Read Online Chameleon by Cidney Swanson - Free Book Online Page B

strange rosary as we made the short hike from the Castle of Amboise to the smaller Clos–Lucé, final home of Leonardo da Vinci. We’d all slept remarkably well, considering that we’d met a six–hundred–year–old man the previous day.
    “What’s he muttering about?” I asked Mickie.
    She shrugged. “Who knows? Used to fall asleep with a copy of Encyclopedia Britannica on his face.”
    “Does he do this reciting thing often, then?”
    Will broke off at “Hideyoshi attacks Korea,” and turned to Mickie and me. “Don’t you see? These are all events Sir Walter lived through—things he heard about first–hand. It’s amazing! ” His arms flew wide like he was conducting a symphony.
    “I’m more interested in what he’s seen in the last seventy years, myself,” said Mickie. “Or the last decade, since the human genome was mapped.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “No kidding.”
    “When’s he meeting us today?” Will asked.
    “Given his flair for drama?” Mickie shrugged. “Expect him when we see him.”
    Or when we don’t see him , I thought. Aloud I observed, “He’s certainly different from what I expected.”
    “Yeah, lots of swagger for such a short little dude.” said Will.
    “People used to be smaller,” said Mickie. “I bet Da Vinci’s bed is short.”
    “Sir Walter could have met Da Vinci, you know?” Will’s eyes took on a faraway, transfixed quality as we approached Leonardo’s last home.
    “Will’s biggest hero,” Mickie explained.
    We took the tour with our group through Da Vinci’s modest château and then found ourselves released with two hours before the bus took us back to the hotel. Most of our group headed for the gift shop and chocolat–chaud at the snack bar, but Will wanted to view an exhibit of Leonardo’s inventions more than any of us wanted to drink hot chocolate.
    “He had ideas for flying machines, tanks, and all kinds of stuff that no one else tried to make for centuries.” Will’s enthusiasm proved contagious, and we followed him only to find Sir Walter waiting for us in contemplation of a drawing that did, indeed, resemble a tank from modern warfare.
    “Ah, bonjour, my friends,” said the French gentleman. “You are enjoying Amboise today?”
    “Totally!” said Will.
    “Clos–Lucé is a special place. I often spend time here during the slow season. Fewer tourists.” He smiled at us.
    “Did you know him? Leonardo?” Will kept his voice low and directed towards our quartet only.
    “We met. My cousin befriended him first, however. I can still recall my cousin’s interest in these machines of war.” Sir Walter paused to gesture to a drawing of a gun that could fire multiple times before requiring re–loading. “It took centuries for Girard to find generals and engineers who exploited these possibilities.” The old man sighed heavily. “I should have stopped him then, or at least tried …”
    Will spoke softly. “Your cousin was French like you, right?”
    “We wondered because the stories seem to be set in Nazi Germany,” I added.
    “Girard saw more promise in the German State for his own ambitions of domination. He had long since abandoned any loyalty to la France .” Sir Walter looked around. “Shall we remove to where there are fewer ears, yes?” He began walking, beckoning us to follow.
    We trekked into the wintry grounds below the château , the only ones choosing this route back to the bus.
    “The book you so kindly placed in my possession is no work of fiction; it is a journal recording the day–to–day thoughts and discoveries of my cousin Helmann. He has been a keeper of diaries all his life. This particular black book is but one of hundreds.”
    Will shot me a look that said, We were right!
    Sir Walter continued. “He believes that when, one day, he dominates all of the world, these journals will be invaluable to his biographers.”
    Will mimed making himself puke.
    “Professor Pfeffer may have given the book to you, my