danger of drawing attention to himself by such a theft, but he would not listen.”
“He was stubborn,” said Mickie.
“Look who’s talking,” mumbled Will.
“A strong will is a great asset,” said Sir Walter, his mouth pulling into half a smile. “Especially for one without other genetic gifts. Mademoiselle , I understand you do not share your brother’s abilities?”
Mickie shook her head. “I can’t ripple.”
“You are not a ‘chameleon’?” Sir Walter asked. “That is the word I use. Quite aside from the chameleon’s ability to disappear, the creature was for centuries thought to live by consuming only air.” He laughed softly to himself. “What is your word again? Ree–pill?”
“Ripple. It’s like when you disturb a pool of water, you know, the ripples that flow out. That’s what it looks like when Will disappears,” Mickie replied.
“Of course. A good word. Especially as there is no verb–form of ‘chameleon.’ Trust my young friend Pfeffer to find a better word in the language of his new home,” said Sir Walter.
“It’s my word,” snapped Mickie. “Pfeffer referred to Will’s ability as ‘the phenomenon’ before I told him my word.”
Will guffawed at his sister’s prickliness.
Sir Walter spoke gently. “He would have been only too quick to credit you, my dear, were he here with us now.”
Mickie’s eyes dropped. The kind words about her former advisor appeased her. “Okay, listen,” she said. “I believe you’re Sir Walter. I believe Pfeffer trusted you. But for the love of all that’s holy, why didn’t you stick to our plan to meet up in Amboise?”
“Ah, yes.” Sir Walter looked self–consciously at the table–top before us. “I have waited so long. You must forgive me for meeting you thus unannounced. I found I preferred to wait no longer. You must forgive an impatient old man; the old are of course incorrigible.” He smiled at us and then turned his gaze towards the sky, now clear of clouds.
Mickie stared at him for a moment and then guffawed. “Yeah, okay, we forgive you.”
Sir Walter returned his gaze from the heavens. His lips tightened and thinned as he addressed us. “I am in hopes that you have brought the manuscript for which I believe my dear friend was killed.”
The black book. Now came the moment of truth. Did Mickie trust Sir Walter enough to hand over the writings?
She stared hard at the old gentleman, then slowly nodding her head, she withdrew the book from her bag and surrendered it to him.
“We had trouble reading it,” she said.
Sir Walter’s lip curled into a smile. “I should imagine. It is the language of my youth, spoken in Helmann’s childhood, but no longer common.”
Suddenly I was the one with trust issues. “You’re not … you aren’t the man who wrote it, are you?” The words tumbled out, echoing like an accusation.
Sir Walter looked up from the black book at my question. “No, child. I am not Helmann. But he and I have a shared history; he is my cousin, whom I once knew as Girard L’Inferne .”
The cold iron of the chair made its way through my jeans, and I shivered, pulling my scarf higher.
Sir Walter spoke. “For a very long time, Pfeffer urged me to act upon knowledge I held regarding my cousin, the man credited with discovering the chameleon disease. To my shame I did nothing. Or very little. At great personal risk, Pfeffer obtained this record of offenses with which he hoped to damn my cousin.”
“I’m sorry to doubt you, but no way did Pfeffer risk death just to show the world how some dead Nazi–dude used to be evil,” said Will.
“Dead?” Sir Walter looked at us, gaze intense. “No, unfortunately Helmann is very much alive. And more dangerous than ever.” Sir Walter took out a small French cigarette. “Do you mind?”
None of us had the nerve to tell him he couldn’t smoke.
“How old would you say I am?” he asked.
“We were expecting someone in their
“He was stubborn,” said Mickie.
“Look who’s talking,” mumbled Will.
“A strong will is a great asset,” said Sir Walter, his mouth pulling into half a smile. “Especially for one without other genetic gifts. Mademoiselle , I understand you do not share your brother’s abilities?”
Mickie shook her head. “I can’t ripple.”
“You are not a ‘chameleon’?” Sir Walter asked. “That is the word I use. Quite aside from the chameleon’s ability to disappear, the creature was for centuries thought to live by consuming only air.” He laughed softly to himself. “What is your word again? Ree–pill?”
“Ripple. It’s like when you disturb a pool of water, you know, the ripples that flow out. That’s what it looks like when Will disappears,” Mickie replied.
“Of course. A good word. Especially as there is no verb–form of ‘chameleon.’ Trust my young friend Pfeffer to find a better word in the language of his new home,” said Sir Walter.
“It’s my word,” snapped Mickie. “Pfeffer referred to Will’s ability as ‘the phenomenon’ before I told him my word.”
Will guffawed at his sister’s prickliness.
Sir Walter spoke gently. “He would have been only too quick to credit you, my dear, were he here with us now.”
Mickie’s eyes dropped. The kind words about her former advisor appeased her. “Okay, listen,” she said. “I believe you’re Sir Walter. I believe Pfeffer trusted you. But for the love of all that’s holy, why didn’t you stick to our plan to meet up in Amboise?”
“Ah, yes.” Sir Walter looked self–consciously at the table–top before us. “I have waited so long. You must forgive me for meeting you thus unannounced. I found I preferred to wait no longer. You must forgive an impatient old man; the old are of course incorrigible.” He smiled at us and then turned his gaze towards the sky, now clear of clouds.
Mickie stared at him for a moment and then guffawed. “Yeah, okay, we forgive you.”
Sir Walter returned his gaze from the heavens. His lips tightened and thinned as he addressed us. “I am in hopes that you have brought the manuscript for which I believe my dear friend was killed.”
The black book. Now came the moment of truth. Did Mickie trust Sir Walter enough to hand over the writings?
She stared hard at the old gentleman, then slowly nodding her head, she withdrew the book from her bag and surrendered it to him.
“We had trouble reading it,” she said.
Sir Walter’s lip curled into a smile. “I should imagine. It is the language of my youth, spoken in Helmann’s childhood, but no longer common.”
Suddenly I was the one with trust issues. “You’re not … you aren’t the man who wrote it, are you?” The words tumbled out, echoing like an accusation.
Sir Walter looked up from the black book at my question. “No, child. I am not Helmann. But he and I have a shared history; he is my cousin, whom I once knew as Girard L’Inferne .”
The cold iron of the chair made its way through my jeans, and I shivered, pulling my scarf higher.
Sir Walter spoke. “For a very long time, Pfeffer urged me to act upon knowledge I held regarding my cousin, the man credited with discovering the chameleon disease. To my shame I did nothing. Or very little. At great personal risk, Pfeffer obtained this record of offenses with which he hoped to damn my cousin.”
“I’m sorry to doubt you, but no way did Pfeffer risk death just to show the world how some dead Nazi–dude used to be evil,” said Will.
“Dead?” Sir Walter looked at us, gaze intense. “No, unfortunately Helmann is very much alive. And more dangerous than ever.” Sir Walter took out a small French cigarette. “Do you mind?”
None of us had the nerve to tell him he couldn’t smoke.
“How old would you say I am?” he asked.
“We were expecting someone in their
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