Alwin pulls the clock closer to Marjolein as the thinnest, longest hand races unrelenting to the top. He expertly raises his left hand with his five fingers extended.
“Ten on my mark!” Marjolein shouts. Even her professionally tempered voice seems to quiver now with the weight of the moment, like she could sense deep inside her that her life is about to change forever.
Alwin drops his thumb. Then his index. The middle finger. The ring finger, and as he prepares to close his hand in a fist, a sudden electrical squeak pierces through the loudspeakers, loud and sharp.
The crowd mumbles words of confusion and pain—many colonists cover their ears.
“TEN. Aws Head lies to you!” A distorted female voice thunders out of the loudspeakers, unrecognizable, proud; commanding.
“NINE. Dem is a lie!”
The crowd is silent, mesmerized. Some exchange glances, others simply listen, eyes and mouths lost in the sky.
“EIGHT. Aws Head kills your parents!”
A murmur begins to rise from the crowd, and then voices try to hush them.
“SEVEN. Aws Head kills you!”
Alwin is gesticulating something back at the crew behind the scenes.
“SIX. Goah loves your life!”
Marjolein is staring at Alwin, eyes drenched in panic, shouting inaudible words.
“FIVE. Aws Head is demon-ridden!”
Marjolein runs to the side of the stage and stops, confusion dashing across her face—or is it dread? She runs back.
“FOUR. The Pontifex kills you!”
Ximena and many students across the amphitheater gasp loudly at the words. The Pontifex? That can’t be right! Ximena sees a blur of movement in the GIA section out the corner of her eye, but she is too enthralled with Marjolein’s reaction to look.
“THREE. Cleanse aws Imperia!”
Aws Imperia?! Ximena shakes her head in disbelief as she watches Marjolein fall to her knees, defeated, tears of humiliation in her eyes.
“TWO. Behead aws Head!”
Some sort of tumult appears to be breaking out in the auditorium. A glimpse down on the stage reveals Censor Smith on his feet, talking to Miyagi. Ximena turns her attention back to Marjolein. Her eyes—wet, bloodshot—are eagerly scanning the crowd now. She is searching for something—for someone.
“ONE. Burn the Joyousday!”
Marjolein finds Edda’s eyes. And Edda is staring straight back at her, smug, defiant. Ximena can feel her exultation sending shivers up her spine.
Willem is gaping at his daughter. There is fear in his eyes. No, not fear. Terror.
“HAPPY NEW CENTURY!”
“… excuse me, they are telling me… Yes. Radio stations from Gallia, Scandinavia and Russia are joining us as well. The whole Hanseatic Imperium is listening—we are broadcasting now Imperium-wide! To our new listeners, welcome. This is Alwin Geissberger, transmitting live the events unfolding right in front of my eyes.
“A brief summary for our new listeners: this year Germania selected the colony of Lunteren for the traditional New Year’s Festival. Lunteren is a fishing colony in the West coast of Germania. I have the dubious honor of hosting this year’s broadcast, transmitting right now live from Lunteren’s Forum. The Quaestor of Lunteren, Marjolein Mathus, was the main influence behind the selection of the colony for this year’s Festival, and also the chief organizer of the ceremony. A very capable woman, I believe, although after tonight’s events, her competence might sadly be called into question. This is what happened: we heard the traditional blessings from Consul Levinsohn and Quaestor Mathus, but when the Quaestor was about to perform the ritual countdown, a rogue radio emission took over. Yes, you heard correctly. An illicit emission of the final century countdown was transmitted in full—country-wide!
“I’m still in shock at the words. Johan, have we got a recording already? … No? … Aha, I’m told that a recording is being retrieved, but we need a few more minutes to prepare it. Johan, please call in Fulda to see if our free-press license covers us on this one. Might be a problem. I hope we can replay it for our listeners. It was terrifying! The countdown was mocked with blasphemy, calls against the Joyousday and even, Goah forgive me, against our Pontifex and aws Head.
“The rogue transmission appears to be the work of professionals, considering the level of sophistication and the precision involved. Our regular transmissions were jammed, while the rogue transmission entered the repeater’s network. It was transmitted to all stations in Germania.
“Excuse me, a report is coming through… What? … Where, here? … Attention, listeners. A fresh development. Apparently the Joyousday House is on fire. I repeat, the Joyousday House in Lunteren is on fire! More information, one second please… Yes… Okay, apparently the fire started at… midnight? Really? What a coincidence. I guess my listeners are also wondering if this has anything to do with the rogue broadcast. The timing matches. And the symbolism… Wait, more details are coming in… Okay, everything is under control, firefighters are on site. It’s an isolated building, no spreading danger. No casualties, the only guard was found sleeping outside, possibly drunk. But the building appears to be irreparably damaged. What a terrible loss for Lunteren. The roof apparently went up in flames and eventually collapsed. The building is still burning. This despicable…”
Twenty-Nine
The Lure of Propaganda
Ximena feels her blood warming up with every word Censor Smith throws at Professor Miyagi. Thank Goah the Grand Censor is here! Somebody has to confront the professor and his one-sided version of truth.
The historical Edda, a hero of hers since she was first told her story by Abuelo when she was a child, would never have used such words against aws Imperia. The rot Edda fought against was in Hansasia, Goah’s Mercy, not in Townsend! What a cheap propagandistic trick—so transparent!—to alter the historical narrative and misuse a revered historical figure to attack a rival regime.
Ximena feels her cheeks warm at the intensity of her indignation. Her disappointment. She worshiped this man, this giant among historians, the great Evangelist of
