“I see what the trouble is. You believe there’s nothing to be gained by being honest with me. That we will kill you regardless of what you do or say. I need you to know this is not the case. However, in the spirit of total honesty, I will say this: you shouldn’t have made us chase you. That was a mistake. This could’ve been so much easier, but now everyone’s angry, you see, because you’ve wasted so much of our time.”
He flicked a finger toward his soldiers. “These men? They’d like very much to hurt you. I, on the other hand, am able to consider things from your point of view. We do seem frightening, I understand that. Our first meeting, on board my submarine, was regrettably uncivil. What’s more, your ymbrynes have been poisoning you with misinformation about us for generations. So it’s only natural that you’d run. In light of all that, I’m willing to make you what I believe to be a reasonable offer. Show us to the bird right now, and rather than hurting you, we’ll send you off to a nice facility where you’ll be well looked after. Fed every day, each with your own bed … a place no more restrictive than that ridiculous loop you’ve been hiding in all these years.”
Mr. White looked at his men and laughed. “Can you believe they spent the last—what is it, seventy years?—on a tiny island, living the same day over and over? Worse than any prison camp I can think of. It would’ve been so much easier to cooperate!” He shrugged, looked back at us. “But pride, venal pride, got the better of you. And to think, all this time we could’ve been working together toward a common good!”
“Working together?” said Emma. “You hunted us! Sent monsters to kill us!”
Damn it, I thought. Keep quiet.
Mr. White made a sad puppy-dog face. “Monsters?” he said.
“That hurts. That’s me you’re talking about, you know! Me and all my men here, before we evolved. I’ll try not to take your slight personally, though. The adolescent phase is rarely attractive, whatever the species.” He clapped his hands sharply, which made me jump.
“Now then, down to business!”
He raked us with a slow, icy stare, as if scanning our ranks for weakness. Which of us would crack first? Which would actually tell him the truth about where Miss Peregrine was?
Mr. White zeroed in on Horace. He’d recovered from his faint but was still on the floor, crouched and shaking. Mr. White took a decisive step toward him. Horace flinched at the click of his boots.
“Stand up, boy.”
Horace didn’t move.
“Someone get him up.”
A soldier yanked Horace up roughly by his arm. Horace cowered before Mr. White, his eyes on the floor.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Huh-huh-Horace …”
“Well, Huh-Horace, you seem like someone with abundant common sense. So I’ll let you choose.”
Horace raised his head slightly. “Choose …?”
Mr. White unsheathed the knife from his belt and pointed it at the Gypsies. “Which of these men to kill first. Unless, of course, you’d like to tell me where your ymbryne is. Then no one has to die.”
Horace squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could simply wish himself away from here.
“Or,” Mr. White said, “if you’d rather not choose one of them, I’d be happy to choose one of you. Would you rather do that?”
“No!”
“Then tell me!” Mr. White thundered, his lips snarling back to reveal gleaming teeth.
“Don’t tell them anything, syndrigasti!” shouted Bekhir—and then one of the soldiers kicked him in the stomach, and he groaned and fell quiet.
Mr. White reached out and grabbed Horace by the chin, trying to force him to look right into his horrible blank eyes. “You’ll tell me, won’t you? You’ll tell me, and I won’t hurt you.”
“Yes,” Horace said, still squeezing his eyes shut—still wishing himself gone, yet still here.
“Yes, what?”
Horace drew a shaking breath. “Yes, I’ll tell you.”
“Don’t!” shouted Emma.
Oh God, I thought. He’s going to give her up. He’s too weak.
We should’ve left him at the menagerie …
“Shh,” Mr. White hissed in his ear. “Don’t listen to them. Now, go ahead, son. Tell me where that bird is.”
“She’s in the drawer,” said Horace.
Mr. White’s unibrow knit together. “The drawer. What drawer?”
“Same one she’s always been in,” said Horace.
He shook Horace by the jaw and shouted, “What drawer?!”
Horace started to say something, then closed his mouth. Swallowed hard. Stiffened his back. Then his eyes came open and he looked hard into Mr. White’s and said, “Your mother’s knickers drawer,” and he spat right in Mr. White’s face.
Mr. White slammed Horace in the side of the head with the handle of his knife. Olive screamed and several of us flinched in vicarious pain as Horace dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, loose change and train tickets spilling out of his pockets.
“What’s this?” said Mr. White, bending down to look.
“I caught them trying to catch a train,” said the soldier who’d caught us.
“Why are you just telling me this now?”
The soldier faltered. “I thought—”
“Never mind,” Mr. White said. “Go intercept it. Now.”