Free The Hangman's Revolution by Eoin Colfer Page A

dishwasher and was rearranging the plates inside. With each switched plate, the lighting inside the kitchen changed color.
    Witmeyer stood, keeping her hands raised. “You don’t think, Cadet, that we would put a loaded weapon in the hands of a traitor.”
    They were testing me, thought Chevie. And I failed.
    Just to be sure, she aimed the gun at Witmeyer’s leg and pulled the trigger. There was no bang, just the hollow clack of a hammer on an empty chamber.
    Witmeyer sighed. “ Click , not boom . That means, Cadet, that you are out of time.”
    The walls suddenly began to shake.
    “Yes,” said Professor Charles Smart. “It’s working.”
    Whatever was working, Vallicose didn’t like it. “In the name of the Blessed Colonel, shut this racket off.”
    Smart crossed his legs and sank into the lotus position. “It can’t be shut off. Not now. We are all going on a journey, Sisters. It will be easier if you relax.”
    “No journey for you, traitor,” said Clover Vallicose. She drew her weapon from a hip holster and fired. Smart was hit high in the chest and skittered backward as though dragged from behind. Blood frothed from the jagged wound, saturating his upper body in seconds. There was no doubt in Chevie’s mind that this couldn’t be anything but a fatal injury.
    “You see,” said Vallicose. “The Blessed Colonel ordered two people killed today. Smart was one.”
    And I was the other, Chevie realized. They were always going to kill me.
    Vallicose holstered her weapon. “Shoot the child and be done, Sister Lunka. There is something not right with this place.”
    “I’m just going to reach into my pocket,” said Witmeyer, whose hands were still over her head as though she were a prisoner. “And pull out a gun to shoot you with. I sincerely wish this wasn’t necessary. But orders is orders, as they say.”
    If there can ever be a good time for a house to convulse, this was that time. Smart’s house shook as though in the grip of an angry giant, sending the occupants bouncing off the walls. Chevie came to rest on top of the dying professor. His blood seemed to draw her closer, like crimson tentacles.
    “I’m sorry,” she said as the kitchen dissolved around them, revealing that they were no longer in London but some other dimension composed of matter that seemed solid, liquid, and gas, but also somehow aware. Smart space.
    “Smart space,” said Charles Smart, as if he could hear Chevie’s thoughts. “And my name is Smart. Geddit?”
    The professor chuckled, blood burbling over his teeth.
    There was something familiar about this whole insane situation, but it eluded her still. Tantalizingly close, but not close enough, and she chased it like a seagull feather down Malibu beach on a windy morning.
    Relax, said Traitor Chevie. We’re in the tunnel now. My time is coming.
    The Traitor is coming. Great.
    Chevie remembered the Thundercats. She rolled off Smart and looked around for them. Witmeyer lay folded almost double, like a discarded coat, wedged into a corner of ceiling that used to be floor, floating away into the smart space. Vallicose stood ramrod straight, her arms overhead like a diver. There were tears on her face, but they were tears of fanatical joy.
    “I am ready, Lord!” she cried. “Take me to your arms. I am ready.”
    It seemed as though the Thundercats were occupied. Chevie should see if there was anything she could do for the dying man.
    The professor’s breath was ragged and irregular.
    “The key,” he said, surely his last words. He was pawing at her weakly. No, not pawing, giving her something. A plastic pendant.
    “And the table,” whispered Smart. “Lie on the table. It will anchor you.”
    “Okay, Professor. I will lie on the table.” It was crazy, but not the craziest order she’d had today, not by a long shot.
    His mission accomplished, Smart’s eyes rolled back, a long sigh rattled in his gullet, and he was gone.
    Again, said Traitor Chevie. He has died in the