Chapter 1 - The Meeting Place
It was cold outside. No time to go back though, no sense in risking another journey through the dark corridors to her room. That could mean getting caught. And besides, she was out now and before anyone noticed she was gone Katka needed to put as much distance as she could between herself and the home.
So she moved quickly across the garden, crouching to avoid the light from the kitchen window. The sound of music and talking could be heard from inside. It was New Year’s Eve 1944 and the matrons were celebrating the approach of midnight, secretly getting drunk in the knowledge that the children were all fast asleep in their beds.
Not Katka though. She had something far more important to do. She needed to get to the river - 'by midnight, not a minute later' - the instruction had been clear enough and there was no time to waste. So she took her bicycle from where she had hidden it earlier in the day, carefully unbolted the gate that led out into the street.
And then she was away.
The exhilaration of cycling at night. Alone and speeding through empty streets, away from the imprisoning walls of the children's home, away from its overheated rooms and smells of bad cooking and damp plaster. She cycled fast, pumping at the pedals and taking in great gulps of the cold night air. It stung her lungs and ripped through the thin sweater and trousers she wore. But she kept on, as fast as she could until the unlit, war-time skyline of Prague came into view. And the moment she saw it, any excitement she felt immediately vanished.
The city looked a sombre place tonight. Shrouded in darkness and with only the black outlines of its distinct domes and spires visible beneath the searchlights. It was as if the city were hiding, cowering in the darkness as the war in Europe raged all around. It was a sight that reminded Katka of the danger of her mission, because the punishments for breaking the curfew were severe - especially now the fighting was going badly for the Germans, who had begun acting more frantically and more violently with each day that passed. Katka knew she needed to be careful.
'If you are caught they will kill you. They will shoot you on the spot. It's far quicker that way, less hassle than taking you to the police station and asking lots of pointless questions.'
It had been Jana that had told her this. A girl about two years older than Katka who had a room to herself on the top floor of the home. About a week ago she had invited Katka to her room and told her, 'If they question you, do not give them any information and whatever happens do not give them my name. If you do that, I’ll shoot you myself.'
Katka hadn’t known what to say to this and only nodded weakly. And her fear must have shown on her face because Jana burst out laughing, 'Don't look so afraid!' She said and from behind her she retrieved a small roll of banknotes which she tossed across the bed to Katka, 'It'll be well worth the risk.'
'But what's in the package?' Katka asked.
'Don't ask.' Jana replied at once, and her joking demeanour vanished as she snatched back the money, 'Just meet Paul by the river, then bring the package back here and give it to me.'
Katka swallowed.
This is it, she thought, this is real. And as she neared the meeting place she kept her head low and pedalled as quietly as she could. Then she looked anxiously about her for any sign of a patrol car or German soldiers before slipping off her bicycle and wheeling it down into the inky blackness of the embankment.
It was the perfect meeting place, sheltered by high walls on either side and completely unlit at night, but it was still an unnerving place in the dark. Before the war it had been busy here, filled with noise and the clattering sounds of men working. Now it was just deserted and still, a ghost of the place it used to be, a graveyard of disused boats and old containers. The only life the occasional skuttering movement of a city rat and Katka knew that to be caught down here would be impossible to explain.
So she pressed herself against the embankment wall so she was hidden completely. It was damp against her touch, cold and unwelcoming, almost enough to make her get back on her bicycle and cycle as quickly as she could to the safety of the home. But she forced herself to stay calm. She had committed herself now - there was no turning back.
But where was Paul? It was already past midnight and still there was no sign of him. A fear that he might have been caught pounded against the inside of Katka’s head. It blurred all other thought - if he had been stopped by a German patrol, if he had been searched, if they had found the package and he had told them where Katka was waiting -
‘Calm down!’ Katka told herself, whispering the words aloud in an attempt to force herself to remain calm. There was nothing to do but wait.
Eventually came the sound of footsteps. Through the night-time mist two men were approaching. One was short with his hands pushed firmly into his pockets, the other tall and carrying a holdall.
Paul?
For one terrifying moment Katka thought that it wasn’t him! Panic gripped her and she readied herself to run. But as the pair got closer she saw something familiar - the gait of his walk, the narrowness of his shoulders and neck.
‘Paul!’ A surge of relief. A smile at once appeared on Katka’s face and she made no effort to conceal it - because the moment he stopped in front of her and returned her smile Katka knew that everything would be alright.
Paul was always late! It was one of the first things Katka had learnt about him, right from the very first time she had been introduced to him in front of the school building. He was older than Katka - who would be fifteen in a few months - and she had liked him the moment she had met him. She liked the effortlessness in the way he talked, his calm, easy manner. He was someone she could trust, he was honest.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ He said.
'That’s alright.’ Katka replied, ‘But who -’
The other man was standing a few metres back and looking the other way. His cap was pulled down low so that his face was obscured by shadow and the way he had his hand positioned in his pocket - did he have a gun?
'Don't mind him.' Paul said, 'He's just protection.'
'Protection? But I thought you'd be alone.' Katka said.
'Well, life is full of surprises.' Paul said, losing his smile, and the abrupt change in his tone shocked Katka. He seemed suddenly a different person to the cheerful, forever-smiling boy who used to wait for her outside the school gates. And without another word he swung the holdall he had been carrying to the ground and opened it. Inside was the package Katka had come for, only bigger than she had expected - a bulky white sack, about the size of a pillowcase and secured with a thick string so that it could be tied across her shoulder.
'Is that the package?' Katka asked.
Paul nodded.
'I - I thought you said it would be small?'
'Just put it on your back.' Paul said, 'Do you know the way back to the home?'
'Yes, of course.'
'I mean a secure way. You don't want to be seen with this thing, it's too big to look inconspicuous.'
'Alright.' Katka said and she cautiously bent down to lift it, but it was heavy and its content awkward and unbalanced. It would be hard to carry, especially on a bicycle, and when Paul positioned the string on her shoulder it dug viciously into her skin. 'What's in -' Katka began, but she stopped herself.
'Just give the package to Jana, alright?' Paul said.
'Yes.' Katka replied and she was about to climb back on her bicycle when Paul put a hand on her shoulder. 'Wait just a minute.' he said, and reaching into his pocket he took out something wrapped in white paper, flat and neatly folded. He held it out to Katka.
'What is it?' She asked.
Paul didn't answer. He just watched Katka pull back the wrapping to reveal a small hard-backed book with a black leather cover. He watched as Katka flicked through the pages. They were blank and for a moment she still didn’t understand why he had given it to her. 'What is it?' She asked.
At this Paul only laughed, the old friendliness returning for a moment, 'It's a notebook of course.'
'But what do I do with it?'
'You can do whatever you like with it.' Paul said, part defensively but laughing at the same time, and it was only then that Katka realised what it really was.
'Oh Paul, it's a gift!'
'My God! I'll make sure I don't give you anything again if it confuses you this much!' He said, which made Katka laugh too. She was embarrassed, taken aback because it had been such a long time since someone had given her something, especially as unexpectedly as this.
'I'm sorry.' Katka said, 'I mean thank you. I just wasn't expecting -'
'It's nothing.' Paul said, brushing the matter aside, 'Happy new year, I guess. Now what have you got for me?'
'For you?' And for one stupid moment Katka though Paul was expecting a gift too.
'I mean the money.' He said.
'Oh yes, of course.' And at once Katka felt like an idiot - but relieved too - and clumsily she put the notebook back inside its paper wrapping before handing over the roll of notes she had been given. 'Here.' She said, holding it out to him.
Paul took the money and immediately began counting it. And as Katka watched him flick through the notes it seemed suddenly so clear - this is business, this is why the serious tone, the reason he came with protection. 'Listen, we mustn't hang around.’ He said, looking up. ‘You should get back.'
'I will.' Katka said, adjusting the string across her shoulders. She took hold of the handlebars of her bicycle.
'And be careful.' Paul said and for a split-second she really felt she saw the old Paul again - the smiling boy who she had come to know so well in the last few weeks, who had listen to her life story, who she had even told about her mother and where she had used to live - things she never told anyone. Katka watched as he walking away.
And then it seemed that something wasn’t right. Perhaps the way Paul turned and gestured hurriedly at Katka to go, to get on her bicycle, to ride away. Perhaps the sound of a car engine on the road above the river. Katka felt certain that something was about to go wrong - and she had barely reached the top of the embankment before discovering she was right.
A sudden shout from behind.
'Go!' A voice cried out.
The outline of a third figure - long dark coat and boots - he had his hands on Paul. They were grappling.
More shouts.
'Katka, get out of here!' Paul cried, 'Get home!'
Katka moved as fast as she could. Standing on the pedals and willing her bike to go faster! But then she heard the most sickening sounds of all - sudden and unmistakable - a gunshot.
It echoed across the river.
So she moved quickly across the garden, crouching to avoid the light from the kitchen window. The sound of music and talking could be heard from inside. It was New Year’s Eve 1944 and the matrons were celebrating the approach of midnight, secretly getting drunk in the knowledge that the children were all fast asleep in their beds.
Not Katka though. She had something far more important to do. She needed to get to the river - 'by midnight, not a minute later' - the instruction had been clear enough and there was no time to waste. So she took her bicycle from where she had hidden it earlier in the day, carefully unbolted the gate that led out into the street.
And then she was away.
The exhilaration of cycling at night. Alone and speeding through empty streets, away from the imprisoning walls of the children's home, away from its overheated rooms and smells of bad cooking and damp plaster. She cycled fast, pumping at the pedals and taking in great gulps of the cold night air. It stung her lungs and ripped through the thin sweater and trousers she wore. But she kept on, as fast as she could until the unlit, war-time skyline of Prague came into view. And the moment she saw it, any excitement she felt immediately vanished.
The city looked a sombre place tonight. Shrouded in darkness and with only the black outlines of its distinct domes and spires visible beneath the searchlights. It was as if the city were hiding, cowering in the darkness as the war in Europe raged all around. It was a sight that reminded Katka of the danger of her mission, because the punishments for breaking the curfew were severe - especially now the fighting was going badly for the Germans, who had begun acting more frantically and more violently with each day that passed. Katka knew she needed to be careful.
'If you are caught they will kill you. They will shoot you on the spot. It's far quicker that way, less hassle than taking you to the police station and asking lots of pointless questions.'
It had been Jana that had told her this. A girl about two years older than Katka who had a room to herself on the top floor of the home. About a week ago she had invited Katka to her room and told her, 'If they question you, do not give them any information and whatever happens do not give them my name. If you do that, I’ll shoot you myself.'
Katka hadn’t known what to say to this and only nodded weakly. And her fear must have shown on her face because Jana burst out laughing, 'Don't look so afraid!' She said and from behind her she retrieved a small roll of banknotes which she tossed across the bed to Katka, 'It'll be well worth the risk.'
'But what's in the package?' Katka asked.
'Don't ask.' Jana replied at once, and her joking demeanour vanished as she snatched back the money, 'Just meet Paul by the river, then bring the package back here and give it to me.'
Katka swallowed.
This is it, she thought, this is real. And as she neared the meeting place she kept her head low and pedalled as quietly as she could. Then she looked anxiously about her for any sign of a patrol car or German soldiers before slipping off her bicycle and wheeling it down into the inky blackness of the embankment.
It was the perfect meeting place, sheltered by high walls on either side and completely unlit at night, but it was still an unnerving place in the dark. Before the war it had been busy here, filled with noise and the clattering sounds of men working. Now it was just deserted and still, a ghost of the place it used to be, a graveyard of disused boats and old containers. The only life the occasional skuttering movement of a city rat and Katka knew that to be caught down here would be impossible to explain.
So she pressed herself against the embankment wall so she was hidden completely. It was damp against her touch, cold and unwelcoming, almost enough to make her get back on her bicycle and cycle as quickly as she could to the safety of the home. But she forced herself to stay calm. She had committed herself now - there was no turning back.
But where was Paul? It was already past midnight and still there was no sign of him. A fear that he might have been caught pounded against the inside of Katka’s head. It blurred all other thought - if he had been stopped by a German patrol, if he had been searched, if they had found the package and he had told them where Katka was waiting -
‘Calm down!’ Katka told herself, whispering the words aloud in an attempt to force herself to remain calm. There was nothing to do but wait.
Eventually came the sound of footsteps. Through the night-time mist two men were approaching. One was short with his hands pushed firmly into his pockets, the other tall and carrying a holdall.
Paul?
For one terrifying moment Katka thought that it wasn’t him! Panic gripped her and she readied herself to run. But as the pair got closer she saw something familiar - the gait of his walk, the narrowness of his shoulders and neck.
‘Paul!’ A surge of relief. A smile at once appeared on Katka’s face and she made no effort to conceal it - because the moment he stopped in front of her and returned her smile Katka knew that everything would be alright.
Paul was always late! It was one of the first things Katka had learnt about him, right from the very first time she had been introduced to him in front of the school building. He was older than Katka - who would be fifteen in a few months - and she had liked him the moment she had met him. She liked the effortlessness in the way he talked, his calm, easy manner. He was someone she could trust, he was honest.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ He said.
'That’s alright.’ Katka replied, ‘But who -’
The other man was standing a few metres back and looking the other way. His cap was pulled down low so that his face was obscured by shadow and the way he had his hand positioned in his pocket - did he have a gun?
'Don't mind him.' Paul said, 'He's just protection.'
'Protection? But I thought you'd be alone.' Katka said.
'Well, life is full of surprises.' Paul said, losing his smile, and the abrupt change in his tone shocked Katka. He seemed suddenly a different person to the cheerful, forever-smiling boy who used to wait for her outside the school gates. And without another word he swung the holdall he had been carrying to the ground and opened it. Inside was the package Katka had come for, only bigger than she had expected - a bulky white sack, about the size of a pillowcase and secured with a thick string so that it could be tied across her shoulder.
'Is that the package?' Katka asked.
Paul nodded.
'I - I thought you said it would be small?'
'Just put it on your back.' Paul said, 'Do you know the way back to the home?'
'Yes, of course.'
'I mean a secure way. You don't want to be seen with this thing, it's too big to look inconspicuous.'
'Alright.' Katka said and she cautiously bent down to lift it, but it was heavy and its content awkward and unbalanced. It would be hard to carry, especially on a bicycle, and when Paul positioned the string on her shoulder it dug viciously into her skin. 'What's in -' Katka began, but she stopped herself.
'Just give the package to Jana, alright?' Paul said.
'Yes.' Katka replied and she was about to climb back on her bicycle when Paul put a hand on her shoulder. 'Wait just a minute.' he said, and reaching into his pocket he took out something wrapped in white paper, flat and neatly folded. He held it out to Katka.
'What is it?' She asked.
Paul didn't answer. He just watched Katka pull back the wrapping to reveal a small hard-backed book with a black leather cover. He watched as Katka flicked through the pages. They were blank and for a moment she still didn’t understand why he had given it to her. 'What is it?' She asked.
At this Paul only laughed, the old friendliness returning for a moment, 'It's a notebook of course.'
'But what do I do with it?'
'You can do whatever you like with it.' Paul said, part defensively but laughing at the same time, and it was only then that Katka realised what it really was.
'Oh Paul, it's a gift!'
'My God! I'll make sure I don't give you anything again if it confuses you this much!' He said, which made Katka laugh too. She was embarrassed, taken aback because it had been such a long time since someone had given her something, especially as unexpectedly as this.
'I'm sorry.' Katka said, 'I mean thank you. I just wasn't expecting -'
'It's nothing.' Paul said, brushing the matter aside, 'Happy new year, I guess. Now what have you got for me?'
'For you?' And for one stupid moment Katka though Paul was expecting a gift too.
'I mean the money.' He said.
'Oh yes, of course.' And at once Katka felt like an idiot - but relieved too - and clumsily she put the notebook back inside its paper wrapping before handing over the roll of notes she had been given. 'Here.' She said, holding it out to him.
Paul took the money and immediately began counting it. And as Katka watched him flick through the notes it seemed suddenly so clear - this is business, this is why the serious tone, the reason he came with protection. 'Listen, we mustn't hang around.’ He said, looking up. ‘You should get back.'
'I will.' Katka said, adjusting the string across her shoulders. She took hold of the handlebars of her bicycle.
'And be careful.' Paul said and for a split-second she really felt she saw the old Paul again - the smiling boy who she had come to know so well in the last few weeks, who had listen to her life story, who she had even told about her mother and where she had used to live - things she never told anyone. Katka watched as he walking away.
And then it seemed that something wasn’t right. Perhaps the way Paul turned and gestured hurriedly at Katka to go, to get on her bicycle, to ride away. Perhaps the sound of a car engine on the road above the river. Katka felt certain that something was about to go wrong - and she had barely reached the top of the embankment before discovering she was right.
A sudden shout from behind.
'Go!' A voice cried out.
The outline of a third figure - long dark coat and boots - he had his hands on Paul. They were grappling.
More shouts.
'Katka, get out of here!' Paul cried, 'Get home!'
Katka moved as fast as she could. Standing on the pedals and willing her bike to go faster! But then she heard the most sickening sounds of all - sudden and unmistakable - a gunshot.
It echoed across the river.