One of Us (27 page)

“I want you to go to this.”

What now?

“BSF. Brotherhood Student Fellowship,” Oskar says. “Don't waste time going to Reconciliation events.” He taps the leaflet. “This is where they recruit. For the militant cells.” He fixes me with a hard stare. “Your . . . friends . . . from the school. I want to know who goes. Especially those who are close to Brer Magnus.”

My heart starts racing, but I stay still and dip my hand into the cold green water. Does Oskar know about Greg?

“The first meeting's tomorrow night. You don't have to say anything, just be there. Don't forget to wear your hat and all the rest of it.” He waves his hand over my clothes.

“Where is it?” It's easy to attend a meeting, isn't it? If the others go I just won't tell Oskar. I feel a little surge of relief.

“It's all on the leaflet,” he says. “Short notice, I'm
afraid. It's tomorrow at six thirty. I want to know the names of everyone from the Institute who is there. Be careful. Act friendly but don't trust anyone.”

“Don't trust anyone.” I rest the oars and look at him. “Got it.”
Especially you, Oskar.
I give him a lovely, open smile.

He's leaning back, humming a little, stretching his hands open and closed.

I'll go to it this once, Oskar. Because I don't want to rock the boat. Not yet. But I'm not giving you names.
A year seems like a very long time now.

Oskar taps the wood with his fingers. “So you'll go?”

“Yes, I said.”
Careful, K.
I smile at him again, still on the team. I need him to think nothing's changed, for now.

“Good.” Oskar smiles warmly back. “Here, let me row.” He clambers across the bench to change seats, and the dinghy pitches from side to side.

Oskar pulls toward the jetty in sweeping strokes. He can't wait to get back now. He's humming snatches of a song.

When we're standing on the bank. Oskar steps toward me, so close that I can smell his aftershave. He looks down at me. “Don't forget to go to the meeting,” he says. His voice hardens in spite of the smile in his eyes. “I'll know if you don't. And when they have the Autumn Meeting at the Institute, you
will
bring me the names.”

He's not even pretending to be friendly. I nod and turn away. I want to run.

When I'm almost at the gate I collect myself and
turn back to give him a friendly wave. I don't want to go to the BSF, but I think of all the meetings I've been to at the Institute. I'm guessing it'll be more of the same. I can do that, once or twice. That won't do any harm, will it?

T
HE MEETING IS
held in the Old City Meeting Hall. Where they've been cleaning the stone, it looks almost as light as the Town Hall across the river. As I walk up the steps, I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass window of the door. Long brown skirt, black jacket, the new brown hat with its red-checked band that Ril just gave me for my sixteenth birthday. For a hat it's quite nice. It's felt, and you can hide your face under its floppy brim if necessary.

I join a straggly line of people. Lots of checked shirts. And hats. And long skirts. But nobody I recognize. An usher shepherds a little group of us down to where there are still some spare seats at the very front of this huge room full of strangers. It's odd how I don't feel ill at ease here. I know I blend in now. I glance around me. Who are they, these Brotherhood students? Are there really people here who want to siphon students off and radicalize them? I'm starting to doubt it. Students like Verity Nekton's parents? But Verity Nekton doesn't exist.

The hall goes quiet. Men walk onto the stage. There are a couple of male students and the guest speaker. He sits down right opposite me, with his gray hair winging up wildly on either side of his head.
His piercing blue eyes meet mine. Of course it's Brer Magnus. Here's where Ril's hat comes into its own. Just by tilting my head a fraction, I can block him out.

Brer Magnus starts speaking. His hair rises with his voice. I make a list in my head of all the things I'd rather be doing than sitting here listening to Brer Magnus. Stuck in an elevator with a rat. Cleaning dog poop off the sole of a shoe. Doing fractions. But that one makes me think of Greg. Where are Emanuel, Serafina, and Celestina? I look around, but to my relief I can't see any of them.

Brer Magnus is building up to the climax. He stares straight at me. Phrases leap out: “FALSE BELIEVERS!” “DECEIVED!” “WALKING IN THE MIRE OF THEIR OWN IGNORANCE!”

Maybe sharing a sleeping bag with a scorpion as well?

Brer Magnus scans the crowd, his arm panning across. “There is somebody here,” he thunders. “Somebody who doubts my words, who is checking them in the Book. That person is a FALSE BELIEVER!”

The room goes still, waiting.

“That person should LEAVE!” shouts Brer Magnus in his voice of controlled rage.

Nobody moves, but I feel sure that every last person in this room wants to stand up and shout, “It's me! I'm the False Believer!”

I
T FINALLY ENDS
. I look over at the door, but there is a milling crowd of people between it and me. I still can't see any of my friends. So I edge toward the
back of the hall with everyone else. I don't like Brer Magnus's rants, but he isn't recruiting terrorists in the main part of the meeting. If it's happening, it's all under the surface. If I was sure of Oskar, I would keep coming.

When I reach the entrance of the Meeting Hall, I hear footsteps hurrying behind me. I swing around, hoping it isn't Greg.

“Verity!”

It's Jeremiah.

“Verity! Good to see you.” He really means it.

“Hi, Jeremiah.” I haven't really spoken to him this term. “Did you have a good holiday?”

“Good, good.” He walks beside me down the steps to the pavement. “Wonderful to have Brer Magnus here, wasn't it?”

“Does he always lead these meetings?”

Jeremiah looks over my head back up at the Meeting Hall. “Not always.”

He walks with me to the bus stop. “Are you getting the bus back?” I ask him.

“No, I'm going to my cousin's tonight. But I'll wait with you.” He seems to have something on his mind. “Actually, Verity,” he says, “could we go for a coffee?”

I look at him in surprise. He isn't asking me out, is he? Or does he want to tell me something else?

“Great,” he continues when I don't answer. “The Pelican's still open?” He points at a coffee shop across the road.

I don't want to go, but I feel guilty about giving Jeremiah's name to Oskar. I no longer believe he
would get involved with terrorism—even though he
is
the only other student from Institute that I've seen here tonight. “OK,” I say, shaking off my doubts. We cross the road just as a flurry of rain sweeps in from the coast.

CHAPTER 28

T
HE DOOR DINGS
as we go in. It's nice to get out of the cutting wind. Jeremiah shakes the rain from his head. His hair is cut so short that you can hardly tell it's ginger now.

His fingers work at the buttons on his jacket. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Thanks.”

Jeremiah hesitates. Then he goes over to the counter to order our drinks. I perch on one of the high stools in the window, reading the ads for rooms to rent and an old bike to buy. He joins me, carrying a tray. He sits on the stool beside mine, hunched up in his coat. He has done all the buttons up again. He takes a swig of coffee, his eyes flicking from side to side. Every few seconds he peers out of the steamy window at the Meeting Hall.

“Actually, Verity?” He gestures toward the corner table at the back. “D'you mind if we sit down there?”

“Sure.” I follow Jeremiah to the back of the cafe, where there's a banquette. He sits with his back to the window. I'm starting to think that maybe Jeremiah doesn't want to be seen with me. That doesn't surprise me. His wanting to meet me in the first place does.

Jeremiah spoons sugar into his coffee. Then he stirs it so thoroughly that foam flies up and lands on the table. He drops the spoon into the saucer and takes a long swig of coffee. Finally he sets his cup down, and looks at me. “So, Verity,” he begins, but his eyes slide away to a woman sitting at the other corner table. “How did you like the BSF?”

“OK,” I hesitate. I'm sure we've already had this conversation. “How about you?”

“Yes, it's great—great.” Jeremiah smiles, but it's a mouth smile. His eyes still dart about, even though the only thing he can really see is the wall. “My cousin goes there too, you know.” He lines up the salt and pepper shakers with the vinegar jar. “He's at the university.”

“That's nice.”

“What about your courses?” he asks suddenly. “Going well?”

“Yes—so far. Yours?”

He nods vigorously, and drains his coffee cup.

“So, what did you do this summer?” I say to fill the silence.

“Oh, I've been busy.” Jeremiah picks up his empty cup, and sets it down again. “Some coursework, the BSF, and I've been spending a lot of time with my cousin.” He looks at me, and his eyes almost seem to be pleading. “Actually, Verity,” he begins. “You . . . with your . . .”

I wait.

But he stares at the table, and then looks back at me with a bleak smile. “It's nice to see you,” he says quietly.

This is so unlike him that there must be something wrong. “Jeremiah?” I say. “Did you want to tell me something? Something in particular?”

Jeremiah starts. “No, no!” He tries to laugh, but it's more of a cough.

“You sure?”

“Of course. I'd better go, actually.” He stands up, knocking into a chair.

The woman at the other corner table frowns at him. He's in a great hurry to leave now. For a moment I was scared he was going to ask me out, but now I think he's in some kind of trouble. He hurries to the front of the cafe, then stops and waits. I drain my coffee and follow him.

He pulls the door open and holds it for me, trapping us both in the doorway as a woman maneuvers her stroller in. Jeremiah looks at me, opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again. His eyes stare into mine with a kind of desperation.

“Jeremiah? Are you sure you're OK?”

“Absolutely!” He smiles with his mouth again. His eyes still stare hopelessly into mine.

“You're sure you don't want to tell me anything?” I put my hand on his arm.

He shakes his head. The stroller runs over my foot.

As I step forward, I see Oskar walk past the Pelican. A lurch of fear goes through me as I watch him watching Jeremiah and me, framed in the bright doorway, my hand on Jeremiah's arm. Our eyes meet, but Oskar makes no sign that he has recognized me. He walks briskly toward the bridge.

“Good-bye, then, Verity.” Jeremiah flips the collar of his checked jacket up around his neck and hurries off, his plan to go with me to the bus stop forgotten.

I cross the bridge and jog toward the bus depot. Not long ago I would have worried that Jeremiah was spying on me. But now I'm worried about him.