She shoves the list back into the drawer, and she pulls out the blank maps from the bottom drawer. Her hands shake so terribly as she traces the map that she wonders if her attempt is a waste, but Boggs wants this map, and she can't simply steal the original, because she can't leave the Capitol.
It takes so terribly long, but she manages to do it, and she switches off the gas lamp.
She runs through the dark, empty hallways to the stairs, her mind far too jumbled.
Rue stands from the bed when Katniss stumbles into the room. "Katniss, I don't think we can leave," Rue says, her voice a low, urgent whisper. "I've checked out the window, and soldiers are absolutely everywhere. We didn't think about that. It would be better to escape during the day, when no one would think to question us should we want to take a walk out in the streets. And if we leave right after breakfast, we'll have the entire day to travel as far as we can before —"
"No," Katniss says, "we can't leave at all." She sinks down against the wall.
"Why not? What happened?" Rue asks, and Katniss almost smiles when she realizes how much this news will mean to Rue. "Katniss, what is it? Did someone see you, or —?" Her eyes are wide.
"Mr. Mellark is alive, Rue," Katniss says. "Peeta is alive. And he's on his way to Winchester."
Rue stares at her. "What?" she whispers.
"I don't know how or what it means or — or anything about it, but there was a list in the desk, Rue. Soldiers expected to arrive next week. And he was right at the top. First Lieutenant. Peeta Mellark."
Rue lets out a little breath, clapping her hand to her mouth, and tears well in her eyes. "Is it our Mr. Mellark? It must be him. Who else has that name? Nobody. Oh, my." She laughs a little and looks at Katniss.
"This means when can't leave," Katniss says. "And I don't say that because I know you want to see him. I say it because — because if we leave, Crane will know no without a doubt that we're the spies, and what do you think he'll do when my supposed husband arrives?" She shakes her head. "And I'm certain that, as a lieutenant, he'll be invited to stay at the Capitol with the other officers."
"And he won't even be able to make up an excuse, because he doesn't even know —"
"That he has a wife?" Katniss says. "No, he doesn't. If we leave, we as good as kill him."
"So we must stay," Rue says. "And we must be the first to greet him, so that we can explain."
Katniss nods. She almost asks if they can trust Peeta, but she stops herself. They can. They must.
"I should return to the kitchens," Rue says. She reaches forward to take Katniss's hand. "But this is good. I know you wanted to run, and we certainly aren't safe here, but this is good. This is good."
Katniss nods, squeezes Rue's hand, and lets Rue slip off into the dark hall.
She undresses slowly, hiding her copied map in her traveling cloak. She can't believe this. How can he still be alive? If he is, why hasn't he written Rue in a year? Her first thought is that perhaps he was injured, but that can't be the case. He would be sent home, not simply to fight elsewhere.
What if he was captured? What if he was in a prison camp? She shudders at the thought.
But she would know if the Confederates successfully raided a prison camp. No, that isn't it.
Does it have to do with whatever important, secret work he does? Katniss is almost tempted to talk to Mr. Abernathy. If she could corner him, explain that she doesn't have any idea what work it is Peeta does, but she needs to do — that could work, right? But, no, she can't trust Mr. Abernathy.
And how will Peeta react when he arrives to find himself with a wife? How will she explain it?
Rue trusts him, and he trusts Rue. He will understand if Rue explains it. He won't betray them. But he might be upset. What if news that a Mrs. Peeta Mellark exists has reached his family and his friends back home? Will he be upset? Her mind flickers for an instant to what Madge said when she first took his name, that he wouldn't mind at all, and her mind rests on what Rue once told her.
He loves her, Rue said. But that is ridiculous. She is indebted to Mr. Mellark. Their relationship extends only that far. It certainly isn't in any way romantic, no matter what anyone else thinks. She can only hope that he remains as kind as she knows him to be, that he helps protect her secret.
And, of course, this is all if she and Rue can be the first to approach him when he arrives.
What happens if it is someone else? What if Cato blithely tells Peeta that his wife will be happy to see him, and Peeta replies with a frown, asking what wife? Her heart pounds at the very thought.
She needs to sleep. She will send Rue with the copied map to Thresh as soon as the sun rises. And she will continue to keep up appearances around the Capitol until the soldiers arrive next Monday.
She doesn't sleep that night. She simply can't. Her mouth tastes like cotton, and her limbs move too slowly as she dresses, but she heads down to the kitchens regardless. Rue is ready with an egg carton. Katniss carefully slips her copied map into an emptied eggshell. Rue leaves, eggs in hand.
Katniss presses her palms into her eyes, overwhelmed.
She needs to work out a plan, a way to assure that either she or Rue is first to talk to Peeta. She can worry about how he reacts after she makes sure the news is delivered well. She needs to find out when exactly on Monday the soldiers arrive in Winchester, and she needs to find out when the officers will arrive at the Capitol. If she can find a way to pull him aside the moment he walks in —
She needs to talk to Mr. Abernathy; he will surely know when the soldiers are expected.
The servants all watch her carefully as she leaves the kitchen, and she knows they aren't sure how to treat her, whether to trust her, whether to consider her a friend. And she honestly doesn't know what to tell them, but she knows the less they have to do with her, the better off they will likely be.
She isn't sure where Mr. Abernathy spends his mornings, but his quarters are on the second landing. She barely even steps foot in the lobby, however, before she spots him, rolling on the balls of his feet, thumbs hooked in his vest pockets, watching the door, waiting for someone.
She frowns, but she starts towards him, opening her mouth to call out.
A hand touches her arm. "Wait," a man whispers.
Her whips around to see a tall, thin, dark man, and he puts a finger to his lips. She nods after a moment, no reason not to trust him, and she looks back at Mr. Abernathy, a frown hidden in his lined face. Another minute, and the hotel porters open the front doors for several officers.
Her breath catches, and Katniss searches their faces for Peeta, a week early.
But he isn't among them, and her eyes quickly stick on the small, slim man who walks at the front, approaching Mr. Abernathy with a calm, blank face. He walks as if he is important, enough stripes on his uniform to confirm it, clearly the man for whom Mr. Abernathy waited. "General," Mr. Abernathy greets, nodding his head, and the man murmurs something Katniss can't hear before he starts towards the stairs, Mr. Abernathy beside him and the other officers trailing behind.
"That is General Coriolanus Snow."
Katniss turns to the man beside her, and he offers a small smile. "And is he someone important?"
"Very," the man replies. "He isn't someone you want to cross."
"And what about you, sir?" Katniss asks.
He smiles, eyes bright. "I can be pretty tough with a spool of thread," he says, and he holds out his hand. "Cinna James." She takes his hand, and the kiss he presses to her knuckles is light and dry.
"Katniss Mellark," she replies.
"I thought so," he says. "I recognized your gown." He nods at her dress. "I made that."
"I beg your pardon," she says, "you made my dress?"
He nods. "Mrs. Abernathy ordered a dozen dresses from me for a lady who had come to stay with her at the Capitol, a Mrs. Peeta Mellark. I must admit, I thought you would be older, as she requested dresses as austere and unassuming as possible. But it seems you are simply sensible."
Katniss thinks she might like Cinna James. "I do appreciate simplicity," she admits.
He smiles. "Not much for high-faluting dress, then?"
"No, sir," she replies, her own smile peaking out.
"Mr. James!" Mrs. Abernathy cries, coming down the stairs. "You are early! Oh, dear, I am terribly sorry! I meant to meet your train, Mr. James, I swear it!" She looks dismayed with herself.
He chuckles. "You are far too apologetic, Mrs. Abernathy. I am no stranger to Winchester. There was no need to meet me at the train." Before she can protest, he continues, smiling. "You look as wonderful as ever. Tell me, who designed that beautiful dress?"
"Oh," Mrs. Abernathy says, giggling a little, "stop it, you old joker!" She looks at Katniss. "And I see you've already met my dear Mrs. Mellark! I adore this woman, Mr. James. I absolutely adore her, oh, yes, I most certainly do! I wish I could keep her with me at the Capitol forever!" She beams, always as sweet as honey. Katniss can only smile, embarrassed, at an amused Mr. James.
"How is Mr. Abernathy?" Mr. James asks. "Well, I hope?"
"Oh, yes, fit as a fiddle," Mrs. Abernathy says, "just as he always is, fit as a fiddle." But her smile isn't quite so bright, and she looks across the lobby to the ubiquitous Confederate guards.
Mr. James touches her arm. "General Snow arrived on my train." His words are almost apologetic, yet a question lingers as well. "The situation in Winchester is that bad?" he asks, voice a murmur.
"Yes, I'm afraid," Mrs. Abernathy whispers. Her eyes flicker to Katniss. "Oh, but it is better now that you've arrived! Mrs. Mellark, did Mr. James tell you that he is to stay at the Capitol while he is in town? He wanted to pay, but I told him, I said, oh, no, sir, under no circumstances shall I accept a penny from you! And he offered instead to pay me in fashion advice — a right darling, isn't he?"
And Mrs. Abernathy hooks arms with Katniss and Mr. James both, leading them towards the stairs, and, oh, Mr. Abernathy said she couldn't waste his money on hats if she didn't already have the dresses with which to wear them, so Mr. James must accompany her to the hat shop, and —
Katniss wants to ask more about this General Snow, but she doubts they would answer her.
She wishes she had asked nonetheless when she arrives at dinner to find the table crowded with not only Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, Cato, Clove, and General Crane, the usuals, but also half a dozen officers, including General Snow, white rose pinned to his uniform, his eyes like a snake's.
As luck would have it, however, a few minutes into the meal Mrs. Abernathy smiles brightly, looks right at General Snow, and asks how long they can expect to enjoy his company at the hotel.
"I'm afraid not long, Mrs. Abernathy," he replies. "I am expected elsewhere."
"Oh, but surely you'll still be with us when the troops from South Carolina arrive?" she asks. "I'm sure they would love to see you! Mr. Abernathy always says a visit from a leader is the best ration a man might offer his troops, isn't that right, dear?" She smiles at Mr. Abernathy, who only grunts.
"Yes, Mr. Abernathy is right," a slim, wiry officers says, "but we're expected in —"
Snow looks at him, eyes sharp, and the man falters.
And Katniss looks at Mr. Abernathy, who actually meets her gaze, a warning in his eyes.
She doesn't understand, but suddenly Snow seems more dangerous than she could've imagined.
"Mrs. Ableman," Snow says, looking at Clove, "I am told you play the piano exceptionally well."
Clove smiles, expression like a smug cat, and she promises to play for all the officers after dinner. Katniss thinks she would rather listen to Buttercup play, and she manages to find an excuse to duck out when dinner is finished, rather than accompany everyone else to the first landing parlor.
She makes her way to the kitchens, where Rue waits with a note from Boggs.
"Another request?" she whispers, uncertain. They need to call as little attention to themselves as possible. Rue only nods, eyes apologetic, and Katniss accepts the note. She doesn't read it until she is in her room for the night. It simply asks her for whatever information she can find about Chattanooga.
The last map she traced was for Chattanooga, wasn't it? She doesn't even know where that is.
Her mind flickers to Peeta, who is apparently on his way from South Carolina. Or is he in a South Carolinian regiment? It doesn't matter. She needs to focus on his arrival in six days rather than on General Snow or requests from Boggs or how Peeta managed to stay alive but not to write.
Marvel stares murderously at his cards. "I'm out." And his eyes snap to John, who only continues to suck on his plug, smirking at Marvel. "Don't look so blamed smug, neither, you fucking Jew."
Peeta tosses another quarter onto the pile. Marvel sends him a filthy look. Peeta spits out his chew.
Arthur starts to deal the third set. "I hate this fucking hill," Marvel declares, leaning back in his seat. "Don't see why we we're waiting to march on Winchester." He steals the jug from Nick, and he grins wolfishly at them all. "Got me some quim waiting, after all." John chuckles and spits.
"Aren't you married?" Peeta asks, keeping his voice disinterested as he looks at his third card.
He needs to fold.
"Ain't that the point?" Marvel replies. "Only reason to marry some twat." He offers the jug to Peeta, who waves him off. If he wanted to drink turpentine, he would at least find a jug that hadn't been touched by the man who just called his own wife a whore. "Always the nancy boy, Mellark."
"I'm out," Peeta says.
"Me, too," Nick adds.
"Last I checked," Arthur says, tossing a quarter onto the table before he starts to deal the fourth round, he and John the only two players left, "that nancy boy saved your life twice in the last year."
"Yes, our beloved Lieutenant is a real hero," Marvel says, "heart and soul devoted to the Confederacy, never even bothers to write home to a girl. But, oh, you gotcha yourself one, don't cha, Lover Boy? Heard you mumble her name in her sleep. What's it, Johnny, 'member? It's Katie, right? Or is it Kate? She your girl? Or you just like to look at her? Tell us, Mellark, d'you even —"
"You are aware, aren't you, Corporal Davis," Peeta interrupts lightly, searching through his pocket for more tobacco, "that I'm your Lieutenant, and I could shoot you right now for insubordination?"
"Well, terrifying as a boat-licker like you is, I better light outta here, huh?" Marvel laughs, derisive.
Peeta ignores him. Arthur folds, John drags his loot towards him, and Nick starts to deal the next round. Peeta almost shakes his head, but he doesn't exactly have anything better to do. "So they gonna keep us in tents outside Winchester, too?" Arthur asks, spitting before he looks at Peeta.
"Nah, they've taken over some hotel," Peeta replies. "Some place called The Capitol." The lowest card is his, and he starts with a nickel. John tosses in a quarter, always too ready to raise the bets.
"My old woman says some drunk captain from the Mexican War owns the place," Marvel offers.
Peeta doesn't understand why Marvel always needs to say something or other. He doesn't like to hate people, but on worse days he thinks that he wouldn't lose much sleep if he did shoot Marvel. If ever he feels guilty about what he does, about the way he betrays John and Arthur and Nick and everybody in his company, all he needs to do is spend about five minutes with Marvel Davis.
It was Marvel who reported to General Snow that Harry Jackson was a Union spy.
And Snow not only put Jackson before a firing squad but also killed his wife and his two-year-old.
It still makes Peeta a little sick even simply to remember.
"They'll keep most men outside town, where Crane already keeps all his boys," Peeta explains, "but we'll be up in the hotel. And we'll be around for a while, too, to help Crane keep Winchester."
"How hard can it be to keep one cussed little town?" Nick asks.
Peeta shrugs. "Yankees are still strong around the whole place," he says, "or that's what I'm told."
The tent flaps rustle, and John easily shoves the moonshine jug beneath the table, but it's only Abraham Snyder who appears. "Guess what I just found out, boys!" he says, smirking, smug.
"We're playing five-card stud. You want in?" Nick asks. Peeta thinks maybe he should offer to let Abraham take his place. He needs to finish his next editorial before the information isn't any good.
But Abraham doesn't respond, his eyes on Marvel. "Looks like you ain't gonna have nobody waiting on you in Winchester, Davis," he says, somehow triumphant, a letter clutched in his hand.
"What the dickens you on about now, Abe?" Marvel replies, tossing a quarter in.
Abraham waves the letter in the air. "Just got word from old Matty Rochester, staying up in Winchester under Crane. You remember Matty." He looks almost feral as he stares at Marvel, and Peeta knows that he isn't the only person who hates Marvel. "Don't you remember him?"
"Yeah, I remember Matty," Marvel says. "Kid is a worse pie eater than Mellark. What of him?"
"He got lots to say in this last letter, he does," Abraham says. "Turns out there's plenty to talk about up in this fancy hotel where Crane is. Some sweet Southern lady caught some 'nother lady spying for them Yankees, and Crane shot the woman clean in the throat 'fore she could skedaddle."
"What the devil's that got to do with me?" Marvel spits. But Peeta understands.
Abraham grins. "It was Glimmer Davis that got shot. Your wife."
"The fuck it was," Marvel breathes, head snapping up from his cards.
"Says it right here," Abraham says, holding up the letter. "Glimmer Davis. A Union spy. Dead."
Marvel is on his feet, hand reaching for his musket, propped against the table. John reaches the musket first, and Arthur holds out a steadying hand. "Don't cha go opening no ball now, Marv."
"I haven't even told you the best part yet," Abraham says. "About the woman who caught her."
"This is all bull," Marvel spits, his whole face contorted. "My wife spies for the Confederates, you damn cocksucker. The woman would hang herself before she'd ever spy for those bastard Yanks."
"That's not what Crane thought when a lady at the hotel caught her rooting through his desk. But you haven't asked me who it was yet. Come on, Davis. Wanna know who tattled on the missus?"
And his eyes flicker to Peeta.
"My wife ain't a fucking Union spy!" Marvel snarls, "and she ain't dead, neither!"
"Well, I'm just gonna tell you," Abraham says, almost gleeful. "You've always hated that everybody loves our Lieutenant Mellark, 'cluding the Captain. So you're really gonna love this. The woman that good as killed yours — "And he brandishes the letter. "— one Mrs. Peeta Mellark."
Peeta chokes on his chew.
"What?" Marvel hisses, and he easily snatches the letter from Abraham. His eyes run across the page for a moment, his gaze snap up to Peeta, and he abruptly shoves Abraham aside and stumbles out of the tent. But every eye in the tent is on a stunned Peeta, and after a moment Arthur speaks.
"So you do got a wife, Peet. How come you've never told us?"
"Effie, will the officers who arrive tomorrow come immediately to the hotel?"
Effie only tuts. "We must compensate for your bosom as best we can, my dear," Effie tells her, "so shoulders back!" And she presses her hand to Katniss's lower back, forcing her to stand straighter.
"Effie," Katniss presses, "when the soldiers arrive tomorrow —"
"They'll set up camp outside the town, I would imagine," Effie says, arranging the curls she just put in Katniss's hair. "And the officers will oversee that before they arrive. But why does it matter? Are you excited to see all our lovely officers? Oh, my, Mrs. Mellark, and here I thought you were a taken woman! But, no, no, I'm only teasing!" And she swats Katniss lightly, giggling to herself.
"I simply wondered," Katniss says, wishing she hadn't asked. "I'm sure it'll cause a terrible fuss when they arrive," she adds, smacking Effie's hands when the older woman tries to pinch Katniss's cheeks, "and you know I'm not much for fusses. I would like to be as prepared as I can be, is all."
"You know what would help," Effie says, stepping back, her eyes bright.
"What?" Katniss asks, suspicious.
"If you greeted our officers with a hoop —"
"No, Effie," Katniss says, "no hoop skirts. At all. You managed to force one on me once before, and you shan't do it a second time, let me assure you." She crosses her arms over her chest.
"But you look so common without them!" Effie whines. "You might as well work in the kitchens!"
Katniss coughs to hide her snort.
"A girl as pretty as you, only one and twenty, and you won't even let me —"
"If you try to put me in another hoop skirt, Effie Trinket, I will take up a job in the kitchens."
Effie looks aghast at the threat, and Katniss pats her shoulder. "I'm glad we understand each other."
She eats breakfast with Mrs. Abernathy, who invites Katniss to accompany her into town afterward with Mr. James. Katniss shakes her head. As much as she likes Mr. James, she isn't interested in a hat shop. She uses her flowers as an excuse, and she makes her way to the garden as soon as breakfast is finished. She can feel herself bake under the sun, a bright, blinding white, the moment she steps outside.
This summer is far too hot, even for a Virginian.
She forgot a hat, but she kneels down in the shade the small dogwood provides, her pinstripe dress billowing around her legs. She actually likes this dress, the soft material such a pretty orange, the cuffs more sensible than they usually are, the sleeves less restrictive. She sends a silent thanks to Mr. James, and she tries to prune her flowers.
She might need to fetch water for the poor plants.
But it is a lost cause, she suspects. The Winchester heat is simply too much for any flowers to handle. She pats her face dry with the ridiculous silk hanky from Effie, and she moves to her feet. She turns to return inside, perhaps to sneak to the kitchens for water, but she stops, startled.
General Snow stands with his back straight, his hands clasped behind his back, his face impassive.
But suddenly he smiles, stretching his puffy lips. "I am told you tend to this garden," he says. "Mrs. Mellark, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," she says, and she curtsies her best. "I have always loved to garden."
"I as well," he replies. "I possess a particular fondness for roses myself."
"They are certainly beautiful," Katniss says. It's quiet. She doesn't know what to do, if she should wait to be dismissed, if she should try to make conversation, if she should simply wait for him to indicate how she should act. His blank eyes are on her wilting, dying flowers, so she stares at them, too.
"I am told I should thank you, Mrs. Mellark," he murmurs, "for your service to our Confederacy."
"Such gratitude is unnecessary," Katniss says, twisting the hanky around her fingers, hidden in her skirt pocket. "I am only happy that my flowers led me to cross paths with the treacherous woman."
"Yes," Snow says, "indeed." He smiles at her for another short moment. "Tell me, Mrs. Mellark, from where do you hail? Your accent points to the west, I think, to the Appalachians, perhaps?"
She starts to answer, dangerous territory ahead, but she is spared when General Crane appears. Snow looks at him for a long moment before he turns back to Katniss, and she knows what he wants, is grateful for it. "I will leave you to admire the flowers, General Snow," she says, curtseying at General Crane before she makes her escape.
The door doesn't shut entirely behind her, however, and her heart stops when she realizes that, standing in the small, shadowy alcove a few feet from the door, hidden from view, she can hear every word the generals say. She can eavesdrop. She steps back, pressing herself to the wall.
"General —" Crane starts.
"I do not intend to stay any longer in Winchester, Seneca," Snow interrupts. "I am needed elsewhere. Winchester is your responsibility, if you recall, and it is a responsibility you can handle, I trust?"
"It is, sir," Crane replies. "Worry not."
"I will most certainly worry," Snow says coldly, "I am not impressed with your work thus far, Seneca. I would not be in Winchester if I were. But perhaps you do not understand our situation."
"I understand, sir," Crane says, "I do. It is simply that after Gettysburg —"
"Gettysburg," Snow spits. "Don't talk to me about Gettysburg." He pauses. "Let me make something very clear, Seneca. After Gettysburg, and with that drunkard Grant in the west, this war is no longer a certain victory for the Confederacy. We cannot afford to let any Union sympathies thrive in a place as strategically important as that difficult for you to understand?"
"No, sir," Crane says, voice small.
"Good," Snow says. It is quiet for a moment, and Katniss can easily imagine how anxious Crane is. "I am to leave for Chattanooga tomorrow," Snow finally continues, "but I shall return in a month. When I return, I expect to find every Unionist in Winchester, man, woman, and child, in the ground. That includes those in this hotel. I shall not let the Confederacy suffer any more losses because you are unable to keep secret information secret, Seneca." His voice is icy, dark, terrifying.
She almost pities Crane, as awful as he is.
"We have already dealt with the unfortunate —"
"No, Seneca, you have not. The cockroaches in this hotel are more numerous than you would like to think. Find them all, kill them all, or, make no mistake, I will burn see all Winchester burn for it."
Katniss is afraid to breathe.
"That is all, Seneca."
She tries to fade into the wall when the door slams open suddenly, but Crane doesn't see her; he doesn't even look to the left and to her hidden alcove as he disappears down the hall. The door shuts behind him, but Katniss waits for a moment, worried that Snow will follow and realize she never truly left. She can't hide forever, though, and she moves, cautious, footsteps silent, past the door.
And she walks down the hall. She reaches the stairs, safety. She almost laughs at her own thought.
She is not safe anywhere in this hotel.
She hides away in the library, always empty, untouched by the soldiers. She picks a book to hold in her lap on the small chance anyone should abruptly appear, and she settles into her usual window seat, where she can see the street well, can see all the patrolling Confederate soldiers.
She needs to think. General Crane will surely become more vigilant than ever against traitors. But, more pressing, General Snow intends to head to Chattanooga. She still doesn't even know where that is, but she knows she risked her life to trace a map labeled with the name, and she knows that Boggs is desperate for as much information on it as she can possibly manage to provide for him.
If someone as important as Snow is on his way to Chattanooga, he must have information about it.
She tells herself not even to think it, yet this is it. This is her final opportunity to help the Union.
Peeta arrives tomorrow with the other soldiers, and that will be it. Even if she is able to speak to him first, or by some miracle Rue can, even if he agrees to keep her secret, she knows escape is their best option, lest they risk their lives or his any more. Her short time as a spy ends tonight.
What about at dinner?
It isn't too terribly long, and it is certainly riskier than sneaking in at night, but Snow won't expect it. Katniss can feign illness and find herself excused from the meal. No one will have reason to suspect a lie; after all, she is the woman who caught another spy. And while Snow and Crane and their favorite officers are at a private dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, Katniss can do it.
She can sneak into the suite where Snow stays. She can find out about Chattanooga. She can do it.
She finds Rue in the kitchens, peeling potatoes. "The fifth landing," she whispers, "where Snow stays, how well is it guarded?" Rue doesn't answer for a moment, but she looks at Katniss with wide, worried eyes. "Snow knows something about Chattanooga. I think I can find out what."
Rue hesitates. "I can take a rag, pretend to dust, see what the situation is," she murmurs at last.
Katniss retreats to the library. She finds an atlas, and she looks up Chattanooga. It's in the west.
Tennessee.
She looks out to the street, where light rain falls. A soldiers spits in the road. The door opens softly, and Rue appears, rag in hand, stance careful. But she quickly realizes that Katniss is alone, and she closes the door before she speaks. "A few guards are at the top of the main stairs," she says, "that's all. Snow stays in the largest suit, the one at the end of the hall with the double doors."
Katniss nods. "If I take the servant stairs, I can —"
"Why don't I do it?" Rue asks. "They won't suspect me, a slave. They won't even notice me!"
"No," Katniss says, "I can't let you risk it."
Those aren't the right words, and she can see the resolve form in Rue. "But you can risk it? You're as terrible as Mr. Mellark! I'm just as able and as willing to risk my life for what is right, Katniss!"
"Yes," Katniss says, searching for the right excuse, "but I — I told Mr. Mellark that I would look after you, Rue." And it isn't even an excuse. It's a real reason. "He said you were a little sister to him, his family, and I agreed to look after you. I've already put you in enough danger, bringing you on the run with me, trapping you in this hotel with me, asking you to deliver information for me. When Mr. Mellark arrives tomorrow, I should be able to say I did at least one thing to protect you. This is it."
Her jaw is clenched, but slowly Rue nods. "Fine. But tell me when you plan to sneak in. I can help with a distraction, or make sure that no one comes across you. I need to help. You can't stop me."
She looks so fierce as she speaks, and it makes Katniss smile despite herself. "I won't try," Katniss tells her. "I think dinner is the perfect time. If you can tell Mrs. Abernathy I don't feel well, I'm sure I'll be excused, and I can use that time when I am certain that they'll all be in that dining room."
"And I'll find a reason to hover outside the dining room," Rue says, "and if anyone leaves unexpectedly, I'll find a way to warn you. Or would it be better if I were on the fifth landing?"
Katniss shakes her head. "I'm most worried about Snow and Crane. I can handle anyone else who might catch me." She isn't so sure about that, but she is sure that she would rather be caught and cornered by any other soldier, or even someone like that awful Clove.
Rue nods, before she surges forward suddenly to hug Katniss. "Be careful," she whispers.
Katniss closes her eyes for a moment. "I will."
But it is already past four, and she needs to set the stage. She heads back to her room and changes into her nightgown, letting her hair out, washing off all her makeup, and she splashes soap into her eyes to rim them in red. She slips into bed only minutes before Mrs. Abernathy appears. "Oh, my dear!" Mrs. Abernathy exclaims, and she tells Katniss she will send for tea and for a warm cloth.
"I think I need to rest, is all," Katniss murmurs. "I haven't slept well lately."
"Oh, you poor sweetheart," Mrs. Abernathy murmurs, stroking her hair. "It hasn't been easy to sleep in Winchester these past few weeks, has it? Oh, dear, dear. I will make excuses for you at dinner, how does that sound? And I shall come to check on you myself afterward, and I can bring you a little food if your stomach will allow it. How does that sound?" She smiles, eyes kind.
Katniss nods. "Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy."
"No need to thank me, dear, no need at all."
She stays to fuss over Katniss for another hour, leaving only for a few minutes to fetch the promised tea and warm cloth, but finally she leaves with several assurances that she will be back to check on Katniss as soon as dinner is finished. Katniss almost feels bad for her deception.
But better to deceive Mrs. Abernathy about her plan than to involve her in it.
She waits until she is certain they are all seated, dinner on their plates, before she dares to dress and to leave her room. She takes the narrower stairs meant for the servants, and she finds the fifth landing almost empty. Almost. She doesn't breathe as she hurries across the hall that opens to the main stairs and allows Katniss to be, for just a moment, visible to the two Confederate soldiers on guard.
She reaches the room at the far end of the hall unnoticed.
The doors open silently under her hands, and she slips unnoticed into the room, closing the doors just as quietly. Her own room truly is inelegant compared to this suite, but she doesn't have time to dwell. She moves immediately to the desk tucked into the corner, careful not to let herself be seen in the window, lest someone from the street notice her and become suspicious. The desk is much neater than Crane's.
It must be just as neat when Katniss is finished.
The first desk drawer revels nothing important; the second desk drawer holds only blank paper.
She starts to panic a little. How can she be sure he has any actual papers that explain Confederate plans for Chattanooga? He might not. And if he does, they must say Chattanooga, else she cannot recognize them for what they are. She looks at the clock over the mantle. She cannot waste any time on worried thoughts. She cannot let panic handicap her at all. She slides open the next drawer.
And the door to the suite starts to open.
Her heart suddenly pounds so loudly she can't hear anything else. She slams the drawer shut, moves from behind the desk, tries to imagine any possible excuse, but it is too late. She is found out. General Snow stares straight at her, his face blank, but General Crane sneers, face contorted.
She is caught.
Rue didn't have time to warn Katniss. Or maybe she tried, and —
"Tell me, Mrs. Mellark," Crane snarls, spit flying from his lips, "are you here to tend to your flowers?"
She can't speak; her voice is trapped in her throat. She can only stand, rigid, trapped, soon dead.
Crane tears his revolver from his belt. "Answer me, you filthy fucking —!"
Snow raises his hand, and Crane is struck silent, but she can see the fumes fester in his face. Her eyes are drawn to Snow, however, whose awful black stare sends ice spiraling inside her stomach.
"It seems you've become complacent, Mrs. Mellark," he says, voice cold and calm, "under the impression that Crane is too stupid to station guards outside his parlor. But I am no such fool, and I am aware when anyone who shouldn't be is in my quarters." His eyes narrow, and the ice spreads through her vines, reaching her fingertips and touching her toes and curling up around her heart.
Crane cocks his revolver.
"To whom do you report, Mrs. Mellark?" Snow asks, the words a low hiss.
She doesn't respond. She knows her own death is imminent, but she will not let Rue or Boggs or Thresh be killed as well. She can do at least that much. She can offer this last stand for the Union.
"I am not about to let General Crane kill you in a furious temper," Snow continues. "If you do not tell me what I ask, I can see that your death is long and torturous and painful, an unending death."
She curls her toes, and she presses her lips together, and she doesn't let herself tremble.
"Shoot her knees," Snow says sharply. Crane doesn't hesitate to straighten his arm, the revolver pointed right at her, and Katniss starts to close her eyes, waiting to hear the revolver fire, but instead she only hears the door thrown open. Her eyes fly to the door, to the man who bursts in.
"Katniss!" he exclaims, desperate and delighted, his face so bright, a smile stretching from ear to ear, and he doesn't even notice a stunned Crane and a murderous Snow as he hurries across the room, straight to her, his hair falling in his face, his shirt untucked, his grey cap askew on his head.
And, as Crane and Snow only watch, an oblivious Peeta Mellark kisses her right on the mouth.
tbc.
a/n: This chapter is a little shorter — but I just had to end it at that moment! I realized (thanks to a review!) that I hadn't told you how old they are, so I tried to slip that in for you, but in case you missed it — Katniss and Peeta are twenty-one. Anyway, the next chapter is a really, really fun one, so I hope you're excited! It should be up within a week! :)