The Declaration

She’d been as useful as she was going to be to Grange Hall, Mrs Pincent realised. Once a Surplus started to ask questions, they never stopped in her experience.
    It was a pity she couldn’t throw her into Solitary for a few days, really. But she had unfinished business to attend to first. Still, Peter would be dealt with in the early hours of the following morning, she thought to herself with relief. In under two hours she would be on her way to London. She’d return with her old friend Dr Cox before dawn, and once he had ‘treated’ Peter, the boy would cease to be a problem. In fact, he would cease to be at all, she thought to herself with a little smile.
    She might even turn his death into a report for the Authorities that suggested that Surpluses could not be integrated after a certain age – maybe nine should be the cut-off. The stress of change had been too much for Peter, she would tell the Authorities with regret. He couldn’t adjust; he’d upset the other Surpluses and he finally succumbed to a stress-induced heart attack. Such a shame, she would say. If only they had taken her advice.
    And then? And then, things would return to normality, she supposed. Everyone would fear her again. And love her, of course. Mrs Pincent needed to be loved as much as she wanted to be feared – to her they were two sides of the same coin. Both gave her total control. And when you ran an institution filled with over five hundred unnatural abominations, control was essential just to get you through the day.
    Anna stared desultorily at the sink in front of her, which was filled with towelling nappies, each of which contained a day’s worth of Small excrement, and each of which she had to scrub with her bare hands. This was the third full sink she’d faced in as many hours, and the job did not get any easier the more you did it.
    It was rare for her to be on the Smalls’ floor – generally Mrs Pincent forbade them from visiting it, which suited the Surpluses down to the ground because who would want to hang around with a bunch of screaming Smalls? The top floor of Grange Hall, where they were housed, seemed more cramped than the others. It had lots of smaller dormitories instead of ten big ones, and a large room where the older Smalls went during the day to learn how to walk and talk, and obey orders and keep their eyes cast downwards.
    That was the room that Anna was in now, at one end where a large sink sat surrounded by debris and dirt. All around her was the sound of infants, some screaming, some crying softly and some desperately trying to repeat the words being shouted at them.
    But it was the quieter ones that Anna couldn’t bear. The sight of a two-year-old comforting itself by rocking silently on a mat, or a three-year-old gently banging its head against the floor was more than she could stand. She had been that three-year-old, she realised. She had sat in that very spot, trying to make sense of her new surroundings, trying to find a way to regain some control over her life.
    And now, she was right back where she had started. If things had seemed bleak when she was three, they seemed so very much worse now.
    In truth, she didn’t really care that she was faced with the most vile of cleaning jobs, and barely blanched at the stench that emanated from the sink.
    All she really cared about was Peter, waiting for her down in Solitary, wondering where she was, wondering why she hadn’t come.
    As she methodically rinsed the soiled nappies and began to scrub them, Anna found herself wondering what the rest of her life would hold for her. If Mrs Pincent forgave her little outburst, it wouldn’t make any difference – she no longer wanted to be a Prefect, was no longer satisfied with the prospect of being Useful. She wanted more. She wanted freedom. She wanted . . .
    She wanted Peter, she realised. Wanted to feel once more that wonderful feeling of being accepted fully, for what she was. Wanted to feel the excitement that fluttered through her whenever she even thought of his name.
    ‘You cleanin’ them nappies or what? Just ’cause Mrs Pincent’s gone to London, don’t mean you can stare into space, y’know.’
    Anna looked up quickly at Maisie, the young Domestic who was supervising her, and who had looked utterly delighted when Anna had been handed over to her; Domestics rarely got to put their feet up on Floor 3 because Surpluses weren’t usually allowed on the Smalls’ floor. Had Anna heard