Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3) (31 page)

Letters of flame, hanging in the blackness.

THE SNOW IS COLD, WE FEEL FOR YOU,

BUT A DISMANTLER’S BLADE IS COLDER STILL.

M.V.

***+***

28

A BURNING COAL

“Wow,” said Kyle. “You were right. Fire
is
more dramatic.”

“It’s good?” Jon was responsible for one of the full stops.

“It’s good,” I confirmed.

The crowd went wild. The picture cut back and forth from square to Citadel until the flames died down and the smouldering letters finally disappeared altogether. The exodus came to an abrupt halt.

“It’s so cold in that square, though,” fretted Eduardo, appearing in the doorway again. “If only we had communications, we could arrange a load of blankets or something. But it’s no good. We’ll have to trust someone else has the sense and the inclination...”

He went away again.

“Should we start another message?” asked Sister Mari eagerly.

“I think we can give ourselves a bit of a break.” My fingers were sore from twisting wire.

Before long, a hot dog van pulled up in the square and began to dispense hot drinks on a donation-only basis. The press went wild. Far, far too many people for one van to deal with – for a time it looked like there might be a bit of a riot. Then some loud-voiced and bossy members of the crowd took control and got everyone into a
queue
. People were soon hurrying to and from the square carrying jerrycans of water to top up the van’s urn.

“Most of them will be waiting till dawn for their cuppa,” said Sister Krayj ruefully.

“As long as they think they’re going to get one,” said Jon shrewdly, “they’re more likely to stay.”

Within the half hour, two more refreshment vans pulled up and opened their hatches, also serving all comers. Far too many people, even for three vans, but still.

“The EuroGov must be fuming,” grinned Kyle.

The weather wasn’t co-operating. The snow came down so hard the cameras struggled to see and the wind got up, knifing through the square. The newscaster began to talk gravely about the dangers of hypothermia.

“Bet the EuroGov put them up to that,” said Jon, after listening intently to the description of the conditions. “But much as I hate to agree with her, if those people aren’t properly equipped, they’re going to have to leave.”

“It’s not too easy to be properly equipped to stay still for long in those conditions.” Sister Krayj came from a country with that sort of winter. “Most of them have decent enough all-weather jackets on, but it’s not enough. They need gel heat cubes, unlimited hot drinks and ideally blankets.”

“The moment they leave, we’ve had it,” said Kyle. “I hope they know that.”

“We don’t want them all to freeze to death, though,” pointed out Jon.

It wasn’t even three o’clock and people were beginning to leave again. Hard to blame them.

Engines roared above the murmur of the crowd and three army-style trucks roared into the square. The crowd parted, people starting to run – until they realised it wasn’t soldiers jumping down. The handful of men and women dropping the tailgates were all dressed in something that matched the description of incogniCam and Sister Krayj stiffened at once.

“Resistance,” she hissed. “Oh Lord, don’t say they’re joining in or it’ll be over... EuroGov won’t hesitate to send in the army...”

The handful of EuroArmy already stationed around the sides of the square had straightened from where they’d been huddled against buildings, eyeing the peaceful crowd apathetically, and gone on quivering alert.

But the Resistance – even the people in the square probably weren’t in much doubt about their identity – just began to unload the trucks as fast as they could. Large cardboard boxes were passed down and opened up – soon they were handing out hundreds of little foil thermal blankets, along with tons of gel heat cubes and small quantities of real blankets, heavy jackets, woolly hats, thermos flasks – apparently full – and...

“Looks like they literally emptied their safehouses of anything they thought might be useful,” said Sister Krayj rather marvellingly, as the closest camera crew gleefully filmed the procession of random objects.

Once empty, they slammed the tailgates, the engines roared, and the trucks tore out of the square and were gone. Clearly not anxious to stick around.

“Fancy them helping us,” someone remarked.

“I just wonder,” said Jon. “Could Francesco and Carla have got on the phone?”

“Another message?” suggested Sister Mari.

“Let’s leave it a bit,” I said “It would be so much easier if we could use sheets again. And we might need the fire materials to last another night, if this drags on.”

Things went quiet for a bit. Eduardo came to join us, apparently fed up of sitting in his office unable to do anything. Some people nodded off on the TV room floor. Pope Cornelius and Father Mario and some of the older members of our little community had all gone to bed. But the people in the square stayed put, and might they be blessed for it, because half hour after half hour, the wall guards reported no activity outside.

EuroVee put together a recap of events. They showed the official footage of the seizure of Malta, all very peaceful and organised – showed some carefully selected interviews with Maltese people saying they’d always wanted to be part of the EuroBloc...

Veritas
stopped re-broadcasting at this point in order to show footage filmed on omniPhones by people who’d managed to flee the island and reach Africa. It painted a much bleaker picture. Maltese soldiers, current and retired, trying to fight and being gunned down. Frightened Gozitan families fired upon as they tried to flee. Small boats loaded with refugees blown to bits by EuroBloc gunships as they sought to leave Maltese waters.

“Why couldn’t they just let them go?” snapped Sister Krayj.

Many had tried to flee, from the footage. No committed Believer could be in any doubt what awaited them, under EuroGov control. Others had melted into what little countryside the larger island possessed, taking their weapons – ranging from kitchen knives to actual guns – with them. The state that had once upon a time endured fifty continuous days of Nazi bombing without considering surrender wasn’t going to knuckle under easily.

Finally they returned to re-broadcasting EuroVee’s coverage. The people in the square were extremely agitated, chanting harder than ever. Guess they were all watching
Veritas
tonight.

They went back to their little recap soon enough. And showed Bane giving himself up, making his speech...

Cameras...
Spark
...

“Oh my God! He did it on purpose!” Everyone looked at me. “Bane... he did it deliberately!”

“I’ve yet to see anyone shinny down a rope and walk boldly up to an enemy position whilst giving a rousing speech
by accident
,” remarked Eduardo.

“No, I mean
this
,” I waved at the screen to indicate the protest, my eyes blurring with tears, “this was what he was trying to achieve – he didn’t just feel guilty, well, he did, but he was trying to strike a
spark
. He knew it was the only thing that could save us! And he did it!”

“With all due respect to Bane’s heroic sacrifice,” said Eduardo, “it was a very good try, but I don’t think it would’ve quite come off – not without that tear-jerking addition from you...”

The ‘tear-jerking addition’ was playing on screen now. I flinched from my own agonised cries, trying not to watch as Bane’s and my unconscious bodies were hastily hauled off in opposite directions.

Now they showed EuroSquare, as the first protesters gathered within minutes of Bane giving himself up.
Bane
.
You did it
... Surprisingly small comfort for his absence.

They recapped quickly the progression of the protest throughout the day, and resumed live footage.

“Hey look!” exclaimed several people. Five A.M. now, but more people were flooding into the square. Thanks to
Veritas
’s little exposé about Malta?

Veritas
cut in again.

“Since EuroVee is clearly being pressured not to mention it, we feel we should report on events taking place around the EuroBloc...

“Oh, wait... they’d like to tell you about it after all...”

And back to the EuroVee broadcast.

“Breaking news from Paris,” said the newscaster, sounding flustered, “where... one moment, we have breaking news from London... First to Paris, where protestors are gathering outside the Departmental Government building...”

Another square, a crowd, growing before our eyes. Swaddled in coats, hats and scarves. Armed with origami doves and croissants. A very angry crowd, despite the stylish doves and the food. Chanting “MerMa! RelFree! EndSo!” but frequently breaking into, “Free Bane Verrall! Free Bane Verrall!” making my heart implode with pain and unbearable hope. Some of them held up photos of Juwan and Doms – Bane had tried to save them both.
Was he even still alive?

“Weren’t people a bit surprised to see Bane back here?” I said suddenly. “Last time I blogged, he was still missing...”

“I sent a photo and a press release,” said Eduardo. “Anonymously, as always, so they could print it. I haven’t seen the papers, but I imagine they put it in.”

“And now to London...”

Parliament Square, filling up with people. Holding candles and dove-shaped flags clearly cut from bedsheets and stuck on sticks. Chanting.

“Breaking News from Berlin...”

Another square. Another crowd. A few holding hastily cut out paper doves, but most holding lanterns or trying to shield candles from the wind, which wasn’t so bad in Berlin as in Brussels, but worse than in London.

Madrid. Lisbon. Stockholm. The reports came in, one after another. People in the city squares and outside the government buildings. The entire population of Salperton-Under-Fell appeared to be in the town square. Except the Marsdens, no doubt.

“This is huge.” Eduardo smiled like the cat with all the cream.

“How come people aren’t in bed?” said Kyle blankly.

“Protests in
EuroSquare
?” snorted Eduardo. “Would you be in bed? You’d be glued to the TV. So were all they, until they decided to go and join in...”

What would the EuroGov do, now it was clear no one was going home? Send in the army to clear the peaceful protestors and their treasured fiction of being a democratic government would be in tatters. But any attempt to seize the Citadel as planned and the protests would probably turn ugly. And they’d have shown their hand as ruthless dictators who didn’t care what the people wanted.

“If they really can’t get people to go away,” Eduardo was saying, in answer to this very question, “they’re most likely to bow to the people’s demands for now for the sake of appearances, and do everything they can to put things back as they like it shortly afterwards. Pretending to democracy’s been their policy for the best part of eighty years. But saying that, each High Committee’s made up of different people, so one can’t be certain which way they’ll jump. I do think we might just possibly have a chance, though. But don’t get your hopes up too much.”

“You’re always so cheerful,” said Sister Krayj dryly.

“Realistic.”

“Can’t everyone protest a bit
faster
,” I whispered. That tiny grain of hope was like a burning coal inside me. Was Bane still alive? Would he still be alive if and when the EuroGov actually knuckled under? Pretty huge
if
, surely...

Jon sensed my increasing distress.

“Shall we go and paint some more sheets? It’ll be light in a few hours...”

“To the canteen!” someone cried, and there was another stampede.

I followed, trying not to break down and cry as things slid into something of a blur. I was too tired, the suspense was too much, my hope and terror too great. Part of me just shut down. I functioned like a robot, doing everything I could do to spur on the protestors –
to save Bane, please, please, was he even
alive?

Soon we were painting over the black paint with coats of white paint so we could reuse sheets. Jon guided me from canteen to cathedral for Mass, from cathedral to canteen for breakfast, like a protecting angel.

At midday the EuroGov announced a Moratorium on Dismantling. There would be no more Dismantling, of the regular kind or for executions, until there’d been a public referendum. The crowds went wild with delight, but praise the Lord, they stayed – they
grew
. The chant changed to “MerMa! RelFree!” Mercy for Malta. Religious Freedom.

Bane, are you alive?

At six o’clock the EuroGov announced that a referendum would also be held on the question of Religious Freedom.

As night drew on, the protests began to resemble parties. But they stayed.

Bane, are you alive?

“MerMa!” they chanted. And they expanded on their wishes a bit, for this last point. “Mercy for Malta and the Vatican. Free Bane Verrall,” they all chanted now. “Free all the prisoners.”

But another vicious night was forecast.