The Hound of Rowan (11 page)

“Max McDaniels, Nick has chosen you to be his Guardian Keeper. Do you contest this choice?”

His voice sounded very small in answer.

“No.”

“By signing your name in the Sanctuary Tome,” continued YaYa, “you hereby pledge to care for Nick and to look after him to the best of your ability. Understand that faithful service will be recognized in kind; inconstancy will result in abandonment and shame. Do you accept this charge?”

Max looked down at Nick; he felt the lymrill's strong heartbeat beneath his hand as the animal's small, eager eyes studied his face.

“Do you accept this charge?” asked YaYa patiently.

“Yes,” said Max. “I'll look after Nick.”

Ms. Richter presented him with a very old book to sign. Looking down at the frayed parchment, he saw that the pledge had already been inscribed in black script. At the bottom was a blank line, next to the Rowan seal. He signed his name, startled to see the date appear underneath. Ms. Richter smiled and motioned for him to rejoin the others.

         

The rest of the oaths went smoothly except for Omar's. He had the misfortune to be chosen by Tweedy, the Highlands hare, who noisily protested any sort of contract with a minor. The hare wasn't satisfied until he was permitted to ink his paw and sign the book as well. Omar looked mortified throughout and meticulously cleaned his glasses.

When all of the students had taken their oaths, Nolan and his assistants gave each of them a navy booklet. Max read the words stamped in silver on his booklet's cover:
THE LYMRILL: KNOWN HISTORY, HABITS, AND CARE.
He was about to flip it open, when Nolan dismissed the students to explore the Sanctuary for the rest of the morning. The students scattered in different directions with their charges. Max saw Connor chasing after Kyra, the female faun, who now sprinted for a pine forest. David and Maya had not moved; she merely lay on his lap, her eyes thin slits of gold. Lucia took Kettlemouth toward the lagoon, where the red bullfrog promptly splashed into the water. Orion had permitted Rolf to climb up on his back, and the two plodded out toward the dunes.

Nick's tail fluttered and he bolted in the direction of the trees near the Sanctuary gate. His claws churned clumps of dirt as he went.

By the time Max arrived at the hedge, the lymrill had disappeared. Max rubbed his arms as raindrops began falling and thunder rumbled from the hills. He stepped under a large, bent tree near the canopied tunnel. For ten minutes he paced back and forth, peering deep within the surrounding hedge for any hint of red or gold, listening for the telltale sound of Nick's tail. The rain fell harder and Max kicked a nearby tree.

“I can't
believe
I lost my charge on the first day!”

A voice nearby startled him.

“If you're looking for the lymrill, he's right above you.”

Max jumped back and looked straight up to see Nick crouching on a knotty bough. When Max spied him, his tail began to flutter, its rattle faint in the breeze.

Max whirled to find the source of the voice.

“Who said that?”

“I did.”

A plump goose waddled out from the tunnel, followed by a dozen goslings that began to honk inquisitively. As they ambled by, the goose turned and dipped her bill.

“I'm Hannah. Would love to chat, but it's feeding time and they're terrors when they're hungry. Mind you teach the lymrill to watch his claws!”

“Uh, okay. Thanks!”

The goose raised a white-feathered wing in farewell as she herded her goslings toward the lagoon.

Scraps of bark began to fall on Max. He looked up to see Nick sharpening his claws and peering down at him. Yawning dramatically, the lymrill suddenly leapt up to a higher branch and began to send more bark at Max.

“Oh, all right, I'm coming!” Max sighed, grabbing a limb and hoisting himself up. A few minutes later, Max was at eye level with Nick, who fluttered his tail with pleasure.

“Hey there,” panted Max, finding a perch at the base of a thick branch. Nick circled Max's lap and curled into a ball, nibbling on the end of his tail. His quills smoothed to a metallic taper. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, his broad black nose whistling as he breathed slow and steady. Max eased a stray claw off his leg and looked out over the Sanctuary. Being in the tree reminded him of his fort back in Chicago. He watched raindrops patter on the outer leaves, thinking how his mother would laugh if she could see him.

Since Nick showed no sign of stirring, Max leaned back and flipped open his booklet:

Lymrill (also known as: Kingmaker and Roland's Folly)

Mystic tree-dwelling mammal found in Central and Western Europe. Identified by its compact size, sharp claws, thick fur, and metallic quills, which possess valuable properties.

Prized for its pelt, the lymrill was hunted to near extinction by knights and kings who believed its skin could be used to forge armor and weapons of unsurpassed hardness. Legends suggest that the lymrill must surrender its quills willingly, lest the animal die and its pelt lose its reputed properties. Last known specimen was captured on the Iberian Peninsula by the famed warrior Roland who coveted its magic but inadvertently slew the animal in his impatience for its quills.

Lymrills are considered intelligent, displaying an ability to communicate with—

Max stopped reading as he heard voices below. He looked down and saw Ms. Richter arrive from the clearing to meet Miss Awolowo, Nigel, and two other adults at the tunnel entrance. Ms. Richter sounded agitated.

“What's the latest news on Lees?”

“We know he made it to the airport,” muttered Nigel, sweeping wet hair off his brow. “It appears he simply never landed. Isabella insists he never got off the plane at Logan.”

“What of the others?”

“All signs say that they're gone, Director.” Max squinted to make out a young woman in a gray raincoat and glasses. “Disappeared shortly after they triggered their letters. They've all been reported missing within their communities.”

Ms. Richter's tone was sharp and brisk.

“Exactly how many children are missing, Ndidi?”

“Mickey Lees, who passed the tests two weeks ago, and seventeen Potentials who haven't yet taken them,” said Miss Awolowo. “The last Potential disappeared three days ago in Lima.”

“And how many paintings have been stolen, Hazel?”

“Fifty-two,” said the woman in the raincoat. “But the thefts seem to be somewhat random. We can't conclusively say that the Enemy is involved.”

“Joseph, do we have any reason to suspect internal treachery? How was Isabella's last performance review?”

“Hmmm, always possible, always possible,” answered an elderly man in a burgundy sweater. “But I don't think so, Gabrielle. Isabella's never been our best, but you know as well as I do that she's trustworthy.”

“Nigel,” said Ms. Richter, turning suddenly.

“Yes, Director?”

“You believe McDaniels has shared everything with you? Everything about that woman at the house? And everything about Varga?”

“Yes, I do believe he did.”

“Hmmm. I'll still need to interview him. I do believe that you and Ndidi may be right about him, however. David Menlo, too. What this means is anybody's guess. These missing children, however, require more than guesswork. Assume
nothing
—about the children or the paintings! I'll expect more information by tomorrow morning.”

Ms. Richter turned and started back for the Warming Lodge while the others disappeared into the hedge tunnel. Frowning, Max watched Ms. Richter stride across the clearing.

“Nick, something is very, very wrong.”

                  
7                  

A F
ULL
H
OUSE

U
pon returning to the Manse, the First Years were divided into five sections. Max's section was directed upstairs to the Bacon Library, where the wet children crowded round the fireplace. The library was located on the third floor and faced south, where Max could see a large athletic field. Turning away from the window, he scanned the stacks, seeing sections dedicated to philosophy, the arts, and literature. Thousands of books lined the shelves.

While some of his classmates were soaked, Max was merely damp; he and Nick had stayed up in the tree until they heard Old Tom's chimes. The class had left their new charges with Nolan before dashing through the gate to escape the rain that had begun falling in heavy sheets.

The door to the library opened, and in walked the young woman and old man Max had seen speaking to Ms. Richter. The man had a patient face, thick glasses, and a trim white beard. The woman was much younger with short brown hair. She was pretty but looked very serious and scholarly behind small, rectangular glasses as she leafed through a stack of papers.

“All right, children, gather round,” said the man, looking up.

With some reluctance, the students pulled away from the warm fire and took closer seats. David coughed in fits, rubbing his nose.

“Are you David?” asked the man.

David nodded.

“Perhaps you'd better stay near the fire,” said the man with a kindly smile, before turning to address the group.

“Hello. I'm Joseph Vincenti and this is Hazel Boon. Among the faculty, I'm the Department Chair of Devices and Miss Boon is a Junior Instructor of Mystics.”

Max glanced at Miss Boon; her name was familiar. Suddenly, he remembered Nigel had mentioned that she held the modern record for extinguishing flames when she had been tested as a Potential. She sat patiently, her arms folded.

“As your class advisors we're here to look after you, to make sure you're progressing as you should be. We'll be your advisors until you begin to specialize at the end of your third year—at that point you'll have an advisor within your specialty. Miss Boon?”

Miss Boon looked up, and Max was startled to see that her pupils were different colors; one was brown, the other a brilliant blue. She looked at the students with a solemn expression. Max squirmed as her gaze lingered on him.

“Hello there. I feel very privileged to have been assigned your class advisor—you're my first class. The Recruiters have raved about you, and consequently I expect great things. Great things require real work, however, so without further ado, allow me to distribute your course schedules.”

Circling the table, Miss Boon handed out the laminated sheets. Max shook his head in disbelief. The room was nearly silent for fifteen minutes while the students examined their schedules with gasps and quiet mutters. Cynthia was the first to raise her hand.

“Am I reading this right? It says my day starts at six thirty in the morning and that I'm taking almost ten classes in addition to taking care of my charge.”

“That is correct,” replied Miss Boon, walking over to stoke the fire. “Rowan has a challenging curriculum, and certain disciplines, like Physical Training, Languages, and Mystics, must be done each day.”

Max stared at the table while Miss Boon and Mr. Vincenti answered or deflected questions about grades, room locations, class awards, and school supplies. For Max, the only bright spot was when they mentioned that Rowan had no curfew, but his excitement diminished when he realized any free time would be spent studying. They were dismissed and told they would be free to explore the Manse and grounds until dinner.

Max stalked back to his room and flung his schedule on the bed. Walking downstairs, he wet a towel at his vanity and scrubbed the gels and sprays out of his hair. The sky dome was darker and the constellations had brightened since the morning.

         

Dinner was soup and sandwiches, as Mum and Bob were busy preparing for the next evening's feast. The dining hall was dark, the candles of one chandelier providing the only light as thunder rumbled outside. Max saw Nigel stride briskly down the stairs accompanied by several other adults before they disappeared out another door. The girls sat at a separate table, shooting angry stares at Jesse, who had loudly predicted that the boys would sweep the class awards. Feeling a tap, Max jumped at the sight of Mum standing behind him.

“Phone call for you, love. In the kitchen.”

“Oh! Thanks, Mum,” said Max, pushing up from the table and following her through the swinging door.

Bob was hunched over an enormous tray of pastries, applying delicate waves of icing to chocolate ladyfingers. He looked up and smiled at Max, his crooked grin softening his craggy features.

“I think you have a phone call,” he said.

“He already knows, you dolt! Why do you think he's back here?” hissed Mum, running to the phone on the far wall. The hag spoke into the receiver in clipped, snobbish tones.

“Yes, sir, we have notified Mr. McDaniels for you, sir. He shall be arriving presently.”

“Mum…,” Bob warned, turning from his ladyfingers.

Mum clamped her hand over the phone and jumped up and down, making hideous faces. Bob sighed and turned away to mix another batch of icing. Max reached for the phone, but Mum ducked below his reach.

“Back again, sir. I think I hear him arriving as we speak, sir. He's been enjoying a cocktail on the
ve-ran-da
—”

Max snatched the phone away. His dad's voiced boomed from the other end.

“—oh, well thank you very much.”

“Dad!”

“Hey, Max! I thought the receptionist was still on the phone. She's, er, very professional.”

“Yeah, she's great,” muttered Max as Mum clapped her hands and giggled. She rushed past him to shoulder an entire side of beef and disappear into another room.

“Well, I just got back from another trip to KC,” said his father. “Home again, home again, as your mother would say. How are you? How're things?”

“Things are…okay.” Max faced the wall and traced a crack with his finger.

“What's the matter, kiddo?”

“Nothing. It's just…it seems like it's going to be really hard. And I miss you.”

Max squeezed his eyes hard. There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“Well, I miss you, too.”

Max was struck by a sudden longing to be back at home, his feet planted on the fort ceiling as he lay on his back, sketching throughout the afternoon.

“Dad, do you think it's too late to come home?”

“No,” said Mr. McDaniels. “It's not too late, but that's not the issue. The issue is seeing through a commitment you've made. You made a decision—a tough decision—and I'm very proud of you for making it like a man. The first couple weeks will be tough, but I expect you to stick it out. If you hate it, next year you can go to school here.”

Max nodded, before realizing his father could not see him. Hearing an urgent whisper behind him, he turned to see Lucia beckoning from the doorway.

“Max, they're asking for you,” she said. “We're getting our books and uniforms.”

She disappeared behind the swinging door.

“Dad, I have to go. They're handing out our books and stuff.”

“Okay, then. Be a good boy and do your best—for me and your mom.”

“Okay,” said Max quickly. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, kiddo. I'll call in a couple days.”

Max hung up the phone and walked around the long island toward the door. Just as he reached the exit, he felt Bob's enormous hand reach out and tap him on the shoulder. The ogre extended a specially decorated pastry. Icing spelled
WELCOME, MAX
in a beautiful, delicate script. With a wink, Bob placed the treat in his hand and ushered him out the door.

         

The next morning, Max paused outside Room 301 as he heard laughter inside the bathroom.

“Aw, man, you gotta be kiddin' me, Jimmy!” said a deep voice with a heavy Southern accent.

Jimmy's voice cackled something unintelligible in reply. Max opened the door slowly. Jimmy was sitting on the counter, his legs dangling over the side while he spoke with an older boy wearing a towel and flip-flops. They turned as Max entered.

“There's one of 'em!”
Jimmy roared, leaping off the counter and hobbling at Max, who backed against the door.
“There's one of the thieving ingrates!”

Jimmy's face was purple as he came at Max, but the fit-looking blond boy intercepted the little man, stooping to place his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. Max sighed with relief.

“Whoa, Jimmy!” the blond boy drawled. “Relax. Relax, man.”

Jimmy glared at Max, his chest heaving as he stabbed an accusatory finger.

“That tadpole let me slave over 'im!
Insisted
on the ol' Jimmy treatment to get 'im spiffed up for the ladies! I told him I was busy, but he begged for a little zing of the good stuff! And does he have the decency to thank me properly? Not on your life! Not
one
of 'em gave me a present!”

The blond boy turned; his grip was still firm on Jimmy's shoulders.

“Is that right?” he asked Max.

Max turned red. “I didn't know! I-I'm sorry!”

The older boy winked at Max.

“Well, Jimmy,” said the boy, “you leave this kid to me. I'll take care of him for you.”

Jimmy suddenly looked concerned, alternating worried looks between Max and the older boy.

“Promise not to be too hard on 'im, Jason!” pleaded the little man. “He's just a tadpole, after all!”

Jason frowned and shook his head. “You know my ways, Jimmy.”

“Don't you lay a hand on 'im!”
roared Jimmy.
“If you do, you'll have me to answer to!”

Jason released Jimmy and put up his hands in a defensive gesture.

“Okay, okay. I'll let 'im go!”

With a snort, Jimmy brushed past him and beckoned Max to lean in close.

“Sixth Years,” he whispered. “Think they run the place. He bothers you, you let me know, eh?”

Max raised his eyebrows and nodded, glancing over Jimmy at the grinning boy. Jimmy patted him on the shoulder, then went to retrieve a mop from across the room. Jason put out a hand to Max.

“Hey, bud, I'm Jason Barrett. You must be a new Apprentice.”

“Yeah,” replied Max, shaking his hand. “I'm Max McDaniels.”

“Good to meet ya, Max. Welcome to Rowan.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Jason lowered his voice.

“Listen, Max,” he said. “Jimmy might be a lot of bark, but you've still got to bring him a present if he does something for you. Doesn't have to be fancy. Anything will work, really—a piece of gum, half a bagel, a stamp, whatever. He just likes to be in your thoughts, you know what I mean?”