“It’s a light bomb.”
“That sounds oxymoronic.”
“A light bomb in the sense that it releases a lot of light.”
“Oh.”
Zofia pointed at the middle of the walking stick. “It’s hollow. The filler has a pyrotechnic metal-oxidant mix of magnesium and an oxidizer of ammonium perchlorate.”
“What the hell does any of that mean?”
“If you hit it against something, it will explode.”
“None of that bodes well.”
“And it will produce a flash that will cause your enemy to lose their sight for a full minute. Only use it in emergencies.”
“I figured, once you said ‘bomb.’”
Zofia pointed at the hump on his back that he had strapped on. She had made the prosthetic last week after Séverin had designed a verit-repelling vessel.
“Give me the hump.”
Enrique started laughing.
Zofia tilted her head. “Is rapid disintegration because of an industrial acid funny?”
He stopped laughing. Every line of his body went rigid. He leaned forward, arching slightly as if trying to distance his skin from the hump. “Is… is that what’s inside this?”
Zofia nodded.
“This is the kind of thing someone would like to know before they attach it to their body.”
The compartment slid open again. Séverin stepped inside, dressed in the attire of a government official. On his lapel, the golden Marianne emblem shone. A symbol of the Third Republic of France.
“Thank you for letting me know I was strappingacidto my back when you gave me the hump.”
Séverin started laughing.
Zofia crossed her arms. She hated when she didn’t get the joke. She wished Laila were here.
“What’s so funny about disintegration?”
“Nothing,” said Séverin. He wiped at his eye. “I needed that. Give it to her. She’ll show you.”
Scowling, Enrique took off his jacket, unstrapped the hump, then handed it to Zofia. Zofia took out one of her hairpins and gently pried it open.
“I need one of those—” started Enrique.
“It’s hidden in the heel of your shoe,” said Zofia. “Just click them together and it will pop out.”
Enrique let out a whistle. “First, the walking stick. Then the acid. Now this. Not to mention what you do with numbers. I like how you think, Zofia.”
Zofia paused, the pin still in her hand. No one had ever said that to her before. In fact, the way she thought was usually the thing that got her into trouble in the first place.
She frowned. “You do?”
Enrique smiled. A real smile. She knew it was real because he always smiled like that when Laila snuck him a second helping of cake.
