heard it roll away. She closed her eyes. She thought again, still distantly, about the lack of a toilet. The Yertle the Turtle bucket?
Please, no.
Maybe this was worse, in some ways, than after Skye died.
Somebody else—the Sorceress Llewellyne, for example—would be up now, examining the door closely, scouring the floor for possible weapons, figuring odds, strategizing. But this wasn’t Paliopolis. And she wasn’t the Sorceress.
Marnie moaned, clutched her head, and slipped back into a state of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER
12
“ W ake up!” said a voice that Marnie did not want to recognize. Ms. Slaight sounded sort of panicked.
Marnie kept her eyes closed. A cautious little voice in her head was wondering if she could fool Ms. Slaight into thinking she was so sick she was about to die. Which she was not. Oh, she still felt horrible—achy and dizzy. But she was better. She thought about emitting an artistic moan, tossing her head frantically, mumbling “Mommy.” She felt a hand on her forehead and only just managed to keep herself from shoving it away. The little voice believed, quite forcefully, that doing so would be a bad mistake.
“Wake
up
!” said Ms. Slaight, and slapped Marnie hard across the cheek.
Marnie’s eyes flew open. Involuntarily she glared at Ms. Slaight, whose face was inches from her own.
“I knew you were faking it,” the woman said.
Marnie thought of several responses, including the unoriginal
You’ll never get away with this!
She said nothing. She was trying frantically to recall the kidnapping lectures she’d had to listen to years ago. Something about trying to make your kidnappers like you. Since that approach was obviously doomed, she hoped she could think of another. In a day or so, she’d be stronger … maybe she would pretend not to be, though. And surely Max would come soon. She’d be reported missing, and then the trail would clearly lead to Ms. Slaight from the Halsett Grille. It was just a matter of time.
“You’ve made quite a mess,” said Ms. Slaight, looking at the floor, her nostrils flaring in disgust.
Incredibly, Marnie felt abashed, even opening her mouth to apologize. But she caught herself. “I’m not feeling well,” she said. The words came out in a near-croak. She cleared her throat and added recklessly: “I may die.”
“You’re fine,” snapped Ms. Slaight. If she had been panicked before, she had gotten over it. “Even the black eye looks normal on you.”
Immediately Marnie’s hand was at her left eye, below the bandage. It did feel swollen, tender. She hadn’t differentiated that pain from all the rest. A black eye. Well, fabulous.
Meanwhile, warily, Ms. Slaight had begun to clean up, slopping a little seltzer on the area and wiping with paper towels she’d fetched from somewhere. When she finished, she moved the Yertle bucket nearer. “There’s soup here for you,” she added, indicating a Thermos she’d also placedwithin Marnie’s reach. She regarded Marnie carefully and then shrugged. Marnie thought she saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “You look horrible. Go back to sleep. We can talk later.” Ms. Slaight turned toward the door.
No
, said the little voice in Marnie’s head. It, at least, was sounding stronger.
Talk now! What kind of kidnapping is this? Doesn’t she need to take a picture or video with today’s paper, at least? Or is she just psycho? Please, please let her be planning a ransom note.
Dizzily Marnie got herself up on one elbow. “Wait a minute,” she croaked.
The door closed, and locked, behind Ms. Slaight. Marnie collapsed back on the cot, her mind whirling faster, now, than the room.
Marnie wasn’t quite asleep, but nonetheless she dreamed. She was the Sorceress Llewellyne, alone and crouched on the dusty floor of the Lair of the Rubble-Eater.
Something was up in Paliopolis. Even the air was alert; but Llewellyne felt prepared. She carried several prizes: a fabled ruby on her left hand;
Please, no.
Maybe this was worse, in some ways, than after Skye died.
Somebody else—the Sorceress Llewellyne, for example—would be up now, examining the door closely, scouring the floor for possible weapons, figuring odds, strategizing. But this wasn’t Paliopolis. And she wasn’t the Sorceress.
Marnie moaned, clutched her head, and slipped back into a state of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER
12
“ W ake up!” said a voice that Marnie did not want to recognize. Ms. Slaight sounded sort of panicked.
Marnie kept her eyes closed. A cautious little voice in her head was wondering if she could fool Ms. Slaight into thinking she was so sick she was about to die. Which she was not. Oh, she still felt horrible—achy and dizzy. But she was better. She thought about emitting an artistic moan, tossing her head frantically, mumbling “Mommy.” She felt a hand on her forehead and only just managed to keep herself from shoving it away. The little voice believed, quite forcefully, that doing so would be a bad mistake.
“Wake
up
!” said Ms. Slaight, and slapped Marnie hard across the cheek.
Marnie’s eyes flew open. Involuntarily she glared at Ms. Slaight, whose face was inches from her own.
“I knew you were faking it,” the woman said.
Marnie thought of several responses, including the unoriginal
You’ll never get away with this!
She said nothing. She was trying frantically to recall the kidnapping lectures she’d had to listen to years ago. Something about trying to make your kidnappers like you. Since that approach was obviously doomed, she hoped she could think of another. In a day or so, she’d be stronger … maybe she would pretend not to be, though. And surely Max would come soon. She’d be reported missing, and then the trail would clearly lead to Ms. Slaight from the Halsett Grille. It was just a matter of time.
“You’ve made quite a mess,” said Ms. Slaight, looking at the floor, her nostrils flaring in disgust.
Incredibly, Marnie felt abashed, even opening her mouth to apologize. But she caught herself. “I’m not feeling well,” she said. The words came out in a near-croak. She cleared her throat and added recklessly: “I may die.”
“You’re fine,” snapped Ms. Slaight. If she had been panicked before, she had gotten over it. “Even the black eye looks normal on you.”
Immediately Marnie’s hand was at her left eye, below the bandage. It did feel swollen, tender. She hadn’t differentiated that pain from all the rest. A black eye. Well, fabulous.
Meanwhile, warily, Ms. Slaight had begun to clean up, slopping a little seltzer on the area and wiping with paper towels she’d fetched from somewhere. When she finished, she moved the Yertle bucket nearer. “There’s soup here for you,” she added, indicating a Thermos she’d also placedwithin Marnie’s reach. She regarded Marnie carefully and then shrugged. Marnie thought she saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “You look horrible. Go back to sleep. We can talk later.” Ms. Slaight turned toward the door.
No
, said the little voice in Marnie’s head. It, at least, was sounding stronger.
Talk now! What kind of kidnapping is this? Doesn’t she need to take a picture or video with today’s paper, at least? Or is she just psycho? Please, please let her be planning a ransom note.
Dizzily Marnie got herself up on one elbow. “Wait a minute,” she croaked.
The door closed, and locked, behind Ms. Slaight. Marnie collapsed back on the cot, her mind whirling faster, now, than the room.
Marnie wasn’t quite asleep, but nonetheless she dreamed. She was the Sorceress Llewellyne, alone and crouched on the dusty floor of the Lair of the Rubble-Eater.
Something was up in Paliopolis. Even the air was alert; but Llewellyne felt prepared. She carried several prizes: a fabled ruby on her left hand;
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