Part 11 (1/2)
”Yes, I do believe he did.”
”Hmmm. I'll still need to interview him. I do believe that you and Ndidi may be right about him, however. David Menlo, too. What this means is anybody's guess. These missing children, however, require more than guesswork. a.s.sume nothing nothing-about the children or the paintings! I'll expect more information by tomorrow morning.”
Ms. Richter turned and started back for the Warming Lodge while the others disappeared into the hedge tunnel. Frowning, Max watched Ms. Richter stride across the clearing.
”Nick, something is very, very wrong.”
7.
A FULL HOUSE.
Upon returning to the Manse, the First Years were divided into five sections. Max's section was directed upstairs to the Bacon Library, where the wet children crowded round the fireplace. The library was located on the third floor and faced south, where Max could see a large athletic field. Turning away from the window, he scanned the stacks, seeing sections dedicated to philosophy, the arts, and literature. Thousands of books lined the shelves.
While some of his cla.s.smates were soaked, Max was merely damp; he and Nick had stayed up in the tree until they heard Old Tom's chimes. The cla.s.s had left their new charges with Nolan before das.h.i.+ng through the gate to escape the rain that had begun falling in heavy sheets.
The door to the library opened, and in walked the young woman and old man Max had seen speaking to Ms. Richter. The man had a patient face, thick gla.s.ses, and a trim white beard. The woman was much younger with short brown hair. She was pretty but looked very serious and scholarly behind small, rectangular gla.s.ses as she leafed through a stack of papers.
”All right, children, gather round,” said the man, looking up.
With some reluctance, the students pulled away from the warm fire and took closer seats. David coughed in fits, rubbing his nose.
”Are you David?” asked the man.
David nodded.
”Perhaps you'd better stay near the fire,” said the man with a kindly smile, before turning to address the group.
”h.e.l.lo. I'm Joseph Vincenti and this is Hazel Boon. Among the faculty, I'm the Department Chair of Devices and Miss Boon is a Junior Instructor of Mystics.”
Max glanced at Miss Boon; her name was familiar. Suddenly, he remembered Nigel had mentioned that she held the modern record for extinguis.h.i.+ng flames when she had been tested as a Potential. She sat patiently, her arms folded.
”As your cla.s.s advisors we're here to look after you, to make sure you're progressing as you should be. We'll be your advisors until you begin to specialize at the end of your third year-at that point you'll have an advisor within your specialty. Miss Boon?”
Miss Boon looked up, and Max was startled to see that her pupils were different colors; one was brown, the other a brilliant blue. She looked at the students with a solemn expression. Max squirmed as her gaze lingered on him.
”h.e.l.lo there. I feel very privileged to have been a.s.signed your cla.s.s advisor-you're my first cla.s.s. The Recruiters have raved about you, and consequently I expect great things. Great things require real work, however, so without further ado, allow me to distribute your course schedules.”
Circling the table, Miss Boon handed out the laminated sheets. Max shook his head in disbelief. The room was nearly silent for fifteen minutes while the students examined their schedules with gasps and quiet mutters. Cynthia was the first to raise her hand.
”Am I reading this right? It says my day starts at six thirty in the morning and that I'm taking almost ten cla.s.ses in addition to taking care of my charge.”
”That is correct,” replied Miss Boon, walking over to stoke the fire. ”Rowan has a challenging curriculum, and certain disciplines, like Physical Training, Languages, and Mystics, must be done each day.”
Max stared at the table while Miss Boon and Mr. Vincenti answered or deflected questions about grades, room locations, cla.s.s awards, and school supplies. For Max, the only bright spot was when they mentioned that Rowan had no curfew, but his excitement diminished when he realized any free time would be spent studying. They were dismissed and told they would be free to explore the Manse and grounds until dinner.
Max stalked back to his room and flung his schedule on the bed. Walking downstairs, he wet a towel at his vanity and scrubbed the gels and sprays out of his hair. The sky dome was darker and the constellations had brightened since the morning.
Dinner was soup and sandwiches, as Mum and Bob were busy preparing for the next evening's feast. The dining hall was dark, the candles of one chandelier providing the only light as thunder rumbled outside. Max saw Nigel stride briskly down the stairs accompanied by several other adults before they disappeared out another door. The girls sat at a separate table, shooting angry stares at Jesse, who had loudly predicted that the boys would sweep the cla.s.s awards. Feeling a tap, Max jumped at the sight of Mum standing behind him.
”Phone call for you, love. In the kitchen.”
”Oh! Thanks, Mum,” said Max, pus.h.i.+ng up from the table and following her through the swinging door.
Bob was hunched over an enormous tray of pastries, applying delicate waves of icing to chocolate ladyfingers. He looked up and smiled at Max, his crooked grin softening his craggy features.
”I think you have a phone call,” he said.
”He already knows, you dolt! Why do you think he's back here?” hissed Mum, running to the phone on the far wall. The hag spoke into the receiver in clipped, sn.o.bbish tones.
”Yes, sir, we have notified Mr. McDaniels for you, sir. He shall be arriving presently.”
”Mum...,” Bob warned, turning from his ladyfingers.
Mum clamped her hand over the phone and jumped up and down, making hideous faces. Bob sighed and turned away to mix another batch of icing. Max reached for the phone, but Mum ducked below his reach.
”Back again, sir. I think I hear him arriving as we speak, sir. He's been enjoying a c.o.c.ktail on the ve-ran-da ve-ran-da-”
Max s.n.a.t.c.hed the phone away. His dad's voiced boomed from the other end.
”-oh, well thank you very much.”
”Dad!”
”Hey, Max! I thought the receptionist was still on the phone. She's, er, very professional.”
”Yeah, she's great,” muttered Max as Mum clapped her hands and giggled. She rushed past him to shoulder an entire side of beef and disappear into another room.
”Well, I just got back from another trip to KC,” said his father. ”Home again, home again, as your mother would say. How are you? How're things?”
”Things are...okay.” Max faced the wall and traced a crack with his finger.
”What's the matter, kiddo?”
”Nothing. It's just...it seems like it's going to be really hard. And I miss you.”
Max squeezed his eyes hard. There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
”Well, I miss you, too.”
Max was struck by a sudden longing to be back at home, his feet planted on the fort ceiling as he lay on his back, sketching throughout the afternoon.
”Dad, do you think it's too late to come home?”
”No,” said Mr. McDaniels. ”It's not too late, but that's not the issue. The issue is seeing through a commitment you've made. You made a decision-a tough decision-and I'm very proud of you for making it like a man. The first couple weeks will be tough, but I expect you to stick it out. If you hate it, next year you can go to school here.”
Max nodded, before realizing his father could not see him. Hearing an urgent whisper behind him, he turned to see Lucia beckoning from the doorway.
”Max, they're asking for you,” she said. ”We're getting our books and uniforms.”