Renegade (15 page)

It is simpler to work on the box without the Kingsman gloves, although Reith gasps when I use the tip of my knife to pop off the back of his watch. It is a huge crime to tamper with a
thinkwatch.

‘Is there anyone trying to organise the rebel groups?’ I ask, not looking up, continuing to work.

Reith lowers his voice, even though it is still just us. ‘Not as such but a lot of the chatter comes from further north.’

I catch his eye but he is nervous all of a sudden. ‘Where from?’

He doesn’t look like he wants to answer but glances towards the parts of his watch which are in my hand. I would never do anything to deliberately make his life more difficult but the
thought clearly goes through his mind as he anxiously licks his lips.

‘I really don’t know. I can . . .’

Before he finishes his sentence, the bank of screens behind him all change until they are showing a fluttering St George’s cross flag. The national anthem signals the beginning of a royal
announcement. They happen intermittently through the year – the last one I saw was on the night of the Offering lottery.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

Reith shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure. We usually get a preview of any announcements but not this one.’

It is hard not to shudder as the flag fades, revealing King Victor sitting on his throne. His ginger hair and beard is tidy and his clothes have been recently pressed. He looks like a King
should. Next to him is Minister Prime Bathix, dressed entirely in black and eyeballing the camera, as if he can see everyone watching and he is daring them to say or do anything untoward.

A voice tells us they are going to recap the events of the week and then the screen changes until there is an image of the King, coughing and choking. I was in the great hall when the effects of
the tan fruit took hold on King Victor, but the memory of the event seems so different from what the camera angles are now showing on screen. Slow, sad music plays over the footage, before the
picture switches to an image of me. Again, I appear different, paler and far more intense. I want to ask Imrin if that’s how I really look but he is transfixed by the screen. The voice says
that I am a traitor as they run through the images they have of me and then list the names of the people with whom I escaped.

The King rarely speaks, usually letting the Minister Prime do it for him, but as the camera shifts back to him, he licks his thin lips and begins to talk slowly. ‘Our Offerings are chosen
each year so this Kingdom can utilise their skills to best serve you. Because of the shocking nature of Silver Blackthorn’s actions, this year we are left short of the talents this country
needs to help us all thrive.’

The camera zooms out as he breaks into a wider smile, his voice joyous. ‘As a result, this year – for the first time ever – there will be a second Offering.’

It feels as if every hair on my body is standing rigid. There is going to be a second Offering – thirty more teenagers sent to be tortured, killed and abused by our
madman ruler.

I can barely take it all in but he hasn’t finished. ‘Because the previous Reckoning did not produce candidates of the required ability, I have changed the criteria for this
Offering.’

I look sideways towards Imrin, whose eyes are wide with shock.

‘There will be no additional Reckoning. Instead, everyone over the age of ten will be automatically entered, with eight names from each of the four Realms being chosen.’

It takes a few seconds to sink in. Colt started school at eight, like everyone else, and would have turned ten in the last few weeks – he is as eligible as anyone else. Has this all been
done on purpose as a way of getting to me?

The only comfort I can find is that although two of Opie’s brothers will be in the draw, his youngest, Imp, is still too young.

The King tells us that rewards for any family whose child is chosen will be doubled, before announcing that this year’s second ‘historic’ Offering will take place in a
week’s time. The fluttering flag starts to fly again as the national anthem blares loudly and the King offers his best regal wave. The Minister Prime has not moved the entire time, fixed and
frightening, before the screens flicker back to the images they were previously showing.

‘My eldest son is eleven,’ Reith says slowly. ‘I thought it would be another five years . . .’

‘It’s to get to me,’ I say firmly, returning my attention to the communications box on the table. ‘My brother has just turned ten. They’re going to make him as much
a criminal as I am. If he is chosen and doesn’t present himself – which he won’t – the punishment is death.’

Neither Reith or Imrin tries to tell me I am wrong or paranoid as I work in silence. After a few more minutes, I clip the back of Reith’s thinkwatch back on and return it. He glances at
the underside, before sliding it around his wrist.

I slot the rest of the pieces back into the box and then push it across the table. ‘That will work now,’ I say.

‘You fixed it just like that?’

I shrug: ‘Just like that. Now what were you going to say you could do for me about the contact up north?’

Reith has either already forgotten telling me about the ‘chatter’ from the north, or he is trying to forget. He picks up the box and passes it from one hand to the other. ‘I
was going to say I could put you in contact if you get the box working again. I really don’t know where he is and the only name he has is “X”.’

‘Do you know if it’s definitely a he?’

‘The voice is a man’s.’

Reith puts the device back on the table and then takes a flat black box out of the drawer under his desk. ‘What you just fixed lets everyone else talk to each other – but this is how
I talk to them. It’s supposed to be untraceable, so whatever I say can’t be heard by anyone other than who I’m talking to. You’ll have to check that it still
works.’

I shake my head. ‘I’ve already fixed it. If the frequency ever changes again, it will automatically send the new one to all the devices that were previously connected, including
yours. It means the only way you can get cut off in future is if the box itself is destroyed – or the communication cable, I suppose. Any security that was built into it is still there. I had
to do something similar when I was working at the castle.’

He shrugs, either not understanding or not caring about the details. I suppose all he needs to know is that it works. He slides a button on the side of the box and types in a code that will hook
him up to the person he is trying to contact. After that, he presses the connect switch, a solid grey slider on the side.

‘Where do you keep all the contact numbers?’ I ask.

Reith taps the side of his head. ‘It’s the only safe place.’

The only thing that happens is that a flashing blue light appears above the keypad. The technology is older than I am and, despite what Reith believes, I suspect the biggest reason it is secure
is because the machine is so dated that it doesn’t hold any of the information needed to successfully trace whoever used it.

The clock above Reith’s head ticks through an entire minute where nothing happens before the light on the box stops flashing.

A man’s voice echoes hollowly out of the box. ‘Who is this?’

‘This is Rom calling for X.’

Neither of the men seem comfortable talking to each other but Reith quickly explains that there was an issue with the communications hub which has now been fixed.

‘There is someone here who wants to talk to you,’ he adds. ‘She has been on the news a lot recently.’

Reith doesn’t want to say my name but there is a satisfied-sounding hum of approval from the other end. The reply purrs through the speaker. ‘Is it who I think it is?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can she hear me now?’

‘Yes.’

I hear him clearing his throat. ‘I’ve seen and heard so much about you.’

‘It’s not all true,’ I reply.

X laughs theatrically. ‘Oh, my dear, it never is.
Some
of it must be true though?’

‘I suppose.’

‘What is it you wanted?’

I realise that, although I had pushed for making contact with someone in the North, I actually have no idea what to ask. I came here to fix the communications for Knave and hadn’t thought
beyond that.

‘I’m not sure . . .’

X laughs again. ‘Well, you’re only young, I suppose. Why don’t we meet?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Quite a way away, I’m afraid. Do you have transport?’

‘We can walk.’

‘
We?
So there are more than just you?’

I grit my teeth in annoyance. Everyone knows that a dozen of us escaped but I shouldn’t be revealing that I am not alone now. Even Reith seems surprised at my slip-up.

‘
I
can walk,’ I say, although it is a little late.

‘Have you ever heard of Lancaster?’

I take a moment to think. ‘Yes, but I don’t know where it is.’

‘How have you been finding your way around?’

The question could be perfectly innocent but, for some reason, it feels personal. Anyone in authority would assume my thinkwatch had been deactivated in the way the rest of our group’s
have. ‘I stole a map on the way out of the castle,’ I say. It isn’t actually a lie – I just don’t say what format it was in.

‘And you are from Martindale, yes?’

That is more public knowledge but I don’t like the fact that he knows this, or the way he says it.

‘Yes.’

‘Lancaster is south of Martindale. If you were on your way home, this wouldn’t exactly be on your way – but it wouldn’t be far off.’

True or not, I find myself prickling at the implication I should do what I’m told.

‘Why should I visit you?’

‘You contacted me, remember?’

I think of Imrin’s suggestion downstairs – that we should hide somewhere and not look back. If that is what we are going to do then now is the time to stop all of this. I can walk
out of the building knowing I have done what I told Knave I would. The rebels can take things from here, even if they are apparently disorganised at the moment. I know I should walk –
I’m sixteen and there are groups of people hunting for me each night. I’ve escaped the King, taking my friends with me. I should be dead. Surely I’ve done enough?

‘Are you still there?’ X’s voice reverberates awkwardly from the tinny-sounding speaker.

‘I’m here.’

‘So will you visit me?’

‘You could come to me.’

He pauses, perhaps thinking it over. ‘Are you sure it’s best for you to be staying in one place?’

It wasn’t a serious suggestion in any case, I was just curious as to what his reply would be.

‘How do I know I’m not walking into a trap? No one can vouch for you because no one knows who you are.’

For a moment, I think the line has dropped. Eventually he asks the question I’ve been asking myself: ‘What exactly is it you want?’

I remember my bravado with Knave but it has only ever been about one thing. Removing the King could make life better for a lot of people, or it could make things worse. I have no way of knowing
but it’s far more personal than that. It’s about what he did to Jela and the way she isn’t the type who would have been able to fight back on her own. It’s about the girl
I’ll never meet who was killed because she looked a little like me and there is a bounty upon my head. Most importantly, it’s about our very first night and the way the King killed Wray
in front of me, as if he was an ant that needed stomping on. The way Wray stared at me as he realised what was about to happen and the terror and lack of understanding in his face.

‘Revenge,’ I say quietly. ‘I want revenge.’

The admission feels wrong and yet it has taken until now for me to allow myself to understand the truth.

‘Well, my dear,’ the voice says. ‘If it’s revenge you want, let’s just say I’ve got something you might want.’

‘How will I find you?’

‘Lancaster, my dear. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll work it out.’

This time I don’t hesitate. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

The light on the box begins to blink again but it takes a short while for Reith to react. I can feel Imrin staring at me but don’t acknowledge him. Instead, I reach forward and turn the
box off myself before standing.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, feeling ashamed of myself. Have I really put my friends’ lives in danger for revenge?

‘Is there anything else I can do?’ Reith asks, sounding slightly shocked.

‘When you speak to the group near Windsor, tell them we’re safe.’

‘Okay.’

‘I hope your son isn’t picked as an Offering.’

‘Thank you.’

I don’t know what else to say, so I put the over-sized gloves back on and try to make the helmet fit my head as best it can. It seems to be getting looser each time I take it off. Reith
comes with us to the lift but we are halfway across the floor when the screens behind us spurt to life with a loud siren-like alert. The three of us turn at once but it barely takes a second to
realise what is happening. On the screen is a picture of the four towers and my face with the word ‘SPOTTED’ in large letters across the top.

I stare at my own image on the screen; my cheekbones are jutting out of my thinning face and the flash of silver hair that has come to define me is on display for all to see. I
struggle to place where this footage has come from and then remember my helmet bouncing onto the concrete plaza before we entered the North Tower. In the second or two between me staring up into
the dizzying heights above and my helmet tumbling off, one of the security cameras captured a moving image.

They are playing the moment on a loop – me crouching, picking the helmet up, flicking my hair back, and then placing the helmet back onto my head. They know I’m disguised as a
Kingsman.

‘All citizens alert’ scrolls along the top of the screen as a man’s voice tells anyone watching that I have been seen in the plaza at Middle England.

I cross to the window but we are too high up to be able to see directly down, where I expect crowds of people to be swarming in case I am there.

‘I don’t monitor footage from outside the tower,’ Reith offers as an explanation. ‘You’ve got to go. I’m head of security for the North Tower –
I’ll be missed if I’m not downstairs. That’s if they’re not already on their way here now.’