CHAPTER 18

The colony workers are unhappy. They cluster together, talking in low voices, refusing to make eye contact, and I can see by their body language that it’s directed at me.

I ask Aunty Figgy to increase their food rations. “Make them your malva pudding,” I say, “for a treat.”

She shakes her head but, that evening, after their meal of goat stew and dumplings, she brings out steaming trays of hot, sticky malva pudding with cream. It makes no difference. I wish they could see that I’m trying to save them. But they can’t seem to see past the farm, the servants, my wealth. Past Jaline and the necklace, which everyone has noticed, although nobody dare say anything about it.

The guards are sensing trouble too. They seem more vigilant.

“I don’t like the mood that’s developing,” Fez mutters to me as he helps to take the dirty plates into the kitchen.

I do my best. I call a meeting on the lawn outside the barn and tell the girls about our plans for the farm. How I’m hoping to get the remaining workers out of the colony. How, if we work together, we can all survive and have enough to eat.

There’s no response. They look bored and sulky.

In the kitchen, even Frieda has lost her friendly smile. I take her aside when she’s finished washing up the girls’ plates.

“Frieda, listen,” I say, grabbing a cloth to help dry the dishes. “I’m doing my best here. I’m trying to keep everyone happy. I wouldn’t have got you out of the colony if I didn’t care about you. Can’t you see that?”

She stares at me coldly. Then she turns back to the sink, and starts scrubbing a pot harder than necessary.

“I don’t know what more I can do. I can’t change the army, or demand better barracks or that you be allowed to leave the island and look for your families.”

“Really?” she says with eyebrows raised. “You can’t, or you won’t? You’re super-wealthy. I heard you’re the most powerful person in Table Island City. People say you’re choosing to go along with the general because it suits you to get free labour.”

“Free labour! I have to feed fifty extra people three meals a day, and it will be months before I earn any of it back, and meanwhile the general is taxing me to death. It’s costing me a fortune having everyone here – you can check the books if you don’t believe me.”

She looks away, and I know what she’s thinking – that I’m making excuses and I’m as mean and corrupt as the High Priest was. Suddenly I’ve had enough.

“Listen,” I say, “if you don’t like it here, why don’t you go back into the colony? If you hate it so much, get off my farm. And take your friends with you. I don’t need you – I only agreed to this to get you released from the bunker. But you’re not grateful for anything I’ve done for you, so you can all go to hell.”

A guard comes walking past the window, swishing his sjambok. He hears me shouting and comes into the kitchen.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “We’re finished here. I don’t need your help.”

“Time to return to barracks,” he snaps.

Frieda’s face is sour as she throws the washing cloth onto the sink and pulls off her apron. I stand in the doorway, hands on my hips, watching her cross the yard behind the guard.

What have I done? How could I speak to her like that? Frieda is one of my friends. I know how confused she must be here, living a new life with new rules. Nothing is how it used to be. The girls must hate being marched onto the farm by armed guards and forced to work, especially because I’m now their boss. Me, who used to be the most junior member of the colony, ordering them around, having meetings with the general, paying for their food. No wonder they’re angry.

Samantha-Lee wouldn’t have blown up like this. She’d have stayed cool and calm throughout, chin in the air, as she thought everything through before she opened her mouth.

I really hate Samantha-Lee, I think as I grab the cloth and start drying the plates. I bet she’s poisoning Micah – telling him I’m weird-looking and my feet are huge and my hair is bright red and I’m useless at being a boss. I bet she’s telling him that. I can just hear her tinkly laugh, where she throws her head back and shows her beautiful long neck.

Stop brooding. Dr Iris has come into the kitchen. You’re working yourself up into a state about nothing. Complete waste of energy. Benefits no one. Now, get down to the stables and check that everything has been closed up for the night and that the smithy fire has been put out. You can never be too careful.

She wags her finger at me and marches out. I know she’s right, and it’s one more thing to worry about. Ever since the colony workers arrived, I’ve had even more work than usual, checking that everyone has done his or her job properly.

I wasn’t cut out to be in this position.

Not like Samantha-Lee.

A FEW DAYS LATER, Micah comes to find me. It’s mid-morning and I’m sitting on the stoep drinking tea.

“I’m going to be away for a while,” he says, sitting on the step next to me. “I’m taking Sam back to Boat Bay.”

“What are you going to do there? How long will you be gone?” I cling to his arm.

He moves away slightly, brushing at some imaginary dirt on his tunic. “Business. It’s safer if I don’t tell you the details.”

“Don’t go,” I say. “Please, Micah. Fez is training with the Syndicate today, and Leonid and Jasmine have gone to market. Stay with me. What if something goes wrong?”

“Don’t be silly,” he says firmly. “You’ll be fine.” He kisses me goodbye and I watch him cross the meadow towards the forest path.

Samantha-Lee is waiting for him in the shadows, and they disappear among the trees.

For a moment I wish I hadn’t made him a citizen. Then he wouldn’t be able to leave so easily.

Stop being so selfish, I tell myself, getting up. He’s going to help the Boat Bay people and fix my mistakes.

But I don’t feel like being unselfish. I want him here, with me. I want him to be sweet and supportive like Shorty is with Letti.

Then one of the guards comes around the side of the house. “Miss van Eeden, the wind pump is broken,” he says.

“Broken? But we need it to irrigate the seedlings.”

He shrugs. “It’s not turning.”

The windmill pumps water along the deep furrows that edge each field and bring water to the crops. If the cauliflower seedlings don’t get water, they’ll die, and we’ll have to start all over again, planting seeds and waiting for them to sprout. I’ll lose three, maybe four weeks if that happens, and I can’t afford that. It has to be sorted out now.

Shorty is the only one around, but he’s no good at this kind of thing. I don’t dare ask any of the colony girls. There’s nothing for it – I’ll have to try fixing it myself. Hopefully it’s something simple like needing oil.

I fetch the oil can from the workshop, wedge a bit of rag up the spout, put it in a shoulder bag and set off across the sweet-potato fields to the wind pump, which is next to the dam. I’ll have to climb up the tower to see why the sails aren’t turning, but it’s very high – about eighteen metres, maybe twenty. I gulp. Do I really want to go up these flimsy metal struts?

I have to.

My newly healed shoulder starts aching as soon as I begin climbing up the sheer face of the tower. A few more metres and my muscles are burning. It’s useless. It’s not like I’m going to be able to fix the pump when I reach the top. I know nothing about engineering or machinery. I may as well get down now before I fall …

Come on, it’s fun up here, says a voice.

I look up. A girl my own age is hanging off the platform at the top, near the sails. Her hair is shockingly red, the colour of flame. Her face is freckled, her grin wide, and her hair waves like a lion’s mane in the breeze. I’m about to call out to ask her name when I realise she’s not real. She’s not from this life. She’s dressed in old-fashioned pants that end below her knee, like a boy in a very old painting, and she’s wearing a white shirt and a waistcoat. Her feet are bare.

Come on, Ebba. She laughs as she swings from one arm. What’s a bit of pain? Come see what’s up here.

So I keep climbing. Is there another amulet hidden at the top of the wind pump?

But when I reach the small platform halfway up, the girl is gone. I sit down to rest for a moment, rubbing my biceps. From here I can look across the forest to the sea. No sign of Micah’s little sailing boat. I chew my lip, wondering about him and Samantha-Lee …

I’ve got to prove that I’m as competent as she is. I stand up, tuck the bag behind my back and start climbing again. I’ll have a better view of the sea if I’m higher up. Hand over foot I climb, rung by rung. The wind pump is old and rusty. It wobbles a bit, but I keep going.

The girl is back again, laughing down at me from the highest point of the pump.

I’m Sofie, she calls. Come see the view from up here. And then she’s gone again.

It’s the end of lunchtime, and the colony girls are marching back to work. Twenty are coming to finish hoeing the sweet potatoes in the field below me, and another fifteen will be planting out cauliflower seedlings in the new lands. Isabella and her three co-workers are heading off to the poultry shed. The new cages are ready, and I look over to the workshops to see if Leano and Thobeka, the carpenters, are going to install them.

A movement on the edge of the field below catches my eye – something is moving in the furrow. It must be a wild animal. There aren’t many, but maybe they’ve started to come back. That’s all I need – buck or rabbits coming to eat the new seedlings. It’s moved out of sight now, hidden behind a clump of bushes we haven’t cleared yet.

I haul myself up the last few metres of ladder, and perch on the platform under the sails while I get my breath back. It’s beautiful up here. I can see the sweep of the mountains all the way from Muizenberg to Devil’s Peak. Greenhaven lies all around me, green and lush in a world of khaki and grey. I can see how many trees my great-aunt Marlene planted, the thousands and thousands that form new forests stretching up this part of the mountainside.

There’s no sign of Micah – who knows what he’s got hidden in the forest? It could be cannons and tanks for all I know. I sigh. I wish he trusted me with his secrets. I look for Lucas too, though I have little hope of spotting him – he’ll be deep in the forest somewhere. It feels odd, being able to see everyone, and not one person would think to look up.

The wind gusts and the platform wobbles. It’s almost rusted through in places – we’ll have to repair it. More money. I sigh.

The workers are approaching through the fields, their hoes over their shoulders.

Then I see it again, the movement in the furrow.

Someone is slinking towards them.

Someone carrying a rifle.