blind side. It was bad because Pierre was directly behind Doodah.
'Beau?' said Pierre. 'Is something wrong?' His gun was out, pointed at the ground.
Doodah's foot hovered over the accelerator, but he couldn't punch it now. Not with this goon staring down his neck.
'Nothing's wrong… eh… Pierre,' he trilled, keeping his face hidden under the cowboy hat's brim.
'You sound strange, Beau. Are you ill?'
Doodah tipped the accelerator, inching forward.
'No. I'm fine. Just doing funny voices, the way human kids do.'
Pierre was still suspicious. 'Human kids?'
Doodah took a chance. 'Yes. Human kids. I'm an alien today, pretending to be a human, so go away or I will reach down your throat and pull out your guts.'
Pierre stopped in his tracks, thought for a moment, then remembered.
'Beau, you scoundrel. Don't let Minerva hear you talking like that. No more chocolate if you do.'
'Pull out your guts!' repeated Doodah for good measure, accelerating gently across a gravel bed on to the driveway.
The pixie pulled a stick-on convex mirror from his pack, suckering it to the windscreen. He was relieved to see that Pierre had bolstered his weapon and was headed back to his post.
Even though it went against all his smuggler's instincts, Doodah kept his speed down on the driveway. His teeth knocked together as he drove over the uneven granite flagstones. A digital read-out informed him that he was utilizing one hundredth of one per cent of the engine's new power. Doodah remembered just in time to mute the Mongocharger.
The last thing he needed right now was the computer's electronic voice complaining about his driving skills.
There were two guards in front of the main doors. They barely glanced down as Doodah swept past.
'Howdy, Sheriff,' said one, grinning.
'Chocolate,' squeaked Doodah. From the little he knew about Beau, it seemed the appropriate thing to say.
He tapped the accelerator to bump him over the lintel, then drove slowly across a streaked marble floor. The tyres spun for grip on the sleek stone, which was a bit worrying — it could cost crucial seconds in the event that he had to make a quick getaway. But at least the corridor was wide enough for a U-turn if one became necessary.
Doodah motored down the hallway, past rows of towering potted palms and several bright abstract works of art until he came to the corridor's end. There was a camera mounted over an archway, pointed directly at the front hall. A cable snaked out from the box and into a conduit which ran down to the base of the wall.
Doodah pulled up by the conduit, hopping from the car. So far his luck was holding. Nobody had challenged him. This human security was lame. In any fairy building he would have been laser-scanned a dozen times by now. The pixie yanked a section of conduit away, revealing the cable beneath. It took him mere seconds to twist the length of loaded fibre optics round the video cable. Job done. Smiling, Doodah climbed back into his stolen car. This had been a sweet deal. Amnesty for five minutes' work. Time to go home and enjoy a life of freedom, until he broke the rules again.
'Beau Paradizo, you little brat. Come over here, right now!'
Doodah froze momentarily, then checked his mirror. There was a girl behind him, glaring his way, hands on hips. This, he guessed, would be
Minerva. If memory served, he was supposed to keep far away from Minerva.
'Beau. It's time for your antibiotic. Do you want to have that chest infection forever?'
Doodah started the car, rolling it towards the arch and out of this Mud Girl's sight line. Once round the corner, he could floor the accelerator.
'Don't you dare drive away from me, Bobo.'
Bobo? No wonder I'm driving away, thought Doodah. Who would drive towards someone calling them Bobo?
'Eh… chocolate?' said the pixie hopefully.
It was the wrong thing to do. This girl knew her brother's voice when she heard it, and that wasn't it.
'Bobo? Is there something wrong with your voice?'
Doodah swore under his breath.
'Ches' inflec-chun?' he said.
But Minerva wasn't buying it. She took a walkie-talkie from her pocket and took rapid strides towards the car.
'Pierre, can you come in here, please? Bring Andre and Louis.' And then to Doodah, 'Just stay there, Bobo. I have a nice bar of chocolate for you.'
Sure, thought Doodah. Chocolate and a concrete cell.
He considered his options for a second and came to a conclusion. The conclusion was: I would rather escape quickly, than get captured and tortured to death.
I am out of here, thought Doodah, and floored the accelerator, sending several hundred horsepower shuddering down the fragile driveshaft. He had maybe a minute before the car fell apart, but by then he could be far away from this Mud Girl and her transparent promises of chocolate.
The car took off so fast that it left an image of itself where it had been.
Minerva stopped dead. 'What?'
There was a corner coming up quickly. Doodah pulled the wheel in as far as he could, but the vehicle's turning circle was too wide.
'Gotta bounce it,' said Doodah through gritted teeth.
He leaned hard left, eased up on the accelerator and hit the wall side-on. At the moment of impact he shifted his weight and stepped on the gas. The car lost a door, but shot out of the corner like a stone from a sling.
Beautiful, thought Doodah as soon as his head stopped ringing.
He had maybe seconds now before the girl could see him again, and who knew how many guards stood between him and freedom.
He was in a long straight corridor, opening on to a sitting room. Doodah could see a wall-mounted television and the top rim of a red velvet sofa. There must be steps down into the room. Not good. This car only had one more impact left in it.
'Where is Bobo?' shouted the girl. 'What have you done with him?'
No point in subtlety now. Time to see what this buggy could do. Doodah jammed his foot on the accelerator, then made a beeline for a window behind the velvet sofa. He patted the dash.
'You can do it, you little junk box. One jump. Your chance to be a thoroughbred.'
The car didn't answer back. They never did. Though occasionally in times of extreme stress and oxygen deprivation, Doodah imagined they shared his cavalier attitude.
Minerva came round the corner. She was running hard, and screaming into a walkie-talkie. Doodah heard the words apprehend, necessary violence and interrogation. None of which boded well for him.
The toy car's wheels spun on a long rug, then caught. The rug was shunted backwards like a length of toffee from a roller. Minerva was bowled over, but kept talking as she went down.
'He's headed for the library. Take him down! Shoot if necessary.'
Doodah held on to the wheel grimly, keeping his line. He was going out of that window, closed or not. He entered the room at seventy miles per hour, flying off the top step. Not bad acceleration for a toy. There were two guards in the room, in the act of drawing their weapons. They wouldn't shoot though. It still appeared as though the car was being driven by a child.
Suckers, thought Doodah — then the first bullet crashed into the chassis.
OK, maybe they would shoot the car.
He flew in a gentle arc towards the window. Two more bullets took plastic chunks from the bodywork, but it was too late to stop the tiny vehicle. It clipped the lower frame, lost a fender and tumbled out through the open window.
