The Second Siege (9 page)

Max handed the letter back to Ms. Richter, who slipped it carefully into an archival box. David reached out to hand her the talisman, but Ms. Richter shook her head.

“No, David, I’d like you to hold on to that just now. You’ve done some excellent work, and I can’t think of anyone whom I’d rather have in possession of that talisman for the time being. Have you committed this letter to memory?”

“Yes, Director,” said David.

“Good, because I need to take the original and share it with several colleagues immediately. I’d like you to begin working on Bram’s Riddle and see if you can make sense of it. I’ll be working on it, too. The witches arrive in two weeks’ time. Given the circumstances, I am going to invite others to that meeting.”

“Are we going off with the witches, Ms. Richter? Should we pack our things?” asked David with just a tiny hint of humor.

“Not just yet, David,” said Ms. Richter with a weary smile. “I would ask that you have faith. And Max?” Ms. Richter looked at the dark-haired boy as she stopped at the door.

“Yes, Ms. Richter?”

“I would ask that you have patience,” said the Director softly. “Your greatness shines for all to see, but the Red Branch is not for one so young. They are invaluable and we honor them, but theirs is grim and solitary work. I would spare you such a life until you’re of an age to choose for yourself. Commander Vilyak is an excellent Agent, but he is ambitious and ambition can cloud even the finest judgment. No one else can wield the weapon of Cúchulain . . . it will be waiting for you when you’re ready. Goodnight.”

Max and David said goodnight as Ms. Richter closed the door behind her. David tapped the talisman with his finger, squinting at the sun on its face.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Max, digesting Ms. Richter’s words. “Vilyak showed me a vault and some weapons, and Ms. Richter thinks he’s trying to recruit me.”

“Is he?” asked David, glancing up from the talisman.

“I guess he is,” sighed Max.

“Beware the flatterers of the world,” said David, wagging his finger, “for what is music to the ears may be poison to the soul.”

“Who said that?” asked Max.

“I did,” said David, his eyes twinkling as he reached for a book on German history.

Max shook his head and stood up from his chair.

“Are you going to be here all night working on the Riddle?”

“Yes indeed,” said David, thumbing through the book. “I’ll be here until the witches throw me in a sack and cart me away.”

“Don’t even joke,” said Max, poking his head out of the reading room to glance at the door to the Archives. “Do you think those shedu will eat me if I leave here alone?”

“I don’t think so,” said David, stifling a yawn. “They’re more concerned with who gets in than who gets out. Do you want me to walk you up?”

“No,” said Max, gazing out the door and up at the frescoes high above. “I’ll be fine. If you find anything out, tell me right away—even if I’m sleeping.”

“Will do,” said David, giving a little wave before burying his nose back in his book.

Max hurried out of the Archives, past the stony shedu, and up the many stairs to emerge once more in the gloom of Room 313. By the time he arrived back at his room, he noticed that the door was ajar by the tiniest of slivers. Walking cautiously inside, Max saw Connor lounging with his textbooks by the fireplace on the lower level. On the table stood Mr. Sikes, dressed impeccably as ever and clasping his hands expectantly.

“Go away,” Max murmured. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Just ignore me,” purred Mr. Sikes, raising a tiny finger to his lips.

Max would have argued, but the hound was almost upon him, bigger than a horse and smelling of wet fur and earth. Its great, panting head loomed above Max. Holding his breath, Max braced himself for the question that he knew would come.

“What are you about? Answer quick or I’ll gobble you up!”

Max hesitated.

True to its word, the hound’s jaws yawned open and Max was swallowed up in one great gulp. He shut his eyes as the hound’s teeth crunched closed behind him. For several dizzying moments his body seemed to slide, limp and languid, down the beast’s gullet and into the soft, spongy bed of its belly.

When Max opened his eyes, he glimpsed that Mr. Sikes was still watching from the safety of the alder tree. A low growl sounded from Max’s throat; he swung his heavy head full round to glower upon the little imp. Mr. Sikes retreated farther into the shadows.

Shifting his weight, Max dug a massive paw into the soft earth.

With a sudden pop Mr. Sikes transformed into a field mouse and fled up the path in a series of zigzagging hops. Max gave a roar and chased after, running with terrible speed on his four legs as the mouse made for the lights of the house.

The intrusive imp was not nearly quick enough.

Mr. Sikes had gained the front steps when Max overtook him, seizing the mouse in his jaws as his momentum brought them both crashing against the door. Scrambling to his feet, Max growled and gave the mouse a sudden shake, tossing its body far out onto the wet grass.

The door opened behind him, and light streamed out onto the lawn, spotlighting the small, still form of the mouse.

“Max, what have you done?”

Max whirled at the sound of his mother’s voice. She stood in the open doorway, hand in hand with his father. She was just as he remembered her. Max felt a sudden stab of longing to come inside the house and join them.

Something in his mother’s features stopped him, however. Her dark eyes widened as she raised a trembling hand and pointed beyond him. Max turned to look again at the lifeless lump of Mr. Sikes, but the mouse was gone.

There, on the grass, lay the curled, broken body of Alex Muñoz.

Max screamed.

He awoke to see David standing by his bed, holding a lamp and looking frightened.

“You were dreaming,” his roommate said. “You’re okay, you know.”

“Sure,” croaked Max, blinking at the twinkling constellations and the lamp’s reflection in the glass dome. He flung the sweat-soaked sheets away from him and propped himself against the headboard. The disturbing details of his dream, so vivid a moment earlier, began to fade. He was almost certain, however, that he had seen Mr. Sikes. Max had no idea why the imp would have been visiting his dreams, but he was strangely loath to share the incident with David.

“It’s past four,” whispered David. “The witches will be here soon. I’m going to watch for them if you want to come.”

Max swung his legs over the bed with a nod and minutes later the two were creeping down the dormitory’s hallway, wrapped in sweaters and blankets to guard against the morning chill. They found a suitable perch in a cozy nook on the third floor where lead-paned windows looked out onto the front lawn and drive. There was no hint of sun outside, just a dull wash of chalky gray that extended to the horizon. Max rested his forehead against the cool window.

“How’s the Riddle coming?” asked Max, fogging the glass while David studied a small slip of paper.

David shrugged.

“Some of it is easy. ‘Beneath where Teuton kings were crowned’ is obviously a reference to Frankfurt, Germany. Frankfurt’s where German rulers were elected and it’s the headquarters for the Workshop. The other stuff is a little trickier.”

“What does the Frankfurt Workshop have to do with it?” asked Max.

“They’re not Rowan,” said David, flicking the paper with his finger. “And I think that’s
exactly
why Bram would have left a piece of the puzzle with them. He obviously thought the Book of Thoth is dangerous—he’d want to ensure that no one person or group could get it by themselves. By scattering the means of reaching it, he’d ensure it could be obtained only through cooperation, and that’s likely only if the book’s really in danger. It’s pretty smart, actually—”

David cut his sentence short and stood up to gaze out the window as a dozen crows suddenly flew from the direction of the gate. The birds circled and wheeled before skimming over the grounds to perch on Maggie’s roof. Several moments later a team of four black horses emerged from the dark wood, pulling an ornate red coach. The coach eased its way across the gray landscape until it came to a stop near the fountain below them. The horses tossed their heads, rolled their eyes, and breathed great clouds of steam, but the gleaming carriage remained closed and shuttered.

“It’s like a jewelry box,” whispered David, pressing his nose to the glass.

Max saw someone hurry down the Manse’s front steps. It was Miss Boon, wrapped in a blue shawl and looking miserable. She stopped before the coach and gave a low, solemn bow. A red door promptly opened, and four hooded shapes slipped out to follow the young Mystics instructor inside. David turned from the window and stepped quickly down the hall.

“Now that they’re here, we’ll have to hurry,” he said. “Come with me.”

“Where?” asked Max.

“To the clock tower,” David replied, scurrying away. “There’s something I have to do, and I might not get the chance later.”

“But they’ll be coming to get us soon!” hissed Max.

“That’s why we have to hurry!” whispered David, disappearing around the corner.

Minutes later, Max understood why Miss Boon had looked so glum. It was a raw, wet morning, and he shivered as he stamped the morning dew off his slippers and braced himself against the gusts that swirled about Old Tom. Max and David stood on a fenced balcony just outside the clock’s face, obscuring its hands of weathered copper as they clutched the railing some 150 feet above the gray-green lawns below.

“What are we
doing
up here?” asked Max, his teeth chattering.

David ignored him and arched his back over the railing to squint up at the tower’s sharp-pitched roof.

“Can you give me a boost up there?” he asked.

Max craned his neck at the steep angle of the roof and its slick, wet shingles, then looked at his clumsy roommate. Even a mountain goat would have difficulty navigating that roof.

“Are you crazy?” he asked. “You’ll slip right off!”

“You’re probably right,” mused David. “Higher is better, but I guess this will have to do.”

“Do for what?” asked Max, pulling his blanket closer as a particularly furious gust came whipping in off the sea.

David did not answer him, but instead leaned far out over the balcony and raised a hand toward the ocean, whose gray waves crashed and sent high plumes of spray into the morning air. To Max’s surprise, his roommate began to sing a soft, lilting song.

It was not like any song Max had heard before. The words were strange, as were the notes that periodically dipped unexpectedly or jumped to another key altogether. Max ignored the wind that howled and raged about him. He felt warm and content, losing himself in the hypnotic song that tempted him to sleep and drift along with the world’s storms and currents until his body would unravel at last and become a bit of stone or sea.

A mist rose slowly from the ocean. Tatters of fog came sweeping over the cliffs to run like swift rivers along the walkways and gardens. Soon, a layer of mist, as soft and white as lamb’s wool, blanketed the grounds and treetops. By the time David’s voice trailed into silence, Max could hear that a crowd had awakened and gathered in front of Old Tom. As though shaken from a trance, David opened his eyes and suddenly raised his arms like a conductor. There was a low roar and the mist swirled clockwise, forming a great funnel at its center that expanded outward like the eye of a hurricane.

Max heard several startled shouts followed by the distant opening and closing of doors and windows. People had been gathering far below, but now they scattered as the mist was pushed out to the edges of the campus, rising higher and higher until it seemed Rowan had been uprooted and set within the clouds, hidden and secret from the world.

The sound of hard, hurried footsteps came from the tower’s stairwell; a moment later Miss Boon’s head burst into view. The young Mystics instructor was out of breath, her short brown hair clinging to her round face. She glanced at Max before narrowing her eyes at David.

“What have you done?” she asked sharply.

“I’ve hidden us,” said David wearily. “The old spells were fading. No enemies will be able to find us now—by map, by road, or by sea. Rowan has disappeared.”

Miss Boon stepped out onto the balcony and gazed out at the grounds and the towering dome of white mist that rose hundreds of feet into the air, filtering the rays of the morning sun that now peeped above the horizon like a sliver of gold.

“Go back down, David,” she sighed, wiping condensation from her glasses. “We’ll talk about this later. You too, Max. You’re both to dress in your formal uniforms and wait in your room until Cooper comes for you. You are to do
nothing
else until that happens. Lord knows how the witches will seek to profit by this!”

Max and David slinked back inside and crept down the stairs, past the clock’s gears and chimes, which smelled of oil and age. There was a large crowd gathered outside the steps.

“What did you do?” shouted one angry student.

“Make it go away!” called another.

“Make
them
go away!” screeched Anna Lundgren, stabbing a finger at Max.

“That’s quite enough,” commanded Miss Boon as she shepherded Max and David through the dense throng of bewildered students, scholars, and faculty. Max felt a tug on his sleeve and looked up to see a pretty girl with brown hair and freckles clutching a camera.

Max merely blinked at the unfamiliar girl before he was promptly swept along by Miss Boon and the curious crowd that closed in behind them. They were marched up the broad stairs and down the long hall to their room. Mr. McDaniels was waiting inside.

The knock came sooner than expected. Max answered the door, clean and scrubbed in his pressed Rowan uniform. David and Max’s father came up the steps to find Cooper standing in the doorway.

“It’s time,” said the Agent softly. “The Director requests that you say nothing at all during the proceedings. It is important that you agree to this. Can the Director have your word?”

“Some kind of nerve,” huffed Mr. McDaniels. “We’re supposed to sit still like church mice while a bunch of strangers and witches decide our fate?”

“That’s correct,” said Cooper with a stoic nod. “If you don’t like the terms, you can wait here and someone will inform you of the outcome.”

“No,” said David quickly. “We want to go—we can be quiet.”

“No matter what?” Cooper asked.

“No matter what,” replied Max.

Cooper led David and the McDanielses down many stairs, far below the Manse’s dining hall and kitchens, until they reached a long hallway lined with polished suits of armor from various ages and civilizations. Max was surprised to see government security personnel in black suits standing outside the door along with a handful of Rowan Agents. They stood aside and opened a gleaming wooden door as Cooper approached.

“Remember your promise,” Cooper warned as he ushered them inside.

Max felt his father’s comforting hand on his shoulder as he stood on the threshold of a large room with a high chandeliered ceiling and an enormous circular table of malachite at its center. Some two dozen people sat around the table and many more were seated in chairs at the room’s periphery. All were staring at Max and David. Cooper led them to three seats along the far wall, in between Miss Boon and Nigel Bristow, the man who had recruited Max to Rowan. Max tried to return Nigel’s smile, but he felt numb inside as Ms. Richter stood to commence the proceedings. He soon learned that there were not only representatives of Rowan and the witches in attendance but also members of the Frankfurt Workshop and senior officials from a dozen governments.

“It has been nearly one thousand years since these three Orders have sat at table together,” began Ms. Richter, “and I am grateful to all who have come. This meeting is born of grave necessity, and I hope that today we might transcend old feuds and grievances and unite in common purpose to face the peril before us. From beyond the grave Elias Bram has warned us of this danger, and it is his Riddle that troubles me today—
not
his Oath, which has brought our sisters on such a long journey.”

An ancient witch in a black frock, her skin covered with those same strange symbols, rose to her feet. She was older than Dame Mala, with steel-gray hair and amethyst eyes that were now narrowed at Ms. Richter.

“What trickery is this?” demanded the witch in a hoarse voice, stabbing a ringed finger at the Director. “We are here for our rightful due and will not have our demands so lightly cast aside!”