“I think she is ready to cooperate, Uncle,” said Georg. He willed it to be so.
Katrin’s head rose and sank in an exaggerated, silent, Yes.
“There, there, my dear,” Fritz said to Hanna. “You see? Your friend can be reasonable.”
Hanna nodded, settled.
Georg felt anything but settled. Katrin, alive? He’d never stopped missing her. He’d cried when Mutti had told them the news of her death. It had been the last time he allowed himself to cry. Even for Hansel’s death, Georg had remained dry-eyed.
Fritz was speaking again. “As I was just explaining to Katrin, my angels are very important to me, Hanna. I can’t have you running off in caméleon form, so I am using Katrin here to provide you with a reason to come back to solid form. Did I choose well?” As he asked the question, he turned to regard Katrin, his teeth bared in a feral smile.
Hanna’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “Yes,” she whispered.
Fritz returned his attention to Hanna. “Now then, Hanna,” he said, “see how I have my hand upon the timer? Good, good. I shall give the command shortly. When I do, you are to vanish and then reappear immediately. Do you understand?”
Hanna nodded.
“Vanish!” commanded Fritz.
Hanna’s gaze softened. Her shoulders unclenched, her hands relaxed. She disappeared and Fritz counted off the seconds.
Five … Four … Three …
Georg felt Katrin tense. Was she still hoping Hanna would run?
Two … One …
Katrin’s shoulders sagged forward as Hanna reappeared.
“Very good, Hanna,” Fritz said aloud. “Now then, I’ve been developing a new strain of the drug that keeps you healthy. The one that supplies your enzymatic deficiency.” His eyes darted to Georg’s before continuing. “The new drug will give you years of protective assistance, but I’m concerned there may be … certain unintended side effects. Let’s find out, shall we?”
Having said this, Fritz tied a length of tubing above Hanna’s elbow and prepped her for an intravenous injection.
“Hmm,” he intoned, observing the girl’s pallor. “Let’s have you sit, shall we?”
Fritz administered the drug and allowed two minutes to pass before addressing the girl.
“Hanna,” said Fritz, “let us see if you have retained the abilities of a caméleon. I will repeat the command as before, and you will vanish and reappear as before. Do you understand?”
Hanna nodded and closed her eyes as before. Seconds ticked past.
It looked as though she was trying and failing.
A ghost of a smile danced across Fritz’s mouth, almost as though he was forcing himself not to smile.
“My dear?” asked Fritz.
“I can’t disappear,” Hanna said softly.
“You are certain?” asked Fritz. Georg heard the urgency in his uncle’s voice. Was it distress? Well, a cure for the enzymatic deficiency that resulted in the loss of the ability to disappear, that was going to be a dead end.
“Would you like to try again?” Fritz asked Hanna.
“It’s no use, Uncle,” said Hanna. “I can’t do it. The feelings inside—they’re all wrong.”
Fritz sighed heavily. “This was the side effect I feared,” he said.
“But, the enzyme treatments that keep me from getting sick,” asked Hanna, “will I still need them?”
“You will not,” said Fritz.
Then he turned to Georg. “Please hold the knife farther from the neck of the subject in your care.” Georg obeyed, uncertain what his uncle was planning.
“Vai a dormire,” said Fritz, swiftly placing an arm around Hanna’s middle.
Instantly, the two girls collapsed into a deep sleep. Georg, who had not been expecting this, grabbed at Katrin’s body as she collapsed. The knife clattered to the floor and spun lazily before coming to rest. Fritz retrieved it.
“I apologize for the lack of warning, dear boy,” said Fritz. “I find it’s simpler if they don’t see it coming.”
Georg nodded. Curiously, the passphrase hadn’t worked on him. It wasn’t the one Helmann had selected, then.
“Wait here, please,” said Fritz. He vanished with Hanna in his arms.
A moment later, he was back. Hanna was no longer visible.
“They require less care when they are invisible,” Fritz explained.
“Hanna is still … there?” asked Georg, indicating the bed with a tilt of his head.
“Oh, yes,” said Fritz. “If you will wait for me here, please, I must do the same with the other subject.” Having said this, Fritz took Katrin from Georg’s grasp and the two vanished. A moment later, Fritz returned and addressed Georg.
“You did admirably, nephew,” said Fritz.
Georg bowed his head, the gesture of one who lived to serve. And then, in a soft voice, he asked, “Will you vaccinate me as you did Hanna?”
“No, no,” replied Fritz. “Not until the formulation is perfected. I would not rob you of your gift, not even to cure your illness.”
Georg nodded, grateful.
“I’ll be visiting the governor this weekend,” said Fritz. “I’ve had a small refrigerator installed in your room with food and drink. I don’t know how long it will take to make the … arrangements I am seeking. I hope you won’t object to retiring early today.”
Fritz planned to leave Georg locked in his room while he was away? Georg forced himself to smile, as though being sent to bed at 3:30 in the afternoon was the height of his ambition.
“Of course not,” Georg replied. “I wish you … good luck, Uncle.”
Fritz smiled, nodded, and closed the door behind him, locking Georg in as he did every night.
Georg examined the locked door. He would be very angry with his uncle, were it not for the fact he could ripple and go anywhere he liked. For now, though, Georg was glad to be left alone. He had so much to think through.
Firstly, his half-sister lived. The fact of her, alive, was overwhelming. Georg had never made friends easily, as Günter and Friedrich and Martina had done. He’d had Katrin, and then, when she’d “died,” he’d done his best to steal Hansel away from the others, making Hansel his sole confidant. Losing Hansel had been terrible. But finding that his earliest playfellow still lived? It was so unexpected. And so wonderful.
And suddenly Georg realized what an idiot he’d been. He should have vanished, taking Katrin with him to safety as soon as he’d realized it was really her. He cursed loudly. Who knew when Uncle Fritz would awaken her again? He should have taken her when he had the chance.
But then his unanswered questions paraded themselves before him. There were journals he’d discovered—things written down by Helmann himself. Things Georg didn’t think Fritz had examined. There was so much to learn here; so much to discover. If he fled with Katrin, all this would be lost to him—all these wondrous secrets. He had things to learn from Fritz, too. What had his uncle been up to with the experimental inoculation he’d given to the girl, Hanna? Before he abandoned his uncle, Georg wanted to know his uncle’s secrets.
There was a knock at his door. The small flap through which food was sometimes delivered swung open. An envelope awaited him. He crossed to the door and took the envelope. Inside, in his uncle’s handwriting, was a short note. As he unfolded the note, he felt the walls vibrate slightly. That would be his uncle’s helicopter. Uncle Fritz was evidently in the mood for a showy arrival in Sacramento.
Georg read the note.
My dear boy,
There is an abandoned formula for a highly effective sunscreen created by my father in the days when racial superiority was established by the white appearance of our skin, the fairness of our hair, and so on. Perhaps you will find it useful. At any rate, it will give you something to tinker with in the lab when I have no tasks for you.
Kind regards,
Uncle Fritz.
Below the note were instructions for retrieving the formula. Georg smiled. Uncle Frit
z was concerned for his wellbeing, even in the small things. This was very good news. It was a day of good news, with this gesture from his uncle and the discovery that Katrin lived.
But Katrin had failed to recognize him, and this was troubling. Of course, it had been so long; his voice had changed, his hair had darkened, and he’d held a knife to her throat. Perhaps she’d only pretended not to recognize him? If he could speak to her again, privately, would she recognize him? More importantly, would she forgive him for following Uncle Fritz’s grim orders?
He hoped she would.
Alone of the cadre of siblings, Katrin had been willing to break the rules with Georg. Surely she would understand his subterfuge, if he could get her to listen. And then, with a start, an image came back to him. A starfish tied to a length of twine. He’d seen it a few months ago in France, when Martina had distributed small tokens from Mutti. It had looked familiar, but Georg had been too preoccupied with their imminent showdown with Uncle Fritz to ask himself why he recognized the necklace.
Now he remembered the whole thing, starting back on the day he’d found a tiny, bleached starfish and given it to Katrin, telling her she could tie a piece of string to it and wear it, in defiance of Dr. Girard Helmann’s ban on self-adornment.
“You wear it,” Katrin had said, laughing.
“Are you afraid?” Georg had demanded.
“No.” Her eyes had flashed fire as she said it. And then she’d marched over to Mutti’s hammock and worked at the hempen twine until a thread pulled loose. Georg had held the starfish flat so Katrin could wrap thread around and around one of the points.
She’d worn it for three days before Mutti noticed. And when Mutti asked where it came from, Katrin had refused to blame Georg.
“Who gave that to you?” Mutti had asked.
“No one,” Katrin had declared.
The memory made his throat tighten. No one had cared for him like that, not in all the long years since. He rose, determined to find her and apologize. But just as swiftly, he sank back onto his bed. There was a problem. Katrin was here, but she was hypnotized, and he had no way to awaken her. He only knew the password to send her to sleep, and he wasn’t even sure he could utter that one correctly. Silently, Georg cursed.
The “sleep” command—the one he’d overheard—wasn’t even in a language he knew, although it had sounded vaguely Italian. The final sounds were Door-Mirr-Hay.
Two minutes later, a search on the computer in his room yielded the information he needed. Vai a dormire—“go to sleep,” in Italian. If Georg said, “Wake up!” in Italian, would Katrin awaken? Was Uncle Fritz really that unimaginative?
The thought of Katrin, awake, gave him pause. His fingers began an anxious tap-tap-tap, fingertips against thumbs.
If he woke her up, no doubt she’d be angry as a half-drowned cat. He’d held a knife to her throat. She had no way of knowing he wouldn’t have used it. And, in any case, she might not believe it was him. Not without some proof. He needed proof.
He had his memories, of course, and surely she would have retained some of the same ones. But then a better idea came to him. He smiled and his fingers relaxed. The starfish necklace. He had only to retrieve it: what better proof that he was Georg?
He would awaken her and begin by presenting her with the necklace. He could invent a story about how he’d kept it, all this time…. Yes, that was good. Very good. And then he could explain how he wasn’t planning to serve Fritz forever, how he was only gathering information. How this information would benefit himself and Katrin. He would make her forgive him.
But first: the necklace.
Getting the necklace would mean finding Martina. He recoiled at the idea, and not only because of the way in which he’d parted with his half-sister. Asking Martina for the necklace would mean telling her Katrin lived, and Georg did not want to share Katrin—not this time.
How much better if he simply … stole the necklace. But that wouldn’t work, either. How was he supposed to know where Martina would have stowed or hidden it? And what if she was wearing it? No, getting the necklace was going to involve … contact with Martina, however little he liked the idea.
Of course, he could withhold the information that Katrin lived. He didn’t have to say why he wanted the necklace. He just had to be … persuasive. And swift: the time to do it was now, while his uncle was in Sacramento for Labor Day weekend.
Swift and persuasive? Georg was going to need a weapon.
He checked the time. If he left now, he’d be back before midnight. He could be talking to Katrin before the sun rose. His left eye began to twitch as adrenaline flooded through his system. He must not falter; he must act. Now.
Georg stood, vanished, and passed through wall-corridor-wall into Uncle Fritz’s office where he solidified. From within Fritz’s desk, Georg withdrew a small handgun—persuasion. He tucked the handgun in his trousers. There. He felt braver already.
And then he was on his way.
8
WHAT DO YOU HAVE OF VALUE?
Sam’s heart pounded furiously in her chest—Sir Walter’s warning still echoing in her mind: Someone was coming. Sam had removed her stepmother to invisible safety. Will had placed Sam’s dad and Mickie in safety. Chrétien had hidden Gwyn while Sir Walter hid Bridget. Martina had been warned, silently, and she reported she’d sheltered Matteo. Now, Martina was on her way to join Sam and the remaining ripplers.
For once, Sam was grateful for football. Her town’s obsession with the game had taken most of them out of the reach of Fritz Gottlieb. The population was safe, for a few hours. Or had Fritz known that to begin with? Was he choosing to visit Las Abuelitas thinking they were gone as well? A sensation like shuddering ran through Sam’s invisible body.
And then she heard Sir Walter’s voice. It is not Doctor Gottlieb who approaches, the French gentleman reported. Martina believes, and I concur, that it is Georg.
Georg? Of Hansel and Georg? Sam wasn’t sure that was much of an improvement. Georg’s last actions had resulted in the death of his sibling Hansel and the theft of Dr. Pfeffer’s research on the drug Immutin. Sam felt a twist of fear in her invisible belly.
And then Chrétien’s voice echoed in her mind: Georg carries a weapon!
~ ~ ~
Georg moved to search the ninth house on the quiet street in Las Abuelitas. On his journey, Georg had crafted a plan requiring a hostage. But Las Abuelitas was empty.
Where was everyone in this blasted town?
But in the tenth house Georg searched, someone was home. The someone was crouched before a screen, playing a video game involving high speed chases through a starry field. The someone was large. A teenager. Large meant “challenging to control,” even with a weapon in hand. Georg scowled.
But then he heard something more promising. A child calling for the large teenager. Georg moved to the back of the house, where the sound was loudest. The child was small. Standing in a crib and waving a cup with a lid on top. Demanding “more,” no doubt, although the demands were being made in gibberish.
Georg smiled and came solid. This was too easy. He grabbed the surprised toddler and vanished. As he passed through the front of the house, the teenager gamed on, unaware that anything unusual had transpired.
Georg had his leverage; now he just needed to find Martina. He’d wasted valuable time procuring a hostage. The time for subtlety was past. He came solid, along with the child, in the alley behind the brightly lit Las Abuelitas Café and called loudly for Martina, hoping she—or someone who knew her—was inside.
~ ~ ~
Chrétien heard the cry at the same moment Martina did.
Georg is behind the café, Chrétien told the others. Martina hadn’t been able to determine from what direction the cry came, but Chrétien’s ability to detect direction was infallible, whether he was solid or hidden.
Swiftly and invisibly, Martina, Sam, Will, Sir Walter, Pfeffer, and Chrétien assembled behind Bridget Li’s bakery.
Martina didn’t think it sounded like Georg to come alone, but no other “thoughts” had been overheard. He was braver than Martina thought.
But then Martina saw the form in which her sibling’s “courage” had manifested itself. Georg had taken a child as a hostage.
That’s Paige! Sam practically screamed the message. Georg’s got Mr. Polwen’s daughter!
Remain calm, Samantha, cautioned Sir Walter. We do not know that Georg intends to harm the child.
He’s got a gun! cried Sam.
Pfeffer solidified twenty feet away from Georg, hands raised in the air.
Pfeffer, no! Martina’s cry was echoed by one from Sam. Martina heard Sir Walter curse in exasperation.
“Georg?” Pfeffer’s voice was calm. There was no challenge or arrogance in his tone. Perhaps Pfeffer might be the best person to handle a situation like this, to prevent it from escalating.
“Where is Martina’s dwelling?” demanded Georg.
Martina’s attention shifted from Pfeffer to Georg and back again, wondering if she should solidify, in spite of Sir Walter’s cautions.
Pfeffer’s head inclined slightly to one side, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Martina’s … dwelling?”
“Yes,” replied Georg. “You will take me there at once.” He angled the weapon toward the toddler. The child grasped at the barrel, sputtering nonsensical syllables. “At once!”
“Very well,” said Pfeffer. “But, perhaps you will allow me to offer myself in the child’s place? Set the child down, Georg.”
Georg laughed—a short, harsh noise. “Nice try, Uncle. Exchange a hostage who cannot vanish for one who can? I don’t think so.”
“Have you no Neuroplex?” asked Pfeffer. “I will allow you to inject me, or we can get some from my—”
“No,” barked Georg. “No Neuroplex. Keep your hands up where I can see them.”
Martina knew Pfeffer had a syringe in his jacket pocket—at Pfeffer’s insistence, they all carried a drawn syringe of Neuroplex, the fast-acting drug that prevented rippling for half a day or so.
What do you think, mon père? Chrétien asked Sir Walter. Should one of us come solid and inject Georg?
Knavery: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 6) Page 6