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 classmates were soaked, Max was merely damp; he and Nick had stayed up in the tree until they heard Old Tom’s chimes. The class had left their new charges with Nolan before dashing 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 glasses, 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 glasses 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.
“Hello. 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 extinguishing flames when she had been tested as a Potential. She sat patiently, her arms folded.
“As your class 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.
“Hello there. I feel very privileged to have been assigned your class advisor—you’re my first class. 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 classes 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, class 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 class 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, pushing 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, snobbish 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 cocktail on the ve-ran-da—”
Max snatched 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.”
She disappeared behind the swinging door.
“Dad, I have to go. They’re handing out our books and stuff.”
“Okay, then. Be a good boy and do your best—for me and your mom.”
“Okay,” said Max quickly. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, kiddo. I’ll call in a couple days.”
Max hung up the phone and walked around the long island toward the door. Just as he reached the exit, he felt Bob’s enormous hand reach out and tap him on the shoulder. The ogre extended a specially decorated pastry. Icing spelled WELCOME, MAX in a beautiful, delicate script. With a wink, Bob placed the treat in his hand and ushered him out the door.
The next morning, Max paused outside Room 301 as he heard laughter inside the bathroom.
“Aw, man, you gotta be kiddin’ me, Jimmy!” said a deep voice with a heavy Southern accent.
Jimmy’s voice cackled something unintelligible in reply. Max opened the door slowly. Jimmy was sitting on the counter, his legs dangling over the side while he spoke with an older boy wearing a towel and flip-flops. They turned as Max entered.
“There’s one of ’em!” Jimmy roared, leaping off the counter and hobbling at Max, who backed against the door. “There’s one of the thieving ingrates!”
Jimmy’s face was purple as he came at Max, but the fit-looking blond boy intercepted the little man, stooping to place his hands on Jimmy’s shoulders. Max sighed with relief.
“Whoa, Jimmy!” the blond boy drawled. “Relax. Relax, man.”
Jimmy glared at Max, his chest heaving as he stabbed an accusatory finger.
“That tadpole let me slave over ’im! Insisted on the ol’ Jimmy treatment to get ’im spiffed up for the ladies! I told him I was busy, but he begged for a little zing of the good stuff! And does he have the decency to thank me properly? Not on your life! Not one of ’em gave me a present!”
The blond boy turned; his grip was still firm on Jimmy’s shoulders.
“Is that right?” he asked Max.
Max turned red. “I didn’t know! I-I’m sorry!”
The older boy winked at Max.
“Well, Jimmy,” said the boy, “you leave this kid to me. I’ll take care of him for you.”
Jimmy suddenly looked concerned, alternating worried looks between Max and the older boy.
“Promise not to be too hard on ’im, Jason!” pleaded the little man. “He’s just a tadpole, after all!”
Jason frowned and shook his head. “You know my ways, Jimmy.”
“Don’t you lay a hand on ’im!” roared Jimmy. “If you do, you’ll have me to answer to!”
Jason released Jimmy and put up his hands in a defensive gesture.
“Okay, okay. I’ll let ’im go!”
With a snort, Jimmy brushed past him and beckoned Max to lean in close.
“Sixth Years,” he whispered. “Think they run the place. He bothers you, you let me know, eh?”
Max raised his eyebrows and nodded, glancing over Jimmy at the grinning boy. Jimmy patted him on the shoulder, then went to retrieve a mop from across the room. Jason put out a hand to Max.
“Hey, bud, I’m Jason Barrett. You must be a new Apprentice.”
“Yeah,” replied Max, shaking his hand. “I’m Max McDaniels.”
“Good to meet ya, Max. Welcome to Rowan.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Jason lowered his voice.
“Listen, Max,” he said. “Jimmy might be a lot of bark, but you’ve still got to bring him a present if he does something for you. Doesn’t have to be fancy. Anything will work, really—a piece of gum, half a bagel, a stamp, whatever. He just likes to be in your thoughts, you know what I mean?”
Max shot Jimmy a wary look as Jason continued in a lighter tone.
“Fortunately, you won’t have to worry about Jimmy too much. You see, this here is the ‘Big Daddy’ of the boys’ bathrooms at Rowan. We kind of reserve it for the Fifth and Sixth Years. Apprentices use the one down in Room 101.” Jason patted Max on the shoulder and steered him gently out the door. “Start small, Max—it’ll give you something to look forward to!”
Max found several of his classmates huddled outside the door, looking tense.
“We heard Jimmy shouting,” Omar whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. But I guess we’re supposed to use a different bathroom. Room 101. This one’s for the Fifth and Sixth Years.”
“That’s ridiculous,” muttered Jesse, making for the door. “This bathroom’s on our floor.”
Jesse bulldozed through the door. The others stayed put, jumping as they heard Jimmy’s voice bellow from within.
“Another one! Out of my way, Jason—leave him to me!”
Jesse came screaming out of the bathroom, slamming the door and leaning heavily against it. Glancing at the others, he started for the stairs.
“Max, you said Room 101?”
Room 101 was a small, dingy space with a dozen gray stalls, toilets, and sinks. A dead spider lay in a dusty bathtub, spotlighted by a lone bare bulb hanging from a mildewed ceiling. The walls were lined with rusty lockers. Peeling back a shower curtain, Rolf poked his head inside a stall and quickly turned to the others.
“I’ll go second,” he volunteered.
“I loved that other bathroom,” sniffed Connor, stepping past Rolf and turning the faucet.
By the time the boys left the bathroom, the Manse had become a much busier place. Shouts of greeting rang through the halls. There was a constant racket of luggage and doors slamming. Arriving back at their floor, Max found the hallway filled with suitcases and duffel bags as Second Years lingered about, getting reacquainted and comparing class schedules. But when Max and the others stepped out into the hall, the conversations abruptly stopped.
“Oh no,” breathed Connor as the first yells started.
“Tadpoles! Tadpoles!”
The First Years ran a screaming gauntlet toward their rooms, past the older students who yelled and threw wadded packing tape in a stinging whirlwind of flying objects.
Max practically dived into his room as bits of cardboard and wadded tape came hurtling after him. David was on the upper level, sitting on the floor with his back against his bed.
“Terrifying, isn’t it?” he said. “I went to pee and they chased me back here.” He added thoughtfully, “I forgot I still need to pee.”
“That’s not so bad,” Max panted. “I almost got killed by Jimmy this morning before a Sixth Year told me that we have to use the bathroom in Room 101.”
“Why do we have to do that?”
“You’ll know when you see Room 101,” sighed Max, flopping onto his bed.
After making their way across the bustling campus, Max and David emerged from the Sanctuary tunnel just in time to see a herd of glossy black horses thunder across the clearing. The horses were ridden bareback by a mix of older boys and girls who laughed and shouted to one another as they cantered past the lagoon and up toward the dunes. Several students sat under the palms, tossing live fish to a pair of gargantuan seals that had dragged themselves from the lagoon onto the sandy beach.
“Do you want to help me feed Maya?” asked David. “It shouldn’t be too bad—she only eats melon, nuts, and grasses.”
“No,” said Max, “I have to feed Nick tonight and I don’t even know what he eats. I’d better read my book. If I mess it up, YaYa will probably eat me.”
Taking the lymrill booklet from his pocket, Max waved good-bye and started toward the lagoon. The seals were gone, but he saw Kettlemouth and Lucia sunning near a palm. He waved and circled around to the other end, settling on a low, grassy patch dotted with small white flowers. For a moment, he just lay back and watched the towering clouds scoot by overhead. He peeled off his shirt and slid out of his shoes to lie barefoot. Closing his eyes, he let the sun warm his face. Soon, he was fast asleep, entertaining a strange dream in which his father had his mother declared deceased so he could marry Mum, who promptly turned him into a casserole.
Max awoke suddenly as something bumped him. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was sandwiched between two shiny, rippling mounds. He yelped and jumped high into the air before racing away from two twenty-foot seals that had slid up on either side of him. He heard a giggle and whirled to see a girl snapping photos. She lowered the camera, revealing the prettiest face he had ever seen, with long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and faint freckles dotting each sunburned cheek.
Max was horrified.
“Gotcha!” she crowed. “Was wondering when you’d wake up! That’ll make the newspaper for sure. Yearbook, too, probably.”
“Awful, Julie. Shame on you,” chastised one of the seals, rolling over on its side. “We three very peaceful, just now.”
“Oh, I couldn’t resist,” the girl said with a shrug. Max blinked at her dumbly. “How often do you get a First Year surrounded by two selkies during his midmorning nap?”
“Apologize, you should,” sniffed the other seal with an agitated ripple.
“Oh, okay. I’m sorry…eh, what’s your name?” She paused, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
“Max. Max McDaniels. It’s okay. It just startled me.” He turned and raised a hand to the two seals, which were now blinking at him. “Sorry.”
“Understandable,” rumbled the selkie. “You were sleeping. We give you shock. I’m Helga and this is my sister, Frigga. Scandinavian selkies. You look so comfortable, we thought we join you and sun our blubber.” She smacked her flippers on her belly with a loud slap.
“Well, I’m Julie Teller,” offered the girl, putting away her camera. “I’m a Stage One Mystic and head photographer for the paper—a Third Year,” she added, seeing the look of confusion on Max’s face. He had no idea what to say. All he knew was that he wanted her to keep talking.
“Is it okay with you if I use this in the paper?” she asked.
“Uh, sure. I guess so,” said Max, reaching for his shirt and suddenly feeling very young and scrawny.
“Thanks,” she said brightly. “Where are you from?”
“Chicago.”
“Ooh! Cool city. My family and I visited there once a couple years ago. I’m from Melbourne.”
Max gaped at her.
“That’s in Australia,” she added.
Max nodded, feeling stupid. They looked at each other for several moments.
“Well,” Julie chirped. “Got my shot for the morning. Good to meet you, Max. I’ll see you later.”
Before he could speak, Julie was gone, walking quickly toward the hedge tunnel and pausing to greet Hannah the goose, who was waddling with her goslings toward Max. Max’s attention was interrupted by a solid thump on the ground nearby.
“I go get a bite. Nice to meet you, Max,” rumbled Frigga, turning to shimmy down to the water.
“Frigga!” Helga exclaimed, rippling after her sister. “We fed one hour ago. This must stop; you getting huge!”
The two erupted in a series of angry seal barks before disappearing smoothly below the surface. Max felt a peck on his calf and turned to see Hannah and her goslings crowded around him.
“Hello again,” said Hannah, sounding very flustered. “Word around the Sanctuary is that you’re free for a little babysitting. Is this true?”
“Oh. Well, I guess so,” said Max. “Lymrills are nocturnal and—”
“Wonderful! I’ve got to get my down fluffed properly and one of the dryads offered to do it for a song. You can watch them for a couple of hours, can’t you?”
Hannah turned and swept a wing over the goslings, who honked and bopped into one another.
“This is Susie, Bobbie, Willie, Millie, Hank, Honk, Nina, Tina, Macy, Lillian, Mac, and Little Baby Ray. Goslings, you behave yourselves for Max. Be back in a few, dear.”
Buffeting Max’s leg appreciatively with her wing, Hannah waddled back toward the forest. Max’s eyes followed her helplessly as the goslings hopped onto his feet and began pecking his shins with their sharp little bills.
He spent two hours with the goslings, letting them jump up and down and run on his body as he lay in the grass and tried unsuccessfully to read his booklet. Every half hour, he would take them down to the lagoon, wading in and playing with them as they swam about the reeds in happy little circles. The water was warm, but every several seconds Max could feel a strong, cool current hint at greater depths. Older students waved and laughed when they saw Max had been drafted into babysitting service. The goslings demanded constant attention, and Max was relieved to see Hannah return.
“I feel like a new goose!” she exclaimed as the goslings clamored around their mother. “Hmmm. Seems like someone here made himself a dozen new fans. Thank you, Max, you’re a dear. The children would love it if you could visit sometime. We live in a little nest by the orchard, just behind the Class of 1840 Tree. Come by anytime.”
“Sure thing,” said Max, grabbing his booklet. He said farewell and headed for the hedge tunnel. One of the goslings (Max thought it might be Lillian) tottered after him until Hannah herded her back with the rest.
That evening, hundreds of students streamed into the great dining hall, which was now golden with the light of many tapered candles lit among the chandeliers. Max fiddled with his tie as he and his classmates were directed to tables strewn with wildflowers and set with crystal glasses and horn-handled cutlery. Full-grown fauns with curling hair plucked at lyres, the music strange and soothing as more students filed in.
Seated between Cynthia and Lucia, Max studied the faces around him. The candlelight and formal uniforms made the students look much older. Across the hall, Max saw Jason Barrett seated with the Sixth Years, chatting with the girl on his right. Ms. Richter and the faculty sat in blue robes at the head table. They engaged in quiet conversation, giving an occasional nod to an older student or an inquisitive glance at the new arrivals. The music came to a gentle close, and Ms. Richter stood to address them, her voice clear and strong.
“Please stand.”
Max looked at the others and stood, uncertain of what was next. Ms. Richter’s voice filled the hall.
“This is a House of Learning 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 in a silent toast. Ms. Richter continued.
“This is a House of Learning 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 jumped as the dining hall erupted in a chorus.
“We welcome them with open arms. We will help them on the way.”
The students and faculty raised their glasses toward the First Years’ tables and promptly drained them. Lucia did the same, but Max wrinkled his nose and took only hesitant sips of his wine.
Ms. Richter took her seat. The dining hall burst into a chorus of cheery conversations as dozens of students streamed in from the kitchens bearing heavy silver serving trays.
The feast was extraordinary and soon the table was engrossed in Cynthia’s story of how she had come to receive her letter from Rowan. With a blaring voice and dramatic sweeps of her arms, Cynthia reenacted how she had been visiting the aquarium when a school of tropical fish began to swim in hypnotizing patterns. After concluding that it was all “very freaky,” Cynthia yielded the floor to other classmates, who began to share their stories. Max did not share his, choosing instead to feast on roast pheasant stuffed with wild rice, miniature lamb chops, mountains of fresh vegetables, and little dishes of assorted sweets and chocolates. Periodically, older students and faculty wandered over to say a quick hello between courses. At the meal’s conclusion, a great clamor swept the dining hall.
Max grinned as Mum and Bob were dragged from the kitchens by a gaggle of students insisting they take a bow for their efforts. Bob, wearing a starched blue shirt and clean white apron, hastily wiped away a tear and waved before ducking back through the swinging door. Mum capered to and fro, clapping her hands and issuing curtsy after dramatic curtsy until the very same students politely, but firmly, escorted her away. This drew a final round of hearty applause until Ms. Richter rang her spoon against her glass and stood once again. The candlelight cast an enormous shadow on the wall behind her. A smile spread across her face.
“Welcome home, students. As Director, I declare the school year officially in session!”
A raucous cheer erupted from the students, accompanied by enthusiastic banging on the tables and the stamping of many feet. Max was stamping away with the others when several Second Years strolled over and sat down at the table.
“Hey there,” said an olive-skinned boy with jet-black hair. “I’m Alex Muñoz.”
“Yeah, I’m Anna Lundgren,” said a pretty girl with short blond hair.
“Welcome, guys. I’m Sasha Ivanovich,” said a boy with shaggy brown hair.
Several of the First Years enthusiastically introduced themselves while finishing off the last of the sweets. Jesse looked miserable, groaning as he held his stomach and leaned against Omar.
“Are you guys excited for the big campout?” whispered Alex, twisting his finger around a wildflower stem.
“What campout?” Cynthia inquired, pushing away her plate.
“The one tonight,” said Anna, “out on the Kestrel. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“No,” said Connor, leaning closer. “What’s it all about?”
“It’s kind of a First Year tradition, for class bonding,” answered Sasha. “The First Years sneak out and spend the night on the Kestrel. Out by midnight, back by sunrise.”
“Isn’t that against the rules?” asked Omar, wide-eyed.
“Yes and no,” answered Alex. “According to ‘the rules,’ the Kestrel ’s off-limits, but the tradition’s been around a long time. As long as you’re careful and quiet, the faculty looks the other way.”
“I don’t know,” murmured Cynthia, looking nervous.
“It’s your decision,” Anna said, shrugging. “We had a great time last year. If you want to be the first class not to do it, though…”
“We didn’t say that,” said Connor, his eyes flashing. “C’mon, guys, let’s do it. It’ll be fun.”
Connor’s smile was contagious, and soon the others were grinning, too. They looked from one to another and nodded.
“Okay,” muttered Rolf. “I’ll bring some snacks.”
“I’ve got a radio,” volunteered Lucia.
“Everybody bring a sleeping bag or some blankets, a pillow, and a flashlight if you have one,” whispered Connor. “Pass it on to the other tables. We’ll meet near the stairs down to the beach at midnight. Go in ones or twos and don’t get caught!”
Turning to Alex and Anna, Connor continued.
“Can we just get aboard the Kestrel? Isn’t it locked or something?”
“Nope,” said Alex. “Just tiptoe down the dock and climb the rope ladder on the side. It’s a really cool ship and it’s pretty warm tonight. You guys are lucky; it rained on us last year.”
“But it was still fun!” chirped Anna, smiling and standing up. “Nice to meet you all. Can’t wait to hear about it tomorrow.” She and the others rejoined the table of Second Years.
Max was excited at the prospect of a secret sneak-out. He spent several minutes planning with the group before he saw Mr. Vincenti making a beeline for him from the faculty table.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said the elderly man with a smile. “Max, could I speak with you?”
“Sure,” said Max, fearful that their planning had been overheard. Mr. Vincenti ushered him away from the table to a nearby pillar.
“Max, the Director would like to have a word with you,” said Mr. Vincenti, “concerning certain events…events that happened before you arrived at Rowan.”
“Oh,” said Max. “But I have to go to the Sanctuary—my charge is nocturnal.”
“This is more important,” said Mr. Vincenti. “I’ll see that your charge is cared for. You’d best get going—she’s expecting you.”
Ms. Richter’s office was located off the foyer, at the end of a hallway decorated by glistening portraits of past Directors. The door was slightly ajar, letting a sliver of warm yellow light into the hall. Max’s heart beat quickly as he knocked.
“Come in.”
Max entered and saw Ms. Richter hanging up her blue robes. She still wore a business suit, although she had removed her shoes and stood in stocking feet. She offered Max a tired smile and gestured toward a polished armchair across from an enormous desk. Max was surprised by the relative modesty of the room. Other than the desk, it had a small couch and a coffee table with several small chairs. French doors led out to some gardens near the orchard. A small hearth stood cold and quiet in the corner.
Max seated himself as Ms. Richter arranged some wildflowers from the feast in a crystal vase. She eased into a leather chair and leaned forward to extend her hand, her bright silver eyes snapping Max to attention. Her hand was warm and dry and strong.
“Hello, Max. It’s nice to meet you and chat one on one.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” he said.
Ms. Richter rested her elbows on the desk, her eyes assuming a deadly seriousness.
“Max, it is unacceptable that the Enemy knew who you were and how to find you. You represent a new generation at Rowan, and I shudder to think of the consequences should the Enemy find the means to identify and target our Potentials.”
Max nodded, trying not to betray that he knew seventeen Potentials and a student were already missing.
“I want you to tell me everything that has happened starting with the day you had your vision. Anything you can remember. Spare no detail, no matter how trivial you think it may be.”
Max told Ms. Richter everything he knew. Her questions came quickly, forcing him to search his memory and recall details he had forgotten. When he had concluded, Ms. Richter picked up a folder and opened it. She glanced quickly at its contents before selecting a photograph and holding it up for Max to see.
“Is this the man that has been following you?” she asked.
Max squinted at the picture and recoiled in shock. The figure was indeed the strange man from the train and the museum, although he looked younger and less haggard in the photograph. He was sitting at a sidewalk café holding a newspaper, but his gaze was directed at the camera. The man’s good eye displayed a mixture of alarm and rage as he had evidently just spied the photographer, who, from the look of the photo, was in a moving car. Max shut his eyes and nodded. Ms. Richter put the photograph away.
“I’m sorry to frighten you, Max,” she said, her features softening, “but I needed to confirm Nigel’s account. That’s all I need at present. I’d ask you not to speak of this matter with anyone until we have more information. Okay?”
“Okay. Can I go now?”
“You can go, but, Max, I need you to remember something.”
“Yes, Ms. Richter?”
The Director’s expression became deadly serious again. She spoke in tight, urgent tones.
“If you ever see that man again, I want you to run and call for help as loudly as you can. Do not answer or speak to him; it could be very dangerous. Do you understand?”
Max nodded mutely, his insides frozen. Ms. Richter got up from her chair and ushered him out the door, suggesting that he swing by the kitchen for some cocoa. But as soon as she closed the door, Max ran down the hall and up to his room.
David was dead asleep when Max and Connor began to shake him. He blinked several times before flipping over and burying his head under a pillow. Max hissed between his teeth.
“David! C’mon, David. Wake up! We’re camping out on the Kestrel. Remember?”
“No need to whisper, Max,” laughed Connor. “You’re still in your room!”
Connor jumped up and landed on David, who gave a muffled groan.
“C’mon, Davie! It’ll be fun. Ladies and adventure on the high seas, eh!”
“Okay, okay. Get off of me,” pleaded David’s voice from beneath the pillow.
Max clutched several blankets and a flashlight as the three stole down the hallway. Reaching the foyer, they nearly bumped into Cynthia and Lucia, who were tiptoeing toward the door. Connor motioned for them to go first, and the pair slipped quietly outside. Several moments later, Connor turned to Max and David, his grin visible in the dark.
“You boys ready?” he whispered. “Stick close to the Manse and stay low until we’re beyond the lights. When you have to leave the house, crawl—you’ll cast a smaller shadow. When we reach the grass, we’ll run the rest of the way.”
Max nodded and moved past Connor to the door. Sticking his head outside, he turned and motioned for them to follow. The three hugged the perimeter of the Manse, crouching below the windows, and crawled to the grass. Max found it hard going while carrying their blankets and the flashlight. One by one, they rose and ran into the darkness.
The night air felt cool as Max raced along. Old Tom and Maggie were given a wide berth; several of their upper windows were lit with a pale green light.
As they reached the steps, they saw many silhouettes moving against the moonlit ocean. A few dozen students were already there, whispering excitedly and tallying the goodies that had been brought. Omar and Jesse came panting up a few minutes later. Connor scanned the group and furrowed his brow.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“A bunch of people aren’t coming,” said a girl. “They don’t want to get in trouble.”
Connor rolled his eyes and made a noise in his throat before starting down the stone steps. Max swatted a mosquito and hefted his pack, laughing with Cynthia as they followed along.
It was a peaceful night, gentle waves lapping at the Kestrel, which rose black and tall on the water. Connor turned on his flashlight and jogged down the dock, the light bobbing wildly as the others trotted after. He stopped abruptly and Max heard him swear. As they caught up to him, Max saw why: the Kestrel did have a rope ladder hanging from its side, but the ship itself was moored fifteen feet away. They would have to swim to it. The water looked inky and cold. Connor kicked a wooden post.
“They might have told us about this!” he fumed.
“Let’s just forget it,” muttered Rolf, looking back toward the stone steps set in the cliff.
“I am not going in the ocean at night,” a girl said, and shuddered, peering over the dock at the water.
“Yeah,” said another boy. “I vote we head back.”
Max stood quietly, watching the ship, as the others debated what to do. He noticed that its rocking motion brought it closer at regular intervals.
Max backed away down the dock. For several seconds, he studied the ship’s movement in the water. When he saw its mooring chain begin to slacken, he sprinted toward the edge and leapt high into the air.
For a moment he thought he had misjudged badly.
He plummeted toward the water, grabbing wildly for the rope ladder as he fell. With a sudden snag, his fingers caught it and he crashed against the side of the ship. There were surprised gasps and cheers from the dock as his feet scrambled for a hold and he began climbing. Swinging over the ship’s side, he spilled onto the deck, rolling over something hard and uncomfortable. He looked to see what it was and smiled, standing to cup his hands around his mouth.
“Hey!” he called back to the dock. “There’s a gangplank on the deck—no one has to swim!”
The others began chattering; the atmosphere was electric once again. Grunting from the weight, Max swung the gangplank over the ship’s side and fed it slowly toward the dock, where Sarah and Rolf reached out to grab it. Securing the end of the plank into its groove, Max signaled it was ready. They proceeded in single file; Connor was first up, carrying Max’s gear with his own.
“You’ve got some serious springs, don’t ya, Max?” Connor grinned, dropping the gear on deck and looking around.
“Yeah, I call Max for my basketball team!” piped David, who began rummaging through Rolf ’s pack for snacks, to the visible annoyance of its owner.
The students fanned out and began exploring up and down the deck. Several took turns playing with the wheel. Lucia and Cynthia crawled up to a crow’s nest, raining hard candies down on the rest as they spread out blankets and sleeping bags. Connor strolled toward the cabin, returning shortly with a disappointed expression on his face.
“There are locks on all the doors and hatches; looks like we’re staying above.”
“That’s fine by me,” squeaked a girl from Denmark. “It’s probably scary down there!”
“I’ll bet it’s cool down there,” said Connor wistfully. He took a seat on a nearby blanket and turned on someone’s radio, quickly lowering the volume as an opera singer blared an impressive tremolo. He began scrolling through the stations.
Soon all of them had settled down in their impromptu campsite. Huddling in a small group as the boat rocked, Max laughed and played cards and devoured Rolf ’s snacks while he learned about his classmates’ hometowns and families. Omar was telling Max about his baby brother back in Cairo when the boat pitched wildly.
Playing cards slid across the deck. The masts creaked noisily and the children stopped talking.
For a moment all was silent again. Then the boat shuddered as a massive wave rose beneath it, crashing the children into one another as they scrambled for a hold.
Thump.
Thump, thump.
Something was thudding loudly against the side of the ship, below the waterline.
The children felt the boat strain against its moorings. Lucia shrieked as the gangplank slipped from its hold and splashed into the water. Max looked frantically over the railing to see something, anything that would indicate what was churning the sea. All he saw was swirling, fathomless black.
Keening wails suddenly filled the air, causing Max to fall back onto the deck as the others covered their ears. The Kestrel now bobbed like a toy boat as seawater frothed and spilled in foamy waves over the sides.
“Run!” screamed Connor over the noise, pulling Lucia to her feet. “All of you, run!”
The children staggered toward the bow of the ship, falling now and again as it pitched back and forth. The keening increased; the timbers of the boat began to vibrate and hum. Many of the children leapt over the side, plunging some fifteen feet into the water and flailing through the chop for the beach. Max saw David bob up in the foamy water when he suddenly felt a hand seize his arm. Sarah was shouting at him in terror.
“I can’t swim!”
The wailing became deafening; the boat lurched away from the dock as one of the mooring chains strained near snapping.
Max grabbed Sarah and hurled the two of them over the side. They plunged into the sea. Swallowing a mouthful of salty water, Max clutched Sarah’s shirt and stroked wildly with his free arm for the beach. The water was cold and swirling in wild currents; beds of kelp dragged against his legs like clammy fingers. At any moment, Max expected something horribly strong to clamp on to his foot and heave him out toward deeper waters. Brine splashed in his face, and a great black wave rolled over his head, pushing them under. Sarah was screaming and thrashing crazily in his grip, her sharp elbows hitting him on the side of the face as he labored.
As Max’s grip threatened to give, their feet met the rough sand. Sarah flung herself away from him and scrambled through the surf. The keening began to die as the children fled up the stone steps and across the lawns.
The Manse’s lights were on. A crowd of students and faculty had gathered onto the drive by the fountain. Ms. Richter was among them, her bright lantern casting her anger into sharp relief.