Page 4 of The Executioners Three
Freddie’s only possible saving grace was that almost all of the students at Fortin Prep were from out of town, and the one thing Bermians hated more than a disruption to their beloved fête was out-of-towners. They even said it that way—out-of-towners—like it was a dirty word, and tourists were only accepted as long as they didn’t stay for more than a long weekend during the summer.
When at last the daddy longlegs were vanquished from the ladder, Freddie retrieved the necessary fairy lights from a box by Divya’s bench. “Thanks for the help,” Freddie said with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
“Any time,” Divya murmured, once more playing Snake. “Can we go to the archives now?”
“No.” Freddie sniffed. “The agreement was that you’d help me clean up the old schoolhouse, andthenI would take you to the archives.”
“But my paper is due Monday, Fred.” Divya finally shoved her phone into her pocket. “I can’t wait any longer.”
“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you spent the last ten minutes playing Snake.” Freddie notched her chin high and sashayed away from Divya, a trail of lights dragging over the wooden planks behind her.
“I’ll help now.” Divya chased after.
“Too late.” Freddie reached the ladder, and with one handful of lights, she lumbered up.
“Please, Fred.” Divya hugged at the ladder below and shot dramatic puppy eyes upward. “Just tell me what to do. Pwetty pwease?” She fluttered her lashes. “I can plug in the lights… or… sweep?”
“I already swept.” Really, had her bestie been paying any attention? “You’re going to have to get more creative, Madame Srivastava. Thinkfirstborn childorfamily inheritance.Then I might reconsider.”
Freddie reached the top of the ladder. Cold air billowed against her—and the Village Historique spanned beyond. Beautiful, vibe-y, and always right on the edge of falling apart because there never seemed to be enough funding.
Straight ahead was the Village Square, soon to be filled with the Lumberjack Pageant stage but currently only filled with hay bales and scarecrows, one of which appeared to be waving, thanks to the wind.
“New idea,” Divya called from below. “What if I lend you Lance?”
Oh, now we’re talking.“Two weeks,” Freddie replied as she unknotted fairy lights. “I want him two weeks.”
“One.”
“Two or I climb down and leave you stranded.”
“Ugh,fine.You can have him for two weeks.”
Huzzah. Freddie grinned at the bronze bell before her, with its green outer patina.I am so getting the better end of this bargain.
Creak, creak,the bell agreed, since it had no clapper—meaning when a wind tumbled through the cupola or Freddie wrapped lights around it, the poor thing could only give a sad squeal upon its hinge.
Still, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be the bell she’d heard last night… And there was only one way to find out. Freddie grabbed the bell now and shook it.
Creak, creak, creak,it said in reply.
She gave it one more heave, just to be sure…
Creak, creak, creak.
Yep, okay. Freddie could now say with absolute certainty that this wasnotthe bell she’d heard, and if this thing had ever tolled with any dignity, those days were long past.
Which was fine. It didn’t need to ring. It was just a replica of the bronze bell over at the Allard Fortin mausoleum anyway. Although, to be honest, the replica was looking pretty rough this year—like maybe the guy Mom had hired to make it hadn’t done a very good job. Once she’d covered the bell in lights like a sad Christmas tree, Freddie scuttled down. She was absolutely freezing now, and truly mourning the loss of her scarf. “I’ll take Lance, please.” She thrust her hand at Divya.
Who scowled. Then also obeyed and withdrew the sacred keychain from her pocket. A heartbeat later, the face of Lance Bass gleamed up at Freddie.
And Freddie sighed a melty sigh as she accepted Lance’s flawless face. He fit so perfectly in her palm, a tiny slice of boy band magic. Whenever Divya (or Freddie) had it with her, good things happened.Magicalthings, like finding fifty-dollar bills in the road or repeated Good Hair Days.
Freddie blew Lance a kiss, then slipped him into her puffer vest. “Alright,” she declared, chin rising in triumph, “follow me, Madame Srivastava. I shall lead you to the archives!”
She marched them out of the schoolhouse. If she twisted slightly, she could see Le Moulin à Eau (the water mill) through a copse of coppery maples. Currently, no paddles spun.
South of that was Le Forgeron (the blacksmith), which technically had a working forge… but alsotechnicallylacked a working blacksmith to use it. It had been modeled on a smithy that had been in the original City-on-the-Berme in the 1600s—and it was thanks to the blacksmith at the time keeping meticulous journals that Mom had been able to make the replica bell that now lived in the schoolhouse without its clapper.
