feathers for a client. But if you get to talk to Mr Nauta himself, begin by asking him why he hasnât been answering the phone. If he has a satisfactory explanation you can carry on. But if he says he doesnât know what youâre talking about, tell him to watch out, because Ria and her mother-in-law have been arrested by the Germans. Ask him where Elly is. Just ask after Elly. But if it turns out thereâs nothing wrong with the phone, give him this ID card. Put it in a sealed envelope first. Give him the envelope and tell him: from Henri. If he asks any questions, just donât answer them.â
He thrust Ellyâs new identity card into her hand.
Zoeterwoudsesingel did not have an even and an uneven side, the houses were numbered consecutively: 70, 71, 72. On the far side of the canal, which followed the zigzag course of the townâs old defences, was a stretch of parkland with huge weeping willows.
Number 74 sat exactly in the crook of an angle in the zigzag waterway. The house was quite different from the houses to the left and right, which stood slightly further back. The windows and eaves were decorated with lavish woodcarving. There was no garden at the front, but next to the doorway there were iron railings enclosing a flagged space hardly big enough to park a babyâs pram in.
The house next door was full of doctors, all of whom shared the same name. Their nameplates were set one above the other by the entrance.
Labare opened the door in person. He was about forty, and had a dented appearance, with hollow temples, hollow cheeks covered in a thick stubble of a mousy shade, and grey, spiky hair. He wore slippers. He extended an ink-stained hand and said: âMy name is Labare. Come in.â
âIâm Joost Melgers,â said Osewoudt, and shook the proffered hand.
He was quickly ushered upstairs. Labare drew him into a small, narrow room.
In it stood a narrow bed with a dingy white counterpane, astraight-backed chair and a small table with an enamel basin and jug. On the wall: a framed picture of a family of ginger apes partially clothed as humans.
Labare sat down on the bed, and with a weary wave of the hand indicated by turns the chair and the space beside him on the bed. In his other hand he held a flat tin box.
Osewoudt sat down on the bed.
âLook here, Melgers, itâs like this. You can sleep up here as long as nothingâs going on, but in emergencies youâll have to stay in the basement. These are all strict orders. We have no time for amateurs, jokers, show-offs or blabbermouths here. There have been enough accidents already. Have you heard about the Dreadnought group? Itâs the firing squad for them all next week. That lot talked too much, they all knew exactly who the others were. The Germans rounded up every one of them in an afternoon at the same address. So we donât go in for chit-chat here. Like to roll yourself a smoke?â
âNo thanks. Allow me to offer you an English cigarette.â
âYouâd better hang on to those.â Labare opened the tin box and rolled a very thin cigarette with pitch-black, hair-like tobacco.
âSo in an emergency,â he went on, âyou go straight down to the basement. There are bunks there too. Besides, thatâs where all the work is done. It would be safest if you stayed down there permanently, but thatâs a bit hard â¦â He paused. âA bit hard ⦠You might as well come down with me now. Could I see that Leica of yours?â
Osewoudt got out the camera and handed it to Labare. Labare crossed his legs and examined it with head bowed. He kept the roll-up between his lips, the smoke curling around his hollow temples. He was breathing through his mouth and began to cough.
âNot bad, new model. No close-up lens?â
âNo.â
âWhy not?â
âIâve never had one.â
âNever had one?â Labare looked at him as if he thought
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham