Legacy of the Claw (8 page)

THAT NIGHT, BAILEY LAY awake in the Tower bedroom. It had been a long, strange day, and Bailey wondered how much harder things would be if—he hated the thought, but couldn't shake it— he
didn't
Awaken to his Animas before leaving Fairmount. He'd been hoping Tremelo would help him. But Tremelo, it seemed, was completely crazy.

Bailey heard a tiny scraping sound from the door, and sprang up onto his elbows. There was a piece of paper stuck under the door. He got up, moved quickly across the room, and opened the door. No one. He strained to listen for the sound of footsteps, or even paws, but whoever had left the note had crept away quickly.

He unfolded it carefully and held it up to read in the moonlight.

The note was short.
Bailey: Flagpole. Midnight.

Bailey sat down on his bed, his heart pounding. The clock on the washstand in the room read 11:40 p.m. He wondered if he should go down to the common room and show the note to Hal—maybe he would know who had delivered it.

Then again, reasonable, cautious Hal might try and convince him not to go.

Bailey pulled on his work pants and farming boots. He tiptoed out of the room and crept silently by the door to the common room, where he heard the soft shuffling sounds of a game of chess being played. He caught a quick glance of Hal engrossed in his Latin homework. Pete, another Year One, was showing a group of boys how his kin, a possum, could dangle from the room's rafters by its tail.

The Towers resident assistant, a Year Four named Benjamin, lived in a private room across the hall from the common area. Bailey thanked Nature that Benjamin's door was closed, and no light shone underneath. Still, he tried to stay as quiet as possible. Bailey held his breath as he slid silently past the doorway, down the rest of the hall, and out into the night.

To reach the flagpole in the center of campus, he'd have to pass the night guard's post—he remembered seeing that much on Hal's map—but he
thought
if he cut north to the dining hall, past the Garrett, he could circle back around by the administration building in the center of campus. The only question was whether or not a guard—or worse, a teacher—might also be out on the grounds. He would have to stay alert.

As Bailey cut through the herb garden behind the dining hall, a twig snapped behind him. He froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was being followed. Could Taylor be planning to ambush him?

He spun around. “Who's there?” he called out.

He heard a footstep crunch in the gravel. Then whoever it was stopped in his or her tracks behind the corner of the greenhouse.

“I know you're following me,” Bailey said. “You might as well show yourself.”

“I heard you sneak out,” said the voice behind the greenhouse, and Hal emerged from the shadows.

Bailey grinned. “I thought maybe you were your brother,” he said, relieved.

Hal made a face, as though he'd just been forced to swallow turpentine. “Never say that again!”

“How did you see me sneak out? You were nose-deep in a book when I passed the common room,” said Bailey.

Hal shook his head. “I didn't say I saw you. I said I
heard
you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached. He was wearing his pajamas under his sweater, Bailey noticed, and had shoved on a pair of loafers. “What are you doing out here?”

Bailey took the note out of his pocket. “I wasn't going to tell you. I thought you might try to talk me out of going,” he said.

“It sounds like a setup to me,” Hal said, scanning the note.

“Maybe,” Bailey said. “Only one way to find out.”

Hal hesitated, then shrugged. “What's the worst that can happen? You get in trouble and get booted out of school.”

“That's the spirit,” Bailey said, grinning. He was actually relieved that Hal had followed him. It was nice to have company. “Let's go.”

Together, the boys made their way to the lawn in front of the classroom buildings, and peeked around the corner of the administration building.

The lawn seemed vastly different at night. It reminded him a little of the fields he was used to in the Lowlands, but the short, dark green grass made it seem more like a murky ocean (or at least pictures Bailey had seen of the ocean) and the ornate marble buildings looked like huge blocks of ice reflecting the moonlight. In the center of the circular common was the Fairmount clock tower, the oldest structure on Fairmount grounds. Each of the arms on the clock's enormous face was at least as tall as Bailey. And each of the numbers was represented by a different golden animal, surrounding the face of the clock like a mechanical parade. In front of the tower flew the Fairmount flag. It looked forbidding and impossibly tall, like a finger raised threateningly toward the clouds.

A small group of students were gathered around the flagpole just a few yards south of the clock tower. It was Taylor and his Scavage friends, along with a handful of Year Ones. Bailey wasn't a bit surprised.

“Come on,” Bailey whispered to Hal. They moved closer, and hid behind a bush just across the yard from the clock tower, so they could see what was happening.

“Okay, Fresh Meat, watch this!” Taylor said, and pointed upward, to the face of the clock. Bailey felt his heart speed up.

The center of the clock opened inward, and a number of bats flew from their home behind the gold-painted face. Hal closed his eyes. Bailey knew that Hal was trying to feel his way into the bat's bodies, to hear and see what they did.

One of the older boys stepped through the opening onto a narrow stone ledge and Bailey's mouth went dry. The ledge had to be fifty feet above the ground.

He shot a nervous look over at Hal. “What's happening?” he asked.

Hal's forehead furrowed. “I don't know  … ” He shook his head. The bats resettled in a nearby tree, and Hal looked troubled. He rubbed his forehead. “I can't get anything clear.”

The boy waved at his audience. Then, without hesitation, he jumped.

Bailey's heart stopped. The boy was plummeting toward the ground. Faster  …  closer  … 

Then he reached out toward the flagpole and grabbed the rope that dangled down from the top. In a split second, he went from falling to swinging.

Cheers and laughter erupted from the older boys. Bailey had unconsciously climbed to his feet. He felt exhilarated. The jumper landed safely among his friends, who clapped and patted him on the back.

“That was
crazy
,” Hal exclaimed. “Who would
do
that?”

“I would,” said Bailey.

“You wouldn't!”

“In a minute,” said Bailey, and it was true. If jumping from a clock tower would prove that he wasn't some kind of weaselly freak, then Bailey would jump. “I've
got
to do it, Hal,” he said.

“You don't have to prove anything to them,” Hal said to Bailey. But Bailey knew he was wrong. Of course he did; he had everything to prove.

The older boys were now herding the Year Ones into the tower, through a plain wooden door set at ground level. The younger boys all looked frightened, even panicked. As they began filing into the tower, three of them broke loose from the ranks and ran back in the direction of the dorms.

“Animae Chicken!” Taylor shouted after them. His friends began cawing and clucking.

“That's three down—how many to go?” one of the Scavage players boasted.

Bailey placed a hand on Hal's shoulder.

“Wait here,” he said.

He jogged toward the clock tower. The laughter of the Scavage players died down. Taylor glared at him. Maybe he hadn't expected Bailey to show.

“I'm here to jump,” Bailey said loudly.

Taylor smirked and narrowed his eyes. “You sure about that, Walker? It's a long way down.”

“I'm sure,” Bailey said. But even as he spoke, he felt as if he'd swallowed a bag of sand. He knew it was too late to turn back now, though.

The inside of the clock tower smelled like dust and old moisture. The spiraling stone stairs seemed to go on forever. Bailey steeled his nerves and began to climb. He could hear the laughter of the older boys outside, muffled through the stone, along with the ominous
ticktock
that echoed within the tower. As Bailey climbed higher, panting, he could hear too, the voices of the kids at the top, daring one another to make the jump.

“No way!” one boy said.

“They
can't
be serious?” said another.

“It's suicide!” another one whispered.

At last, Bailey reached the landing. There were three Year Ones standing at the top of the stairs. Bailey recognized one from his homeroom, and wondered what he'd done to Taylor to have been called here. The boys turned to him, white-faced and surprised. They huddled against the giant gears that powered the clock, as far away from the door that led to the open-air ledge as possible.

“Are you going to do it?” the boy from his homeroom asked, wide-eyed.

“Why not?” Bailey said with a shrug, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. In reality, his heart was hammering. He ducked under a low-hanging gear and stepped through the clockface door out onto the ledge.

Immediately, everything around him seemed to fall silent. He couldn't hear the turning gears behind him or the murmuring students or even the ominous ticking of the clock itself. All he could see were the vast, dark grounds of Fairmount and the buildings with ribbons of mist curled around them. He could smell the river nearby, just vaguely, and for a moment, he felt a completely unexpected sensation: happiness.

He inched farther out on the ledge. A shot of adrenaline raced through his body and he realized he was shaking—no, more like
buzzing
. Below him, Taylor was standing with his arms crossed.

I'm not afraid; not of you, not of anything, Bailey thought
.

But he couldn't help his hands shaking as he looked down. The ground looked impossibly far away. His legs began to wobble, and Bailey forced himself to breathe deeply. Just one little jump. Easy. Nothing to be afraid of.

Before he could change his mind, he crouched into a runner's stance, sucked in a breath, and leapt.

He fell for what seemed like whole minutes. Bailey could feel the wind whipping in his ears, and the strange heaviness of his body dropping through thin air. Time eased as the ground spiraled closer, as though he were dropping in slow motion.

And then he could see the rope just a few feet below him, and he reached out blindly. He felt the rope in his hands, and then the quick jolt of his body changing direction. Suddenly, instead of falling, he was swinging around the flagpole—suspended, flying! He'd never felt anything so wonderful before; he found himself laughing as the rope swung him around the pole.

He wondered if this is how it was for everyone else when, just by clearing their minds, they could see what an animal saw, or think the way an animal thought. For once, soaring above the grass, Bailey thought he knew what it must be like to feel
bigger
, to be something
other
than just Bailey Walker, freak.

As he hit the ground, he was a new person—a stronger person. Even the burning in his hands from clutching the rope felt good. The other Year Ones were peering out of the clockface, clapping and whooping at the sight of Taylor's shocked expression.

“Who's Animas Chicken now?” he said, grinning.

But Taylor didn't answer. He was wide-eyed and backing up slowly, as if Bailey had a contagious disease. “Ants!” he cursed. “Run!”

Bailey watched, confused, as the Scavage players began to scatter across the lawn, back toward the dorms. What had he done wrong?

“Young man!” a voice trumpeted out from behind him.

Bailey looked toward the assembly hall and felt his stomach dive to his toes. Tremelo, his Homeroom teacher, was walking swiftly toward him, his red fox trotting swiftly at his side.

Just my luck, he thought to himself. The only one to jump—the only one to get caught.

It was too late to make a dash for cover—Tremelo was already upon him. Besides, Bailey's legs were still so shaky from the leap that he really wasn't convinced he could walk just yet. Bailey scanned the lawn for Hal, but there was no sign of him. At least he had gotten away.

“A decent performance, but I hope you know that you could be expelled from this academy for less,” Tremelo said, stopping in front of Bailey. He reached into his pocket and took out a small silver flask. He lifted it to his lips and indulged in a long sip. “Fairmount does not tolerate rule breakers, I'm afraid.”

“Then how did
you
get in?” Bailey blurted out, and then immediately regretted it.

But, to Bailey's surprise, Tremelo threw his head back and laughed.

“Well done,” he said, returning the flask to his pocket with a flourish. “You should thank Nature I'm not the headmaster, or you'd be kicked out before you could say ‘Animas Platypus.'” Still chuckling, Tremelo clapped a hand on Bailey's back and began to steer him toward the main hall and the dormitories. “I'm unfortunately obligated to see you head back to your rightful place. Which is  …  ?”

“Towers,” Bailey muttered.

Tremelo began humming an old Gray City tune.
“I knew myself a lady, her Animas a snail!”
The fox dashed in front of them as they walked, playing her own games with the dew-covered grass.

Bailey wondered what Tremelo was doing, wandering around the grounds by himself at night. But Tremelo was a teacher, and could wander where he pleased. As for Bailey, he'd only just arrived at Fairmount, and he'd been caught breaking about a hundred rules.

As they passed the small, copper-roofed shed that served as the night guard's post, Tremelo stopped.

“A moment, please,” he said to Bailey, and he ducked inside. Bailey could see that Mr. Bindley, the night guard, and his two massive dogs were snoring. Bailey watched from the doorway as Tremelo sniffed the air inside the shed. He moved forward and picked up a small packet from Bindley's table, which lay next to a thick, gear-heavy object. Tremelo caught Bailey looking at the strange contraption.