The Legacy

being taken, she felt unsettled. ‘Perhaps I should phone the Surplus Department. Just to be sure,’ she said. But the look Derek Samuels gave her made her wish she hadn’t spoken. ‘Or I’ll just retire to my apartment,’ she said quickly, tugging at Sarah’s arm. ‘Both of us.’
    ‘That would be wise,’ Derek said. He clapped his hands again and watched as his men silently dispersed around the building.

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    Chapter Eighteen
     
    Jude moved his arm, swatting away what he supposed must be a fly, but he missed and the fly turned into a stick being prodded into him by his father. He was taunting him, saying, ‘You’re not Peter. You’re the inferior brother. You’ll never be Peter. I wish you were Surplus.’ He lunged at his dad, eyes blazing, heard him yelp and woke up. It wasn’t a stick, he realised; it was Sam’s finger. ‘What the – What time is it?’ he asked groggily.
    ‘Five thirty.’
    He glanced at his watch. That meant he’d had, what, three hours’ sleep? He pushed off the grimy blanket and pulled himself up. It was only then that he realised how white Sam was. His heart fell.
    ‘What’s happened? Have we been found?’
    Sam shook his head. ‘It’s the Surpluses,’ he said, his voice hoarse.
    ‘The children?’ Jude looked at him in alarm. ‘Are they back?’ The night before, he’d persuaded the supporters who’d helped them move to take the children with them – they’d agreed eventually, but uneasily. It was a great deal at any time to ask someone to hide a child and right now it was almost suicide.
    ‘Not those ones,’ Sam said bitterly. ‘The Surpluses in the halls. They’ve all been taken away. A woman called. The Northern Watcher. She said the Steadley Hall Surpluses were taken away by Catchers in the middle of the night. And the Southern Watcher said that Grange Hall was emptied at 10 p.m.’
    Jude stared at him wide-eyed. ‘You’re sure it was the Watchers? Sure it wasn’t a fake?’
    ‘They knew all the codes. The Northern Watcher was crying. She said she hadn’t been able to do anything. She said the Catchers came. They sneaked in and bundled everyone out.’ He looked down. ‘What next?’ he whispered. ‘What next?’
    ‘We track them down, that’s what,’ Jude said, jumping up, but he didn’t believe his own words.
    ‘You can’t fight the Catchers,’ Sam murmured. ‘No one can.’
    Jude walked over to the phone, read the transcript of the Northern Watcher’s description of the Catchers pulling up outside, the Surpluses being led out into the cold night then bundled into the back of the vans. He shivered. ‘OK,’ he said grimly. ‘Here’s what we do. You’re going to get some sleep and I’m going to think.’
    ‘No,’ Sam said, his expression one of defeat. ‘Pip’s gone. The Surpluses are gone. No one is on the Underground’s side any more. It’s over. Can’t you see that?’
    ‘It’s not over,’ Jude said tersely. ‘We’ve got something that Richard Pincent wants, and if he wants it badly enough we can get Pip back and maybe even the Surpluses. And if he doesn’t want it badly enough then we’ll think of something else. But we’re not giving up. No way.’
    His eyes travelled to his brother, who was lying on the floor; he’d been unconscious since he’d arrived the night before. He walked over and woke him up.
    ‘Peter,’ he whispered. ‘Peter, wake up.’
    Peter sat up with a start. ‘What? What?’ he said fearfully, then registered Jude’s face. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
    ‘Why are you here?’ Jude looked at him intently.
    ‘Why am I here?’ Peter’s face crumpled with confusion. ‘I brought the ring,’ he said. ‘Like you asked.’
    ‘Like I asked?’ Jude said uncertainly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘I’m talking about the message you sent me. To send the ring down. I messaged back, remember? Said I was coming with it.’
    Jude looked at him blankly. Then he swallowed uncomfortably as a terrible thought struck him. He walked over to his computer and quickly navigated past the security codes into the messaging centre. He hoped he wouldn’t find anything; hoped there had been a mistake, that his unthinkable suspicion was completely wrong. But there in front of him, hidden in the ‘Deleted’ folder, he saw it: the message that had been sent to Peter. He saw other messages too, messages to Richard Pincent, messages back again. He breathed in sharply.
    ‘The good news