by Teri Terry
‘No way. I’m coming too. Don’t want you to get lost or bang on the wrong door.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. That’s it.’ He takes the bowls, some things for his roomie who is bunked down in another room. Comes back and stays, reading a book in a chair with a grimace at the state of the other bed, tells me he’ll watch over me, that everything is okay, to get some sleep and he’ll wake me up in a few hours.
Warm at last, I’m convinced I’ll never sleep, that it isn’t possible. There are my own fears still, and others intruding: what if Nico realises Ellie saw me last? My stomach turns to think what he might do if he gets his hands on her. Then I’m angry at Stella for using Ellie like that; then I’m scared for Stella. And Finley. It won’t take long for someone to remember we spent the day together, to come looking for him, and then if they haven’t already connected that with the ones they were chasing from the orphanage today, they will soon. He says he’s watching over me, but he has no idea what he could face if they come here.
My fears like black crows circle around in my head, but somehow they become more faint and distant, and drift away.
A small head peeks over his mother’s shoulder, giggles.
Get down! I’m saying inside and with my eyes, but he doesn’t get it. He peeks out again.
This time they see him. Black-garbed Lorders.
They march past me and grab the boy from his mother; she’s pleading, he is crying. Everyone on the train stares at their feet, at the floor, at the dead windows. No one moves. No one says anything.
Not this time: it is time to say no. No more. I get out of my seat. ‘Leave him alone!’
One of the Lorders slowly turns around. His blond-streaked hair is too long and unruly for a Lorder. His pale blue eyes glint with danger. He smiles a seductive smile, and holds out a hand.
Nico? No. It can’t be.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
* * *
My eyes snap open. There is a brief moment of confusion: where am I? Finley’s room. It is still, silent. What woke me?
I glance across the room and there is just enough moonlight through gaps in the curtains to see: the chair and other bed are empty. I’m alone.
Then there is a faint sound in the hall: footsteps?
I sit up with a rush of fear. Nowhere to hide. Not enough time to get out the window: nowhere to run.
There is a feather-light tap on the door, and it opens: Finley.
I sag back in relief.
‘Oh good, you’re awake,’ he says. ‘Time to go.’
I shake off the panic, and grab my things off the radiator. ‘Nearly dry.’
He turns as I change into them fast.
‘Now come on,’ he says, and takes my hand. ‘If anyone spots us they’ll just think I’m sneaking you out.
Finley looks into the hall, draws me out. We walk silently to the stairs, down them and then out the back door – a real door, not a window this time.
I glance back at the lake: all is silent inky darkness. I frown to myself. Surely once the Lorders realised I wasn’t in the house or up the path, they’d work out I took a kayak, that the other paddles were missing? I’d half expected to see search lights.
We creep along footpaths up and away from the houses and the lake, Finley leading the way. I am sure-footed and silent in the dark: years of woods training with Nico made sure of that. Finley is less so. A particularly loud crack in front makes me cringe. ‘Keep it down up there,’ I whisper.
‘Don’t worry, the tree is fine,’ Finley says.
‘What tree?’
‘The one whose branch I just smacked my head into. I’m starting to see that being a Shorty has its advantages.’
We reach a road, walk along it for a mile, keeping a careful listen for cars, ducking out of sight whenever one goes by. Then we turn down a long twisty lane.
‘Here we are: chez Len,’ Finley says. More a shack than a house; the car we borrowed earlier is pulled in alongside. It is silent and dark.
‘What time is it?’ I whisper.
‘4 am.’
‘Hope he’s not a heavy sleeper.’
Finley tries knocking lightly on the door; no response. He tries the handle: locked. We exchange a glance. ‘Somehow really banging on the door goes against the whole sneaking around thing,’ he says.
I pick up a few pebbles and ping them against the window.
Eventually we hear movement inside, locks turning. The door opens and Len peers out. ‘This better be good.’
Len pulls us into the kitchen, shuts the door. ‘I don’t know about you, but I can’t be civil without tea this time of the morning. You can make it while we talk,’ he says to Finley. Points out the kettle, cups. Draws me into the next room and shuts the door.
‘So, Miss Lucy Connor: your cover is blown.’
‘You know?’
He inclines his head.
‘How?’
‘Got a message from your mother.’
I stare at him in shock. ‘She knows you?’
‘How’d you think you got put on MIA in the first place?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know; I guess I didn’t think about it.’
‘Do you know how they worked out who you are?’
‘I don’t know. But I think Steph – one of the girls – is a spy for Astrid. She saw my glasses come off. That my eyes are green.’
‘Those were some glasses. Not wearing them any more?’
‘Lost them in the lake. Don’t suppose it matters now. I’m sure Astrid was already suspicious that something was up with Stella. Then if Steph told her about my glasses, she must have put things together and worked it out.’ I lean back and sigh. ‘I’m sorry about involving Finley. I had to run, and I didn’t know how else to find you.’
‘He’s a smart lad. He’ll keep his mouth shut. But there’s more to tell, isn’t there?’
There is a tap on the door. Finley peeks in, holds out two cups of tea. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Not just yet, give us a few moments,’ Len says.
Finley looks disappointed, but hands us our tea and goes back through the door.
Len has a slurp of way-too-hot tea but looks happier. ‘That’s better. Now tell me: what happened yesterday afternoon to make Lorders be looking for you up that mountain?’
‘I found out something, something that puts Lorders in a very bad light. I need to get to Aiden, the sooner the better. Can you help?’
He stares steadily back at me, sighs. ‘I’ll always help when I can, because I’m a stupid old idiot. Not enough life left to be cautious with. But getting you out of town will be difficult if they’re looking for you. Maybe you should tell me why it’s so important.’
And I hesitate, torn. Aiden trusts him, and that is good enough for me. But is it safer if he doesn’t know?
‘Look at it this way. If you’re the only one who knows something, and something happens to you, nobody knows.’
I nod. Gulp. ‘It’s so awful, it’s hard to even say.’ My head aches, and I drop it in my hands.
‘Time is tight, Lucy,’ he says gently.
‘I’d rather you didn’t use that name: stick with Riley.’
‘Okay, then; Riley.’
I look up, meet his eye. ‘We saw them from a distance. A line of children, walking along the fence inside the orphanage grounds. But something wasn’t right about them. They weren’t like normal children. So I went for a closer look.’
‘Mad as a box of frogs. And?’
‘They’re all Slated. Even little ones, maybe four or five years old.’ The horror I can feel on my face is reflected in his. ‘They were like…robots, almost. No personality, no life.’
He grips my hand. ‘Evidence?’
I pat my pocket. ‘Photos, in my camera, of Levos on their wrists.’
‘Bad timing.’ He curses under his breath. ‘MIA’s website has been hacked.’
‘What? Could that be how they found where I was?’ As a Slated, seeking out my past life is completely illegal. That’d be reason enough for Lorders to hunt me down, without adding in stumbling on their secrets at the orphanage.
‘They got into the protected areas of the site. Any information available to administrators of MIA was open to them. If they looked, they’d know you were reported found, but not your location. That type of information is not stored on the website, not even encrypted. Of course they may have worked out to look for you in Keswick. But all computer communications are suspended while it is investigated, so we can’t email the photos as backup. Besides, Aiden’ll need you: you’re the witness. We’ve got to get you there.’
‘Well. You know how they’re looking for Lucy Connor? Things could get worse.’
‘It can get worse?’ Len asks mildly.
‘If they put her together with the girl who took photos at their so-called orphanage. And that Finley was with me. And you were seen with us later on. I’m so sorry.’
Len calls Finley in; he has tea with us. Len finds some biscuits, puts a hand up when we try to say anything. ‘Be quiet. I’m thinking.’
Finally Len looks at me, then gestures at Finley. ‘You didn’t tell him what you found out?’ I shake my head. ‘Keep it that way.’
Finley looks about to protest, but Len holds up a hand. ‘Listen to me. We might be in some trouble. If you don’t know, you can’t say. You can try to play innocent. Bit of a stretch for you, I know.’
‘They don’t care about innocence,’ I say, bitter as I think of the Slated children. Children? Some of them were more like toddlers.
‘This is what I think you should do,’ Len says to Finley. ‘Go home. Slip back in like nothing is happening. I think chances are low they’ll connect you with her.’
‘Can’t he come with me?’ I ask.
‘No. If Finley is reported missing now they will put the two of you together. They’ll be more likely to make the leap that it was you two they were looking for on the hill yesterday.’
‘No, you can’t just send him back! It’s too dangerous.’
‘Listen to me. Something is funny about all of this. If you really found something the Lorder government wants to stay hidden, they’d have jumped on the whole county like a ton of bricks: road blocks, searches house to house, the works. And there has been nothing.’
‘What does that mean?’
He scratches his head. ‘Haven’t a clue, but for now I think it works in our favour. My usual thought would be to lie low until things settle down before we try to move you anywhere, but this time I think the faster we get you out of town, the better.’
‘Right. I’ll be off then, or I won’t be able to sneak back in before morning.’ Finley gets up, comes over to me awkwardly. Stoops down to give me a hug. ‘Look after yourself,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all right.’
Len goes to the door with him, they murmur to each other too low for me to hear, then the door shuts and Len comes back in.
‘Do you really think they won’t track him down?’ I ask.
He hesitates. ‘No, and he knows it. He’s buying you some time. Don’t waste it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
* * *
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Unless you can flap your arms and fly, then yes,’ Len says. ‘Trains are out: even if we could get you another fake ID quickly, they’re watching for you now. They’re unlikely to be fooled. It’s the only way.’
The truck, a goods transport, is parked behind an isolated workshop. These are the only sort of vehicles that do long road journeys with the environmental bans on private long-distance car travel. The truck’s cab has a false floor Len has taken up, with a small – and I mean small – space underneath. It’s only ever been used to move around tech for MIA; I am to be the first passenger.
‘Let’s see if you fit,’ Len says, and I lower myself in, nesting a blanket around me. Trying different positions to get my arms and legs in. ‘I’ll try the floor on now,’ he says. ‘Knock or yell if it gets too tight.’
I give him a thumbs up, and Len slowly lowers the floor in place above me, and I’m plunged into darkness. He lifts it up again. ‘All right?’ he asks.
‘I think so, just had to flatten my shoulders. Go on.’
He puts it back into place. The noise of the drill as he replaces the screws is unbelievable, and I try to stuff my hands in my ears, but can barely move enough to do it. There is an irrational feeling of panic, like I’m being buried alive in a coffin. The driver is having lunch. He’s not in MIA, but bribed regularly to leave his truck unattended. While he knows he is transporting something, he’s kept in the dark about what it is. He doesn’t know I’m in here. What if something happens to whoever is meant to extract this ‘delivery’ at the other end? No one but Len knows I am trapped in here: he judged it too dangerous to get a message out that might be intercepted. Even though he has drilled out some air holes, already I feel like I can’t breathe.
There is a tap-tap outside some place, and I imagine Len giving the side of the truck a double tap for luck to send me on my way.
I half smile, then it falls away. I owe Len and Finley so much: please stay safe. I’d got out of Len that he’d told Finley a safe bolt hole if he gets wind of trouble, but if the Lorders come for him it is more likely that he won’t have a chance. It was luck that had me down by the lake when Nico, Astrid and the Lorders came; if Stella hadn’t managed to get Ellie out with that cryptic message, they’d probably still have got me. What would they have done with me? Nothing good, I’m sure. Maybe hauled me off to the prison Len thinks Madison is in. Maybe, I’d be dead.
Time passes. A door opens, then slams shut. The truck’s engine starts up, and it lurches along bumpy minor roads for what feels like forever. Then it is motorway, smooth and fast. The rocking motion is almost soothing. The small confined space warms with me in it, and lulls me to sleep.
WHRRRRR…
I bolt awake, hit my head hard on something above me, then remember where I am. That noise, reverberating through my skull: the screws are being removed. Are we there, wherever that is, or have we been stopped along the way? I have no sense of how much time has passed. But now that I’m awake every muscle in my body is screaming to move and stretch; one way or the other, I’m getting out of here.
The last screw out, the floor is lifted and I sit up as it is pulled away.
There is a startled face above me and the floor is almost dropped on my head.
‘Oh my God. It’s a girl,’ he says.
The floor is pulled away and out; another face appears. Both men, in overalls. Clearly not Lorders. I breathe a sigh of relief, swing my legs out. ‘Ouch. Give me a hand?’
One of them hastens to do so, and I step out of the truck, then almost fall over again, my legs protesting after so long in the same position. I steady myself, one hand on the side of the truck. We’re outside in the cold behind some buildings, and it’s dark.
‘Where am I?’
They exchange a glance.
‘Oh, sorry. I’m here for the final act of The Winter’s Tale.’ Len had given the words to say, coded words that should get me to authority in MIA quickly.
Things move fast after that. I’m hustled inside a workshop and run to their disgusting bathroom, then beg a cup of tea while hurried conversations happen on the other side of a door. I’m strangely calm. Is it because what happens next is out of my hands? I don’t know.
A car appears; I’m bundled into the back seat. A man and woman sit silently in front. I watch out the windows; we go through an industrial estate
, and then into more and more built up areas. Not London, and not familiar, but then I see a sign: Welcome to Oxford. So close to home! Or what used to be home: my old school, Lord Williams’, is just miles away in Thame. Our village not far beyond that.
The streets get more crowded with old buildings, busy with pedestrians. We weave down narrow back streets and pull in. I’m given a different coat to wear, a hat, and walked by the driver along rambling, cobbled streets, past grand old architecture. I long to gawk and stare upwards at all around me, but don’t dare draw attention to myself.
We duck through an archway, down a path along a quadrangle surrounded by buildings, then to a door where we are met by a smiling girl a few years older than me. The driver leaves me there. I follow the girl down twisting passages to another door. She taps lightly. ‘Go in,’ she says, and leaves.
I pull the door open: a study lined with bookshelves. And there, at a desk? A very startled-looking Aiden.
‘Kyla? You’re our new witness? Thank God you’re all right.’ He jumps up from his chair, scoops me in his arms for a hug, and I cling on a little tight. Something is melting inside: Aiden is here; he’ll know what to do. Am I safe, at least for a while? He finally lets go, but keeps hold of my hand, laces my fingers with his. And I stare at him, shaken by how tight I want to hold on to his hand, how much I missed him. His deep blue eyes. Merry eyes, despite the risks he takes. The way his hair catches the light, fiery glints of red. I smile.
‘Ahem.’ A throat clearing noise. I turn and see there is another person in the room, a woman in a chair by the fire: older than Aiden; a fierce hungry expression on a face pale with dark-ringed eyes. ‘I hope we’re not using all these resources for girlfriend transport now.’ She frowns.
‘Len wouldn’t have sent us anything that way that wasn’t vital. Not with an emergency code.’ Aiden’s voice is calm, but a creep of red climbs in his cheeks.
‘So, what is so urgent? Tell us,’ she says.
I look at Aiden. ‘I’d rather talk to you alone.’