Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

“Knowing that you don’t know everything means you know more than most. We’ll stick with that, yeah?”

“Is this not up to César?” Patience asked.

“It’s up to me and Scrambler in his absence. I know he won’t mind. The Love Phantom...”

“We know his name now. I’ve known it since the meal!” Florence screeched.

“...The Love Phantom held fire on inducting you into our little group because he didn’t want you to feel like you had no choice. You made a choice in stopping the arsonists. Use your power again, please.” Marcella looked to Hilaire and an increasingly impatient Florence and said, “We will look to that for guidance. If the spirits seem to think we should do...”

“Wake up! Jeez, he’d be better off with that tart at the factory. He’s probably fucking her anyway,” Florence said unhelpfully.

Patience went to fetch a pad and pen from the sideboard, happy to help – and she hoped that a spirit scribe would help end this stalemate. She had still not fully embraced her gift, largely due to seeing the effect her father’s ability had on him. It didn’t enhance his life, in her opinion, and she did not want hers to be blighted in the same way. What she was doing now was the sensible path – use it when required, without shame, for the benefit of others or herself, put it to bed at all other times. She hadn’t started when Marcella croaked, covering her eyes, “I can’t... I can’t go with you.”

“That’s okay!” Hilaire said quickly, putting her hand on her shoulder as Patience darted back across to wrap an arm around her. “We can do it. We just wanted to know it was okay by you.”

Patience was pleased that Hilaire didn’t ask for further confirmation. This was already like turning the screw for her; expecting her to articulate it again and more clearly wasn’t necessary. Scrambler insisted on accompanying them which was doable as they were travelling on foot rather than by car. It was better that there was one member of the Foundation there to talk César round to accompany them to safety.

“I know my way around the building,” Patience found herself saying. Did she really just volunteer to expose herself to risks that terrified her without being asked? It made more sense for her to stay with Marcella and comfort her, convince her that she wasn’t betraying César but was, in fact, looking out for him. Patience’s power, if she had to call it such, was not physical in the slightest. And of all the Foundation members, she knew him the least, which made her the least likely to be able to talk him into anything. Just as Marcella had been given a choice (albeit under pressure), it was important that he was at least given the illusion of choosing to escape.

“I can track him down in any building,” Florence replied, outdoing her and obviating the need for her to accompany them.

“We can’t vouch for your safety if you come with us,” Hilaire said, this warning and Florence’s blunt yet correct observation giving Patience the perfect opportunity to back down. Marcella cleared her throat and said, some confidence returning,

“If you can get him out safely, you can get them in safely.”

This was a throwback mission for Hilaire. They’d done this sort of thing before, infiltrate the hive, sometimes to rescue, sometimes to slaughter. Sometimes a bit of both. It would take them hours to walk to the Gestapo offices. She did not use her power to travel quicker in general, preferring to keep her feet on the ground when she could. Florence could still sense his presence, his energy. He was still alive.

Hilaire had made Florence promise her something before she agreed to talk to the Foundation about this rescue mission. She kept her to that promise (if that meant anything) now, though was more inclined to unleash her again after hearing about Maurice Cassard. She did not want to make big decisions in anger, so asked her to only take as much energy as required to induce fainting, or fatigue enough to induce paralysis. That restriction applied at the offices and on their way there, two patrols attempting to stop them before collapsing.

Scrambler was in awe at this and went to grab himself a jacket and a gun. He put the jacket on and strutted around like he was one of them, even if the walk he adopted was nothing like their marching. This was fun for him, while Patience was hating every moment. Hilaire was aware of small movements due to her gift, of the weight and shape of things and how they moved. Patience was swallowing uncomfortably, and there was nothing Hilaire could say to reassure her. Sometimes it was better in these situations to be a little on edge rather than relaxed like Florence and Scrambler. The gun was not in his hands even five minutes before it was completely useless. He didn’t know that and Hilaire didn’t tell him. He was just having fun pointing it. His mouth was going like the clappers, his life story being spat at them without them particularly enquiring. He admired their powers and told them some more about his amongst other diverse random topics. Patience replied to him to placate him and bestow some attention on him, as much as she could with her attention elsewhere.

When Scrambler paused for breath, Patience asked Florence, “How long will they be out?”

“What’s that?”

“How long will they be unconscious?”

“Oh, they’re not unconscious.” They weren’t dead either, Hilaire detecting shallow breathing in the three fallen men. “They’re just too exhausted to move after I siphoned the lifeforce out of them. They’ll recover to die later.”

“Should we have taken all of their guns?” Patience asked.

It wasn’t a bad question. Hilaire answered it. “They have a full arsenal. This is a rescue mission rather than a salvage mission. We’ll only step in during the battle to come if it looks to be going