Knavery: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 6)

by Cidney Swanson

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  “Why aren’t you fleeing? Is it for the sake of your half-sibling?”

  “No, Uncle. If I wished to prevent you from harming her, I could have left already and removed her to safety. I know which chamber is hers.”

  “Hmm,” intoned Fritz. “I suppose I ought to move her, now that you know who she is.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Uncle.”

  Fritz smiled. It was a cold smile that twitched and stretched but did not encompass his eyes. “Won’t it?” The smile vanished. “So, what am I to do with you? This bottle—” here Fritz indicated the white substance—“contains a product which would permanently take away your ability to disappear, if it works correctly. I suppose some of the credit goes to you since it was your suggestion about transdermal pathways that gave me the idea. Perhaps you’d like to help your Uncle Fritz advance medical frontiers by rubbing some into your skin?” Fritz leered, an evil grin on his face. “I haven’t had the opportunity to test this batch on anyone yet. Shall we start with you?”

  “I would rather not,” replied Georg. He felt his Adam’s apple bobbing, an involuntary response, but he kept his tone cool and even. If his uncle hadn’t shot him with Neuroplex yet, it was because he hadn’t made up his mind about Georg. There was still hope Fritz might be willing to trust him. Georg played his next card. “I’m more valuable to you if I can vanish and reappear at will than if I can’t.”

  “You’re more trouble, certainly,” growled Uncle Fritz.

  “I am more valuable because you can employ me to do things you ought not to risk your own safety to accomplish.”

  “Go on,” said Uncle Fritz.

  “I wish to serve you. That is why I reappeared before you just now. Not because of the threats you made regarding … the girl. If you want her dead, ask it of me, and I’ll kill her right now.” This was a bold lie, but boldness was serving him well, so far.

  “Hmmph,” grunted his uncle. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You say you wish to serve, and yet you have done what you knew would displease me. Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you. You could easily have fled me, if that was your intention, and yet, here you are.”

  “Here I am,” said Georg. “Yours to command.”

  “Am I to understand that if I ordered you to apply the Immutin cream to your hands, you would do so?”

  Georg avoided giving a direct answer, repeating what he had said earlier. “I maintain that I can be of more use as a caméleon.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Fritz. He opened a drawer and tossed the plastic bottle inside. “Very well. To what use do you propose I put you, then, boy?”

  Georg allowed a small smile to form on his face. “Would you like to know where I’ve spent my time since you departed for Fresno?”

  A flicker of irritation crossed Uncle Fritz’s face. “You obviously want to tell me.”

  “Forgive my impertinence Uncle.” Georg wiped the tiny smile from his face. “But what would you say if I told you I had managed to befriend Waldhart de Rochefort in the past twenty-four hours?”

  Uncle Fritz’s eyes grew noticeably wider. “You visited de Rochefort?”

  “Visited him and convinced him I wished to be his friend.”

  “Of what use is such a friendship to me? De Rochefort will not come here for the sake of friendship.”

  “I think he might, Uncle.”

  Fritz turned to stare at Georg, unblinking. “You wish me to believe you can persuade Waldhart de Rochefort to come here?”

  Georg returned his uncle’s steady gaze. And then he played his trump card. “You say you have Katrin? De Rochefort has my sister, Martina. The sisters were … close. I believe that if I told de Rochefort Katrin was here, the old man would come to rescue her.”

  Fritz rose and began to pace the length of the room. He seemed to be considering what Georg had said. At last he spoke. “Do you know, I believe he might.”

  “I shall depart at once, Uncle,” said Georg.

  “No,” said Fritz, clenching and unclenching his hands. “The whole reason I’m back from Fresno is because I received word our assets in Rome are in danger. The Italian government has seized our offices there, and there are things in Rome that I do not wish the Italian government to find. Perhaps I should send you….”

  “I would be honored to serve you in Rome, Uncle.”

  Fritz seemed to consider the idea before shaking his head. “No, I must go myself. My father’s sense of organization left much to be desired. This is a task I can entrust to no one else.” Fritz sighed. “However, I shall be back in thirty hours time, at which point I will be ready to entertain my cousin Waldhart.”

  Georg bowed deeply. “It will be my pleasure to deliver the old man into your hands in thirty hours time.”

  “Good, good,” said Fritz. Then he frowned slightly. “Can I trust you to remain here, or do I need to dose you with Neuroplex while I’m away?”

  Georg extended his arm and began rolling up his sleeve. It was a calculated risk, but he judged that willingness to cooperate would play better than resistance.

  “No, no, dear boy,” said Fritz, his tone almost amiable. “It is enough that you are willing.” He stood. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have arrangements to make, thanks to the interruption the Italian government has seen fit to visit upon my weekend.”

  Georg inclined his head in a slight bow.

  “Go to your room, my boy,” said Uncle Fritz. “I’ll check on you before I depart.”

  There was a warning buried in the friendly sounding words: stay put. Well, Georg had every intention of staying put. Until his uncle departed for Rome, anyway.

  25

  THAT WAS A REAL KISS

  Skandor had passed Fritz and Georg, invisibly, just as Fritz was demanding to know how Georg was able to cloak himself. Skandor swept quickly past the two and checked Fritz’s office. All the cupboards and drawers were closed; nothing looked amiss. Relieved, Skandor drifted back out of the office. By this time Fritz was inviting Georg into his office. It was apparent to Skandor they would kiss and make up. Wishing he had eyes to roll, Skandor left the pair, returning to Katrin’s room where he remained like a knight in Oma’s tales, holding vigil.

  Eventually, however, curiosity as to what might be transpiring outside got the better of Skandor, and he returned to Fritz’s office. Georg was gone. Fritz was on speaker phone with first his helicopter pilot and then his private jet pilot. Apparently he was departing for Rome.

  This was good. Fritz Gottlieb far away in Europe was very good.

  As Skandor watched from the sidelines, Fritz pocketed a pistol from his desk, loaded what looked like a dart gun with what looked like tranquilizer darts, and grabbed a few of the refrigerated toxins. And then, gazing about the room as if ascertaining he’d grabbed everything he wanted, Fritz took a handful of M&M’s from a bowl on his desk, munching on them absently.

  Peanut M&M’s, thought Skandor, scenting the evidence in the air. Fritz then rose and opened one last cupboard and considered what looked like Epi-Pens. Skandor’s eyes grew wide. He was very familiar with the devices—Camp Midgard stocked them for peanut allergies and bee stings. Was Fritz Gottlieb in the habit of tempting fate by eating peanut M&M’s and then … giving himself a shot?

  But Fritz didn’t stab his thigh with the Epi-Pen. He tilted his head to one side, still considering the devices. This gave Skandor enough time to notice something peculiar about them.

  The pens weren’t labeled with the right labeling. In fact, they weren’t Epi-Pens at all. Skandor got a good look at the handwritten label just before Fritz slammed the cupboard shut.

  The injection pens, according to the label, contained an antidote to the medicine Fritz used to injected Katrin and the others with—the one that stole their chameleon abilities. Skandor brought an invisible hand to his mouth. This was what Katrin needed!

  Dr. Gottlieb closed the cupboard and strolled purposefully to his office door. Usi
ng a small device, he released the lock on the door and passed out of the office. As Skandor followed, he observed Uncle Fritz checking on Georg, who was seated at his desk, typing. Fritz gave a satisfied nod, murmured a farewell to Georg, and made his way to the stairwell that led to the roof.

  Skandor followed, and when he’d confirmed Fritz had entered the waiting helicopter, he rushed to Georg’s room, hoping to find dragon-boy still busy.

  Georg, in fact, was staring at his phone. Somehow, he’d figured a way to make one of the rooftop monitors talk to his smartphone. Georg grinned as he watched his uncle’s helicopter veer away.

  Then, Georg placed a call.

  Skandor hesitated. All he really needed was five minutes.

  “He’s taking his private jet to Rome,” said Georg.

  The party on the other end seemed to be going on at length. Georg was nodding and kept trying to interrupt. At last he said, “Yes, I know. There is a new perimeter alarm. I’ll go down and disable it right now.”

  That would take at least five minutes. Skandor seized his chance to talk to Katrin before Georg could. He dashed through the wall that connected Georg’s room with Katrin’s.

  As soon as he’d brought Katrin into solid form, Skandor said, “You’re not going to believe what I just found!”

  “A magical passage to Valhalla minus the whole ‘dying honorably in battle’ part?”

  Skandor grinned broadly. “Better.”

  Katrin’s brow arched in doubt. “Better than eternal drinking, feasting, and sword-fighting?”

  “Hurry,” said Skandor, holding a hand out. As she took it, he felt the warmth of her palm pressed to his. He pulled her close and then aimed for the door, vanishing in time to pass through it and into Fritz Gottlieb’s office. When they came solid, Skandor noticed Katrin didn’t let go of his hand.

  He didn’t let go of hers, either.

  “It’s over there,” he said, gesturing to a cupboard.

  Hands clasped, they walked forward, and when they stood just in front of the cupboard, Skandor opened the door with his free hand, smiling at Katrin. Then, he turned to the supply of injection pens and retrieved one of them.

  Holding it up, Skandor said, “It’s not an Epi-Pen.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Katrin shook her head slightly.

  “Oh…. You don’t know what an Epi-Pen is? If you had a peanut allergy, you’d know. Trust me.”

  “I’m not allergic to anything,” said Katrin, apologetically.

  “Except Fritz Gottlieb.”

  “Well, duh,” replied Katrin. “So, what is this and why is it better than a secret passageway to Valhalla?”

  “Read the handwriting,” said Skandor.

  Katrin leaned forward, squinting to make out the uneven penmanship. And then her eyes flew wide and she drew in a sharp breath.

  “I know,” said Skandor. He felt laughter building up in his chest until he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

  Katrin joined his laughter and threw her arms around his neck, spinning him around and around and around. And then, all at once, she stopped. She grabbed his face between her two hands. And she kissed him. It wasn’t like the peck on the cheek. And it wasn’t like the quick kiss on the lips, either.

  Skandor forgot about the pen, which clattered to the floor. He forgot where he was. He forgot what he’d been on the verge of saying. He forgot everything except the subtle scent on her skin—wild violets—and the warmth of her lips, and the taste of Katrin’s mouth on his.

  As they kissed, Katrin stopped spinning him in circles, but when she pulled away, Skandor felt as if he were still spinning round and round.

  “In case you were wondering,” she said, “That was a real kiss.”

  Skandor nodded. He contemplated asking for another. But prior to the return of his ability to make words come out of his mouth, Katrin bent over and picked up the dropped injection pen.

  “Before we try it,” she said, “I want to see what else Fritzi is hiding in here.” She dropped her eyes to the pen. “If it doesn’t work … well, it would be nice to have something else to be excited about.”

  “Uh-huh,” agreed Skandor. He thought of suggesting more kissing. But that probably wasn’t the sort of “exciting” she had in mind.

  Katrin had moved to the far end of the office and was systematically checking each cupboard. The two farthest cupboards on top were empty. She squatted and opened the bottom cupboards, holding up a jumbo-sized bag of peanut M&M’s.

  Skandor shook his head no, thanks, and continued staring at her.

  “Can I assume my dear not-uncle Fritz is away?” asked Katrin.

  “Yup,” said Skandor, still staring.

  “Are you staring at me?” asked Katrin.

  “You kissed me,” he said simply. “That was a real kiss.”

  A soft flush colored Katrin’s face. “It was. And we’ll have to have a long talk about it when we’re not investigating Fritz’s office.”

  “Okay,” said Skandor. A “long talk” sounded promising. He could wait for that. Grinning, he began to investigate Gottlieb’s desk. He opened one of the drawers and caught the scent of wild violets again. The scent of Katrin’s kisses. Seeing a bottle of hand lotion, he squirted a tiny bit on one palm and then rubbed his hands together. The drawer also held cough drops, small packets of tissue, and an empty pack of gum.

  “There’s nothing interesting over here,” he said, closing the drawer again.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Katrin, turning to Skandor.

  He felt his face flushing red.

  “It smells like….” Katrin broke off, her brows drawn close together.

  “That was me,” he confessed. “Fritz had hand lotion in his desk and I might have bumped it.…” Skandor stopped himself mid-lie. “Okay, I grabbed some. It smells like you. I like the way you smell.” The blush was spreading to his neck and chest. He cursed his faulty skin, always so ready to change color.

  “Skandor! You can’t go experimenting with things in Fritz’s drawers. What were you thinking?”

  Skandor shrugged. He’d been thinking of how nice Katrin smelled.

  “Well, you’d better hope that doesn’t make you break out in hives or something,” scolded Katrin. She came closer. “Let me see your hands.”

  Skandor held them out for her inspection.

  “It doesn’t look like anything weird,” she admitted. “Just … be careful, okay?”

  He gazed into her eyes. “Okay.” And then he frowned. “That goes for you, too. What if Uncle Fritz intentionally mislabeled his fake Epi-Pens?”

  Katrin considered the question. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think he would. Remember the orange vials? He didn’t bother to re-label those, and they’re very dangerous. I don’t think he believes anyone can get in here.”

  “Good point.”

  Examining the injection pen, Katrin said, “I think this is exactly what it says it is. Which means, all we have to do is wait for Georg to get back with the original Angel Corps passwords, and all of us can be free.” Her eyes filled with tears. One spilled over her lid and Skandor reached over to brush it away.

  “Ah,” he said softly. “I was so excited about the antidote that I forgot to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” she asked.

  He didn’t want to tell her now, either, even though he knew he had to. “Georg made it back. He was in his room, talking on the phone. And running down to security to disable the perimeter.”

  Katrin’s brows knitted together. “Talking on the phone? I would have thought he’d have come straight…. Never mind. Let me grab the rest of the pens and we’ll go talk to Georg.”

  “Georg doesn’t seem to like me,” said Skandor. “You didn’t say anything to him about me and my abilities, did you?”

  “Of course not,” said Katrin, her eyes betraying irritation with the question. “It wasn’t my secret to share, was it?”

  “Thanks,” said Skandor
. “I didn’t mean—”

  He left his sentence unfinished.

  The candy in the glass dish on Fritz’s desk had begun to rattle softly.

  Their eyes flew up to gaze at the ceiling.

  “The helicopter,” murmured Skandor. “Can’t Gottlieb make up his mind about coming and going?”

  He grabbed the single pen from where Katrin had placed it on the counter. Katrin grabbed the others from the cupboard and hastily took Skandor’s hand.

  He pulled her close in preparation for cloaking.

  But something was wrong.

  “What is it?” asked Katrin. “Let’s go!”

  The M&M’s rattled again, ominous.

  “I….” He shook his head and tried again.

  Nothing.

  Skandor looked at his hands. “I don’t think that was hand lotion,” he whispered. “I can’t do it. I can’t cloak.”

  Katrin’s gaze flew to the door. “Okay. Okay. We’ll try the antidote. But let’s get out of here first.”

  She reached for the door handle, tugging hard, Skandor just behind her.

  The door didn’t budge.

  “Oh, no.”

  26

  HELISABA ES MORTA

  Pfeffer, Martina, Chrétien, and Sir Walter were ushered into the Penthouse Suite of the Fairmont Hotel by a concierge who made no comment upon their odd lack of bags but seemed quite offended at not being allowed to show his guests all the rooms and amenities. He left in a mollified state, however, after receiving Sir Walter’s generous gratuity.

  “Well,” said Martina, peering into one of the rooms after they’d been left in peace, “they may know how to pull off ‘opulent,’ but this bed looks like someone slept in it.”

  Sir Walter raised an eyebrow at the spectacle of a king-sized bed that did show signs of recent occupation. “We can move,” he said. “I have, in addition to these rooms, procured the hire of another suite of rooms two floors below, in the event we should find the secrecy of our location … compromised.”

  Martina shook her head at Sir Walter’s … overkill.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. “We’ll just shut the door to that room. There’s still … how many more rooms?”