Legacy of the Claw (17 page)

“What does
that
mean?” asked Hal. “A weapon like this, so close to the school?”

Bailey felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

“It means someone's out there,” he said. “Someone's watching Fairmount. It could've been a warning.”

“Or a threat,” Hal added.

“The men you saw—” said Tori. “It's them, isn't it?”

“Maybe,” Bailey said. He turned the claw over in his hands. It felt smooth and a little heavy. It was easily seven inches long, with a deadly curve at the end. Its surface was a dark gray, with pale streaks of creamish-white around the base. The men in the woods were big and savage, and when he thought about the damage they might do using this as a weapon, he shuddered.

“But who are they?”

Tori gasped. “The Dominae.”

Hal, Bailey, and Phi each turned to stare at her.

“Why would they be hiding out there? Isn't that all just politics?” Phi asked.

“My uncle Roger says the Dominae are out to start a war”—Hal shrugged—“but he can be a little paranoid. Anyway, aren't they more interested in stirring up trouble in the Gray?”

“That's only the half of it,” Tori said. “You don't know all the rumors that are going around in the city—people are afraid. My parents told me that there's talk about the Dominae raising a secret army across the kingdom. What if
this
is where their army is gathering?”

Bailey had never seen Tori this animated about anything.

“That seems pretty extreme,” he said. “Why would they care about Fairmount?”

“Why
wouldn't
they?” Tori responded. “Fairmount is where some of the greatest work of the Age of Invention took place. If
I
were looking to take over the kingdom, I'd be keeping tabs on what goes on here, for sure.”

A tapping on the nearest window caused them to look up. Three bats fluttered against the window, trying to get in through an open pane at the top. The sky outside was dark.

“Ants! We should get back to Treetop.” Phi stood up. Carin hopped onto the table and shuffled her wings impatiently. “The soiree's going to start soon.”

“Can I keep this?” Bailey asked. He still had the claw in his hand. It was a frightening object, especially when he thought of it being used by the Dominae. But he couldn't let go of it—not yet. “Just for now,” he added.

“If you want,” Phi said, looking at him curiously.

“Yikes—good luck getting any sleep with that thing under your pillow,” Tori said as she grabbed Phi's elbow and half waved, half swatted them a good-bye.

Bailey and Hal arrived at the grand meeting hall just as the party was getting under way. Despite losing the Scavage game, the mood remained festive. The grand meeting hall inside the library building was decorated with blue-and-gold banners and sheaves of wheat celebrating the harvest season. The school had hired a jig band from one of the neighboring towns, and they began by playing fast and fancy reels that no one really knew how to dance to, but at least it was easy to tap one's feet.

They both immediately looked around for Tori and Phi. Hal looked sophisticated, Bailey had to admit—he was dressed in a lean black suit and vest with light gray patterns of bats' wings on the jacket shoulders and back, and a crisp purple tie. Bailey had nothing nicer to wear than his Fairmount blazer and navy dress pants, but he'd combed his hair, at least, and felt presentable. Hal had offered to lend him a cravat, but he'd politely declined.

They spotted Tori standing by the refreshment table.

“Would you two like to
not
dance with me?” Tori asked. She hadn't changed out of her school clothes—a pair of high-waisted tweed trousers under her Fairmount blazer—and was leaning against the wall of the assembly hall, arms crossed.

“You don't dance?” asked Hal.

“I
can
dance—four years of lessons, thank you—but I don't like to show off. Not in
this
crowd.”

“Hmm.” Hal nodded. “Yes, it's uh  …  it's good to keep certain skills up your sleeve, I guess.”

The tune that was playing came to an end, and Phi wandered over to them from the dance floor, looking a little flushed. Unlike Tori, she'd dressed up in an ill-fitting skirt and blouse, and had swept her curly hair up into a bun.

“Are you still being a sourpuss?” she asked Tori.

“I'm being mys
ter
ious,” said Tori. “There's a difference.”

Phi looked at Bailey as she smiled, and a terrifying thought occurred to him—he should ask her to dance. The very idea made his throat close up and his palms turn clammy. Even if she said yes, what would he do then?

“Who—who were you dancing with just now?” he asked her.

“No one in particular,” she said. “I don't really know how to dance at all. I just move my feet from side to side and see what happens.”

Bailey made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Hal raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm terrible at it,” Bailey said.

“You told me once you used to go to barn dances,” Phi said kindly. “I bet those were fun.”

Bailey stumbled to respond. A Lowland barn dance was
not
the same as standing across from Phi at a Fairmount soiree. But Bailey was saved from answering when he caught sight of Mr. Nillow, his History teacher, sampling a glass of punch at the other end of the refreshments table.

“I'll be back,” he said to Phi. “Got to ask Nillow something.” He could feel the eyes of all three of them on him as he walked away. He truly did have something to ask the professor—several things, in fact, that had been on his mind since his trip to The White Tiger pub—though as he turned his back on Phi, he felt a mixture of embarrassment
and
relief.

“Good evening, Mr. Nillow,” he said, sidling up to the table.

“Hello, Mr. Walker. Behaving ourselves?” Nillow said, tugging at a striped waistcoat one size too small. He was a rather rotund man.

“Yes, sir. I was thinking—we haven't covered the Melorian Age of Invention in class yet, but I'd like to focus on that as a topic for my final paper. Do we have any transcripts of his speeches here in the school?”

“My Nature, no,” Nillow harrumphed. A dribble of punch escaped down his chin, which he wiped away with the sleeve of his jacket. “A pity. In the seventeen years that the Jackal held this kingdom by the hoof, he decimated public records of Melore's reign. Rotten trick he pulled. The only reliable transcripts, if they exist at all, are in Parliament's archives.”

Bailey, though disappointed, felt bold.

“He did the same with the Velyn, didn't he? The Jackal, I mean.”

Nillow looked sidelong at him.

“Now you're on about something entirely different. You ask some people, clearing out the Velyn was the one useful thing the Jackal did during his time in power. Ruffians, the lot of them. Savages.” Nillow cleared his throat and downed another gulp of punch. “I wouldn't be much interested in a thesis on them, if that's what you're thinking, my boy. Best stick to history that matters.”

Nillow turned away, clearly ruffled by Bailey's question. Bailey wondered what the RATS would have said in response—some history still mattered, to them at least. And it was beginning to matter to him as well.

When he returned to his friends, Phi had disappeared, and Hal and Tori stood side by side by the dance floor.

Tori was actually swaying a little bit—almost like she was having a good time. She smirked at him.

“You fouled that up,” she said.

“Fouled what?” he asked, thinking she meant his conversation with Nillow.

“Phi wanted to dance with you,” said Hal.

Bailey could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Really?”

“But you just missed her,” Tori said, her smirk softening. “She said she was tired and went back to Treetop.” She looked at Hal. “Do you know the Lemur Hop?” she asked him.

Hal straightened his vest and jacket. “Um  …  yes. I do,” he mumbled.

“Then let's go,” Tori said, grabbing his hand. Hal waved at Bailey as Tori marched him toward the dance floor.

Bailey stood alone for a minute, watching his schoolmates have a good time. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he fumbled around in his pockets and realized that the pendant Tremelo had given him, which he was used to carrying, was not there. Another disappointment. He'd have to remember to check his room later.

Alone, Bailey left the meeting hall. The sounds of the party echoed in the atrium, and the entrance to the library portion of the building, a grand marble archway, was empty.

Bailey believed Nillow that most records of Melore's words and deeds had been scrubbed in the long years of the Jackal's reign—but he didn't want to give up hope that something, some piece of information, would join together the jagged edges of what he'd learned so far with Tremelo's strange riddle about Awakening. Bailey glanced behind him. The entire school was preoccupied with merriment. He slipped away into the darkened library.

Not entirely certain where to start, he made his way up the stairs to the history section. The autumn moon beamed through the tall glass windowpanes of the stairwell.

Just as he reached the third floor, Bailey heard a clattering sound nearby. Was someone else prowling around the library after hours? He looked down the long, open hallways. No one.

Quick footsteps echoed from below. Bailey leaned over the railing at the top of the stairs, hoping to catch a glimpse of who it was—but only saw the dark shadow of a large, ominous bird perched on the stairwell underneath him. It emitted a loud squawk and Bailey jumped back. Forgetting all about the history section, he slowly retraced his steps down to the second floor to get a closer look at the bird. But when he reached the landing, it was gone, and all was silence.

However, he did notice something else that was odd: a door ajar at the end of the hallway. Had it been closed, the wooden door would've blended seamlessly with the wall. It swung slowly on iron hinges, as though it had only been flung open moments ago. He went in.

Bailey let his eyes adjust, surveying the dark room. His foot knocked against something, and he reached down. It was a dynamo lamp—and it was warm.

Bailey spun the crank and the lamp sputtered to life. He seemed to have stumbled upon a librarian's workshop of sorts. Everything in the room seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dust. Worn books were stacked in neat rows, pots of glue lined a central worktable, and binder's thread and thick needles lay scattered. It was a room for books to be repaired, though by the looks of it, some books were well past the possibility.

On the worktable, a large map lay unfolded. It was the only thing in the room that looked like it had been read in the last twenty years. In fact, there wasn't a speck of dust on it. The dynamo lamp had been on the floor next to an overturned stool. It looked as though whoever had been reading this map had brought it here to read in secret, and had just narrowly escaped.

Bailey leaned over the table and held the lamp above the map.
The Unreachable Road: The Migration of the Velyn Mountain People
was written across the top. In smaller print beneath it said,
By Thelonious Loren
. The title and name sent shivers of recognition down his spine. It wasn't the answer to Tremelo's riddle, but it was something: the Velyn tribes, revealing themselves to him for the second time in less than a week. He wondered who had been in here, reading this map in secret.

The map showed the whole of the Dark Woods that stretched from Fairmount to the southern half of the kingdom, over the Golden Lowlands. The Velyn Peaks had been rendered in white chalk, and lovingly drawn black flowers marked each spot where the Velyn had been known to dwell. A list on the side of the map explained the significance of each marker, and the year that the Velyn had settled there.

The Unreachable Road, he learned, was a pathway that the Velyn used to travel from one location to another. The dense terrain and steep mountainsides of the forest made it nearly impossible to pass—but the Velyn, it seemed, had created the road and were the only ones ever to use it. Except, Bailey assumed, this Thelonious Loren, the man with the same last name as Tremelo. He wondered if Loren might be the same man that the bartender had told him about—the Loon. After all, how many people in the kingdom were this interested in the movements of a lost tribe?

Bailey leaned forward in the chair and followed the chronological key by dragging his finger from place to place. He imagined the mountain people, whole families, trekking up and down the range on their own secret pathway. The stories he'd heard as a child, about the Velyn turning into animals and prowling the mountainsides, all came back to him as vividly as when he'd heard them as a little boy.

As he traced the Unreachable Road with his finger, he noticed one was marked only as the Velyns' “Annual Autumn Dwelling Place,” which was at the very end of the path. Bailey noticed the curve of the Dark Woods around the mountains, and a nearby set of cliffs. He saw where the Fluvian was drawn in with a thick blue ink pen, and was certain he was looking at the woods outside of Fairmount Academy.

He came to the final marker at the opposite end of the Unreachable Road. As he traced the map, his finger landed on a perfectly drawn flower  …  near his own hometown in the Lowlands. The forest was thin there, and the Lowlands were separated from the mountains by only a dozen miles of woodland. He noted the number—the last location—and found its description on the adjoining list.

The Lowland Pass,
it said on the side,
is the last known settlement of the Velyn tribes. Chosen for its proximity to available goods and trade with the Golden Lowlands, the Pass also made the tribes vulnerable to attack. The Dark Woods grows thin in this area, which, in our recent history, became a noted disadvantage to them. The accessibility of the area gave the Jackal King's soldiers an opportunity to attack. This was the last place where the Velyn tribes were seen alive—and even more surely the place where they were most cruelly murdered.