Chameleon (19 page)

“This castle stood proudly once,” whispered our ancient friend.

He directed our gaze to the collection of stones piled atop one another. A wall remained, perhaps ten feet high in places. Most notably, just beside us, stood a circular staircase within what must once have been a mighty tower. No entrance was visible however, either to the tower or through the wall.

“That’s an arrow–slit!” shouted Will. “For firing on your enemies. It’s narrow so they can’t get a shot back at you.”

Sir Walter chuckled. “A good marksman can send an arrow through that abbreviated window.”

Will looked at Sir Walter with doubt. “That would be some shot.”

“More easily accomplished as a training exercise than in the actual conditions of battle,” admitted Sir Walter.

“Let’s explore!” said Will, his eyes wide with glee.

“Unfortunately, the ruin is unsafe to explore. Too many stones have been borrowed for other uses through the years,” said the old gentleman.

Kind of like your front passenger seat,
I thought.

“Any part of the castle could disintegrate, and how would I explain such injuries to your sister?” asked Sir Walter.

“We could ripple,” said Will, eyeing the structure wistfully.

“Perhaps,” said Sir Walter. “But I bring you today to discover what lies beneath. Since we are without Mackenzie, we will pass invisibly through the earth to our destination below–ground.”

“I’m game.” Will looked at me. “If Sam is, I mean.”

“
Pour–quoi–pas
?” I said.
Why not?

“
Excellent
,” said Sir Walter, speaking the word with its pronunciation in French. “It has been many years since I taught chameleons such as yourselves, but there are skills and defenses it would be well for you to know, and passing together underground will give us the means to exercise one of those skills. I had meant to teach you the other day, in Annecy, but …” He broke off, too much of a gentleman to mention how my confession had interrupted the lessons he’d planned for us that day.

He continued. “Are you well–versed in the
communication silent
?”

“Silent communication?” Will changed the word order from French to English.

“This is the method to communicate when you have both
ree–pilled
,” he said.

“You mean how we can pass images to and from each other’s minds?” I asked.

“You, my dear, may have an ability to do more,” mused Sir Walter. “But more of that later. For now, I shall tell you a tale as we pass into the side of the mount. A
silent
tale. Gather hands, and do not let go until I indicate to you that it is time to solidify.”

We held hands, Will’s warm in mine. The feeling turned my stomach to pudding. This was all I needed to ripple, and I felt Will disappear at the same moment I did.

“Well done, Mademoiselle Samanthe.”

Sir Walter’s voice spoke—within in my mind. This was something Will and I had never experienced when sharing memories or images.
How did he do that
, I wondered.

“
With practice, my dear
,” came his response. “
Do not allow yourselves to melt into anything else prior to re–materializing.”

I saw Will’s response: he replayed images of the moment I’d rematerialized with my pony–tail stuck in Bridget’s rock wall. It looked pretty scary seen from Will’s point of view, and a shudder ran through whatever
me
existed at the moment.

“
That is precisely what we wish to avoid
,” said Sir Walter. “
Check always twice before solidifying. And now,
allons
. Straight ahead, maintaining always the hands together.”

Invisible, we carved a silent passage through brush, soil, and rock, and after a half–minute, we broke through to a cavern pierced several times overhead with shafts of light. The floor of the castle above had evidently crumbled in places, creating the openings for daylight. The dark hollow was perhaps forty feet across. As my vision adjusted, I saw a pool of clear water, steaming, with a large irregular stone at its center. The top of the rock broke through the surface, and light from one of the shafts focused the current hour’s sunlight upon the stone. The surrounding water gleamed and threw reflective ripples upon the cavern roof.

Stunning. It would’ve made me catch my breath if I’d had actual lungs.

The scene before me seemed to shift, and I realized Sir Walter was sharing a memory; it was as if he’d turned on a video. In his mind’s eye, candles illuminated the cavern. No light spilled from the ceiling; this memory was from a time before the castle had tumbled to ruins. A woman with three small children dressed like Renaissance Fair re–enactors approached the water’s edge. The woman spoke to them in what resembled French, which I could
hear
clearly. Her accent was strange as were many of her words. She spoke to the children of power and refuge; the girl and one boy listened with rapt attention. A second boy scowled and looked away. I heard Sir Walter like a voice–over in my head, commenting upon the scene he shared from his past.

She tells the enfants, the children, that this place is the source of their abilities. She tells them to keep their knowledge of this place secret—that it is their refuge should soldiers come to kill them. She shows them stores of food and wine, weapons and candles, and tells them the water is good for thirst but must not be soiled.

I found my eyes could shift focus from the room in–the–present to the room as–it–was in Sir Walter’s memory, making strange ghostly shapes of the solid children and the woman at the well. The image shimmered, faded entirely, and we stood alone once more, hands within immaterial hands.

Sir Walter solidified, loosing Will’s hand. Will rippled next and, sliding my hand from his, I followed.

“What
was
that?” Will asked, voice echoing softly in the womb–like space.

“I allowed you to see into the past, into my own childhood, so that you would see what my five–year–old self saw.”

“And the woman?” Will asked.

“My mother,” Sir Walter replied. “Foster–aunt to my cousin
Elisabeth
and aunt to young
Girard
, before he became known as
L’Inferne.
”

“Oh. The grim–faced boy,” I said softly. Strange to think that Helmann had ever
been
a child himself.

“Is this the place you spoke of, the place the Romans revered?” asked Will.

“The Well of Juno,” replied Sir Walter. “Yes.”

I gazed at the steam rising off the water. “A hot–springs,” I said. “We have them where I was born.”

“Yes, I rather imagined you must,” said Sir Walter, his voice a bare whisper.

I flushed, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to elaborate, and walked towards the pool, noticing steps carved from the living rock, leading down into the water. “There’s pyrite in the rock,” I said, catching the shimmer of fool’s gold.

“Indeed,” said Sir Walter. “And true gold: auriferous pyrite, arsenopyrite, iron ore. The ancient Romans, and indeed my own family, lacked the technology to remove the gold. The Romans prized the iron ore in the area which led them to finding this spring and others. The spring was not underground in Roman times. My ancestors, the ones whose
derrières
the Romans did not kick—” Sir Walter paused here to wink at Will. “My family built a chamber and later the castle to guard the well.”

“Did the Romans name all the springs in this area for different gods?” Will asked.

Sir Walter’s lips curved into a half–smile. “No, indeed. Only very auspicious places were so named. My ancestors learned old tales that had survived over a millennia, Roman tales that reveal the origin of this unusual combination of the earth and the heavens.

“The story my mother recounted to me was of a great fiery missile from heaven. It landed upon what was then a marsh. The Roman soldiers who watched its descent reported it to their priests. The priests divined that this form,” Sir Walter said, pointing to the stony mass in the pool, “Was a representation of Juno, who had chosen this location for a place of worship. At this time Juno caused the spring to form, and from those days three–hundred years before the birth of our Lord until the time my six–times great–grandfather won the lands twelve centuries later, it was a sacred place.

“In my mother’s day, the place was consecrated to the Holy Virgin Mary and known only to the most trusted members of our family.”

“So, that’s a meteor,” said Will, pointing at the form in the water.

Sir Walter nodded. “Containing tobiasite and other less rare elements.”

“Yeah,” said Will. His face flushed and mine followed suit knowing what Sir Walter might bring up next.

The French gentleman looked at us. “Your sister also understands the curious effect these elements have upon the developing fetus?”

“Well, just what you said in the letter,” Will replied.

“The reason my family kept this spring a secret—indeed, the reason Romans regarded this as an auspicious place to … procreate—to start a child, yes?”

We nodded, eager to move to the next subject.

“It is the water—the water is contaminated by the heavenly element and the presence of gold within the bedrock. The map, yes? The dots correspond closely to sites where gold and tobiasite are found together in a heated spring. A woman who conceives here, this woman will give birth to one who carries the genetic code for Helmann’s disease.”

Curious, I asked, “And the following generations? Will they have Helmann’s?”

“In some cases it appears, in other cases it is suppressed,” replied Sir Walter.

“Like the genetic marker for breast cancer,” Will said.

“Quite so.” Sir Walter looked at Will, his eyes troubled. “Have you or your sister had genetic testing performed upon you?”

I made a small snorting noise. “No way would Mick let that happen.”

“That is well. Girard controls two of the agencies that perform such testing in your country. I suspect he obtains information from laboratories outside his control as well, as a means of identifying any carriers of the chameleon gene.”

“So this is where it all started,” I said stirring the water with one hand. It was warm, inviting on such a cold day.

“This is one place among several,” said Sir Walter. “You now know a good deal more than is safe to repeat. Perhaps this morning we might focus on safety—upon ways to defend yourselves and to protect those you hold dear.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Will.

I nodded. I wanted to know how to protect my family.

Just then, the peace of our small cavern was disturbed by a loud noise, like a door being opened. A door heavy enough to send echoes through the walls. I watched as small ripples ran across the pool.

“
Merdre
!” Sir Walter’s cursing didn’t sound good. “How did I miss their thoughts?”

We heard the sound of feet approaching.

“I behaved like a fool bringing you here without first coming alone. We are in grave danger. We must disappear at once.” Sir Walter reached for one of my hands and Will took the other. “Keep hold!”

I felt their icy touch as they disappeared. The sound of several feet came closer. I tried. I really tried. But I couldn’t ripple.

Will’s cold invisible hand pulled out of mine and he solidified beside me. “You can do this Sam, I know you can!”

I pictured the creek in Yosemite. Imagined Will’s arms around me. None of it helped. My heart raced and my mind refused to calm.

“What is it?” asked Sir Walter, solidifying beside us.

“She’s having trouble rippling.” Will looked worried.

Sir Walter turned his head towards stairs from which the sounds came. “Will, you must go now. Return to the car and await our arrival.”

“I’m not leaving Sam.”

“Go!” I whispered. “
Now
, you idiot!”

“I’m staying right here.” His voice echoed, deep and firm, and my stomach squeezed.

Sir Walter cursed again. “Keep silent. Allow me to do the talking.” He placed himself in front of us, protective, hands on hips. “Do not fear,” he whispered to me. From the stairway across the cavern, two men entered holding guns.

Chapter Twenty–Four

DR. GOTTLIEB

The first man was compact, shorter even than Sir Walter, dark–haired and light–eyed. He held his weapon as an extension of himself, someone accustomed to carrying a gun. I’d never seen him. The second man, tall, had blond hair and glacier–blue eyes. I felt Will’s grip tighten upon my hand: Ivanovich. We kept silent as Sir Walter had directed.

Sir Walter spoke first. “
Joyeuses Fêtes, Messieurs
,” he said, wishing them happy holidays.

The two men grunted evil laughter. Ivanovich taunted Sir Walter with his pistol while the short man grabbed Will into an arm lock and held his gun to Will’s head. I gasped, so afraid for Will that I barely noticed when Ivanovich did the same to me a second later.

“Let her go,” said Will and Sir Walter at the same time.

I winced as Ivanovich tightened his grip.

Sir Walter’s eyes darted from person to person, hatching who knew what plans.

“You’ve got me,” Will said.

“They’ve pretty much got both of us,” I pointed out, earning a sharp tug upon my twisted arm. I gasped in pain.

“The little girl is right,” said Ivanovich as he struck Will on the jaw.

Will exhaled hard and fast, but didn’t cry out.

“
Die Mutter
approaches,” said Will’s captor to Ivanovich. “Are you sure she’ll want them alive?”

“Alive,” said Ivanovich, grinning evilly. “For now.”

I didn’t know how I’d ever thought Deuxième resembled Ivanovich; the two appeared so different to me now.

We heard footsteps once more and turned our eyes to the staircase which had divulged the first two men. Looking small in the vastness of the cavern she entered, Helga Gottlieb, impeccably dressed in a dark grey suit, stepped into our view.

My breath quickened and my gut seized into a tight, hard lump. No way were we getting out of here alive.