The Second Siege (15 page)

Beyond the burning vessel was a dark, rocky shore that extended out to the north until it dwindled away in a light blue haze. In the far distance, another ship was burning. What must have been a monstrous inferno appeared as small and harmless as a guttering candle.

Cooper had some quiet words with the captain before addressing the group.

“This is where we get off,” he said, shouldering his pack. “Captain’s worried about mines, and I can’t blame him. Make sure you—Mum, let him do his job!”

The hag scowled and released the arm of a crewman whom she’d come to fancy. Color returned to the young man’s face. He nodded to Cooper appreciatively and joined his fellows in lowering a cumbersome lifeboat over the side. Max and the rest clambered down the rickety ladder and piled within it, steadying the small craft as it rolled on the gentle swells, bumping against the larger ship.

Max helped his father push their boat away from the
Erasmus
’s side. Once away, he settled into his seat only to hear someone call his name. He glanced up to see the red-bearded sailor leaning over the rail. A cold, knowing smile spread across the man’s face as he lit a cigarette and bid them farewell. Max glared back while Cooper took the oars and began rowing them toward shore. They gave the burning ship a wide berth, and soon the
Erasmus
was lost behind the veil of oily smoke that swept across the sea.

“Cooper, that man with the red beard—”

“Is just now marking his chart so he can report to his superiors where we’ve landed,” interjected the Agent. “Spies will be looking for us in Lisbon.”

David swiveled in his seat.

“Why would he tell them we’re in Portugal? Is he on our side?”

“Not at all,” replied Cooper. “He’s most certainly in the employ of the Enemy—or the witches. He’ll tell them we’re in Lisbon because Miss Boon implied that’s where we are,” replied Cooper. “I nearly believed it myself. Your teacher has a talent for suggestion.”

“You bewitched him?” asked Mr. McDaniels.

“A crude expression,” said Miss Boon, sitting noticeably taller among the baggage. “But yes, I had a few words with him after you’d gone to bed. A revolting man.”

“Lisbon’s not that far,” said Mr. McDaniels. “Why not just tell him we were in Chile?”

“Plausibility is the key to effective suggestion, Mr. McDaniels,” explained Miss Boon. “Did you hear that, boys?”

“Yes, Miss Boon,” replied Max and David in chorus.

“Oh, forget your silly lessons,” sniffed Mum, sinking lower in her wrap. “Blabbing away while I’m heartbroken. I’ll
never
forget that sailor, mind you! He was such a wonderfully dumb and handsome thing. Practically
begged
to come with me . . .”

Cooper rowed steadily toward the empty shore.

“And what would you have served him with, Mum?” asked the Agent.

“Ooh! Let me think,” cried the hag, sitting up straight and clapping excitedly. “He had a delightful aroma—like a great juicy pork chop! Sweet potatoes would garnish him proper, or a dollop of me old Nan’s spinach—” The hag paused midclap. “Of course, Mum speaks theoretically. . . .”

Miss Boon raised an eyebrow.

“I hate to admit it, but Mum’s making me hungry,” piped up Mr. McDaniels. “What’s the plan when we reach shore? Nice people on the
Erasmus,
but not much in the way of real grub.”

“We’ve got canned food until we reach Salamanca,” replied the Agent.

“And how far is that?” asked Mr. McDaniels.

“A hundred miles or so,” replied the Agent, steering them around a bobbing trunk.

Mr. McDaniels groaned.

“We need to avoid any place that might require us to register,” explained the Agent. “We’re fugitives, Mr. McDaniels.”

“But from
whom
? That’s the question,” murmured David.

Max turned to gaze at the quiet shoreline of dark rock and tide pools. Now that they were closer, Max could see small houses dotting the cliffs, squat little structures with unlit windows.

“Who would live here?” asked Max. “It seems so deserted.”

“Fishermen,” replied Cooper, squinting over his shoulder. “And there are even few of them in these parts. The nearest city is Santiago de Compostela.”

Max clawed through his pack for the atlas Miss Boon had brought along. He searched the index for a map of Spain. In the northwest corner of Spain he spied Santiago de Compostela; Salamanca was to the southeast.

“Why are we going to Salamanca?” asked Max. “If we’re headed to Germany, shouldn’t we cut across the northern coast?”

“A fair question,” said Miss Boon, leaning close to study the map herself.

“Two reasons,” muttered Cooper. “We want to avoid coasts and borders—that’s where surveillance will be concentrated. Second, there’s someone in Salamanca I need to see.”

“And who might that be?” asked the young teacher.

“An old friend,” replied the stoic Agent. “David, what’s the status of your trinket there?”

David reached into his shirt and lifted out Bram’s golden talisman. No matter how he turned it in his hand, in the early gloom it shone as bright as a sun-baked coin.

For several days, the six walked along a dusty road that bordered a field of languishing, half-harvested wheat. There was a medieval quality to the countryside—old trees and ruins and rough granite jutting up like teeth from the fading green hills. The land was beautiful but lonely. On the first day, they had seen a little girl and boy peeking out from a golden wood, but the pair had fled at the sight of them and they had seen no one since. The structures they glimpsed had been abandoned, from pillared granaries and old stone houses to red-tiled buildings that dotted the rolling landscape. A cold November wind blew through the swaying stalks, punctuated by David’s singsong voice reciting the riddle.

“Do you understand the Riddle?” asked Max to Miss Boon.

“I have hunches,” replied the teacher, sipping from a canteen. “I agree with David that Bram probably entrusted this Key to the Workshop. Though actually German kings were only
chosen
in Frankfurt—they were crowned in Aachen.”

“So why do we need the Workshop at all?” asked Max. “Why not go straight to Aachen?”

“And where should we look?” asked Miss Boon with a small smile.

Max pondered that for a moment. A key sounded like a small thing, and a small thing could be hidden nearly anyplace—inside a box or a book or a paving stone.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“That’s why we need to start at the Workshop,” said Miss Boon.

“But at the meeting, Rasmussen didn’t even believe the Book of Thoth existed,” said Max. “Why would he be so skeptical if his own Workshop holds the key to finding it?”

Miss Boon stopped to raise an eyebrow at him. The answer dawned on Max in a flash.

“He was lying!” Max exclaimed, remembering the dry, sardonic expression on the man’s face. “He was only pretending not to know anything about it. They must want to find it themselves!”

“A distinct possibility,” said Miss Boon. “This explains why we must be very careful when we arrive. Rasmussen helped us keep you from the witches only because it served his interests.”

“Why would he care what happens to David and me?” asked Max, watching a large bird circling high above a distant farmhouse.

“He cares very much,” replied Miss Boon. “The Workshop’s relationship with Rowan is a fragile one, but there is peaceful and periodic cooperation. The witches, however, are another story. The witches are sworn enemies of the Workshop, Max. Rasmussen is well aware that you and David might become powerful adversaries should the witches obtain your services.”

Max heard a groan behind him and turned to see his father ease himself down onto a large rock. While Mum had complained often throughout their long days of walking, Mr. McDaniels had soldiered on with an air of quiet determination. Max admired his father’s grit, but knew that the miles were taking a hard toll on his big body. He winced as his father peeled off his sock to reveal a doughy foot riddled with blisters. Cooper stopped up ahead and walked back toward them.

“I’m sorry,” gasped a red-faced Mr. McDaniels as the Agent stooped down for a look. “I know we just stopped a few hours ago.”

Cooper nodded and produced a little jar of light yellow ointment from his pack.

“Moomenhoven balm,” he muttered. “It’ll numb the pain and patch you up.”

Cooper took a small dab from the jar and rubbed it into the foot, causing Mr. McDaniels to exhale with relief. He furrowed his brow and began wiggling his toes.

“This is good stuff!” he suddenly exclaimed, his cheeks flushing pink. “Those Moomenhovens could make a fortune if we brought this goop to market.”

Mum promptly plopped next to Max’s father.

“I want some, too,” she declared, tugging off her thick-soled clog to reveal a gray-green foot with three sharp toes. David looked curiously at the misshapen wedge; Nick sniffed at it and mewled. Cooper shook his head and screwed the lid tight.

“Everyone’s feet hurt, Mum,” said the Agent. “Put your shoe back on. This balm’s for emergencies.”

Max tuned out Mum’s bickering protest as something caught his attention. Up the road, a dull haze was rising into the air. Something was approaching.

“Cooper,” said Max, a warning note in his voice.

The Agent’s head whipped up and followed Max’s pointing finger toward the cloud.

“Off the road,” snapped the Agent, reaching for his pack.
“Quick, quick, quick!”

They hurried off the road, running through the field of short-cropped wheat to a neighboring field where the grain had been left untouched. Breathing heavily, Max pressed himself flat to peer through gaps in the tall, graying stalks. He could hear the heavy, unmistakable rumbling of a diesel engine. Moments later, a large white truck eased into view, kicking up a fine cloud of dust in its wake. It slowed to a stop near a lone oak tree. Several men in work clothes climbed out of the back and trudged to the passenger side of the truck’s cab. Each carried a rifle and wore a bright red armband about his upper arm. One of the men pointed at a small, dark object ahead. Nearby, Max heard Cooper curse.

There was Mum’s blocky little shoe, lying by the roadside.

The shoe was retrieved and handed over to the person in the passenger seat.

The truck door promptly opened, and a tall man stepped out. Although he also had an armband, he was dressed more formally, wearing an olive-colored trench coat and black fedora. He strode quickly to where Mum’s clog had been and stooped to examine the ground. The man in the fedora then stood to his full height and surveyed the fields where they lay hidden.

He called to one of the rifle-toting men, who hurried over. The two conversed while the cold wind rose and shook the surrounding wheat. Nearby, Nick’s metallic quills began quivering. Max spied a rat wandering casually amidst the stalks.

“No,”
whispered Max, seizing the lymrill and hugging him close against his body. Nick gave an angry snort and struggled for a moment, giving Max a painful nip in the process. Max gritted his teeth and stroked the coppery quills on Nick’s belly until the rat wandered off and Nick finally went still. Max held his breath and peeped through the wheat.

The man in the fedora was scanning the surrounding countryside with binoculars. Long minutes passed before he slipped them back in his trench coat and turned on his heel, walking back toward the truck. Seconds later, the truck made a slow U-turn and sped back up the road.

“No one move,” Cooper hissed. “Keep quiet till I’m back.”

Cooper crawled away through the tall wheat while Max lay on the hard ground, breathing slowly and trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his hand where Nick had nipped him. Almost an hour passed before Cooper returned; not even Mum had dared break the silence in all that time.

“You can get up,” he said quietly. “They stopped farther up the road, but they’re gone now.” The Agent hefted his pack and slung it back over his shoulders.

The rest clambered to their feet, shaking off the dust and bits of wheat. Mum looked abashed.

“I’m sorry about my shoe,” she croaked. “Have I gotten us in trouble?”

“Remains to be seen,” said Cooper. “They know
someone
was here, and that man in the hat clearly has some sort of authority.”

“He was a vye, you know,” said Mum.

“How do you know that?” asked David nervously.

Mum gave the air an audible sniff, flaring her large, wet nostrils.

“Were they all vyes?” asked Max.

“No, just the tall one,” said Mum conclusively. “Couldn’t you smell that the others were scared silly of him?”

Max shook his head.

“I don’t even know why you’ve got those things,” said Mum, giving Max’s nose a contemptuous glance.

“If he’s a vye, wouldn’t he have smelled us, too?” asked Miss Boon.

“We were downwind, dear,” explained Mum. “And his sniffer’s no match for a hag’s.”

“Can someone please tell me what a vye is?” asked Mr. McDaniels, rubbing his arms and giving a nervous glance up the road.

“Shape-shifter,” replied Cooper. “Highly intelligent. Looks something like a werewolf in its feral state.”

“But vyes are bigger,” added Max.

“And they’ve got awful, squinty eyes,” volunteered David, making Max’s father grimace.

“All true,” said Cooper. “If that was a vye, then I’ve got little doubt they were looking for us, specifically. We must have been seen and reported.”

“Those two children?” asked Miss Boon.

“Most likely,” said Cooper, scanning the countryside that was quickly darkening to dusk. “I shouldn’t have let them go.”

“They were
children,
Cooper,” said Miss Boon with a warning tone in her voice.

“No, Miss Boon,” replied the Agent. “We just assumed they were.”

The Agent gave Mum a thick sock to cover her bare foot and led them far from the road.