other hand you are safe, I will tell you simply to go home. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, sir. I’ll do as you say.” Tomsk reached out to pick up the key, but his hand shook so much that Edward doubted he could do such a simple thing.
“Breathe easily, man.” His tone made Tomsk withdraw his hand, the key still sitting there. “Do you have the issues yet to be distributed?”
Tomsk leaned forward, his jacket falling open. Inside he wore a harness something like the one Edward often wore, designed to hold a few hundred sheets of thin paper, divided into packets of fifty to be given to various distributors in the city. Edward saw those Tomsk had were each neatly folded into their envelopes. One was identical to any other—and therefore likely to cause suspicion if seen.
“Wait for those two men to pass,” Edward whispered, eyeing two men walking by not far off. “Then take off your jacket and harness together with the issues inside. Leave it here on the bench between us. Pick up the key at the same time. Then wait a moment, take a breath, and go.”
Edward waited until Tomsk had reached the edge of the park before glancing at the abandoned jacket. When he stood some moments later, he tucked it over his arm. He would deliver those left, because as Tomsk’s supplier, Edward knew each and every “subscriber” on his list.
He often performed various tasks vital to the paper, delivering finished prints or finding blank paper to be used on whatever press they could employ. He’d even written an article or two under the pseudonym Bespawl, a name he’d chosen from a poem he once read because it meant “to spit.” And each word he wrote was meant to do exactly that, directly into the German eye. But even now he had no idea of the editor; he simply passed on his articles to the man who supplied him with the copies he distributed, and somehow they found their way to the innermost secret circle.
Edward delivered the last of the papers; broad daylight was sometimes the best cover of all. Leaving the luxurious appointments of Quartier Léopold was easy for him, even now, when all of Belgium was united. Fleming and Walloon. Rich, poor, and in-between. Despite the temporary equality among most Belgians, Edward remembered his place, and Upper Town wasn’t it—such a place was Isa’s.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from passing her old home. As expected, it was still occupied.
Descending the streets to Lower Town, he returned to the park he’d left behind some time ago. He wasn’t sure what caught his eye first—the shadow of a slight, crouched boy or the woman in peasant garb so obviously trying to hide him. Curiosity made him slow his pace, but anger quickened it when he recognized the two faces.
“Have you both entirely lost your minds? Jonah, what are you doing?”
Jonah popped to his feet, his hands covered with dirt, fingernails black. On his face was a look that flashed between surprise, fear, and then relief when he recognized Edward. “N-nothing.”
“Well, Edward,” Isa greeted him. “What are you doing coming from that direction? I didn’t think you liked my old neighborhood.”
He ignored her, noting the obvious guilt on his brother’s face. “What have you been doing? You can’t plant a potato under a bush.”
Even as he asked the question, he saw Isa move back, casually stamping on whatever Jonah had been burying.
“Looking for dropped coins,” Jonah said.
Isa looped her arms with both of them. “Come, Edward, let’s all start walking. We’ve been in one spot long enough. We’ll be perfectly honest, shall we, Jonah?”
His brother looked horrified, but Isa’s smile was so easy Edward nearly couldn’t resist smiling along. People smiled so rarely anymore, it was as if they’d forgotten. Probably she would forget too, after she’d been back for a while.
“We were burying a treasure. One we’ll dig up after Belgium is ours again. And it will be someday. We’re finished now, anyway. So shall we go back to Viole’s and have lunch?”
“What treasure?” he queried. “Not the flute?” Some of Jonah’s horror landed in Edward’s gut.
“No, no, that’s back in my satchel behind the cupboard at Viole’s. Although,” she added, “I think perhaps we should find a better place for such a valuable instrument. I have just the spot for it, once I’m living in my home again.”
He nearly harrumphed over that silly notion but thought the better of it and stopped midstride. “What