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JEREMIAH STOLE INTO THE gazebo as the sun set over the lake behind him. The little building sat just a few dozen feet from Lady Beryl’s main home, and was just a roof over a porch with some comfortable chairs. But it was the perfect place to meet because it was surrounded on all sides by the lake, except where the path led to it from the house. No one could eavesdrop without them knowing. He was early, so he settled in to wait.
If not for Beryl, Jeremiah couldn’t imagine where he might be today. Dead probably. Instead, she’d changed him by being the family he’d so desperately needed, making sure he got an education far past his Number level, and dragging him to her house church every Sunday during the five years he’d lived in her home, and even in the two years after, when he was around.
There were Numbers across the entire range of classes at her house church, mingling and actually enjoying each other’s company without imposing their will on each other. This was the first time Jeremiah had truly seen past the Number system and understood what his parents had been fighting for. Equality and freedom could exist, and did exist, right there under the Number One’s nose.
The house church was highly illegal for this reason. But also because each person had their own Bible, or pieces of one, and they read it themselves without the help of a priest, even praying to God by themselves. Jeremiah’s parents had only ever done so in the safety of their own home. But these people did so together.
Beryl attended faithfully and insisted on Jeremiah joining her. “But I could inform on you,” Jeremiah said once, testing her.
“You won’t, child,” Beryl replied, shaking her head at him.
It took him a few months after that to realize he trusted her too. He was not so quick to let his guard down with the others in the church, although one in particular struck him as highly interesting, an older man, around the same age as Beryl, named Welder. A Number 11 Regulator, yet he broke just about every law to attend the little church with them on Sundays. Jeremiah was especially fascinated when he learned that Welder worked in the Number One’s navy.
Welder humored him, describing the many ships and submarines in the navy, and how they worked. Beryl sat with them as Welder taught Jeremiah everything he wanted to know about how to captain a ship. He hinted at his work often, but Jeremiah was nearly 18 years old before he truly grasped the role Welder held in leadership. That was when the first seed of an idea began to form in Jeremiah’s mind. He read every book he could get his hands on, studying geography, armies and battles, politics, dictatorships versus voting systems, learning about leadership and planning. His confidence in the idea grew gradually over a year before he brought it to Beryl.
“Welder says there are a lot of outdated submarines from countries before the war, just sitting there collecting dust,” he’d told her. His idea felt far-fetched when he said it out loud. But Beryl had surprised him as she always did by adding to it. Many in the house church would be willing to join them, she was sure of it. And if they were to operate one of those old vessels safely, they would need everyone’s help.
Not everyone in the house church liked the plan, feeling the risks were too many, but most agreed to help, and one even told them stories of a large island that had formed during the war, about two days off the coast of Eden, which was now inhabited by a new country entirely separate from Eden. Jeremiah and Welder talked of making a trip there, a practice run with whoever would join them, but for a long time it was just talk.
It wasn’t until Beryl created the first draft of the Lower Level Employee Work Rule document that Jeremiah truly began to believe their plan could work. The document requested all available lower Numbers report for duty on a vague assignment at various times, dates, and locations, indefinitely. Between Beryl’s connections with the different diplomats and politicians and her knowledge of the Number One’s policies, the Work Rule sounded real. She was a genius. But Jeremiah had known that for years.
And Welder had seen enough policies cross his desk through the years to forge the Number One’s signature on the bottom of their work rule. This small rebellion took place in Welder’s basement. Yet copies went out across the country. They sweated for weeks afterward, certain they’d be found out. But no one dared question the Number One, and the man himself had no clue. And that’s how they’d managed to create an army of revolutionaries over the last two years.
The sun had fully set by the time Beryl’s heels echoed on the wooden deck, alerting Jeremiah to her arrival. Most 62-year-olds in Eden would need a cane or someone to help them walk, but Beryl was an active woman and still as energetic and spry as when Jeremiah had first met her. Instead of a cane, she carried a tray. From where he sat in the back, in the deepest shadows, he doubted she’d noticed him, so he spoke as she reached the gazebo entrance, “How are you going to explain a dinner tray if someone sees you?”
Lady Beryl gasped. “Jeremiah!” Her white hair gleamed in the moonlight. “I thought I’d beaten you here,” she chuckled, placing the dinner tray on the bench beside him, settling onto a seat nearby.
He shook his head at the evasion, but in the gloom, she didn’t see it. “You can’t keep taking risks like this.”
“Pshh,” she said. “Can’t an old lady have dinner outside occasionally? I’m eccentric. They expect me to behave strangely. Would be more suspicious if I didn’t. Besides, who’s going to inform on a little old lady?” Darkness had fallen completely now, but in the moonlight, her teeth flashed white in a grin. Sighing, he dropped the subject. The household staff loved her. If they hadn’t informed on her by now, they probably wouldn’t, but it still made him nervous. He felt for the plate.
Finding a large sandwich, he took a bite. Delicious. He hadn’t eaten all day. Relaxing a little, he inhaled the food, speaking around a mouthful, “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to come back for a visit since last month. I’ve been working with the newest recruits.”
Every fresh batch of low Numbers to arrive on the island knew nothing about fighting. But Jeremiah hadn’t either when he started. Teaching that was easy. The hard part was instilling confidence – removing the brainwashing of the Number system. Many needed months on the island before the truth even began to sink in. He enjoyed that work, but had missed his visits with Beryl. “Any news since last month?”
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, but a shuffling followed the response instead of her news. “This is ridiculous. It’s so dark my old eyes can’t even see you.” A match hissed, lighting up a small circle of space around them as Beryl lit one of the gazebo candles. Even as Jeremiah opened his mouth to object, she shook a finger at him. “I have Ingrid and Ibo keeping the staff busy, don’t worry. No one’s going to spot us.”
Again, Jeremiah sighed. Ingrid and Ibo were true believers. He’d attended the house church with them for years – they weren’t informants. He didn’t trust the rest of the household staff nearly as much, but dropped it. He’d learned early on not to argue when she had that tone. “This is the last run, anyway,” he told her. “Thank God you can’t get yourself in too much trouble before we’re back in a week.”
“Just a week?” Her voice rose. The candlelight lit up her face as her forehead wrinkled in surprise. “I suppose I knew the time was coming.” It had been nearly three years since they’d begun planning this venture, two since they’d begun helping refugees escape. “It just feels so sudden.”
Jeremiah nodded his agreement. “I know. But it’s time. We need to keep the element of surprise. If someone ever questioned the work rule...” he trailed off. It didn’t need saying that all their work would be for nothing. “It’ll be two days back to the island, as always, and we’ll stay there for three to let the last group consider joining us, and then two days back. One week. It’s past time really.”
“Well then.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their carefully-laid plans draining the light-natured conversation out of them.
“Oh, my news,” Lady Beryl perked up. “I held an Abandoned Kittens Fund for the high Numbers a few days ago. It was a huge success. Almost as many donations as last month’s Whale Relief event.” She grinned wickedly, winking as if she were just twenty-two years old like him, instead of nearing her sixty-third birthday. “I already sent all the donations ahead with Luc when he stopped by yesterday. Enough to keep the camp going for nearly a month.”
Jeremiah smiled his thanks. Luc had been his closest friend at the orphanage all those years ago. Two years older than Jeremiah, Luc had taught him how to steal food when Mr. Meyers withheld it, how to run away from the Regulators, and how to survive as an orphaned low Number. Leaving his best friend behind at age 15 had eaten at him. When he’d mentioned Luc to Lady Beryl, in the hopes of convincing her to hire 17-year-old Luc on as a gardener or butler or driver, somewhere he could make himself useful, he tried not to expect much. But despite the fact that Luc was just months away from turning 18, Beryl had adopted him as well.
Though Luc had refused to attend the house church with them, he felt indebted to Beryl. They had found a comfortable understanding. And Luc had leapt at the chance to join their plans. Now, as one of the twelve members of the council Jeremiah had formed from the refugees on the island, Luc was Jeremiah’s second in command whenever they made trips back and forth between Eden and the island, collecting unwitting refugees via the work rule. Jeremiah trusted his friend and adopted brother with his life.
“I realize now that’s more than you needed,” Beryl continued when he was quiet.
“Don’t worry, Welder will find a use for the money,” he said, smiling. The older man was also one of his council members now, though he was often gone, overseeing missions to Eden. He was still the most experienced at running their ships. “He said to tell you hello, by the way,” he teased Beryl. “I think he misses you.” That was an understatement. The quiet man had been in love with Beryl for as long as Jeremiah had been around, and everyone could see it, except Beryl.
“He’s a good friend, that’s all,” Beryl tsked. “I’ve had two husbands already. I’m too old to have a boyfriend.”
“If you say so,” Jeremiah said, trying not to smile. If their plans next week were successful, he intended to bring it up again, but for now, he dropped it. He had a more important request tonight. “Beryl, listen. I need you to go to your summer home. Delmare won’t be safe next week.”
“Oh, goodness.” Beryl flung a hand over her shoulder as if the idea was just one of the weeds in her garden. “I’ve lived a full life. If anyone is going to attack me, let them. I’ll be fine.”
But Jeremiah shook his head, not yielding this time. “I’m not talking about avoiding gossips. I’m talking about Regulators knocking down your door and arresting you. Or worse. I know you think your Number protects you, but they won’t pay any attention to it if you’re a suspected traitor. Please, Beryl. For me? Please go.”
She dropped her cavalier attitude, and met his eyes solemnly. After a moment’s pause, she nodded once. “Alright.”
“Thank you.”
“You worry for nothing,” she argued anyway, despite her agreement. “There won’t be time for them to search out traitors and put them through trial. When you arrive, they won’t know what hit them. By the time they get their act together, you’ll have won.”
“We’ll see.” Jeremiah didn’t want to put ideas in her head. But he didn’t think it would be that easy.