Resurgence (17 page)

Knave glances at Vez again. ‘Why did you lie?’

‘Technically I didn’t – but I wasn’t sure if you’d understand.’ I make a point of looking at the weapon he’s still holding. ‘I guess I still
don’t.’

He hesitates for a few moments before finally letting the knife go. ‘Rom’s not going to be happy about this explanation,’ he says, talking more to Vez than me.

‘Is that where you got the video?’ I ask.

Vez answers, walking away from the door to join Knave. ‘There was some sort of automatic failsafe on X’s security system that sent an encrypted version of that footage to Rom. It
took him a while to decrypt it. I don’t know how technical he is.’

‘Why isn’t Rei . . . Rom going to be happy?’ I almost say ‘Reith’ – Rom’s proper name.

‘He was hoping it had been doctored in some way. He didn’t want to think you killed X . . . Xyalis. He was the source of most of the technology and ideas for the
rebellion.’

‘So you know Rom is male?’

Knave smiles. ‘We’ve learned a lot recently.’

‘Like what?’

This is the test. If they have any trust in me at all, they will let me know where the rebellion stands. If they refuse, we may as well leave as soon as Imrin is well enough to move.

They exchange another look and it is Vez who nods and speaks. ‘All hell has broken loose since Oxford this morning. Rom has been panicking he’s going to be discovered because there
are so many rebel groups feeding into each other. We’ve been hiding and doing what we can but there’s never been anything like this.’

‘Like what?’

Knave answers. ‘A full-scale rebellion in one of the Eastern towns. We had the call an hour ago. It happened as the screen showing the footage from Oxford switched off.’

‘What happened?’

‘People rioted. It was in a town called Boston. Most of the Kingsmen had been taken to Oxford, leaving places undefended. It’s a bit out of the way and they’ve been struggling
for food. Two of their children were chosen as Offerings. Our contact says it has been bubbling for weeks. As soon as that feed of you cut out, everything kicked off. The townspeople focused on
anything official, killing the remaining Kingsmen and burning down the records building. A second wave of Kingsmen was sent in and they were killed too. It’s still going on.’

‘Wow.’

‘That’s just the start – there are rumblings all around the country. It’s all because of you. People are saying you should make some sort of address, even if it is just
over our channels.’

‘It was only a minute ago you both had knives in your hand.’

They both seem suitably chastened and Knave replies, his face softer. ‘We only wanted some answers. Rom has been going crazy since he sent us the footage. I told him there would be some
explanation.’

‘Which people are saying that I should make an address?’

They glance towards each other, the answer obvious: they are.

‘I’m not doing it,’ I say. ‘I told you before, this isn’t what I want.’

Vez smiles, not aggressively. ‘It’s a bit late for that. These townspeople, the people rebelling, are already using you as a figurehead.’ He holds up his left hand, showing me
the nail on his ring finger which is painted silver. ‘This is how they identify themselves – by painting one fingernail.’

Knave raises his hand to show he has done the same.

I roll my eyes. ‘Seriously? I used to paint my fingernails when I was five.’

They each look a little embarrassed. ‘It wasn’t our idea,’ Knave says. ‘They were using it in Boston because it’s the type of thing you would only notice if you
were looking. They mix dust from the concrete with water into a paste.’

I’m not annoyed, more perplexed. ‘But you felt the need to copy them?’

Knave laughs. ‘You don’t even realise how many people out there are talking about you. They want to
be
you. If they didn’t think they’d be killed for it, there
would be hundreds of young girls out there dyeing parts of their hair silver.’

I think of Jay and the way he looked at me utterly in awe.

Before I can reply, the screen fizzes to life. It is only to be expected given everything that happened earlier, but first we get the national anthem and fluttering flag, then the King appears.
He seems calm, assuring everyone that he is perfectly safe – as if that is most people’s first concern.

The screen shows images of me unveiling my fake bomb and the pandemonium around the trains. There are people pushing and fighting to be able to board first. A woman is bashed to the ground and
disappears underneath a stampede. The King tells us that they did their best to get as many people home safely as they could, but that there were a few ‘unfortunate’ casualties caused
by my actions. A camera pans across at least two dozen bodies covered by sheets and I have to look away. I don’t know if they have died directly because of me, but they wouldn’t have
been in Oxford in the first place if not for my choices.

So much blood, so many deaths.

He says that he didn’t want to put so many of his subjects’ lives in danger by risking me detonating the bomb. Therefore, he let me go. It is a nice re-writing of history but
everyone who watched the broadcast heard me call him a coward. They might believe him over me but they have had both versions of the story. He adds that anyone who captures me will be made a duke
or duchess, given their own patch of land to rule over, premium rations, and a choice to opt in or out of future Offerings. I thought he couldn’t offer much more but this is
unprecedented.

‘That’s amazing,’ Knave says.

‘We’ve got him rattled,’ Vez adds, excited. ‘Nothing will be enough now. Too many people are angry.’

That might be partly true but it only takes one person to change sides, to betray me to the King. Someone too scared or too greedy to keep things to themselves.

The King says little after that but he quickly tires. He rubs above his eyes a couple of times and blinks frequently. They have done something to his face, either through make-up or some
technical wizardry to try to mask it. The broadcast is too smooth to be live so it could be either. As the screen fades back to the flag and national anthem, I realise this is the first broadcast I
can remember where the King has not had the Minister Prime either near him or speaking for him.

Knave and Vez seem to accept my explanation for Xyalis’ death and say they will tell me what Rom has to say. Having met him, I know he is not as authoritative as they think. I suspect the
reason he was so concerned about the killing is because he thought he might end up having to lead something he doesn’t particularly want to.

I meander through the corridors, eventually finding my way to the empty bedroom. Jela and Pietra are in the woods using the crossbow again, with Hart and Opie practising with more weapons
– or playing, depending on which view you take. With them away, plus Knave and Vez appeased, I curl up in the corner of the bedroom under my blankets and close my eyes.

* * *

When I wake up the room is full of sleeping bodies and my thinkwatch tells me I have dozed for fourteen hours. I brush away flecks of dirt that were making the orange face look
burnt, like the late-evening sun. Soon it is bright again, the lightning bolt staring out, reminding me of the life I could have had.

I have slept in the clothes from the previous day and am facing the wall in the exact position I was in when I laid my head down.

The corridors are quiet but that means I get to enjoy the peace. Aside from a gentle hum of energy, I can hear nothing but the sound of my own bare feet padding on the floor. First I visit Imrin
but he is fast asleep in his medical bay bed. I stand in the doorway watching his chest methodically rise and fall, wondering what he might have said to me in the past week or so. Imrin chided me
for manipulating Opie’s father and then it was he who stood on the village hall steps to make a stand against the Kingsmen. Was that something I unknowingly orchestrated? Opie says that my
presence was what changed his father’s opinion of me, but was it something specific? Am I making people do what I want without knowing it? Yesterday a total stranger gave me a coat, even
though she had been shying away from me moments beforehand. Am I a danger?

Imrin’s eyes are flickering as he dreams and I pull the door shut, turning and bumping into Knave. He is fully dressed in warm trousers and a pullover, as if heading outside.

‘You’re up early,’ he whispers.

I shake my head and stifle a yawn. ‘I’ve slept so much in the past week. I’ve been in bed since I saw you yesterday.’

He instinctively looks towards his wrist before realising he doesn’t have a thinkwatch on. ‘That was . . . hours ago.’

‘Did I miss much?’

He starts walking and I follow. ‘Two more reports of towns turning on the Kingsmen. Everything is really sketchy and nothing has been reported officially.’

‘What did Rom say?’

‘Not a lot. He wasn’t happy about X’s death but he says he’s happy to accept your explanation, especially if we believe you.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have to keep the blood bomb to yourself. Only you, me, Vez and Opie know about it.’

‘What are you going to do with it?’

He sounds excited, perhaps
too
excited. I don’t reply because I don’t know the answer. We walk in silence as he leads me through to the office.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ he adds.

‘What?’

‘Wait and see.’

I yawn, not really in the mood for games, but I can’t stop myself from laughing as I see what is on the table.

‘Opie told us,’ Knave says with a grin.

I check my thinkwatch and realise what the date is. ‘That means it was Opie’s birthday yesterday,’ I say.

‘He didn’t tell me that. Does that mean you were born a day apart?’

I stifle a yawn and smile, remembering the cobbled streets of Martindale as it was. ‘Yes. We grew up across the street from each other. I spent years teasing him and then realised I
actually liked him.’

Knave picks up a box from the table. It is wrapped in the bright blue remnants of an old piece of clothing, with a bow made of purple strips of cotton tied around it.

He hands it to me with a slight nod of his head and a grin: ‘Happy birthday, Silver Blackthorn.’

When we are by ourselves in the bedroom, I apologise to Opie for forgetting his birthday. He says it’s fine because I’d have missed my own too if he hadn’t
remembered for me. He is underneath his blankets and I return to mine, cocooning them around me until everything below my neck is engulfed. I shuffle close to him and ask what he wanted as a
present, but he says the kiss yesterday morning was more than enough. I can’t believe there’s an easy way of telling someone that you kissed them, held them, craved their breath on you,
because you were walking into something thinking you might not come out.

He doesn’t realise he’s made me feel awkward, asking what I thought of the present everyone has cobbled together for me. ‘It was Knave’s idea and Frank was great,’
he says.

‘So where do you come into it?’ I ask, teasing.

‘They wouldn’t have known at all if I didn’t tell them the date.’

‘So that means it’s partly your present to me by default?’

‘Exactly.’ He grins in the wonderful way of his and adds, ‘Do you remember last year?’

I pull the covers even tighter and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth. Then I am back in Martindale again. Those cobbled streets and the way everyone’s feet clip-clop on the hard, uneven
surface. Every time I remember the village, the skies are blue and there is a gentle chirp of birds somewhere in the distance.

‘Tell me,’ I whisper, not wanting to lose the vision.

‘My mum wanted to make a big deal of the fact we were both sixteen. You were doing what you always do and pretending it wasn’t a big deal.’

‘It wasn’t.’

Opie laughs. He knows it’s the truth. ‘She’d been talking to your mum for weeks about doing something, but whenever anyone asked you, you’d say, “It’s just
another day”. So your mum was annoyed at
you
and my mum was annoyed at
me
because I kept telling her that you weren’t bothered.’

‘So I was getting you into trouble?’

‘Exactly, and I hadn’t done anything! About a week before my birthday, she threw her hands in the air and went, “You’re useless! The only thing you’re getting is
sticks and leaves.”’

I laugh, remembering how aggrieved he’d been at the time. We’d lain together on our backs on the edge of the woods –
my
woods – staring at the grey wash of sky
through the trees as he complained that he wasn’t getting anything for his birthday because I didn’t want anything for mine.

‘Tell me more,’ I demand, eyes still closed.

‘My birthday was a school day. Usually we celebrate together on yours, so I wasn’t expecting anything. We did our usual thing at school – you messed around, didn’t
listen, paid no attention and did really well. I
tried
to listen,
tried
to pay attention, and didn’t mess around, but got nowhere. We left afterwards and went to the
woods.’

‘It was raining.’

My eyes are still closed but I know he is smiling. Martindale is blue skies but the woods are rain, slow drizzle kissing the leaves and branches, running across my face.

‘It was. I wanted to go back to the village and was sheltering under that tree. You were singing to yourself, dancing.’

I laugh, remembering.

‘Your hair was stuck to your face but I remember you laughing and calling me a wimp for not coming out in it. You wanted me to come and dance with you.’

‘What did you say?’

‘“Men don’t dance”.’

I giggle, recalling the way he’d said it. Grumpily, arms crossed, unmoving.

‘If it wasn’t for this . . . If there was music and dresses and smart shirts and everyone was happy, would you dance with me now?’

Opie doesn’t hesitate. ‘In a heartbeat.’

I haven’t opened my eyes but I can feel a gentle wetness behind my lids. I swallow hard. ‘More.’

‘I told you we had to head back but you were shivering from the rain so I gave you my thick fleece top. We went back to your house and everyone was waiting for us. They wanted to surprise
us, but because you made us late, we surprised them. They were all sitting around chatting and facing the other way when we walked through the door.’