Read Online The Hangman's Revolution by Eoin Colfer - Free Book Online Page A

gift of second sight. Perhaps I am psychic.
    There was some hope in this thought. Chevie knew that the Thundercats had a psy-division, and of course it would mean that she was not dying.
    “We’re not here about your son,” said Chevie, touching the old man’s elbow. “It’s a different matter.”
    Charles Smart drew several deep breaths, calming himself, coming back to earth from the hell of a parent’s grief.
    “Felix is safe. Thank God. Oh, thank God. A different matter. What different matter?”
    “Maybe we could come inside? Would that be all right?”
    Before Smart could answer, Clover Vallicose actually growled and barged past Chevie and Smart into the hallway.
    “ ‘Would that be all right? ’ ” she said mockingly. “That’s not how we do things, Savano. We don’t ask permission.”
    They sat in Smart’s kitchen, which was festooned with laboratory equipment. Circuit boards were piled high on the table, and yards of plastic-coated wiring crisscrossed the floor and ceiling. Banks of switches were screwed to the walls, and conduits were threaded through rough holes in the plaster. Colored bulbs blinked from the frying pan, and a block of glowing orange gel bubbled lazily in the oven like some sedated sea creature. Screwdrivers, hand drills, clippers, and assorted screws littered the drain board, and the sink was half full of greenish mist that seemed reluctant to leave the bowl. Chevie thought she saw a fin momentarily break the mist’s surface, but no one else seemed to notice, so she put it down to the Traitor.
    “Nice place you have here,” said Witmeyer, brushing a few stray capacitors from the table. “Geek chic.”
    Charles Smart had recovered his composure by this point, and it had occurred to him that if the Thundercats were not here for his son, then they were here for him. He sat facing the visitors, outwardly calm, but inwardly barely in control of the panic that bubbled under his skin. A visit from the goon squad was never a good thing.
    “Mrs. Smart died a long time ago, Sister,” he said. “Without her, I’ve let the place go somewhat.”
    “What is all this clutter?” asked Witmeyer. “Are you building something?”
    The way Witmeyer said building something , it was clear that Smart should not be building anything.
    Smart thought before answering. It was prudent to consider any possible interpretation of what you were about to say when dealing with Thundercats. A slip of the tongue could be the last mistake you ever made.
    “I am working on various approved projects in my own spare time. Labor-saving devices, mostly, to aid with the war effort in France and here at home. My latest invention is a hoist that will allow enormous weights to be manipulated by one person. With my hoist, a single Thundercat could clear an entire highway pileup in minutes.”
    Witmeyer was impressed. “That has definite military applications. I’ve seen bogged-down tanks cost a unit half a day to pull out of the mud.”
    Smart clapped his hands. “Exactly! Exactly what I told my supervisor, but he won’t approve further funding.”
    Witmeyer tapped her temple, taking a mental note. “Perhaps I could have a word.”
    Chevie didn’t know how Witmeyer could give this poor man false hope when they were about to shoot him. When she was about to shoot him. Suddenly the gun, which had felt like a block of ice in her jacket pocket, seemed to burn into her skin.
    Clover Vallicose had no patience for chitchat. “Cadet Savano seems to know your son. Can you explain that?”
    “No,” said Professor Smart. “I was waiting for her to explain. Is it true, Cadet? Do you know my boy? Though he’s hardly a boy anymore. He’s well into his forties by now and still not married. ‘Felix,’ I said to him. ‘You need to lower your standards. You’re no oil painting, if you know what I mean….’”
    Vallicose thumped the table, scattering fuses and memory boards. “Why do you prattle, Citizen? We are here