The Hound of Rowan (31 page)

“He's doing okay,” said Max quietly. His face began to turn red. “How is that man? The man I hit…”

“Three broken ribs,” said Nigel. “Fortunately, he was wearing Nanomail…. I should consider myself lucky that it was
him
on the receiving end and not me.”

“I'm sorry,” said Max, looking away.

“You need to control that temper of yours, Max,” said Ms. Richter, examining the dagger. “But by all accounts, we were very fortunate last evening, broken ribs aside. Max, do you know anything about this dagger?”

Max shook his head.

“It's a replica of a famous dagger—the Topkapi Dagger, given as a gift to the shah of Persia. It was lucky for us that Nigel recognized it,” explained Ms. Richter.

Max listened carefully, positive that he had heard the word “Topkapi” before. He turned in his seat and looked at the Director's digital map, which was activated and glowing on the opposite wall. The map showed the city of Istanbul; number codes indicating individual missions formed a wide perimeter around a particular section of the city.

“Topkapi Palace,” he breathed. “That's where you said the missing Potentials might be.”

“That's right,” said Ms. Richter, glancing at David. “It was a trap. Mr. Lukens is in the service of the Enemy. Apparently he couldn't resist a little gibe that he believed would go unnoticed until it was too late.”

“Where is he?” asked Max.

“He escaped,” she said. “Others came to his aid and we might have endangered your father had we pressed the issue.”

“Is Mr. Lukens a
vye
?” asked Max.

“No, Max,” said Ms. Richter. “He is not a vye; he is merely a man in the service of the Enemy. Just one of many, I am sorry to say. The Enemy's promises are very tempting….”

Ms. Richter placed the dagger back within its case and snapped it shut.

“Mr. Lukens's arrogance saved many lives,” she said softly. “But our little victory has disturbing implications. The Enemy knew precisely when and where our people would strike.”

Her eyes locked onto Max's.

“I have already informed David. Neither of you is to spend any time alone with a member of this school's faculty or senior staff—with the exception of myself, Nigel, or Miss Awolowo. If anything suspicious occurs, you are to activate your security watch immediately. You are to keep this watch on your person at all times. Is that understood?”

Max frowned.

“What about my Amplification lessons with Miss Boon?” he asked.

Ms. Richter nodded.

“They are to continue—Cooper or I will also be in attendance. Now, I know you have midterms this week. I suggest the two of you get some studying accomplished while Mr. McDaniels is resting.”

David got up and went to the door, but Max lingered to ask a question.

“Ms. Richter, what's going to happen to my dad?” he asked quietly.

The Director was gazing out the window, massaging her hands. She turned and smiled at Max.

“He is most welcome to stay here, of course. Rowan will be his home.”

Max almost knocked the portraits off the wall as he ran back to his father's room, bursting with the best news he'd had in months.

         

A week later, however, his joy was forgotten as Max rubbed his temples and stared at the last question in his exam booklet. It stared back in small black letters:

50. Prioritize the following strategic components according to their importance in the scenario described above.

——Position

——Resources

——Initiative

——Flexibility

——Information

Max sighed and glanced out the window; a number of older students were throwing Frisbees that bucked in the lingering gusts from the previous day's storm. The early-afternoon sun coaxed radiant hues from the grounds, as Rowan's campus had blossomed quickly with spring. Max looked longingly at clean stretches of emerald lawn and walkways bustling with daffodils and tulips, Peruvian lilies and Spanish bluebells. The
Kestrel
bobbed on a brilliant cobalt sea.

Cynthia was the only other student left in the classroom. Mr. Watanabe had already begun to grade the midterms; his pen shot across the pages like a typewriter carriage.

“One minute left,” muttered Mr. Watanabe.

The instructor smiled at Max and turned back to the completed exams. Cynthia rifled through the pages of her test with a revolted expression on her face. With a few despondent slashes of his pencil, Max randomly assigned numbers to the blank spaces before surrendering his exam.

Connor and David were waiting on Old Tom's steps, chatting in the bright sunlight.

“So?” asked Connor with an expectant grin.

“Failed,” said Max, hoisting his backpack higher on his shoulder. “How was it for you guys?”

“I squeaked by,” admitted Connor. “I peeked at David's, though. Sickening, really—chock-full of correct answers with little side notes questioning Watanabe's assumptions.”

David shrugged, looking sleepy.

“Whatever.” Max grinned. “Forget that test. Midterms are over and we're going off campus!”

“Yahoo!” whooped Connor, flinging his bag aside and sprinting to intercept a Frisbee that skimmed over the grass nearby. Catching it neatly in one hand, he whirled to toss it to an expectant Fourth Year girl but accidentally flung it far out over the rocky bluff and down onto the beach below. “Sorry!” he yelled, wincing under a verbal barrage as he loped back sheepishly to retrieve his bag.

The three made their way toward the fountain to join their classmates.

Once Cynthia finally arrived, the First Years headed out to Rowan Township. Mr. Vincenti, Miss Boon, and several other faculty members and adults went with them. Max focused on one in particular—his father, who had been slowly acclimating to life at Rowan and had come to join them. They walked along together, smiling as Connor provided running commentary regarding people and places as they went. Connor took special pains to point out one student, who was pestering Miss Boon about her Mystics exam.

“And that—
that's
Lucia over there. Italian. Fiery. She practically attacked me with her lips when Kettlemouth—that's her charge—started singing back in February. She claims it was the frog, but I say
chemistry….
”

“You can judge for yourself, Mr. McDaniels,” said David with a grin. “I've got a photo of them on my computer. Actually, I use it as my screensaver.”

“You said you'd delete that!” protested Connor, shooting Mr. McDaniels a glance and turning scarlet.

Max was anxious to show his father Rowan Township and thrilled that Ms. Richter had decided to resume chaperoned visits—if only over the protests of many teachers, including a recovered and unapologetic Mr. Morrow. While Rowan offered endless opportunities to explore, the students had been confined to its grounds for months and were becoming a bit stir-crazy.

Max and his friends left their bags with a heap of others at the base of the tree where Mr. Morrow had carved his name decades before. Then they dragged Mr. McDaniels to Mr. Babel's patisserie, where the display window had changed with the seasons. It now featured white-chocolate saplings whose branches cradled spun-sugar birds' nests laden with marbled chocolate eggs. Behind the counter, Mr. Babel worked on a magnificent cathedral made of brownie slabs and chocolate tiles.

Max eyed the display case as Mr. Babel walked around the corner to introduce himself to Scott McDaniels. Once he heard his father slip into “salesman voice,” Max knew he would have some time to choose carefully from among the hundreds of sweets lining the glass cases.

“Oh, no you don't!” huffed Sarah, clamping a hand over his eyes. “Not until
after
you break the records next week.”

Max glowered at her playfully. His marks in Training and Games had been approaching several Rowan records, and Sarah had assumed the role of his unofficial trainer. She blinked at Max's evil look, before abruptly wiping her mouth clean of crumbs.

“Let's go sit outside,” she suggested sympathetically, while Connor and David bought large wedges of broken chocolate bunnies that were being sold at a discount.

“Be out there in a minute,” Mr. McDaniels said, before lowering his voice. “Can you
believe
he hasn't even heard of Bedford Bros. Crispy Soup Wafers?”

“Dad, they're not your client anymore.”

“I know, I know,” said Mr. McDaniels, shrugging with a rueful smile. “That doesn't mean it's not a quality product….”

Max gave a relieved sigh as his father resumed his conversation with Mr. Babel; it was the first real sign that Mr. McDaniels was recovering from the many surprises of the previous week.

The students walked outside, where Miss Boon was sitting on a park bench and writing feverishly in her journal. She glanced at them and nodded as they filed past to gather at the tree where they had left their bags. Several First Years began climbing the tree, swinging their legs over its thick branches. Rolf called down to Max from a branch some fifteen feet above.

“Think you can jump up here?”

“I think so,” said Max, glancing over at Miss Boon, whose face was buried in her book.

“No adults are looking,” said Rolf, peering around the green. “C'mon, it'll be good training for Renard.”

Rolf began to count; Max tensed his legs and braced himself for a leap. Before Rolf reached three, however, Max's concentration was broken. Alex Muñoz and a half-dozen Second Years had wandered over.

“Showing off, Max?” inquired Alex innocently.

“Nobody asked
you
over here,” said Sarah.

“You
still
have a crush on this kid?” Alex snickered incredulously. “Better get it out of your system before he packs it on like Daddy.”

Alex smiled as Max turned red; he looked Max dead in the eye.

“Anna thinks Daddy's due for a heart attack within the year, but I'm giving him two,” said Alex. He puffed out his cheeks and patted his belly, mimicking Mr. McDaniels while Anna and Sasha giggled. Max's hands started to shake.

“Don't,” whispered David.

“Where is Daddy, anyway?” asked Alex, just as Mr. McDaniels's booming laugh could be heard from the patisserie. “Oh my God!” he laughed. “He's in
there
? He's eating
chocolate
? That's too perfect—guess Anna was right!”

Anna and Alex snickered; Max felt David's small hand holding his school sweater. Connor hopped off a branch and stepped between Max and Alex.

“Just curious, Muñoz—what
do
you have against Max?” inquired Connor. “Is it that he bloodied you up last fall? Or maybe it was the way he ran circles around you in front of the alumni on Halloween? Is that it?”

“Shut up, Lynch!” spat Alex.

“Or
maybe,
” Connor continued, his finger wagging under Alex's nose while his voice sank to a whisper, “it's the fact that Max is going to break all the records next week while you're not known for anything around here other than being a bloody jerk.”

Alex stood silent for a moment, a murderous look on his face. His lip twitched; he seemed to be expending all of his energy in his effort not to reach out and throttle Connor. But then a chilling calm came over the Second Year's features. He flashed a wicked smile over Connor's shoulder, directly at Max.

“Connor sure is a witty guy,” said Alex. “A guy like that should have his tongue cut out. Who knows? Maybe someday he will. Still, he has a point. Maybe I
am
jealous. Think you can get to that branch faster than I can?”

Max glowered at him before glancing again at the branch.

“It's not even a question and you know it,” he said.

“So, prove it to me,” chided Alex. “Put me in my place.”

“You don't have to prove anything, Max,” David breathed. “He's planning something.”

“Come on, Max,” Alex goaded. “You just said it's not even a question. Prove it to me!”

“Fine,” said Max. “When Sarah counts to three.”

“Can she count that high?” Alex sneered, pushing past Connor and positioning himself next to Max at the tree's base.

Sarah ignored the insult, choosing instead to clear everyone a few feet away from the tree. Max's adrenaline surged as Sarah began to count. When she reached “three,” Max crouched low to spring when Alex stepped suddenly on top of his foot, pinning it to the ground. Grabbing the back of Max's head, Alex slammed Max's face into the tree trunk and scrambled up his back to make a mad leap off of his shoulders.

Max staggered backward, holding his hand against his forehead, which burned like fire. Alex was hanging from the branch by his fingertips, cackling maniacally and ignoring the furious shouts from the other children.

“See?” he crowed. “I reached the branch first! Muñoz wins! Muñoz wins!”

With a sudden convulsion, Max sprang up onto the branch. Before Alex could move, Max had seized him by the shirt and dangled him with one arm out over the ground. Alex strained and wriggled helplessly in his grip.

“Boys!”

The voice seemed distant and unimportant. Max focused his attention on the bully whom he held like a rag doll. Alex had stopped struggling and simply looked at Max with a mixture of shock and fear.

“Boys!”

It was Miss Boon screeching with hoarse rage from across the square. Their Mystics instructor was walking very quickly toward them, her face white with anger. The other children parted. Arriving at the base of the tree, the teacher folded her arms and glared up at them.

“Max McDaniels! Pull Mr. Muñoz up to that branch. Then both of you climb down here this instant!
This instant!
”

Reluctantly, Max pulled Alex back toward the tree, allowing the Second Year to grab hold of the trunk. Breathing heavily, Alex muttered “Freak” under his breath before scooting to a lower branch and hopping down. Max clambered down a moment later.