Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3) (30 page)

27

SNOW AND FLAME

Any moment now, we’d hear the tank take out the gate. And only moments afterwards the cathedral doors would burst open and they’d take us away...

Concentrate on your breathing, Margo, before it gets out of control... ‘Cause fainting’s really not going to help
.

Time passed.

And passed...

“What the hell!” snarled Eduardo at last, then crossed himself apologetically. “Someone go and see if the blasted tank’s shed a track or something...”

“It was pointing right at the gate already,” murmured Sister Krayj helpfully.

But Fox, Foxie and several other guards were already racing to obey. An age before a couple of them tumbled back through the door, speaking even as they genuflected.

“There’s nothing happening!”

“I mean,
nothing
!” said Foxie. “No one and nothing has moved since we came in here for Mass. The tank crew are still sat there having a brew and one of the snipers is
still
eating his sandwiches.”

“World’s pickiest eater,” nodded a Vatican policeman. “He eats all around the edge, then opens it up and starts licking at the filling...”

“...Basically,” Foxie cut off this excess of detail, “they’re showing no sign of getting ready to advance whatsoever.”

Eduardo frowned.

“Strange...” He genuflected to the tabernacle – or rather, to what Pope Cornelius held – and strode off down the aisle. “Switch off the Lattice and fetch a TV set in here. I’m going to take a look for myself...”

He returned close on the heels of the television, still frowning.

“Nothing happening,” he confirmed, switching the TV on. Already tuned to
Veritas
...

“... crowd in EuroSquare shows no signs of decreasing, in fact, people are still pouring in as we speak. Earlier this afternoon a spokesman came out onto the EuroBalcony and ordered the crowd to disperse, but it has doubled in size since then.”

Footage showed the main square in Brussels, packed with people. They were waving paper doves on sticks and chanting something. It sounded like ‘Merma! Relfree! Endso!’

“That’s not
Veritas
,” someone said decisively. “That newscaster’s from EuroVee...”

Veritas
were re-broadcasting? But they were usually so respectful of copyright!

“They won’t have a team in Brussels, will they?” pointed out Sister Eunice. “And they’ll want to help this go worldwide...”

“Oh Lord, please.” Eduardo stared intently at the screen. “Let it go worldwide, let it grow...”

“What’s
Merma, Relfree, Endso
?” pondered Jon; other people were asking each other the same thing.

“To recap,” said the newscaster helpfully, “a handful of people gathered in EuroSquare to protest shortly after news broke this morning of the EuroBloc’s shock annexation of the Free State of Malta in the night. An attempt was made to arrest them, at which hundreds of people rushed to their defence. Thousands of people are now refusing to leave EuroSquare, demanding the EuroGov fulfil what’s become known as ‘MerMa – RelFree – EndSo’ – Mercy for Malta, Religious Freedom and an End to Sorting. A manifesto that could have been written by Margaret Verrall herself, if she wasn’t currently trapped with no communications in the Citadel of Gozo...”

The newscaster blathered on about me for a bit, as everyone exchanged looks of hope and joy. But the hope in my chest was sickly and leaden. The EuroGov had Bane. Was he dead? Still alive? Dying?

“My goodness,” said Pope Cornelius. “That’s something. An actual protest in EuroSquare itself. Whether it saves us or not, that’s gold dust. I wonder why the EuroGov are holding off, though?”

“Probably don’t want an angry mob armed with paving slabs to break down their door and bash their heads in,” said Sister Krayj. “They’ll probably stall as long as it takes to extricate themselves.”

“I doubt the High Committee are actually in EuroGov House,” pointed out Eduardo.

“Why else would they stall? They’ll consider this the perfect opportunity to break our Stream of the Underground for good. I don’t expect they’d mind withdrawing from Malta once they’ve got us.”

“But it
won’t
break us,” countered Eduardo. “The Holy Father has always taken very good care to have a full convocation of conscientious cardinals tucked away around the world in safe locations, ready to choose his successor. In the scheme of things, it’ll hardly slow us down at all. And their spies and their experts will tell them that. It’ll shut Margaret up, and put a temporary spoke in the Liberations, but that’s it.”

“It?” snorted Jon. “You think Margo and the Liberations are merely a minor irritation?”

“No, I don’t. But I also think they don’t want to do Margaret’s work for her. If people are upset, they’ll try and give them time to get bored and go home before they move. And Margaret can’t keep them stirred up whilst that blasted ship’s out there, can she?”

The Foxes’ hands shot into the air, along with many others.

Eduardo actually rolled his eyes.

“Permission denied.”

“But sir...”

“But...”

“My best men couldn’t get out of this trap. You lot are certainly not going to get out, let alone take over a destroyer with a handful of nonLees. Please try and retain just a shred of common sense in this trying hour.”

The young men subsided, muttering and grumbling.

“Snow!” cried Father Mario suddenly. He’d been sitting very close to the screen, smiling at all the paper doves. Sister Mari sprang anxiously to his side – he was very old, after all...

“It’s all right, Father, I know this is very stressful...”

“That’s what they’re waiting for!” The old man pointed at the screen. “Look...”

Eduardo went closer and peered.

“Damn it, he’s right. It’s starting to snow. That’ll clear the square by morning. Well, I suspect anyone who wants to can go and get a good night’s sleep. If all those people will leave the square of their own volition, the EuroGov will be prepared to wait – it’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

“Do you think I can put Our Lord back in the tabernacle, then?” Pope Cornelius’s hands must be getting pretty tired by now.

“I imagine so. I’d make a rota of priests and deacons to stand by it, though.”

Pope Cornelius nodded.

“Sister Eunice?”

“At once, Your Holiness.”

Everyone knelt as Our Lord was put away, then dispersed. For all Eduardo’s sobering conclusion of a mere reprieve, there was a decidedly happy note to people’s chattering and whispering as they hurried from the cathedral.

I tried to feel happy.

Wasn’t happening.

Even in the barely-worth-considering event that the reprieve should become permanent, with Bane gone, I’d swap hours of agony for a lifetime of pain. Couldn’t get excited about this at all.

I tried to feel happy for everyone else.

A little easier.

But it was temporary only. By morning the cold of a mainland European winter would’ve driven everyone home. And as soon as the square was empty enough, the EuroGov would strike. If only there was some way to stoke the crowd’s determination...

I stood up suddenly.

“What?” said Jon, startled.

“I have an idea. Quickly, before it goes dark...”

Fifteen minutes later the tables were cleared from the canteen and bed sheets were being laid out on the floor by eager hands, as I hovered over them with a paintbrush. Other hands were pinning broom handles and rocks into a fold at the bottom of each sheet for weights, as yet more hands ripped crenellation-length slits in the top end. Within half an hour, our improvised message boards hung from the walls.

The press were a’flutter, turning their cameras towards this new interest... I ripped off my bandanna, sprang atop a crenellation and pointed defiantly down at the message I’d composed. Hopefully the cameras clicked like mad, because seconds later Eduardo grabbed me round the waist and yanked me bodily from my perch. Several shots cracked into the building in line with where I’d been standing.

“Are you crazy?” he hissed.

I just shrugged at him from where he’d deposited me on the flagstones behind the wall.

“You’re the one who thinks a picture’s worth a thousand words.”

“Somebody
please
take her inside!” he begged.

Jon took my hand and Kyle stood on my other side – bent double, they hustled me quickly to the stairs and away. We went to the TV room to see if it’d worked. I tried very hard to be interested. Everyone
else
, remember?

The TV room erupted into cheers when we entered – easy to see why. The Citadel was on the screen, and the message was clearly visible.

WE’VE DONE EVERYTHING WE CAN TO HELP YOUR CHILDREN. NOW WE NEED
YOUR
HELP. M.V.

“It’s genius, Margo!”

“Brilliant!”

Kyle was less impressed.

“That was stupid, Margo! You could’ve been killed.”

“Boo hoo.” My attention was on the screen – EuroSquare again.

People were hunched over their omniPhones or grouped around portable TVs, watching the news too. They cheered and clapped and broke into a fresh chant of “MerMa! RelFree! EndSo!” Some people rushed up to a camera as they realised they were on screen and started screaming, “Thank you, Margaret, we’re going to help
you
now!” Then the newscaster went back to the hanging of the banner message and re-showed my aborted appearance on the battlements. It did look quite dramatic.

“Why are they only trying to shoot Margo?” Sister Mari sounded puzzled.

“I’ve been tried,” I said. “If you can call Reginald bloody Hill signing a bit of paper a trial.”

“Of course!” said Jon. “They’ve sentenced you to death already, it’s legal to shoot you.”

“I bet the EuroGov were furious about that missed opportunity earlier,” said Sister Krayj. “I imagine they’ve now given explicit orders for you to be shot on sight. You’d better keep your head down.”

They’d gone back to the square again, and the scene was encouraging. Groups that had been packing up folding stools and picnic hampers were unpacking them again, single individuals heading off instead, no doubt to fetch cold weather supplies.

We watched the promising activity until the weather forecast came on at six.
Oh no, not good
... No actual blizzard forecast, but heavy snow and too much wind.

“Blast,” said Kyle. “I was hoping that message might just keep them there overnight. As it is, I give it ‘til about one in the morning.”

I stared at the determined enthusiasm of the crowd.

“Well, we’ll just have to write another, won’t we?”

“It’s almost dark, Margo.”

“And the Lord gave us light! Come on, we need strong stiff wire, we need newspaper, rags – anything that will burn – we need oil, diesel, anything like that, to the canteen. And every halfway nimble set of fingers in this place...”

There was such a stampede I just clung to Jon for balance until they’d all gone.

“What about light bulbs?” suggested Kyle. “It would last longer...”

“Yeah, but if we assemble every bulb and strip light in the place we still won’t be able to make many words and I reckon it’ll actually take longer to wire that up. Plus fire has more impact. Especially at one in the morning.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

This message took some time. Each letter had to be shaped from wire and stuffed with things that would burn. They had to be larger because they’d be harder to read. Then they had to be wired together and the whole thing attached to more wires from which it would hang. Finally, it was put to soak letter by letter in an old horse trough full of flammable liquids, while most people went to a late supper.

By the time all was ready and we returned to the TV room, it was midnight. The scene in the square was much the same, only there was a lot more snow, and it was still coming down. Some people were trickling out of the square, rather fewer were arriving.

Kyle proved correct, an hour later an exodus was really getting started.

“I think it’s time, Margaret.” Eduardo had been lurking in the doorway for the last quarter of an hour.

“Light it up whenever you like.” Still struggling to be one hundred percent interested.

Or even sixty percent interested.

“You stay right there.” He pointed an emphatic finger at me, and off he went.

Kyle hovered as though ready to hold me down, but I just went on watching the screen. Until...

“Breaking news from the Gozo Citadel siege...” The picture changed. There was the Citadel, and there was the message, blazing fiercely.

The effect was ten times better than I’d expected.