Put it aside, said the Sorceress-voice. Look at the options. Go over them logically.
Marnie took inventory again. One camping cot with canvas stretched over it. One blanket. One plastic bottle of seltzer, half empty. One plaid Thermos, entirely empty.
Ah. Well, to the trained mind, the thing to do was perfectly obvious. At the first sound of Leah Slaight’s key in the padlock, Marnie would emit a giant whoop and do a double back flip across the room. Her feet would hit the door with enormous impact, catapulting it open and hurling Leah Slaight (and her gun) across the basement. Marnie would land lightly beside the stunned Leah and kick the gun halfway into the next millennium.
Be serious.
Marnie buried her head in her hands.
All you really had in Paliopolis was your brain, said the Sorceress-voice, encouragingly.
After a moment, Marnie sighed deeply and sat up. She wasn’t going to argue with her Sorceress-voice on that one. It was a useful lie, which was Skye’s term for those personal myths that help you organize your life and keep going. And Marnie had to keep going. It was important to evaluate her position; she knew that. If—no, when—an opportunity arose to help herself, she had to be ready to act.
And when the wrong opportunity arises, you have to know not to act.
Weird, to hear the Sorceress-voice advising caution. Marnie didn’t think of that part of her personality as cautious. In Paliopolis … But then, the Elf had been there, egging the Sorceress on, forcing her to think more quickly, more flexibly.
No. She wasn’t going to think about the Elf now; it was too depressing. Except …
Marnie paused, considering. Except, what would the Elf say, if he were here in this dungeon? What would the Elf do?
JUMP DOWN AIRSHAFT!
Despite everything, Marnie smiled, remembering. The Elf would do something creative. Something plausible, something real, and yet … unexpected.
Hmm.
Careful! Leah Slaight is dangerous, said the Sorceress-voice urgently.
“I’m just going over as many possibilities as I can,” Marnie said soothingly. It was amazing, she thought, how much stronger she suddenly felt. “It’s all speculative.”
This isn’t cyberspace!
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
The Sorceress-voice subsided. In fact, Marnie could almost feel that part of her brain lean forward in interest, ready to comment, as she went over her lists again, trying to think like the Elf … or, rather, like the Elf-influenced Sorceress. She lifted the Thermos, and then, experimentally, hit her shoulder with it. It practically bounced off. She clicked her tongue in exasperation. The plaid unit had clearly been designed to be a safe component in a kindergarten food fight.
Could she just hurl it at Leah Slaight? And yell “Food fight?” Marnie actually grinned.
Seriously. Suppose she were to try to conk Leah Slaight on the head with—well, with something. How would she get in close enough, given that Leah was holding the gun? As Marnie had observed earlier, the door opened outward, so she couldn’t hide behind it. But could she flatten herself against the wall next to the door? Would Leah Slaight be fool enough to take a couple of steps into the room even if she couldn’t see Marnie? Was there enough time between the jiggling of the lock and the opening of the door for her to race across the room and position herself properly?
The Sorceress asked, Could you make it look as if you’re on the cot, covered by the blanket? Could you fluff up the blanket somehow?
Now, that was an interesting idea, even if Marnie couldn’t imagine how she’d fluff up a single blanket. It wasn’t as if she had a bunch of pillows to prop underneath. Still, it was the right kind of thinking. And what about that blanket? Could it be thrown over Leah Slaight’s head? Hmm. Stand still while I entangle you in my blanket. Thank you kindly.
Marnie drank a little seltzer. She wished it were in a glass bottle. Now, there was a weapon.
Wait, how about the seltzer itself? said the Sorceress. She was really getting into this Elf-thinking now. If you shake an unopened bottle and then twist the cap open, it explodes all over the place. What happens if you shake a half-empty bottle?
Marnie tried it and watched the remaining airspace in the bottle fill up with bubbles. Only partway, however. She sighed.
But if she gave you a new bottle, just like this one … The Sorceress was excited.
Marnie did see the potential: an explosive device. Well, sort of. But there were difficulties too. Even supposing that she did get a new bottle, how exactly would she integrate it into a realistic escape plan? Would she say: Hey, Leah, wait just a minute while I get this bottle ready to explode in your face?
Details, said the Sorceress. They aren’t important right now. You’ll be improvising in the moment. Any actual plan always goes awry after step one. Or two, if you’re very lucky.
A scary thought, but Marnie knew it was accurate. It was the story of her life.
Well, then. The first step toward getting a new bottle would be to finish up this one. She took another swig. Half the bottle to go. Just thinking of it made her need to use Yertle.
Yertle. Ugh. She was almost used to breathing only through her mouth.
She kept thinking, thinking, thinking, and taking swigs of seltzer as a reward for each new idea, however loony. It turned out that there were rather a lot of things you could do with one blanket, one cot, one Thermos, and one plastic half-bottle of seltzer. Creative things. Unexpected things. But, ultimately, mostly stupid things. And while she could hear the Elf’s voice insisting that stupid was good, she couldn’t quite believe it.
Once more, Marnie visited Yertle. Then, finally, she let herself slip into an uneasy sleep.
* * *
In the Lair of the Rubble-Eater, Llewellyne stopped herself before she brought the truth glasses into focus on the beast. As she did so, she felt the hawk’s claws ease a bit. She remembered now the old tale about the glasses; involving a young man who’d observed his lover through them and had gone quite mad. But even if that story wasn’t just a fable, this was not a similar situation. The Rubble-Eater was in considerable distress….
We have other things to worry about! thought the hawk urgently. Then the hawk stilled, red eyes noticing what Llewellyne, too, could see.
It couldn’t be, but it was. Even after the beating the Rubble-Eater had given itself, it was stirring. It was lifting its head and sniffing the air.
It smells you, said the hawk. Let’s slip away, fast.
But all at once, the great, strong beast was on its feet. The giant horned head swung around, and the single, tiny, blind eye fixed itself upon them.
The hawk leapt into the air, wings flapping determinedly, and landed on an outcropping of rock just above Llewellyne’s head.
The Rubble-Eater emitted that peculiar, high-pitched keening. It backed up, preparatory to charging.
Reflexively, Llewellyne dropped the glasses, feeling them fall back on their string against her chest, and drew her pearl-handled sword. Then she paused.
Yes, you’ll need to kill it, said the hawk encouragingly. It’s the only way we can escape now.
Between Llewellyne’s breasts, the truth glasses vibrated gently, insistently.
CHAPTER
16
Marnie’s awareness of Leah Slaight’s presence slowly filtered into her consciousness and woke her. She feigned sleep for a while, though, breathing slowly, feeling her chest rise and fall. Fear clawed relentlessly at her insides. Fear of Leah Slaight; fear of herself; fear of action; fear of inaction; fear of death; fear of—
Better stop there.
You could say a lot of things about Skye—maybe Marnie’s Sorceress-voice was right and you could even call her a liar, a concealer of truths. But you would never call her a coward. If Skye could see Marnie now, trembling, what would she think of her?
Does it matter? asked the Sorceress incredulously.
Yes, Marnie thought fiercely. But then she felt a quick, dee
p surge of uncertainty.
That’s right. To hell with her probable opinions! To hell with her!
Yes … no … yes …
“I know you’re awake,” said Leah Slaight impatiently.
Marnie skipped any artistic stretches and yawns. She opened her eyes and stared at Leah Slaight as the woman sat on her stool, gun in lap.
“Sit up,” Leah said. “I want to talk to you. And have something to drink. I brought you more water. And a sandwich.”
More water? Seltzer? Would it possibly be that easy? Marnie sat up slowly, swung her legs over the side of the cot, and glanced down. Yes. Yes! Another plastic bottle of seltzer; raspberry-flavored this time.
Careful, whispered the Sorceress.
Marnie picked up the bottle. How in the world would she get it ready to explode? She couldn’t possibly shake it openly … could she?
“Have the sandwich,” invited Leah.
Marnie didn’t want to refuse, even though, oddly, she wasn’t particularly hungry. The sandwich was peanut butter and jelly. She ate half of it while Leah watched. She thought about the seltzer. If she drank just a little, the bottle would still explode nicely. She twisted the cap open, gulped some down, and fastened the cap back into place. Suppose she was able to shake it up, aim it, explode it in Leah’s face. What would she do afterward?
You’ll run! Look, the door’s ajar. This is really it! You’ve been so biddable, you’ve got her feeling overly secure.
Panic roiled in Marnie’s stomach.
How many seconds would it take to shake the bottle, aim it? Would Leah have time to react, to evade? To aim the gun? Buying herself time to think, Marnie put the seltzer down beside her on the cot, on its side. She ate the other half of the sandwich. Each bite threatened to congeal in her mouth. Talk, Leah had said. Marnie swallowed the end of the sandwich. She focused her gaze on the top of Leah’s head, noticing suddenly the shiny richness of Leah’s thick brown hair. She took another small swig of seltzer, capped the bottle, and put it down again, careful to do it carelessly, shaking it.
“You have beautiful hair,” Marnie said abruptly, without thinking, without smiling. She could hear the truth in her own voice and knew Leah Slaight would hear it too.
She did. Her eyes flickered in surprise. Her mouth formed a little O. Seemingly involuntarily, she put her left hand up to touch her hair. Marnie thought she could see the other hand, the one that held the gun, loosen its grip a bit.
“I do?” said Leah uncertainly.
“Yes.” Marnie pushed herself forward a little, to get her feet solidly on the floor. Beside her, the bottle shifted against her body again. If she could just keep moving around on the cot so that the seltzer rolled a bit, would that shake it up enough?
“Skye was a redhead,” said Leah.
“Dyed,” said Marnie. “I don’t know what color her real hair was. Probably brown, like mine. And yours,” she added shamelessly. She was in awe at the sound of her own voice. So matter-of-fact. So calm. While inside …
She swayed and shifted on the cot as if to get more comfortable, and felt the seltzer roll up and down on the canvas before again settling against her side. Her stomach made a dreadful noise.
“Are you still hungry?” asked Leah. “I could bring you more soup.” For someone who’d wanted to talk, she certainly wasn’t in a rush to introduce her subject.
“Sure,” said Marnie, even though she knew it was fear that had caused the rumbling. Right now her stomach was so tight, she didn’t think she would ever have an appetite again. She picked up the seltzer bottle as if idly, and put it back down. Was that enough? She hadn’t a clue.
Leah looked uneasy. “When we’re done here, I’ll warm some for you. Do you like chicken noodle?”
“That would be okay.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. Marnie wiggled some more, and against her thigh the seltzer bottle went slosh, slosh, slosh. Marnie put her hand on it. She kept her eyes on Leah Slaight, who was fidgeting as well. Was the bottle ready to explode? Was now a good time? No. Leah was staring—
“I need a promise from you,” said Leah abruptly. “I need you to swear on—on Skye’s immortal soul. I’ll believe you if you do that.”
Oh, no, Marnie thought. She couldn’t take any more Skyedottir stuff; not at this moment when she was trying to get herself ready to …
“What kind of promise?” Marnie asked. Her legs tensed, feet pressing on the floor. Her hand tightened on the bottle. One more good slosh, and then—
Leah leaned forward. Words spilled from her in a hectic rush. “I was thinking about what you said. About my being entitled to half of Skye’s stuff. When this is over, when—if—I let you go, you have to swear you won’t say it was me. Promise me that you know I’m entitled and that you’ll say you never saw my face.”
Marnie froze in shock, momentarily forgetting the bottle. A confusion of thoughts bombarded her.
“I can’t let you go, otherwise,” Leah went on urgently. “I have to think of myself. You do see that? I would like the money—I’m entitled, you’re right. And maybe later on you and I could meet, and pretend to only discover then that we’re sisters, and then I could change my name.” She paused. Her eyes pleaded.
Marnie swallowed. “Oh,” she managed feebly. “That’s an idea. So … so, we’d write the ransom note together, you and I, and get you the money, and then you’d let me go, and we’d meet up later on, like in a year or two? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Yes,” said Leah. “Yes!”
She is nuts, Marnie thought. If she were Leah, she certainly wouldn’t trust the promise of a captive. Why, even if Marnie actually did keep the secret, there would be evidence all over the place, and did Leah Slaight think it wouldn’t be suspicious if she left Halsett abruptly? Did she think the police, the FBI, whoever, were that dumb? Did she think Max wouldn’t be quick to trace the ransom money?
Let’s hope she is that dumb, said the Sorceress dryly.
But it wasn’t just dumb, Marnie thought. It was pitiful, sad. This woman wanted a sister, a mother, so badly … Marnie could understand….
No, don’t get sympathetic! She’s dangerous! Never forget that.
“I don’t want to kill you,” said Leah intensely. “And I would trust your word.”
“You would?” Marnie’s mind whirled. Was this a better option than trying to escape? Should she trust Leah, take the “do nothing” choice?
Beneath her fingers lay the bottle. She might never again have such a perfect opportunity, with Leah distracted, the door open.
Marnie wasn’t conscious of thinking, of sorting through her options and choosing a particular path. She fixed her eyes on Leah’s. She watched as Leah released the gun in her lap and lifted both hands in a pleading gesture. “Let’s be sisters,” Leah said. “For real.”
This is it, urged the Sorceress. She’s not touching the gun, the door is open, the bottle is ready. Trust yourself, not her.
“Promise me,” Leah said again. “Promise me, as Skye’s daughter. Promise me, on her soul.” She held her empty hands out. Her eyes bore into Marnie’s. “Promise me—as my sister.”
I could just lie to her, Marnie thought frantically. Or I could actually keep the promise—it wouldn’t make any difference. The evidence would speak for me. And if I took this risk now, if something went wrong …
The Sorceress was silent. She had already spoken. Marnie was on her own.
Marnie looked directly at Leah. “I promise,” she said.
She watched Leah shut her eyes, in deep emotion.
And in that moment, Marnie lifted the seltzer bottle, gave it a final, sharp shake, and, in one beautiful flow of movement, leapt to her feet, untwisted the cap, and aimed the bottle opening directly at Leah.
CHAPTER
17
The seltzer exploded even more spectacularly than Marnie had hoped, showering everything in a 270-degree arc centered on Marnie’s hands. Moving forward in the same instant??
?a bare second before Leah yelped—Marnie threw the bottle forcefully in the direction of Leah’s head and sprinted toward the door.
Go for the gun, go for the gun! yelled the Sorceress, but Marnie didn’t pause. She grabbed the door and flung it wide. Shut her in, then! demanded the Sorceress, and Marnie wasted a precious moment grabbing the knob and slamming the door behind her. In the very next second she heard the padlock fall to the floor and bounce out of arm’s reach. There wasn’t time to grab it, get it back into place, close it, lock Leah in. Marnie’s chest rose and fell. Suddenly and with utter clarity, she knew the Sorceress had been right: she should’ve thrown herself on top of Leah and tried to grab the gun. Five seconds ago, it had seemed the riskier choice.
Too late now.
Leah was screaming actual words. Instinctively, Marnie threw herself back against the door in the same moment that Leah grabbed the knob on the other side to push the door open. Marnie dug her heels into the rough floor and gritted her teeth, holding the door closed with her body. Then, behind her, Leah crashed against the door, skidding Marnie forward an inch or two. Marnie shoved back, managing to force the door shut again. She could hear Leah retreat, preparatory to another slam. She braced herself.
Leah was taller and heavier than Marnie. Marnie didn’t need the Sorceress to tell her that all the laws of physics were on Leah’s side.
Once more, Leah slammed against the door. It pulsed. Grimly, Marnie hung on.
She looked frantically around and saw an escape route only a few yards away: a wooden staircase leading upward. Three seconds to get to it, another four to sprint to the top. Once she got outside, her chances would surely be better.
Slam.
It was harder, this time, to push back. Marnie knew she couldn’t handle many more of these. She scanned the area again. Was there something she could quickly shove against the door? She saw some old wooden two-by-fours, paint cans, an ancient microwave oven, a big overstuffed lounge chair against the far wall. Yes!—no, she could never push the chair into place in time. Refastening the padlock was a better idea, but could she do it quickly enough? She knew the answer was no.