Robots vs. Fairies(7)

“Yes,” he said calmly. “It would give them a thrill and increase attendance figures. You’ll have to lose a few of these . . . twee little make-believe attractions, but the number of people who see the remaining attractions should skyrocket. I’d expect you to be pleased.”

Clover stared at him, mouth opening and closing like that of a beached fish. Finally she did the only thing she could think of: pulling the large wrench from her tool belt, she swung it in a hard arc, catching the efficiency expert just behind the ear. His glasses were knocked askew by the blow. He had time to give her a baffled, betrayed look, and then he was falling, hitting the rubber-enhanced concrete path before she had time to consider the consequences of her actions.

Clover clapped her hands over her mouth, the wrench hitting the path next to the body of the efficiency expert. The efficiency expert, for his part, lay there silently bleeding.

“Oh no,” she whispered, voice muffled by her fingers. “What did I do?”

A group of pixies flew by, wings chiming like tiny bells. Clover’s expression hardened. She’d done exactly what she had to do, and she would do it again. She stooped, picking up her wrench and shoving it back into her belt. Then she grabbed Mr. Tillman by the ankles and began dragging him toward the entrance to the maintenance tunnels.

The park was more important than attendance figures. The park was their hope for the future. It was time for the “efficiency expert” to learn that for himself.

*

Adam jumped to his feet when she dragged Mr. Tillman’s body into the maintenance lounge. Mr. Franklin was asleep at one of the open workstations, snoring gently. There was a tumbler half-full of dark-purple mermaid wine still clutched loosely in his hand.

“Good,” said Clover, dropping Tillman’s feet and blowing her hair out of her eyes. “He should be out for hours. We need to take this fool apart.”

“Clover.” Adam stopped in his tracks, waving his hands helplessly. “When I told you to show him around, I meant . . . show him around. Not kill him.”

“He’s not dead,” she said dismissively, and kicked him in the leg. “Though he might as well be. He has no sense of wonder. Do you know what he said to me? He said we needed more roller coasters. Roller coasters! He called the Mother Tree a ‘twee little make-believe attraction’! He wasn’t even impressed by the mermaids! We need to make him go away.”

“We can’t make him go away,” said Violet, moving to stand next to Adam. “Mr. Franklin will notice.”

“So we replace him!” Clover looked around frantically, finally grabbing a hammer. “We’ve replaced security guards with animatronics. Why not an efficiency expert?”

“Well, first, the security guards don’t need to do anything—the unicorns handle security fine by themselves,” said Adam. “Second, we had weeks to follow and study them before we did anything. We don’t know whether he has a family. We don’t know whether anyone would notice.”

“We don’t know whether he’s human.”

Clover and Adam both turned to gape at Violet. She was kneeling next to Mr. Tillman, apparently trying to check the severity of his head wound. She had succeeded in removing his wig, revealing a flesh-colored wig cap held down with bobby pins . . . and the sharp, previously concealed points of his ears.

Clover gasped. Adam paled.

“The elves have found us,” he said. “That’s it. We’re done. We might as well pack it in right now.”

The look on Tillman’s face when he’d seen the mermaids . . . Clover took a deep breath and put her hand on Adam’s arm. “No,” she said. “He didn’t know.”

“What?”

“When he first started seeing things he couldn’t explain, he was surprised. He tried to cover it, but I saw. He didn’t know. He’s here for the same reason we are.” She looked at Tillman again, trying to see him not as a human invader, but as a fellow refugee from the crumbling moonlit palaces of another world. “He’s running.”

“He’s also waking up,” said Violet, straightening and stepping back, Tillman’s wig still clutched in her hand. “Adam?”

“Let’s see what he says,” said Adam.

They waited, listening to Mr. Franklin’s snoring, as Tillman opened his eyes and sat up, reaching groggily to touch the back of his head. He froze when his fingers hit the plastic wig cap instead of his artificial hair. He looked up.

“Hello, elf,” said Adam.

Tillman gaped for a few seconds before pulling himself regally upright, looking down his nose, and saying, “Kobolds. I should have recognized your work the moment I stepped into these tunnels. Does Franklin know?”

“Nah,” said Clover easily. “He thinks we’re a family of mechanical geniuses who’ll work for peanuts as long as he’s willing to let us handle our own HR paperwork. He thinks he has forty of us working here. He has a hundred and sixteen. How’s your head?”

“Sore.” Tillman glared at her. “No thanks to you.”

“Hey, all the thanks to me. I could’ve killed you.”

“We’re still discussing it,” said Adam. He crouched down, glaring at Tillman. “Why are you here? Who sent you? Did you tell anyone about us? We’re not going back.”