Three Promises (2 page)

She checked the other crates quickly, finding more masterworks, including three Rembrandts. She packed them carefully and closed up the crates. Well aware that too much time had passed, she set the lead Hanomag free to roll forward. It set off the explosives. While the blast didn't outright destroy the Hanomag, it did ensure the vehicle wouldn't be of use to anyone coming along. Next, she collected grenades from the German soldiers and tossed a few into the back of the truck carrying spare parts. A ­couple more went under it, and under the lead truck as well. Both went up in a satisfying boom and began to burn. She climbed into the last truck and pushed the driver's body out. The vehicle was a poor solution, but it was the only solution. She just hoped no British or American fighter pilots flew by and decided she made an excellent target all by herself. She put the truck in gear and headed off in search of someplace to hide it. Once she could get it out of sight, she could figure out how and where to hide the paintings.

After almost an hour of incredibly tense driving, she came to a farmhouse. It was in rough shape, but the barn was intact. Luckily, the doors were large enough for the truck to fit through. She parked, killed the engine, and after a quick look around, shut the doors. After taking a moment to calm herself, she unpacked the crates and decided to hide the paintings in the hayloft. With the utmost care, she carried each up the ladder, covered it with straw, and went back for the next. When she was finished, she climbed down and examined her work from the ground level. Satisfied they were out of sight, she made her way to the farmhouse.

The door was closed but unlocked. She listened but couldn't hear anything. Rifle at the ready, she opened the door and stepped inside.

No one was there, or so it seemed.

“Bonjour?”
she called out.

Silence.

“Anyone here?” she said in English.

Still nothing.

Cautiously, she made her way through the house, checking room by room to make sure it was indeed empty. Not finding anyone, she made her way to the kitchen. There, she set her rifle on the table and opened her rucksack to pull out something to eat. Luckily, she had some bread and hard cheese left, so she could save the German rations until she had no other option.

A little water was left in her canteen, and she drained it in two swallows. As she looked around to see if there was a pump inside the house, she heard movement.

She picked up her rifle and listened.

There was a faint creaking of floorboards.

Silently, she went in search of the noise. After checking every room and finding no one, she thought of the wardrobe in one of the bedrooms. No, it was too small a place to hide. She leveled her rifle at it anyway.

“Come out,” she said in French. “Slowly.”

She repeated the instruction in German.

“Please don't shoot us,” a small voice said in German from inside the wardrobe.

It sounded like a child, and was that a Yiddish accent? Elaine almost lowered her rifle but thought better of it.

“Come out slowly,” she said again in German. “I promise not to shoot.”

The door opened just a little, then small fingers emerged. They gripped the door's edge and opened it very slowly.

A boy of perhaps ten stood protectively in front of a girl a few years younger. Both had yellow stars sewn to the left breasts of their jackets.

Elaine lowered her rifle.

“It's okay,” she said. “I won't hurt you.”

The kids looked at her skeptically.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I have food.”

The children exchanged a glance, clearly torn between hunger and fear. She waited a moment, then turned and walked back to the kitchen. Once there, she drew out a ­couple of the German rations, then she heard the children coming down the hallway, trying not to make a sound. Elaine tore open the wheat crackers, then opened the canned meat. The smell wasn't appetizing to her, and she was glad to be rid of it. But then she was a vegetarian, unless she was starving.

The boy peeked around the doorway.

Elaine motioned to the table and the food, then stepped back away from it and set her rifle on the counter.

The girl rushed past her brother. She scooped meat out with a cracker and began eating. Her brother soon joined her.

Elaine forced a smile, but rage burned inside her. These were children, obviously starving. Her eyes went over the yellow stars, and she tried not to think about what had likely become of their parents. Instead, she ate the last of her bread and cheese.

“Are you a soldier?” the girl asked through a mouthful of food.

“Nessa!” the boy snapped.

“No, it's okay,” Elaine said gently and smiled. “I am, sort of.”

The boy eyed her rifle, then looked at her. “Have you killed a lot of Nazis?”

Elaine glanced at the rifle, then at the kids and nodded. “Some.”

“The Nazis took our parents,” the boy said and ate more crackers.

“You don't know that, Ezra,” Nessa said.

“I do too,” he said. “They told me when you were sleeping. They told me they were coming for them. Why do you think they sent us away?”

“They sent you away?” Elaine asked. The German lines were only a ­couple hundred kilometers from here, but she couldn't imagine how two small children, especially those marked as Jewish, could've made it across the border, let alone this far into France.

The boy nodded. “They paid a man who said he'd take us to Switzerland, and then on to America to live with our aunt and uncle.”

“They live in New York,” Nessa said.

Elaine forced a smile. “Where is the man who was supposed to take you?”

The two children exchanged a glance.

“He said we had to come through France, that it was safer for us than going through Germany,” Ezra said.

Elaine gritted her teeth against the rising anger. Perhaps she was wrong in her assumptions. Maybe this man didn't take advantage of desperate parents and abandon two children for nothing more than money. But her experience with mortals didn't make her hopeful.

“We stopped here to rest,” the boy continued. Then he shrugged. “We woke up in the morning, and he was gone. So was the cart we had been hiding in.”

Fury clawed at Elaine's insides. How could anyone leave these children here? Somehow, she managed to keep outwardly calm. “How long ago was that?”

“Four days,” Nessa said.

Elaine kept tears from breaking loose, but it was a near thing.

“He's not coming back, is he?” Nessa asked.

“Don't be an idiot,” Ezra said. “He took Mama and Papa's money. Of course he'll come back. He promised.” The boy turned to Elaine, clearly seeking confirmation from the only adult around.

Elaine fretted her lower lip. “I'm sorry,” she said finally. “I don't think he's coming back.”

Nessa started to cry, and Ezra wrapped his arms around her.

“I'm sorry I called you an idiot,” he said softly. “Don't cry. Mama wouldn't want that.”

Elaine wanted more than anything to take both of these children in her arms and hold them tight. She longed to whisper that everything would be okay, and then to somehow make it so. But she didn't move; she just looked at her boots. She noticed blood had mixed with the mud, and she couldn't help but wonder whose it was.

“Can I have some water?” Nessa asked as she wiped her eyes.

Elaine looked up. “What? Yes, of course.” She drew out her canteen and turned to look for a pump, but there wasn't one.

“There is a pump outside,” Ezra said, pointing the way.

“I'll go get the water,” Elaine said. “You two wait here.”

They nodded.

Elaine went to leave, but stopped when she heard the barn doors creak open. It was so quiet, no mortal would've heard it. She set the canteen down and turned to the kids. They might not have heard it, but they could read the expression on her face.

“Nazis?” Ezra asked in a whisper.

“I don't know,” Elaine said. She reached behind her back and took out her pistol. The children tensed, but she ignore that. There wasn't time to be gentle. She handed the gun to the boy.

He took it with a shaking hand.

“Have you ever used a gun before?” Elaine asked.

The boy shook his head.

Elaine pushed his hand down so the pistol was aimed at the floor, then she took the safety off. “Keep it pointed at the ground. Don't touch the trigger unless you have to use it. Okay?”

The boy licked his lips and nodded.

“Go back to the wardrobe and wait for me there,” Elaine said. “If anyone comes for you and it isn't me, you shoot them.”

The boy just stared at her.

“Nessa needs you to be brave,” Elaine said. “Can you do that, Ezra?”

The boy glanced at his sister, then he straightened and nodded.

“Good, now go,” Elaine said. “Remember, point it at the floor unless you need to use it.”

The boy nodded again, then led his sister from the kitchen and back to the bedroom. Elaine grabbed her rifle, checked to make sure it was fully loaded, and when she heard the wardrobe door close, she went out the back door.

She crept silently around the house, keeping close to it. When she reached a corner, she peeked around to the barn.

The doors were both closed and nothing moved. Her finger tapped the trigger of her rifle and she waited. A minute later, through a hole in the barn's slats, she saw a shadow move. She reached down and picked up a stone the size of her fist, then hurled it at the barn. Before the rock struck the far corner, she had dropped to the ground and taken aim with her rifle at the barn doors.

The rock hit with a loud thud.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then a form leapt from the window at the far end of the barn. The figure landed gracefully—­too gracefully for a mortal—­and rolled several times before vanishing into the tall grass.

Elaine blinked. “It can't be.”

She scanned the grass looking for her target, but he was nowhere to be found. She cursed silently. Then she drew a small wooden cylinder from her pocket and held it in front of her lips.

“Who are you?” she asked in English. The magic of the cylinder carried her voice and made it sound like it was coming from inside the barn.

“Sidhe?” came a reply. The voice was definitely male. Unfortunately, she couldn't pinpoint the source.

After a long moment, she lifted the cylinder again. “I once walked with the Dawn, and now I journey with Rogues,” she said. Again her voice sounded from inside the barn.

An elf dressed in the dark green semi-­military garb of a marshal stood, his hands held up. Elaine studied him. His eyes were a pale blue, almost gray, and his auburn hair just brushed the tips of his pointed ears. And he was staring right at her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Faolan,” he said.

“What do you want, Faolan?” she said.

“Could you lower the rifle?” he asked.

“I asked you first,” she said.

He smiled a little and lowered his hands, but kept them away from his body. “I'm here on behalf of the Cruinnigh, looking for an elf going by the name Elaine.” He waited a few heartbeats, then nodded at the rifle. “Your turn.”

She debated for a long moment. There was no doubt in her head why he was here. The only surprise was that it had taken this long. Then she thought of Ezra and Nessa.

“I can't, I'm sorry,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I can't go with you. Not yet.”

He looked genuinely sorry. “I'm afraid it isn't up for negotiation. I don't want to take you forcefully, but I will if I have to.”

She swallowed and put her finger on the trigger. “You could try.”

“Currently, you're charged only with a minor violation of the Oaths,” Faolan said, unfazed. “Don't make it worse for yourself.”

Elaine licked her lips, unnerved by his lack of concern. “If you could come back in a few days, that's all I need. I'll swear on my name and power to come back.”

“Why? What's so important that you'd risk so much?”

She shook her head. “Considering that you're here to arrest me for involving myself in mortal affairs, I don't think you'd understand.”

“Try me.”

She considered for a long moment, looking him up and down. “Do you know what's happening in Germany? The industrialized murder of Jewish mortals?”

Faolan's face twisted in disgust. “Yes. And before you ask, just because the court isn't getting involved doesn't mean it's giving its consent.”

“You're wrong,” she said. “John Stuart Mill once said, ‘Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.' And that's exactly what you're doing.”

“We're bound by the Oaths,” Faolan said. “But what does this have to do with your few days? Are you planning on going into Germany to kill Hitler?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing so grand. Though if the chance presented itself, I would.” She motioned to the house with her head, never looking away from Faolan. “In that house are two children, Jewish children. Their parents paid someone to smuggle them to safety.”

He looked at the house with what appeared to be genuine concern.

“I don't know if he ran off with the money or was killed,” she said. “But they're here now and alone. I want to get them to safety.”

“Where were they supposed to go?”

“Switzerland, and then on to the States, New York. They have family there.”

He shook his head. “They'd never get safe passage out going that way. Switzerland is neutral, but they're also not particularly compassionate to the plight of the Jewish ­people.”

“I was going to take them to New York myself,” she said. “Through the Far Trails.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So you're a guide? I wasn't told that.”