The Citadel

There must be some way out of here,
Said the joker to the thief,
There's too much confusion,
I can't get no relief.

Bob Dylan

'Front door or back?' Peter asked. We were standing on the verge of the Quai Des Bergues looking up the narrow street through which we had entered Geneva four days earlier. I was wearing my floral dress and Peter was in his colourful suit.

I thought. If we went in through the back door and met somebody in the corridors we'd be automatically treated as intruders. But if we entered by the front door there'd be bound to be somebody on a desk who would ask us our business. Now if only I were a witch, I'd have been able to send Alfie into the building and he'd have been able to spy out the land on my behalf.

Spy out the land... Right.

'Stay here,' I said to Peter. 'I'm just going to pop in and see what I can find. Have a look around. Could you lend me your notebook?'

He looked surprised, but opened his knapsack, got the book out and gave it to me. I took it from him and put it under my left arm, together with my papers and my own book. 'See you in a minute or two,' I said.

I walked up the street, ascended the steps and tried the door handle. Good, it was unlocked. This entrance was almost certainly used by the people who worked in the building. I walked in, trying to look as this was what I did every day of the week. I didn't look back as I let the street door close silently behind me. As I remembered, there was a corridor beyond which led deep into the heart of the building. What I hadn't remembered, because he hadn't been there before, was the armed sentry who stood in front of the door which led to the cellar room. That changed things. Oh well, I couldn't just stand there. I gathered up the papers I was carrying in one hand and offered the crook of my elbow to Alfie. Looking straight ahead I strode down the corridor, hoping that I wouldn't be challenged and trying to make up a story that would cover me if I were. As I passed the sentry I gave him a quick bonjour. He stiffened his already rigid stance and grasped his halberd even more firmly. His eyes never moved.

At the far end of the corridor there was, as I'd hoped, a staircase on the right hand side just before a pair of wooden swing doors. It went both upstairs and downstairs; light above and dark below. I climbed up it until I reached the first floor and had a look around the landing. As I'd expected, this floor was laid out exactly the same as the ground floor except that there were many more doors. Each door carried a brass nameplate. I strolled to the end of the corridor, noting that its linoleum floor was slightly damp as if it had been washed recently. Then I returned to the staircase, walked down it again, turned right at the bottom and passed through the swing doors. Beyond them was a large hallway with, as I had expected, a reception desk to one side. At the far end a set of glass doors lead out to the street. Good. That was all I needed. I stepped out, with all the self-confidence I could muster, across the hall. Half-way across, I turned and faced the reception desk. A young man was sitting at it, dressed in a uniform of green serge and wearing a peaked cap. I called out to him that I would only be gone for five minutes and left the building by the glass doors. A wide set of steps led down to street level. Over the doors was a sign, which read Ministère de l'Emploi. Splendid.

I followed the street until it joined with the Quai des Bergues. Then I turned left and walked until I reached the narrow street which led to the back of the building. Peter was standing about twenty yards down from the steps, looking worried. 'Mister Parry!' I called out.

'Sam!' He sounded pleased and relieved to see me and when Alfie and I reached him he threw his right arm around me and gave me a hug. I let him hold me - I needed his support as much as he needed mine. I was shaking all over.

'Right,' I said after a minute or two. 'I can get us in. Are you still sure you want to come with me?'

'You mean, will I get in the way?'

'No, Peter.' I pecked him on the cheek. 'I don't mean that. We're both in this together. I won't leave you behind.'

He looked me in the eyes. 'No. I don't believe you will.'

I kissed him again. 'Good. Anyway, I need you. Now, here's what we're going to do...'

- 0 -

My uniform was rolled up and stored in Peter's knapsack. He wore the sword, hanging loosely from his belt. If I needed it, I would take it from him. I hoped I wouldn't need it. We walked as quickly as we could without drawing attention to ourselves. Peter refused to let me help him in the street, but I held his right hand as we climbed the steps at the front of the building and I opened the door for him. We crossed the hallway, Peter's stump going bang-bang-bang on the marble floor. The guard on the desk looked up as we approached. He recognised me, just as I intended.

'Pour Monsieur Delacroix,' I said. 'Deuxième étage.'

The guard looked up at me. 'Vous attend-il?'

Yes, I told him, we were expected. The gentleman with me was going to see him for a consultation. There was no need to call Monsieur Delacroix as we were expected. Thank you, you're very kind. We'll go on through.

I helped Peter through the swing doors and we climbed the stairs to the first floor and entered the corridor. As I had hoped, all the office doors were still closed. It was a quiet morning, perhaps because our forces were now so close that everyone had left their rooms and gone to see what was happening. We walked down the corridor as quietly as we could, just the same, passing E.A. Delacroix's office on the left, according to the nameplate on its door. At the end was a smaller door without a plate. I tried the handle. It was locked. Good.

'Right, Mister Clockmaker. Give me that knapsack.' Peter handed it over to me and I rummaged around in it. I found his tool-roll, untied the strings that held it closed and gave it to him. 'I'm going to bet,' I said with a smile, 'that you can pick that door's lock in, oh, thirty seconds.'

'Twenty,' said Peter, and gave me another of his unexpectedly gorgeous grins.

It took him over a minute, actually. I was tempted to turn round and keep an eye open for people coming up the stairs, but that would have looked more than a little suspicious so I settled for pinning back my ears and listening hard. I don't actually know what we'd have done if we had been discovered. Anyway, the lock opened with a click and Peter and I let ourselves into the storeroom beyond. As I had hoped, it was unoccupied, except for a pair of metal cupboards, some mops and brooms and a bucket or two. It smelled musty and close, but there was a window set high in the end wall so we had some light.

'Right,' I said. 'All we have to do now is sit tight.' What I was planning on was this: Even though Geneva was a city under siege I knew that, just like in London, people who worked in everyday administrative jobs would keep to their familiar everyday routines as much as they possibly could. The civil servants who worked in the Department of Employment in Geneva would be exactly like their counterparts in London.

Peter and I sat down on the floor. I was pretty sure we wouldn't be disturbed. The corridor outside had been mopped - I checked the mop; it was damp and evil-smelling. Hadn't they heard of bleach? That was what we used when we cleaned the floors in Mornington. So the cleaners had finished with this floor and they had locked away their tools for the day. I checked my watch. It was nine o'clock. If the workers here were like the ones in London, they'd have a one-hour lunch break between twelve o'clock and one. That would be the most dangerous time, but also the one with the most opportunities for taking a break; mixed up with the crowd as we would be.

- 0 -

Peter and I sat and sat and sat. If we had been in a room in a building in the real world outside, we'd have seen a square of sunlight from the window move across the wall as the day passed. But this world was not real and neither was its light. So we sat and dozed and chatted. About everything, really. Peter told me all about his home in Tring when he was a boy, and his apprenticeship at James and James, and meeting Lyra and losing Lyra and marrying Jane and his two sons, Daniel and George. About how the business grew and grew and they now lived in a big new house in north Oxford with a maid and a cook and lawns running down to the Cherwell and a boathouse with a punt and a skiff and a motor-launch.

I told him about home and my attic room and about Aunt Sybil. I told him the story that Daddy had told me about the day he met Mummy in Lisbon and how their eyes had met across the dinner table at the Ambassador's Residence. I talked about Highdean and Mornington, and the holidays we'd had in Argyll and Cambria and the Isle de Serque. 'I've love to visit the Disunited States one day,' I said, being careful to keep my voice down.

After that I borrowed Peter's book again and read the rest of the stories in it. Then I slept for a while and woke up with a crick in my neck. Peter had shifted position and was resting against one of the cupboards with his eyes closed. I knew without Alfie having to tell me that he had taken a dose of laudanum and for the first time in ages I was angry with him. It was so unfair, drifting off into poppyland and leaving me by myself. So I lay, half-awake and half-asleep, sometimes disturbed by the voices in the hallway outside, sometimes not.

- 0 -

After approximately ten thousand years of sitting on the floor of the Department of Employment I was startled into wakefulness by a a change in the colour of the light. At last! It was eight o'clock and the floodlights had been turned down. It was night-time in Geneva. I got to my feet with a groan of aching legs and shook Peter's shoulder, hoping that he wouldn't be too doped-up to respond. His eyes blinked open and, with my help, he staggered to his feet.

'This is it, I said. 'Let's go and see if we can find the Word.'

'You still think it'll be here?' Peter's speech was slightly slurred.

'Yes. I doubt if it'll be in any of these offices, though. I don't suppose the officials of the Department of Employment know anything about it.'

'Even assuming Alfie's guess turns out to be right.'

'Even so. Anyway, I think it'll be in a ground-floor room. Imagine you're a Cardinal or perhaps even the Blessed Pierre Leroque himself, and you're running for your life. You dash down the hill from the Citadel and you come to this place. You're on your way to the tunnel. You're not going to go running up and down the stairs, are you? You're going to want to pick it up on your way. So let's try to follow the path he'd take.'

'And keep a look out for night-watchmen and guards.'

'Absolutely yes.'

So, keeping a look out for night-watchmen and guards, we left the store room and crept back down the corridor to the staircase. Once we reached the ground floor I held a finger to my lips and looked around the corner to the back door. Would the sentry still be there? The answer seemed to be no, so far as I could see in the darkness. That was good. I didn't stop to wonder why the sentry had left his post but he would hardly be standing there with the lights off, would he?

Which way would a fleeing priest come? Front door, or back? Front, said Alfie, and I agreed with him. I beckoned to Peter and slowly opened the swing doors which led to the entrance lobby. Was there anyone on the desk? No, and that was good too. I decided that the building had been completely deserted and everybody there, whether day or night workers, had gone to the western side of the dome, awaiting the breaking of the siege by our troops and the liberation of the city. A loud thump from overhead confirmed me in my belief.

I was made somewhat uneasy by the fact that the lobby was more or less open to the street, because of its glass doors. We would not be able to risk turning the lights on. Never mind, there was enough light to see by. 'Now,' I said, 'you're in a hurry. You run up the steps, you throw open the door. You run into this lobby. You're on your way though those swing doors and you want to collect a copy of the Word. Where do you get it from? Who has it?'

'Easy!' said Alfie.

Peter frowned. 'Is it?' Viola's ears pricked forward.

'Yes, it is' she said, and pointed to the desk. 'The guard has it. He hands it over to the Cardinal or whoever it is.'

'Got it,' said Alfie. 'Score another one for daemonkind!'

'So the Word is kept in a drawer in this desk. Let's have a look.'

Of course we had no idea of what we were looking for. The desk was big and solid, made of granite or marble or something like that and we quickly discovered that it wasn't fitted with drawers of any kind.

'All right', I said. Not here. But...' I pointed to the wall behind the desk. It was made of the same polished stone that covered the floor and up against it stood a pair of wooden cabinets with glass doors. They contained all kinds of stuff - books, directories, photograms, trophies, glass paperweights, models of Zeppelins and rockets and gyropters. A poster on the wall between the cabinets showed a happy, determined-looking man wearing blue overalls and holding a riveting hammer. Behind him was a ship in the course of construction and across the top of the poster, in large black letters, were the words Le Travail Libère.

None of these things looked very much like the Word of God.

'Oh,' I said, disappointed. It looked as if we had spent the whole day cooped up in a smelly room for nothing. 'Sod it. Let's go home. I'm fed up.'

'Wait a minute. What about looking behind the poster?' said Peter. 'There could be a safe hidden there.'

'All right,' I said. 'We might as well, now we're here.'

We lifted the poster and its frame away from the wall. And yes! There was a block of stone which had wider gaps around it than the rest of the wall and a keyhole set into it. I clapped my hand across Peter's shoulder. Gently, of course. 'Open Sesame!' I said.

It took Peter rather longer to open this lock than the other. In fact it took nearly an hour and I have to say that I would have given up after the first ten minutes. But, with a sigh of satisfaction from Viola, Peter eventually stood up, slipped a screwdriver into the keyhole and used it as a lever to open the safe door. We leaned forward and looked inside, our hearts beating fast with anticipation. It was completely, laughably empty.

Damn, damn, damn. 'That's it then,' I said. 'Let's go back.' And I turned to do so, intending to go back through the swing doors and either leave the building by the back entrance or head for the tunnel and safety. But as I turned a little flicker of red light caught my eye. It came from the right-hand cabinet and I supposed it was a reflection from its glass door. But wait - the light outside was blue not red. I approached the cabinet more closely. Nothing... yes. Another red flash. I turned to Peter. 'Look at this...'

It was one of the glass paperweights. From a distance of more than a yard or so, and in normal light, it would have looked exactly like an ordinary piece of glass. But in the dark, and up close, you could see... what? A point of red light that pulsed once a second and dim green lines that chased themselves around inside the glass. A structure - like a city made of spectral blue light, and the moving green lines were its streets and people. The glass crystal was alive.

'That's it,' I said, full of a great illuminating certainty. 'That's it! It must be. Let's grab it and skedaddle.' I opened the cabinet door. That was easy; it wasn't locked. I put my hand in and lifted the paperweight, which was oddly light. 'Okay! Let's go!'

But as I turned to put the paperweight in my pocket, every light in the lobby came on simultaneously, blinding Peter and me. At the same time, men armed with crossbows pushed open the street doors, stepped through and pointed their weapons at us. The swing doors banged as more men thrust them back against their hinges and stood behind us. A man - an officer - stepped forward. He spoke, and his voice was high in pitch but perfectly accented. He addressed us in English.

'You will put that object carefully on the desk. You will drop all your possessions and stand perfectly still with your hands in the air. You will come with me and you will attempt no resistance. You will obey my orders immediately and without hesitation, or I will have you killed.'

- 0 -

Peter and I were separated as soon as we reached the Citadel. My watch was taken from me. Alfie and I were taken to a small cell and locked inside. It was equipped with a plank bed, one blanket and a bucket. I supposed that Peter had been taken to another identical cell. I called out, 'Peter, Peter!' but there was no reply, not even from the policemen who had, with perfect courtesy and an implacable firm grip, conducted me there.

I was left in the cell for an indeterminate length of time. I was forced to use the bucket, which had no cover. A tube set in the ceiling of the cell shed a steady grey light, like the glow of the dome outside. I had no idea of where we were, only that we had been taken up the hill in a windowless van and that we had gone down more steps than we had gone up after entering the fortress which lay at the heart of the city of Geneva.

I slept fitfully. The cell was neither hot nor cold, but the bed was hard. While I slept the bucket was replaced and food - artificial food such as Peter and I had eaten in our attic - left on a tray. There was a water-jug in the corner of the cell, made of some unbreakable material. I was given no eating utensils. I had nothing but the shoes and clothes I was wearing. The walls of the cell were made of grey metal and there was no window. I felt as if I had been buried alive.

Alfie had the idea that I should pretend to sleep and, when the tray was next taken, use the water-jug as a weapon and make my escape. To where? I asked him. We don't know the way out of here.

- 0 -

After the tray and the bucket had been taken and replaced three times, two green-uniformed men came to the cell door and opened it. They led me voicelessly up six flights of stone stairs to a room which was equipped with a table, two chairs and a light-tube.

On the table rested a cage, made of a shimmering silvery metal that I did not recognise.

One of the men motioned to me to sit down. I followed his order and sat with Alfie held in my lap. I wanted the bucket again. The men left. I heard a key turn in the lock.

After five minutes the door behind me opened again and a tall, thin man with a hound-daemon walked in. He held a clipboard with a pencil hanging from it on a piece of string. He sat down opposite me.

'Your papers state that you are Driver Moon of the Brytish Ambulance Brigade, and that your service number is 040216.'

'040261,' I corrected him.

'Thank you,' he said in his colourless voice, and made a note on his clipboard. He raised his hand and lifted a trapdoor in the top of the cage. I felt a twinge of alarm. 'Would you put your daemon in this box, please?'

'What?'

'It is necessary for the proper conduct of this interview that your daemon be put under restraint. You will place him in the box, please. I take it that you are not a witch?'

'No...no.'

'That is good. We would not want you to fly away from us, would we? Now,' and his voice took on an edge like a cleaver's, 'if you do not put your daemon in the box by yourself right now, I will have a man come in who will take him from you as gently as he can and put him in the box for you. Is that what you would prefer?'

A man? A strange man? Handle my Alfie? My throat went tight, as if I were throttling myself, or being strangled with a cord. Alfie squealed in panic.

'No!' I gasped. 'Not that!' And feeling like a traitor I took Alfie and lowered him into the box. The man slid a bolt across the trapdoor and turned a knob on the side of the cage.

'There! He's perfectly safe, and only I know the combination which will release him. Now we can relax and have a nice, friendly conversation.'

I was seething with a mixture of fright and indignation. 'Where's Peter? Where have you taken him?'

'Ah, so his name is Peter, is it?' The interrogator made another note. 'You may rest assured, Driver Moon, that he is being looked after every bit as well as we are looking after you. Now then,' he leaned forward, 'why are you here?'

'Because you brought me here?'

'That was a clever answer, but the wrong one.' The man stabbed his pencil into the cage and Alfie screamed with pain. So did I, over and over again.

The interrogator smiled without showing his teeth. 'I think we understand each other now.' His eyes were as colourless as his voice and his clipped hair a pale shade of brown. 'Tell me who you are and why you are here.'

I took a deep breath to calm myself. 'My full name is Sonya Clarice Moon. I am a driver in the Brytish Ambulance Brigade. My service number is 040261. I am not required under the Articles Of War to furnish you with any more information than that.'

'Why are you here?'

'I do not have to tell you that, but I will tell you this. My father is Captain Sir Ronald Moon. He is a King's Minister in the Brytish Government. Brytain is an ally of the Holy City of Geneva. Brytish men and women are fighting and dying to liberate this city from the Pagan Horde.'

'I know that. Why are you here?'

'Aren't you listening to me? We are allies. We are both fighting on the same side.'

'You are a spy. You were discovered in clandestine operations by the security forces of the City of Geneva. What were you doing? Why have you been hiding in the city? What were you looking for in the Department of Employment? Were you planting a bomb? Who or what was your target? Why were you carrying a weapon? What was the function of the cripple who was accompanying you? You will answer all these questions promptly and truthfully.' He jabbed the pencil into Alfie's cage again. Darkness followed.

Sunny. Don't answer him. It doesn't matter. I'm all right. He can't really hurt me.

Oh Alfie. You're so brave.

Am I?

I waited until my breathing had become more or less normal. Then I picked myself up from the floor and sat in the chair, facing my tormentor.

'You filthy little man. Don't you see how much trouble you are in? Do you realise what will happen to you when my father learns how you have been treating me? Soon the Brytish army will break through the last of the Pagan defences. Soon this city will be free. Soon I will be free. What do you want me to tell the liberators? What shall I tell my father?' I drew a deep breath and looked the interrogator bang in the eyes. 'I demand, as is my right as a Brytish subject, immediate access to the Brytish Consul. You will arrange this. It is my absolute right.'

Well done, Sunny! You tell the bastard!

The interrogator smiled mirthlessly. 'You are a spy. You have no rights.'

- 0 -

They took me back to my cell. My cell, I say, but it could have been another, identical one. It was impossible to tell. I wondered what was happening to Peter. I felt guilty about betraying his name, although Alfie comforted me by saying that it was not a secret and that Peter had probably told his interviewer about me.

The light went on and off at irregular intervals. When it was dim I tried to sleep, but it quite often came back on again not long after I had dropped off, waking me up. The walls of the cell seemed to tremble with a deep vibration which I found very unsettling.

Time passed. There was a period when the light flickered continuously, making red patterns behind my eyes. I wanted to scream, but Alfie came and put his paws over my face, protecting me. After that, I slept with his body lying across my eyes and it was better for a while until the metal walls started to shake and boom as if men were striking them from outside with mallets.

Twice more, I was taken up the interrogation room for questioning. I refused to put Alfie in the cage again but he, rather than suffer a mauling at the hands of the interviewer, climbed in by himself. The pale man smiled at that. I found that it was best if I put no thought into my answers, but simply gave the same response each time:

'I am Sonya Clarice Moon, 040261, Brytish Ambulance Brigade, and I demand to see the Brytish Consul immediately.'

The interrogator tried to trip me into contradicting myself. He offered to release me if I would answer his questions. He threatened to torture me to death if I did not answer them. He told me that Peter had confessed everything already, so why was I holding back? Why didn't I make it easy on myself and tell him everything I knew? To all these questions I gave the same reply and eventually he gave up and had me taken back down to the cell. It felt like a little victory every time.

- 0 -

I was lying on my bed. Food and water had been brought to me, but the bucket had been removed. I knew that a time would come when I would have to relieve myself without it, but for now I settled for refusing to eat or drink. I couldn't remember when I had last slept for more than five minutes at a time.

Next time, said Alfie, I will Change before you can put me in the cage. I will kill that man with my bare hands.

No, don't. Remember Chelsea.

But if they try to touch you, I will do it. I will give them our life, rather than see you violated. Is it a deal?

I shivered. Yes, Alfie. It's a deal.

- 0 -

They came and took me up for the fourth time. I was unsteady, tired, hungry and thirsty but I had not disgraced myself in the cell. I had kept that much of my self-respect. The interrogator looked up from his clipboard as I was led in. Alfie got ready to get into the cage, but the man held his hand up.

'No need for that.' He smiled. 'I have good news for you, Driver Moon. I have put your request to the authorities and they have responded favourably.'

'What request?' I said stupidly.

'Why, that you be granted access to the Brytish Consul. You will be taken to see him as soon as possible. Someone from the Consulate has been sent for and is on his way here now.'

'Oh. Good. About time too.'

Be careful, said Alfie. It could be a trap.

'I do hope,' the interrogator said, leaning forward and linking his hands together on top of the desk, 'that you will give a favourable report of our, ah, humane methods to the Consul. You are, after all, physically untouched and have been offered adequate food, water and shelter.'

'Go to hell,' I replied. The interrogator shrugged.

There was a knock on the door - a loud, insistent knock - and a man flung it back and burst into the room. I turned in my seat to look at him. He was a young man, well-built with a sun-browned face - a rare sight in this dark underworld of a city. I stood up unsteadily. His face went blank with amazement.

'Sunny! Sunny!' he said, and his voice was instantly, overwhelmingly familiar. 'Sunny! It's really you! I didn't believe it! What on earth are you doing in Geneva? Oh, come here, my darling!'

I tried to move, but my heart wasn't working right and my legs had no strength left in them. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't find the breath. I grabbed hold of the back of the chair, but it tipped over and I fell to the floor, with the blood buzzing in my skull and my eyes blurring over in a wash of grey.

Consciousness left me and I fainted, but as the room faded from my sight I heard Alfie speak, out aloud for everyone to hear, and his voice was full of the very same joy and astonishment that I was too dizzied to express myself. I heard him say just one word as darkness took me, and it was the same word that was echoing in my brain:

'Gerry!'