The Reluctant Assassin - By Eoin Colfer Page 0,13

enough, but there was a large pistol in her delicate fingers, and in Riley’s opinion, this particular pistol seemed capable of shooting the bullet and perhaps digging the grave as well. This was not a pistol one argued with, so Riley did as he was told and looked sharp about it.

The girl seemed satisfied and stepped inside the room, leaving a tantalizing wedge of freedom on display behind her. Riley briefly considered bolting for the outside world, but then light glinted on the gun’s barrel, and the boy decided he could wait for the next opportunity.

“Miss,” said Riley. “Have I come to rest in a traveling Wild West Show? You appear to be a savage Injun.”

Chevie glared down at the boy along the sights of her weapon. “We don’t use the term savage Injun anymore. Some people take issue with being described as savages. Go figure.”

“I saw Buffalo Bill’s Extravaganza a while back. You have the look of an Apache.”

Chevie half smiled. “Shawnee, if you have a burning need to know. Now, enough small talk. There’s a bar behind your head; grab it with your right hand.”

Riley did was he was told, and having an inkling of what was coming, spread his grip to widen the span of his wrist, but to no avail.

“Sure, kid. Oldest trick in the book. What? You think I graduated from Idiot College last semester?”

“Why do you refer to me as ‘kid’? We are of the same age or thereabouts.”

Chevie leaned across Riley and snapped a metal cuff over his wrist.

“Yeah? Well, I’m seventeen, actually. And you don’t look a day over twelve.” She ratcheted the cuff tight, hooking the other end on the bed railing.

“I am four and ten,” retorted Riley. “And due a stretch any day. This time next year I’ll be towering over you, miss.”

“I am thrilled to hear that, kid. Until that great day dawns, you’ve got one hand for eating and scratching your behind, though I recommend you eat first.”

Now that the boy was secured, Chevie wedged the door open with a chair so she could keep an eye on the pod room, just in case something else decided to come through.

Riley jerked his chain a few times to test its strength and Chevie grinned.

“Everybody does that, but let me tell you, those cuffs have a tensile strength of over three hundred and fifty pounds, so you are wasting your time.” Chevie shook her head. “There’s a lot of time wasting going on around here today; you have no idea.”

Riley suddenly felt like crying, and almost as suddenly felt ashamed of himself. Crying would not get him away from Garrick; backbone was the order of the day.

“Miss, you need to let me loose before he gets here.”

Chevie pulled up a steel chair, spun it on one leg, and sat, leaning her elbows on the back.

“Oh, yeah. He. Death, right? He is Death, and Death is coming. The bogeyman.”

“No, no bogeyman. Garrick is flesh right enough. He done for old yellow-blood, and he’ll be doing for us soon if we don’t get a little wind under our sails and leave this place, wherever it is.”

Chevie almost pitied this filthy urchin until she remembered the first time she’d laid eyes on him. “Tell you what, kid. Why don’t we forget this Death character for a minute and focus on why you killed the old man?”

Riley shook his head. “Not me, miss. I never did. It was Garrick.”

Chevie was pretty good at reading people, and this kid’s face was wide, with heavy brows, a pointed chin, and a mop of hair that could be any color underneath the dirt. His eyes were a startling blue, at least the left one was; the right eye seemed to be mostly enlarged pupil. In short, an innocent kid’s face, not a murderer’s face. Unless he was a psychopath.

“Oh, yes. Garrick. Mr. Death. Or perhaps Mr. Nobody.”

“You’re mocking me, miss. You think I’m a liar.”

Chevie scowled. “Stop with the miss stuff, kid. You’re making me feel like a grandmother. Call me Agent Savano. Don’t go thinking we’re friends, now; I’m just being civil, and I don’t want to judge you until all the facts are in. And, to answer your geographical query, we are in London, England.”

The boy was obviously disturbed by this news. “London, you say? Is it true? But then he is already here. There is no time, Agent Sa-van-o. We must get away from here. Can you summon the orange magic?”

Orange magic. Agent Orange,

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