The 39 Clues: Cahill Files: Silent Night (7 page)

“What?”

“It is funnier in German.”

“Shh!”

They hunched down lower, until the voices faded.

“On three,” said the major, “we make a run north.”

“Non!”
said Marie. “You are not listening. You will be caught; your way is
stupide
,
bestiale
.”

Rupert squinted. “What’s that?” he said, pointing. It was a grate at the bottom of the factory with a ditch running through it and down to the river. “We’ll go in that way. It’s not guarded at all.”

Both Marie and the major looked where he was pointing.
“Peut-être,”
said Marie.

“On three,” the major said again.

“
Je ne veux pas.
I will go that way,” said Marie, and she pointed back toward the grass.

“What will you do that way?” asked Rupert. Marie pulled her shawl over her head.

“I have come to find my brother,” she said.
“Hast du ihm gesehen?”
She was very convincing as a German farm girl, but Rupert still shook his head. It wouldn’t work.

“Fine!” spat the major. “Let’s just everyone do things their own way. And then we’ll see who was right. Yes?”

“Oui. C’est ci bon.”

“Wait a minute,” said Rupert. Even
he
knew that wasn’t a good idea, and he was typically all for getting all of the glory for himself. But the major was not listening.

“One,” said the major. “Two. Three!”

Marie slipped off to the right, disappearing seamlessly into the darkness. The major hefted himself up onto the bank and took off at a jog. Rupert’s stomach flopped again. He was alone. He usually did well alone. But he felt, in this moment,
vulnerable
. There was no one to look to, no one to fall back on. And though he was loath to admit it, even to himself, Rupert had always relied on other people being there to catch him. But now it was just him — and whatever happened to him was his responsibility. He had to do something. He couldn’t stay there in the wet. So he went his own way, creeping up the bank of the river toward the ditch and the grate. Up against the factory wall, the weeds were soggy and high, and the ground was boggy. He tried not to take very deep breaths, and only through his mouth — the smell was something awful.

The grate itself was rusty and old — he shook at it, and it wobbled back and forth in his hands. If they’d brought bolt cutters or some other sort of tool, they could easily break the old crossbars and slip in.

But then, goose bumps swept over Rupert’s neck and arms. He could feel them, even through the layers of his uniform and the soggy coat and his scarf. It was a prickle, like someone was watching him from behind, from down by the water.

Slowly, Rupert looked over his shoulder. And there, in the bit of moonlight that had broken through the clouds, a man in black stood watching him. He was tall, with a long coat, a hat pulled down low over his face, and a walking staff in his hand.

He couldn’t breathe. The Madrigal. Albert’s Madrigal. Fear seized him, like an icy iron clamp around his throat. He was looking into the face of a Madrigal, into the face of evil, of chaos. It would be the last thing he ever saw.

Rupert was frozen in place, his hands digging into the rusty grate. Blood roared through him, as if it were trying to complete as many laps around his body as possible before he died. As if his whole being were trying to squeeze in just one more little bit of living before all was over. But at least if he died, he would die a Lucian.

So he did what a Lucian would do. He lied.

“You can’t stop us,” he said. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Gehe,”
said the Madrigal. He swept his arm out toward the river.
“Gehe hin und sündige hinfort nicht mehr.”

Rupert didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t understand what the Madrigal wanted from him.

The popping of gunfire erupted around the corner, and Rupert didn’t really have time to think about translating German anymore. The Madrigal turned quickly in the direction of the cracking of the guns, and Rupert took that opportunity to make a break for it back toward the river. He ran like he was the one being shot at, and he tried to ignore the great
splash
upstream.

At the river’s edge, he saw something bobbing and flailing along with the current — Marie.

“Aidez-moi!”
she was gasping as she came nearer and nearer. Rupert spun around, looking for something to use to help. There, on the grass, was the Madrigal’s walking stick. Rupert was loath to touch it, but he grabbed the stick and looked for Marie again. She was farther toward the French bank than the Belgian, so Rupert took a deep breath and ran full force across the top of the bridge. The company that had been crossing was past; they were headed toward the north side of the building, their guns out.

The major. Rupert’s stomach went cold. But he couldn’t think about that right now. There was another Cahill, and this one was right in front of him. Back in France, Rupert skidded down the slippery bank toward the river again. He waded out waist-deep into the water.

“Grab hold!” he fiercely whispered, hoping Marie would see him, would grab for the stick. She did, but she didn’t stop. The river kept sweeping her downstream, toward the north. And if Rupert didn’t catch her, she’d go right past the guards. If the water didn’t drown her, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. But she held on. Rupert dug his heels into the silt and pulled and pulled until Marie made it close enough to find her feet and the two of them could push each other back up onto shore.

“Merci, merci,”
Marie kept saying, grabbing Rupert by the face and kissing one cheek and then the other, over and over again.
“Merci mille fois, mon cousin.”

“I know, I know, you’re welcome,” said Rupert. “Marie, I get it! You’re welcome!” Rupert wiped his cheeks with a wet sleeve. “Where’s the major? Have you seen him?”

“
Non.
When they started shooting I began to run; I fell down the bank into the river. Is the major dead? What do we do? Do we wait for him?”

“Your face is blue,” said Rupert. “You need to get to a fire and dry clothes. But we need to find the major. And I don’t know which of those things should be done first.”

Then, from the other side of the river, down by where the ford had been, came a great roar. Marie and Rupert hurried down to see what it was.

The major was tearing across the stony break in the rush, holding one hand to his other arm and running as fast as his legs could carry him.

Behind him, a pair of soldiers was chasing him, firing at his back as he ran.

The major made it to the French bank and threw himself into the woods. Marie pushed toward him, but Rupert held her back.

“No, they’re coming across the river,” said Rupert, pointing at the German soldiers. “They’re coming to find the major.” And the major was wounded — they’d shot him. Rupert’s mind ticked like an overwound clock. “Marie, you hide. Use your German-soldier voice and tell them to come this way.”

She nodded and slipped into a thicket, wrapping her arms around herself to keep from shivering. And then Rupert braced himself.

“Komm!”
Marie yelled.
“Folge mich!”

“Good,” Rupert whispered.

“Now what?” she hissed back. But Rupert shushed her, and waited. He heard the two soldiers coming closer and held very still in the darkness, listening for every snapped twig and every swiped tree.

Almost. Almost. “Find the major and get back to the barn,” Rupert whispered to Marie. And then he saw the gleam of the gun in the thin moonlight.

“Anhalten!”
one of the soldiers snapped. And Rupert started to run. Trees snagged at him and his boots crunched loudly over the underbrush, but that was the point. He needed to make noise, to be seen just enough to give Marie and the major time to make it back to the barn. Then he’d find his way back to the river himself.

That was the plan. Except he could hear the soldiers behind him, shouting and stomping, and maybe it was his imagination, but were they closer? He couldn’t tell if they were gaining on him or if he was only afraid that they were. Rupert thought this must be what the fox felt like in the hunt. Except the fox very rarely asked for it.

Rupert zigzagged through the trees, looping around toward the river again. His throat was dry from the cold and he could hardly breathe anymore — his legs were sore and his lungs burned like they were coated in ice. Ahead, there was a mammoth tree, and Rupert ducked behind it. He would have to hide now. He couldn’t outrun the soldiers.

He slipped himself into a split in the trunk. It wasn’t large enough for him to fit completely inside, but a good half of his torso could. He curled his hands into the dirt and ducked his chin, hoping that his dark hair and dark overcoat would help him disappear. He tried very hard to quiet his breathing, to still those ragged breaths that he sucked in to fill his aching lungs. He shivered — his clothes were wet, and his teeth were chattering, so he curled his lips in around them to keep them from making noise. They were coming.

“Ruhig, ruhig . . .”
said the one with the lisp.
“Komm raus jetzt.”

“Ist er hier? Ich habe ihn nicht hören.”

Rupert wished he knew what they were saying. Did they see him? Were they coordinating their attack? Or did they count him as lost?

They stepped around the tree, and Rupert could see a blond head shining in the moonlight. The one with the lisp took a step forward, and Rupert could feel his overcoat tug. The soldier was stepping on his coat. Rupert stopped breathing; he wished that he could stop his heart, just for a moment, so it would be quiet and not give him away.

In the distance, a twig snapped and an owl called out.

“Schnell!”
hissed the lisp, and they slipped off quietly toward the east.

Rupert held his breath for as long as he could, taking little shallow sips of air that only filled the very tips of his lungs. And then, once he couldn’t hear them moving anymore, he let that breath out and sank against the tree. He curled his body in around itself and breathed hard into his knees. He wanted to cry out — he wanted to sob and to throw up again and to scream until his voice was lost. But he just took a moment. He collected his breath. And then, with a shaking body and a light head, he stood up. He followed the sound of the river. And he found his way back to the barn.

Marie ran out to meet him when he came to the clearing. “I thought you would be dead. Come in, come inside, and quick.” She took Rupert’s hand and practically dragged him into the barn. “I believe the major is dying. It’s quite terrible.”

“I am not
dying
,” said the major. He was leaning against a mound of hay, and his face was pale and clammy. His left sleeve was covered in blood, and so was most of the rest of him. It made Rupert’s stomach turn. “It’s nothing but a flesh wound. Don’t hover around me; back off, back off. Marie, I said don’t hover!” He looked up at Rupert. “And what you did, you idiot, was one of the stupidest things that I’ve ever seen a soldier do. Thank you.”

Rupert didn’t know what to say to that. He felt almost bashful. So instead, he said, “This looks awful.”

“That’s because you’re green, Davenport. Now man up. Pull yourself together. Get a bit of water on the thing and half the damage will go away,” growled the major. Rupert did as he was told, and Marie paced back and forth.

“I’m not going to have to, erm, sew this shut, am I?” said Rupert, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

“I should hope not!” said the major, who tried to shoot to his feet but failed with a groan. “Don’t you dare!” Rupert almost smiled. He couldn’t be so close to dying if he were that afraid of a needle.

“Did someone say something about sewing?” said Marie, coming over with a threaded needle. Rupert lifted an eyebrow. “One should never leave home without a needle and thread.”

The major went from pale to green. “No. No!” He threw his good arm in front of his face and turned away. Marie and Rupert laughed, until Marie turned to Rupert.

“It’s just a flesh wound!” Rupert said in a mock deep voice.

“I don’t sound like that!” said the major.

“
Absolument
you do!”

The major was trying very hard not to laugh, but the corners of his mouth were twitching uncontrollably and it didn’t take long to break him. They laughed until they were gasping, and until the gravity of the situation settled back down on them.

And then they were all quiet.

“So,” said the major. “What happens next?”

“They saw me as I fell,” said Marie. “And they saw you, Major, because they shot at you.”

“Yes, Marie. That’s very astute. Davenport?” said the major. “What luck did you have at the river?”

Rupert started to talk, but his mouth went completely dry. The Madrigal. Should he tell them? What good or ill would that cause?

“Not much,” said Rupert. “We’d need tools and things to get through. But even so, we can’t go across the river. They’ll be on the lookout for us now.”

They all fell quiet again. Rupert didn’t want to say anything about the Madrigal. Maybe he should, but if they were going to go a different way, perhaps it wouldn’t matter? Mostly dry and somewhat fed, the group settled down to their hay as the clock struck two.

“Marie, what does
‘Gehe hin und sündige hinfort nicht mehr’
mean?” Rupert asked.

“Go,” she said. “Go, and sin no more.
Pourquoi?
”

Rupert swallowed the dry lump in his mouth.

“No reason,” he said.