The Second Siege (6 page)

Despite his father’s angry departure and an exhausting afternoon, Max found it impossible to resist the splendor of the Welcome Feast. The Manse was lit from within like a jewel as thousands of candles flickered from carven alcoves, casting a rich gleam on silver polished to spotless perfection. Students filed into the dining hall by class to take their seats, looking as scrubbed as the silverware in their formal uniforms. Max took a seat next to David, whose brow was furrowed in furious concentration as he wrestled with his crooked tie. David grunted hello as Max craned his neck at the tables where the Fourth Years were taking their places. Max scoured the faces until he found Julie Teller, a pretty girl from Melbourne with whom he had exchanged letters over the summer. His stomach clenched into a funny knot as Julie met his eyes for a moment before she quickly looked away and resumed a conversation with the girl next to her.

“I don’t know,” said Max. “I thought something—I mean, we wrote each other and stuff this summer—but she walked right past me in the foyer.”

“Women,” said Connor sympathetically. “I can’t figure them out either, mate. Hey, Lucia?”

Lucia’s dark eyes flashed at them from the far end of the table.

“Why won’t you go out with me?” called Connor.

“You are a filthy pig-dog,” said Lucia with cool disdain, eliciting peals of laughter and applause from a gaggle of nearby girls.

Connor shrugged and turned back to Max.

“See? By the way, Mr. Sikes took care of everything—those Sixth Years don’t know squat about any witch. They probably don’t even remember who Cooper is!” he added with a chuckle.

Before Max could reply, there was the clinking of spoons on crystal as Ms. Richter swept into the dining hall, followed by three adults Max had never seen before. They took their places among the faculty and staff, Ms. Richter’s proud face looking happy but careworn in the candlelight.

“Please stand,” she said in a clear, strong voice that filled the great hall.

Max stood, glancing at David, who had abandoned his tie and stuffed it in his pocket.

“This is a House of Learning,” said Ms. Richter, “and today is the Day of Return, when teacher and pupil reforge their bonds and resume their progress on the path.”

The faculty and students raised their glasses.

“This is a House of Learning,” she continued, “and today is a Day of Remembrance, when we gather to honor our past, embracing both its joys and sorrows.”

Again, the glasses were lifted in salute.

“This is a House of Learning and today is a Day of Renewal, when Rowan welcomes a new class bringing with them life and promise to grace these halls and grounds.”

Max watched the First Years fidgeting nervously at the nearby tables. His voice joined those of the older students and faculty.

“We welcome them with open arms. We will help them on the way.”

The assembly raised their glasses toward the First Years. Max, David, and Connor clinked glasses before draining the mouthfuls of wine and reclaiming their seats. Ms. Richter waited for the noise to die down before she continued.

“A new school year should be greeted with renewed energy, enthusiasm, and purpose, and I hope that each of you has returned to Rowan restored in body and mind to do your best. With the exception of our newest students, each of you has undoubtedly noticed that the campus has undergone significant changes over the summer. I wish to address the cause for such changes and quell the misinformation and rumors that I know are rampant.”

Max felt a stir of whispers through the dining hall; the older students looked grim and attentive.

“As many of you know, a great evil has been unleashed through the long and secret efforts of the Enemy. That evil is Astaroth, the very same entity that drove us to these shores over three centuries ago. We have never faced a more formidable foe, and our field offices have already reported a dramatic rise in Enemy activity. Given these developments, things at Rowan will operate a bit differently this year, and I would like to introduce three special guests whom you will see about campus from time to time.”

Ms. Richter gestured to the three strangers seated at the table behind her.

“Allow me to introduce Yuri Vilyak, Commander of the Red Branch.”

A tall, formidable-looking man with silver hair and the flat black eyes of a doll stood and smiled at Ms. Richter before bowing to polite applause.

“What’s the Red Branch?” whispered Max.

“I don’t know what the Red Branch is,” said David, “but I’ve seen Vilyak’s name before. He was Director before Ms. Richter. I think he was voted out of office.”

“Amulya Jain, Chair of the Prometheus Scholars,” continued Ms. Richter.

Ms. Richter stood aside as an Indian woman in a brilliant scarlet sari and wire-rimmed spectacles stood and bowed before the students. David sat up and squinted at the beaming, willowy woman, who now took her seat once again.

“I’ve heard of her,” he said, glancing at Max. “The Prometheus Scholars are the very best Mystics in the world. She must be very good.”

Max raised his eyebrows but had to swallow his question as Ms. Richter introduced the final guest, a lean middle-aged man in glasses and a black suit and tie.

“Our last guest is not a graduate of Rowan and is indeed outside our Order altogether. I have asked him here because he is an old friend and we will have need of old friends to face the challenges ahead. Please allow me to introduce Jesper Rasmussen, Chief Architect and Engineer of the Frankfurt Workshop.”

The man listened with an amused expression, rubbing his hand distractedly over a completely hairless head throughout Ms. Richter’s introduction.

“Clockwork marvels,” murmured David. “That’s how Miss Kraken described the Workshop. I don’t think she likes what they do.”

“Miss Kraken doesn’t like
anything,
” said Max, glimpsing the instructor, who watched Mr. Rasmussen with thin-lipped disapproval. Cynthia shushed him from several chairs over, and Max spent the rest of Ms. Richter’s opening remarks studying the stained-glass windows and their many-colored panes while thinking of his Course training with the Agents earlier in the afternoon. They had been Junior Agents—just a few years out of Rowan—and although they had meant well, Max had found them to be patronizing before they started and painfully slow once the scenario had begun. More than once, Max had been forced to wait during his simulated mission for another member of his team to catch up as they navigated a labyrinth of tunnels and converged on the target—a hostage guarded by a band of tusked
oni,
fearsome and cunning Japanese demons. Once the team had eliminated the sentries and taken strategic positions, Max’s instructions had been to wait for the team leader’s signal. He had seen an opportunity, however, and chose instead to create a diversionary fire and leap into the chamber. As he had anticipated, the
oni
were too slow. Max had cut them down and freed the hostage in less than a minute, earning the team a much higher score than if he had acted on orders. Unfortunately, the team leader did not appreciate Max’s initiative, and Max had been forced to endure a furious lecture about strategy, discipline, and unnecessary risks.

The lecture was forgotten, however, as food began to arrive, carried out on silver platters by a combination of Fifth Years and fauns in formal dress. As the fauns approached, Connor promptly flipped his napkin on the floor and dove down to get it. While he lingered beneath the table, Connor’s charge, a Normandy faun named Kyra, marched past their table, her delicate features dripping with indignation.

“Why are you hiding from Kyra?” whispered David.

“Shhh!” hissed Connor, waving David away. “Don’t draw her attention over here—she’ll do something terrible to our food! She said she might!”

“Why?” asked Max, watching the faun soften her stride to deliver a platter to a table of delighted First Years.

“Thinks it’s beneath her to be waiting on the likes of us,” whispered Connor, peering over the table and slipping back into his seat. “Normandy fauns are right proud. I tried to explain it was just twice a year and how I wait on her all the other days, but she doesn’t see it that way.”

“How’d you get her to come at all?” asked David, watching as Kyra flicked a murderous glance at a First Year who had the nerve to point at her hooves.

“I bribed her,” confessed Connor. “Said I’d get her a real tiara.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” asked Max. The answer dawned on him almost immediately. “Mr. Sikes?”

Connor cackled mischievously and thumped the table with his fist. “Yes indeed, my friend! Should be getting it tonight—little fellow even promised to wrap it with a pink bow! Not even Kyra can stay mad after that!”

“You know, that imp will have to
steal
that tiara,” said David, waving his fork at Connor. “An imp can’t just make a tiara out of thin air—it’s coming from someplace. This isn’t good.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Davie,” pleaded Connor, reaching for a basket of warm focaccia. “Please? For me? Nobody who owns a bleedin’
tiara
is going to go hungry if it turns up missing.”

Even David had to laugh. Without further ado, the three joined in the feast.

Lately, Max found that he was always craving food. It went beyond mere hunger and was, instead, an all-consuming need to feed a body whose demands for energy were becoming insatiable. David and Connor watched in silent awe as Max wolfed down plate after plate of tenderloin, chicken, string beans, and barley. When Max finally polished off a heaping mound of pasta shells swimming in Bellagrog’s succulent red sauce, the ravenous hunger faded.

“Impressive,” said Connor, wiping his mouth. “But you’re wasting valuable time with this whole chewing thing. You should just learn to unhinge your jaw—you know, like a python. Maybe Sir Alistair can teach you. . . .”

Max made a face at the mention of Sir Alistair Wesley, Rowan’s Etiquette instructor.

“No more Sir Alistair for me,” replied Max. “I’m out of Etiquette and Diplomacy this year—they changed my schedule. They’ve got me in Advanced Combat Training with the Sixth Years instead.”

“Lucky you,” said Connor, “but I wouldn’t tell Sarah. She’ll think they’re sending you to the front lines.”

Max nodded heartily in agreement while slipping a grilled chop onto his plate.

Dishes were now being cleared and a variety of desserts were set on the table, including Bellagrog’s picture-perfect soufflés. David ordered coffee from a passing faun, ignoring the creature’s disbelieving snort.

“Since when do you drink coffee?” laughed Connor.

“I’m tired and I need to stay up,” replied David, stirring a cube of sugar into the porcelain cup. “I’m spending some time in the Archives tonight. Kraken got me access . . . er,
authorized
access,” he added quickly, after Max raised an eyebrow. “I need to learn whatever I can about the Book of Thoth and Bram’s Oath. The witches will be back in a few weeks, and I want to be ready.”

“Yeah, but Richter and Kraken didn’t know anything about Bram’s Oath,” said Max. “What makes you think there’s anything on it in the Archives?”

“It’s worth a look,” said David. “The Archives aren’t a little bookcase—they’re huge, and there are lots of vaults. Nobody at Rowan has seen everything that’s in there, much less understood or analyzed it all.”

“But you’re planning on it?” asked Connor.

“I’ve got my ways,” said David lightly. “Ways that don’t require Mr. Sikes . . .”

David pushed back from the table to wander about the dining hall. He stopped to examine a glistening portrait of a dour-faced burgher, swirling his cup of coffee like an old hand and ignoring the sniggers of several Third Years. Moments later, Max saw Amulya Jain, the visiting Scholar, approach David. The sniggers at the nearby table stopped immediately, with the students now curiously focused on their dessert. David and the Scholar were soon engrossed in conversation; Max could tell David was absorbed by the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“C’mon,” said Connor, tugging at Max’s elbow. “Let’s go say hello to the First Years. Gotta get them to sneak out tonight. It’s tradition, you know,” he said with a wink.

“Nothing to do with the
Kestrel,
” insisted Max. The previous year they had been duped into sneaking out and spending the night aboard Rowan’s ancient ship, the
Kestrel,
only to be thrown into the churning ocean when it was suddenly tossed about by something that screamed and wailed in the water. The experience had been terrifying and earned them an entire day of detention cleaning out the stables.

“Naw,” said Connor dismissively. “Been done already. I’ve got something better in mind—something harmless.”

When Max arrived at the rows of First Year tables, he immediately regretted his decision. There, sitting with the First Years, were Anna Lundgren and Sasha Ivanovich—two of three older students who had bullied Max the previous year. The third and worst of the bunch, Alex Muñoz, had been lost the previous spring—buried beneath a mound of stone and earth when Marley Augur’s tomb had collapsed. Max knew Anna and Sasha blamed him for the loss of their friend.

“Here they are!” crowed Sasha as Max and Connor approached.

“These are the ones we were telling you about,” said Anna, speaking to the huddling First Years in a conspiratorial tone. “Connor’s the one on the right—he’s just trash and not worth your worry. But Max? I’d stay clear of Max. Max is a murderer—killed our friend in cold blood.”

Max felt his cheeks burn as the First Years looked at him, dumbfounded.

“You’re kidding,” laughed a heavyset boy with a mop of red hair.

“Wish I were,” said Anna, her pretty blue eyes glittering with malice. “But ask anyone here and they’ll tell you that Alex Muñoz is gone and Max McDaniels was the very last person to see him alive.”

“What a load of bull!” snapped Connor, pinching his nose and waving his hand in the direction of Sasha. Several First Years grinned and giggled. “Don’t listen to these two jokers—worst pair of prats in this whole place! Rowan heaped honors on Max when he got back! You’ll see his name above Beowulf’s Gauntlet—written in fiery script, clear as day.”