Chameleon (15 page)

I stood with Will on one side and Gwyn on the other as the Eiffel Tower came into our sight–line. Just then, twinkle–lights began dancing up and down the landmark tower. Everyone sighed. I watched as couples around us succumbed to the romance of Paris by night.

“I’m getting pictures,” Gwyn said, winking at me and then leaning in to whisper, “City of Love. Think Pink.” She pushed through lip–locked teens to the edge of the boat.

But watching others kiss didn’t make me feel boldly romantic. Just a little embarrassed.

“Let’s move,” I said to Will. We wriggled through flashing cell phones, cameras and lovers to the empty side of the boat.

“Sir Walter told Mick where we’ll be spending Christmas,” said Will.

“Oh yeah?”

“Carcassonne. It’s south, pretty much on top of one of those red dots,” Will said.

“I wonder if he’s got family in the area.”

Will shook his head. “Mickie asked him did he have anyone … left.”

I looked up, curious.

“The short answer’s no, but he told us some family history you should hear. He had this cousin besides Helmann, when he was a kid. Elisabeth de Rocheforte. And he loved her, but she married Girard—Helmann—who treated her badly, and eventually she fled him, moved to a French settlement in Arcadia.”

“That’s Canada, right?” I asked.

Will nodded. “Walter had hoped she’d come to him, but she refused. She said stretching their lives was wrong and unsatisfying and that she was done with it. In Arcadia, she had another man’s child and was pretty much his wife, outside church law. Sir Walter’s always kept an eye on her descendants, who were eventually kicked out by the British—”

“And resettled in Louisiana,” I said—I knew that bit of history.

“Yeah, actually,” he said, looking at me with respect. “The Cajuns. So finally Sir Walter saw her descendants dwindle to where he knew of only one girl left, a twelve–year old named Sophie–Elisabeth. He often visited her family in the U.S. He adored her. This past year, she died after participating in the program that killed all those Helmann’s carriers back in the U.S.”

“He must have been heartbroken.”

“Well, that,
and
mad as hell,” Will said. “It’s what tipped the scale for him. He’d already been upset about Pfeffer going missing, but the girl was the last straw. She’d reminded him so much of his little cousin.”

The lights on the Eiffel Tower stopped sparkling, and our fellow passengers murmured a collective sigh of regret.

“It must be lonely for him now,” I said.

“We didn’t discuss that. But I think he really enjoys having Mick to talk to.”

“And you,” I added.

Will’s eyes focused on a euro coin he’d pulled from his pocket. He studied the coin as though it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

I wished he’d look at me like that. A wave of sorrow flowed through me and I trembled.

“You’re cold,” he said. He moved to close the space between us, put his arm tight around me.

It wasn’t the cold of the night that chilled me, but I let him think he’d guessed right. I turned my face into his jacket, so he wouldn’t see my tears. The pine–y smell of our California home clung to his clothes, and I saw me running beside him in the hot sunshine of a less complicated life.

***

The following morning, our last in Paris, about half of our class left for an optional day–trip to Versailles. Over breakfast, Gwyn begged me to come along.

“Le Petit Trianon, you know, where Marie–Antoinette hooked up with her lover,” she said. “It’ll be so romantic.” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to Will, in conversation with his sister.

“Some people would see Marie–Antoinette as a symbol of tragedy, not romance,” I pointed out.

Gwyn rolled her eyes, murmuring. “This is why
I
am the Queen of Relationships and
you
are not.”

“I can’t go. Sir Walter has something instructional planned for us,” I said. “I could ask him if you can come, too.”

Gwyn shuddered. “I’ve learned enough from Sir Walter, thank you very much.”

As we rose to part, Gwyn hugged me and whispered, “I love Will and Mick’s uncle, but I don’t think I can take any more new information at the moment.”

I smiled. “Enjoy Versailles for me.”

Seeing as we’d spent two days in the Loire Valley
châteaux
, I didn’t mind missing the palace of the Sun King. I figured anything Sir Walter had planned would be a lot more educational.

Of course, the French gentleman’s idea of educational sometimes differed from ours.

“C’mon, Mick, where are we going?” Will must have asked fifteen times in the last half hour since we’d jumped on something called an RER train to meet Sir Walter at a location he’d revealed only to Will’s sister.

I’d figured it out but kept my mouth shut.

“I’ve said all I’m saying on the subject,” Mickie replied.

“Yeah, and it was
so
helpful. Seriously, when did Mom say anything about wanting to take us somewhere in Paris?”

Will’s grumbling made his sister smirk.

The RER train slowed into its terminal stop, Marne–la–Vallee, and I wondered how long it would take Will to figure out where we were headed. The
Parc Disneyland
signs on the platform did the trick.

“No way! Seriously? Disneyland?” Will whooped and swung his arm in a wide arc over his head. He looked like a six–year–old jacked up on too much Halloween candy. We drew stares from sedate Parisian families as we exited the train station.

“Took you long enough,” said his sister. “Guess I shouldn’t have dropped you on your head so often when you were little.”

Will hugged his sister, lifting her off the ground, ignoring her insults and protestations.

Sir Walter greeted us at the foreground of the park and ushered us through a discreet side–entrance to the front of the Space Mountain line. The man had connections.

We hurtled through space briefly experiencing zero–gravity and g–forces my stomach doesn’t want to remember. I know we corkscrewed once, and I’d swear we hung upside down several times before the minute–long adventure concluded in a blur of swirling lights and sparks.

The harnesses retracted and Will jumped out of the seat. I followed slowly, and Mickie looked glad to accept a hand from a cast–member. Beside her, Sir Walter exited with dignity and a tiny smile.

“That was freaking amazing!” Will shouted. “I wonder what it would be like to ride it without the shoulder harness?”

“Lawsuit–in–a–box, idiot.” Mickie’s color was returning along with her sarcasm—both good signs.

We rounded a building and
Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast
came into view.

“A targeting ride?” asked Will. “Mick, you’re going
down!
”

An animatronics Buzz Lightyear greeted us. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Buzz declaiming against the Evil Emperor Zurg in excited French. Mickie laughed until tears squeezed out the corners of her eyes.

I whispered to her as she slipped into the vehicle with her brother, “Aim for the ‘Z’s’ in circles.”

I’m good at the game from annual visits to Disneyland in California. I scored well. But Sir Walter, who rode with me, wiped all of us off the map. He
never
missed what he targeted.

Will was pretty pissed when he learned he was supposed to aim for the “Z”‘s and not merely the creatures. “You could have told
me
before the ride started,” he said, scowling.

I just smiled.

“I wish the real bad guys went around with the letter “Z” tattooed on their foreheads,” Mickie said. “That would come in handy.”

“Let’s go check out the dungeon,” Will said, pointing to the pink castle, oddly elongated compared to the one I knew in California. “Says there’s a dragon inside.” He tapped his map.

We found the animatronics dragon in a dark cavern lit with a greenish glow.

“He’s chained, poor guy,” Will said, pointing at a collar. As if in response, its gold–green tail flicked sadly.

Sir Walter leaned toward us. “Here we have a visual metaphor for my cousin’s creations,” he murmured, pointing to the dragon.

“Dragons?” asked Mickie. “Not seeing it.”

“Oh, not actual dragons,” said Sir Walter. “But the creatures he bred in dark places, tormented as with these chains … there is a certain similarity. To have ensured the loyalty of the
dragonlings
in spite of their incarceration—that was his triumph.”

“That was Stockholm Syndrome,” said Will. “The bulk–size version.”

Mickie shook her head. “Well, it didn’t work on Pfeffer, ‘cause he hated Helmann.”

“For which we can be thankful,” said Sir Walter, bowing his head in acquiescence.

“Can we go get some food?” Will asked. “This dragon light makes my stomach hurt.”

“Everything makes your stomach hurt,” muttered Mickie.

Sir Walter directed us to the restaurant inside the
Pirates of the Caribbean
attraction where we parked ourselves at an island–themed table. As I translated the menu for Mickie, my mind wandered to the black book we’d given Sir Walter: to the section where Helmann described a military school to a young Helga.

“Sir Walter, is the … military–school–thing being repeated at Geneses?”

“No, no,” he replied. “The work at Geneses is, in large part, exactly what they portray to the outside world: genetics research. Of course, the research will be put to rather different purposes than the ones they advertise.”

Our food arrived, halting our conversation.

As the Caribbean–costumed server departed, Mickie asked, “So who’s in charge at Geneses?”

“My cousin,” replied Sir Walter. “Not officially or under his true name, but his monarchy is absolute.”

“What about your cousin’s kids?” asked Will. “Are his four ‘favorites’ still around?”

Sir Walter frowned. “The four I spoke of serve him still. Perhaps you can guess as to their names?”

“Fritz, Hans, Helga, and Franz,” said Mickie without batting an eye.

“Precisely,” said Sir Walter. “At the moment, however, Helga has been demoted from those who hover in his immediate circle.”

“She’s got Pfeffer’s old lab,” said Will.

“Are you sure she was demoted by being placed there?” Mickie asked. “I mean, wouldn’t Helmann want Pfeffer’s lab turned upside down by someone he trusted?”

“Certainly, but that could have been accomplished by those whose skill sets are very different from Helga’s. I consider his demotion of Helga as a mistake most fortunate for us. For decades she enjoyed his favor as the most highly placed member of his personal security detail and a chief assassin. And a more clever or heartless one, he could not have hoped for.” Sir Walter paused. “She has considerably less power at the moment. Especially since
Mademoiselle Samanthe
so cleverly dispatched her bodyguard.” He smiled at me.

Or possibly saved his life,
I thought to myself.

I pushed food around on my plate, appetite gone, sure it must be obvious to everyone at the table that I was hiding something.
I really should tell them what I did.

But not right now.

“So, out of curiosity,” I began, “Why Disneyland today, Sir Walter? I’m glad we’re here, but aren’t there more important things we could be doing?”

The old man looked thoughtful as he set down his fork and knife with a precision only the French could master. “Do you know the play
Hamlet
, by the English poet?”

“Shakespeare? Sure, we know it,” said Will.

“Speak for yourself,” Mickie muttered.

Sir Walter smiled. “I shall remind you of a line penned for Hamlet’s father, who tells Hamlet, ‘this visitation is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.’”

Mickie snorted. “I’ll need that in plain twenty–first century English.”

“Hamlet needed a reminder from his father to do what he already knew was right.” Sir Walter frowned. “When I have been tempted to walk away from the fight against my cousin, I visit this place to sharpen my resolve.”

“Not making the connection
at all
,” said Mickie, echoing my own thoughts.

“Look around you,” he said. “Of what is this place most full? Children. For whom do I labor? Well, for the good of humankind, no doubt, but that is so vague a concept as to be useless to rouse an old man like myself. No, it has always been for the children that I find myself able to act. For the sake of the descendants of my sweet Elisabeth, who are no more, as well as for those who
do
live, but who will not know a tomorrow if I stand by and do nothing.” He paused, eyes moist with unshed tears.

“Sophie–Elisabeth loved the Disney Parks in Florida. I spent many happy days there with her family. And so I come here to remind myself that the world is still a place of merriment, of smiles, of children who deserve a future.”

“Hear, hear,” said Will, after a long silence. “Let’s jump on some rides, watch some little kids having fun.”

“Will,” muttered his sister, “Grow up.”

“All’s I’m saying is, we’re in freaking
Disneyland Paris,
you know?”

Mickie’s glare softened into a smile. She tousled her brother’s hair. “So, how do you say ‘Arrrrrrgh’ in French?”

For Sir Walter’s sake, or maybe for Will’s, I tried to enjoy the
Pirates
ride, but the skeletons drinking wine that would never assuage their thirst? I couldn’t stop thinking about the children in long–ago Germany, dying as their own thirst drove them to taste poison.

That evening, Sir Walter, Will, Mickie, and I strolled along the Seine as we walked from the
Métro
stop to our hotel. The water roiled, murky and dark. My thoughts felt similarly muddied. I still wondered if I should I tell the
whole
story about my encounter with Deuxième. But I didn’t want Mickie blowing up at me for being a soft–hearted idiot who sent help to Helga’s thug. So I kept quiet.

“We should probably turn up from the river to get to our hotel,” said Will. It was like he kept a GPS in his head, the way he always seemed to have a sense of where he was.