The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Twenty - The Face of Evil

Alice

My nightmares intensified after the news about George. I saw him in front of a firing squad, blindfolded; being forced to march until he dropped to the ground; then torn to pieces by the German soldiers' vicious dogs. Emma appeared to me as well, imprisoned in a dank underground cell; my mother at the mercy of the glowing golden knife; Wittenberg whacking my father in the knees with his gun, demanding he tell him everything about the machine that murdered Elementals like us. And every night I woke in a cold sweat, unable to banish those terrible images from my mind.

     It took two more weeks for another transfer notice to come through from the War Office. The fighting in the village had died down, but the Germans and their Italian allies still held control. I was allowing the other girls to take more breaks, given the intensity of the last few weeks. In fact, I was nearly dozing off over my morning tea and biscuit when the post came in, the official-looking envelope on top. I found the notice inside, along with a short note from Uncle Petey.

     Dearest Alice, it said. I do apologise for not warning you in advance that this would happen. I have just been made aware that there is a safe haven for you in Scotland, near Glasgow. While I understand that your post in Italy has proved fruitful, we worry that there is no way to reach you should you run into trouble. Therefore I have notified the matron beforehand to tell her of your coming, and to increase her security. Wittenberg is on the move again, my dear, and the more obstacles we throw in his path, the better. Again, I do apologise, and please write when you can. We grow anxious when we do not hear from you. Best, Petey.

     I sighed, setting the note down and running my hands over my face. It was nice to know that my family was looking out for me, and doing their best to keep me away from Wittenberg. Especially Uncle Petey–it brought me to wondering how he was even able to function after the news of his son. But even with the circumstances, I believed I would see George again. I couldn't give up hope, not if there was still room left to triumph.

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It was raining the morning I got into Glasgow. I shivered when I stepped off the train, receiving a blast of cold wind and water to my face in welcome. While it had been chilly in Italy, I was unused to the sort of damp cold from back home. I pulled my coat closer around me, searching the crowd for the man that was supposed to come pick me up and take me to the small town of Killearn, where a convalescent home had been set up. I hadn't any idea who I was supposed to be looking for. No one had told me what this man looked like.

     All the while I thought of the news from the War Office. George was strong, resourceful, and smart. He could wriggle out of things far better than I could, and worked well even under pressure. And yet in the face of the German war machine, bearing down on their enemies with no sign of letting up, his chances were doubtful, even if he was still alive. I itched to help, but there was little I could do. It took all I had not to go looking for him myself.

     'Sister Alice Bishop?' said a voice in a thick Scottish brogue from above, startling me out of my thoughts.

     I looked up. There was a large man standing in front of me, his reddish hair and beard wild from the brisk wind. He was clutching his cap in both hands, and was tugging at the lapels of his military tunic in a nervous fashion.

     'Yes, that's me,' I said, straightening myself up enough to give him a proper salute.

     'This way, then.' He returned my salute smartly and then turned, plowing his way through the crowd on the platform. I followed, keeping his thicket of shaggy red hair in my sights.

     The drive there was bumpy and long. For one thing, we got caught in a jam on the city limits, and for another the roads were in bad shape and he had to drive slowly. The entire ride there I found myself gripping the edge of the seat, my nails digging into the leather while the tyres bounced over potholes and threatened to unseat me.