The Second Siege (10 page)

“Very well, Dame Mako,” said Ms. Richter. “In order to move this council along to more pressing matters, I am prepared to state our position on the issue.”

Scott McDaniels squeezed his son’s forearm. Max held his breath and leaned forward to listen as the whole room grew still with a crackling air of expectation.

“Having consulted my advisors and having determined the legitimacy of Bram’s Oath, I do hereby honor his pledge and surrender Max McDaniels and David Menlo to the Witches of the Eastern Range.”

The room exploded in commotion.

“What?”
Mr. McDaniels thundered, rocketing out of his chair. “Over my dead body!”

Mr. McDaniels was quickly intercepted by Mum, who abandoned her coffee cart to block his way with her short, squat body. She was joined by Nigel and Miss Boon, who managed to ease Max’s father back into his seat. The real commotion, however, was taking place beside Ms. Richter. Commander Vilyak had stood and was leaning close to the Director. His face was crimson, and his massive hands were balled into tight fists. Max could not hear what he was saying, but the Director was unmoved.

“Agents Cooper and Yamato, please remove Commander Vilyak from these proceedings.”

“You don’t have the authority to remove me!” spat Vilyak, smacking the table hard with his hand. “This is an outrage and an utter abuse of your position!”

“Thank you, Commander,” was Ms. Richter’s calm reply. “That will be all.”

Commander Vilyak glanced over his shoulder at Cooper and a female Agent who were standing behind him. Slowly, an icy calm came over him; his eyes became as flat and dead as a doll’s once more. He glanced at Max before turning to face Cooper, his comrade in the Red Branch. To Max, it seemed that a silent conversation was taking place between them. After several moments, Vilyak permitted himself to be led from the room. The door was closed, calm was restored, and for the first time the reality of Ms. Richter’s words dawned upon Max.

They were leaving Rowan.

Max glanced at the cluster of shrouded crones at the table. They whispered to one another with obvious pleasure, beaming at Max and David with sharp-toothed grins and something resembling motherly affection. Max’s father looked clammy and bloodless; even David looked shocked.

“I understand that this comes as a surprise to some,” said Ms. Richter, failing even to glance in Max and David’s direction. “And we are deeply grieved to say farewell to our students. While circumstance dictates that we sever their ties to this school, we hope and trust that Scott McDaniels will also be permitted to live among the witches with his son.”

“Of course,” said Dame Mako with an obliging nod toward Mr. McDaniels. “He will be received with honor.”

“Then they will be free to leave with you as early as tomorrow morning,” said Ms. Richter. “And now we must move on to more pressing business—the escalating evil that plagues the world now that Astaroth is free. . . .”

Max sat in stunned silence while ministers and senators shuffled papers and reported on troubles in their home countries. It was a grim recital of assassinations, plane crashes, train derailments, and crop failures. Angry mobs were gathering outside capital buildings; desperate refugees were stampeding toward the borders of the world’s wealthier nations. Power stations had succumbed to mysterious fires, and it was becoming clear that the Enemy had long been infiltrating a number of governments. The numbers were staggering: a billion people without electricity, two billion without access to television or radio. A short black man in a gray suit reported that more than sixty governments were on the verge of collapse, their countries facing civil war. Miss Kraken spoke Max’s mind when she interrupted an ample-bellied senator with a southern drawl.

“These reports can’t be correct,” she snapped. “As bad as things are, the newspapers haven’t reported anything even approaching these proportions of catastrophe!”

The senator glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. “For the past six weeks, all relevant television programs, newspaper reports, and radio broadcasts have been subject to government approval.”

“You’re censoring the facts?” asked Miss Kraken incredulously.

“We are acting in the best interests of our citizens,” replied the senator. “I’d remind you that the only reason we don’t have blood in the streets in
this
country is because we are keeping potential misinformation from causing outright panic.”

“We are doing the same,” added an official from Moscow. “There are terrible reports from the countryside. Terrible! No one needs to hear, much less see, such stories and images. An entire village near Lensk was wiped out two days ago. Monstrous shapes have been sighted in the woods—rumors of ogres and werewolves are rampant. Despite our best efforts to calm the public, we have a crisis. Farms and villages are emptying. The people are fleeing to the cities—cities with little electricity or food. And winter is coming. Things have not been so bad for Mother Russia since the Great War.”

Max squirmed in his seat as the tales of horror went on. His problems seemed tiny in light of all that was happening outside Rowan’s gates. Perhaps Bellagrog had been right—now seemed a good time to find a snug, hidden corner and wait out the squalls and storms of the world.

It was Jesper Rasmussen, the bald, skeletal spokesperson for the Frankfurt Workshop, who stood next. His voice was dry and metallic; a nearly colorless tongue flicked out periodically to wet his thin lips.

“Forgive my ignorance,” he said, “but it seems that we are attributing the present, ah,
misfortunes
to Astaroth. The Workshop still questions whether or not the Demon has returned, much less whether he is to blame for any of this. The current crises seem a bit sudden and dramatic for one known to spin his webs with slow patience.”

“And so he did, Dr. Rasmussen,” said Ms. Richter. “And so he was caught. Astaroth did indeed bide his time, but before his plans were complete, Elias Bram realized that a single mind and malice was orchestrating events to its satisfaction. Once Astaroth was revealed, we were able to frustrate some of his plots. Astaroth will have learned his lesson. He will move quickly if he is able.”

Dr. Rasmussen shook his head as Ms. Richter spoke.

“
If
he is able. That is no small consideration. We have no proof that the Demon is even capable of assuming a physical form.”

“Of that we
do
have proof,” interrupted Dame Mako, rapping a sharp nail on the table and drawing Rasmussen’s attention. “I have seen him.”

Stunned silence filled the room. Max heard the crack of Dame Mako’s fingers as she clasped her bony hands together in a supplicating gesture.

“He came to see us a fortnight ago,” said the witch. “Perhaps we should have sent messages, but we thought it wiser to wait until Rowan proved true and honored Bram’s Oath. The Demon came to us when we were gathered by the council fires.”

“What did he want?” asked Ms. Richter softly. Her face was ashen and grave.

“He gave greetings,” said Dame Mako. “He reminded us that he had once honored our ancestors and wished to rekindle the truce that had existed between us. His servants brought many gifts—jewels and hides and oil for the winter.”

“I trust you did not accept them,” said Ms. Richter.

“Ha! We are not so rich as you,” laughed the witch. “Of course we took them! And we’ll take more, too, as long as it’s given freely and the Demon leaves us be!”

“He gives nothing freely,” said Ms. Richter. “To visit the esteemed witches is a long journey. Astaroth did not seek you merely to lavish gifts and praise.”

Dame Mako listened carefully to Ms. Richter’s words and consulted briefly with the wizened crones who had accompanied her. Her wild eyes burned brightly as she gazed from face to face among the assembled politicians, Agents, and Mystics.

“The Demon covets the book he sought long ago,” the witch rumbled. “The very book that Bram took from us and for which he delivered these Blessed Children to our keeping. He seeks the Book of Thoth.”

“And why should the Demon seek this book?” asked Dr. Rasmussen.

Dame Mako glared at the Workshop representative. “All things have a truename,” she rasped. “Every human, every bird and beast and flower, has such a name. This name is secret—it is what gives a thing shape and spirit and binds it to this world. According to legend, the Book of Thoth is a living record of all truenames since the world was birthed.”

Jesper Rasmussen scoffed loudly and snapped at Mum for more coffee.

“So it is a phone book? A list of all the truenames of history? Of what possible value is that?”

Dame Mako scowled at the tall, gaunt man who smirked from behind his steel spectacles.

“It is priceless to the one who can decipher it,” replied the witch calmly. “With the proper spells, the knowledge of an entity’s truename conveys absolute mastery of that thing. A mountain, a person, even an
idea
can be reshaped, enslaved, or utterly stricken from this world as though it had never existed. Within the Book of Thoth lie the very blueprints to this world’s past, present, and future.”

“Ah, so it is DNA, is it?” asked Rasmussen, his eyes twinkling. “A bit of this, a bit of that, and we can rearrange the world how we choose? How delightful.”

“Foolish man,” snapped the witch. “With the Book, Astaroth would have us at his mercy.”

“So it is a weapon,” probed Rasmussen.

“It is whatever you wish it to be,” replied Dame Mako quietly. “It holds the secrets to life and death and time, Dr. Rasmussen. Can you understand that?”

Max tried to imagine such a thing but found it hard. He looked at David, who seemed to be following the conversation very closely as he drained a second coffee. Dr. Rasmussen offered the witch a sour stare and seemed to mull several possible responses.

“Bah!” he said at length, removing his glasses to clean them with a cloth. “Who has seen or tested this book? No one can decipher it, and yet it holds the power to snuff our lives and shape our fates? What a convenient thing to possess—all one must do is brandish the book before one’s enemies, and they will flock to your banner lest they be stricken from the record. No wonder Astaroth seeks its whereabouts! This book is a bogeyman capable of frightening even the high and mighty! Surely, Director Richter, you do not believe such an artifact exists.”

Ms. Richter sat quietly while Mum refilled Rasmussen’s coffee cup. When she spoke, her words were measured.

“I am confident that the book exists, that it is to be feared, and that it is in danger. For the first two, I rely upon history and the warnings of Elias Bram. For the third, I rely upon Dame Mako and the discoveries of our own David Menlo. Dr. Rasmussen, you have heard the tales of Prince Neferkeptah?”

“I can’t say that I have,” sighed Rasmussen, rubbing his temples.

“He was the last mortal to truly possess the book, and it destroyed him. Astaroth, however, is
not
mortal, and I am convinced that we must do everything possible to ensure that the book never falls into his hands.”

“So where precisely is the god-awful thing?” asked a British minister.

“Just the question on my mind,” echoed a senator.

“I don’t know,” said Ms. Richter simply.

“Then what is the point of wasting our time on this?” snapped the Russian official. “I have airplanes grounded with no fuel! Someone or something has ripped up a thousand miles of railroad track, and yet I’m supposed to focus my attention on a book? A book that we don’t even know how to find?”

“I recognize that we all have pressing concerns,” said Ms. Richter, “but if Astaroth gains possession of this book, our present worries will seem trivial indeed.”

“Well,” said Dr. Rasmussen, “it seems highly unlikely that Astaroth will find the book. After all, your people were the last to possess it, and even you do not know where it is.”

Rasmussen looked pleased with himself until Ms. Richter beckoned for David to come forward. Hundreds of eyes followed Max’s roommate as he walked, unhurried, to stand next to the Director.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce David Menlo. It is David whom we have to thank for finding and deciphering several of Bram’s papers that concern this matter. When Bram hid the book, he confided the secret of its location to one other person. This person was Marley Augur, a member of the ruling council at our former school. It grieves me to say that Augur betrayed our Order and was instrumental in freeing Astaroth this past year. We must assume that Astaroth is privy to any secrets that Augur possessed. Within Bram’s papers, David has discovered further proof that the book is in danger.”

Ms. Richter motioned for an aide to dim the lights as David unbuttoned his collar and reached inside his shirt to retrieve the talisman that hung on a chain around his neck. In the darkened room, the talisman shone like a fiery coin, noticeably brighter than when Max had last seen it.

“Before he became a traitor, Marley Augur fashioned this talisman to warn Bram if the Book was in danger. Since we have discovered the talisman, it has burned brighter each day.”

Max watched the talisman swinging gently back and forth on David’s finger. The room was utterly quiet.

“We are in gravest peril,” said Ms. Richter softly. “Not merely the organizations and countries represented here, but every man, woman, and child on this earth. We must marshal all our resources and we must do so immediately. I would now ask all who are not seated at this table to please withdraw so that the senior members of this council can decide upon an appropriate course of action.”