6
THE LAST LYMRILL
The clanging chorus of Old Tom’s chimes brought Max from his slumber with a shout. He had been dreaming of the hound again, and it was several moments until he remembered where he was. Lying back on his bed, Max watched the constellations rotating slowly, their golden contours fainter from the tints of pink and gold peeking from the dome’s bottom rim. The chimes counted seven.
Max yawned and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Stumbling downstairs, he found his fuzzy yellow towel hanging from a hook by his dresser. David was already downstairs, coughing hard.
“Hi,” said David, turning his back to slip on a T-shirt.
“Hey—I guess this is as close to morning as it gets in this room!”
David laughed and pulled on a pair of shorts.
“Are you gonna shower?” asked Max.
David turned around quickly with a nervous expression. “Oh, no. I’m okay,” he said.
Max left the room and walked barefoot down the hall carrying his towel and toiletries. Hearing his name, he turned to see Connor trotting after him.
“Morning, Max! Reckon they could have told us Old Tom would turn up the volume for the bell.”
Connor grinned and pushed through the door to Room 301. Max followed and saw him standing speechless.
The bathroom was a huge space filled with cedar lockers, slatted benches, and tropical plants. Max could hear classical music over the light babble of a marble fountain. One long wall was lined with gleaming sinks and silver faucets shaped like leaping dolphins. Across the room were three archways with brass signs indicating toilets, showers, and spa.
The door opened behind them, and Max turned to see Rolf, Jesse, Omar, and several other boys.
“Wow!” exclaimed Omar, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Did you guys configure this?”
“Someone had to,” said Connor humbly, examining his nails. He slung his towel over his shoulder and headed for the spa.
Max remembered the time and hurried to the showers. Stepping inside a stall, he was puzzled at what he found. Instead of normal faucets, there were six small silver levers protruding from the marble wall. Max pulled the one on the far left, then hopped up and down as cold water sprayed from a showerhead above him. He turned it off and tried the next only to have hot water—much too hot—pin him into the corner until he could kick the lever upright with his toe. Wincing a bit, he pulled the third lever and let out a sigh of relief as a heavy jet of warm water burst from the showerhead.
A frantic shriek sounded from several stalls over.
“Third from the left!” Max shouted.
“Thank you!” piped a grateful voice in reply.
After tugging at the fourth lever, Max jumped back as soap bubbles ran out of a little hidden spigot and quickly filled the stall, cascading over the door before Max could slow the stream. Lever five produced an emerald dollop of shampoo that he caught in his hand. Lever six sputtered once before releasing a steady stream of warm shaving cream. Max laughed and dabbed a bit on his chin, then sculpted a white beard of foam. He peered out the shower door to look at himself just as Omar did the same. The two burst into laughter and disappeared into their respective stalls.
Standing in puddles of water, dozens of boys were brushing their teeth and chatting when they heard a loud “Ahem!” Turning, Max was startled to see a bald three-foot-tall man who looked like a leprechaun wearing an old blue suit and massaging his jowls as he surveyed them. He smelled very strongly of musky cologne, and he looked angry.
“Enjoying yourselves, are you? Fun business making a mess of Jimmy’s bath, is it?”
The little man stepped toward them.
“Well, what’s the matter, lads? Mum got your tongues? Old enough to shave, but too young to answer for yourselves?” He flashed a dark look at Omar and Max, who shrank against the wall. Several faucets continued running behind them.
Connor stepped forward.
“Sir, we didn’t mean—”
“Silence!”
Max shot a glance at Connor, who looked just as frightened and confused as Max felt. The man took another step toward the group, his face turning crimson.
Just then, the door swung open and Nigel’s head popped in.
“Hurry up, boys. Ms. Richter’s already in the orientation—Jimmy! How are you? Long time.”
The little man rolled his eyes.
“Oh, you had to come just now and spoil my fun! I was going to get these tadpoles to mop this place for a month!”
Nigel chuckled and walked into the bathroom. Taking a silver dollar from his pocket, he went to the last sink, lifted the lid off a fat porcelain Buddha, and dropped the coin inside.
“Sorry, Jimmy. Next time, I’ll leave them to you.”
“Oh, it’s all right. Need to get hopping anyway if we’re gonna spiff ’em up for the morning session. You want a little zing of the good stuff, Nigel?”
Nigel smiled politely.
“No, Jimmy. No, thank you. I’ll, eh, tell the Director the boys are…just making your acquaintance.” Nigel paused before adding, “Boys, be sure to bring Jimmy a present later. Remember—it’s the thought that counts!”
“Okay, then! See you later!” Jimmy called out. He was already bustling about, gathering armfuls of spray bottles and jars that he laid out on a folding table. Turning to the boys, he clapped his hands.
“Right, then, who are gonna be the lucky lads to get spruced up, Jimmy-fashion?” the little man inquired. “I can’t get to you all, so who’s it gonna be?”
“Er…I don’t understand,” said Rolf, sniffing at his armpit. “We just showered.”
Jimmy looked at Rolf as though he must be daft.
“It’s your first full day, isn’t it?”
The boys nodded.
“And there’re some lookers among the ladies, aren’t there?”
The boys looked at one another and shrugged.
“Well, then, a shower’s just a start! You need the old Jimmy treatment to make ’em sit up and take notice! Quick! You six into a chair.”
Jimmy snapped his fingers, and six wicker chairs zoomed across the room and arranged themselves in a row.
“Ugh, I knew we’d be the lucky ones,” moaned Connor as Jimmy showed Max to his seat. Those without a chair before them made a hasty retreat out the door.
Max squirmed while Jimmy went to work, running up and down the line and slathering their hair, cheeks, and necks with a variety of gels and sprays. Frowning with concentration, he produced a comb and parted each boy’s hair carefully down the middle. The boys watched themselves in the mirror, sitting in silent horror as Jimmy clapped in sudden satisfaction.
“Well, boys! Now you’re looking dandy. Good material to work with, of course, but now you’ve got the special Jimmy touch!”
He whistled merrily and rearranged his bottles as the six boys filed out, looking glum.
Max ran to his room and dressed quickly, rejoining the others in the hallway as Old Tom’s chimes started ringing. They sprinted down the stairs and skidded to a halt in the little theater. All of their other classmates were already seated. Several girls giggled as they saw the boys’ old-fashioned hairdos. Even Ms. Richter, leaning against a piano, had an amused expression on her face as she casually reached for a handkerchief.
“Be seated, gentlemen. As I was telling your classmates, today is a very important day. You will be visiting the Sanctuary for the first time. There you will be paired with a good friend for the next six years. Perhaps even longer.”
Ms. Richter frowned and waved the handkerchief before her face. A group of girls giggled as they whispered to one another. Pinching their noses, Cynthia and Lucia moved several seats farther away while David coughed into his hand and blinked at the boys. Avoiding his classmates’ stares, Max reached up and patted the shellacked mass on his head. He was amazed that hair could be so smooth and brittle.
After a momentary silence, Ms. Richter breathed deeply into her handkerchief and continued. “Yes, well, after this morning’s visit to the Sanctuary, you’ll receive your semester schedules and meet with your class advisors, who will—oh dear Lord, it’s simply overpowering!”
The girls shrieked with laughter. Max blushed and turned to Connor, whose neck was now bright red from scratching.
Ms. Richter rose from the piano. “Boys, I assume that Jimmy is responsible for your…grooming?”
They nodded. Cynthia’s shoulders pumped like pistons as she laughed. Lucia’s face was scarlet. Ms. Richter motioned for quiet.
“Jimmy has been with us for some time and he means very well, but the sad truth is that his sense of smell seems to be waning. Strike that—it is gone. In the future, I’d recommend that you politely decline his grooming services. He will undoubtedly pressure you, but you must be strong—for all our sakes. Now, let’s continue this conversation outside.”
Handkerchief pressed to her nose, Ms. Richter led them through some French doors and out onto the orchard patio. Their classmates ran ahead giggling; Jimmy’s victims shuffled sheepishly in tow.
Exhaling, Ms. Richter folded her handkerchief and waited for the students to gather round. Clouds were building in the sky; the wind had picked up.
“That’s better! Now, as I was saying, the Sanctuary is a very special place at Rowan. There is nothing more important on this entire campus. You see, children, we champion not only our fellow man, but many other creatures and spirits that inhabit this world. Not all mystical creatures are aligned with the Enemy. Those that wish may find refuge here at Rowan—in fact, you’ve already met some of them. Unfortunately, many of these creatures are very young or vulnerable and require your care. Today, you will be paired with one of them.”
Ms. Richter fixed a stern eye on the students.
“This is a great honor being conferred upon you. Many of these creatures are exceedingly rare. Some may be the last of their kind. It is important that you take this responsibility very seriously; it is a critical aspect of your education. There is no greater shame than having to relinquish one’s charge.”
The idea that Max would have to care for something mystical made him very nervous. He had never even owned a pet. Most of his classmates, however, looked enchanted and gossiped in excitement as Ms. Richter led them through the woods. When they reached the high, mossy wall near the stables, Ms. Richter stood by its stout wooden door set with a heavy brass ring.
“I know you are nervous, children. After all, there are so many new things! Take a deep breath and enjoy this next experience. For many students, the Sanctuary is their favorite place. Many forge lifelong bonds with their charges. Just be yourselves and trust your charge’s instincts.”
The door creaked open. Beyond it, Max saw a narrow way hemmed so closely by low trees and hedges that it was more of a dark tunnel than a path. Following after the others, Max stumbled along for twenty or thirty yards when he suddenly felt a drop of rain on his nose. They had emerged into an enormous clearing whose tall grasses rippled in the wind.
Max looked back through the tunnel; it hadn’t been raining on the other side of the door. Several of his classmates were already commenting on it.
Turning back to the clearing, Max squinted at a distant backdrop of forest and the surprising sight of snowcapped hills. Clumps of trees and great rock formations dotted the clearing at irregular intervals. A herd of cows grazed and lowed in the distance. Directly ahead was a long, low building set near a lagoon that was bordered by a strip of beach and royal palms.
Suddenly, something enormous plummeted from the sky to seize one of the distant cows in its talons. With a screech, a bird the size of a small airplane soared off with its struggling prey, making for the far hills.
“Good to see Hector’s eating again,” exclaimed Ms. Richter with satisfaction. “He hasn’t touched a thing in weeks!”
A number of children retreated into the leafy tunnel until the Director beckoned them back out.
“Don’t worry about any Sanctuary inhabitants mistaking you for food,” she assured them. “Nothing here normally preys upon humans, and they’re all very well fed.”
Rolf scoffed loudly, drawing a warning glance.
“Hey,” said Connor, trotting a few steps and peering east. “Where’s the ocean?”
Max was startled to see Connor was right; instead of the ocean there was a series of sand dunes that rose in gentle swells for miles until they stopped at a wall of dark rock that extended to the horizon. Ms. Richter smiled.
“As Connor has noticed,” she said, “our Sanctuary is a very different place from the world back through that tunnel. Like many things here at Rowan, the Sanctuary has its own space: space that is ‘borrowed’ from other places in the world. This provides our guests with a safe haven and a variety of habitats reminiscent of their homes. The only way in or out of this Sanctuary is through this tunnel. Remember, Old Magic can be raw and unpredictable, and thus it is important not to wander too far.”
Max elbowed Connor.
“Is there anything here that can’t hurt, kill, or eat us?” he whispered.
Connor grinned. “Keeps you on your toes, don’t it?”
“Do you think we could ask not to have one of these?”
“I highly doubt it,” Connor replied quickly as Ms. Richter glided past them.
“Ah,” said the Director, glancing at her watch. “I think Nolan’s ready for us.”
A lanky, tanned man was walking toward them from the building near the lagoon. He had something that seemed to be wriggling in his arms. At fifty yards, he laughed and placed it on the ground. Max grinned with recognition. Lucy’s head bobbed up above the tall grass as she quickly closed the distance, barreling into Max with a snort. Max hoisted her in his arms.
“Hey there, Lucy!” he exclaimed. “Good to see you!”
Lucy squirmed in his arms, scrambling up his chest to sniff at his cheek. Max laughed and turned toward the others.
“Ah,” said Ms. Richter. “I’d almost forgotten that Max has met Lucy before! Class, come and meet Lucy. She’s been Nigel Bristow’s charge since he was an Apprentice, some thirty years ago.”
“This is more like it,” Cynthia breathed as she scratched Lucy behind the ears.
“Hello, Lucy,” cooed Omar, patting her belly.
“There’s a good girl,” chirped Connor, shaking her foot.
Lucy tossed frantically, trying to look at each student as they introduced themselves. It was too much. With a grunt of shock, she released a burst of gas, looking hurt as the children fled with shrieks of laughter. She buried her head in Max’s armpit.
“Now, now, you’ve hurt her feelings!” the man said with a laugh. He had dark hair, a mellow drawl, and bright blue eyes with crow’s-feet at the corners. He wore jeans, a thick leather apron, and gloves that bore a variety of deep gashes and punctures. Max recognized him as the man they had seen the previous day on the beach when they had taken their tour with Miss Awolowo.
“Hey, students,” he said, waving at them. “You ready to make a friend for life?” he inquired with a loud clap of his gloves. Taking Lucy from Max, he whispered something in her ear and placed her on the ground. She trotted back toward the lagoon.
“Children,” said Ms. Richter, “this is Mr. Nolan, Head Groundskeeper at Rowan.”
“Just ‘Nolan’ is fine with me,” he said with a wink. He glanced over at Cynthia, who had looked petrified ever since the predatory bird had appeared. “Will you be my assistant, young lady?”
She nodded slowly.
“Thank you.” He smiled at her, offering his arm and starting toward the building. “Let’s all head over to the Warming Lodge. We’ve got some beautiful creatures that are dying to meet you!”
The Warming Lodge was made of dark, unpainted wood and covered with weathered shingles. Several bales of hay were stacked on a covered porch that faced the lagoon. Gathering the children around the porch, Nolan motioned for quiet. He produced a small silver bell, ringing it three times. The porch’s planks began to creak as something large moved inside.
“Kids, I’d like you to meet YaYa. She looks after all the animals in the Sanctuary. She is the Great Matriarch of Rowan and has been here since it was established.”
The children stepped back as the head of a massive jet-black lioness emerged from the doorway. Bigger than a rhino and crowned with a single broken horn of speckled ivory, she stepped heavily out onto the porch. Her black fur gave off a faint white shimmer. The great creature lowered herself slowly onto the porch, folding her black glossy legs beneath her. Her eyes were clouded with milky cataracts, and her sides rose and fell with her labored breathing. Trotting out the door, Lucy snuggled beneath the whiskers on YaYa’s great chin.
Max thought the piglet looked like an appetizer.
“She’s beautiful, Mr. Nolan,” said a girl in front. “What is she?”
“I’m sure she’d prefer to answer that herself.”
Max stood riveted as the creature raised her head. Her voice sounded like several women speaking simultaneously.
“Thank you for your kindness. I am a ki-rin. Greetings and welcome to Rowan.” Breathing deeply, she lowered her head once more, covering Lucy.
“YaYa is very old,” Mr. Nolan said. “Seven hundred years is a long life, even for one of her kind. Today we ensure that YaYa can spend her days resting and tending to the injured. As the Great Matriarch of Rowan, however, she’s the one you’ll have to answer to if she hears you’re shirking your tasks.”
YaYa spoke, her voices soft as the subsiding drizzle.
“Do not frighten them, Nolan. I’m sure the charges will be in very good hands. Lucy already speaks highly of them.”
The cloudy eyes turned toward Max.
“YaYa,” said Nolan, “with your permission, we’d like to introduce your charges to the class.”
“Of course,” she replied. “With the exception of Tweedy, they’re very excited.”
Nolan led the students behind the building, spacing them well apart in rows. Ms. Richter, YaYa, and Lucy settled onto a large woolly blanket the Director had spread on the grass. The sky was threatening and Max was very nervous.
Several minutes later, Nolan reappeared along with a dozen other adults. A motley assortment of creatures followed in a strange procession behind them. They came in all shapes and sizes, peering anxiously at the students. Some towered above the adults leading them, but most were smaller and huddled around them, murmuring or purring or chattering in their own tongues. A nametag hung from each neck.
“All right,” said Nolan. “There’s really nothing to this. All you have to do is stand in your places and let our lovelies take a look at you. Most are quite young, so don’t be insulted if some are less polite than they should be. Part of your job will be to teach them proper manners. Okay, then—let’s get started.”
Max tried to calm his breathing as the creatures stepped, crawled, and hopped among them. An enormous winged bull with the head and face of a young man stopped to loom over him. It gazed at him impassively as Max read ORION, SYRIAN SHEDU on its nametag. The shedu did not move. It merely stared at Max, a small frown on its face. Max was at a loss.
“Hello, Orion. My name’s Max.”
Nodding stonily, the shedu lifted its head and walked down the line toward Lucia. Max heard a jingle and looked down to see a small striped dog sniffing at his ankles. It sat on its haunches and looked up at him, its nametag indicating that its name was Moby, a Somerset bray.
“Hi, Moby.”
The dog wagged its tail and gave an earnest little yelp that sounded like brass horns. Max clapped his hands to his ears and the dog trotted away. Poked from behind, Max turned to see two Normandy fauns eyeing him suspiciously. They each had the hind legs of a slender goat, but the torsos and faces of a young boy and girl. They appeared to be twins: Kellen and Kyra. They spoke in French.
“Il n’est pas pour moi,” sniffed Kellen.
“Moi non plus, mon frère. Je préfère Connor,” replied Kyra, peering back down the line.
Max felt insulted without knowing why, when a shiny red bullfrog bigger than a toaster landed on his shoe. Clammy, padded fingers gripped Max’s leg as its throat inflated like a balloon. Max sought out its nametag.
“Hey, Kettlemouth. I’m Max.”
The frog blinked several times before leaping away onto Jesse Chu’s head. Jesse shrieked and nearly toppled over as he tried to pry off the sleepy-looking frog that now clung to his collar. Max saw David sitting nearby, cradling the head of a silver gazelle on his lap. David whispered to it and raised its head to look at Max.
“Max, this is Maya. She’s an ulu and she’s chosen me!”
Max grinned and waved, privately annoyed he had yet to be chosen. A small hare hopped before him. Standing on its hind legs, it fixed Max with a brilliant orange eye. Max spoke to it slowly.
“Hello, Tweedy,” Max intoned. “My name is Max.”
“Why are you talking to me like I’m an imbecile?” the hare asked, its whiskers trembling with indignation. “Are you reading Dante in the original Italian?”
Max clapped a hand to his mouth.
“Uh, no.”
“This whole business is ridiculous! I should be taking care of you, not the other way around. Oh, you’re totally unsuitable!”
The Highlands hare turned up its tail and hopped away, frightening a tiny brown being who ducked quickly out of the way.
Max’s eyes met Orion’s once more as the shedu clopped past again. It stepped nimbly over a stunning three-legged peacock trilling musical harmonies as it passed.
Many children were now sitting on the grass, their charges settled beside them or, in some cases, clinging to an arm or leg. With a flash of jealousy, Max saw Orion had chosen Rolf. Cynthia was apologizing profusely to a bawling imp no taller than a footstool. The imp was inconsolable. Cynthia was imploring YaYa for help when Max yelled and jumped.
Something sharp had punctured his foot.
Frightened, Max looked down and stared at a strange creature. It resembled a small otter, but its fur was a shimmering red-gold. Lethal-looking metallic quills ran along its neck and back toward a thick, foxlike tail. It had curling black claws like a grizzly bear, and it was one of these that had pierced Max’s shoe. Max yelped as the creature gathered itself and leapt at him with astonishing force, knocking him back onto the grass. Opening his eyes, he saw the heavy animal lying on his chest. Its face was inches from his. The creature nipped his nose and began to vibrate its tail like a rattlesnake. Max held his breath as the animal’s murderous claws stretched and squeezed for a better grip.
“I see you’ve met Nick, but I haven’t met you.”
Nolan’s grinning face was upside down.
“Hi, Mr. Nolan. I’m Max McDaniels. Er, Mr. Nolan?”
“Just Nolan is fine,” the man said. “What’s up, Max?”
“Okay,” said Max, trying to gently pry a large claw away from his throat. “Nolan, what exactly is Nick? I didn’t get a chance to read his nametag.”
“Nick’s a Black Forest lymrill, and we’re darn lucky to have him. We thought his kind was extinct until one of our Agents stumbled on him in Germany.”
“Uh, Nolan? I think his claws are cutting me.”
“Oh, he’s just excited, son!” laughed Nolan, smacking his knee. “You can tell by his tail flutter. Fascinating creatures, lymrills—never thought I’d get a chance to see one. I think Nick’s chosen you, Max. Congratulations!”
Max looked at Nick, who had flattened his quills and retracted his claws. His surprising weight eased off Max’s chest, and he settled onto the grass. Max rubbed his chest. There were holes in his T-shirt and several small drops of blood. He glared at Nick, who was now dozing.
Far in the distance, they heard Old Tom’s chimes sound ten o’clock. With a low-throated growl, YaYa stood and addressed them.
“When I call your name, please come forward with your charge…. Sarah Amankwe.”
Max watched as the pretty black girl he’d noticed in the kitchen glided forward with the strange three-legged peacock beside her. They stood for several minutes before YaYa and Ms. Richter, and then it looked as though Sarah took a pen and signed her name before the two went back to their place.
Students were called forward, in turn, and stood before YaYa to sign their names. Max felt like dozing along with Nick by the time he heard his name called.
“Max McDaniels.”
Max tried to shake Nick awake, but the animal did not budge. When his name was called again, Max slid his hands under the lymrill, hoisting it up like a toddler. As he hurried forward, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Nick was perfectly awake and utterly content.
A choice phrase for Nick was forming in Max’s mind when he arrived before YaYa. The ki-rin towered above Ms. Richter; Max did not even stand to her shoulder. Her eyes gazed down at him, like great saucers swimming with milk. Max clutched Nick closer.
“Max McDaniels, Nick has chosen you to be his Guardian Keeper. Do you contest this choice?”
His voice sounded very small in answer.
“No.”
“By signing your name in the Sanctuary Tome,” continued YaYa, “you hereby pledge to care for Nick and to look after him to the best of your ability. Understand that faithful service will be recognized in kind; inconstancy will result in abandonment and shame. Do you accept this charge?”
Max looked down at Nick; he felt the lymrill’s strong heartbeat beneath his hand as the animal’s small, eager eyes studied his face.
“Do you accept this charge?” asked YaYa patiently.
“Yes,” said Max. “I’ll look after Nick.”
Ms. Richter presented him with a very old book to sign. Looking down at the frayed parchment, he saw that the pledge had already been inscribed in black script. At the bottom was a blank line, next to the Rowan seal. He signed his name, startled to see the date appear underneath. Ms. Richter smiled and motioned for him to rejoin the others.
The rest of the oaths went smoothly except for Omar’s. He had the misfortune to be chosen by Tweedy, the Highlands hare, who noisily protested any sort of contract with a minor. The hare wasn’t satisfied until he was permitted to ink his paw and sign the book as well. Omar looked mortified throughout and meticulously cleaned his glasses.
When all of the students had taken their oaths, Nolan and his assistants gave each of them a navy booklet. Max read the words stamped in silver on his booklet’s cover: THE LYMRILL: KNOWN HISTORY, HABITS, AND CARE. He was about to flip it open, when Nolan dismissed the students to explore the Sanctuary for the rest of the morning. The students scattered in different directions with their charges. Max saw Connor chasing after Kyra, the female faun, who now sprinted for a pine forest. David and Maya had not moved; she merely lay on his lap, her eyes thin slits of gold. Lucia took Kettlemouth toward the lagoon, where the red bullfrog promptly splashed into the water. Orion had permitted Rolf to climb up on his back, and the two plodded out toward the dunes.
Nick’s tail fluttered and he bolted in the direction of the trees near the Sanctuary gate. His claws churned clumps of dirt as he went.
By the time Max arrived at the hedge, the lymrill had disappeared. Max rubbed his arms as raindrops began falling and thunder rumbled from the hills. He stepped under a large, bent tree near the canopied tunnel. For ten minutes he paced back and forth, peering deep within the surrounding hedge for any hint of red or gold, listening for the telltale sound of Nick’s tail. The rain fell harder and Max kicked a nearby tree.
“I can’t believe I lost my charge on the first day!”
A voice nearby startled him.
“If you’re looking for the lymrill, he’s right above you.”
Max jumped back and looked straight up to see Nick crouching on a knotty bough. When Max spied him, his tail began to flutter, its rattle faint in the breeze.
Max whirled to find the source of the voice.
“Who said that?”
“I did.”
A plump goose waddled out from the tunnel, followed by a dozen goslings that began to honk inquisitively. As they ambled by, the goose turned and dipped her bill.
“I’m Hannah. Would love to chat, but it’s feeding time and they’re terrors when they’re hungry. Mind you teach the lymrill to watch his claws!”
“Uh, okay. Thanks!”
The goose raised a white-feathered wing in farewell as she herded her goslings toward the lagoon.
Scraps of bark began to fall on Max. He looked up to see Nick sharpening his claws and peering down at him. Yawning dramatically, the lymrill suddenly leapt up to a higher branch and began to send more bark at Max.
“Oh, all right, I’m coming!” Max sighed, grabbing a limb and hoisting himself up. A few minutes later, Max was at eye level with Nick, who fluttered his tail with pleasure.
“Hey there,” panted Max, finding a perch at the base of a thick branch. Nick circled Max’s lap and curled into a ball, nibbling on the end of his tail. His quills smoothed to a metallic taper. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, his broad black nose whistling as he breathed slow and steady. Max eased a stray claw off his leg and looked out over the Sanctuary. Being in the tree reminded him of his fort back in Chicago. He watched raindrops patter on the outer leaves, thinking how his mother would laugh if she could see him.
Since Nick showed no sign of stirring, Max leaned back and flipped open his booklet:
Lymrill (also known as: Kingmaker and Roland’s Folly)
Mystic tree-dwelling mammal found in Central and Western Europe. Identified by its compact size, sharp claws, thick fur, and metallic quills, which possess valuable properties.
Prized for its pelt, the lymrill was hunted to near extinction by knights and kings who believed its skin could be used to forge armor and weapons of unsurpassed hardness. Legends suggest that the lymrill must surrender its quills willingly, lest the animal die and its pelt lose its reputed properties. Last known specimen was captured on the Iberian Peninsula by the famed warrior Roland who coveted its magic but inadvertently slew the animal in his impatience for its quills.
Lymrills are considered intelligent, displaying an ability to communicate with—
Max stopped reading as he heard voices below. He looked down and saw Ms. Richter arrive from the clearing to meet Miss Awolowo, Nigel, and two other adults at the tunnel entrance. Ms. Richter sounded agitated.
“What’s the latest news on Lees?”
“We know he made it to the airport,” muttered Nigel, sweeping wet hair off his brow. “It appears he simply never landed. Isabella insists he never got off the plane at Logan.”
“What of the others?”
“All signs say that they’re gone, Director.” Max squinted to make out a young woman in a gray raincoat and glasses. “Disappeared shortly after they triggered their letters. They’ve all been reported missing within their communities.”
Ms. Richter’s tone was sharp and brisk.
“Exactly how many children are missing, Ndidi?”
“Mickey Lees, who passed the tests two weeks ago, and seventeen Potentials who haven’t yet taken them,” said Miss Awolowo. “The last Potential disappeared three days ago in Lima.”
“And how many paintings have been stolen, Hazel?”
“Fifty-two,” said the woman in the raincoat. “But the thefts seem to be somewhat random. We can’t conclusively say that the Enemy is involved.”
“Joseph, do we have any reason to suspect internal treachery? How was Isabella’s last performance review?”
“Hmmm, always possible, always possible,” answered an elderly man in a burgundy sweater. “But I don’t think so, Gabrielle. Isabella’s never been our best, but you know as well as I do that she’s trustworthy.”
“Nigel,” said Ms. Richter, turning suddenly.
“Yes, Director?”
“You believe McDaniels has shared everything with you? Everything about that woman at the house? And everything about Varga?”
“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. Assume 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.”