“The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room,” Sakia read aloud as Kiro settled against her side. She barely had to look at the page to get the words out; she and Kiro had both memorized the slim book with its penciled sketches, the only book with pictures at Uncle Hiko’s house. Kiro was only three; the repetition soothed him as much as it bored her, but she was grateful to have at least one way to calm him down before sleep.
Kiro traced the image on the page, a cracked wall with a sheet of glass hastily fixed over a gap. It didn’t show the reader what the character saw through the window, but Sakia guessed it was supposed to be some kind of forest kingdom, given the book’s fairytale setting. She let him look as long as he needed to, letting him turn the page when he was ready. Some nights, she tried to rush him through storytime; tonight, she was happy to let him drag it out.
They slowly wove their way through the princess’s story of standing up to her strict father and finding her way out of the castle and into “the great grand world beyond,” which she and Kiro always recited together to finish the story. He looked blessedly droopy by the time she closed the book, and let her tuck him in without a fuss. Satisfied that he was down for the night, Sakia tiptoed out of their bedroom, leaving the door open a crack to let in enough light to ease his fears of the dark.
Her father and Uncle Hiko were working on their latest project in the kitchen: a short-wave radio they were trying to repair with Uncle Hiko’s sparse tools and hardware. Sakia knew her father missed the workshop they had at home over the garage, with its big windows and neatly arranged tools with every nail, screw or wire he could want. He never complained, though, which meant Sakia never did, either. She paused at the kitchen’s entrance, enjoying the two of them at work.
The table was littered with pieces and parts, but a hissing static emanated from the radio for the first time since they’d started working on it. Uncle Hiko was smiling. Her father was fiddling with something, a look of intense concentration on his face.
“We don’t even know if they’re broadcasting,” he muttered.
“Well, we’ll be here when they do,” Uncle Hiko answered. “Being able to hear a message that may or may not be coming is a lot better than nothing. And we know she’s trying to get a message through, right?”
Sakia’s father sighed. “Yeah. At least, last I heard. Hiko, I can’t ask you to keep us here much longer. There’s going to be questions.”
Sakia saw Uncle Hiko wave a dismissive hand. “You’re family. There is no question.”
“But the kids…”
“The kids will be fine. As long as they know you are doing everything you can to protect them, it won’t matter.”
“It will if I’m -”
Her father looked up suddenly and noticed Sakia in the doorway. He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and forced a smile that melted into something smaller, but real when he looked at her.
“Kiro sleeping?” he asked. Sakia nodded and went to fill the kettle. Uncle Hiko and her father would pause their work to share a cup of the good tea with her before she had to do her evening schoolwork. Sakia liked working alongside them, plugging away at math problems and essays painstakingly typed on her tablet as they fiddled with radio parts and filled the kitchen with more almost-comforting static. After four weeks together, the rhythm of their nights had almost started to feel like a home.
Right before the kettle went off, Uncle Hiko’s phone chimed in his pocket.
“Sakia, can you look?” he asked, bending over the radio and raising his hips so she could take the phone. “I can’t let this go.”
She obliged, pulling the small white phone from the back pocket of his weathered khaki pants. “Someone’s at the door,” she told him. “I don’t recognize them.” She brought the phone in front of him so he wouldn’t have to move to see it. Uncle Hiko looked up and studied the faces and uniforms, then squeezed his eyes so tight his forehead furrowed.
“They’re here,” he whispered. “Send a reply, text only. Say I’m working on a government report and need to put away classified documents before they can enter.” He looked up at Sakia’s father. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
Saskia typed as fast as she could, aware that whoever was outside was waiting for a response. As her thumbs flew over the keys, her father and Uncle Hiku swept the delicate pieces of the radio off the table almost carelessly, brushing them into a box, which her father grabbed and covered before hightailing it out of the kitchen, telling Sakia to follow with a jerk of his head. The kettle sang its boiling-point tune as they raced the long way to the room she, her father and Kiro shared, avoiding the front door.
Inside, her father handed her the box of radio parts, scooped Kiro out of bed and headed for the window in their room. He pulled back the heavy curtains and unlatched the window with one hand, grunting softly as he raised it. The window, which Sakia had not ever seen uncovered, looked out onto a fire escape, a metal grate platform mounted to the side of the building.
“Go, go,” her father whispered. Sakia heard Uncle Hiku’s voice, higher and faster than normal, getting closer to their door. She shoved the box through the window and climbed up onto the dresser to get out. It was freezing out on the fire escape and the metal grate was cold and sharp through her thin synthetic socks. Her father passed Kiro, who had begun to stir, to her. She clutched him close and whispered shushing noises in his ear as her father hauled himself through, closed the window, and ushered them all onto the rusty metal steps where they couldn’t be seen from the window.
Kiro shivered against her and whimpered like he was about to cry. Sakia clutched him tight and reached a hand up over her shoulder, cupping it against his mouth.
“Shhh,” she whispered in his ear. “I know it’s cold but if you’re quiet, I’ll tell you the princess story.” She paused. Kiro stilled, and didn’t make another sound.
“Thank you, Kiro,” she whispered. “Just a minute and then I’ll start.”
Sakia looked up at her father. He was panting and sweating, his face pale. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. When he looked down and saw that she was in her socks he slipped out of his house slippers and pushed them to her with his feet. She was too cold and her feet in too much pain to protest, and gratefully stepped into them, then turned to meet her father’s gaze.
“How long?” she mouthed. He shook his head and gave a tiny shrug. Sakia eyed the cardigan he was wearing. It had holes in the elbows, but it would work. Before she could say anything, he unbuttoned it and gently wrapped it around her front, tying the arms around her neck and making sure Kiro was covered.
“Okay,” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in a palace, with walls so thick no one could get inside. The outside world was unknown to her, but…” she paused. She could hear Uncle Hiko’s voice again, closer this time.
“My brother’s children have been with me, but I haven’t seen my brother since he dropped them off weeks ago.”
“Where are they now?” The voice wasn’t harsh, but Sakia could hear a clear distrust in the tone.
“With their mother,” she heard Uncle Hiko say.
“…she could see a little bit of it through the window in his room,” Kiro whispered in her ear.
“We know that’s not true,” the voice replied. “Their mother has been in custody for four weeks.”
Sakia winced and held her breath.
“…your brother is wanted for the theft of government property.”
“He is?”
The voice got sterner. “Mr. Matko, lying will only make this worse.”
“The King was the only one with a view of the outside world…” Kiro’s voice was small and scared.
Sakia’s father started climbing past them down the stairs, motioning her to follow. She went as quietly as she could, heart pounding, sweat pouring down the back of her neck as Kiro continued the story. Once they reached the ground floor, her father slid the box of radio parts under the building’s waste bin and took Kiro from her arms. As she handed him over, her father broke into a run. Sakia followed.
Kiro lifted his head from their father’s shoulder and beamed at her. “We made it!” he shouted. “We’re in the great grand world beyond!”
“Quiet!” Sakia hissed, stumbling in the too-big house slippers. This would never work. They had nowhere to go. It was too cold. She could hear her father panting, slowing down as they ran down the narrow alley between apartment buildings.
She saw the flashing green lights reflected on the building walls before she heard the siren’s low wail. Her father stopped running, and Sakia froze behind him. A silouetted figure – someone in street armor and riot helmet – emerged in the entrance to the alley.
Sakia’s father shifted Kiro to one arm and held the other up in a gesture of surrender. Sakia raised her arms too, and they slowly stepped toward whatever was coming next.