Free Unfurl by Cidney Swanson Page A
Authors: Cidney Swanson
of your wish to further our Glorious Cause in additional ways.”
“I am grateful,” said Pfeffer. “And, brother?”
Franz waited.
“I feel sure that I could assist you when it comes time for the Release of Angels. Would it not make sense to finish the work more quickly with additional help?”
Franz frowned. “Indeed. This is something I’ve told Father repeatedly.”
Pfeffer looked hopeful.
Franz spoke again. “However, dear brother, he means yet to accomplish it all himself. At any rate, he has not entrusted me with the pass–phrase, even though I have demonstrated to him that the Angels must be released at thrice the speed he can manage alone.”
“How did he answer your … suggestion?” asked Pfeffer.
Franz made a small, grunting sound.
“I see,” said Pfeffer.
Neither of them said anything and I figured that was it, but then Pfeffer got this look on his face I recognized. Like he was trying to decide whether or not to reveal something really big. Knowing him like I did, I knew that look actually meant he’d committed to say something, but he just hadn’t realized it yet.
Franz must’ve known that look, too. “Yes?” he asked.
“It may be nothing,” said Pfeffer.
“Either it is something or it is not,” snapped Franz, impatience thinning his mouth into a tight line.
Pfeffer’s voice came out softly. “He said, to me or to himself—I know not which—that three little words which changed his life, will soon change the world.”
Franz stepped in closer. His eyes got narrow. “You think he referred to the pass–phrase?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” Pfeffer’s eyes looked all eager, like when he used to ask me questions about Rippler’s Syndrome.
“Possibly,” said Franz. “But it matters not if he remains determined to act alone.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Pfeffer. His eyes drifted to his desk and the box. “Forgive my wanderings, brother.” Saying this, he handed the box of vials to Franz.
Franz’ brow furrowed as he took it. “Only our orders are of importance. Do not forget that.”
Pfeffer did this little bow, reminding me of Sir Walter, and Franz pulled the door shut behind him.
Fascinating , said Sir Walter from inside my head.
“Traitorous jerk” felt more accurate to me, but Sir Walter kept a lid on any anger he might be feeling. Myself, I was having a hard time just staying invisible ‘cause I wanted to beat the crap out of Pfeffer.
The rest of the day was boring. Sir Walter wanted to stick with Pfeffer, “to get a sense of how he passes his days,” and the answer was: he passed time doing mind–numbing activities like making and adjusting payments on behalf of Geneses Corporation International.
Pfeffer took off for the day an hour after sunset. The rest of the office had already cleared out, but Sir Walter stayed longer, searching through files once more. At last he seemed to finish, although he hadn’t found anything useful.
Your sister awaits us, he said .
We owed her Italian, and I was down for that after the world’s most uneventful afternoon.
On the way home, Sir Walter mentioned that he had arranged with the nonna , or elderly landlady, for some Italian home–cooking. I left him downstairs to get dinner. Once I rippled solid inside the apartment, my stomach roared with hunger. I didn’t see Mick right off, which most likely meant napping or showering. Seating myself beside the window to the courtyard, I watched as Sir Walter attempted to pass our landlady a large stack of Euro bills. They were haggling over the price of dinner or something. She spoke with her hands as much as with words. After a few minutes, she walked off shaking her head and mumbling in Italian. Sir Walter stood like he was still waiting. I didn’t know what for; he already had a bowl that looked like dinner.
But he stayed and, sure enough, she came back a minute later and handed him a set of keys. Which she didn’t let go of right off. It
“I am grateful,” said Pfeffer. “And, brother?”
Franz waited.
“I feel sure that I could assist you when it comes time for the Release of Angels. Would it not make sense to finish the work more quickly with additional help?”
Franz frowned. “Indeed. This is something I’ve told Father repeatedly.”
Pfeffer looked hopeful.
Franz spoke again. “However, dear brother, he means yet to accomplish it all himself. At any rate, he has not entrusted me with the pass–phrase, even though I have demonstrated to him that the Angels must be released at thrice the speed he can manage alone.”
“How did he answer your … suggestion?” asked Pfeffer.
Franz made a small, grunting sound.
“I see,” said Pfeffer.
Neither of them said anything and I figured that was it, but then Pfeffer got this look on his face I recognized. Like he was trying to decide whether or not to reveal something really big. Knowing him like I did, I knew that look actually meant he’d committed to say something, but he just hadn’t realized it yet.
Franz must’ve known that look, too. “Yes?” he asked.
“It may be nothing,” said Pfeffer.
“Either it is something or it is not,” snapped Franz, impatience thinning his mouth into a tight line.
Pfeffer’s voice came out softly. “He said, to me or to himself—I know not which—that three little words which changed his life, will soon change the world.”
Franz stepped in closer. His eyes got narrow. “You think he referred to the pass–phrase?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” Pfeffer’s eyes looked all eager, like when he used to ask me questions about Rippler’s Syndrome.
“Possibly,” said Franz. “But it matters not if he remains determined to act alone.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Pfeffer. His eyes drifted to his desk and the box. “Forgive my wanderings, brother.” Saying this, he handed the box of vials to Franz.
Franz’ brow furrowed as he took it. “Only our orders are of importance. Do not forget that.”
Pfeffer did this little bow, reminding me of Sir Walter, and Franz pulled the door shut behind him.
Fascinating , said Sir Walter from inside my head.
“Traitorous jerk” felt more accurate to me, but Sir Walter kept a lid on any anger he might be feeling. Myself, I was having a hard time just staying invisible ‘cause I wanted to beat the crap out of Pfeffer.
The rest of the day was boring. Sir Walter wanted to stick with Pfeffer, “to get a sense of how he passes his days,” and the answer was: he passed time doing mind–numbing activities like making and adjusting payments on behalf of Geneses Corporation International.
Pfeffer took off for the day an hour after sunset. The rest of the office had already cleared out, but Sir Walter stayed longer, searching through files once more. At last he seemed to finish, although he hadn’t found anything useful.
Your sister awaits us, he said .
We owed her Italian, and I was down for that after the world’s most uneventful afternoon.
On the way home, Sir Walter mentioned that he had arranged with the nonna , or elderly landlady, for some Italian home–cooking. I left him downstairs to get dinner. Once I rippled solid inside the apartment, my stomach roared with hunger. I didn’t see Mick right off, which most likely meant napping or showering. Seating myself beside the window to the courtyard, I watched as Sir Walter attempted to pass our landlady a large stack of Euro bills. They were haggling over the price of dinner or something. She spoke with her hands as much as with words. After a few minutes, she walked off shaking her head and mumbling in Italian. Sir Walter stood like he was still waiting. I didn’t know what for; he already had a bowl that looked like dinner.
But he stayed and, sure enough, she came back a minute later and handed him a set of keys. Which she didn’t let go of right off. It