the ticket barriers were being slung unceremoniously out of St Peter’s square.
Jon and I headed straight up to the hospital.
“He’s in there,” said an unfamiliar nurse, with a compassionate look.
I raced to the door and stopped dead, my hands clenched together and shaking. All the way here, I’d been so desperate to reach him, and now... now all of a sudden I was just terrified.
“I can come in with you if you like.” Jon, as always, sensed my fear.
I stared at my trembling hands for a few long moments, gathering my courage. My husband was through that door, and I was going to him.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.”
He didn’t contradict me, simply using his long eye to locate the nearest chair as I put my hand on the door handle.
“I’ll just be out here, then.”
I opened the door and went in. A small white room, not unlike the one in the hospital wing at the Citadel. A figure lay in the bed, barely visible – the sheets were propped up on frames. Of course, they’d have taken most of his skin the first day... Oh, Bane...
I walked forward, trying to calm my breathing. A bandage ran over his empty eye sockets and his head moved, just a tiny bit – he’d heard me come in.
Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3) Page 31