9
A GOLDEN APPLE IN THE ORCHARD
Ten letters lay in a little pile on Max’s bed. They were from his father, and Max had read them several times. It was a late weekend morning in early October, and Max had been at Rowan over five weeks.
Things at home sounded busy. Mr. McDaniels was traveling frequently on business, determined that his efforts would convince Mr. Lukens to assign him more accounts. Max was preparing to write a letter back when David came into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Hey,” he muttered, flopping onto his bed across the way and kicking his shoes off.
“How was it?” asked Max without looking up.
“Stunk. Miss Kraken yelled at me for not paying enough attention. Ms. Richter came in and watched for the last half. She never says anything, she just watches. It’s annoying.”
After the first day, David had been removed from their Mystics class and was taking private lessons every day from Miss Kraken. The damage he had inflicted on the classroom had been repaired immediately.
“Are you excited to go into town?” Max asked, beginning his letter. What he really wanted to know were further details of David’s lessons in Mystics, but David never shared them.
“Yeah, I guess,” came David’s reply, muffled by the pillow he had pulled over his face.
Max frowned as he wrote to his father; there were so many fascinating things about the new school and so little he could actually share. Practical considerations limited his letters to chronicling his academic struggles and assuring his father he was making new friends. Max made no mention of vegetarian ogres or talking geese.
Mr. Vincenti, Miss Boon, and the other advisors were already waiting for the First Years by the fountain when Max and David walked out the Manse’s front door. Most students had abandoned their school uniforms in favor of blue jeans. Mr. Vincenti spoke up as they set out for the campus gate and the world outside.
“Ha! Exciting stuff—first trip to town and a beautiful fall day to enjoy it! Did everyone bring some spending money and an appetite?”
“Yes!” screamed the group, causing him to cover his ears and chuckle.
“Good. Now listen up—we have reservations for dinner at the Grove at seven, and the food is excellent so don’t fill up on sweets! Make a point to introduce yourselves to the residents and shopkeepers. They’re well aware of what Rowan’s all about—in fact, many are former students or family of the faculty. Be on your best behavior and make Sir Wesley proud, eh?”
The students cheered and Max hurried along with them as they crossed the lawns and entered the forest, which was ablaze with the brilliant colors of autumn. The breeze off the ocean was crisp, and Max rejoiced in the unprecedented sum of money in his pocket—his hoarded allowances for the past two months. He chatted with Rolf and Lucia as they walked the scenic, meandering mile to the gate.
As the great gate closed behind them, Max and Connor dashed away with the others, arriving a few hundred yards later at the long stretch of quaint shops and businesses radiating from the village green. Older students milled about, ducking in and out of the nearby pizza parlor, café, and bookstore.
“Where to?” asked Connor, hopping up and down and looking in all directions.
“Let’s wait for David,” said Max, peering back down the road, where his roommate looked to be getting an earful from Miss Boon. Finally, David nodded and hurried toward them up the road, arriving in an annoyed fit of coughing.
“What was that all about?” asked Connor.
“Oh, nothing special. She wants me to ‘be careful’—she’s been on my case ever since Miss Kraken started teaching me Mystics. I don’t think she likes it.”
“Why would she care?” asked Max.
“She’s really young,” said David. “She’s only, like, twenty-five. I think she’s worried Miss Kraken doesn’t have confidence in her.”
“Kraken thinks you’re going to blow up Boonie!” said Connor with a laugh.
David started walking toward a patisserie, coughing hard into his jacket sleeve. As they got closer, they heard a chorus of excited voices. A few steps later, Max understood why.
In the window, Max saw a marvelous seascape crafted entirely of sweets. There were sand castles of white chocolate, thick beds of licorice anemones, and brilliantly colored fish and sea creatures made of taffy, hard candies, and peppermints.
“Come in! Come in!” said a friendly voice from inside.
A stout man with a black beard and rosy cheeks was methodically braiding strands of bread dough. He stopped to greet them at the counter, wiping his hands on his apron.
“You must be First Years. I’m Charlie Babel—I believe my wife is your Languages teacher.”
Ten minutes later, having settled on some wedges of toffee and a handful of chocolate sand dollars, the three peered into the windows of a café and saw a number of older students having coffee and pastries inside. Jason Barrett was in a corner, flirting with a very pretty Fifth Year whom Max had once seen him kissing behind Old Tom. Jason saw them staring and waved them inside.
In one swift motion, Connor mooned them.
“Hope you brought your runners!” he yelled, pressing his bare bottom against the window a second time before dashing after Max and David.
They ran for two blocks, finally coming to a sudden stop, where they gasped for breath and plundered Max’s sweets. David looked reborn; his cheeks flushed pink, and Max thought it was the first time he had ever seen David so happy.
Glancing at the store window behind them, Max spied a small set of paints on display. It occurred to him that it had been some time since he’d had the chance to really draw or paint like he used to with his mother. He squinted at the price. They were expensive, but they were very nice; they looked like something a real artist would use.
“We better go hide somewhere,” laughed David, rubbing his hands and glancing back up the street.
“Yeah,” said Connor, looking about. “I don’t want my bum picked out of a lineup. They could do it, too—they got two good looks at it!”
Connor and David dissolved into giggles again while Max tapped his finger thoughtfully against the store window, studying the set’s clean little tubes of color.
“Hey, I’m going in here,” said Max. “I’ll catch up.”
When the shopkeeper set the paints before him, Max began counting out his money almost immediately. The set had more colors than he’d ever used, and even its box was fancy with its delicate brass hinge. He sorted his bills and change on the counter but was two dollars short. The woman smiled and took his money, sliding the set into a small bag.
“I can spare two dollars for a young man who wants them that badly. You go enjoy them—maybe bring me something that you paint!”
“I will,” said Max, beaming as she pushed the bag into his hands.
The trees were casting long shadows as Max, carrying his bags of sweets and paints, strolled toward the theater. Just as he passed Luigi’s, the pizza parlor, he heard a voice call out behind him. Alex had emerged from Luigi’s, trailed by Sasha and Anna.
“Hey, Max,” Alex called out in a friendly voice. “How you doing?”
Max said nothing and watched them.
“What’s the matter?” said Alex, walking toward him. “What do you have to worry about after you ran and cried to Jason Barrett?”
“I didn’t tell Jason anything,” Max said, glowering, switching the bags from his right to his left hand.
“Sure you didn’t,” Alex said sarcastically. “Just remember, Max. Jason graduates this year and I won’t forget.”
Alex walked past him and swatted Max’s bags onto the street. The chocolates and toffees spilled out onto the pavement, but those weren’t what concerned him. The case for his paints had broken and the little tubes of paint littered the sidewalk.
“Hey, I wanted that candy!” moaned Sasha, trotting after Alex.
Max bent to gather his things when Anna walked slowly toward him, a thin smile on her face.
“You know, that was a nice picture in the paper. You should have heard us laughing. I thought Julie Teller was going to pass out!”
Her pretty features twisted into a tight little smirk as she walked methodically over the candy and paints, grinding them with her heel. Max’s heart sank as he looked at the resulting smears. Anna gave a satisfied smile and rejoined Alex and Sasha, who howled with laughter as the three continued down the sidewalk.
Max watched them go and began to shake with rage. It took all his control to smother a predatory urge that rose up within him. He could not go after them; Mr. Vincenti had threatened grave consequences for Max if he got into another fight.
He tried to clean up the mess, using the broken case to scoop up the crushed candies and splattered tubes of paint and throwing it all into a nearby wastebasket. Storming off to the theater, he had walked several blocks when he heard voices call out from above.
“Hey, Max! Up here.”
He stopped near a bench at the entrance to the green. Connor and David were grinning at him from up in the branches of a gnarled tree. Connor’s mouth was smeared with chocolate.
“There’re lots of names and initials carved up here,” said David excitedly. “I think I found one by Mr. Morrow. It says ‘Byron loves Elaine ’46.’”
“I can’t picture old Byron as a kid,” mused Connor. “Imagine a wrinkly kid with a pipe snogging in this tree a hundred years ago.”
Max laughed, happy to resume the good time he had been having. With a quick step, he caught a branch and hoisted himself up to join them.
“Hey, can I try one of those sand dollars you bought?” asked David, tracing the carved lines of a limerick with his finger.
“Oh, I dropped mine on the street and they got smooshed,” Max said quickly. “I threw them out.”
“You should have kept them!” moaned Connor. “We could have used them for an Etiquette scenario!” His imitation of Sir Wesley’s voice was perfect. “Scenario Number Twenty: Salvaging the Mangled Sweets of the World.”
“They’re in the garbage can at the corner if you want them,” sighed Max. Connor seemed to think it over a moment before letting the matter drop.
They spent the next two hours exploring the village green, climbing a bronze statue of a man on horseback and perusing the names on the granite headstones in a small cemetery. It was getting dark when they finally ran back along the cobblestones, weaving their way through old-fashioned streetlamps and converging with other First Years at the foot of the high hill.
The Grove was a sprawling, well-appointed house whose lower floor had been converted to several large dining rooms. Max followed Mr. Vincenti and a hostess down a hallway lined with maps of early New England and frayed etchings of whaling scenes. Max’s section of First Years was seated in a candlelit dining room whose table was decorated with Indian corn and short sheaves of wheat bound with copper wire. Mr. Vincenti rearranged the seating to alternate the boys and girls. Max found himself sitting between Sarah and Miss Boon.
Mr. Vincenti took his seat at the head and rang his wineglass.
“I’d like to propose a little toast.”
The students reached for their wineglasses filled with apple cider.
“To a month under the belts and young minds on the move!”
The glasses clinked, and even Miss Boon managed a smile as Mr. Vincenti began quizzing the group about the more memorable experiences to date.
“Any mathematicians in this bunch?”
They all tossed out David’s name, except for Jesse, who offered his own.
“Who’s a whiz at science?”
Sarah blushed as her name was called.
“Any budding ambassadors or diplomats among us?”
Everyone screamed, “Connor!” who received the accolade with typical bravura, wiping away fake tears.
As Mr. Vincenti continued rattling off the subjects, waiters brought steaming plates and baskets of food. Warm squares of thick cornbread, sizzling crab cakes, and plates of cod and perch drizzled with lemon were set on the table. Max nearly spit out a mouthful of sweet potatoes when Lucia and Cynthia reenacted one of Connor’s many efforts to impress the older girls on campus. Even Mr. Vincenti put down his fork to laugh as Lucia swaggered about the room, sucking in her tummy and lowering her voice.
An hour into the meal, the group laughter gave way to smaller conversations; Max watched as their hostess entered the room and bent down to whisper into Mr. Vincenti’s ear. Mr. Vincenti excused himself and continued their conversation in the hallway.
As soon as Mr. Vincenti left, Miss Boon turned to Max.
“You know,” she said quietly, “I happened to overhear Nigel mention to Ms. Richter that the tapestry you discovered involved the Cattle Raid of Cooley?”
“Yeah,” said Max, distracted. His eyes wandered back to where he could see Mr. Vincenti’s very still shadow in the hallway. Something was wrong.
“Max,” she said tersely. “Say ‘yes.’ Has Sir Wesley told you that ‘yeah’ is not proper English and that it’s rude not to look at someone when he or she is speaking to you?”
Max flicked his eyes back toward her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s all right,” she said, her voice softening. “Have you taken the time to read up on the Cattle Raid or its hero, Cúchulain?”
Max shook his head. “No, Miss Boon, I haven’t had time.” He reached for a piece of cornbread.
“Listen to me, Max,” said Miss Boon, placing an icy hand on Max’s arm. He looked directly at her, her young features so serious and strange with their mismatched eyes. “That vision was tailored to you. It’s very important that you understand everything you can about its history and symbols. Cúchulain was a great hero and champion—people called him the Hound of Ulster for the way he guarded their kingdom, but he had to make some awful choices along the way. It would be best if you knew them, Max.”
Max stared at her; his mind flashed with thoughts of his recurring dream of the monstrous wolfhound. He decided against sharing this with Miss Boon; her gaze and grip were too intense for his comfort.
Just then, Mr. Vincenti rejoined them from the hallway. His voice rose well above the many conversations.
“We have a change of plans. I need everyone to place their utensils on their plates and follow me. Quickly.”
“But, Mr. Vincenti,” said Connor, “you have to come see what Omar can do with his—”
“Right now, Mr. Lynch!” thundered Mr. Vincenti, who circled around the table physically hoisting the confused children from their seats. Without a word, Miss Boon rose swiftly and started pulling the children’s chairs away from the table, herding them out the door and down the hallway.
Their hostess was standing by the doorway looking frightened. “Be careful, Joseph. Be careful, Hazel,” she whispered, dimming the house’s lights. Other First Years hurried out from the other dining rooms, accompanied by their advisors. A dozen limousines were parked in the street, their doors open and engines running as the hostess locked the door behind them.
Max crowded into the second limousine. Mr. Vincenti slammed the back door shut, and the car raced down the street toward Rowan’s gates. The street looked abandoned; all the shops and stores were dark. As they passed the church, Max thought he saw a pair of dark figures melt off its lawn to disappear behind a hedge. A few seconds later, he was thrown to the side as the limousine made a sharp turn and screeched through the gate. They wound through the trees and along the sea before coming to a jarring halt near the fountain. Max’s heart froze as he heard the familiar awful wailing coming from the direction of the Kestrel.
Mr. Vincenti opened the door and ushered the children out as Nolan galloped from around the Manse seated astride YaYa. There was nothing old or broken about her now, Max noted. Steam billowed from the ki-rin’s nostrils, her massive head craning from side to side to scan the grounds with eyes that glowed white in the darkness. And Max had never seen the normally cheery Nolan so grim. The groundskeeper shouted over the distant keening sound.
“Joseph, get the children inside. You and Hazel are to take up your assigned positions along the perimeter—Director’s orders.”
The Manse was a frenzy of shouts and slamming doors. Max, David, and Connor sprinted past a pair of Sixth Years who stood guard at the entrance to their hallway. The older students ordered them to lock themselves in their rooms and to be quiet. When Max and David turned to close their door, they saw Connor blocking their doorway.
“I’m coming in with you two!” he hissed. “My roommates are wankers!”
Connor hurried inside and Max shut the door, making double sure it was locked tight.
The minutes and hours ticked by at a crawl. Unable to concentrate, Max tossed his sketchbook aside as David and Connor played cards downstairs. Hearing muffled sounds from the hallway, Max got up from his bed to investigate. Connor and David stood on the stairs to the lower level, wrapped in blankets and looking frightened, as Max listened at the door. Hearing footsteps and whispers outside, Max turned to them and put his finger to his lips. Holding his breath, he silently turned the knob and peeked out into the hallway.
A small group of First and Second Years were pressed against the window at the end of the hall. Max beckoned to David and Connor, and the three of them joined the group. Rolf stepped aside to let Max peer out the window; he leaned forward to press his forehead against the cold glass.
Lanterns bobbed about the dark grounds in pairs as the faculty combed the orchard, lawns, and gardens. Away in the woods, Max saw more lanterns peeking from among the trees. He whispered to a Second Year standing next to him.
“Have you guys seen anything?”
The Second Year shook his head and motioned for quiet. Suddenly, someone at the end gasped, “Something’s happening!”
Max was smooshed against the window as the crowd surged forward. Below, the lanterns bobbed wildly, rapidly converging at a point near the orchard’s edge. A huge plume of flame erupted at the spot. Max and the other boys gave out a yell.
Something monstrous and wolf-shaped was illuminated by the sudden burst of light. It took several hunched, uneven steps on its hind legs before dropping to all fours and racing across the lawn toward the forest and the road.
“Get back in your rooms!”
Max whirled to see the two Sixth Years hurrying angrily down the hall. The boys scattered to their rooms in a sudden flurry of shuffling feet and slamming doors. Max and David ran down the steps to their bedroom’s lower level. Connor flew in a moment later, locking the door behind him, his eyes wide.
“Did you guys see it? I saw it!”
“I’m not ever leaving this room,” whispered David.
The three sat in silence for several minutes. Max shivered, replaying the image of the terrifying shape lowering itself to the grass and galloping across the grounds. He looked up at the sky dome, watching Scorpio twinkle into view.
“What do you think that was?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” said David, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want to know.”
“Maybe it was a werewolf,” volunteered Connor. “Like in the movies.”
“That didn’t look like any werewolf I ever saw in the movies,” quavered Max. “It was a lot worse. And it looked bigger….”
A loud knock on the door woke Max from his sleep. Blinking, he looked around the room. Connor was asleep on one of the couches. David was huddled near the fireplace, a shapeless lump underneath his blanket. There were three more knocks, quick and decisive. Max lurched to his feet and climbed the stairs, halting at the door.
“Who is it?” he ventured, his voice slow and wary.
“It’s Joseph Vincenti, Max. The danger has passed. Ms. Richter would like everyone to come to the orchard. It’s chilly, so bring a jacket or a robe.”
Mr. Vincenti moved down the hall, rapping on the next door. Within a few minutes, Max had woken Connor and David. The three boys shuffled sleepily with the other Apprentices out the back doors to the orchard, where the sky was a pale wash of blue in anticipation of the sunrise.
Ms. Richter stood near the first row of trees, flanked by the faculty and a dozen other adults. The hushed conversations ceased immediately as Ms. Richter’s voice filled the morning air.
“Students, we have had a loss. Another golden apple graces this orchard—all too prematurely, I’m afraid.”
Max watched as several older students began whispering and scanning over the faculty with worried expressions. The Director shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Our loss did not occur on this campus. We lost a member of our Recruiting staff: Miss Isabelle May, whom many of you undoubtedly met during your tests for admittance here.”
There was stunned silence among the students. With a solemn face, Ms. Richter continued.
“We do not, as of yet, know what happened to Miss May. Our last communication with her was one week ago, despite our best efforts to contact her since. We have been monitoring her Class Tree anxiously throughout. Mr. Morrow made the unfortunate discovery before dinner last night. Miss May’s apple has turned to gold.”
Several older students hugged one another. Max saw Lucia wipe tears from her eyes; he guessed that it had been Miss May who had recruited her.
Ms. Richter raised her arms for quiet.
“Shortly after we lost Isabelle, something triggered the defenses of this campus. While I apologize for actions that might have confused or frightened you, they were necessary precautions. For the first time in Rowan’s history, this campus has been penetrated by agents of the Enemy.”
The student body erupted in sideways looks and whispers.
“They are gone now,” Ms. Richter assured them, her voice silencing the students, “and you may rest assured that all our resources will be mustered to determine exactly what has happened and what steps are necessary to ensure your safety. Until that time, no student is to leave this campus for any reason whatsoever. Failure to mind this rule will result in expulsion. Is this clear?”
Max found himself nodding and saying “Yes, Director” along with everyone else. Rubbing his arms, he realized he had forgotten to bring a jacket, and the early-morning air was unseasonably cool.
An older girl raised her hand.
“How could they be here?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Rowan is supposed to be hidden from the Enemy! What does this mean?”
Ms. Richter’s glance was stern, her voice sharp.
“It means we have entered a time of danger.”