‘I’m telling you, I don’t have it. It was in my pocket on the way in, I remember checking it. I must have dropped it. Over.’
‘Can you go back and look for it? Over.’
‘Gibraltar’s already doing that. Emily, I’m frightened. I don’t know what to do!’
A red light flashed on the set. ‘Hold, please,’ said Emily to Rosamund. She flicked a switch and Bridget’s voice came through on another frequency.
‘B-Team to Control Van. Our technician is standing by. State your instructions. Over.’
‘One moment, please, B-Team.’ Emily paused, her hand still on the switch. She closed her eyes, remembering the many times she had played out this scene in dressing rooms at concerts and television studios, when her sister had succumbed to stage fright and declared she could not go on. Yet every time, at the last moment, Rosamund had lifted her chin and walked out onto the stage, and nobody in the audience had ever known. Emily drew a deep breath and threw the switch back to Miniver House.
‘Rose, that was Bridget. They’re waiting for you at Radio Artemisia. You’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s no different to any other broadcast. Just think of your fans and you’ll remember what to say. Over.’
‘It’s not the same. They’re not fans any more, why should they want to listen to me? Over.’
‘Because Minivers are for people to love,’ said Emily, desperately. She knew she was clutching at straws but she could not think of anything else to say. ‘You know that, Rose. Over.’
‘That’s not true, Emmie. It never was true. I’m not a fool. Stop pretending; you don’t believe that any more than I do.’
The red light came on again, flashing urgently. ‘Wait, Rose,’ said Emily. A deafening noise rattled her ear drums as she switched to Bridget and she threw up her hands to clutch her headphones. ‘Bridget, what’s that noise? It sounds like an explosion. Over.’
‘It was an explosion, Control Van. I think we’ve got company.’ Bridget’s voice was matter-of-fact. ‘Better be quick. We’re in position and the building’s in lockdown, but I can’t say how long we can hold. Over.’
‘Wait for instructions, B-Team. Over and out.’ With trembling fingers, Emily flicked the radio back to Rosamund’s frequency. ‘Rose, you’ve got to do it without your notes. They’re under attack at the station. If you don’t speak in the next couple of minutes, you’ll miss your chance. Over.’
‘I can’t!’ Rosamund’s voice sounded in panic. ‘I can’t do it, Emmie. It’s not just over. It’s over.’
At Radio Artemisia, everything was confusion. Mo and Bridget were pushing chairs, desks and bookcases across doors and windows, barricading themselves inside as best they could. Fiona had taken Carla’s place inside the DJ’s booth, and Tania was urging Simon to hurry up and make the connection to Miniver House. Carla was on the roof. She had climbed out through a manhole, and was hurling home-made smoke bombs down into the carparks. The bombs were harmless, but the smoke they let off was black and choking. Carla had made them for her forthcoming revolution back at Delinquent Central. She had decided to donate them to the Minivers’ cause.
Fiona looked out the window at the security guards gathering in front of the building. The smoke was making it impossible for them to reach the doors, and several were conferring by the studio gates. ‘They can’t get in,’ she reported. ‘Carla’s smoke’s forcing them back!’
‘Not for long, it won’t,’ said Simon, from the sound desk. ‘They’ll bring in gas masks any moment now. You’ll see.’
‘Shut up, you.’ Fiona punched repeatedly at the transmit button on her radio, but though the light went on, Emily did not seem to be answering. Tania shoved another Minivers CD into the player. Her face was white, and her voice was wobbly as she made the announcement.
‘Stay tuned, Minivers fans. Our special guest will be arriving at the studio any moment. Meanwhile, here’s another great Minivers song, “Small Heroes”. Keep listening!’
Simon sniggered under his headphones. Fiona wanted to slap him, but there was no point. Outside, the sound of police sirens rent the air. Fiona stole a glance out the window, saw the blue lights of the patrol cars and worse, a fire engine, backing into the narrow courtyard at the front of the building. Its ladder was slowly extending over the building. Come on, Rosamund, she thought. Emily, why aren’t you answering? We don’t have time for this, come on!
‘Too late now,’ said Simon nastily. He too, had seen the fire ladder. Fiona’s radio receiver suddenly crackled next to her ear. A calm voice spoke.
‘Control Van to B-Team. Rosamund is in position and waiting. Stand by to patch her in. Counting you in now, G-team. Five … four … three … two …’
‘This is Rosamund Miniver.’
In Gibraltar’s van, Emily relaxed. She had switched on her ordinary radio, and Rosamund’s voice came through sounding confident and clear as she had known it would. At Radio Artemisia, Tania and Fiona clasped hands and listened. Mo and Bridget paused with their shoulders against a bookcase, while Carla’s smoke bombs exploded outside.
In her car outside Miniver House, Livia, who had never believed they would pull this off, clutched the steering wheel, desperately willing it to be over. And in the palace, in the private wing where nobody now went but doctors and nurses, Papa King lay in his bed, surrounded by softly humming equipment. His night nurse had left the radio on while she had gone to make a phone call, and though he could not move a muscle, his old dark eyes were glistening with tears.
‘This is Rosamund Miniver. I’m here tonight at Radio Free Minivers to tell you about the incredible things that have been happening to my sister Emily and me over the last few weeks. I don’t have time to explain everything, but the Minivers have been in terrible danger. We’ve been kidnapped, chased, and in hiding. We’ve gone hungry, and had to sleep out in the open, in fear of our lives. Worst of all, some of our enemies are the very people we expected to protect us. But that’s not what matters. What matters, is that I’m finally able to speak for Emily and myself.
‘Many times over the last few weeks we’ve had to ask ourselves who we are. Personally, I always thought I knew the answer to that question. I was Rosamund Miniver and I was famous. It never occurred to me to wonder what I did to deserve all that attention. I sold lots of CDs. I could dance and sing. I had a beautiful house and masses of clothes, and more money than I really knew what to do with. I took it all for granted, because for a long time I believed that Minivers were for people to love. I now know that was wrong. The fact is, that what people loved was not the real Rosamund Miniver, but the version of me they saw on TV and read about in the news. That Rosamund was perfect. She never did anything wrong, or foolish. The fact is, of course, that I was never really like that. There were times when I was selfish and spoiled and didn’t behave as well as I should have. I did things that affected other people because I just didn’t think. Now some of those stories are being spread around by our enemies and people are starting to say that, instead of being all good, Emily and I must have been all bad. That’s not true, either. I’m not trying to make excuses for our behaviour. I’m just trying to say that the truth lies somewhere in between, and that on behalf of both of us, I’m sorry for anything we’ve done that’s hurt you.
‘I know that many of you listening will now be wondering whether it’s really me talking, or whether I’m some kind of impostor. Well, it is me, the real Rosamund Miniver, and though I’m tired and dirty and scared tonight, I’m here to tell you that Emily and I are not giving up. The rumours that we’re dead are not true. What is true, though, is that the horrible stories you’ve been hearing have been spread to stop you helping us. I don’t have much time left to talk, but I want you to know that if you care, there are some things you can do to help. First of all, don’t ring the Minivers Crisis Line. Despite what they say, it’s being run by our enemies, and any information you give them will be used to try and capture us. Second, don’t pay attention to any news that c
omes out of the Minivers Fan Club. The club’s behind all the anti-Miniver riots you’ve been seeing, and the committee’s working for Madame. She might be Papa King’s daughter, but Madame’s not what she seems, either. Don’t trust her! Listen to me now, and remember that the Minivers have always been Artemisia’s friends. We might be in trouble, but we want you to know that as long as our fans stick by us, we’ll get through this somehow. And that’s a prom–’
Rosamund’s voice stopped abruptly. Emily banged her radio, but there was nothing to hear but static. She grabbed the transmitter, but before she had a chance to say anything, a signal came through and she heard Fiona, gabbling in panic.
‘They’ve stormed the station! They came in through the ceiling, they’ve got Carla and Bridget. Someone’s hit Mo over the head, I think she’s unconscious. Over!’
‘Fiona! Fiona, you’ve got to hide! Get into a cupboard, anything, don’t let them catch you! Over!’ A terrible racket sounded in Emily’s earpiece, as if someone was overturning furniture, and there were shouted orders and Tania’s voice in the background, clearly screaming, ‘Let me go, you –’ The transmission stopped. Her hands shaking, Emily waited a few seconds, then switched to the other frequency.
‘Control Van to G-Team. Control-Van to G-Team, we’ve got an emergency –’
Emily broke off. She had been so busy coordinating the others that she had almost forgotten about herself. Now she heard something that even the din coming over her headphones could not drown out: the sound of a car reversing slowly towards her. There was a loud clunk, and the whole caravan shuddered around her. Emily grabbed the radio to stop it falling into her lap.
‘Gibraltar – Gibraltar, can you hear me?’ The line was dead. Emily ripped off her headpiece. She jumped off the bench and ran to the door, but it was locked or jammed and would not budge. The coupling at the front of the van dropped into place with a heavy thunk and Emily fell over on the floor. The car revved its engine. With a violent lurch and a squeak of rusted axles, the caravan jerked forward and rolled away.
14
The Aftermath
In the Walnut Office, Madame, Ron and Titus sat through Rosamund’s broadcast in silence. The emergency had caught them by surprise. Even Titus had not expected it, but he listened to Rosamund speaking with a curious, almost respectful expression. At eleven o’clock a call came through from Primrose, reporting in on the siege at the radio station. Ron spoke to her rapidly for several minutes, then put down the receiver.
‘They’ve stormed the building. Primrose has sent three teams in through the roof. They’ve caught four of the culprits, but there’s no sign of the Minivers.’
‘There won’t be,’ said Titus. He was lounging in a velvet armchair with his legs, still in their filthy jeans, slung over the arm. ‘You can’t expect to find them there. Everyone inside that radio station will be taken prisoner within the next five minutes. I don’t think even Rosamund Miniver would be stupid enough to risk that.’
‘But Rosamund was there with them,’ said Ron. ‘We heard her speaking, and it sounded like a live broadcast. I know her voice. It was definitely her.’
‘That doesn’t mean she was in the building,’ said Titus. ‘No. Rosamund will have made her speech from somewhere else, quite nearby. Somewhere she’s familiar with, where she knows the equipment. A place you left unattended, while your men were chasing me all over the city.’
‘Miniver House?’ said Ron.
‘I’m surprised you needed to be told,’ said Titus. ‘Yes. Miniver House.’
‘But what should we do?’ said Ron. He had quite forgotten the fight in the culvert, and had slipped naturally back into their old way of doing things. ‘The whole team’s down at the radio station.’
‘We go down to Miniver House ourselves, of course,’ said Titus. ‘I’d say the two of us are more than a match for one Miniver, wouldn’t you?’ He turned to Madame, who was sitting, stiff and silent, behind Papa King’s desk. ‘We’ll be leaving you now, Karen. Don’t worry, you’re still going to be queen – on my terms – but just for the moment, Rosamund must come first. I hope you’ll understand.’ Titus stood up and smiled. ‘By the way, I’m not a greedy man. You can keep the office – and the desk.’
He limped out of the room with Ron.
Madame waited until their footsteps had faded along the passage, then slammed her fists down on the desktop with a hoarse cry. The rage she had been too frightened to express when Titus had been in the room erupted inside her. Everything had gone wrong. For months, Titus had been pretending he was helping her, yet all the time he had been working behind her back, first, stealing the key, then finding the Most Secret Room, and now, which was almost worst of all, capturing Rosamund Miniver. Madame’s heart, never very large, contracted with a hot and violent hatred at the thought. She wanted to kill Titus. She wanted to destroy him utterly, to grind him to tiny pieces under the heel of her shoe. Yet what could she do? The moment she even tried to stop him, Titus would release her secret to the world, and she would be revealed as a would-be murderer who had tried to steal her own father’s throne.
It wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t fair. To have come so close, after all those terrible years spent in exile, and then to have everything snatched away at the final moment! She would not be Titus’s puppet. Hadn’t she a right to the throne? Wasn’t she Papa King’s daughter? The old man was practically dead anyway; it was time Artemisia moved on. A grim picture of a future spent entirely at Titus’s beck and call was swiftly followed by another realisation, one that made Madame even angrier. None of this was her fault. It was Livia who was to blame for everything. If she had found the Most Secret Room when she had been told, instead of mooning about drawing, and painting their grandparents’ house ridiculous colours, Madame would be safely on Papa King’s throne by now. Furthermore, and this was something that made Madame particularly indignant, she was sure Livia had lied. That was a privilege Madame reserved for herself, and if Livia thought she was going to get away with it, she was wrong. Madame was onto her now, and whatever it took, she was going to make Livia pay.
Madame reached for a notepad and scrawled something angrily across it. She rang the buzzer for Adelaide and the secretary came into the office.
‘Madame?’
‘The security guards,’ said Madame. ‘Are they all down at the radio station?’
‘Some have just come back, I think,’ said Adelaide. ‘I saw a car pull up five minutes ago.’
Madame tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to her. ‘Go and find them,’ she ordered. ‘I want them to go to this address and burn it down.’
Rosamund and Gibraltar ran across the Miniver House terrace. Floodlights streamed hotly down on them, and the unseen eyes of the security cameras followed their passage across the lawn. They reached the boomgate on the drive, ducked under it, and ran for the shrubbery. When Rosamund fell behind, Gibraltar reached down and swung her up onto his shoulder. She clung to his neck like a monkey and did not let go.
Rosamund could hardly believe they were getting away. When her broadcast had been cut off, she had expected every alarm in the house to go off, and hordes of security guards to appear from nowhere. Instead, it seemed as if their first impressions had been right. Miniver House really was deserted and though Rosamund was at a loss to explain why, there was no time to wonder. A few seconds later they reached the hedge and dived into its rustling, scratchy cover. Rosamund dropped to the ground and squeezed between the bars in the fence behind it, and Gibraltar quickly shinned up over it and vaulted down into the street. The car was waiting for them, just where it should be, with its engine running and Livia sitting behind the wheel.
The radio was on, but the broadcast had stopped and there was nothing to be heard on Radio Artemisia but static. Livia looked up as they jumped into the car and snapped on her indicator. The doors closed on Rosamund and Gibraltar, and Livia pulled out from the kerb and drove away.
‘Were you listening?’ aske
d Rosamund breathlessly. ‘Did you hear my speech?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Livia. ‘I thought you did very well.’
‘They cut me off before I finished,’ said Rosamund. ‘I didn’t get to talk to the audience, either.’
‘I don’t think that matters,’ said Gibraltar, unhooking his headset from around his neck. ‘The important thing is that you made the broadcast. I’ll contact Emily now, and tell her we’re safely out.’
Gibraltar turned off the car radio and put on his headset. He pushed the transmit button over his ear. ‘G-Team to Control Van. Come in, Emily. Over.’
There was an answering hiss of white noise. Gibraltar waited a moment, then tried again. ‘G-Team to Control Van. Are you there, Emily? Respond, please. Over.’
Rosamund leaned anxiously forward from the back seat.
‘Let me try –’
‘Gibraltar!’ Emily’s voice suddenly crackled into his ear. ‘Thank goodness you’re there. I’ve been trying and trying to get through. Something terrible’s happened. Someone’s hitched a car to your van and driven off with it. I’m still inside, and I can’t get out!’ Her voice was loud enough for the others to hear. Livia swerved slightly. Rosamund jumped up into the space between the two front seats.
‘Emily? Are you all right?’
‘Rosamund, get down on the floor,’ snapped Gibraltar. ‘Someone will see you. Livia, drive around the block. Emily. Do you know who’s got you? Which direction are they heading? Over.’
‘I don’t know!’ Emily’s voice sounded high and panicky. ‘It’s an old blue car, that’s all I can see. We’re on the freeway, I think. Northbound. We’re heading for the city. There’s a hospital. A big one – the Royal Artemisia. And we’ve just passed a cemetery. We’re going onto the bridge now. I can see the river. Over.’
‘Emily, listen to me. We’re in Livia’s car. We’ll try and intercept you when you come off the bridge, but you must keep calm. Do you think you can get out of the van? Over.’
The Minivers Fight Back Book 2 Page 13