The Second Siege (8 page)

“But I thought we were going to the Archives,” said Max.

“This is the way to the Archives,” said Vilyak simply.

Max hesitated, then went inside. Vilyak stepped in after him and promptly locked the door. The man laughed when he saw the suspicious look on Max’s face.

“Don’t be nervous,” laughed Vilyak. “The Archives won’t open unless that door is locked.”

Stepping over to the blackboard, Vilyak placed it flat on the floor and reached for a piece of chalk. Upon its dusty surface, the Agent wrote:
By right and necessity, Commander Vilyak requests access to the Archives
. Smiling at Max’s curiosity, Vilyak lifted the blackboard away from the floor as though lifting a cellar door. Max leaned closer and saw a dimly lit staircase descending far out of sight.

“Whoa,” said Max, reaching his hand into the space that had seemingly not existed a moment before.

“Follow me,” said Vilyak, stepping down onto the first step. “Don’t worry about the blackboard—the room will rearrange itself.”

“Did
we
build the Archives?” asked Max, climbing down after Vilyak. Every student was aware of Rowan’s curious origins and how it had been raised several centuries earlier by forces older and stronger than their own. Trails might change or disappear; peculiar will-o’-the-wisps might appear in the woods accompanied by faint and distant laughter. Students were often warned to avoid anything strange, any unexpected occurrence that might suggest a sudden pulse of the Old Magic that had laid the school’s foundations. These events were unpredictable and potentially dangerous, and Max realized many of his classmates viewed him in much the same light.

“No, we did not build this,” answered Vilyak, his voice echoing off gleaming marble walls as they continued steadily down the steps. “The scholars believe that the Archives are actually the oldest part of this school—the very heart of this whole campus. The most important books and relics that could be salvaged from Solas or collected since are stored here. Watch your step as we go—some of the stairs are quite worn.”

Down and farther down went Max until he lost count of the steps. Old Tom could be heard ringing eight o’clock, but the chimes sounded as though they might be miles away. The air was warm with sudden drafts, and the walls were slick with moisture. Max imagined that they were descending into the bowels of a living thing, ancient and strange and riddled with magic. The powerful presence within him began to awaken and stir.

“Well, we’re here at last,” said Vilyak, coming to a halt after the last step, which emptied into a large room of rose-colored marble. Max gasped at the sight of two massive shedu flanking a tall door of shining brass that bore the Rowan seal. The shedu were enormous—fifteen feet tall, with the bodies of colossal bulls and human heads bearing tall crowns of bronze. They might have been statues until one suddenly swiveled its head to focus its blank, unblinking stare upon Max.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Vilyak, taking Max by the elbow and walking him forward. “Is this your first experience with shedu?”

“No, sir,” breathed Max. “One of my classmates has a shedu charge, but he’s a lot smaller than these.”

“Shedu are ideal guardians,” said Vilyak, reaching up to pat the chest of the stony creature that stood aside to let them pass. “They need little food or sleep and are highly resistant to trickery and Mystics. They’ll let you pass since you’re with me, but I’d advise you never to try to enter the Archives on your own. A shedu will not understand.”

“Got it,” said Max, inching past the imposing creatures.

Vilyak pulled the heavy brass door open and stood aside as Max poked his head within.

“Welcome to the Archives, Max. It is the heart of Rowan and the wealth of our people.”

Max stood speechless in the doorway for several moments and gaped at the gargantuan space. Far larger than a cathedral, the Archives stretched out before him in a gleaming array of tables and cases and books—thousands and thousands of books arranged around sweeping balconies that rose up and up in a gentle spiral until Max’s gaze fell upon a lighted fresco depicting the School of Athens hundreds of feet above them. Sturdy vaults with circular doors were set into recessed nooks around the oval room, the walls of which were hung with paintings and tapestries of every color and description. Slump-shouldered scholars sat alone or huddled at tables, poring over ancient-looking books and stacks of parchment as thin as tissue.

Max heard several coughs echo in the cavernous space and grinned to see David sitting small and hunched at a table next to a statue of Aristotle. A mound of books and papers lay next to a steaming coffee mug.

“That’s my roommate,” whispered Max to Vilyak.

“Ah, the famous Mr. Menlo,” said Vilyak, peering with curiosity at David. “Yes, I’ve heard all about him. Go say hello if you like, but hurry back, please. I haven’t much time.”

Max strode into the room, ignoring the curious stares and whispers of the scholars who peered from behind dim lamps and thick spectacles. David’s small, drawn face turned and blinked impatiently when Max tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned, David clumsily tried to palm a slim vial filled with a shimmering silver liquid.

“Max!” David exclaimed, rubbing his eyes. “How did you get down here?”

“Commander Vilyak brought me,” said Max, gesturing at the Agent who stood near the doorway. Max glanced at the food wrappers, coffee mugs, and little pillow on the seat next to David’s. “You moving down here?”

“I might as well,” sighed David. “But it’s been paying off. I’ve discovered something—something
very
important.”

Max heard a noise behind him and turned to see Vilyak gesturing impatiently at his watch.

“David, I’ve got to run.”

“Come back when you’re finished,” whispered David urgently.

“I’ll try,” said Max over his shoulder, ignoring David’s imploring look while he hurried back to Vilyak.

“How is your friend?” asked Vilyak, guiding Max along the room’s perimeter.

“Er, fine . . . tired, I guess,” replied Max. “He’s been spending a lot of time down here.”

“Doing what, might I ask?” inquired Vilyak, raising an eyebrow.

“Research—Bram’s promise to the witches. Have you heard about it?”

“I have, and rest assured, the two of you aren’t going anywhere,” said Vilyak with steely conviction. “You’re far too important for us to hand you over like some sort of carnival prize. It’s out of the question, and Richter knows it.”

Vilyak patted Max on the shoulder and steered him toward a massive vault whose shining door of black granite was stamped with the same red hand and cord that was branded upon the Agent’s wrist. Max’s fingers twitched, and he gazed long and hard at the door.

Something inside was calling to him.

“What’s in there?” asked Max quietly.

“The tools and treasure of the Red Branch,” answered Vilyak. “All reserved for the exclusive use of our members.” The Agent placed his palm against the great red seal. A moment later there was the muted rumble of stone sliding across stone and the massive door swung open to reveal a rich golden glow within. “Care to see?”

Max nodded and stepped past the Agent into a warm room of pale stone strewn with Persian carpets. The glow was coming from the reflection of several lamps on the scalloped curves, points, and edges of an armory the likes of which Max had never seen. Shirts of smoky nanomail were arranged next to medieval helmets that peered from behind a set of lacquered armor. Max stopped to gaze at a brilliant sword with a golden pommel that lay unsheathed on a red velvet cloth.

“That’s Joyeuse,” said Vilyak, smiling. “The sword of Charlemagne. Some would have you believe it was buried with him or resting in the Louvre, but we know better, eh?”

Max gazed at his reflection mirrored in the blade until something else caught his eye—the same gruesome-looking knife Max had seen only weeks before. It lay on a shirt of coarse woven cloth, its notched, wavy blade covered in what appeared to be dried blood.

“I’ve seen that before,” whispered Max. “Cooper had it with him when David and I were brought to see Dame Mala.”

“The Kris of Mpu Gandring,” said Vilyak. “Indonesian—from the ancient Singhasari kingdom. It has an evil history. I won’t touch it, but Cooper favors that one. It’s failed him only once.” Vilyak gestured to his face, alluding to the scars and burns that had transformed Cooper’s pale features into a waxy mask.

“What happened to him?” asked Max suddenly. “I’ve never had the nerve to ask.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you the full story someday,” replied Vilyak. “I will say, however, that it’s related to why I brought you here this evening. You see, Max, we have many things in the vault of the Red Branch, but our most precious relic is broken. Cooper tried to fix it, but he failed. I think you might someday succeed. Would you like to see it?”

“What is it?” asked Max, his voice hoarse and dry.

“Have a look for yourself,” said Vilyak. “You know it far better than I.”

Max pressed forward. Gliding past an open chest of gold doubloons, he saw what Vilyak had intended him to find.

There, propped against a cracked wooden wheel, Max found a sharp spearhead attached to a thick length of gray, splintered bone. He knew in an instant that this barbed, murderous thing had been calling to him—beckoning him forward like a siren’s song.

Vilyak came to stand behind him.

“That, Max, is what remains of Cúchulain’s favorite weapon—his
gae bolga
. It is the greatest treasure that we of the Red Branch possess. As you can imagine, its pedigree and properties make it priceless.”

Max remembered the tales he’d read of Cúchulain. The spear was made from the bones of a sea monster and given to Cúchulain by those who lived beyond this world. According to the stories, it was a devastating weapon; a wound from the
gae bolga
was always fatal.

“Do you think you could use something like this?” asked Vilyak, his tone slow and cautious.

Max paused and considered the question, which hung suspended in the vault’s still air.

“I thought these things were reserved for the Red Branch,” replied Max, finally glancing back at the weapon. “I’d have to be a member, and you said there can be only twelve.”

“That’s true,” said Vilyak quietly, “but one among our ranks is retiring—too old now to be of creditable service. You are young, Max, but I have never seen one so gifted. You have already been blooded. Extraordinary times may necessitate exceptions, wouldn’t you agree?”

Max reached for the broken spear. He wanted to test the weight of it in his hand.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Ms. Richter’s voice shattered the tranquility of the vault. Max jerked back his hand and turned to see the Director in the vault’s doorway with arms folded and gray eyes ablaze, angrier than Max had ever seen her. Vilyak turned to face her.

“Explain yourself, Commander,” seethed Ms. Richter.

“Good evening, Gabrielle,” said Vilyak casually. “How nice to see you. I’d be happy to answer your question, but this vault is reserved for the Red Branch. If I were a stickler, I’d say you were trespassing. . . .”

Max’s jaw fell open. The Director stood absolutely still, her attention fixed on Vilyak, who returned her stare with a patient smile, his black eyes fathomless and unblinking. Ms. Richter cleared her throat.

“Max, you will step out of this vault immediately. Commander Vilyak, you are to return overseas at once and rendezvous with your squad in Paris. Another politician is missing, and there are power outages all over Europe. The situation is rapidly getting out of hand. You will take command of local field offices as you see fit.”

“Of course, Gabrielle,” said Vilyak, standing at attention and leading Max out of the vault. Ms. Richter stepped aside as Vilyak closed the vault door, then patted Max on the shoulder.

“Thanks for visiting with me, Max. I’ll see you later. Be good and study hard, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Max, shrinking under the laser-like focus of Ms. Richter’s keen eyes. Vilyak smiled and spun on his heel, making for the door without a parting glance or word for Ms. Richter. The Director watched him go, then turned to Max with a sigh.

“I look before me and see a student,” she said. “What does Commander Vilyak see?”

“I don’t know,” said Max, looking beyond her at the door’s red seal.

“I think you do, Max.”

“A recruit, I guess,” Max replied, his cheeks burning hot. “I’m sorry.”

Ms. Richter gave a gentle smile, her gray eyes shining silver as their crow’s-feet crinkled to tight creases. It was such a hard face, but Max thought she must have been quite beautiful when she was younger.

“You’re getting so big,” she said. “You’re almost as tall as I am now, and it’s only a year ago that I had to stoop to look at you. We’ve been through a lot this past year, haven’t we? I know I’ve been very busy, but it’s time we had a talk.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Max, exhaling now that he knew the Director was not angry with him. “But I should tell you that David’s found something important—he’s sitting right over there.”

Ms. Richter raised her eyebrows and walked toward David’s table with Max in tow. David was just pouring himself another cup of coffee while studying a golden talisman that he dangled from a finger.

“David,” groaned Ms. Richter, “how many times do I have to ask you not to drink coffee, much less bring it into the Archives?”

“I’m careful,” David said defensively, still examining the talisman. “And besides, I can’t stop—coffee is the greatest invention of all time!”

“Yes, well, as much as I’d love to debate the point, Max said you might have found something significant?”

“
Very
significant,” said David with a sober nod, “but I think we should talk somewhere else.”

Ms. Richter turned and narrowed her eyes at a nearby table of bearded scholars who were taking great pains to overhear their conversation.

“Very well,” said Ms. Richter. “Let’s move to one of the reading rooms.”

With just the slightest uplift of her finger, Ms. Richter raised David’s books and papers into the air. These followed behind the trio in a floating procession as the Director led Max and David into a snug little room off the second-floor balcony. The books and papers followed them inside, arranging themselves on a large table. Ms. Richter motioned for Max and David to sit in a pair of comfortable armchairs while she closed the door firmly behind them.

“Now,” she said, “what’s all this about? I didn’t think I could fit any more excitement into one day!”

“The witches are telling the truth—Bram
did
promise three people to them,” said David quietly. “But it gets worse.”

“Go on,” said Ms. Richter, her mouth a tight, straight line as she waited.

“The Book of Thoth exists, and he’s looking for it
right now,
” continued David, playing with the strange talisman that lay on his palm.

“
Who
exactly is looking for it?” asked Ms. Richter.

“Astaroth,” whispered David. “But it gets even
worse
!”

“David, would you please tell me what
is
the worst of it?” snapped Ms. Richter.

“Bram hid the book away, but one other person knew how to find it. . . .”

David glanced at Max and an icy, sinking sensation began to pool in Max’s belly.

“Let me guess,” said Max. “Marley Augur.”

“Marley Augur,” confirmed David with an ironic smile. “Strange as it sounds, though, we actually have Augur to thank for tipping us off that the book’s in danger. He made this for Bram before he turned traitor.”

David held out the talisman, a golden disk on a slender chain engraved with an eight-pointed sun. Max squinted as David cupped it in his hands. The sun was giving off an unmistakable glow, as though a firefly were trapped inside it.

“The talisman indicates if the book is safe from Astaroth,” said David. “According to Bram, it shines if the book’s in danger—can you see it glowing?”

“Yes,” said Ms. Richter, peering intently at it. “How have you come to know all this?”

“I found a letter from Bram,” said David. “It was filed away with a bunch of other papers under ‘Indecipherable.’ ”

“So how did you manage to decode it?” asked Ms. Richter.

“Thanks to Maya,” replied David, referring to his charge, a gazelle-like creature called an ulu. Reaching into his sweater pocket, David produced the mysterious vial of silvery liquid and a slim paintbrush. “These are a few drops of Maya’s blood,” he explained. “An ulu’s blood can be used to translate just about anything if it’s brushed over the words and the proper spells are spoken. That’s one of the reasons ulus are so rare—they were hunted down by Mystics and scholars, so now they’re almost extinct. What those awful people learned the hard way, though, is that the ulu has to give its blood willingly. If you take it by force, its composition changes to a very strong acid—strong enough to burn through whatever precious text its captors wanted to translate.”

“I see,” said Ms. Richter, glancing at the vial.

David began digging impatiently through the pile of loose papers and maps until he procured a delicate, yellowed piece of parchment. He thrust it at Ms. Richter.

“Director,” said David, “whatever happens with the witches, we have to get the book before Astaroth. Nothing else is more important!”

Ms. Richter took the parchment from David, holding it by the corners as she scanned it several times. With a brief nod, she handed the letter to Max. He blinked at the parchment’s dense grid of black-inked symbols. It was utterly incomprehensible until slowly, gradually, silvery words bobbed to the surface and made the message clear.