“He must have been heartbroken.”
“Well, that, and mad as hell,” Will said. “It’s what tipped the scale for him. He’d already been upset about Pfeffer going missing, but the girl was the last straw. She’d reminded him so much of his little cousin.”
The lights on the Eiffel Tower stopped sparkling, and our fellow passengers murmured a collective sigh of regret.
“It must be lonely for him now,” I said.
“We didn’t discuss that. But I think he really enjoys having Mick to talk to.”
“And you,” I added.
Will’s eyes focused on a euro coin he’d pulled from his pocket. He studied the coin as though it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
I wished he’d look at me like that. A wave of sorrow flowed through me and I trembled.
“You’re cold,” he said. He moved to close the space between us, put his arm tight around me.
It wasn’t the cold of the night that chilled me, but I let him think he’d guessed right. I turned my face into his jacket, so he wouldn’t see my tears. The pine–y smell of our California home clung to his clothes, and I saw me running beside him in the hot sunshine of a less complicated life.
***
The following morning, our last in Paris, about half of our class left for an optional day–trip to Versailles. Over breakfast, Gwyn begged me to come along.
“Le Petit Trianon, you know, where Marie–Antoinette hooked up with her lover,” she said. “It’ll be so romantic.” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to Will, in conversation with his sister.
“Some people would see Marie–Antoinette as a symbol of tragedy, not romance,” I pointed out.
Gwyn rolled her eyes, murmuring. “This is why I am the Queen of Relationships and you are not.”
“I can’t go. Sir Walter has something instructional planned for us,” I said. “I could ask him if you can come, too.”
Gwyn shuddered. “I’ve learned enough from Sir Walter, thank you very much.”
As we rose to part, Gwyn hugged me and whispered, “I love Will and Mick’s uncle, but I don’t think I can take any more new information at the moment.”
I smiled. “Enjoy Versailles for me.”
Seeing as we’d spent two days in the Loire Valley châteaux, I didn’t mind missing the palace of the Sun King. I figured anything Sir Walter had planned would be a lot more educational.
Of course, the French gentleman’s idea of educational sometimes differed from ours.
“C’mon, Mick, where are we going?” Will must have asked fifteen times in the last half hour since we’d jumped on something called an RER train to meet Sir Walter at a location he’d revealed only to Will’s sister.
I’d figured it out but kept my mouth shut.
“I’ve said all I’m saying on the subject,” Mickie replied.
“Yeah, and it was so helpful. Seriously, when did Mom say anything about wanting to take us somewhere in Paris?”
Will’s grumbling made his sister smirk.
The RER train slowed into its terminal stop, Marne–la–Vallee, and I wondered how long it would take Will to figure out where we were headed. The Parc Disneyland signs on the platform did the trick.
“No way! Seriously? Disneyland?” Will whooped and swung his arm in a wide arc over his head. He looked like a six–year–old jacked up on too much Halloween candy. We drew stares from sedate Parisian families as we exited the train station.
“Took you long enough,” said his sister. “Guess I shouldn’t have dropped you on your head so often when you were little.”
Will hugged his sister, lifting her off the ground, ignoring her insults and protestations.
Sir Walter greeted us at the foreground of the park and ushered us through a discreet side–entrance to the front of the Space Mountain line. The man had connections.
We hurtled through space briefly experiencing zero–gravity and g–forces my stomach doesn’t want to remember. I know we corkscrewed once, and I’d swear we hung upside down several times before the minute–long adventure concluded in a blur of swirling lights and sparks.
The harnesses retracted and Will jumped out of the seat. I followed slowly, and Mickie looked glad to accept a hand from a cast–member. Beside her, Sir Walter exited with dignity and a tiny smile.
“That was freaking amazing!” Will shouted. “I wonder what it would be like to ride it without the shoulder harness?”
“Lawsuit–in–a–box, idiot.” Mickie’s color was returning along with her sarcasm—both good signs.
We rounded a building and Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast came into view.
“A targeting ride?” asked Will. “Mick, you’re going down!”
An animatronics Buzz Lightyear greeted us. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Buzz declaiming against the Evil Emperor Zurg in excited French. Mickie laughed until tears squeezed out the corners of her eyes.
I whispered to her as she slipped into the vehicle with her brother, “Aim for the ‘Z’s’ in circles.”
I’m good at the game from annual visits to Disneyland in California. I scored well. But Sir Walter, who rode with me, wiped all of us off the map. He never missed what he targeted.
Will was pretty pissed when he learned he was supposed to aim for the “Z”‘s and not merely the creatures. “You could have told me before the ride started,” he said, scowling.
I just smiled.
“I wish the real bad guys went around with the letter “Z” tattooed on their foreheads,” Mickie said. “That would come in handy.”
“Let’s go check out the dungeon,” Will said, pointing to the pink castle, oddly elongated compared to the one I knew in California. “Says there’s a dragon inside.” He tapped his map.
We found the animatronics dragon in a dark cavern lit with a greenish glow.
“He’s chained, poor guy,” Will said, pointing at a collar. As if in response, its gold–green tail flicked sadly.
Sir Walter leaned toward us. “Here we have a visual metaphor for my cousin’s creations,” he murmured, pointing to the dragon.
“Dragons?” asked Mickie. “Not seeing it.”
“Oh, not actual dragons,” said Sir Walter. “But the creatures he bred in dark places, tormented as with these chains … there is a certain similarity. To have ensured the loyalty of the dragonlings in spite of their incarceration—that was his triumph.”
“That was Stockholm Syndrome,” said Will. “The bulk–size version.”
Mickie shook her head. “Well, it didn’t work on Pfeffer, ‘cause he hated Helmann.”
“For which we can be thankful,” said Sir Walter, bowing his head in acquiescence.
“Can we go get some food?” Will asked. “This dragon light makes my stomach hurt.”
“Everything makes your stomach hurt,” muttered Mickie.
Sir Walter directed us to the restaurant inside the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction where we parked ourselves at an island–themed table. As I translated the menu for Mickie, my mind wandered to the black book we’d given Sir Walter: to the section where Helmann described a military school to a young Helga.
“Sir Walter, is the … military–school–thing being repeated at Geneses?”
“No, no,” he replied. “The work at Geneses is, in large part, exactly what they portray to the outside world: genetics research. Of course, the research will be put to rather different purposes than the ones they advertise.”
Our food arrived, halting our conversation.
As the Caribbean–costumed server departed, Mickie asked, “So who’s in charge at Geneses?”
“My cousin,” replied Sir Walter. “Not officially or under his true name, but his monarchy is absolute.”
“What about your cousin’s kids?” asked Will. “Are his four ‘favorites’ still around?”
Sir Walter frowned. “The four I spoke of serve him still. Perhaps you can guess as to their names?”
“Fr
itz, Hans, Helga, and Franz,” said Mickie without batting an eye.
“Precisely,” said Sir Walter. “At the moment, however, Helga has been demoted from those who hover in his immediate circle.”
“She’s got Pfeffer’s old lab,” said Will.
“Are you sure she was demoted by being placed there?” Mickie asked. “I mean, wouldn’t Helmann want Pfeffer’s lab turned upside down by someone he trusted?”
“Certainly, but that could have been accomplished by those whose skill sets are very different from Helga’s. I consider his demotion of Helga as a mistake most fortunate for us. For decades she enjoyed his favor as the most highly placed member of his personal security detail and a chief assassin. And a more clever or heartless one, he could not have hoped for.” Sir Walter paused. “She has considerably less power at the moment. Especially since Mademoiselle Samanthe so cleverly dispatched her bodyguard.” He smiled at me.
Or possibly saved his life, I thought to myself.
I pushed food around on my plate, appetite gone, sure it must be obvious to everyone at the table that I was hiding something. I really should tell them what I did.
But not right now.
“So, out of curiosity,” I began, “Why Disneyland today, Sir Walter? I’m glad we’re here, but aren’t there more important things we could be doing?”
The old man looked thoughtful as he set down his fork and knife with a precision only the French could master. “Do you know the play Hamlet, by the English poet?”
“Shakespeare? Sure, we know it,” said Will.
“Speak for yourself,” Mickie muttered.
Sir Walter smiled. “I shall remind you of a line penned for Hamlet’s father, who tells Hamlet, ‘this visitation is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.’”
Mickie snorted. “I’ll need that in plain twenty–first century English.”
“Hamlet needed a reminder from his father to do what he already knew was right.” Sir Walter frowned. “When I have been tempted to walk away from the fight against my cousin, I visit this place to sharpen my resolve.”
“Not making the connection at all,” said Mickie, echoing my own thoughts.
“Look around you,” he said. “Of what is this place most full? Children. For whom do I labor? Well, for the good of humankind, no doubt, but that is so vague a concept as to be useless to rouse an old man like myself. No, it has always been for the children that I find myself able to act. For the sake of the descendants of my sweet Elisabeth, who are no more, as well as for those who do live, but who will not know a tomorrow if I stand by and do nothing.” He paused, eyes moist with unshed tears.
“Sophie–Elisabeth loved the Disney Parks in Florida. I spent many happy days there with her family. And so I come here to remind myself that the world is still a place of merriment, of smiles, of children who deserve a future.”
“Hear, hear,” said Will, after a long silence. “Let’s jump on some rides, watch some little kids having fun.”
“Will,” muttered his sister, “Grow up.”
“All’s I’m saying is, we’re in freaking Disneyland Paris, you know?”
Mickie’s glare softened into a smile. She tousled her brother’s hair. “So, how do you say ‘Arrrrrrgh’ in French?”
For Sir Walter’s sake, or maybe for Will’s, I tried to enjoy the Pirates ride, but the skeletons drinking wine that would never assuage their thirst? I couldn’t stop thinking about the children in long–ago Germany, dying as their own thirst drove them to taste poison.
Chapter Nineteen
BAD GUY RADAR
That evening, Sir Walter, Will, Mickie, and I strolled along the Seine as we walked from the Métro stop to our hotel. The water roiled, murky and dark. My thoughts felt similarly muddied. I still wondered if I should I tell the whole story about my encounter with Deuxième. But I didn’t want Mickie blowing up at me for being a soft–hearted idiot who sent help to Helga’s thug. So I kept quiet.
“We should probably turn up from the river to get to our hotel,” said Will. It was like he kept a GPS in his head, the way he always seemed to have a sense of where he was.
“Not for another two streets,” said Mickie.
Sir Walter seemed lost in his own thoughts, his eyes barely open as he walked beside us.
I looked from Will to Mickie to see who would back down this time.
“Suit yourself,” Will replied, a half–smile tugging on one side of his mouth.
I thought Will was probably right, but I didn’t mind spending a few more minutes alongside the river. In my head, I carried the tune of a French song Mom used to sing to me about a bridge. Maybe it was one of the bridges I could see right now; there were so many in Paris.
We turned up a narrow road flanked by tall apartments, and Sir Walter frowned, finally taking note of where we walked. “I apologize for my absence of mind. We should have turned two streets ago.”
Will smirked but said nothing.
“I believe, although I am far from certain, that I have caught an echo of our acquaintance Monsieur Ivanovich. It may be he managed to escape with his life. Would you perhaps excuse me for a moment? His thought signature is far easier to catch when I am without substance. Shall we meet back at the hotel?”
“Sure, no worries,” Will replied.
Mickie’s mouth turned downwards and deepened into a scowl as Sir Walter’s form vanished. “Easy for you to say,” she muttered.
“Nothing’s going to happen, Mick. Sir Walter’s on it. He said Ivanovich fears him,” said Will. “Although we should have asked him how to get back to the hotel.”
Grumbling, Mickie produced a map from her back–pack. Will strolled ahead to look at a parked vespa with admiration. He turned back to me, grinning.
“Now that is the way to get around in France,” he said.
I shrugged. It looked dangerous to me; I’d nearly been clipped by cars several times in the past day and a half. Madame Evans told us drivers only had to miss pedestrians by one meter, and I was sure some of them made a game of it.
As I strolled closer, Will whispered to me. “Of course, if Mick hadn’t declared an elevated security level at the moment, it would be a lot more fun to race around Paris rippling.”
I smiled. Will’s sister had begged him to stick close and not take unnecessary risks after my encounter with Deuxième. “It would be fun,” I agreed.
“We could climb the Eiffel Tower for free, you know,” said Will.
“Or get closer to the Mona Lisa,” I offered.
“Or maybe—” Will’s words were cut short by a gasp from his sister.
Mickie pointed to the opening down one side of the street. “I saw him! At least, I think I did. Big guy? White blonde hair?”
Will looked down the alley, his eyes squinting. “How’d he dig himself out of the catacombs?”
“Sir Walter just said he heard his thoughts being broadcasted,” said Mickie, gazing uncomfortably down the road. “Let’s get over to a busier street.”
The side street down which we walked was deserted; suddenly it felt unsafe.
“This way,” said Mickie, pointing to our right. “There’s a larger street this direction.”
Together we headed for the busier thoroughfare.
Whoever Mick had seen, I hoped it wasn’t Ivanovich; I wished Sir Walter would come back.
As we turned onto the boulevard, a few tired–looking pedestrians strolled along the far side of the road.
“That’s better,” murmured Mickie.
Will walked beside us, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.
“I’m sure it’s fine, Will,” I whispered. “Even if he survived, he’s not the only blond guy in Paris.”
Will’s brows were pulled together in concentration. Overhead, the light continued to fade from dusk to night. I looked from side to side, my own heart beating faster as we continued without Sir Walter reappearing. Could Deuxième have survived the collapse of that room? I’d heard the si
rens wailing as they headed toward his location. My heart felt torn; I didn’t want to be responsible for his demise, but my life would be a lot easier without him following us.
“Dammit!” Pushing past us and into a sheltered alcove, Will called to us, “It’s him. I’m on it!” And with that, Will rippled.
Beside me, Mickie growled. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” She looked frantically about us for any sign of Will or our pursuer.
I grabbed her hand. “Keep walking. Let’s just get back to the hotel.”
The boulevard was emptying as we pushed farther along. I felt exposed. Mickie dropped my hand to fumble inside her purse.
“Where is it?” she murmured.
“What?” I asked.
“Mace, I think. Some kind of spray I bought off a guy at a flea market here.”
“I think that’s highly illegal in France,” I said.
Mickie shrugged her shoulders. “So is kidnapping a sixteen–year–old girl out of a taxi.”
I balled up my hands into fists and began walking faster towards the hotel.
“There!” Mickie cried.
“What?” I didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Bleach–head,” she replied.
We peered into the gloom of the darkening road.
“At least I thought I saw something …” She broke off but began jogging, pulling me along.
A car brushed past us, two young men making the local version of cat–calls as they sped by. And then I saw him.
Ivanovich raced towards us, Will materializing just behind him in hot pursuit.
“Will!” called Mickie.
Helga’s tall thug turned into a side street ahead of us with Will on his heels. As we ran to catch up to them both, Mickie called to her brother using a variety of spicy expletives. We reached the alley, but it was empty. Our eyes adjusted to the shadowy dark of the tiny opening. A dead–end.
Will and our pursuer were nowhere to be seen.
Mickie cursed again.
“Come on,” I said, backing out of the alley. “Let’s get out of here. We can’t help Will if we can’t find him.”
Chameleon (The Ripple Series) Page 12
