One of Us (8 page)

I'm expecting to find incendiary prose about killing nonbelievers, but all I find is a long poem about fish in a lake.

That's when I feel eyes boring into my back. I turn to see Gregory standing there, frowning. I didn't hear him come in.

“What are you doing?” His voice is grim.

“Reading?” I hide my flash of anger. Who made him judge and jury? And I want to ask him what he was doing at the station that day.

I wait for him to tell me that Sisters have to keep their polluting hands off the Book, but he hesitates for a moment and then half-nods. “It's there to be read.” He waits, like a dog guarding something.

I close the Book carefully. “I'm done now,” I say, turning to leave.
Be careful. Be friendly.
“I left this.” I hold up my cardigan. “I'm Verity, by the way.”

“I know. And I'm Greg,” he adds.

“I know.”

He waits behind me as I shuffle my feet into my pumps back outside the Meeting Hall. Then he follows me down the stairs. The foyer is empty. Through the stairwell windows I see that all the people are in the canteen, eating and drinking. Fiddle music drifts across the courtyard. I glance back when I reach the door.

Gregory's still standing at the foot of the stairs, watching me.
I think he knows, Oskar. You feel so far away. You said I wouldn't feel alone.
But I do.

CHAPTER 7

I
LIE AWAKE
in the darkness at the end of this long first day. The bed is comfy enough, warm and cozy, but I can't relax. I never thought I would miss the four stark walls of my room at the halfway house, but hearing a stranger's sleep-breathing is so odd that it's keeping me on edge. Serafina has been sleeping for a while when the bedroom door creaks open and Celestina slips in. She nearly trips over Serafina's stuffed giraffe and swears softly. Where has she been? I wait until she's in bed. She can't sleep either. It's ages before she stops shuffling about and her breathing slows down. Then I get up.

I have to get outside now, before I lose it. I can see I'll never be able to be alone here. We eat together, study together, even sleep in the same room. And all the time there are the watchful eyes of Greg and Celestina, waiting for me to give myself away.

I put my clothes and shoes back on, and the long woolly cardigan Serafina lent me. She won't mind. She seems to like giving me things. I've been given keys for the Sisters' house, two for the front door
and one for the back, and now I put them in the cardigan pocket. Upstairs there's just our room and a bathroom. I tiptoe downstairs past the kitchenette and Georgette the cook's apartment and open the front door, letting it click shut softly behind me. Oskar wouldn't like this. Guilt stabs at me. Am I being reckless? I pause for a moment, under the porch. But Oskar doesn't have to live here.

The air is cold and clear, sweet with night dew. It's colder here than in the city. I feel my spirits lift as I run down the path to the rhododendron grove. Free! I can hear an owl, and foxes barking in staccato calls. We have foxes in the city, but I haven't heard owls since I was little. Sometimes I could hear them call from the woods behind Grandma's house. It's very dark here, because there's only a thin crescent moon tonight. But through the trees I see something gleam—a pond, surrounded by trees. As I get closer I see it has a wooden platform by the edge. The water shines in the sliver of moonlight.
I'm not afraid of deep, dark water.

I know it's way too cold, but even so I climb onto the deck and pull off my clothes. It can't be much colder than the sea at Yoremouth, which faces the open ocean and is almost never calm. And however cold it is, at least I will
feel
it. Maybe it will wash away Verity Nekton, just for a few moments.

I stand on the edge of the platform and leap in, and then I'm whooshing up for air and gasping, gasping with the ice-cold water crackling inside my head and tingling my skin. I swim as hard as I can across the pond and then back, splashing up white
spray in the moonlight. Then I stop, treading water; I'm making too much noise.

Maybe I can survive here if just now and again I can have a swim in this magic pond. It's not that bad, after all. I've gotten through this day. Tomorrow for the first time ever I'll have an Art lesson. Serafina is kind and the food's great.

Twigs snap near the edge of the trees. In the weak moonlight a shadowy figure shifts.

Is it security? What was I thinking? I am naked in a Brotherhood pond!

I duck under, holding my breath, but can't stay submerged for long. I surface and tread water as softly as I can. I can't see anyone in the inky shadow of the rhododendrons. Did I imagine it?

I listen and peer into the shrubbery, my ears and eyes straining. The cold is gripping me. I can't stay in here much longer. I swim breaststroke back to the platform, skirting the side of the pond, trying not to go too near the weeds. I have to get out, even if someone's lurking there, waiting.

I heave myself up. There's nobody hiding in the shadows after all, so I must have imagined it. My teeth are clattering together and I'm shivering, but I feel like me again. I won't give up after just one day. I rub myself dry with Serafina's cardigan—hopefully it'll dry before morning—haul on my clothes any old how, and jog back through the trees. Moonlight silvers the edges of the buds.

Then I hear footsteps thudding on the path behind me. A jolt of fear charges through me. I leap into a
rhododendron bush and crouch down in the dark, my arms hugging my knees. I'm so cold that my whole body is shaking.

The footsteps slow down and stop. I hold my breath. An owl hoots above me. The footsteps move on.

I wait until I can't hear anymore, and then I slip out of the bushes and onto the path. Too late I see the waiting black shape of someone. I crash into him, he grabs hold of me and we teeter together for a second before I regain my balance enough to try and pull away.

“Verity?” It's Greg.

I jerk myself free, panting. “What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?”

“I didn't look,” he blurts out.

So he did see me in the pond. I feel my face turning bright red and I'm so glad it's dark. He sounded just as uncomfortable.

“What were you doing, swimming on your own in the middle of the night?” He sounds outraged. “I'll walk you back to your house.” I hear his frown, in the darkness, and under his breath I hear him mutter, “What an idiot.”

Who does he think he is?

He starts taking off his jacket. “Here, have this,” he says. “You must be freezing.”

“No, thanks,” I say. “How would I explain why I've got your coat?”

“Oh,” he says, his jacket half on and half off. “But you look so cold.”

“I'm fine,” I say. “But thanks for not watching.”

“I'm not a perv.”

I can't help liking him a little bit then. “Of course not, I know that.” Because there are different kinds of spies, aren't there? I should know. “Sorry.”

We stand there awkwardly for a moment. Then he says, “You must really like swimming.” I think I hear a smile in his voice. A friendly smile.

“I do. But you're right. It was a bit too cold.” What would Oskar think if he knew how I've risked everything? “You won't tell anyone, will you?”

He laughs. It was a sneering smile after all. He really does think I'm an idiot. And I am.

“I'll just run the last bit,” I say, taking off. I can't afford to be so careless again. This time Greg doesn't follow me.

But he did follow me before. He must have been hanging about near the Sisters' house. I look back as I slip through the front door, under its ancient stone porch, but there's no sign of Greg. That doesn't mean he isn't there, though. What was he doing out in the middle of the night?

Then I think about Celestina coming in late too. Were they together?

I'll ask Oskar what he thinks, when I see him. Maybe the cell is right in front of me.

CHAPTER 8

T
HE NEXT MORNING
the Institute is transformed. At breakfast, the few boarders rattled around in the empty canteen. But by half past eight, buses are lining up in the parking lot and the corridors are already full of hurrying pupils. Still, it's not like my last school. There
aren't any bells, for one thing, or a uniform. Just a little bit of red check on everyone. Apart from me—I'm covered in it from head to toe. Thanks, Oskar.

Everything is different. Here, the library isn't a gray glass facility for computers and hidden books, but a wood-paneled room with alcoves and nooks, squashy leather armchairs, and glowing lamps. The books fill floor-to-ceiling bookcases in a jumble of color. There's even a common room for the older students that looks like a sitting room in a family home—paintings by students on the walls and inviting couches around a coffee table.

My first full day here is confusing and busy. As well as finding my way around, I have to remember how to act, what to conceal. I can't ignore the curious staring at my too short hair and over-the-top clothes. Walking into the canteen at lunchtime on my own is the worst moment. So I'm glad when Serafina finds me as I leave History.

“There you are,” she says. “Brer Magnus always talks to us after school, in the auditorium. Come on!”

Not another dose of Brer Magnus, so soon. But it's good, isn't it? I'll have more to tell Oskar.

The auditorium is at the bottom of a classroom block, near the library, and I'm surprised to see that it's an actual movie theater with seats that tip up and armrests for your drink. I'm sure Brotherhood schools in the Old City aren't like this—my citizen school wasn't either.

There's no sign of Brer Magnus on the stage. Instead, the curtains at the back of the stage have been pulled back to reveal a screen.

“It's a film today!” Serafina says. “It must be because of the Spring Meeting yesterday.”

I won't have to sit through another of Brer Magnus's talks, wondering whether his eyes will fix on me. Serafina grabs my hand and pulls me to the back of the auditorium, past the seats full of pupils, while I try to ignore the staring as we climb. She seems to want to look after me. And if she's not around, Greg is. Jeremiah steers clear of me, though, so I haven't gotten anything else to tell Oskar. I'm glad for the dark. At least I won't have to guard the expressions on my face.

Celestina, Emanuel, and Greg are already here.

“Hello, Serafina. Verity.” Emanuel jumps up to let us pass. I slide past Greg's knees to sit between Celestina and Serafina.

I guess the school has its own theater because they don't want any of the kids to be contaminated by going to the one in town where they might have to sit next to a citizen, or “nonbeliever,” as Brer Magnus calls us. Unless they sit next to me here and now, of course. In the half darkness there's a buzz of chatter and the rustling of candy wrappers. I relax into my chair.

Greg reaches across Celestina. “Popcorn, Serafina? . . . Verity?”

I reach into the bag, but Greg almost drops it, grabbing my fingers through the paper. I tug them away and he lets go, sending popcorn flying out over Celestina. Greg stares at me. Then he laughs. So far I don't think he's told anyone about the swimming but I can't thank him, not with everyone listening.

Celestina swipes the popcorn off her skirt. “Idiot,” she says.

I don't think she means Greg but she punches him lightly on the shoulder. They seem to have a comfortable friendship. I'm sure Greg smiles more when Celestina's there.

The lights go all the way down, and the screen flickers into life.

“It's a romantic comedy,” Serafina whispers, her curls brushing my ear.

But it isn't.

The screen goes black, and then white, and then block letters appear:
THE GATESBROOKE MASSACRE
. My heart starts thumping. They're going to show footage of the bomb. I want to get up and run out, but I'm frozen in my seat, eyes fixed on the screen.

For a moment there's a still image of the Gatesbrooke town square. I steel myself for the explosion. But something is different—there are cars crossing the square, when it's only for pedestrians. It takes me a moment to realize that this is an old film. My heart lurches, my breath seizes up. They're going to show the bomb that killed my parents! Grainy shapes spill into the square, hundreds of people . . . No, this isn't the bomb after all. I start to breathe again. And then I see that the station name is “New City Station” and that makes me remember: a black-and-white photo in an old green history book, with the caption,
The Brotherhood Rebellion at Gatesbrooke was successfully contained, ending the Strife and allowing the establishment of the Peace that we enjoy today.

Grandma made me copy it out, to improve my handwriting, she said. So I'm watching the screen, but in my mind I'm sitting at the dining table with my hand resting on a lined composition book, and the sound of Grandma clinking pans in the kitchen.

The photo vanishes. I crunch into the toffee crust of the popcorn. Then I really see what's on the screen.