The Hangman's Revolution by Eoin Colfer Page A

still as a corpse, collecting herself, trying to breach the corona of pain around her head with mind-fingers.
    “Charles Smart,” she heard a voice say.
    It’s the hobbit’s voice.
    Director Gunn.
    “She talks about Charles Smart, and here he is in the colonel’s letter: Professor Charles Smart. Can you explain that?”
    Professor Smart. He was one of the people from her visions. The old lady with the bird’s-nest hair had said that Smart was expecting her. Could it be that Smart was a real person?
    Someone grunted a negative. One from Clover Vallicose’s grunt lexicon.
    “It’s a mystery, Director,” said Lunka Witmeyer from behind Chevie. “But we have an order passed down through the years. Sealed by the holy seal until this very morning.”
    Vallicose chimed in, her voice throbbing with religious fervor. “An order passed down from the Blessed Colonel Himself. It would be my honor to carry it out immediately.”
    “No, Sister. Something is afoot here,” said the director. “Something outside the scope of my knowledge and influence.” Gunn moved things around on his desk. “And I don’t like things outside that circle. I like to bring them inside before I deal with them.”
    Vallicose shuffled. “Are you ignoring the Blessed Colonel’s command, Director?”
    There was a moment of tense silence in which Chevie believed absolutely that Vallicose would shoot her own superior if his next sentence was blasphemous.
    “Of course not, Sister. And I do not appreciate your tone. I would simply prefer to have more information before the…sanctions…are implemented. This Smart person may have confederates.”
    “The order is quite specific, Director. It has to be today.”
    “I know that, Vallicose. I can read. Don’t forget who summoned you here.”
    Waldo Gunn was a powerful man, but even he would have to tread carefully in this unique situation. A time-sensitive order from the colonel could not be ignored, or even deviated from in the slightest. His political adversaries would have him swinging in Hangman’s Square by dawn. Waldo Gunn could end up a homodermic installation in his own hall of fame.
    Chevie heard Gunn’s fingers drumming the desktop. “Very well. We use the girl to confront this man Smart. See how he reacts. There must be some connection between them. Then, when you have established that connection, take ten minutes to interrogate him on-site. I must know if there is a danger to the colonel’s empire.”
    This was shrewd: plant the idea that perhaps the Empire was at risk. Surely no one could object to his patriotism.
    Vallicose grunted again, but it was a respectful, affirmative grunt. Their plan was set.
    One of the hands on Chevie’s shoulders moved up to her neck and gripped tightly.
    “This little one’s faking,” said Lunka Witmeyer. “She’s awake and eavesdropping.”
    Chevie felt Director Gunn’s gaze swivel her way. She felt his eyes burn into her forehead, bringing a blush to her cheeks.
    “Open your eyes, Cadet Savano,” said Waldo Gunn, “and you may yet live through this day.”
    Chevie did as she was ordered and found herself handcuffed to a chair in front of Director Gunn’s desk. It seemed as though the Thundercats weren’t taking any more chances with Chevie’s newfound combat expertise.
    On the desk was a photocopy of a citizen’s identity card. The man in the picture was in his seventies, with wild gray hair and a surprised expression. He wore a white lab coat with a selection of pens clipped to the lapels, several of which had leaked blotted ink patterns onto his coat.
    He is real, thought Chevie.
    “Professor Charles Smart,” said Director Gunn, confirming what Chevie somehow knew. “Who works in weapons R and D in the Mayfair facility. We thought Smart was one of our brightest scientists, but now we have compelling evidence that he is in fact a Jax spy.”
    Chevie kept her face still. Emotion would only serve to damn her.
    “Perhaps you are