One of Us

by Jeannie Waudby

  I walk beside Oskar back along the promenade. Seagulls swoop and shriek over the nets on the mudflats. I wish I had Serafina’s pink cardigan wrapped around me. The jeans are too big, and as I walk they crease into ridges behind my knees.

  I stop beside the path that leads up to the castle. A dull ache grips my forehead. “Why did you do it?”

  Oskar looks down at me. “Do what, K?”

  “Take away my name,” I say. “Why did you take away my name?”

  Oskar puts both his hands on my shoulders. “It’s only a name.” He turns me to face him. “Bigger things were at stake. The Brotherhood are trying to destroy our whole society. And you agreed to it. Don’t you remember, K?”

  I shake my head. I don’t remember anything now. But I see that I don’t matter much in Oskar’s world.

  “I explained it all to you. You read the Manual about the Brotherhood so you’d know how to live like one.”

  “But not forever!” I cry. “I thought it would only be until school finished!”

  “You can’t have thought that.” Oskar’s voice is slow and patient. “What would be the use of that? You have a Brotherhood identity now; your fingerprints are in the Brotherhood database.”

  “What?” I pull away from Oskar. “I never agreed to that!”

  Oskar steps closer. “Yes, you did, K. Remember, in the cafe, when we got everything ready for your new ID card? We did it then—together.”

  I cast my mind back, trying to remember. Did I read about the fingerprint database in Oskar’s Manual? I don’t know anymore.

  Oskar puts his arm around my shoulders again. “The whole point is that you are now a trusted member of the Brotherhood. You’ve infiltrated the Institute—just as you were supposed to. And now you carry on until we need you.” He lets go of me and starts walking up the castle path.

  I watch his back as he walks away. Then I run to catch up to him. I think of the suspicious way Brer Magnus looked at me in the hospital. I think of Greg following me. All the details I should report back to Oskar like a proper little spy. But I don’t say them. I don’t want Oskar ever to hear Greg’s name.

  “They might not let me stay on at the Institute,” I say when I reach Oskar. “What will happen then?”

  He puts his arm back around me. “K,” he says. “Do you think we won’t look after you? You’re one of us now. Of course we won’t leave you on your own.” He pulls me closer, into a hug. “You worry too much. Hasn’t everything happened that I said would happen? Ril came to the school, and here you are now.”

  Ril. “That’s another thing.” I stop walking. “Who is Ril? Is she really a social worker?”

  Oskar laughs. “I thought I explained it all before,” he says. “We don’t operate within normal boundaries. Let’s just say Ril’s a talented computer programmer.”

  “But then you planned it all before you even asked me!”

  “Of course we did.” Oskar looks amused. “We’re good at what we do.”

  My special friendship with Oskar shatters into pieces. He just needed a girl who nobody would miss.

  We walk on in silence through the castle playground, past children swinging and shouting in the bright spring sunshine. Then we cross the road and come out into a square where a tall building blocks out the sun.

  It’s Grandma’s community center. I stare up at the oak door until I’ve eaten my tears. Oh, what would Grandma say, if she knew that I’d taken a Brotherhood girl’s identity? I walk up the steps so that Oskar won’t see my face.

  A Brotherhood girl’s identity.

  Horror rushes through me. What if they killed the real one? Can the police do that? Maybe they can if they’re antiterrorism? I feel myself become very still. Frozen, again.

  “You’re a bit quiet,” says Oskar.

  I turn around. “The girl who drowned.”

  Oskar has to lean forward to catch my whisper. Suddenly I feel scared again. What else might he be capable of? But I have to know.

  “Was she . . . was she the real Verity Nekton?”

  He stares at me in blank astonishment. Then he bursts out laughing. “No!” He splutters again. “No, no, no!”

  “Why are you laughing?”

  Oskar stops himself. “Sorry. Sorry.” But his eyes are still dancing. “It’s your face.” He puts his arm around me. “You are Verity Nekton. Or nobody is. It’s just a name, that’s all.”

  “Not hers?”

  “No!” He gives me a friendly shake.

  Is he telling the truth? There are no twitches or tells of a liar. The terror evaporates.

  “But I’ve lost everything.” I can let myself feel angry with him now. “My name. My things. My future. I don’t know who I am anymore. And the Institute’s not like I thought it would be either. It’s pretty normal, really. It’s just kids and teachers. They don’t believe in violence. They’re too busy trying to be good.” I kick one foot up and down the step, and wrap my arms around myself.

  “K.” Oskar looks at me earnestly. “I told you it would be like that. But who knows what they’re hiding?”

  “But what’s the point of me being there?”

  “There is a militant cell linked to the Institute,” says Oskar. “You know there is. You gave us the name, Jeremiah Elyard—you’ll give us the list of names from the Spring Meeting. They’re the enemy within, you must never forget that. And maybe you’ll be able to find something out now.”

  “I don’t know for sure that Jeremiah’s involved in anything! I’m not a detective. I don’t know how to do it.”

  “It’s early days, K,” says Oskar. “All you have to do is point out to me anyone you might suspect. No matter how trivial. Just indicate who to watch. We’ll do the rest. If someone had done that before the Gatesbrooke bomb, think of how many people would still be alive.”

  I go up a couple of steps so that he has to look up at me. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s not for long.”

  “How long?”

  Oskar pauses. Then he says, “A year. Just one year.”

  A year sounds a lot different from forever. I could plan my own future when it’s over.

  “And then I wouldn’t have to be Verity Nekton anymore?”

  “Absolutely not. You could choose a new name.”

  People do that, don’t they? Change their name. It’s not that unusual. Look at me, I’ve already had two.

  “What about my fingerprints?” I ask.

  “Well,” says Oskar, “I’m sure Ril could find a way to get them removed from the database.”

  I step down on to the pavement.

  Oskar stays on the steps. I let my life run past me in a slide show of losses. The bomb that killed my parents. Grandma dying. Being moved when foster parents got sick or had a baby. I can’t lose Oskar too. He saved my life. I can never forget that.

  The only thing I chose to do myself was to go to the Institute. If I go back, I’ll see them all again: Serafina, Celestina, Emanuel. And even Greg. I know we can’t really be friends. But maybe it could lead to me being an artist. Maybe it could still be OK.

  Oskar waits, smiling patiently.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  He comes down the steps. “Would it help if you could contact me whenever you want? I’ll get you a cell phone you can use.” He touches my shoulder. “What about some breakfast first?” His eyes are alight with concern.

  “OK.” I look back up at the community center. Why did Grandma go there every week but never take me? She never took me anywhere.

  We pass through an alley that leads to the yard at the back of the cottage. Oskar stoops to take the key from under an upturned fire bucket. When he opens the door, the scent of sizzling bacon makes me feel almost faint with hunger. I follow him in.

  Col is sitting at the kitchen table working through some papers. He looks up inquiringly at Oskar, who half-nods with a look of relief. In the front room the TV is blasting out the news channel. Oskar goes through the arch between t
he two rooms and sits down on the couch.

  Ril is at the stove. “Tea, K?” She passes me a mug.

  “Thanks.” I hover by the table. On the news they’re showing another Brotherhood demonstration. Close-ups of chanting faces, and angry shouting that masks the actual words. I bet they never even filmed the citizen mob outside the Institute.

  Col walks over to the archway to look at the TV. “Hoods.” His voice rises, competing with the television. “They always argue that they’ve been around for longer. That’s true. But what they don’t realize is that makes them obsolete. Like all life forms that don’t evolve, eventually they’ll just wither away.” He crosses the room in a couple of strides and turns off the TV.

  I suddenly think of Fred, that day after the bomb: Hoods—they’d kill us all if they could.

  I take a sip of tea. If it wasn’t so hot, I’d gulp it down in one go. Col doesn’t seem to need a response. Ril drops an egg into the pan. In the new silence it makes a soft hiss.

  “Want some help?” I ask.

  “The more the merrier,” says Ril. She looks young and pretty here. She smiles as she passes me a white sliced loaf. “You can put the toast on.”

  “Any more tea in the pot?” calls Oskar from the front room. Ril takes it in to him on a tray, and that makes me suddenly picture Greg, carrying everyone’s empty dishes after dinner.

  Col hasn’t finished. “I’m glad I don’t live in the city,” he says. “There are too many of them there.” He sits back down at the table.

  “But surely they’re not all bad?” I say. “They’re just people.”

  Col shakes his head. “That’s what I used to think,” he says. “But now I know there’s something in them that can make them do anything. Anything. They think they’re doing the right thing. That’s why they’re so dangerous. That’s why you can never change them.”

  He sounds like Grandma.

  “They’ll just keep doing it,” he goes on. “They’re always out there, planning and waiting for their chance.”

  “Breakfast!” Ril starts putting the plates down on the table, fragrant and hot.

  Oskar comes back into the kitchen as I sit down. “Why so serious, K?” He puts his arm loosely around my shoulders and gives me a little hug. “All you have to do for now is keep your head down, do your schoolwork, find me that list. And it’s not for long,” he whispers in my ear. “Not long at all.”

  CHAPTER 18

  WHEN RIL DROPS me off after lunch two days later, the Institute feels empty. I forgot that this was the spring break long weekend. There are only three of us who haven’t gone home: Greg, Celestina, and me. The office staff, including Brer Magnus’s secretary, aren’t here and hopefully Brer Magnus will be in his own house in the grounds. This could be the best chance I’ll get to look for the visitors’ book. If I do it right away, I can just forget about being a spy and get on with my life here. One more year.

  The Sisters’ house is empty. I decide to check out where the others are. And if I’m honest, I want to see them too.

  They’re in the library, sharing a table with their books and files spread out all over it.

  A slow smile spreads over Celestina’s face when she sees me. “Well, look who’s come back,” she says, tapping Greg’s shoulder. It’s almost as if she knew I’d planned not to.

  Greg looks up too. “Hello, Verity.”

  I turn back to Celestina. “Did you stay here to study?”

  She gives me a small smile. “Let’s just say my parents like me better from a distance.”

  Celestina’s never told me anything like this before. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  Greg breaks into the pause that follows. “Sit here if you want, Verity.”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to the Art room. I just came to say hello.” I can’t lose this opportunity. I run down the library stairwell and turn back toward the canteen and across the courtyard into the old building. I hurry up the stairs to the Meeting Hall. No, slow down, I remind myself. I can say I want to be alone there, to reflect. That’s allowed, surely? Maybe the door will be closed. But it’s half-open already. This room is so bare and clear that I know immediately I’m not going to find the visitors’ book here.

  All the same, I go up to the table where the Book lies, closed now. It’s the only book on the stiff gold brocade cloth. I resist the temptation to have another look inside, although if anyone comes, that’s what I’ll say I’m doing. I even look under the cloth, which hangs down to the floor. But there’s nothing there. Nothing on the shelf at the back of the hall either, or on the little table where they placed the visitors’ book for signing at the Spring Meeting.

  My heart sinks as I walk down the stairs, wondering who might be watching me through these long glass windows. Since I didn’t find the visitors’ book in the Meeting Hall, I can guess where it will be. In Brer Magnus’s office. At the bottom of the stairs I hesitate, looking down the paneled corridor. I don’t know if Brer Magnus is in there, or even in the Institute at all. What can I say if he is?

  I take a step into the corridor. This is where the lavender polish smell comes from. If he’s there, I’ll say I’ve come to ask if I can go to the city, to buy some pastels. It’s very quiet here. His door is at the end. He has a gold name sign. I tap on the shiny dark wood.

  There’s no reply. I wait, knock again. It’s all I have to do, Oskar said. Just get the list and they’ll take it from there. I’m a tiny cog and this is my task to keep the clock ticking.

  I turn the handle and the door opens, slowly because of the thick fawn-colored carpet inside. Brer Magnus isn’t there, but the room is heavy with his presence. His desk is in front of the window that overlooks the canteen. I check for cameras, but I can’t see one, so I take a last look down the empty corridor, then push the door wide open so that I’ll hear if anyone comes. I glance at the window that overlooks the drive, but I think the vertical blinds are angled to stop people from seeing in. I pull my sleeves down to cover my fingertips before trying to open the desk drawers. Of course they’re locked, except for the top middle one, which holds pens, a paper knife, sticky notes. And a half-eaten bar of chocolate. That stops me. I’ve never imagined Brer Magnus doing anything as human as eating a bar of chocolate.

  Next to the desk there’s a glass-fronted bookcase, also locked. I scan the books. They seem to be mostly yearbooks. And then I see it, on the bottom shelf, lying flat on its own, in a navy cardboard box embossed with: Visitors’ Book.

  It’s only a flimsy door, easily forced open with something like a ruler. But then I won’t be able to sneak the book back undetected. I rattle the door-knobs until I feel that there’s an inner bolt at the top on the left-hand door. I grab Brer Magnus’s paper knife and wiggle it up into the little gap between door and frame, catching it against the top of the bolt. It doesn’t take long to ease it down, and then all I have to do is pull the doors toward me until the catch slips out of the lock. But I’ve been in here too long now.

  I open the cabinet and take the book out of its box, which I replace before pushing the doors shut until the catch clicks and wiping everything I touched with my scarf. Should I copy down the names now so that I never have to come here again, or should I take the book with me, to copy in a less stressful place? If only there was a photocopier in this room, but Brer Magnus’s office has no modern technology at all. It could be a couple of centuries ago in here.

  The sound of the outside doors sends me scurrying back to the doorway. Nowhere to hide! I stuff the book into my open bag, swing it over my shoulder, then get myself outside the door and close it as silently as I can. There’s nowhere to go. I turn my back to the Reception area and knock loudly on the door. I hear footsteps behind me. I hope it’s not Brer Magnus.

  “Verity?”

  It is him. I turn, sick with dread. But my voice sounds clear. “Oh, hello, Brer Magnus. I was just coming to see you.”

  He walks slowly toward me. He opens his door. “You’d better come in.”<
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  What am I going to say? I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I stare at him while he goes and sits in his chair, behind his massive desk. His face falls into shadow with the window behind him.

  “Yes?” He waits.

  “I came to ask you”—and I feel my hands clasp themselves together in front of me—“if I could go into Gatesbrooke, into the city, I mean . . .” My mind goes completely blank.

  He tilts his head back in surprise. He knows I’m lying.

  “Because,” I burble on, “I want to go with the others when they . . .” Think, K! “. . . when they take part in the . . . Reconciliation activities.”

  Brer Magnus puts his fingertips on his desk and gives me a long look. “Really.” He carries on watching me. “I’ll have to think about that.”

  I nod, much too vigorously. I force myself to be still.

  “Was there anything else?”

  I shake my head. The corner of the visitors’ book digs into my hip through my wool bag.

  “I must say I’m surprised,” says Brer Magnus. “But I’ll certainly give it my full consideration.”

  “Yes. Thanks. Sir,” I add, since that’s what Greg calls him. I edge backward toward the doorway.

  But he hasn’t finished. He makes a pyramid with the fingertips of his hands, under his chin. “Why do you want to take part in the Reconciliation process?”

  Why would I want to do that? “Because the others are doing it,” I say. “I’d like to go with them.”

  “You haven’t known them very long.”

  He’s right. I feel my face grow hot. I think of gentle Serafina. Celestina, with her knowing glance. Emanuel and his sweet smile. And Greg’s one smile at me, on the bus.

  I need a better reason. What would Celestina say? “Because things have to change,” I say.

  “Of course,” says Brer Magnus. “I’d like to encourage that spirit in our students. But . . .”