Part 31 (1/2)
Reluctantly, Max pulled Alex back toward the tree, allowing the Second Year to grab hold of the trunk. Breathing heavily, Alex muttered ”Freak” under his breath before scooting to a lower branch and hopping down. Max clambered down a moment later.
Miss Boon stabbed a finger at the two boys. ”Fighting? Flaunting your abilities off-campus? What on earth earth would possess you to act so stupidly? Do you know what could happen if you'd been seen? Did you even stop to think that you would possess you to act so stupidly? Do you know what could happen if you'd been seen? Did you even stop to think that you might might be seen?” be seen?”
Miss Boon looked from face to face, her rage slowly subsiding to an icy calm.
”He tried to kill me,” Alex accused. ”You saw him, Miss Boon!”
”Be still, Mr. Munoz. I don't require a crystal ball to see that your predicament had something to do with the b.l.o.o.d.y lump on Mr. McDaniels's forehead. Do either of you have anything sensible to say in your defense?”
”I'm sorry,” Max said quietly. He had never seen Miss Boon so angry.
”'Sorry' isn't good enough!” she snapped. ”This is going to result in some serious punish-”
Just then they heard a man's frantic call for help. Miss Boon kept her eyes locked on the boys a moment longer before turning her head in the direction of the patisserie. Max's father and Mr. Babel came barreling outside. A second later, a waist-high surge of melted chocolate oozed from the doorway and spilled out onto the sidewalk.
”Help!” cried Mr. Babel again. Miss Boon and the children ran over just as the near-finished cathedral slid out the door and was swallowed up in a chocolate gurgle.
”What happened?” exclaimed Miss Boon, checking the street for tourists. A number of older students and faculty hurried over from the coffee shop and pizza parlor, including Mr. Vincenti.
”I don't know!” panted Mr. Babel, slogging to the doorway and trying unsuccessfully to staunch the flow of chocolate with his body. He groaned as the white-chocolate saplings slid past his reach and also began to sink. ”I don't even know where all this chocolate came from!”
”Is the coast clear, Joseph?” asked Miss Boon.
”I think so, Hazel,” Mr. Vincenti panted, confiscating a coffee cup from a Third Year who was intently filling it with chocolate. He handed the cup to Mr. McDaniels, who looked carefully at its contents.
Miss Boon took one last glance up the street before raising her hand and muttering a few words. The chocolate stopped pooling on the street; it hardened instantaneously. Great cracks, like fault lines, zigzagged across its surface as the ma.s.s solidified into a block. Mr. Vincenti leaned forward to help Mr. Babel free himself from the chocolate, knocking off a large chunk to reveal the submerged cathedral. Mr. Babel moaned at the sight of his ruined masterpiece.
”Any idea what happened?” the advisor asked.
”None,” wheezed Mr. Babel. ”One minute I was cleaning the soda lines, the next I was waist-deep in chocolate. Could one of the students be behind this? You know-a spring prank?”
”It's possible one of the older students could have done this,” Mr. Vincenti mused.
”Let's not overlook the younger ones,” Miss Boon interjected, casting a smoldering glance at David. ”After all, many of them were in the patisserie shortly before this happened.”
”They couldn't have done this, Hazel,” laughed Mr. Vincenti, helping himself to a small shaving of chocolate he had sc.r.a.ped off with his car keys.
”You're quite mistaken, Joseph,” Miss Boon growled. ”In any event, it's time Mr. Munoz and Mr. McDaniels got their things and accompanied me back to campus.”
Max's cheeks burned as his father's eyes fell on his bleeding forehead.
Mr. McDaniels frowned and put the cup of chocolate down on the sidewalk. He examined Max's forehead.
”What happened, son?” he asked.
”He's fine, Mr. McDaniels,” called Alex, smiling. ”You just go ahead and enjoy that chocolate, sir.”
”Alex!” hissed Miss Boon. She turned to Max's father. ”Scott, my apologies, but Max must return to campus immediately. His behavior today has been unacceptable. I won't get into the details, but-”
”You can call me 'Mr. McDaniels,' young lady,” said Max's father.
Miss Boon paused, momentarily speechless.
”It's okay, okay, Dad,” Max pleaded. ”I'll see you back on campus. Please stay here with Connor and David.” Dad,” Max pleaded. ”I'll see you back on campus. Please stay here with Connor and David.”
”Yeah,” said Connor quickly. ”David and I got loads to show you, Mr. McDaniels.”
Mr. McDaniels looked at Max once more before turning to Connor and nodding.
Max and Alex slunk away from the crowd and walked over to the tree. As Max retrieved his bag, he noticed a folded slip of paper sticking out of a zippered pouch. He trailed a step behind Alex, who was dragging his feet toward Miss Boon, and unfolded the note.
Nice jump. Get back to campus! Go to Rattlerafters ASAP. Go to Rattlerafters ASAP. Be alone. Check your Rc.o.kE. Be alone. Check your Rc.o.kE. -Ronin -Ronin
Max whipped his head around, half expecting to see Ronin's white eye locked on him from behind a tree or among the crowd. Crumpling the note, Max took one more look around before hurrying to where Miss Boon and Alex were waiting.
17.
THE HOUND OF ULSTER.
It was well after dinner by the time Max was able to slip away from his cla.s.smates and make his way alone to Rattlerafters Library. His father had expressed his disappointment that Max was unable to avoid fights at yet another school. But for Max, the experience had more disturbing implications. He had not decided decided to leap after Alex and seize him, it had just to leap after Alex and seize him, it had just happened happened-as swift and involuntary as a blink or a sneeze.
Pa.s.sing a trio of older students, Max climbed Old Tom's stairs two at a time. He had never been up to Rattlerafters before, but he knew the library was shunned by most of Rowan's students and faculty. Occupying the attic of Old Tom, the Rosetta Library owed its unpopularity and nickname to its location directly beneath Rowan's chimes. Beams, books, and furniture were shaken up every hour on the hour.
The long, low attic smelled of dust and book leather; to Max it resembled a book graveyard more than a working library. Near the entrance, a slender spiral staircase disappeared up into a dark room housing the building's clockworks and chimes. Max moved quickly past it; Old Tom had always seemed to him a living thing, and something about the dark s.p.a.ce above made him uneasy.
Max settled himself into a rickety wooden chair at a long table. Flicking on a table lamp, he sneezed and brushed a layer of dust off the table. There was little doubt in Max's mind that Ronin had caused the distraction at the patisserie to slip him the message. Ronin's note had been brief but was relatively clear; ”Rc.o.kE” ”Rc.o.kE” clearly stood for Max's clearly stood for Max's Rowan Compendium of Known Enemies. Rowan Compendium of Known Enemies. He opened his bag with uneasy antic.i.p.ation, pulling out the heavy book and spying another folded letter between its pages. Max opened the letter and scanned its jittery script. He opened his bag with uneasy antic.i.p.ation, pulling out the heavy book and spying another folded letter between its pages. Max opened the letter and scanned its jittery script.
Dear Max, I write in greatest urgency. The Enemy has begun a great work of which the missing Potentials are but a part. The Enemy believes Old Magic exists once again among our Order, and this signals an opportunity to recover Astaroth. I write in greatest urgency. The Enemy has begun a great work of which the missing Potentials are but a part. The Enemy believes Old Magic exists once again among our Order, and this signals an opportunity to recover Astaroth. Max, the Demon is not dead, but imprisoned in a painting! Furthermore, the Enemy believes it is already in possession of the accursed thing. Many works now hanging in museums are clever forgeries-the stolen paintings in the newspapers are merely to divert Rowan's attention from other thefts that have gone undetected.... Max, the Demon is not dead, but imprisoned in a painting! Furthermore, the Enemy believes it is already in possession of the accursed thing. Many works now hanging in museums are clever forgeries-the stolen paintings in the newspapers are merely to divert Rowan's attention from other thefts that have gone undetected.... There are whispers of a matchless child-a child whose arrival they have foreseen and whose help they require to free the Demon. Verifying the existence and ident.i.ty of this child is of great interest to them. There are whispers of a matchless child-a child whose arrival they have foreseen and whose help they require to free the Demon. Verifying the existence and ident.i.ty of this child is of great interest to them. Max-your name is known and has been mentioned many times in their councils. Be on your guard! There is at least one traitor among you. Rowan is not safe. I am close and watching-look for me at Brigit's Vigil. Incinerate this! Max-your name is known and has been mentioned many times in their councils. Be on your guard! There is at least one traitor among you. Rowan is not safe. I am close and watching-look for me at Brigit's Vigil. Incinerate this! Ronin Ronin
Max scanned the letter several times, committing its details to memory. ”Brigit's Vigil” was a mystery, but much of the letter made grim and disturbing sense. He had to speak to David immediately. David was operating under the a.s.sumption that the four paintings he had identified still hung safely in their respective museums, now under careful watch. And David might well be the matchless child the Enemy was seeking.
He crumpled the letter in his fist and reduced it to ashes with a blue flame.
As Max's eyes followed a drifting flake of ash, the room suddenly shook with the deafening sound of Old Tom's chimes. Max clamped his hands over his ears and pitched forward in his chair, eyes screwed shut. His eardrums rattled and vibrated for what seemed an eternity until the bells finished striking eight o'clock.
Opening his eyes, Max yelped as he realized he wasn't alone in the old library. Miss Boon was standing some ten feet away.
”I'm sorry to surprise you,” she said. ”I gather this is your first visit to Rattlerafters?” She took a deep breath and looked around. ”I used to come here, too, when I wanted to be alone.”
Max nodded as the ringing subsided in his head.
”Some students said they'd seen you come this way,” she explained, gesturing toward the stairwell. ”I hope I'm not disturbing you.”
Fl.u.s.tered, Max zipped his backpack and started to get up from the table.