Kingdom Keepers IV(33)

“But I don’t…” she said.

“Excusez-moi?”

“If you please,” she said. “I don’t wish to tell you.”

Perplexed, he cocked his head, considering her. “I would be careful, my dear. My politeness is but a formality, an inescapable part of my egalitarian French upbringing. So civilized, the French, don’t you think? But make no mistake—I would just as soon direct my minions here,” he said, gesturing toward the hundred soldiers, “to test the water, as it were. To send you bottom-fishing. To drown you, my dear. Did I caution you that I’m not a patient man when it comes to children?”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” she said, lying, though lying well, she thought.

“But you were seen. Witnessed. It was reported.”

Her head swooned. Which was it, witnessed or reported? One way would put the event in her school hallway; another inside the private meeting with the other Keepers. The source of the leak was of vital importance to her. She thought of Philby and what he’d do in her position.

Gather intelligence, she thought. Gain enough data, enough information to form an exit strategy, an escape plan. Finn would have schooled her to rely upon her DHI status—to maintain all clear. But she was so scared her teeth would have been chattering had she not been biting down on her tongue. If she were fifty percent DHI at the moment she’d be lucky. The thin blue outline that should have been surrounding her arms had dimmed to nearly nothing. All clear was not an option—not at the moment, anyway.

Judge Frollo smiled, a snarl of gnarly teeth and a twist of lip that turned her stomach.

“If it please the court,” he said, then guffawing (since he was the court), “I will ask the defendant again: What did you see drawn upon the tissue?”

“It was a napkin, Your Honor,” she said, trying to appeal to his sense of importance. “A tissue meant to catch crumbs in your lap. It is not something one writes upon. That task is better served by a pad of drawing paper, or notepaper. There may have been a logo, or business name I was meant to take note of. I’m sorry to say, I don’t happen to remember.”

“You do, however, recall what it is I intended to do to the infant boy in the animated motion picture that bears, in part, the name of a certain famous Parisian cathedral?”

“Notre Dame.”

“The same!”

“You were going to kill him,” she said. “Quasimodo.”

“Your memory is not so bad after all, I see! Excellent. Now, try again—one last time—what was drawn upon the…napkin—the crumb-catching tissue?”

“And again, as much as I’d like, I can’t describe something that wasn’t there,” she said, trying to speak somewhat like him, trying to befriend him.

“More’s the pity! My lack of patience is something I must improve upon. Very well. Seize her! Into the lake with her. A wet nap. A swim with the fishes. DROWN HER!” he roared, waving his hand like a ballet dancer’s toward the lake.

Strangely, she thought only of Mr. Totems. If they drowned her, what would it mean for Mr. Totems? Would they tear him to pieces? As much as she loathed the idea of leaving Mr. Totems behind, a plan began to form in her mind. The soldiers were about to pick her up and throw her into the lake. If, at the exact moment, she could substitute Mr. Totems for herself…

She couldn’t feel sorry for Mr. Totems. She had to think of it as Mr. Totems sacrificing himself for her. Maybe she could come back and get him later. Who knew? They’d come through a lot together: bubble gum stuck in his fur; the replacement of one of his button eyes; a torn seam that left him spewing stuffing, tiny plastic balls that smelled something like fish.

If she charged the line of Army Men, they would simply catch hold of her. No, the answer was the water itself: give them Mr. Totems and then dive in and swim for the opposite side, hoping to beat the cloddy soldiers.

With a second dismissive flick of his wrist, Judge Frollo signaled the green soldiers to close around her. Willa felt light-headed. She held Mr. Totems tightly.

Three…two…

A soldier reached for her.

She stuffed Mr. Totems into the soldier’s open arms, pushed Judge Frollo into the others, turned, and ran five steps to the lake’s edge.

“SHOOT HER!” she heard.

She dove.

White lines raced around her, bullets zooming through the water. She couldn’t surface without being shot. Down, down, she swam, pulling against the water and traveling deeper and deeper. She had thought Echo Lake was only a few feet deep, but suddenly it was much deeper. The bullets weren’t reaching her now, but—as she looked up—they were zooming overhead like shooting stars.