Breakdown (27 page)

I think of Nan, the dogs, the wharf.

‘Please?'

‘Nothing easier  … ' He leaves the ‘if' unspoken in the air of the kitchen.

‘I'm in,' I say. ‘I don't know your plan, but I'm in.'

‘Good,' he says. ‘I'll be back tomorrow with detailed news and a few little jobs for you.'

I nod.

‘Till then: one, ears; two, eyes. And in particular, Mrs Fellowes of fifty-two Barlow Street wants news of whether Dora ever got the sewing kit. You could just check on that for her. I believe it was in the General's downstairs study.'

‘Here,' I say. I grab the package of chicken and vegetables salvaged from the stew. ‘Give them to Tarquin. Get the coat, give it to Lenny. Can you?'

‘Of course,' he says. ‘I can work magic.'

And with that he leaves.

I find a bit of string. I thread it through the key ring. I hang it round my neck. I look at the little cottage in its plastic setting, the roses, the valley and the mountains. Then I close my fist over everything. I hold it tight. ‘If only we were there,' I whisper into my closed hand. If only.

I set about putting away the deliveries. I hope to God Harold isn't all talk. For the first time since we were thrown in the back of the lorry, I allow myself to hope. I'll help Tarquin like he helped me. I'll save Lenny from this horrible place.

And if the General tries to touch me again –

I'll kill him.

I keep my eyes and ears open. I need news I can trade with Harold. Something that will shift the balance of power.

I find out everybody hates the General, except maybe Marcy. He oversees all the farm camps north of London. He oversees the main rail link to the coal mines. This house was once part of a country estate. The village was called Compton Powell. Biomes One to Ten produce luxury items entirely for consumption by the army elite. Biomes Eleven onwards are supposed to grow staple food crops for the nation. The rest of the army takes them.

I find out the farm ships trashy foodstuff up north, to the coalfields, for extortionate rates, and pays very little for the coal. I find out the coalfields in the Midlands are coal camps like this one, but their output is low. They can't turn convicts into miners, apparently.

I find out there's a huge black market inside the camp. Corruption is everywhere. The black market's controlled by the internal manager, Mr Billson – and I begin to understand what Harold could achieve if he had the job.

And he's right. The prisoners do everything, including overseeing. The army conducts checks, but each work-gang officer varies. Some are Philistines. Some are not. Some regularly flog workers. Most workers are half starved and have to steal to eat.

But I'm pretty sure that Harold knows all that, so I try to listen out for the things he might not.

Marcy, the General's aunt, sends me down to the chicken farm in Biome Six to collect the eggs. It's very close. On the old estate. That's why I'm allowed to go. I'm surprised I
am
allowed to go. But I don't fool myself. The minute I put one foot too far, I'll be for it. Marcy tells me exactly where I can go and where I can't. She especially dwells on what will happen if I don't believe her. She tells me (with some relish) that since Dora, the General isn't going to let any bird fly the coop a second time.

I use the freedom. Though I don't trust Marcy one bit. I remember her laying out the weapons in the kitchen. Maybe she has new orders. Perhaps the General is planning some different game. One where he lets me loose on the estate and hunts me down. I wouldn't be surprised. It'd be no fun for him if I didn't know where I was going. So I explore as thoroughly as I can, noting hiding spots, short cuts, watercourses, and timing myself between points.

I make the trip to Biome Six. I enter the pen, throw the house waste to the chickens, and add a helping of chaff that came in from Biome Twenty-five. I collect the eggs. I crack two into the bowl I brought the waste in. I mix them up with my finger and drink them down. I've put myself on a fattening diet.
Grow tough, grow strong
.
You won't be able to outsmart anyone if you're weak.

Then I head back to the manor. I jog to build stamina. On the way I notice that certain points in the stone wall around the estate have collapsed. I notice that some of the walkways can be roped off.

I nod my head.

I know your game. I've guessed it. You'll set me up. You'll open the cage. You'll watch me try to escape. Then you'll hunt me down.

The jog tires me out completely. I'm not ready for his new game. I've got to get out before that. And he'll be back soon. Four days have gone already.

I shiver.
Did Dora really jump? Or did you hunt her up to the old quarry? Did you give her a choice: jump or submit? Or did you use her up then force her over?

I need news to trade with Harold.

Before it's too late.

I take a shortcut through the coppice and head for the General's greenhouses. On the main door is a sign:
NO ADMITTANCE
. I suppose that means me too. Though I take no notice. The General's away, and the sign looks very old. Like it was put there long ago when people obeyed rules and there was order and safety.

And I need a quiet place to think. To plan. Plus the sign annoys me. If the General did have it put there, then I'm going in. So I push on the double doors. The locks on them are old; one door should be bolted to the floor but it's not. It only takes a bit of shaking for both to give.

Inside is an old-fashioned greenhouse, high clear spaces, glass panes, green-dappled light. Wooden frames. Bees hum. Beautiful. The sun sparkles through in diamond patterns. And curling upwards everywhere are orchids. The General's collection: rare, exquisite.

I stand there. Racking my brains for some brilliant plan. All the orchids have exotic names and are arranged alphabetically:
Acrolophia
;
Adamantinia
;
Aerides
, Fox Brush Orchid; Dragon's mouth; Cup Orchid;
Galeandra
, Hooded Orchid;
Galearis
, Showy Orchid.

I stand and breathe in thick perfumed air. Bees dart from flower to flower. Was it like this before? Were there multitudes of flowers? Priceless orchids as well as wayside blossoms? Birds and sunshine? Clouds casting shadows on sunny fields?

I try to imagine it.

Then I hear something. Instantly, I duck.

Voices of two men. Coming from inside, by the walled garden exit. So others come here to plan too. I take a big breath. I remove my shoes. No squeaks. I leave them behind a bed of
Hexalectris
. I slink over behind some
Mesadenus
. I crouch and listen.

‘So,' says a deep male voice. Not one I recognise. I peer through the vines. He's in farm overalls with a cap, a belt and army boots. He's plump.

‘So,' he says again. ‘Over here.'

Another guy, I can't see him, answers. ‘Order in from the west country.'

‘Right.'

‘They want honey.'

‘How much?'

‘We can charge them double. Their bees didn't survive. They've had to replace the lot. We got them over a barrel. Can charge what we like.'

They move a bit closer together. Are they workers or what?

‘How many jars we got?'

‘To spare? About two dozen.'

‘If we can make that four dozen, we've got ourselves a real deal.' He moves. I move too. I want to see him. I step out from behind a Monk Orchid, move across a pathway and squat down inside a huge towering tangle of vanilla. I get a clear glimpse of him then: a short man in camouflage, carrying a baton. A gun strapped to his thigh. The adjutant from the courtroom shed.

I freeze. The heavy perfume of the flowers suddenly makes me dizzy.

‘Army truck going out a week tomorrow?'

‘One of ours in charge?' asks the adjutant.

‘Yep, Eric from Fourth Battalion.'

‘Right, if we get them on that.' The adjutant slaps his baton against the palm of his hand.

‘We only got two dozen,' says the one in the farm overalls; then he whispers, ‘But I got a plan.'

There's a silence. They drop their voices. I can't hear any more. I try to move closer. I tread on a piece of bark. It cracks. I freeze. My heart starts pounding.

Oh God, don't let them find me!

I crouch there in a cold sweat, waiting.

Through the hum of the bees I hear them still whispering.

So I wait, thinking about what plan they're hatching. Praying I'm not discovered. And suddenly, I get the best idea I've
ever
had.
My own plan.
All my watching and waiting and thinking has paid off.

I've discovered what these people want.

And I know just how to use it against them.

I'm biting my nails by the time Harold comes.

And even when he does, we can't talk, because Marcy's there. She's there all the time. It's almost like she knows I'm cooperating with him.

‘Patience is a virtue,' he whispers in my ear as we go to unload the supplies from his cart. We carry the crates of vegetables into the kitchen, empty them into the baskets. I stack washed-out empty jars and load them into crates. Together we take the crates back to his cart.

I despair of ever getting a chance to tell him. He's about to leave, when a chance opens up. Marcy gets called out by a messenger.

Harold smiles. ‘While the cat's away, the mice will – you know,' he says. ‘I'm on two-cartload deliveries up here these next few days. The barracks are really making hay. When the General returns we'll all be back to rations.'

‘I've got news,' I say. ‘And an idea.'

‘I have too,' he says.

‘Yours first,' I say. ‘How's Lenny?'

‘Missing you,' he says and he hands me a drawing. It's of a cottage. The sun is a big yellow circle in the sky with sunbeams like straight lines and a bush with red blobs that are berries and a rabbit. The rabbit is a bit wonky. It might be a squirrel. In the foreground are three people and they are all holding hands. One is a tall young man, and one has wavy hair and is a willowy girl, and one is small and has a big smile. My heart turns over. A lump somehow ends up in my throat. It sends a tingle up to my eyes.

‘Wait,' I say. I pick up a piece of delivery packing paper and take the pen Harold carries for signing. I draw the same girl with wavy hair. She's got her arms around the smiling-face, stick child, and in her other hand she's holding the key. I make the key very large. I don't put Tarquin in the picture, because I'm not sure where to put him, but I draw in a straight line at the top and even though Lenny won't know what that is, I do: it's Tarquin's shoulders. I nip back into the kitchen. I take half a cooked chicken from the cold store. I wrap it in more delivery packing.

I give it all to Harold. ‘For Lenny.'

He nods.

‘Did you get the coat, and how's Tarquin?'

‘I got the coat. I gave it to Lenny. Your young man's in a bad mood, but not in bad shape. Would you like me to take him a message?'

Suddenly I feel flustered. His words again – ‘your young man' – hum inside me. I blush, turn away. I
do
want to send him a message. I don't know what, though. I stand there tongue-tied.

‘When you're ready,' says Harold. ‘Now your idea.'

‘I got it,' I say.

‘Got what?' says Harold.

‘I've got an idea of how to outsmart the internal manager, so you can get his job.'

Harold draws up a chair, his face cold, serious.

‘OK,' he says. ‘Firstly, be clear. Secondly, realise this conversation could get us flogged or worse.'

I take in a deep breath.

Harold sits, waiting.

‘We set the internal manager up,' I say.

‘It's been tried,' Harold says. ‘He's too smart.'

‘Look,' I say. ‘Tell me exactly how far he'll go?'

Harold lowers his voice. ‘Everything from extortion to corruption to theft to bootlegging.'

‘What drives him?' I say. ‘What does he want?'

Harold thinks. ‘Anything that gives him more power, more privilege, more control over others.'

‘Right,' I say. ‘What about exporting things? Will he sell stuff on to other camps or is all that internal?'

‘It's the adjutant who deals with exports,' says Harold. ‘Only the army can deal with anything beyond the fence. But there's lots of produce in and out – that's dodgy too,' he says. ‘The produce from Biomes One to Ten, if you can get your hands on it, fetches big on the outside.'

‘Then listen,' I say.

‘It better be good,' says Harold, ‘because it's dangerous.'

‘Yesterday,' I say, ‘you delivered six crates of wine here. The General's away and I signed for them. You said they were the last bottles of that crop. What if an order came in – from outside – saying they needed exactly six crates of wine and were prepared to pay anything for them? What would the adjutant do then?'

Harold considers. ‘I see where you're coming from,' he says.

‘Would he dare?' I say. ‘Plot with the internal manager to come back to this house and steal wine from the General?'

‘Oh yes,' says Harold. He pauses. ‘But even if I could find someone to get such an order through, there's a huge problem.'

‘What?' I say.

‘The adjutant won't come here himself, and Billson, our internal manager, won't come without a cast-iron alibi,
and
a person he'll have set up to take the blame.'

‘So we need a witness to destroy his alibi,' I say, ‘and an idea of who he'll set up to take the rap.'

‘They'll pin the blame on us,' says Harold straight away. ‘If we don't catch Billson red-handed, he'll say I falsified the order and you colluded with it – that together we flogged the wine to a third party.'

‘Then we'll have to be absolutely certain we catch him.'

Harold gets up off the chair, paces around the kitchen. ‘What we need is a foolproof witness to denounce him, one who'll be believed – and we need to be able to get the crates back.'

He's right. But who is there to witness a theft from these cellars? I won't be any good. Not if I'm going to be blamed for it.

Suddenly Harold freezes. ‘I know who'd be the perfect witness, who'd be ready to hide in the cellars, who'd denounce Billson and be believed. Oh, she'll denounce him all right.'

I look at him. ‘Who?' I say.

‘Marcy, of course. The maiden aunt, the one who longs to be in the General's good books. The one who'll do anything for him. And the one who's on site. Who better? That's who we'll put in charge of the wine.'

Of course
. ‘Set her up too!' I say.

‘And after the incident here, before her nephew left, she'll do it. Redeem herself. Atone for making him look a fool.'

‘You know about that?'

‘Who doesn't?' he says.

‘But how?'

‘Soldiers talk, you know.' Harold's already heading for the door. ‘Time's up. Now what was it you wanted to say to Tarquin?'

‘Nothing,' I say. ‘You concentrate on the plan, my bit too.' I step in front of him. Block his exit. ‘If I help you with this, you'll get us out? Deal or no deal?'

‘Your stuff is all possible,' says Harold. ‘Always was. Blackmail. A little forgery. Release papers, travel permits. It's getting away with it, that's the tough bit. But once I've got rid of Billson, that's the thing! Now, Tarquin?'

‘Tarquin can wait.'

But under my breath I add: Tarquin can wait
for me
.

Because suddenly I've decided, soldiers or no soldiers, carefully designed hunting grounds or not, I'm going to visit him myself.