Bubble in the Bathtub (27 page)

“A perm?” Joan screamed, outraged.

“All you have to do is look at the old paintings from when they burned her,” Cliché said. “Grab that liar, men!”

The hippos came at her.

More than anything, Nilly wanted to close his eyes, but he kept them open. And he wouldn't regret it. Because what happened next was some of the most amazing stuff he'd ever seen.

Joan swung the saber with both hands. The weapon swirled so quickly in her hands that he couldn't see the blade anymore, just a watery blur of shimmering steel swishing around. It made small cutting sounds as it sliced through belt buckles, jacket buttons, shirtsleeves, and clumps of hair. Sideburns, bangs, and side parts vanished.

When Joan was done, the two hippos were standing in front of her, stunned, with their pants around their ankles, bare arms sticking out of sliced-off jacket and shirt sleeves, and the ugliest bowl cuts Nilly had seen since the Dark Ages.

“There's your perm!” Joan screamed. “Come on, Nilly!”

She pulled Nilly to his feet and dragged him behind her out the door.

As they ran down the stairs, they could hear Cliché yelling. “Give me the shotgun! Well then, take off your pants and give me those too, you idiot!”

Joan and Nilly ran down all the flights, past the pictures of the Trottoir family, past the armchairs in the lobby, past the reception desk where Monsieur Trottoir just managed to ask, “Checking out?” before they were out the revolving door, onto the cobblestones in front of the building.

“Over here!”

They spotted Doctor Proctor, Lisa, and Juliette, who were waiting for them on the other side of the market square next to a couple of empty fruit stalls.

“Watch out!” Lisa yelled.

Just then they heard a breathless voice right behind them say, “Freeze, otherwise I'll shoot you to smithereens!”

Joan and Nilly stopped. And turned around.

Cliché was standing just a few yards behind them with his shotgun up against his cheek, aimed at them. A pair of hippo pants was still hanging from the shotgun.

Cliché was leaning over slightly, as if there were a strong headwind, and it was easy to see why. His suspenders—which ran from the waistband of his pants over his stomach and shoulders and back in through the revolving doors into the Hôtel Frainche-Fraille behind him—were stretched as tight as guitar strings. Those really were some good, solid suspender clips that Cliché had gotten rich off of!

“Come a little closer, so I can be sure I'll hit you, you little gnome!” Cliché screamed at Nilly as he curled his finger around the shotgun trigger.

“I'd love to help you out there, Monsieur Cliché,” Nilly said. “But considering you're the one doing the shooting and I'm the one who's going to be doing the dying, I think it makes the most sense for
you
to take a few steps closer to
me
.”

“You badly mannered rascal!” Cliché growled, forcing his way another step closer as his suspenders trembled and whimpered in protest, but Cliché was so worked up that he didn't notice what seemed to be holding him back.

“I am a
very
small target, so maybe just one more step, Mr. Barometer.” Nilly smiled tauntingly.

“Prepare to be decimated!” Cliché said, raising his foot to take another step.

But that was it. And, oh, what an
it
it was. A strange expression came over Monsieur Cliché's face as he felt
himself losing his balance, felt his body being pulled backward, and with such force that the speed of the pulling increased. Cliché flew backward, in through the revolving door and so fast that he was no longer touching the ground. He flew past the reception desk where Monsieur Trottoir only had a chance to inhale before asking, “Checking in?”, past the armchairs, up the stairs, past the Trottoir family pictures, and in the open door to the hotel room, where the back of his head struck the radiator so hard that the clang sounded as if someone had just rung the biggest bell in Notre Dame cathedral.

And as the clang was still reverberating across the city, our friends saw two terrified hippolike guys dressed in only tattered rags and underwear run out of the Hôtel Frainche-Fraille and disappear around the nearest corner.

“Whoa, what did you guys do to them?” Lisa asked. “Those were the worst bowl cuts I've ever seen.”

“Not
us
,” Nilly said, and pointed at Joan.
“Her.”

“I just impofrised a little,” Joan said.

“And now …,” Doctor Proctor said, picking up the shotgun that Cliché had dropped, “… shall we go pay Barometer Cliché a bedside visit?”

CLICHÉ WAS LEANING slumped against the radiator and looked like he was still unconscious when they entered the room. But he wasn't snoring, just breathing steadily while his eyelids fluttered occasionally.

“I'm sure he'll come to soon,” Doctor Proctor said. “As we now know, it's almost impossible to change history. Cliché is and will stay married to Juliette, and he'll never willingly grant her a divorce. Any suggestions on what we can do?”

“Run away,” Lisa said. “You guys could live on Cannon Avenue.”

Proctor shook his head. “Cliché and his hippos will find us no matter where we go.”

Juliette buried her face in her hands. “Oh, I wish he would have amnesia when he wakes up, that he would forget about being barometer, forget about me, forget that we were ever married.”

“Hm,” Nilly said. Then he stood up and went into the bathroom.

“Well, he did hit his head awfully hard,” Proctor said. “But I'm afraid a total loss of memory is too much to hope for.”

“Leave it to me,” Nilly said, coming out of the bathroom with the toothbrush glass in his hand. “And to Perry.”

“Perry?” Joan asked, staring at the little spider inside the glass.

“A seven-legged Peruvian sucking spider.” Nilly walked over to the unconscious man and set the open end of the glass against his ear. And, voilà, the little spider was gone.

“What are you doing?” Juliette asked, appalled.

“The question you should be asking is, ‘What is
it
doing?' Because since Perry is a sucking spider, he's inside this man's head right now, sucking up all his memory. When the man wakes up, he'll feel like he had a good night's sleep. He'll be in fine form and a great mood. However, the only thing he'll be sure of is that he isn't able to remember anything. Not a thing. Nothing. Nada.”

Nilly looked around at the skeptical faces.

“It's true!” Nilly said indignantly. “It's all described in detail in
AYWDE
.”

“AYWDE?” Juliette asked.

“An abbreviation for
Animals You Wish Didn't—
”

“Nilly!” Lisa groaned. “Those animals in that book are just things that you made up!”

“They most certainly are not!” Nilly said, crossing his arms and looking profoundly insulted. “But if
you guys would rather, you could just use the Cliché method. Fill his pockets with coins and chuck him in the river!”

Doctor Proctor shook his head. “That's what makes us different from people like him, Nilly. We don't do things like that.”

“All right,” Nilly said, disgruntled. “So skip the part about the coins and just toss him in the river. That would be a lot cheaper, too.”

“Nilly!”

Nilly stomped his foot angrily against the floor. “But you guys know it will be impossible to get him sent to jail. There isn't a judge in Paris who would dare to convict him! And when he comes to, he'll—”

“Eureka!” Lisa shouted.

The two grumpmeisters turned to stare at her. Because they knew that Lisa wasn't the kind of person who shouted “eureka” everyday.

“Jail,” Lisa said.

“What do you mean?” Proctor asked.

“We'll do what Raspa did with Juliette! We use the bathtub to send him to a jail in a time that's far, far away.”

“Perfect!” Nilly said. “And when he comes to, he won't remember how he got there and won't be able to explain that he's innocent!”

Proctor, on the other hand, did not look as enthusiastic. “I'm not so sure taking the law into our own hands like that is the right thing to do. I mean, we're not judges.”

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Nilly asked.

“No,” Proctor admitted.

“We could send him somewhere where he could stay until we have a chance to think of something,” Lisa said. “Then we could go back and get him later.”

Everyone thought this was a good idea, so they set to work. They undid Cliché's suspenders, and with them all working together they managed to get him into the bathroom and up into the time-traveling bathtub.

As they were doing this, there was a cautious knock on the door to the hotel room, and Juliette went to open it.

“Where should we send him?” Lisa asked.

“Leave it to me,” Nilly said, clutching the jar of time soap. “I know a really clever place.”

Juliette stuck her head into the bathroom. “There's someone here to see you, Victor. And you, Lisa.”

“Hm,” Proctor said. “Who could it be?”

“A French woman who knows you both,” Juliette said. “She says she's an assistant judge.”

“I don't know any French women,” Lisa said. “And certainly no judges, assistant or otherwise.”

“Don't be so sure,” Juliette said with a wink.

Lisa and Proctor walked out of the bathroom and, sure enough, there was an elegant adult woman. She was wearing the kind of business attire that makes you look thinner than you are, and the kinds of glasses that make you look like you don't really need glasses.
There was something vaguely familiar about her.

Behind her there were two uniformed policemen. They each had a different kind of mustache. Enough said.

“
Bonjour
, Lisa.” The woman in the suit smiled, held out her hand and said something else in French.

“Uh …,” Lisa said, jumping a little as Juliette decisively slid her French nose clip back into place.

“You don't recognize me, do you?” the woman said. “Without the poncho.”

“Uh, no,” Lisa said.

“What if I take these off?” the woman asked, taking off her glasses.

Then Lisa saw it.

Sure enough, she wasn't a little girl anymore, she was a grown woman, but it was … Yes, it was the girl she'd met by the bridge outside Innebrède!

“Anna?” Lisa exclaimed.

“Yup, it's me,” the woman laughed. “I suppose I ought to be surprised to see you again too, but my whole life
I've had this feeling that we would see each other again. Especially since I made a decision that day we met by that bridge.”

“Oh?”

“Do you remember what we talked about?”

“Hm … Wait, yes! How terrible it was that no one was brave enough to stop men like Claude Cliché.”

“Exactly. But you said
I
ought to try. So I decided I would. I worked hard in school, I studied the law in Paris, and I've worked long and hard until now to become a judge. For the last year I've been leading the investigation into Claude Cliché. We've had him under surveillance day and night to obtain evidence of his criminal activities. We decided a few days ago that we have enough to arrest him, so we decided to apprehend him when he came here today.”

“That's great!” Lisa said, clapping her hands. “Did you hear that, Doctor Proctor? Now we don't need to send Cliché anywhere.” Lisa turned back to Anna
again. “Because you guys promise to put him away for a good, long time, right?”

“Yup, we promise,” said Anna Showli. “He's going to spend a lot of years in the slammer, especially now that we witnessed firsthand his attempts to shoot that unbelievably cute little boy right out front. That boy sure is a quick thinker, I have to say.”

“He is
very
quick,” the professor chuckled.

“We're free!” Juliette cheered and kissed Proctor on the mouth causing his face to go completely red.