Knavery: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 6)

by Cidney Swanson

  Martina folded her arms. This was such a mistake.

  “Ah,” said Chrétien. “Well, it is true that the counting, or in Martina’s case, the music, is broadcast. When you count, you automatically intend for the counting to be heard. Intention is everything. In fact, counting in this manner has an additional effect: it announces, to one who is listening, your presence.”

  “Or your approach,” added Sir Walter.

  “Because all of you can hear it,” murmured Georg. “But you’re saying all I have to do to keep my thoughts private is … keep them private? How does that make any sense?”

  “How do any of the remarkable properties of caméleons make any sense?” mused Sir Walter. He tugged at his beard a few times and then leaned toward Georg. “Think of a child of some two or three years of age. Such a child keeps no reign upon her tongue, uttering forth what others who are older might choose to hide. If such a child were to be suddenly placed in the company of those without hearing, the child might continue to babble her thoughts aloud rather than learning to restrict her conversation within.”

  “And you’re saying it’s like that with … ‘deaf’ caméleons?” asked Georg.

  “Precisely,” replied Sir Walter. “A caméleon lacking the ability to hear others never learns to keep his or her thoughts private. But all that is necessary to keep them private is the intention to avoid uttering them forth.”

  “That sounds … crazy,” said Georg.

  “It’s not crazy,” snapped Martina. “If Sir Walter says something, you can believe it.” She released her other thought silently: Unlike some people I could name.

  She had the satisfaction of overhearing Chrétien’s private laughter.

  “I have a request, my young cousin,” said Sir Walter, addressing Georg. “It would be best if Fritz were not to obtain this knowledge of the rules of silent communication.”

  “Trust me, I don’t want Fritz to know this,” said Georg.

  For once, Martina believed him.

  And then it occurred to her to wonder if Georg had been hiding something else from Uncle Fritz.

  “Does Dr. Gottlieb know you can ripple?” she asked her half-sibling.

  Georg hesitated. Glanced to the right. Opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again.

  “You’re not supposed to be rippling,” said Martina, figuring it out. “But you’re keeping your ability hidden. Is that what’s going on?”

  “I wouldn’t be the first to employ such a strategy,” Georg said, his expression surly.

  “You stole my idea,” said Martina.

  “So what if I did?”

  Martina shrugged and muttered, just loud enough for Georg to hear, “Exactly like you stole Helmann’s pocket watch and planted it in my room.”

  Georg’s face flushed.

  “My dear friends,” said Sir Walter, his voice cool, soothing. “I am certain we have, all of us, much to regret in the past, and yet it is the future of which we speak now. Katrin’s future.”

  Martina felt her own color rising at the reprimand, but then she realized something important. Her eyes narrowed. “You say you’ve spoken to her. You brought a letter. Why not bring Katrin herself? Even if she can’t ripple, aren’t you’re big enough to bring her with you?”

  Georg’s eyes darted to Martina’s and then away. “We … agreed she should remain so you would be motivated to return to rescue the others.”

  His statement sounded rehearsed, like he’d just been waiting for the right moment to deliver it.

  “Others?” asked Sir Walter, his hand drifting to his goatee. Absently, he began tugging at it. “How many others has Fritz captured?”

  “There are three more,” replied Georg, “from Katrin’s new family—the cadre with which she was placed after being taken from us.”

  Martina kept her eyes fixed on Georg. He had pulled his hands free and was now fidgeting, tapping his fingers one by one against his thumbs. She recognized the behavior from childhood. He’d done the same thing the day he’d lied about Helmann’s pocket watch.

  “You’re lying,” she said. “No. No, that’s not it….” She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the situation: Katrin imprisoned apart from her foster siblings, occasionally seeing one or the other when Fritz wanted to force someone to do something they might otherwise refuse.

  Martina’s eyes opened slowly. “Katrin refused to come with you. You offered to take her away from Uncle Fritz to safety and she told you she wouldn’t leave without the others. It was all four of them or no deal.” She stared at Georg, unblinking. “But you couldn’t bring all four.”

  Georg’s hands froze. He shoved them under his legs, scowling.

  “Am I right?” asked Martina.

  “Martina,” said Dr. Pfeffer, his voice a cautious warning: be nice.

  She ignored Pfeffer. “Your face says it all, Georg. Katrin wouldn’t run away with you. You were willing to leave the others behind, and she said ‘no deal.’ So you came to us for help.”

  Georg spoke, his tone even, his expression dark. “It wasn’t like that. You make it sound as though I intended harm to the others. I did not. I simply didn’t think of them when I made the offer to take her away.”

  Martina grunted her disapproval.

  “But I’m here now,” said Georg, raising his voice. “And that should count for something. Yes, I thought only of Katrin at first. But I agreed with her, didn’t I, once she pointed out the dangers to which the others would be exposed if she and I escaped together. And once she pointed that out, I immediately changed the plan. And I came here, didn’t I?”

  “You did. You did indeed,” interjected Sir Walter.

  “And I did not come here so she—” here he broke off and pointed to Martina—“could insult me. If it weren’t for her, Hansel would still be alive today!”

  Martina froze, holding her breath. Slowly she released it. “How dare you?” she said slowly. “How dare you throw his death at my feet? You are the reason Hansel is dead!”

  “Please,” said Pfeffer, holding a hand up. “Martina, Georg, please. Believe me when I say that I understand the dynamics of complex sibling relationships.”

  Will guffawed and his sister shot an elbow to his ribs.

  “But I am sure,” continued Pfeffer, “that there is one thing upon which we can all agree.”

  “We gotta save those ripplers from crazy Uncle Fritz,” said Will. “I’m in.”

  Mickie scowled at her little brother. Martina had begun to understand that Mickie was at her most disapproving any time Will put himself in harm’s way. Now, that was the way siblings should feel toward one another: loving and protective. It made Martina feel the absence of her family more than ever.

  Quietly, she spoke up. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper, Georg. It’s been hard, losing Hansel….” Her throat constricted. “I will go with you to save Katrin.”

  “If it’s all the same,” said Georg, “I want Pfeffer and both the de Rocheforts.”

  Georg’s temper, unlike Martina’s, seemed not to have cooled. He wouldn’t look at her, addressing his remarks to the ones from whom he wanted assistance.

  “I’m the only one of us who can identify Katrin,” she said quietly. “So I will go. If a rescue is to be attempted.” She couldn’t figure out the expression on Sir Walter’s face. It was a far away look, as though he had lost himself elsewhere.

  “Fritz is very angry,” Sir Walter said softly, his eyes closing. “Very angry. Do you hear him, my son?”

  Chrétien copied his father, closing his eyes as if to listen. “He is most inflamed with passion, mon père.” Chrétien’s eyes opened slowly. “And,” he said, “it would appear he has determined to leave the medical conference prior to its conclusion.”

  Georg stood suddenly, a cornered predator.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said.

  22

  HE ALWAYS LANDS ON HIS FEET

  “We go together,” said Martina. “There’s safety in numbe
rs.”

  Georg frowned at his half-sister. Martina thought he looked as though he wanted to object but didn’t know how.

  “I concur,” said Sir Walter. “Pfeffer, if you would be so good as to—”

  “I’ll gather what we need and be right back,” replied Pfeffer.

  “I wish to go alone,” said Georg. “There can be no rescue today. Not with my uncle on his way back. And if I’m not there when Fritz gets back….” There was no need for him to complete the thought aloud: Katrin would suffer.

  Martina observed the pale color of Georg’s face. Gone was the sinuous, accommodating version of her brother. Now he was all angles and joints, ready to flee. Or attack. She recognized—no, she remembered what it was like to feel that way.

  “We have to let him go now,” she said to Sir Walter, to Chrétien.

  Georg looked at her, as surprised as she was to hear her taking his side.

  “Mon père,” said Chrétien. “I concur that we must allow Georg to depart without delay.”

  “Very well,” said Sir Walter. “We shall follow and install ourselves at a hotel nearby, Georg.”

  “I’m on it,” said Gwyn, picking up her phone.

  Martina glanced over; Gwyn was looking up hotels. Before Martina’s eyes were raised again, she caught a flicker as Georg vanished from sight. She looked over to his seat; it was empty. He was gone without so much as a goodbye.

  Chrétien looked distressed. “I ought to have offered to transport him.”

  Martina shook her head. “Don’t worry about Georg. He always lands on his feet.”

  Pfeffer materialized in the room and began dispensing weapons and antidotes.

  “Has Fritz departed yet?” he asked Chrétien.

  Chrétien replied. “He has called for the … which is the word, mon père?”

  “Helicopter,” replied Sir Walter.

  “Yes,” continued Chrétien. “But it must first be … examined for defects.”

  “Pre-flight safety checks,” interjected Will.

  “Indeed,” said Chrétien, bowing slightly. “Only then will it be brought from the heliport to convey my cousin.”

  Will consulted his phone, checking the time. “Georg will be cutting it close,” he said, “based on how long he told us it took him to get here.”

  “Then we must pray he ‘lands on his feet,’ as Martina so eloquently put it,” said Sir Walter.

  ~ ~ ~

  Georg raced toward San Francisco with a sense of having dodged a bullet. He was not about to travel with a group who might be able to read his thoughts, whatever they’d said to the contrary. Not to mention, who knew what wild tale Georg might be forced to spin when his uncle returned. Georg didn’t want them listening to that, either.

  On another point, he was even more resolved. Sir Walter and the others could plan and plot all they wanted in their San Francisco hotel, but when it came time to rescue Katrin and the other caméleons, Georg’s plan would be the one put into play. Georg’s and only Georg’s.

  Wrapped in his thoughts, Georg missed the turn he should have taken out of the foothills. Cursing, he corrected his invisible course and raced like the wind to beat his uncle back to Geneses.

  23

  WHAT HE KEEPS IN HIS CUPBOARDS

  Skandor and Katrin searched Uncle Fritz’s office carefully, but Skandor was beginning to conclude Fritz wasn’t the sort of person who wrote his passwords down on paper.

  “He probably stores them on his laptop,” said Skandor. “And he wouldn’t have left that here if he was going somewhere for the weekend.”

  “Shall we see what he keeps in his cupboards?” Katrin asked, idly opening one of the tall ones, which had a large unit of some sort inside.

  Skandor opened the inner door.

  “Oh!” said Katrin, recoiling.

  “What is it?” asked Skandor, staring at what looked like a refrigerator full of miniature bottles with orange labels.

  “It’s the … the …” She leaned forward to read the writing on the tiny bottles, her lips pinching tight and thin. “These vials are identical to the ones we used to vaccinate people with. Myself and the members of my cadre.”

  “And Fritz is keeping them here? In a building where dozens of people walk in and out every day?” Skandor shook his head.

  “Only Fritz has access to this office,” replied Katrin.

  “But … still,” muttered Skandor. “If that stuff can be used to kill people….”

  “We should replace the vials with fake ones, like you said Georg did with the enzymes. The liquid is clear, so that wouldn’t be a problem….” Here she broke off, frowning. “But we would need to create identical labels, and that could be time-consuming.”

  A grin formed on Skandor’s face. “Or we could just have me vanish with the whole thing and leave it somewhere, invisible.”

  “I think it’s too big,” said Katrin. “Besides, Uncle Fritz would definitely notice if a refrigeration unit was—” She broke off, because Skandor had squatted beside the cooling unit and wrapped his arms around it.

  Half a second later, he vanished. The refrigeration unit, however, remained solid.

  Skandor rematerialized, a sheepish grin on his face. “That didn’t work so well.”

  “You can’t vanish with anything that weighs more than you do.”

  “Oh,” said Skandor. His brows pulled together. “That explains a lot.” He opened the door of the unit again and stared at the vials. And then, they began to rattle, vibrating against one another. “Earthquake!” called Skandor. But the room wasn’t rocking.

  Then his eyes flew wide and he looked at the ceiling. “Helicopter! Fritz is back.”

  “Quick!” cried Katrin. “You have to get me back to safety!”

  Skandor wanted to point out that safety was the last word she should use when describing her chamber.

  He wanted to beg her to run away with him as she threw her arms around his neck.

  He wanted to vanish and sail with her through the building walls to freedom: down, down, down, like Freyja with her coat of falcon feathers, a mad leap to liberty.

  But that wasn’t what Katrin wanted. Without another word, he cloaked their bodies into safety and raced back to replace Katrin invisibly on her bed.

  Having done so, he sat there, next to her, reluctant to depart. It felt right to sit there, invisibly, a sentry hidden like the empty cookie tin he’d placed in her wall. But then he began to worry they might have left something ajar in Fritz’s office. Would Fritz notice?

  Skandor rose and passed out into the hall. Immediately, he heard raised voices coming from nearby.

  It was Georg. He was speaking to his uncle. And neither party looked happy.

  24

  CONCEALED CAMÉLEONS

  Georg, cloaked in invisibility, knew as soon as he entered his room that he was too late.

  His uncle sat on the narrow bed, holding a small device that he waved back and forth through the room, looking very much like a child playing with a flashlight. Except that the device emitted no visible light. So what did it do? Georg had his answer half a second later.

  “Ah,” said Uncle Fritz, holding the device steady and aiming it precisely where Georg hovered invisibly. “Georg, I presume. What do you think of my device for detecting the presence of concealed caméleons?”

  Georg froze.

  “I should come solid, if I were you, my boy,” said Fritz. “Or Uncle Fritz might become angry. Angry enough to … harm someone.” Fritz walked outside Georg’s room and headed straight for Katrin’s door.

  Katrin. Georg was caught between conflicting desires.

  Fritz continued. “The girl—the one I asked you to be ready to kill—she’s your half-sister Katrin. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize her. Here’s my offer,” said Fritz. “Come solid or she pays.”

  Georg hesitated, a desperate plan still forming in his mind.

  “Perhaps it’s time the boy had some blood on his hands,” muttere
d his uncle.

  Georg made his decision. He came solid in the hall, just far enough away that Fritz couldn’t touch him. It was still risky—Georg knew Fritz had been tinkering with his Neuroplex-delivering dart gun again.

  “Well, well, well,” said Uncle Fritz. “You can assume your caméleon form.”

  “As you see,” replied Georg. He had to play his cards carefully. “You say the girl is … my sister? Katrin?”

  “You did not suspect?” Fritz asked softly.

  Georg shook his head. “And I’m not sure I believe you now. May I speak to her?” This was risky, but he didn’t think his uncle would say yes.

  “I think we’ll save that reunion for another time. For now, you have bought her a reprieve from harm. Would you like to tell me how it is you are able to become insubstantial in spite of the injection of Neuroprine I delivered by my own hand?”

  Georg swallowed hard, feeling the tug-tug of his Adam’s apple. Trying to speak calmly, he explained to his uncle how he had tricked him.

  When Georg had finished, Uncle Fritz invited Georg into his private office.

  Georg felt a beaded line of sweat on his forehead. Apart from meals, he had only been invited in a handful of times. Enough to have ascertained that being asked into the office was not a sign his uncle was in a good mood.

  Uncle Fritz ran his fingers along one cupboard and then another, as if he couldn’t make up his mind which one he wanted to open. In the end, he opened the one farthest left and withdrew a plastic bottle with a squirt top. It appeared to contain a thick, white substance. Fritz offered no explanation as to the contents of the bottle. He simply set it on his desk and sat down.

  “So,” began Fritz, splaying his hands on the desk, “you deceived me in order to regain your ability to vanish.”

  He was being treated like a child. Georg felt his cheeks heat at the accusation. Perhaps it was just as well, though—his uncle would see the flushed face as evidence of shame.

  “Yes,” said Georg, dropping his eyes submissively.

  “And yet you stand here before me and make no attempt to escape.”