A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #4) - Ransom Riggs Page 0,132

building site and the men who’d chased us and shot Bronwyn with some kind of tranquilizer dart.

“I ain’t an educated man,” said my interrogator. “But one thing I know back to front is our enemies. I know what they look like, how they dress, what they eat for breakfast, their mothers’ names. And these people don’t fit none of their descriptions.”

“I swear it’s true,” I said. “The ymbrynes had nothing to do with it. Miss Peregrine had nothing to do with it. This girl was in danger and we just wanted to help.”

My interrogator burst out laughing. “Just wanted to help.” He leaned in so close I could smell his skin, sour like menthol and night sweats. “I seen an ymbryne once. In Schenectady. Old lady, lived in the woods with about twenty kids. They followed her around like little ducks. Slept in the same bed. Followed her to the john.” He shook his head. “Nobody in this world just wants to help. And no wards of no ymbryne ever acted on their own.”

I felt a swell of bitterness and wounded pride.

“My grandfather did.” Why keep it a secret? I couldn’t let them think the ymbrynes were making moves against them. Who knew what sort of consequences that could have. “He ran a crew that fought hollowgast and helped peculiars who were in danger. People knew him as Gandy.”

My interrogator wasn’t laughing anymore. He was writing down everything I said on a little pad.

“He died earlier this year,” I continued, “and he wanted me to take over for him. At least, I think he did. We got this mission from an associate of his.”

The interrogator looked up from his pad. “You say one of Gandy’s associates is still alive?”

The way he was staring at me gave me a chill. I knew then I had made an error.

“No—” I acted like I was confused. “I meant, we got the mission from a machine,” I lied. “One of those teletype printers? The orders just printed out while I was standing near it, like it knew I was there. But I assumed it was from an old associate of my grandfather’s.” I wanted to bury what I’d said about H, but it was too late.

The interrogator closed his pad. “You’ve been very helpful,” he said, and he winked and scraped back his chair.

“We didn’t mean to step on any toes,” I said quickly. “We didn’t know about your territory or laws or anything like that.”

Keys rattled in the door and it opened. The interrogator smiled.

“You have a nice day.”

* * *

• • •

Twenty minutes later they dragged me in to see Leo. The room was empty but for him, the man holding me, and Leo’s funereal right-hand man, Bill. Leo came at me as soon as I got through the door. Got right up into my face.

“Your grandfather was a murderer. You knew that, right?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. He was clearly unhinged.

“Gandy. Or whatever you call him.”

“His name was Abraham Portman,” I said quietly.

“Kidnapping. Murder. Man was sick in the head. Look at me.”

I raised my eyes to meet his. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Bill, get me the file on Gandy.”

Bill went over to a filing cabinet and starting rifling through it.

“He was a good man,” I said. “He fought monsters. He saved people.”

“Yeah, we thought so, too,” said Leo. “Until we found out he was the monster.”

“Got it right here, Leo,” said Bill.

Bill walked over with a brown folder in his hand. Leo took it and flipped it open. He turned a page, and something cracked behind his stony expression. “Here,” he said, and then I saw him wince.

He slapped me hard across the cheek. I stumbled. The man holding me yanked me up again. My head tingled.

“She was my goddaughter,” said Leo. “Sweet as sugarcane. Eight years old. Agatha.”

He turned the file so I could see it. Clipped to the page was a photo of a little girl astride a tricycle. A black knot of dread began to well in my stomach.

“They took her in the night. Gandy and his men. They even had a shadow creature with them. Working for them. It broke the window to her bedroom and pulled her right out—from the second floor. There was a trail of black muck leading right to her bed.”

“He wouldn’t,” I said. “He would never kidnap a child.”

“He was seen!” he shouted. “But she wasn’t. Not ever again.