The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp by Rick Yancey Read Free Book Online Page B

new monk said. “Throw it down or he dies.”
    â€œUh, Alfred,” Uncle Farrell gasped. “I think you better do what he says.”
    I heard the stairway door open behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the first two monks coming toward me, the taller one—the one I had kneed—limping a few steps behind his partner.
    â€œThere is no escape,” the tall monk said. “If you give us the sword now, you still may live.”
    â€œIf you kill my uncle,” I said to the monk in the elevator, “I’ll kill all of you.” I sounded a lot braver than I felt. There was no way I could kill anyone, but these monks didn’t know that.
    â€œWe don’t want to hurt anyone,” the tall monk said. “We want only the sword.”
    â€œSo give it to them, Al,” Farrell said. “Stop screwin’ around!”
    Right then the smaller monk behind me lost patience, I guess, because he leaped forward with a cry, bringing his black blade over his head. The tall monk cried, “ No! ” as he came for me. I blocked his downward thrust with an uppercut (if that’s the word for it; I don’t know fencing talk) of my bigger sword. I heard a loud screech of metal hitting metal. It sounded just like a car wreck.
    His smaller blade shattered on impact. I grabbed his wrist and swung him into the elevator, pieces of glittering black metal raining down on us.
    He fell into Uncle Farrell and the third monk, knocking both off balance. I reached into the elevator, grabbed Uncle Farrell by the hand, and pulled him out. I dragged him a couple of steps toward the stairs, but there was still the tall monk standing between us and the exit.
    â€œUpon my honor,” he said. “All we want is the sword. Please. You know not what you are doing.”
    He held out his hand. “Give me the sword and you will not be harmed. You have my word.”
    I walked toward him, dragging Uncle Farrell with me, the tip of the sword pointed at the tall monk’s stomach. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was doing it pretty well up to this point.
    â€œStep out of the way,” I told him. “We’re leaving.”
    â€œYou will not get far,” he promised.
    From beneath the hood, I swear I could see his eyes glowing, not red, like a demon or something, but a gentle bluish light, like the glow of a night-light.
    â€œYou cannot keep it long,” he said. “We know who you are.”
    Then the tall monk did something that took me totally by surprise: He stepped out of the way.
    Behind me, one of the other monks cried out, and the head monk raised his hand. His hand was very pale and his fingers long and delicate, almost like a woman’s.
    â€œNo,” he said quietly. Then he said to me, “We will meet again.”
    We hit the stairs, and the large door slammed shut behind us, echoing like a gunshot.

8
    I took the steps two at a time, dragging Uncle Farrell behind me. I went down two flights, then paused at the landing, listening, but heard nothing.
    â€œTwenty-seven floors to go,” I said. “Can you make it?”
    â€œThe freight elevator—we can take that,” Uncle Farrell gasped.
    I pushed open the stairway door and pushed Uncle Farrell too, down the dark hall to the freight elevator. He fumbled with his keys, fussing at me the whole time. What was the matter with me, taking on a bunch of saber-shaking monks? He said I had screwed up everything, particularly his life. I was thinking about the duffel bag I had left in the hall outside Samson’s office. I think I read somewhere that the cops can pull fingerprints off fabric.
    Uncle Farrell was right: I had screwed up everything, his life and mine too.
    He finally found the right key and when the elevator doors opened, we fell inside and he hit the lobby button. We leaned against the back wall of the elevator and tried to catch our breaths.
    The doors opened onto the lobby.