Touch the Sky (Young Underground #8) (19 page)

             
“
Henrik!
”
warned Elise.
“
You can
’
t do that.
”

             
Henrik shrugged.
“
Just checking. Maybe there are some clues inside.
”

             
“
Yeah, right.
”
Peter looked around nervously.
“
I can just see us rummaging around in Mr. Broken Nose
’
s car, and he comes up and kidnaps us. Or else the police will take us away.
”

             
“
Come on, Peter.
”
Henrik bent down to pick up a stick out of the gutter.
“
I
’
ve got an idea.
”

             
“
Henrik, what are you doing?
”
Elise asked, leaning closer to see. Henrik had crouched by the car
’
s street
-
side rear tire, and they heard a hissing sound.

             
“
Henrik, cut it out!
”
Peter also bent over to see what he was doing. Henrik had jammed the stick into the air
-
filler valve and was trying to hold it in place.

             
“
Look, all we have to do is slow him down. Make sure he doesn
’
t go anywhere in his car. I
’
m letting the air out of his tires.
”

             
“
Henrik,
”
Peter said,
“
this is definitely not a good idea.
”

             
“
Don
’
t worry,
”
replied Henrik, scooting up to the front tire on the street side.
“
It
’
s done.
”

             
“
But, Henrik
...”
Peter and Elise followed Henrik to the tire, and Peter couldn
’
t help hopping nervously. A truck went by, and Peter thought the driver looked at them suspiciously.
“
It
’
s still daylight. We
’
re going to get in big trouble.
”

             
Peter turned around to make another check of the neighborhood, and this time he came face
-
to
-
face with a scowling, dark
-
eyed man. Peter gasped and backed up into the car while Elise shrieked.

             
“
Would you guys quiet down?
”
Henrik said, still fiddling with the tire.
“
Someone
’
s going to get suspicious if you make all that noise. Just act normal.
”

             
“
H
-
Henrik,
”
sputtered Peter. He kicked at Henrik to get his attention. Backed against the car, Peter felt like a mouse cornered by a snake.

             
“
And what, may I ask, do you kids think you
’
re doing with my car?
”
the man said sternly. Of course, he spoke perfect Danish, as most Danes would. He was dressed in a sharply pressed black suit and gray businessman
’
s hat, and his hair was as silver as a full moon. And there was not a trace of Middle
-
Eastern blood in his features.

             
“
What?
”
asked Henrik, finally looking around.
“
Who are you talking
—”

             
Henrik stopped in midsentence when he finally realized what was going on. His mouth began to flap before any more words came out, while Elise reached quickly for the stick in the other tire.

             
“
We
...
we thought you were someone else,
”
Peter finally managed to squeak. His ears were burning red with fear or embarrassment or both. The man still towered over them, his arms crossed.

             
“
You did? And who would that have been?
”

             
“
You probably wouldn
’
t believe us, sir, if we told you.
”
Henrik looked afraid to move, afraid to stand up.

             
“
I ought to call the police,
”
the man growled, reaching in his pocket for his keys.
“
But I
’
m already lost and late.
”

             
“
Can we help you find something?
”
asked Henrik hopefully.

             
He
’
s brave
, thought Peter.

             
“
You
’
ve already helped enough,
”
the man replied, with an impatient wave of his hand.
“
Now get out of here before I change my mind.
”

             
“
Yes, sir,
”
gulped Peter, backing up.
“
We really did think it was someone
...”

             
“
Go!
”
thundered the man. He brushed Henrik aside and opened his door.

             
Peter didn
’
t need a lot of encouragement, but he wasn
’
t sure his legs would do what he told
them to do. He grabbed Elise
’
s arm, and they slid away from the man
’
s withering stare.

             
“
Wait up!
”
Peter called after his friend. After a block, they caught their breath. Elise was the first one to look back.

             
“
He
’
s gone,
”
she reported.

             
Henrik put his hands on his knees.
“
I thought you two were keeping watch,
”
he puffed.
“
We didn
’
t get a chance to really flatten the tires.
”

             
“
Yeah, good thing,
”
muttered Elise.
“
Or else we would have really been in trouble. Henrik, how could
—”

             
“
Peter thought it was the right car, too!
”

             
“
Henrik
’
s right, Elise. It was my fault.
”

             
“
I don
’
t know whose fault it was.
”
Elise frowned and crossed her arms.
“
But we need to tell Uncle Morten what
’
s going on with this Mr. Broken Nose.
”

             
“
Right, and have him cancel the bike trip?
”
replied Henrik.
“
Let
’
s just forget any of this ever happened.
”

             
“
He wouldn
’
t do that,
”
countered Elise, but she didn
’
t sound so sure.

             
“
Henrik, someone nearly killed you, and now you
’
re saying we should just forget it?
”
Peter couldn
’
t believe what his friend was saying.

             
Henrik looked uncertainly down the street.
“
You can tell your uncle what you want. I
’
m going to go home and make sure my bag is packed. See you in the morning.
”

             
“
Maybe Henrik
’
s right.
”
Peter frowned at his sister and kind of waved his hands, unsure which way to turn.
“
Maybe when we leave in the morning, we can forget about Mr. Broken Nose.
”

             
Elise still stood with her arms crossed, looking back down the street. True, this had been a false alarm. But Peter could tell she wasn
’
t going to forget about Mr. Broken Nose, either.

10

O
ver the Next Hill

             
“
How much farther to the lake?
”
Lisbeth gasped.

             
Peter didn
’
t think it was much of a hill, but still they all pedaled more slowly so she could keep up. He had to admit, though, that there were more hills here than they had run into before. After all, Denmark was mostly a flat country. Perfect for a summer bike ride.

             
“
Just over the next rise,
”
reported Uncle Morten cheerily.
“
Keep pedaling, dear. You
’
re doing great after four days.
”

             
“
Oh
-
h
-
h.
”
Lisbeth put her head down and groaned.
“
I
’
m sorry I
’
ve ruined this trip for you.
”

             
“
Nonsense. You haven
’
t ruined anyone
’
s trip, has she, kids?
”

             
“
No way!
”
piped up Elise.

             
“
It wasn
’
t your fault your pedal came off the first day in Liseleje,
”
Peter offered.

             
“
And anyone could have had three flat tires.
”
From the lead position, Henrik looked over his shoulder at the group.

             
“
Four,
”
Peter corrected him.

             
Uncle Morten frowned, as if that wasn
’
t quite the kind of encouragement he had in mind.

             
“
That
’
s not what Uncle Morten means.
”
Elise came to her uncle
’
s defense.
“
We
’
ve had a great trip so far.
”

             
“
You
’
re right.
”
Peter looked around at the scenery as they approached one of his favorite spots in Denmark
—
the Silkeborg Lake region. He could smell the aroma of heather on the rolling hills around him, and he and Henrik had a contest going to see who would be the first to sight the water.

             
Three days ago, Henrik was the one who had been trailing behind, and he kept looking back at
Helsingør
. Of course, Peter couldn
’
t blame him; it might be the last time his friend would ever see their city. And before they left, Henrik
’
s mother had been hugging her son as if she would never see him again. Three days later, though, things were a lot better
—
except for Lisbeth
’
s troubles.

             
“
I liked the boys
’
choir that sang for us the first night,
”
Elise said. That had been in the little coastal town of Liseleje, where the youth hostel they stayed in for the night was set up in a technical school. Something like a dormitory
-
style bed
-
and
-
breakfast, that hostel was one of many that dotted the Danish countryside. Some were in schools, others in their own buildings or even small estates.

             
“
My favorite so far was the Saint Hans bonfire Friday night,
”
Uncle Morten added.
“
Even though you kids stayed up too late.
”

             
“
We always stay up on the longest day of the year!
”
protested Peter.
“
That
’
s what Saint Hans Night is all about. Family tradition!
”

             
Peter smiled, thinking about the bay at Randers Fjord where they sat on the beach until almost eleven at night, singing by a roaring bonfire. And yesterday, Sunday morning, their little
“
church
”
service had been fun. They had heard church bells in a country village called Lime and just stopped their bikes by the side of the road under some beech trees. Henrik, of course, didn
’
t know the words to the two hymns they sang, but he didn
’
t seem to mind. They
’
d had to stop anyway to put another patch on Lisbeth
’
s tire. As long as they didn
’
t remind him about Palestine, or moving away, Henrik seemed happy.

             
And no Mr. Broken Nose to ruin the fun
, thought Peter.
At least, not yet. But what if he
’
s back there?

             
The thought of the man who had been spying on them wiped the smile from Peter
’
s face. He shivered, despite the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and looked over his shoulder again.

             
“
Why do you keep looking back, Peter?
”
his sister asked.
“
You
’
ve been doing that a lot the last couple of days.
”

             
“
Uh, just checking. It
’
s pretty around here.
”

             
“
See, Lisbeth?
”
Uncle Morten heard only the last part of the conversation and reassured his wife.
“
The kids are enjoying the scenery. They
’
ve been having a great time.
”

             
Lisbeth smiled back weakly and wiped her brow in the late afternoon heat.
“
I
’
m glad
they
have. What are we doing today, forty miles from Voer to the Silkeborg Lakes?
”

             
“
Almost there,
”
he promised once again, and this time he was right.

             
“
I saw it first!
”
yelled Henrik, pointing up ahead at a glimmering patch of blue through the trees. The lakeside city of Silkeborg stretched out ahead of them like a jewel in the Danish countryside.

             
“
No fair,
”
countered Peter, pedaling faster.
“
You were already up ahead.
”

             
Ten minutes later, they had all pulled into the Silkeborg Youth Hostel, where they would be staying for the next two days. Uncle Morten had promised Lisbeth a rest before they finished their trip, which was fine with everyone.

             
“
Oh, Morten, isn
’
t this beautiful?
”
Lisbeth stopped her bike at the edge of a large lawn that sloped gently down to the shore of Silkeborg Lake.
“
I could stay here for a week!
”

             
It was a nice spot, all right. The hostel, a cluster of modern
-
looking buildings with plenty of windows, commanded the upper end of the lawn. Dozens of teenagers, as well as younger kids with their parents, relaxed in the shade of willow trees growing by the water.

             
“
We can sit in the dining room up there in the hostel,
”
Lisbeth pointed at the main building,
“
and just watch the lake steamboats sail by.
”

             
“
We
’
re going to ride on one?
”
Peter asked hopefully. They watched as an old
-
fashioned lake paddle
-
wheeler full of tourists eased its way toward the dock on the other side. The water looked narrowest here, like a large river, but to their right it widened out into a huge lake.

             
Uncle Morten chuckled and looked at Lisbeth.
“
You
’
re thinking about relaxing, but when Peter sees a boat, he
’
s ready to go.
”

             
Peter had seen something else besides.
“
Well, if we can
’
t ride the steamers, maybe we can rent a couple of those canoes in the morning, like those teenagers over there.
”

             
“
We can paddle to the other side of the lake,
”
Elise said.

             
“
And then,
”
added Henrik,
“
hike up to Sky Mountain!
”