The Reluctant Assassin - By Eoin Colfer Page 0,100

story, got the tattoo, told anyone who would listen, became an agent. Last year I meet the Texaco guy, who is broken up that my pop died, and he tells me the truth. I am named after a gas station.”

“Wow,” said Riley, who had heard the word used in the future and liked it.

“Wow? That’s it, huh? No magical wisdom from the Great Riley?”

“We have both built our lives on lies,” said Riley. “I was not abandoned to slum cannibals, and your ancestors were not great warriors; but the lies did their work, and we are who we are. I think you are the youngest agent in your police force for good reason. Perhaps in spite of the name Chevron.”

Chevie smiled. “Yeah, okay, Riley. That’s not bad. I’m gonna go with that.”

They abandoned the cab and walked to the house on Half Moon Street. Bob Winkle was doing his utmost to decipher the limited facts he had been given.

“So, princess. You plan to enter this house and stay there for a hundred years?”

Chevie patted his shoulder. “Something like that, Winkle. I would say See you around, but it’s probably not going to happen.”

“So we should kiss now?”

“Of course,” said Chevie and gave him a peck on the cheek that he would have to be content with.

“Next year I will be fifteen,” said Bob Winkle, emboldened by the kiss. “We could be married. I could make fair chink off a battling Injun maid at the fairgrounds.”

“Tempting as that offer is, I think I’ll pass.”

“Very well, princess. But now that I am part owner of a theater, the ladies will be all over Robert Winkle. Six weeks I will wait for you, not a minute more.”

“I understand,” said Chevie, smiling. “It’s the best you can do.”

Riley walked her to the front step, while Bob perched on a neighboring set of stairs, watching for constables’ helmets.

“Be careful, Chevron Savano,” he said. “The future is a dangerous place. It is only a matter of time until the Martians arrive.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna watch out for anything with tentacles.”

“Hurry yourselves,” called Bob Winkle. “This is a posh road. Two more minutes and our collars get pinched.”

The boy was right. It would be a shame if this affair were to end in a prison cell.

Chevie hugged Riley tightly. “Thanks for everything,” she said.

Riley hugged her back. “Thanks to you, too, Chevron Savano, warrior and fuel station. Perhaps one day I will put our story into words. It would rival the tales of H. G. Wells himself.”

“Maybe you already did,” said Chevie. “I’ll Google it when I get home.”

“Googling sounds like a painful procedure,” said Riley.

Bob whistled loudly. “I see a helmet, Riley. Leave her be, now.”

There was no more delaying it. Chevie kissed Riley’s cheek and squeezed his hand, then closed the door behind her. The basement room was dark and dank, just as Chevie remembered it from that brief moment before the sack went over their heads. She saw chicken bones in the corner with rats huddled over them like tramps around a bonfire. The rats did not seem concerned by her presence; rather they looked her over for the meat on her bones.

Being stared down by large rats was a good way to focus a person on getting to someplace with smaller rats, so Chevie pulled out Bill Riley’s Timekey and walked briskly to the metal pad.

No time like the present.

She punched the Timekey’s control pad and made very sure that all four quadrants lit up.

After a second’s dry vibration, the key began sprouting orange sparks like a Roman candle.

Here we go, she thought. I hope Victoria’s house doesn’t fall down.

And then she thought, I hope Riley will be okay. That kid deserves a break.

She frowned. Not that my own future will be a bed of roses. I am going to spend months answering questions. Thank God Waldo saw the whole thing. I hope he recorded it.

Chevie held up the Timekey. All four quadrants were flashing.

Good-bye, Riley. Be well.

Chevie smiled and orange sparks flowed between her teeth.

Please, no monkey parts, she thought, and then was gone.

Out of time.

Bob Winkle volunteered to steal a bicycle to ferry them both across to High Holborn, but Riley said no.

“I am your partner, you know,” Winkle said. “How come you is issuing commands like some form of little Caesar?”

Riley decided to stake his claim right off. Winkle could swallow it or not as he pleased.

“I am the Great Savano, Master Winkle. I own the theater and the equipment, and