Table of Contents
Praise for Knife Edge:
By the Same Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
THE DAILY SHOUTER
RED Chapter one. Jude
Chapter two. Sephy
Chapter three. Jude
Chapter four. Sephy
Chapter five. Jude
Chapter six. Sephy
Chapter seven. Jude
Chapter eight. Sephy
Chapter nine. Jude
Chapter ten. Sephy
Chapter eleven. Jude
Chapter twelve. Sephy
Chapter thirteen. Jude
Chapter fourteen. Sephy
Chapter fifteen. Jude
Chapter sixteen. Sephy
Chapter seventeen. Jude
Chapter eighteen. Sephy
Chapter nineteen. Jude
Chapter twenty. Sephy
Chapter twenty-one. Jude
Chapter twenty-two. Sephy
Chapter twenty-three. Jude
Chapter twenty-four. Sephy
Chapter twenty-five. Jude
Chapter twenty-six. Sephy
Chapter twenty-seven. Jude
Chapter twenty-eight. Sephy
ORANGE Chapter twenty-nine. Sephy
Chapter thirty. Jude
Chapter thirty-one. Sephy
Chapter thirty-two. Jude
Chapter thirty-three. Sephy
Chapter thirty-four. Jude
Chapter thirty-five. Sephy
Chapter thirty-six. Jude
Chapter thirty-seven. Sephy
YELLOW Chapter thirty-eight. Meggie
Chapter thirty-nine. Sephy
Chapter forty. Meggie
Chapter forty-one. Sephy
Chapter forty-two. Meggie
Chapter forty-three. Sephy
Chapter forty-four. Meggie
GREEN Chapter forty-five. Jude
Chapter forty-six. Sephy
Chapter forty-seven. Jude
Chapter forty-eight. Sephy
Chapter forty-nine. Jude
Chapter fifty. Sephy
Chapter fifty-one. Jude
Chapter fifty-two. Sephy
Chapter fifty-three. Jude
Chapter fifty-four. Sephy
Chapter fifty-five. Jude
Chapter fifty-six. Sephy
Chapter fifty-seven. Jude
Chapter fifty-eight. Sephy
BLUE THE DAILY SHOUTER
Chapter fifty-nine. Jude
Chapter sixty. Sephy
INDIGO Chapter sixty-one. Jasmine
Chapter sixty-two. Meggie
Chapter sixty-three. Jasmine
VIOLET THE DAILY SHOUTER
Chapter sixty-four. Sephy
Chapter sixty-five. Meggie
Extract: Checkmate Checkmate
Chapter one. Callie Rose
About the Author
CHECKMATE
Praise for Knife Edge:
'A powerful story of race and prejudice' Sunday Times
'Relentless in its pace and power . . . devastatingly powerful'
Guardian
'The eagerly awaited sequel to Malorie Blackman's
acclaimed novel, Noughts & Crosses . . . is every bit as
exciting and intelligently written as one would expect . . .
the novel is both moving and thought-provoking'
Observer
'Superbly plotted' Inis
'Supercharged . . . the dislocation from reality lends her
writing an unsettling quality which keeps the reader
constantly alert and often uncomfortable'
Scottish Sunday Herald
'Written with passion . . . will appeal to teenagers who
want to understand grown-up emotions' Sunday Times
'Fast-paced and full of incident' TES
'[In Jude] Blackman has created a figure of truly
awe-inspiring malevolence' Irish Times
'A genuine literary achievement' Books for Keeps
www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk/malorieblackman
Also available by Malorie Blackman:
The Noughts & Crosses trilogy
NOUGHTS & CROSSES
KNIFE EDGE
CHECKMATE (Doubleday hardback)
A.N.T.I.D.O.T.E
DANGEROUS REALITY
DEAD GORGEOUS
HACKER
PIG-HEART BOY
THIEF!
For junior readers:
CLOUD BUSTING
OPERATION GADGETMAN!
For beginner readers:
SPACE RACE!
SNOW DOG
THE MONSTER CRISP-GUZZLER
www.malorieblackman.co.uk
MALORIE
BLACKMAN
Knife Edge
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
ISBN 9781407048017
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
KNIFE EDGE
A CORGI BOOK :
ISBN: 9781407048017
Version 1.0
First published in Great Britain by Doubleday,
a division of Random House Children's Books
Doubleday edition published 2004
Corgi edition published 2005
9 10 8
Copyright © Oneta Malorie Blackman, 2004
The right of Oneta Malorie Blackman to be identified as the Author of this work
has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988
This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
Corgi Books are published by Random House Children's Books,
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA,
A Random House Group Company
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited
can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009
www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This book is dedicated with love
to Neil and Elizabeth
Who bring every colour of the rainbow
And more besides.
* * *
And a big thank-you to everyone who asked,
'What happened next?'
He who binds himself to a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise.
* * *
WILLIAM BLAKE
THE DAILY SHOUTER
www.dailyshouter.news.id Wednesday 12th May
Nought Terrorist
Shot Dead
BY JON GRESHAM
Yesterday evening, a nought suicide bomber was shot dead as he entered Ackton Palace train station. He was found to be wearing a money belt packed with explosives. A police spokesman told the Daily Shouter, 'We had a tip-off that this terrorist planned to board the next com
muter train and detonate his bomb once the train was underway. As it was rush hour, the consequences would've been devastating. This is typical of the cowardly acts we've come to expect from the Liberation Militia.'
A nought eyewitness stated, 'Four plain-clothed police officers opened fire the moment the man stepped onto the station concourse. He didn't stand a chance. People were screaming and running. It was terrifying – like something out of a film.' But as a police spokesman was quick to point out, 'Make no mistake, had we shouted a warning or alerted the terrorist to our presence, he would've immediately detonated his bomb, maiming and killing goodness only knows how many people. Better one dead nought terrorist than the deaths of dozens of innocent people – including children.'
The Liberation Militia sent out a press release condemning the death of one of their members. 'This was nothing less than state-sanctioned murder. Our member wasn't even given the chance to surrender. Whilst these state atrocities continue, the war between Noughts and Crosses will never be over.'
Kamal Hadley, the Deputy Prime Minister gave his reaction to the outrage. 'These sub-human nought terrorists will never win. Their blatant disregard for life, be it nought or Cross, will ultimately be their undoing.'
Given the fact that Kamal Hadley's daughter, Persephone was kidnapped last year by the Liberation Militia and held for ransom, the Deputy Prime Minister's reaction showed remarkable restraint. Whilst a prisoner, Persephone Hadley was made pregnant by Callum McGregor, one of the nought terrorists who abducted her.
When Callum McGregor was hanged last year for kidnap and political terrorism, there was a (continued on page 5)
RED
Pain
Anger
Rage
Blood Tempests /Storms
Bullets
Uproar Screams/Shouts
Loud Fireworks/Bangs/Explosions
Birth Whirling/Thrashing
Fire
Scarlet/Burgundy/Crimson/Pink
Betrayal
War
Hatred
one. Jude
'Oh, come on, Jude. My feet are killing me,' Morgan moaned.
'Tough!' I said from one of the two single beds in our hotel room. 'And keep watching out the window. We don't want any surprises.'
'I've been watching the traffic for the last three hours.'
'And you've got an hour to go, so shut up complaining,' I ordered. He was getting on my nerves and no mistake.
Morgan sighed and moved the dark-brown curtain slightly so he could continue to look past it to the street below. He took another swig from his can of lager, which had to be lukewarm by now – he'd been holding it for the last hour at least. I scowled at his back before turning my attention to the remote control in my hand and the telly in front of me. Five minutes of flicking later, I hadn't found a single thing worth watching. So much for that then. There was bugger all of any use on, so I plumped for some inane soap which required minimum brain power to follow. Which was just as well, because my mind, as always, was on other things.
Like Andrew Dorn.
He was my immediate priority now. He was the General's second-in-command, but if the information we'd been given was correct – and each passing hour convinced me that it was – he was also a traitor. It was thanks to him that our kidnap of Sephy Hadley had gone so spectacularly wrong. Thanks to his betrayal of us, every member of my assigned Liberation Militia cell had been killed or captured – all except Morgan and me. The General didn't know it but Andrew Dorn was working hand-in-hand with the Cross authorities, particularly with Kamal Hadley, the Cross MP who loathed us noughts and everything we stood for. That's why we'd decided to kidnap his daughter, Sephy. Not just as a political statement, but to hit Kamal Hadley where it'd really hurt. But the whole operation had gone pear-shaped.
Thanks to Andrew Dorn.
And I had no idea where he was or how to get to him.
The thought of a man like that so high up on the Liberation Militia ladder – well, it made my stomach turn over. How many others had he betrayed? How many other men and women had worn a tie of rope all thanks to him? How I yearned to get hold of him. I wouldn't need long. Three seconds with Mr Dorn would be more than enough for what I had in mind. We in the L.M. needed to do something, anything to put the heart back into our organization. Since my brother Callum's death nothing had gone right. The police had cracked down on us hard and offered huge cash rewards to anyone giving them information which would lead to the capture and conviction of any one of us. The media called us ruthless terrorists. We're not. We're just fighting for what's right. Being born a nought shouldn't automatically slam shut myriad doors before you've even drawn your first breath. Being a nought shouldn't automatically make you a second-class citizen. What was it about our lighter skins that made the darker Crosses so afraid of us? So we're fighting for what's right. But that's not how the authorities saw it. It was open season on the Liberation Militia. No reasonable betrayal declined. And no doubt there was a nice little bonus to be had if they could hang us into the bargain.
We in the L.M. officially became the hunted whilst still trying to do a little hunting of our own. But the Cross authorities had made a big mistake killing my brother. Now Callum was a martyr and martyrs were far more dangerous. So many noughts had demanded reprisals for what they had done to Callum – and not just members of the Liberation Militia either. Not that I cared anything about that. Every night before I went to sleep, and every morning as soon as I woke up, I promised my brother that I'd make sure those responsible for his death would suffer. Every one of them.
But with all the Liberation Militia cells nationwide scattered to the four winds and desperately fighting for survival, it was hard to rest long enough to come up with some kind of long-term strategy. Long-term living had taken a back seat to short-term survival. Take that business with the so-called nought terrorist being shot dead at the station. A prime example of how the police were cracking down – hard. Our L.M. fighter didn't stand a chance. The police obviously had a new policy – shoot first and have a cup of tea afterwards. So here we were – Morgan and me – cooling our heels in a cheapish, three-storey hotel in a semi-dodgy area, but an area at least where we had friends. Morgan stirred his just-add-hot-water dinner in a plastic pot, still muttering under his breath. I ignored him. Sometimes he was hard work. More than once since our aborted kidnap attempt of Persephone Hadley, I had to remind myself that we were supposed to be friends. Mind you, living from shabby room to room, always on the move, always on the run, was enough to make anyone edgy.
But we'd finally been given another assignment. After months of almost total silence, we were being let back in from the cold. And our orders were to book into room fourteen and wait. So here we were, booked in for two days now and still waiting. I turned to pick up my newspaper from the bedside table, even though I'd already read it.
'We've got company,' Morgan said from his position beside the window.
He didn't need to say it twice.
'How many?'
'Two . . . no, three cars.'
If they could muster three police cars at the front of the hotel, no doubt there'd be more than one round the back.
'How did they know we were here?' Morgan asked, running to grab his holdall.
'Let's worry about that later when we're out of here,' I told him. If we got out of here . . . I grabbed my rucksack off my single bed and headed out behind Morgan.
We ran along the corridor to the fire exit. When I stayed in hotels and B&Bs, I always made sure that I was only a few rooms away from a fire exit for exactly this reason. Although we'd been told which room to occupy, luckily it was only three rooms away from the fire exit. Had we been set up? If so, why weren't we put further along the corridor where it'd be harder to escape? And why wait till we'd been in the hotel for two days to tell the police? Unless it'd been hoped that we'd relax and get careless. More of Andrew Dorn's handiwork? Morgan yanked open the fire exit door and leapt down the fir
st set of concrete stairs, with me right behind him.
I pulled at Morgan's shirt and put a finger over my lips. Morgan froze. Beneath us came the unmistakable sound of footsteps, more than one pair, charging up to meet us. Every contingency covered. One of my questions was answered. I pointed upwards. Morgan and I turned and ran up the fire exit stairs instead of down, fast but silent. We raced up the stairs to the second floor.
Now what? Morgan was responsible for ensuring we had a contingency plan for every place we went. Time to see if he could plan worth a damn.
'Follow me,' Morgan hissed.
I had nothing else planned for the evening so I legged it after him. We sprinted along the corridor. Morgan came to a halt before room twenty-five. He banged on the door whilst I watched up and down the corridor, my hand already on the gun in my jacket pocket. It felt like ice beneath my fingertips, cold and hard. And reassuring. Whatever else happened, the hangman's noose would never kiss my throat.
The door opened almost immediately. Morgan raced inside, followed only a moment later by me. I shut the door and immediately stood to one side of it with my back against the wall. It wasn't unknown for the police to gun down an innocent door without warning, and tough luck if you were standing behind it. A muscled, middle-aged Cross man, with a moustache and short-cut hair, stood in the middle of the room watching us. He'd had sense enough to move out of the way when Morgan burst into his room. I put my ear to the door and listened. I couldn't hear anyone running, or walking for that matter, but I knew better than to let my guard down.
'They've gone to our room on the first floor,' I turned to whisper to Morgan. He nodded, but I was surprised to see that he didn't have his gun out. The Cross man was still watching us, but he didn't look scared. His expression didn't even make it to anxious.
'We've got to get out of here,' I said.