"Don't speak, don't breathe too loudly," I whispered while pushing open the back door made of fragile wooden planks.
Behind me, Ibu Siti—or Raden Ajeng Sekartaji—tightly gripped Anne Marie's hand. The eighteen-year-old girl looked incredibly pale, her blue eyes wide as she stared into the darkness. I could feel the tremor in her hand as she leaned against my kebaya. Outside, the sound of military boots striking the ground grew closer, accompanied by Dutch commands echoing off the alley walls.
"They are at the front of the house," Siti hissed. Her voice was calm, but there was the sharpness of a princess ready to die to protect her child.
I led them through the "rat paths" between oil barrels and residents' laundry still hanging. The stench of the foul canal water was usually overpowering, but tonight, the smell of gunpowder and torch smoke dominated the air.
Suddenly, torchlight swept the wall in front of us. Two Marechaussee soldiers appeared at the end of the alley with their rifles already cocked.
"Stop!" one of them shouted.
Without a second thought, I pulled Anne Marie and Siti into the shadows behind a stack of Gunny Sacks. I pulled out the pocket pistol given to me by the British sailor. My hands were slightly sweaty, but I couldn't hesitate. If I was caught, Julian lost his protector, and Adrian lost his world.
"Gusti Ayu, when I move, run toward the small dock at the end of this alley. There is a boat with a white flag there. Tell the rower: 'The jasmine blooms at night'. He will take you away," I whispered quickly.
"Kartika, what about you?" Anne Marie asked in a raspy voice.
"I have my own ways of disappearing, Anne. Now, run!"
I fired one shot into the air as a distraction, then ran in the opposite direction, intentionally making a racket over old zinc sheets. The soldiers took the bait. They began chasing me, firing shots that shattered several clay pots around me.
I climbed a bamboo fence and leaped toward the roof of an old warehouse. From that height, I could see the shadows of Siti and Anne Marie reaching the canal bank and jumping into a small boat that immediately glided through the dark waters.
My breath was ragged. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the tip of my shawl. For now, they were safe. However, I knew Friedrich would not remain silent after this failure. I had to send a message to Buitenzorg immediately.
Batavia was no longer safe for anyone carrying Van de Berg blood—whether legitimate or exiled.