The Thirteenth Skull (28 page)

“Touched what?” I asked, though I knew what.

She put a hand on my shoulder. “I shall tell you a secret: I envy you, Alfred Kropp. We long for the divine. We long to touch it. We long for
it
to touch
us.
At every turn in this affair you were met by betrayal and treachery—Samuel, Nueve, Ashley, among God knows how many others—and yet at the end, you were willing to sacrifice yourself for a world that must seem cold and brutal and quite unforgiving.”

“Well,” I said. “It wouldn't be right to let your personal hang-ups get in the way of the stuff that really matters. There wouldn't even be a thing like OIPEP if the world wasn't worth saving, right?”

“Then your answer is yes?”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need. It will take a while to decide Nueve's fate.”

“What does Nueve's fate have to do with me saying yes?”

“The day is coming, Alfred, sooner rather than later, when I must designate a new Operative Nine.”

She waited patiently for that one to sink in. I let it sink till it reached bottom, and then I said, “You're going to train me to be an Operative Nine?”

“I can't think of anyone better suited for the job. Perhaps, in the most ironic sense, you've been training for it for quite some time.”

I didn't say anything. She gave my hand a squeeze.

“Don't answer now. You'll have two years to think about it. The Company needs people like you, Alfred. Sometimes we lose sight of what really matters in our relentless pursuit of our goals—but through all this, you never lost sight of that. Of the things that really matter. It's a rare quality, and something without which our organization—well, the entire world, as a matter of fact—will perish.”

“Sounds like you're asking me to save the world.”

“Yet again,” she said with a smile. “Do you think you're up for it?”

An orderly brought me a light meal after Abby left. Beef broth, hot tea, and some tasteless crackers. After I ate, a doctor came in and checked my vitals.

“Hey, I know you,” I said. “You're Dr. Watson from the
Pandora.
”

“My name isn't Watson,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “That was just my name for you.”

“Is that what you do?” he asked. “Give people names?”

“I was filling in the void,” I said. “You remember, we talked about butts.”

“I don't remember talking about your butt.”

“It wasn't my butt in particular.”

“Whose butt, then?”

“Nobody's really.”

“It was a philosophical discussion about butts?”

“I didn't know why we had cracks.”

“And did we resolve the issue?”

“When somebody laughs really hard, you say they ‘cracked up.' ”

“Few people know this, but we're born crackless, until our first hearty gale of laughter splits apart the glutes.”

After he left, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I was a little afraid of what I might dream, but I was pretty tired.

I was just drifting off when I heard the door open and the heavy tread of boots on the wooden floor. I didn't need to open my eyes to know who it was.

“Hi, Sam,” I said.

He hovered near the door.

“You can come in,” I said.

He walked slowly to the chair beside the bed. Sat. Looked at me.

“I guess you got me on that chopper in the nick of time,” I said.

“Thankfully, yes. The doctor expects a full recovery.”

“Did you hear what Abigail Smith expects?”

He answered slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“Not what either of us expected, of course. But I think it's an intriguing proposition.”

“I'd have to trust her.”

He nodded. “Do you?”

I thought about it. “Oh, heck, Sam, I guess if I gave up on that I might as well stay dead.”

“Nueve will fight for his position. And it's quite difficult to fire an Operative Nine. It's considered a lifetime appointment.” “It's weird,” I said. “Until all this happened, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life, but it sure wasn't being a Superseding Protocol Agent.”

“Becoming one might be your only way to ensure SOFIA is never reborn.”

“You gotta become a devil to fight him?”

He looked at me with those dark, hound-dog eyes, so homely and also so sad.

“Somehow I don't think that will ever happen with you, Alfred.” He changed the subject. “She's asked to see you.”

“Ashley.”

“Yes.”

“Should I?”

“It was the worst kind of blackmail, Alfred. Nueve used her to monitor you after your escape from Camp Echo, used her feelings for him. She never wished any harm to come to you.”

“She should have told me the truth.”

“We avoid truths that terrify us.”

“Is that why you didn't tell me about SOFIA?”

He looked away. I looked at his hands, at the missing fingers.

“You never told Vosch anything, did you?” I asked. “Even when he chopped off your fingers, you didn't tell.”

He cleared his throat. “When I left the Company, I abandoned the oath that bound me to insert the SD 1031. I took a new vow, a vow to protect and guard you against all enemies. I will never break that promise, Alfred. But now we are back to trust, aren't we?”

I didn't give him a direct answer. That's an Op Nine quality. I said, “I'll need a trainer.”

He nodded. “Most definitely.”

“Someone who knows the ropes. Someone who's been there. Someone who can show me the way between doing the-thing-that-must-be-done and doing the right thing.”

“A narrow path full of pitfalls and hazards.”

“Because the right thing still matters.”

“The right thing will always matter.”

I thought about it. I thought about what he said and what I said and what had happened and what might happen. I thought about the golden door and the smell of my mother's hair and the empty sockets where my father's eyes had been and even ol' Mr. Weasel, licking my blood from his fingertips. Life shouldn't be what happens while you're running from your own shadow. Maybe that's why the angel pulled me back: I didn't want to die because I loved the world so bad my death was the only way to save it. I wanted to die for the same reason I struck the deal with Nueve in Knoxville: I thought it was the only way to hide from the shadow with my name on it. The problem was you can't run from it and you can't hide from it, so what are you supposed to do about it?

I didn't know, but I thought I knew how to start. I patted his knee with the hand I cut open to heal Jourdain, to heal Ashley, to heal him.

“I forgive you, Sam,” I said.

“And that matters most of all,” he said.

Also by Rick Yancey

The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp
Alfred Kropp: The Seal of Solomon

Copyright © 2008 by Rick Yancey

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

First published in the United States of America in July 2008
by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
E-book edition published in December 2010
www.bloomsburyteens.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Yancey, Richard.
Alfred Kropp : the thirteenth skull / Rick Yancey.—1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Teen misfit Alfred Kropp, the last descendant of Sir Lancelot, is once again in danger as he tries to uncover who is behind a top secret project called SOFIA, while eluding a new enemy who seems determined to kill him.
ISBN-13: 978-1-59990-114-5 • ISBN-10: 1-59990-114-5
[1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Antiquities—Fiction. 3. Knights and knighthood—Fiction. 4. Orphans—Fiction. 5. Conduct of life—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.Y19197Alk 2008            [Fic]—dc22            2007050832

ISBN 978-1-59990-685-0 (e-book)