One of Us (17 page)

“Want some help?” I ask.

“The more the merrier,” says Ril. She looks young and pretty here. She smiles as she passes me a white sliced loaf. “You can put the toast on.”

“Any more tea in the pot?” calls Oskar from the front room. Ril takes it in to him on a tray, and that makes me suddenly picture Greg, carrying everyone's empty dishes after dinner.

Col hasn't finished. “I'm glad I don't live in the city,” he says. “There are too many of them there.” He sits back down at the table.

“But surely they're not all bad?” I say. “They're just people.”

Col shakes his head. “That's what I used to think,” he says. “But now I know there's something in them that can make them do anything.
Anything.
They think they're doing the right thing. That's why they're so dangerous. That's why you can never change them.”

He sounds like Grandma.

“They'll just keep doing it,” he goes on. “They're always out there, planning and waiting for their chance.”

“Breakfast!” Ril starts putting the plates down on the table, fragrant and hot.

Oskar comes back into the kitchen as I sit down. “Why so serious, K?” He puts his arm loosely around my shoulders and gives me a little hug. “All you have to do for now is keep your head down, do your schoolwork, find me that list. And it's not for long,” he whispers in my ear. “Not long at all.”

CHAPTER 18

W
HEN RIL DROPS
me off after lunch two days later, the Institute feels empty. I forgot that this was the spring break long weekend. There are only three of us who haven't gone home: Greg, Celestina, and me. The office staff, including Brer Magnus's secretary, aren't here and hopefully Brer Magnus will be in his own house in the grounds. This could be the best chance I'll get to look for the visitors' book. If I do it right away, I can just forget about being a spy and get on with my life here. One more year.

The Sisters' house is empty. I decide to check out where the others are. And if I'm honest, I want to see them too.

They're in the library, sharing a table with their books and files spread out all over it.

A slow smile spreads over Celestina's face when she sees me. “Well, look who's come back,” she says, tapping Greg's shoulder. It's almost as if she knew I'd planned not to.

Greg looks up too. “Hello, Verity.”

I turn back to Celestina. “Did you stay here to study?”

She gives me a small smile. “Let's just say my parents like me better from a distance.”

Celestina's never told me anything like this before. “I'm sorry,” I say.

Greg breaks into the pause that follows. “Sit here if you want, Verity.”

“Thanks, but I'm going to the Art room. I just came to say hello.” I can't lose this opportunity. I run down the library stairwell and turn back toward the canteen
and across the courtyard into the old building. I hurry up the stairs to the Meeting Hall.
No, slow down
, I remind myself. I can say I want to be alone there, to reflect. That's allowed, surely? Maybe the door will be closed. But it's half-open already. This room is so bare and clear that I know immediately I'm not going to find the visitors' book here.

All the same, I go up to the table where the Book lies, closed now. It's the only book on the stiff gold brocade cloth. I resist the temptation to have another look inside, although if anyone comes, that's what I'll say I'm doing. I even look under the cloth, which hangs down to the floor. But there's nothing there. Nothing on the shelf at the back of the hall either, or on the little table where they placed the visitors' book for signing at the Spring Meeting.

My heart sinks as I walk down the stairs, wondering who might be watching me through these long glass windows. Since I didn't find the visitors' book in the Meeting Hall, I can guess where it will be. In Brer Magnus's office. At the bottom of the stairs I hesitate, looking down the paneled corridor. I don't know if Brer Magnus is in there, or even in the Institute at all. What can I say if he is?

I take a step into the corridor. This is where the lavender polish smell comes from. If he's there, I'll say I've come to ask if I can go to the city, to buy some pastels. It's very quiet here. His door is at the end. He has a gold name sign. I tap on the shiny dark wood.

There's no reply. I wait, knock again. It's all I have to do, Oskar said. Just get the list and they'll
take it from there. I'm a tiny cog and this is my task to keep the clock ticking.

I turn the handle and the door opens, slowly because of the thick fawn-colored carpet inside. Brer Magnus isn't there, but the room is heavy with his presence. His desk is in front of the window that overlooks the canteen. I check for cameras, but I can't see one, so I take a last look down the empty corridor, then push the door wide open so that I'll hear if anyone comes. I glance at the window that overlooks the drive, but I think the vertical blinds are angled to stop people from seeing in. I pull my sleeves down to cover my fingertips before trying to open the desk drawers. Of course they're locked, except for the top middle one, which holds pens, a paper knife, sticky notes. And a half-eaten bar of chocolate. That stops me. I've never imagined Brer Magnus doing anything as human as eating a bar of chocolate.

Next to the desk there's a glass-fronted bookcase, also locked. I scan the books. They seem to be mostly yearbooks. And then I see it, on the bottom shelf, lying flat on its own, in a navy cardboard box embossed with:
Visitors' Book
.

It's only a flimsy door, easily forced open with something like a ruler. But then I won't be able to sneak the book back undetected. I rattle the door-knobs until I feel that there's an inner bolt at the top on the left-hand door. I grab Brer Magnus's paper knife and wiggle it up into the little gap between door and frame, catching it against the top of the bolt. It doesn't take long to ease it down, and then all I have
to do is pull the doors toward me until the catch slips out of the lock. But I've been in here too long now.

I open the cabinet and take the book out of its box, which I replace before pushing the doors shut until the catch clicks and wiping everything I touched with my scarf. Should I copy down the names now so that I never have to come here again, or should I take the book with me, to copy in a less stressful place? If only there was a photocopier in this room, but Brer Magnus's office has no modern technology at all. It could be a couple of centuries ago in here.

The sound of the outside doors sends me scurrying back to the doorway. Nowhere to hide! I stuff the book into my open bag, swing it over my shoulder, then get myself outside the door and close it as silently as I can. There's nowhere to go. I turn my back to the Reception area and knock loudly on the door. I hear footsteps behind me. I hope it's not Brer Magnus.

“Verity?”

It is him. I turn, sick with dread. But my voice sounds clear. “Oh, hello, Brer Magnus. I was just coming to see you.”

He walks slowly toward me. He opens his door. “You'd better come in.”

What am I going to say? I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I stare at him while he goes and sits in his chair, behind his massive desk. His face falls into shadow with the window behind him.

“Yes?” He waits.

“I came to ask you”—and I feel my hands clasp themselves together in front of me—“if I could go
into Gatesbrooke, into the city, I mean . . .” My mind goes completely blank.

He tilts his head back in surprise. He knows I'm lying.

“Because,” I burble on, “I want to go with the others when they . . .”
Think, K!
“. . . when they take part in the . . . Reconciliation activities.”

Brer Magnus puts his fingertips on his desk and gives me a long look. “Really.” He carries on watching me. “I'll have to think about that.”

I nod, much too vigorously. I force myself to be still.

“Was there anything else?”

I shake my head. The corner of the visitors' book digs into my hip through my wool bag.

“I must say I'm surprised,” says Brer Magnus. “But I'll certainly give it my full consideration.”

“Yes. Thanks. Sir,” I add, since that's what Greg calls him. I edge backward toward the doorway.

But he hasn't finished. He makes a pyramid with the fingertips of his hands, under his chin. “Why do you want to take part in the Reconciliation process?”

Why would I want to do that? “Because the others are doing it,” I say. “I'd like to go with them.”

“You haven't known them very long.”

He's right. I feel my face grow hot. I think of gentle Serafina. Celestina, with her knowing glance. Emanuel and his sweet smile. And Greg's one smile at me, on the bus.

I need a better reason. What would Celestina say? “Because things have to change,” I say.

“Of course,” says Brer Magnus. “I'd like to encourage
that spirit in our students. But . . .”

I don't know what more to say, so I keep quiet.

“But first,” says Brer Magnus, “there's something else we need to discuss.”

Here it comes. He's going to ask me about the visitors' book. It's all I can do to keep my eyes from flicking down to the bag at my side.

CHAPTER 19

“I
WANT TO
talk to you about your parents,” says Brer Magnus. “I don't know if the other pupils have asked you about them?”

“No. Not really.”
He knows, he knows all about me.

Brer Magnus fixes me with his unmoving stare. “I was concerned that some students might have felt uncomfortable with your parents' role in the bombing—”

I interrupt him. ‘My parents' role?'

“Yes.” He gives me what I think he means to be a smile. “I just wanted to reassure you that I have nothing but admiration for your parents, whatever they did.”

“Whatever they did?”

“Yes. Times were very different then. In a sense, it was a war.”

He carries on talking, but I'm not listening anymore. It takes me a moment to remember that he isn't talking about my parents at all. All this is about Verity Nekton's imaginary parents. All the same, I need to be sure.

“Brer Magnus . . .” I interrupt him again. “Are you saying that you think . . . my parents . . . planted the bomb?”

“I assumed you would know.” He leans back in his chair, watching me. “Who can say?” he says. “However, that's my understanding, yes. But I want you to know that I understand their motivation, their sacrifice. In no way does this make me think less highly of you. Far from it.”

My mind is reeling. I want to run out of the room and keep running and never come back. I feel dirty. Is this why Brer Magnus let me into the Institute? Does everyone know? They all think my parents were terrorists? Does Greg know?

But Brer Magnus is speaking again. “And now about your boots,” he says.

“My boots?”

“Yes. They're men's boots. I don't believe it's suitable for you to wear them here. It sets a bad example for the younger students. Girls should not dress like men.”

I can't believe he's talking about boots after all he's just said. I'm so surprised that I start arguing. “They're not men's boots. They're way too small.”

“Verity.” Brer Magnus frowns. “It's not negotiable. The boots have to go. In fact, I'd like you to leave them here now.” He reaches under his desk and pulls out a pair of pink flip-flops with big red roses on them. “You can wear these back to the dormitory.”

I don't move but I can feel my face going red. If I was K, I would get up and walk out in my boots. But I'm Verity now. I put my bag down carefully, then pull them off one by one and hand them silently to Brer Magnus.

He places them beside his desk, next to the bin. But he still isn't finished. He stands up and looks down at me. “Verity, I had already decided to choose you and Gregory to represent the Institute at the Reconciliation youth event.” I feel my mouth drop open.

Brer Magnus makes the face that I think is his smile. “There's going to be what they call a ‘Reconciliation Rally.'” His mouth twists in distaste. “On the day before the Reconciliation Agreement is signed, in five months. This youth event is in preparation for that. It's tomorrow,” he continues. “In Yoremouth.”

There's a silence. Brer Magnus looks at me. “Well?”

I start to stammer an answer, but Brer Magnus speaks first.

“Good. That's settled, then,” he says. “I've already informed your social worker. You can go now. I'll run through the arrangements later with Greg.”

I watch him pick up a sheaf of papers and turn his attention away from me. There's nothing I can say. He's like a cat with one paw on a sparrow's wing, waiting. It's hard to look dignified wearing socks and flip-flops with massive flowers. I thought Brer Magnus was going to tell me to leave. But instead I'm even more firmly entrenched here.