The Royal Resistance

Chapter 6 - The Password

His shadow came nearer. She closed the window, grabbing a rock from the ledge and trapping it in the window frame. She saw a dark boot step around the corner from the side of her eye as her feet shuffled farther left along the ledge. A hand grabbed the window handle. Maria bit her lip, searching in every direction for an escape, she saw the nearest balcony two meters from her. She shook her head no, pressing back into the damp rock. The window rattled again. Maria breathed a silent prayer. She heard a pounding on the glass. Her toes inched forward against the corner, with a mind of her own and she found herself slowly peeling her back away from the wall and in mid-air. Boom. Her feet hit the ground with a thud. She groaned curling into a ball, felt a sticky liquid on her hands.

Blood.

They were all grazed. The window shook behind her, she looked into the room: it was hers, somewhere in the background she heard the rock falling from the window frame as she frantically grappled with the handle. The door whined as she pushed it open - thank god she had left it unlocked that morning - and slipped in.

The window finally budged open, the general's head swivelling left and then right, but there was no one in sight. John cursed under his breath, he thought he was going to finally catch him, the one who had started this all and left him babysitting a royal. He turned on his heel and walked back to Carlotta.

"So?" She asked.

"Nothing. Just keep searching for dope- sorry, you Americans," he mocked her accent in a long drawl, "call it information. I'll see you at the meeting."

Meanwhile, Maria collapsed on her bed, trembling with fear and a burning sensation in her veins. It was something that had been long forgotten. She couldn't quite place her finger on it, but she felt it stirring inside her ever since she had come to Lisbon. It grew with every new person she met, with Carlotta's smirk, Sister Martha Rose's dancing and every new sight - the rushing currents of the river, the cobblestone roads, their designs, their windings paths. She felt her heart pounding against her chest, her breath shaking, her eyes open to every new detail. The fire spread through her, the current beckoned her, called her to figure out why they wanted her brother, why they needed her. It can't be a coincidence, she thought, there can't be this many coincidences!  She fought the thought back - I'm sure he's fine - but deep down she felt the dread in her gut as she realised that no matter where she went she overheard strange conversations. Everywhere Maria went, the RAF or her brother was there. She seemed to hear a whisper urging her forward and telling her to go, pulling her towards the danger. Maria knew what she needed to do: follow the mouse.

After an early dinner that night and mass, the nun left hurriedly once again. However this time Maria didn't stop her. Instead, she put on her cloak and lifted the hood following the nun through the embassy, out a back-door that she hadn't even known about and through the winding cobblestone streets of new Lisbon. They walked for what seemed like ages, the sky clouding over them creating a light drizzle. The nun would always look back every few minutes, as if she were knew someone was following her; this is when Maria would pull herself against the wall, behind pillars or corners, camouflaging with the shadows of night.

Finally, after another ten minutes or so of walking she saw the nun knock on a door. Her lips moved answering a question that had come from behind the door. What was she up to? Maria walked up to the door, pushing against it but it wouldn't budge. She knocked and waited. A second passed before a voice answered from behind, "Why does hope reign in the midst of chaos?"

Maria scrunched her brows in confusion. What? Oh! It was a password of sorts- that's why the nun had been speaking to the door! Or whoever was behind the door. But what did hope have to do with the nun? She thought about her last conversation with Sister Martha Rose, why she danced in the middle of so much chaos. "Hope is the last to die," she whispered. Hope. Snippets of the various conversations she had had in the last week came into her mind, one recurring phrase burned as letters flashed across her brain, her brother's last words. "Tough times don't last...," she raised her voice, "because hope is the last to die. Tough times don't last, tough people do." She heard the clunk of a lock being unbolted and the door swung open to a petite young woman. She was a mix, somewhat asian and something else that Maria didn't quite know. Her black hair was tied back into a ponytail, a bandana around her head and two black lines on her cheeks like a tribal warrior. Her young age made her look like a child playing dress-up but her stance and posture suggested she was not one to mess with. She was dressed from head to toe in black. A black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black trousers and black combat boots. Maria noticed the glint of a blade hooked into her black belt. The young girl's dark piercing eyes were unforgiving with a hint of mischief dancing around Maria's reflection in them. Her dark brows lowered into a deeper scorn as she saw Maria, "you're not the general," she said in a thick Irish brogue.