carcass," I said. "Did you see him kill the deer?"
For an awful moment, I thought one of them was going to say yes. But then both guards shook their heads.
"Then let the boy go." My first command as the would-be king.
The guards looked to Kenric, unwilling to take my word for it. Kenric spread his hands out, indicating it was my decision. The guards let go of the boy and saluted smartly. Perhaps too smartly. Like when you jump out of your seat and shout, "Good morning, sir!" to the teacher you hate the most.
I didn't know what to do next, so for a moment I did nothing. Kenric turned and walked away, back into the castle. I suspected I was probably supposed to say or do something to make him stay, but the game's time limit for my trying to figure what that should be must have run out. The guards, too, left to do whatever guards here did when they weren't terrorizing nine-year-old boys. Probably another missed opportunity.
"Are you all right?" I asked the kid.
He was watching me through the fringe of hair that hung down in his eyes, looking like a headlight-startled rabbit. He was so dirty, I couldn't tell if the guards had beaten him.
"Are you all right?" I repeated, tipping his face up by the chin.
He kicked me, hard, on the shin, and ran off.
"Ungrateful wretch," I muttered as he ran over the open drawbridge, vaulted over a short fence, and took off through the meadow beyond.
I turned to go back into the castle, when suddenly there was a brilliant shaft of light from the sky. Clouds billowed up out of nowhere, then rolled back; harp music sounded, an angelic choir sang a note of infinitely sad sweetness, and a white-robed figure descended on a golden beam.
"Giannine Bellisario," the white-robed figure said in a voice like the voice of God from the videos they show in religion class.
Outside of the fact that I was too stunned to speak, he was calling me by the wrong name. Here, I was Janine de St. Jehan.
And this sure didn't sound like any Rasmussem program I'd ever heard of.
"Giannine Bellisario," the white-robed figure repeated.
The closer he got, the more I could see he wasn't God after all, which was a relief no matter how you look at it. For one thing, his white robe turned out to be a lab coat, and for another, he was wearing glasses. I felt fairly certain God wouldn't go around wearing glasses.
The figure came to rest with his Reebok'd feet about six inches from the ground, so that—even though he couldn't be much taller than me—I had to tip my head back to look him in the face. "Giannine," he said, "this is Nigel Rasmussem. Don't panic."
I'd been surprised and confused but doing fine until he said that.
"There has been a slight emergency. Nothing to worry about."
I began to hyperventilate.
"People from the Society to Prevent Cruelty to Children ... What?" Somebody I couldn't see or hear must have corrected Mr. Rasmussem. He waved the interruption away. Which was good. He was already speaking infuriatingly slowly, like someone who doesn't trust the mental capacity of his audience.
"What do you mean, 'emergency'—" I started, but he talked over my question.
"People from the Society to Protect Our Children," he said, still getting it wrong, "have broken into the building. They have damaged our equipment. Don't worry. There is no physical danger to your body. The intruders have been removed by the police."
"What do you mean, 'no
physical'—
"
But again he kept on talking.
He can't hear me,
I realized. He probably couldn't see me. I shut up and listened, since I wouldn't be able to ask him to repeat.
"We are working to regain control," Mr. Rasmussem was saying, which wasn't comforting at all, especially from someone who had ink stains on his lab coat where he'd forgotten to use his pocket protector. "There are fail-safe measures to keep external stimuli, like power failures or surges, from affecting your mental state. But while these safeguards are in effect, you will find it difficult to exit
For an awful moment, I thought one of them was going to say yes. But then both guards shook their heads.
"Then let the boy go." My first command as the would-be king.
The guards looked to Kenric, unwilling to take my word for it. Kenric spread his hands out, indicating it was my decision. The guards let go of the boy and saluted smartly. Perhaps too smartly. Like when you jump out of your seat and shout, "Good morning, sir!" to the teacher you hate the most.
I didn't know what to do next, so for a moment I did nothing. Kenric turned and walked away, back into the castle. I suspected I was probably supposed to say or do something to make him stay, but the game's time limit for my trying to figure what that should be must have run out. The guards, too, left to do whatever guards here did when they weren't terrorizing nine-year-old boys. Probably another missed opportunity.
"Are you all right?" I asked the kid.
He was watching me through the fringe of hair that hung down in his eyes, looking like a headlight-startled rabbit. He was so dirty, I couldn't tell if the guards had beaten him.
"Are you all right?" I repeated, tipping his face up by the chin.
He kicked me, hard, on the shin, and ran off.
"Ungrateful wretch," I muttered as he ran over the open drawbridge, vaulted over a short fence, and took off through the meadow beyond.
I turned to go back into the castle, when suddenly there was a brilliant shaft of light from the sky. Clouds billowed up out of nowhere, then rolled back; harp music sounded, an angelic choir sang a note of infinitely sad sweetness, and a white-robed figure descended on a golden beam.
"Giannine Bellisario," the white-robed figure said in a voice like the voice of God from the videos they show in religion class.
Outside of the fact that I was too stunned to speak, he was calling me by the wrong name. Here, I was Janine de St. Jehan.
And this sure didn't sound like any Rasmussem program I'd ever heard of.
"Giannine Bellisario," the white-robed figure repeated.
The closer he got, the more I could see he wasn't God after all, which was a relief no matter how you look at it. For one thing, his white robe turned out to be a lab coat, and for another, he was wearing glasses. I felt fairly certain God wouldn't go around wearing glasses.
The figure came to rest with his Reebok'd feet about six inches from the ground, so that—even though he couldn't be much taller than me—I had to tip my head back to look him in the face. "Giannine," he said, "this is Nigel Rasmussem. Don't panic."
I'd been surprised and confused but doing fine until he said that.
"There has been a slight emergency. Nothing to worry about."
I began to hyperventilate.
"People from the Society to Prevent Cruelty to Children ... What?" Somebody I couldn't see or hear must have corrected Mr. Rasmussem. He waved the interruption away. Which was good. He was already speaking infuriatingly slowly, like someone who doesn't trust the mental capacity of his audience.
"What do you mean, 'emergency'—" I started, but he talked over my question.
"People from the Society to Protect Our Children," he said, still getting it wrong, "have broken into the building. They have damaged our equipment. Don't worry. There is no physical danger to your body. The intruders have been removed by the police."
"What do you mean, 'no
physical'—
"
But again he kept on talking.
He can't hear me,
I realized. He probably couldn't see me. I shut up and listened, since I wouldn't be able to ask him to repeat.
"We are working to regain control," Mr. Rasmussem was saying, which wasn't comforting at all, especially from someone who had ink stains on his lab coat where he'd forgotten to use his pocket protector. "There are fail-safe measures to keep external stimuli, like power failures or surges, from affecting your mental state. But while these safeguards are in effect, you will find it difficult to exit
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