Rise of the Arcane Fire (The Secret Order) (8 page)

Fighting the urge to fidget, I waited as Bob adjusted the harness on his old gray gelding. Then he helped me up into the cart. “Good luck tonight.” The old man smiled as if he were proud of me. For the first time in weeks, I felt I could breathe. Bob gave me a nod. “I’ll be there for you when it’s over. Don’t be too late, or Mother will worry.”

I smiled at him as he snapped the reins, and then the old cart clattered down the streets of Mayfair under the fading sun. It took a frightfully long time to cross London, and Bob’s gelding wasn’t a sprightly horse, to say the least. I looked around to pass the time.

Old London in the light of day didn’t seem as bad as it had when I had first made this journey. Even the scent of the Thames wasn’t quite so overpowering. I listened to the call of the birds on the docks. The streets were crowded, full of the hustle and bustle of London.

A deep and unmistakable sense of foreboding overcame me, and I touched Bob on the arm. “Is that cab following us?” I whispered. It seemed to have been behind us an unnatural amount of time.

He stole a look over his shoulder and frowned. “I wouldn’t worry about it, miss.”

“Need I remind you that someone wants me dead?” I risked another quick glance, but from that distance the driver looked like a heap of dark clothing behind an equally dark horse. I strained to see if a clockwork mask covered his face, but it was no use.

“We’ll see if he follows on the next corner.” Bob urged the poor old horse faster as we turned down some of the narrow lanes. The evening sun grew darker and the shadows of the buildings loomed, while the clatter of the cart wheels rang in my ears.

I kept looking behind me, but the cab was gone.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm the worst of my fears. As soon as I reached the Academy, I’d be safe.

Finally we arrived at the old monastery. In the light the building seemed less ominous than the last time I had visited, but to my surprise Bob drove right past it. He turned down a narrow alley that ended at a large brick wall about twenty feet in front of us. Facing the dead end caused a sudden flash of panic. I felt trapped, and I looked back over my shoulder, expecting to see the man with the clockwork mask standing behind me with his pistol.

But there was nothing.

I was being a ninny.

“Why would you drive us here?” I asked him.

He winked at me. “It’s not just inventors who are sworn members of the Order. We servants have a Guild of our own.”

Using an old cane, Bob tapped a hanging lamp to his left. A voice emerged from it.

“Is it market day?” It sounded squeaky, like a rabbit speaking into a tin cup.

“Oi, carry the fat cabbage back to the house,” Bob replied. I tried not to giggle nervously at the ridiculous password as the phantom mice seemed to run up and down my back. I should have realized certain servants would have had to be sworn to secrecy as well.

Suddenly what had been the solid brick street split before us, dropping down and sliding beneath the piles of old crates on either side of the narrow alley with surprisingly little noise. Beneath the false street a long ramp descended, leading to the underground carriage bay I had seen before.

Thank God, Bob’s old gelding was nearly as old as Mrs. Brindle and half-blind. The sweet old horse plodded down the ramp as if nothing unusual had just happened. When we reached the bottom of the ramp leading up to the courtyard, Bob helped me down and then tipped his hat before driving off.

In the dim light of the carriage bay, I took one deep breath, then headed up the ramp to the courtyard to meet my fate as an apprentice.

About ten boys stood in small groups laughing and taunting one another. Some were older, nearing nineteen years or so, and some looked closer to my age, not much more than sixteen.

All the conversation stopped as I walked forward from the carriage bay. Frankly, having conversations cease as soon as I entered was becoming quite tiresome. I searched the boys for any familiar face. In the far corner of the courtyard, near the aviary where Will had proposed to me, an older boy with dark skin and a strange cloth turban knotted at the top of his head stood in the shadows, watching.

I averted my eyes, not wishing to stare, and recognized someone at once. His name was Noah, and his father had often brought him into my family’s shop. My father used to instruct me to entertain him as the adults talked. He was as lanky as ever, with long arms and wide hands. He had tamed his thick curling hair with a balm and stood proudly and stiffly. As the twisting feeling in my center tightened, I hurried to Noah’s side.

“Hello, Noah,” I greeted.

“You know the girl?” one of his friends exclaimed with a gleeful look on his face, as if he’d just won a round of cards. He laughed then, and I felt my face flush hot. Noah glared at me.

“Quiet, Jorgen.” Noah didn’t look at me, nor did it seem he would address me at all. “We knew each other as children.”

I steeled myself, determined to find a place in one of the circles so I wouldn’t have to hide in the shadows like the boy in the turban.

The towheaded boy named Jorgen held his sides as he laughed, and Noah grabbed me by the arm. He forced me a step back, then said in a furious tone, “See here, Meg. I promised my father I’d try to help protect your reputation, but we are not friends. Understand? I’m not going to help you, and I’m not going to let you hold me back.”

Stunned, I retreated toward the ramp, not knowing where to turn, or where to take shelter. Noah was supposed to be a friend. I had become like a strange creature in a menagerie as the boys turned furtive glances at me. It felt as if every word they spoke were about me. I just wanted to wither away, to become something insignificant.

I found myself in a corner by the entrance to the monastery, watching the boys and imagining the worst as more and more of them strode confidently up the ramp from the hidden carriage drive.

I had never felt so alone in all my life.

“Don’t worry about them,” someone said near my left. I gasped and turned to see a boy with a round face. He unfortunately seemed the type who would always hold on to a vestige of youth. He had soft-looking brown hair near in shade to mine that fell over his brow in a careless way. “We’re not here for them.”

“That’s true,” I said, thankful that I had someone to talk with. My heart still hadn’t settled. I wasn’t sure if it ever would. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Meg Whitlock.”

He smiled shyly. “I think we all know who you are. I’m Peter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter.” Some of the strain I had felt began to ease, though I wondered why Peter had separated himself out from the rest of the groups as well. At least he was polite.

Just then a large pack of young men ascended the ramp, laughing and joking with one another. The crowd parted, and a tall and handsome young man with a smart red waistcoat and a neat black coat adjusted his lapels and beamed at the group. He had golden-blond hair and the air of a boy who felt he had no limits and expected attention as a matter of course.

I frowned as I watched the others in the courtyard. Like a magnet he attracted them. They couldn’t help but turn and pay attention as he walked past. In his wake a small group followed like altar boys at the hem of the bishop. I couldn’t figure what he could have done to deserve such adulation, and I found myself quite vexed, though I didn’t know precisely why.

“Who is he?” I asked, not really intending the question to be answered. I wasn’t sure why I cared, other than something about the way he only grinned out of one side of his mouth bothered me. That, and he looked familiar.

“You mean you don’t know?” Peter looked appalled. “How can you be female and not know?”

“Should I be insulted?” I turned to Peter, and his shyness overcame him.

“That’s David.” Peter let out what sounded like a sigh.

Perfect, as if David’s type needed a fatter head. Of course he was named David, the glorious young king of the Bible, chosen by God himself. How fitting. I gave Peter a wary glance, suspicious there was more to this story. “David who?”

“David Archibald Harrington, Earl of Strompton.”

Oh, dear Lord. He was Lucinda’s brother.

He looked just like his father. No wonder I didn’t like him. I seemed to be in the minority. Even Noah followed in his wake, though the Earl of Strompton didn’t seem to notice him.

Unfortunately, he did notice me.

His pale eyes met mine, and I felt trapped for a moment as he carefully considered me. Then he came forward.

I tried to appear interested in something else, anything, as he approached. Peter looked as if he were trying to become part of the wall. David sauntered up to us as though he were cock of the walk.

“Miss Whitlock,” the young earl greeted me. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

If there was one phrase I wished never to hear again, that was it. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same. You are?” I tried for my sweetest smile as Peter raised a fist to his mouth and coughed.

To David’s credit he replied, “David Harrington.” He eyed me warily. “I’m hurt my sister Lucinda hasn’t mentioned me.”

I gave a casual shrug, doing my best to mask my sudden nervousness. “I’m afraid the subject never presented itself.”

We had now gathered a large crowd. Indeed, now that our meeting time approached, the entire class of apprentices seemed to be huddled around David and me.

The crowd made me uneasy, and I feared I was doing myself no favors by needling the one boy in the group who had some semblance of power among the others.

A large and bulky boy with thick black hair and close-set eyes let out a low laugh that sounded more like a warning. “So this is the illustrious Miss Whitlock.” His lip curled as he looked me up and down as though I were some broodmare at market. “I don’t see what the fuss is about.”

My heart pounded harder. While David might have irritated me out of principle, this boy scared me.

“She has a certain potential,” David countered with that half-mouth grin that I supposed he felt was rakish or charming. I glanced around, but there was no escape. They literally had me with my back to a wall.

“Leave her alone,” Peter said, moving closer beside me. I felt grateful for him. I hardly knew him, but he was the only boy so far who had extended me any sort of courtesy.

The dark-haired boy laughed. “Are you her nanny, Peter?” A low rumble of chuckles answered from the crowd. “At least her reputation is safe with you, eh?”

More laughter broke out, and Peter flushed.

“Sam.” David crossed his arms.

“What? What can a girl possibly learn? Nothing.” He laughed again, though it reminded me of a dog growling. My anger tightened my throat, and I fought to regain the power to speak. He sneered at me again. “Unless she wants to learn how to please her future husband. In that case, I’m sure we’d all be glad to tutor her.”

The laughter frightened me now. I searched for a way to regain my sense of self as all the boys around me stared at me like a pack of dogs.

“Samuel, enough,” David said, but he didn’t bother to look at me. “You’ll invite trouble from the headmaster.”

“Honestly!” Samuel shouted to the crowd. “I bet the only pi she knows is in the kitchen!”

I took a step forward with my head held high. Righteous fury burned through me, and I did my best to imitate the daunting presence of the queen herself. In a sweet voice I said, “You’re right, I do keep pies in the kitchen.” The laughter died down as everyone looked to me. “Exactly three and one, four, one, five, nine, two, six, five, three, two, four, nine, seven, one . . .” His eyes widened, and I knew I had him. “Four, eight, five, one, three, seven, nine, two, four, two . . .”

The laughter now turned in my favor as the crowd of boys began making taunting sounds toward the brute and whistling their encouragement. I must confess, I had only memorized the first eight digits of pi, thanks to Simon’s writings. After that I was just making things up. Apparently, I was quite convincing. “Shall I go on?”

Even David shook his head in amusement as he slapped his friend Samuel on the shoulder. The burly young man had turned as red as a radish, and was probably just as sour. David gave me an assessing gaze that made me uncomfortable. “Never enter a duel without knowing your opponent,” he said to Samuel, though he didn’t break his gaze from mine.

I couldn’t determine what it was about him that made me want to kick him soundly, but my toe twitched to do it.

Just then the large doors that led into the monastery opened. Five men stood in the doorway wearing dark scarlet robes with hoods, like old monks.

The one in the middle lifted his head, and I recognized his monocle. He had been the one to lead me into the main hall of the Order during the Gathering.

He lifted a long black staff.

“Welcome to the Secret Order of Modern Amusementists!” He let the staff fall to the stone with a loud crack.

THE BOYS FELL SILENT, AND
I felt an unwanted shiver race over my shoulders and arms as I lifted my chin and tried not to appear nervous.

“You are about to enter hallowed halls of science and imagination,” the man with the monocle announced. I vaguely recalled someone referring to him as Nigel at the Gathering. “Within this sanctuary of the mind, we expect the impossible, and we demand perfection. We will hone the best and brightest among you and lead you to your rightful place within the Order. Only then will you know what it means to bear the honor of calling yourself an Amusementist. As for the rest, should you fail, you will always be no more than a child within the Order and a scourge upon your family name.”

One of the boys coughed. I spared a glance, and judging by the wan faces on the others, I was not the only apprentice who suddenly felt pressure. Peter’s face had turned a rare shade, and he looked as if he might take ill and loose the contents of his stomach upon the ground.

“Follow me,” the Amusementist announced, and turned away from us with a sweep of his dark red robes. The boys pushed forward, falling into a neat queue, and I found myself between Peter and a stocky young man with chestnut hair.