CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

After several daily visits, Andeal obtained his first reaction from Hans Vermen. He had decided from the very start he would not inflict on their prisoner what he had lived through. Every day he brought the captain his meal, and while the man ate, Andeal chatted. He talked about his parents and his time in Altaer, studying electrical engineering like his mom. He talked about Maniel, about the weather outside, or the most recent news on the National Radio. Anything. Vermen occasionally rewarded him with a nod or a snarky comment. He never engaged the discussion. After ten, thirty, sometimes sixty minutes, Andeal picked up the empty plate and left. Their forced guest might as well have been a statue.

Today Vermen gulped down his meal as though he hadn’t eaten in days. He set the bowl down and laid back on his mattress. Andeal frowned but finished his account of the weather outside. Experience had taught him that when one lost track of time, sanity soon followed. He refused to keep a prisoner in conditions that’d risk driving him insane.

“Leave me alone,” Vermen said the moment he fell silent. “I never asked for company.”

“No need to ask to receive.”

“What if I want to be rid of it?”

Andeal chuckled despite the captain’s seriousness. “I cannot imagine why you’d want such a thing.” Truth was, he could. A misguided sense of duty or a complete ignorance of what imprisonment was. Both, most likely. “If you’re tired of my talking, you should consider participating in the conversations more.”

Vermen didn’t rise to the bait. He stared at him, lips sealed, until Andeal had enough. With an exasperated sigh, he rose, snatched the bowl, and made for the exit. Stupid stubborn captain. He’d erected a wall around himself and refused to let it down, not even for his own sake. Perhaps rotting in his cell for days would make him change his mind.

The bed creaked. A strong hand grabbed Andeal’s shirt and jerked him. As the dish slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor, Vermen stepped aside, pulled him back, and slammed him against the wall. The shock sent waves of pain up Andeal’s spine and light flashed before his eyes. The captain’s warm fingers wrapped in a tight grip around his throat. Well…at least he no longer squirmed at the thought of touching him?

“I’ve had enough of your game,” Vermen said. “What do you expect? You think coming here and chatting will turn me into a traitor? I have vowed my life to protect and serve Ferrys. President Kurtmann put it—and all the United countries—back on their feet after the Plague. I am proud to defend the Union, like my brother before me, and I will not break my oath.”

“No?” Andeal wriggled against the wall. His heart hammered against his chest. He could tell him the truth, that he was trying to make Vermen’s stay bearable. But that wasn’t all, and he’d at last made a dent in the fortress. He intended to push it. “Tell me, proud defender, why don’t you kill me now and escape? Why did you leave your troops to go running after Seraphin?”

Vermen’s grip faltered and Andeal gulped the welcome air. His shirt stuck to his arms and back from sweat. Perhaps provoking him wasn’t the best idea. The man’s eyes narrowed. He pressed his body closer.

“I asked permission. I am charged by General Clarin to hunt your lot down.”

“I investigated. They called you a deserter.” Anger flashed in the captain’s eyes and he shoved him hard into the wall. Andeal gritted his teeth against the throbbing in his back but continued. “You disobeyed and risked your entire military career to kill Seraphin, yet you never shot him. What now? What is next for Captain Hans Vermen?”

His question went unanswered. Vermen let go, spun on his heels, and returned to the bed. A new mask hid his feelings. Andeal rubbed his neck. His words had hit a nerve. All he needed was to go just a bit further. He cleared his throat, hoping the captain would turn around and look at him. No such luck.

“If you had answers for this question, you would’ve tried to escape.”

Andeal bent and picked up the dropped bowl. The leftover sauce had spilled into a lovely white pool. Vermen could clean with whatever he wanted if it bothered him. For now, Andeal left his unwilling guest to his thoughts.

It occurred to him this spat might fortify his resolve and hatred for the rebels. Andeal hoped this dangerous game would be worth it.

 

* * *

 

The message taunted him.

Henry had flattened the rag on his empty school desk, next to the face-down family picture. At this distance Henry could see brown scribbles in the familiar cursive of his father’s handwriting but not read them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, either.

Henry had avoided reading it in his first few days. It could wait: he wouldn’t leave until he was certain the soldiers were no longer in Ferrea. Instead he had rested his still-sore muscles and visited the dining area. The network of tunnels still confused him, but he had learned the path to the large cavern by heart. There always seemed to be a handful of rebels there—more at any given time than Ferrea’s entire population. The population of four. If Paul, Kinsi and Tia hadn’t left yet. The thought had dampened Henry’s mood on his first visit. He’d sat alone at a table and watched as rebels played a game in which they threw tiny sacks of sand at a wooden board with holes of different sizes. The larger the hole, the fewer points it was worth. Cheers and taunts echoed off the stalactites with every throw.

After a while one of the rebels invited him to play. He had the angular nose and dark traits typical of Burgians, and an easy smile to go with them. The latter might’ve been inviting if not for his bright red hair. Henry had never left Ferrea in his life but even he knew that was how Burgians marked those they exiled for petty crimes. He’d refused. They had laughed and teased him for his obvious fear. The Burgian—his name was Joshua—repeated his offer on the second day, then the third, until Henry gave in and proved to them what a terrible shot he was.

Through all of this something nagged at his mind, however. Sometimes the rebels would discuss their operations. They would argue over which suppliers to see next, or how long it’d take Seraphin to finally execute Captain Vermen and whether or not they’d find the evidence they were looking for. Although mention of the cold execution sent a shiver down Henry’s spine, it was the rare talk of evidence that bothered him. True, the rebels seemed more concerned by food supplies—which he approved of—and vengeance—which made him uncomfortable. But wasn’t the paper trail their ultimate goal? He couldn’t get Andeal’s words out of his head. He had thought Henry might know something. He was wrong, but what if that something was in the message?

What if the very words sitting on his desk right now contained an answer to the rebels’ problems?

Henry didn’t know what to expect anymore. The man Andeal and Maniel spoke of was not the father he’d known. Would these words come from Lenz Schmitt the hero or Lenz Schmitt the deserter? Or better yet, would they be from the father? Henry briefly reached for the rag, then pulled back his trembling hand. Panic quickened his breath and drilled a hole in his stomach. Better not to hope for the father.

He cast a glance at the tiny, stifling room. Was it growing narrower? No. That was him. Henry forced himself to take deep breaths. He trailed his gaze along the contour of his desk, switching from inhaling to exhaling as he passed a corner. It worked better with rectangles such as doors, like Tia had taught him, but with time the void in his belly diminished. He continued until his hands no longer shook.

He could read this message. He had to. Eight years of false hopes and riddles were enough.

Before he took the plunge, he closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the winds. Let it be personal and meaningful. Let it justify the departure and mend his wounds. Let it answer his questions.

A strange calm settled over Henry Schmitt. His eyes fluttered open and he let his gaze find the first of his father’s words.

“Henry, if you have this I must be dead. I’m sorry I never came back. Now listen, you better have kept that balloon safe. Inside it a double pocket is sewn. You’ll find a recording there, and important papers. Get the word out. This cannot be silenced.

Lenz.”

You’d better have kept that balloon safe. Henry reread the sentence, again and again, anger speeding his heart. Keep the balloon’s envelope safe. Words scribbled on a memo, left in the dead of night as Lenz vanished from his life. And now, words written in blood on a scrap of cloth, crashing into him with more strength than the waterfall outside.

With a cry of rage, Henry threw the bloody message across his room and slammed his fist on the desk. What did he care about the balloon? He wanted love, not another ghost-given mission! He shouldn’t have read it. Lenz had never cared about him.

He rose and his chair crashed to the ground. Fresh air. He needed fresh air, to help him think. He stumbled across the room. The cavern’s walls closed upon him but he escaped through the door. As he exited, Henry smacked into Andeal.

“Henry! I was just coming to…what’s wrong?”

“You were right. About the information.” Henry’s voice was rough. He strode back to the torn cloth on the ground, picked it up, and shoved it into Andeal’s hand. “Here. Take it. Read it. In fact, why don’t you follow his orders and accomplish his will? He’d love it, I’m sure!”

“Henry…” The engineer did not look down or close his fingers around the rag. His blue eyes were filled with worry.

“No, it’s fine, really. I’m only good at eating noodles and being a coward. You can be his son. I’m tired of it.”

Henry pushed past him to the exit, even though he had no idea where to go. Anything was better than here. Andeal called after him but Henry refused to slow. What a great idea he’d had! Lenz Schmitt had sacrificed himself for Andeal and Maniel, so why didn’t these two finish his dirty work? They were capable, courageous, willing. Perfect candidates.

And while they spread the word about whatever was in that balloon, he could build the tranquil life he deserved.