The Hound of Rowan (8 page)

The door flew open, flattening Miss Awolowo. The children screamed as a panting, gray-skinned woman as short and stout as a pot-bellied stove burst from the kitchen to envelop Jesse in a fierce embrace. Jesse's legs buckled; he fainted into her arms. Her shiny face looked the children over, grinning hideously to reveal a mouthful of smooth crocodile teeth.

“Oh, Ndidi! You've outdone yourself. They're wonderful! Oh, they're so wonderful and
plump
!”

The panting woman crushed Jesse against her side and reached out with her free hand to squeeze Cynthia's ample arm as if she were examining a tomato. The red-headed English girl buried her face in Lucia's shoulder, and Lucia swatted furiously at the woman's hand while Max looked on in horror.

Suddenly, a strong voice filled the hall.

“Mum! Release that poor boy and stop pinching that young lady!”

Immediately, the woman whipped her hands behind her back, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Jesse slid to the ground.

“I was only welcoming the children, Ms. Richter,” the woman mumbled.

Max turned to glimpse the unseen speaker, but several taller classmates blocked his view. Ms. Richter sounded important; she was a person accustomed to giving orders. A second later, the name came back to him—it was her name at the bottom of his letters.

His classmates parted as she came closer.

“That was not a welcome, Mum. That was an ambush. Totally unacceptable for a
reformed
hag. It simply won't be tolerated. Please apologize to the children and Ndidi.”

The hag stared sheepishly at the floor. “I just got excited, Ms. Richter. I wouldn't really have eaten them.”

“Well, I should hope not, Mum,” said Ms. Richter. “You promised there wouldn't be any more incidents, and I took you at your word. I won't ask again for your apology….”

“Oh, I'm
sorry
! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Mum bawled, bolting back into the kitchen past Miss Awolowo, who had slowly regained her feet. The door swung wildly back and forth. The same deep voice Max had heard before boomed out from the kitchen.

“I told her to behave herself, Director!”

Ms. Richter advanced slowly, and Max could now see her clearly. She was tall and had pretty, if severe, features that reminded Max of a photo he'd once seen of a frontier family. It was a hard face, a face accustomed to work. Her hair was gray, as was the suit jacket draped over her arm. She sighed and smiled at the students around her. When she spoke again, it was in a gentler voice.

“Hello, children. I'm Ms. Richter. Welcome to Rowan.”

She turned to Miss Awolowo, who was now standing by the door.

“Ndidi, thank you for covering for me while I was away.”

Miss Awolowo nodded gracefully. Ms. Richter replied in kind before saying brightly, “Let's go meet Rowan's chefs, shall we?” She strode through the swinging door. Miss Awolowo steadied a woozy Jesse and motioned for the rest to follow.

Inside was an enormous kitchen where great clouds of steam rose and hissed from copper pots. Max smelled a delicious aroma. Moving forward to make room for more classmates, he smacked into Lucia, who had stopped short in front of him.

Max saw the reason.

A lanky old man, ten feet tall with yellowing skin, sank an enormous butcher's knife into a thick cutting board and smoothed his spattered apron.

The First Years screamed and stampeded for the exit. Ms. Richter's and Miss Awolowo's voices rang out above the commotion.

“Children! It's all right. It's all right! This is Bob. He's our head chef!”

Max tried to avoid getting trampled in the doorway, bracing himself in the jamb and pushing back against Jesse, who attempted to tunnel through him into the dining hall. Lucia scurried under an industrial sink, covering her eyes and muttering in Italian. David screamed and bolted past Bob, disappearing into the side pantry. He slammed the door shut behind him, triggering what sounded to be an avalanche of fallen items. Miss Awolowo and Ms. Richter herded the children back with a quiet word here, a firm tug there. When Ms. Richter finally pried Omar off her leg, she called to the huge man, who was now sitting on a reinforced stool and cleaning his monocle.

“I'm so sorry, Bob. I suppose it's to be expected after Mum frightened them so.”

“Perfectly understandable, Director. Take your time.”

From his seat, Bob reached a long arm over toward a gas range and stirred a bubbling cream sauce until the children had crowded behind Ms. Richter and Miss Awolowo. Connor whispered something to Lucia, who sniffled and crawled from beneath the sink to join them.

“What is it?” Rolf hissed. “Is it dangerous?”

“First things first, young man,” said Ms. Richter. “‘It' has a name, and
his
name is Bob. Second, Bob is not dangerous. He is a consummate gentleman and the finest chef we've ever had at Rowan!”

Bob adjusted the flame beneath a saucepan and smiled gently at Ms. Richter.

“You flatter me, Director,” Bob said, his basso voice vibrating the glass panes in the cabinets. He turned his gaze to the children, speaking deliberately.

“Hello, students. My name is Bob. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Welcome to Rowan.”

He stood and bowed, lowering a massive head covered in lumps and knots. His jaw was sunken with age, and he gummed his lips nervously.

Max found the ensuing silence unbearable.

“Hi, Bob,” he said.

Bob nodded his head at Max appreciatively. Ms. Richter seized the moment to continue.

“Bob is an ogre, children. Yes, I know what some of you have read about ogres, but our Bob is a
reformed
ogre and has been with us for almost sixty years. He sought us out himself, traveling all the way from his native home in Siberia. He's been taking care of us ever since.”

She gave Bob a light kiss on the cheek. He smiled and looked expectantly at the children. Lucia raised a trembling hand, asking her question in halting English.

“What does…what does
Bob
eat?”

Bob opened his mouth wide like a hippopotamus, revealing a cavernous space with no visible teeth. Closing his mouth, he chuckled.

“They are wary, Director. That is good, no?” Bob then turned to the group. “After I swore off…meat…I remove my teeth with pliers. Today, Bob prefers tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

As Bob finished, Ms. Richter walked over to a large cupboard and knocked sharply on the door.

“Mum, are you going to join us or are you going to sulk?”

Max heard a bloodcurdling shriek from the cupboard, followed by several angry thumps.

“
Go away!
I'm not
ever
coming out. You
hate
me! I know you hate me!”

Mum's voice trailed away into pitiful, quavering sobs. Ms. Richter tapped her foot and smiled apologetically at the students. Kneeling by the cupboard, she spoke in a soothing voice.

“Now, Mum, please don't be difficult. The children want very much to meet you properly, don't you, children?”

The Director ignored their horrified faces.

“Come now, Mum. We're all very hungry, but we won't sit down to eat until you join us. Dinner smells wonderful, and we can get the sniffing ceremony done and out of the way.”

Max grimaced as he wondered what Ms. Richter meant by “sniffing ceremony.” Bob continued to stir the sauce attentively, ignoring the scene. There was a muffled thump followed by Mum's teary voice.

“Well, I wouldn't want anybody to go hungry. You don't hate me, do you, Director?”

“Of course not, Mum,” Ms. Richter said reassuringly.

“And the darlings…they find me…
colorful
?” Her voice struck a hopeful note as she stretched out the word. Ms. Richter sighed impatiently.

“Yes, Mum, they find you colorful. Now please do us the courtesy of leaving your cupboard.”

Mum peeked from the cupboard. She looked apprehensively around the kitchen. Her round face was tear-streaked; her stringy black hair lay across it like clumps of seaweed. Wriggling to dislodge her sizable bottom, she spilled onto the tiled floor. She scrambled quickly to her feet, rearranging her hair in a series of frantic motions. She abruptly stopped to gaze upon the students with a startled, sweet expression.

“Oh, hello. Is this the new class, Director? They're such dears!”

“Mum, please don't pretend you haven't seen them before.”

Mum scowled and shot Ms. Richter an angry glance. The Director shook her head and turned to the class.

“Children,” said Ms. Richter, “please return to the dining hall and form two lines. Mum, please come out here with us. Bob, can you see to it that dinner is served immediately after the ceremony?”

Bob nodded as they filed back out the swinging doors. Max found himself sandwiched between Cynthia and Rolf near the doors. Connor took a spot across from him as Ms. Richter escorted Mum into the dining hall.

“All right,” the Director called out, walking down the lines while Mum remained near the doors. “Take a deep breath and try to be very still. When it's your turn, please hold out your arm so Mum may sniff it.”

A tall black girl nearby raised her hand. Max blinked; she looked like she could be Miss Awolowo's granddaughter.

“Ms. Richter, is Mum planning to remove
her
teeth with pliers anytime soon?”

“No, dear—Sarah, is it? The sniffing ceremony ensures such measures won't be necessary. Mum, please begin.”

Mum was pacing back and forth near the doors, clapping her hands excitedly. Suddenly, she lurched forward and seized the arm of the girl next to Connor. The girl shut her eyes and stood ramrod straight. Holding her arm gingerly, Mum stood on her tiptoes and sniffed greedily along its entire length before flinging it aside.

“Done!” she shrieked, shuffling over to Connor.

“Hello, Mum,” he said. “Dinner smells lovely.”

Mum cooed appreciatively and took his hand, looking him up and down.

“Oh, you're a handsome one!” she said. “You remind me of a young lad I ate on the outskirts of Dover. He was such a
nice
boy.”

Connor moaned and turned his head as she dragged her nose along his arm like a pig rooting for truffles.

“Done!” she shrieked, moving over. Connor was green.

Max leaned forward and looked helplessly down the line; he'd be one of the last she'd sniff and the anticipation was unbearable.

“Ms. Richter!” cried Jesse with mounting desperation. “Do we absolutely have to do this?”

Mum sidestepped closer to him with hideous efficiency. Ms. Richter raised her voice above Mum's periodic shrieks and mumbling commentary.

“Once Mum's sniffed you, she knows not to
bother
you. She's really as gentle as a lamb.”

When she was two students away, the escalating dread overcame Max and he shut his eyes. A minute later, he felt a soft, strong grip on his hand. He opened one eye a smidgeon and looked down.

Mum was pinching his arm thoughtfully. She lifted it up with surprising delicacy and dragged her quivering nostrils along its length. Max groaned and shut his eyes again; every instinct screamed for him to get away from those sharp, slavering teeth. When the snuffling stopped, he glanced down to see a wet trail that meandered from his wrist to elbow. Mum leaned close for a conspiratorial whisper.

“You'd be lovely with potatoes, dear. Done!”

Max wiped his arm against his shorts. He heard Cynthia whimper several “Hail Marys” as Mum seized her.

“Ah! You're the plump lass from the doorway! Like a great trussed roast you smell! No, no, not for Mum, not for Mum. Done!”

The sniffing ceremony complete, Mum stood before the doors and faced the students. Rising up on her toes, she spread her arms like an orchestra conductor and bowed with slow majesty.

“It was lovely to meet you all, my darlings. Welcome to Rowan! Your dinner is served.”

         

The children sat at several of the long tables while the tables were piled high with roasted chickens, steaming bowls of vegetables, and rich, savory breads. Ms. Richter and Miss Awolowo sat at the table nearest the kitchen, their faces illuminated by candlelight.

Max could not remember such an exquisite meal. Normally a picky eater, he found himself wolfing down mounds of chicken served with a creamy sauce, crisp string beans, and golden potatoes. He further helped himself to two slices of homemade pie and a fat dollop of ice cream.

A shadow fell over Max and he looked up to see Bob leaning over him to fill a pitcher of lemonade. He gave Max a craggy smile.

“I did not get your name before, young man,” the ogre said.

“Oh, my name is Max. Max McDaniels,” he replied.

“My pleasure, Max. I hope you will visit us in the kitchens.”

Bob extended a gnarled hand the size of a serving tray. Max shook it carefully. It smelled of soap. Bob chuckled to Miss Awolowo, who sat at the next table.