The Second Siege (37 page)

“You can’t,” said Cooper quietly. “The Binding Scroll won’t permit it.”

“There must be a way,” insisted Max.

“You’re to do nothing that endangers you or David,” said Cooper coldly. “Never forget the order I gave you: you are to protect David Menlo and keep him alive at all costs.”

“David and I got the Book,” said Max. “The DarkMatter operation is over.”

Cooper shook his head and pulled his coat closer about him.

“The order stands.”

Old Tom rang the noon chimes, startling a pair of crows into flight. People streamed toward the Manse, where lunch would be served in the dining hall. Max watched them go: parents, grandparents, students, and siblings filing toward the broad stone steps. He glanced hopelessly toward the sea, which was a hazy gray beyond David’s veil where seagulls called like ghosts.

“What are we going to do, Cooper?”

“I don’t know yet,” said the Agent. “I’ll know more when I get my instructions. In the meantime, you’re to do nothing that suggests disloyalty to Vilyak. It could be very dangerous to you and your family.”

“My mother’s here, you know,” said Max. “David and I found her in the Sidh. Actually, she found us.”

“I heard,” said Cooper, his voice softening.

“She said you two used to be sweethearts,” said Max.

“That was a long time ago,” said Cooper quietly.

“I’m going to see her now,” said Max. “Will you come?”

The Agent hesitated, touching his fingertips to the many scars and patches of taut skin that marred his once-handsome face.

“I will.”

Mrs. McDaniels and Isis were dozing when Max and Cooper entered the healing ward. The visitors had departed, leaving Peter Varga and Mr. McDaniels in quiet conversation. Upon seeing Cooper, Mr. McDaniels dropped his soup spoon. He stood quickly and crossed to the door to shake the Agent’s hand.

“Just now, and very carefully,” replied the Agent. “It’s good to see you again, Scott.”

“Is that William?” called Bryn McDaniels from the bed. Max’s spirits sank at the sound of her voice; it had weakened to little more than a sigh.

“It is,” said Cooper, removing his cap and clutching it between his fingers. He approached tentatively, stopping several feet away.

“Come closer so I can see you,” croaked Mrs. McDaniels, stroking Isis’s sleek coat.

Cooper cleared his throat and kneeled by the bedside.

“There you are,” she said, her eyes searching the ruins of Cooper’s face. “I am so happy to see you, William. I want to thank you for protecting my boys.”

“It was my honor, Deirdre,” said Cooper, letting her touch his scars and the taut patches of shiny skin.

“Long time,” said Bryn McDaniels.

“Twenty-five years,” said Cooper.

“Much longer than that,” said Mrs. McDaniels with a twinkle as she glanced at her frail hands. “Where is my son?”

“I’m here, Mom,” said Max, walking round to take his father’s seat.

“Good,” she said, turning slowly to look at him. “Sit with me for a bit, Max. Your father was reading me my Tennyson before I dozed off like a silly girl. Maybe he’ll read some more?”

“Of course,” said Mr. McDaniels, sitting on the edge of a cot and plucking up a book covered with worn brown leather. He put on his reading glasses and thumbed through the yellowed pages, stopping at a sliver of green ribbon. As he read, his deep, soothing voice conjured images of myrrh thickets and Arabian nights and the sorrowful Lady of Shalott, while Max held his mother’s hand and Cooper kneeled at her side. Peter Varga sat in silence, his fingers knitted atop his cane while the poems wove their magic. Max watched the black gloss of Isis’s fur rise and fall in a steady rhythm while the hour passed, measured in faint ticks by the clock on the mantel.

Max felt a tiny pressure, an infinitesimal squeeze from his mother’s hand as the poem ended. He glanced at her face. Bryn McDaniels lay in tranquil repose, her eyes closed in a gentle smile while she clutched her charge to her breast. Isis had stopped breathing and Max knew, in an instant of agonizing clarity, that both had passed. Removing his mother’s hand from his own, he kissed it and laid it gently on the quilt.

“She’s gone,” he said.

“Hmmm?” asked his father, licking his thumb and turning the page.

“She’s gone, Dad,” said Max.

Cooper stood and made way for Max’s father. Scott McDaniels bent close, gently feeling for her pulse while he smoothed a few stray hairs from her forehead. Carefully sliding Tennyson’s poems beneath her arm, he turned to them. His eyes were filled with tears, but he managed a smile.

“I—I want to thank you for being here at the end,” he stammered. “I’m so happy that my Bryn was able to pass in a soft bed surrounded by people she loved. To even see her again . . . well, it’s more than I’d hoped for these past few years.”

Peter Varga and Cooper stood to pay their respects to Max and his father. Before leaving, Cooper paused in the doorway and looked upon Bryn McDaniels one last time. His eyes flicked to Max and the Agent touched two fingers to his forehead in a farewell salute.

Scott McDaniels hugged his son tight and whispered that Max should go. Max nodded and walked quietly to the door. His father sat heavily at the foot of the bed while the Moomenhovens busied themselves with bandages and bowls of camphor oil.

David was in their room when Max entered, sitting cross-legged on his bed with the Book of Origins.

“That man was just here looking for you,” said David.

“Who?” asked Max, shutting the door.

“Vilyak,” said David. “Where have you been?”

“With my mom,” Max whispered. “She died just now.”

David closed the Book and looked at Max, his small face looking very adult as he studied Max with an expression of concern and sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, Max.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked David.

“No,” said Max, making his way toward his end of the room, where his sleigh bed was waiting. On the comforter was the folded tapestry that held the shards of Cúchulain’s spear. Max moved it to the foot of the bed and removed Lorca’s shirt of nanomail. Climbing between the sheets, Max pulled the covers to his chin, gazed up at the constellations, and assured himself that one more star now flickered bright among them.

A knock woke Max from sleep. He glanced at his watch; it was almost dinnertime. He heard David’s footsteps patter to the door.

David opened the door and Max could hear him speaking quietly with someone in the hallway. His roommate closed it once again and walked softly to Max’s side of the room.

“It’s Connor and the others,” he said. “They brought you dinner. Should I send them away?”

“No,” said Max, sitting up. He climbed from his bed and padded downstairs to throw on a sweater. Splashing water on his face, he looked hard at himself in the mirror before walking back upstairs to open the door. Connor stood outside with Sarah, Cynthia, and Lucia.

“Hi,” said Max.

“We came as soon as we heard,” said Sarah, hugging Max tightly. The others followed suit and filed in, bringing plates and bags and silverware. Cynthia set the table downstairs while Connor got a fire going.

“How is your father doing?” asked Sarah, wiping a tear away with her palm.

“He’ll be okay,” said Max.

“It is beautiful that you saw her again,” said Lucia decisively.

“It was,” said Max, smiling.

David walked over and returned the necklace that Cynthia had given them before they had stolen Bram’s Key from the Archives.

“Ha!” said Cynthia, kissing the necklace and clasping it around her neck. “I knew I would get this back! And where has she been on her travels?”

“And how long has she been traveling?” asked Sarah thoughtfully, looking at Max, who had gained several inches on the tall Nigerian girl. Max felt self-conscious as their attention turned to him and the fading scars that laced his older-looking features.

“Far away and a long time,” said David, piping up on Max’s behalf. “We might have been there forever if it hadn’t been for Mrs. McDaniels.”

“Is that true?” asked Sarah.

“It is,” said Max quietly. “We never would have found the Book or made it home without her.”

“I suppose Richter’s got it?” asked Connor, glancing quickly at Max. “The precious book that’s got everyone whispering?”

“No,” said David. “She wanted me to keep it safe.”

“You’ve got it
here
?” asked Connor incredulously.

David nodded and pointed to his bed, where its golden cover could be seen peeking from beneath a fold of his comforter. Connor whistled and shook his head.

“All the world’s dirty little secrets and they’re just a-lyin’ on an unmade bed.”

“There’s nothing
dirty
about them,” said David defensively. “They’re beautiful.”

“Figure of speech, Davie,” quipped Connor with a wink. “Let’s go eat, eh?”

The boys and girls went downstairs and had supper together by the fire. As they ate, Max and David shared tales of the Sidh with their friends and Max was happy to laugh along with the others at David’s stories from his days in the cobbler’s shop. One involved a customer who apparently suffered from a forgetfulness curse and arrived at the shop each morning, loudly protesting that he’d been swindled, having paid for shoes he never received. The problem, of course, was that he had received them already and was, in fact, wearing them. Connor chuckled between bites of mashed potato.

“And he showed up each day?”

“Every single day,” said David wearily. “He was really punctual, actually. Each morning, the cobbler and I would wager on whether he’d use old insults or invent new ones.”

“And what would you tell ’im when he came in?” asked Connor.

“That we sympathized with his frustration, but certainly the excellent gentleman was in error and had forgotten that he had already taken possession of the shoes for which he had paid. We had a signed receipt to that effect and further proof was on his feet.”

“And what would he say to that?” asked Cynthia, passing a bowl of green beans.

“Oh, he’d start to laugh and ask us if we thought him such a fool as to believe a crafty urchin who was clearly in league with the Evil One, as I have only a left hand, you see. ‘Downright sinister!’ he’d declare, and make the sign against evil. . . . Ooh!” said David, suddenly scanning the goodies the other had brought. “You didn’t happen to bring coffee, did you?”

Sarah produced a thermos with a grin of triumph.

“Ah!” said David, twiddling his fingers with glee as she poured him a cup. “May the sun shine upon your splendid bosom in all eight kingdoms, Sarah lass!”

“David!” cried Cynthia as Sarah’s mouth gaped in shock. David blushed furiously.

“Sorry,” he squeaked. “It’s just my bad translation of an old Sidh expression.”

“Hmmm,” said Sarah, raising an eyebrow and flicking Connor, who practically slid off his chair with laughter.

“Aw, Davie,” said Connor, shaking his head. “We’re gonna miss ya.”

Max glanced sharply at Connor.

“I’m right here, Connor,” said David. “No need to miss me.”

“I meant we
have
missed you,” corrected Connor, sitting up straight and reaching for a cookie. “It’s a good thing that spell of yours kept us all hidden while you and Max were off in the Sidh,” he said, deftly changing the topic.

“It’ll stay until I dispel it,” said David, happily sipping his coffee. “Even if I’m elsewhere.”

“Must be a complicated bit of work,” said Connor, doodling on a napkin.

“To cast, yes,” said David, “but not to dispel. When the time’s right, I can do away with it with a word.”

“You’re kidding,” said Connor, bringing his distracted scribbles to a halt. “
Abracadabra
and it all comes crashing down?”

“David,” warned Max, suddenly fearful that his roommate might share the perilous word. Max did not like the drift of Connor’s questions. He longed to tell them of Vilyak’s meeting, but found that the impulse strangely dissipated as soon as he began to open his mouth.

“It’s okay, Max,” said David. “I could write it on the front door and it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m the only one at Rowan these days who can spark that word into action.”

“Still,” said Max, “it’s best to keep it to yourself.”

“Oh, c’mon!” said Connor, laughing as he tore at his thick chestnut curls. “You both know curiosity will drive me batty! You
have
to tell me, Davie.”

“You’re already batty,” sniffed Lucia.

“Ha!” said Connor, thumping the table. “Could Batty Boy be acing all his classes?”

“Please,”
said Cynthia. “We all know the secrets of your success, Connor. There’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Connor defensively.

“Mr. Sikes,” said Sarah. “We know he’s been helping you with your classes.”

“All right,” said Connor, raising his hands. “I’ll admit I
used
to summon Mr. Sikes for a bit of help. But I haven’t used him in months.”

The girls crossed their arms and offered disbelieving stares.

“Honest,” said Connor, raising his hand as though to take an oath. “I, Connor Lynch, solemnly swear that I have not summoned Mr. Sikes since last fall. If I’m lying, may lightning strike me where I sit.”

Lucia and Sarah abruptly moved their chairs away from him.

“Very funny,” moped Connor.

There was a knock on the door. David started to get up, but Max waved him off and climbed up the stairs. Standing in the hallway was not Commander Vilyak but Mr. McDaniels.

“Dad,” said Max, standing aside to let him in.

“Are you having a party?” asked his father, hearing the voices down below.

“No,” said Max quickly. “Nothing like that—my friends just brought dinner.”

“Oh,” said Scott McDaniels. “That’s nice. Mind if I pop down and say hello?”

Max shook his head and followed him down the steps to the lower level, where the other children promptly stood and offered their condolences.

“Thank you,” said Max’s father, accepting a hug from Cynthia. “It’s awfully good of you to come and comfort Max.”

“It’s the least we could do,” said Sarah. “Do you need anything?”

“No, Sarah,” he said with a weary smile. “I just came by to tell Max that we’ll be having the service at dawn tomorrow down at the beach. It would be nice if you all could come.”

“We will,” said Cynthia. “Is it okay if I bring my mum and brother?”

“And my parents, too?” asked Lucia. “They arrived last week.”

“We’ll bring everyone if it’s all right with you, Mr. McDaniels,” offered Sarah.

“Of course,” said Mr. McDaniels. “That would be very nice. I’d like to stay, but there’s lots to do.”

“We should be going, too,” said Cynthia, glancing at the others and stacking the plates.

Minutes later they filed out the door with parting hugs and promises to see Max first thing the next morning. Max watched the girls accompany Mr. McDaniels down the hallway. Connor lingered outside the door, waiting until David had gone inside and was out of earshot.

“I’ve got a message from Vilyak,” whispered Connor, his ruddy face becoming deadly serious. “He extends his condolences and wants you to know you’re off the hook. No assignment for you.”

“What is he planning, Connor?” asked Max.

“Wish I knew,” said Connor. “I’m just a messenger boy doing my job.”

“And how did you get to be Vilyak’s messenger boy?”

“Needs a pair of eyes and ears among the students, don’t he?” Connor said with a shrug. “Seems to appreciate my talents even if the girls don’t.”

“
Why
are you doing this?” asked Max, almost pleading with his friend.

“Everything Vilyak said at that meeting was true and you know it, Max,” said Connor. “The Director might be a fine and dandy peacetime administrator, but she ain’t up to the job right now. My family’s here, too, you know. I’m just glad I can do my part to keep ’em safe.”

Max stared at his friend a moment, searching his face. Connor’s eyes flickered with amused curiosity.

“What?” he asked.

“Who’s here?” asked Max.

“My family, mate,” repeated Connor, blinking. “You lose your hearing in the Sidh?”

“What are their names?” asked Max.

“Excuse me?” asked Connor, coughing into his hand.

“Their names,” said Max, grabbing Connor’s wrist. “Now.”

“Mum, Dad, little Katie, and Uncle Liam,” said Connor, ticking them off on his fingers. “Me mum’s name is Margaret and Dad is Robert.” The Irish boy frowned and jerked his wrist from Max’s grip. “What gives?”

“Since when are you left-handed?” asked Max.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were doodling with your left hand downstairs,” said Max.

“So what?” replied Connor with an exasperated shrug. “Renard said it helps build motor control in the off hand. Jesus, does the Sidh make a boy paranoid, too?”

Max said nothing, but Connor sighed.

“Get some rest, Max,” he said at length. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Giving Max a farewell pat on the shoulder, Connor slipped into his own room across the hall.

When the door had closed, Max hurried down the hallway and out of the Manse. His footsteps crunched on the ground as he wound past the steam-belching Smithy and the dark wall of trees lining the way to the Sanctuary.

Nick came at his call, cleaning his short, broad muzzle in the grass and licking his bloodied claws clean. The Sanctuary was nearly empty, just a few distant students carrying lanterns as they visited their charges in the Warming Lodge or cared for the clearing’s nocturnal denizens. The lymrill seemed to sense something was amiss. There was no hiss or reproach or rat innards flung because of Max’s long absence. The creature waddled close and pressed its body against Max’s legs, giving its tail a soft rattle. Max scooped Nick into his arms and strode off toward the very thicket where he had first found the playful lymrill. Climbing high up into the boughs, Max held his heavy charge close and concentrated on a blue face with yellow cat’s eyes.

Nick hissed and squirmed for a better look at Mr. Sikes when the small imp appeared, standing at the bough’s end like an attentive butler.

“Master McDaniels,” purred Mr. Sikes. “I feared you had forgotten all about me. I understand both congratulations and condolences are in order. Please allow me to offer both.”

“That’s not why I called you,” snapped Max, restraining the lymrill, which seemed to regard the imp as an exotic dessert. “Have you possessed Connor Lynch?”

“I beg pardon?” asked the imp, widening its eyes at both the question and the lymrill’s unblinking attention.

“Answer the question,” said Max.

“Of course not, child,” said Mr. Sikes. “My modest kind is hardly capable of such a thing. Any book on summoning will confirm it.”

“Are you working with the Enemy?” asked Max, staring hard at the perplexed face before him.

“No,” replied Mr. Sikes coolly. “I am not. And I would humbly ask that you devote
both
hands to your charming pet.”

Max clutched Nick closer and ran his hands along the lymrill’s quills to calm it. Momentarily appeased, Nick ceased struggling but continued to eye the imp hungrily, giving periodic snorts.