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civilians but dozens of German soldiers gathered on the station platform. Travelers’ identifications had to be checked, but Edward wasn’t crossing the gate, so he would be spared that. Then he spotted his target: a man in a worn dark suit, complete with a red-tipped umbrella and a kerchief sticking rakishly from the coat’s tattered breast pocket.
    Edward approached the man casually and, without a hat to tip, bowed his head slightly, stopping nearby as if awaiting someone on the expected train. “Funny how it can rain in Louvain and stay dry in Aerschot, isn’t it?”
    The man, who had started to turn away, stilled. “Yes, and all the while it pours in Brussels.”
    They made the briefest eye contact before Edward turned away, going to a bench along the wall. He sat down, placing the fish beside him. A few moments later, as the train whistle sounded down the track, the other man sat.
    Edward stood, leaving the fish behind.
    The man took the wrapped fish and headed back to the edge of the platform just as the huge, black steam train came hissing to a halt. The news would find its proper way now, and with it, hope.

3
    Verba volant, scripta manent—
    Words pass, but writings remain. We seek in these pages to be the mirror of a people united against the FOREIGNER, to remind our fellow Belgians that though our homeland is gagged under its oppressors, we are not, nor will we ever be, defeated.
    La Libre Belgique
----
    “Wait here,” Edward whispered. “Do not move until I come out.”
    Isa kept a retort to herself, offering only a nod. She was in the vestibule of either a home or a closed business—it was hard to tell which. He went inside the inner door and she looked around. Scant moonlight shone through a tiny square window that was framed with heavy wood and only large enough for a single pane of glass. The entryway was stark, clean, void of furniture or adornment.
    Like all the buildings they’d passed, this one had been shuttered and dark. She only knew they were in Lower Town, a Brussels quarter unfamiliar to Isa. Edward had taken her down one sloping, narrow alleyway after another, until she was certain she’d never find her way out alone. Her family had always lived in Upper Town, whose streets were far easier to manage. From various spots along those fashionable avenues and boulevards she’d done little more than see the evening lights of Lower Town or, during the day, the rooftops nestled closely together. Most were tiled like those she’d seen in Spain; others were of tin, some of simple wood; and they were nearly all connected.
    Now from within Lower Town she’d seen brick everywhere, closing in from all directions at twilight. Brick streets, brick buildings, brick steps leading to the little wooden doors that were tightly shut.
    She leaned toward the inner door, straining to hear someone familiar, but the sounds were too quiet. Was this where Edward had been living since his family’s hotel had burned? Was Genny here, just on the other side of the door? and Jonah? Isa longed to go inside but didn’t dare. If it were only Edward’s family inside, surely he would have brought her in.
    Eventually the sound of voices died away and Isa sank to the floor. Finally, snug in her trust that Edward had brought her somewhere safe, she fell asleep.
    * * *
    “You should have brought her inside. Look, she’s sleeping.”
    “A hard bed won’t hurt her,” Edward said to the woman at his side. “She’s known nothing but the softest feather ticks most of her life. That’s all changed now that she was foolish enough to come back.”
    “Bring her in and she can sleep upstairs. You shouldn’t leave now anyway. Curfew started two hours ago.”
    “Our documents are good if we get stopped. We’ll say the trams were late from Louvain because of so many stops at checkpoints. It happens every day.”
    “Oh, fine. Insulting the Germans for their policies will certainly endear you to them.” She stroked the side