Once Carl had settled, Ian realized immediately that the car that had nearly run them down was just then pulling to a stop in front of the main entrance. Before the occupants of the car could exit, however, the door to the building flew open and out poured a huge crowd of young boys, rushing into the early-morning sun.
“It’s a school!” Carl whispered.
Ian had a sudden dreadful thought. What if the Thinker was one of those boys? How would they ever discover him hidden so well amid such a large crowd?
Ian and Carl watched the swarm of boys and young men, clustered in small groups, talking and joking with each other just like Ian and the other orphans at Delphi Keep used to do before morning lessons began.
But there was one serious difference between the two scenes, and that was that these young boys were his sworn enemies.
With a jolt, Ian realized that the fifth Oracle was also certain to be an enemy. Carl seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Why do I think that our next Oracle’s going to be a bloomin’ Nazi?”
“Laodamia warned us that the fifth Oracle’s heart would not be true to our cause,” Ian said.
“I’m not bringing back a bloody German to join our ranks, Ian!” Carl hissed.
“We’ve no choice, Carl,” Ian told him firmly. “If we don’t add him, we can’t complete the final prophecy.”
Carl’s face turned red with anger but he didn’t argue further. Ian hoped he could contain his emotions until they’d managed to bring back the next Oracle.
A bell sounded from inside and the boys dashed back to the entrance. Within moments the grounds were still and peaceful again.
Ian’s attention was then diverted to the black sedan parked near the front doors. He didn’t remember seeing anyone exit the car, and sure enough, at that moment the door opened and out of it came a young lad of about eleven or so. From the driver’s side came someone else, whom Ian and Carl recognized immediately.
“Wolfie!” snapped Dieter Van Schuft impatiently when the young boy slouched and hung his head. “Stand up straight, will you!”
From the door of the school, a priest appeared, stepping quickly to the pair.
“Laodamia better not have meant him!” Carl growled quietly.
Ian was silent. He stared, stunned, at the man he and Carl knew all too well—the man who had attempted to abduct and murder both Ian and Theo two years earlier, and whose wife had nearly shot Ian a year later while in Spain. And then Ian’s attentions turned to the boy—clearly Dieter’s son—as he darted away from his father, who was chasing him and working himself into a furious temper. “Papa, I don’t want to stay here!” the boy shouted.
The priest stepped close to the boy and held out his hand. “Come with me, young man. I will show you to your room.”
Wolfie stopped long enough to stare intently up at the priest. A moment later the man turned to Dieter and said, “He really shouldn’t stay here. I suggest he go back home with you, Herr Van Schuft.”
Ian blinked. What had caused the priest to change his mind so quickly?
“Wolfie!” Dieter snarled, catching hold of his son’s arm roughly. “Stop that this instant!”
The priest seemed to wobble on his feet, and he shook his head as if to clear it. “Oh, my,” he said, staring at Wolfie and his father as if seeing them for the first time. “Herr Van Schuft. It’s so good to see you again. And this must be your son?”
Dieter forced a smile onto his face, his fingers turning white around the boy’s arm from holding him so tightly. “Yes, Father Zeiler, this is my son, Wolfgang. Wolfie for short.”
Father Zeiler offered Wolfie his hand, and the boy ignored it until his father smacked him hard on the back of the head. Ian winced. It looked to have been a hard blow.
Wolfie rubbed his head, then grudgingly took the priest’s hand and shook it once before letting it go, pointing his eyes to the ground.
“He lost his mother last year,” Dieter explained, and Ian’s brow rose in surprise. He wondered if Frau Van Schuft had died in Spain after all.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Herr Van Schuft,” the priest said. “Illness, was it?”
Dieter let go of his son and appeared to hold himself rigidly. “Yes,” he said. Shaking his head, clearly doubting the story, Carl looked at Ian.
“It was very abrupt and sudden,” Dieter went on, his hands trembling slightly. “She collapsed in the middle of the night and never woke up again.”
“That’s a lie!” Wolfie yelled, looking up with accusing eyes at his father. “She was murdered and you let it happen!”
“Wolfie!” Dieter gasped, his face turning red with embarrassment. “Keep silent!”
The priest appeared quite taken aback by the outburst and even more so by the accusation. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Wolfie went on. “That hateful man, Magus, murdered my mother. And you stood by and let it happen!”
In the next instant Dieter slapped his son so hard the boy spun in a full circle and fell to the ground. Ian flinched again and felt renewed hatred for the despicable man. He wondered if there had been anyone else about—some of the other children or even another priest—whether Van Schuft would have openly struck his son.
Dieter stepped over to the now crouching form of his son, his hands curled into fists. Ian was certain he would rain down more violence on Wolfie, but instead, he continued to hover over him until finally the boy was brave enough to look up. When he did, Dieter spoke in the most threatening tone Ian could have imagined. “Never speak of that again!” he ordered.
The side of Wolfie’s face where his father had struck him was bright red and his eyes looked to be brimming with tears, but he didn’t flinch and he didn’t cry. He merely nodded and stood up.
The priest still looked quite shocked by the violent outburst, and Dieter seemed to notice his expression for the first time. What he said next took Ian by surprise. “Fix the priest, Wolfie.”
The priest’s eyes darted to Dieter. “Excuse me?” he said.
Wolfie continued to stare rebelliously at the ground.
“Do it now!” Dieter demanded.
The priest turned his attention back to the boy, who had lifted his chin and was now looking at him intently. A moment later the priest seemed to wobble backward again, barely catching himself before shaking his head and staring at both Dieter and Wolfie as if he was surprised to see them. “Ah, Herr Van Schuft! It’s so good to see you again! And this must be your son, Wolfgang is it?”
Carl turned to Ian. “We’re in a load of bloody trouble, mate,” he whispered.
MAGUS’S MISERY
Magus the Black stirred in the dark chamber that imprisoned him. Having no sense of time, he wondered how many months had passed since his sister Lachestia had entombed him. He could hear her rumbling through the earth now and then and wondered why she hadn’t left him to pursue other entertainment. He considered that he might have caused her some harm in the last powerful exchange they’d had before she’d somehow gotten the better of him.
Leaning against the cold stone, he thought about what had become of his pets. He had left them to roam the mountains and await his return. Would the hellhounds eventually realize he was never coming back? Would they come in search of him?
Part of him hoped they would. Every day he grew just a bit weaker. In time, nothing would remain of him except a pile of ash.
The stone next to his head vibrated. Lachestia was on the move again.
Tired of the dark, he snapped his fingers, and a small flame grew from his fingertips. He stared forlornly at his surroundings: six stone slabs forming a solid box of doom. In the crevices between the slabs he could see small bits of dirt, seeping through and muddying the floor. Not only was he entombed, but he was buried too.
If only he had a bit of kindling to start a real fire, he could then call on his father to help him. He knew the great and mighty Demogorgon would never stand for this. But besides the dirt and an occasional bug, the box was empty. Well,
empty except for Magus, of course.
With a sigh, the sorcerer allowed the flame from his fingertips to sputter out. What was the point? There was nothing to see, and the flame hardly gave him comfort anymore.
Magus lay down flat on his back and stared up at the dark. What he needed was for one of his other sisters to come looking for him. He knew that wouldn’t happen unless either Caphiera and Atroposa angered their father and he ordered them to, or they required his help to carry out some evil plot. Atroposa would never come into Lachestia’s territory on her own. His only hope was Caphiera, and she was nearly as dangerous and deadly to him as Lachestia.
Still, as long as he lived, there was hope. So the sorcerer of fire clung to that, especially since there was nothing else to do.
CHESS PIECES
Perry crept over to join Ian and Carl after Wolfie and the priest had disappeared into the church and Dieter had driven off. “Am I to understand that the boy who argued with his father is the fifth Oracle?”
Ian nodded while Carl cursed. “This is likely to get quite sticky,” Perry said.
Adria and Iyoclease joined them too and motioned them a bit deeper into the woods, lest they be spotted from inside.
They arrived at a small clearing. Perry still appeared very worried by the prospect of their challenge. Carl continued to grumble and in general be completely disagreeable. “How do you suppose we go about snatching him, then?” Carl snapped. “I mean, we can’t just walk in there and kidnap the bloody lout!”
“Master Lawson,” Perry replied crisply. “Language.”
“Sorry, sir,” Carl said contritely. “But this is blo—suicide!”
“It is indeed,” said Adria. “I recognized the boy’s father. He is a servant of Magus the Black.”
“Herr Van Schuft,” Ian said. “We recognized him too.”
Perry pulled his chin in. “Do you mean to say that the next Oracle is a servant of the sorcerer?”
“No,” said Adria. “But his father clearly is. Still, the boy has all the markings of a Thinker. Able to read and control thoughts and even plant ideas in the minds of others. That priest was not weak minded. The boy shows extraordinary talent.”
“This is a most dangerous quest, then,” Iyoclease said. “If the boy can read thoughts, it would be difficult to lure him away from the abbey with a ruse. And surely five strangers approaching the abbey and inquiring about the boy would call unwanted attention.”
“Especially in your attire,” Adria remarked. Iyoclease looked down at himself and nodded.
“This is impossible,” Carl grumbled. “There’s no way to get him to come to us without him seeing the trick, and there’s no way to sneak in unnoticed to entice him away where we can nab him and force him through the portal.”
“Perhaps there is a way,” Perry said. “Although I believe it might take some time to work it through—certainly longer than the morning.”
“Do you have an idea, sir?” Ian asked.
Perry nodded. “With our pieces of the Star, we’re able to speak flawless German. No one would suspect a man with two young sons inquiring about their admittance into the abbey’s school, now, would they?”
Ian brightened. “Quite right!” he said. “Yes, sir, that does seem like a good idea!”
“Are you mad?” Carl gasped before he remembered to whom he was speaking. When Perry leveled a look at him, Carl amended himself by saying, “Er, what I mean, sir … with all due respect … you can’t very well expect us to pretend to be German!”
“That’s exactly what I expect, Mr. Lawson,” Perry replied, and Ian could tell their schoolmaster was quickly losing patience with Carl’s attitude.
“Carl,” Ian said, knowing he might be able to talk some reason into him. “We’ll be acting as spies, working not just to bring back Wolfie, but also gaining any valuable information we can give to the crown.”
As he’d hoped, Carl pounced on the idea. “Spies, you say?” Ian nodded vigorously. Carl’s face lit up with interest and he looked back again at the school. “I suppose some of those louts have parents who know what the German army is up to, eh?”
Again Ian nodded vigorously. “Some of their fathers might be high-ranking officers, in fact,” Ian said. “You saw how Herr Van Schuft was dressed. He was wearing an SS uniform. I believe he’s got himself a post in Hitler’s personal army. So who knows what we could learn by posing as students and mingling with the others?”
“There’s a flaw in your plans, though,” Adria said to them. When they all turned to her, she said, “Mr. Goodwyn, however are you going to convince the headmaster at the abbey that you have money to pay for Ian and Carl’s attendance?”
“Has no one brought along any money?” Ian asked.
Perry dug into his trouser pocket and pulled up a few pound notes. “These won’t do,” he said.
Adria held her hands open. “I have a few gold coins left, but not enough. We’ll need a considerable amount of German Reichsmarks.”
Perry’s face turned pensive, but Carl seemed to brighten even more. “Leave it to us,” he said, pointing to himself and Ian.
“Leave what to us?” Ian asked. He had no idea what Carl had in mind, but he knew he probably wouldn’t like it.
Instead of answering him, Carl simply motioned for Ian to follow him, and set off. Grudgingly, Ian followed Carl and soon caught up with him. “What’re you planning?” Ian asked him.
“I saw a house from the bluff,” Carl told him. “It looked to be a nice home where someone with a bit of money lives.”
Ian had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, and …?”
“In a home like that, I bet they’ve got loads of valuables just lying about.”
Ian stopped and caught Carl by the shoulder. “You want to steal from them?”
Carl looked at him frankly. “Yes, Ian. I want to steal from the same people who have bombed our cities, killed our countrymen, and murdered Madam Scargill, Monsieur Lafitte, and Eva’s grandmother.”
Ian felt the sobering truth of what Carl had just said sink into him. Still, he thought Carl’s plan was far too risky, and he wanted to talk him out of it but Carl had already set off again. Ian decided to hold his tongue just long enough to find out what Carl intended to pinch.
Reaching the outskirts of the yard surrounding the stately home, the pair crouched down behind a row of trees to observe it before attempting to go inside. “Someone’s home,” Ian whispered, pointing to the back end of a motorcar partially hidden by a low wall.
Carl eyed the vehicle. “Let’s hope they’re not home for long,” he said.
Luck seemed to be with them again, as not ten minutes later they heard a rear door open and saw a man in a long black leather coat and matching hat come out of the house and get into the motorcar.
They caught a better glimpse of the vehicle and the driver then, and Ian couldn’t help sucking in a breath of surprise. “It’s Van Schuft!”
Carl grinned wickedly again. “Oh, I think I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, and when the motorcar was barely out of sight, he stood up and crept to the house.
Ian had no choice but to follow quickly. “Carl!” he whispered as he came close to his friend. “What if someone else is home?”
Carl paused, sliding his sword out of his coat. “We’ll deal with them,” he said.
Ian didn’t like the venom in Carl’s eyes, but he understood it nonetheless. And in a moment of anger he decided nicking a few of Van Schuft’s valuables sounded like the right thing to do. The pair moved over to the rear door and Carl tried it but it was locked.
“Should we break a window?” Ian asked, looking around for a rock to use.
But Carl only laughed, and Ian noticed the air about Carl shimmering as the metal of the door handle seemed to soften for a moment and the door opened with a click. “I rather like being a Metal Master,” he said.
The boys entered the home on tiptoe, listening intently for any sounds of other
occupants. They heard nothing but the faint ticking of a clock in another room.
“There,” Carl whispered, pointing to what was obviously the home’s dining room. “I’d wager there’s some good silver in there.”
Ian frowned; once again he was having misgivings. He didn’t like Carl’s plan to steal from the home for several reasons: the first of which was that Van Schuft would surely see that his silver was missing and alert the authorities. And second, would they ever get away with presenting the forks and knives to the headmaster of the school?
He almost voiced this concern, but Carl was already opening the door to a large credenza and digging through the contents. “Aha! There’s enough silver here to serve twenty people!”
“Do you really think the headmaster at the abbey will take forks, knives, and spoons for our tuition?” Ian asked, knowing the idea was absurd.
But Carl was undeterred. “We can nick a few of these and sell them for Reichsmarks.”
“Who are you going to sell them to?” Ian asked, still uncomfortable with the plan.
Carl paused. “Right,” he said, considering the silver again. “We can have Mr. Goodwyn give the silver directly to the school’s headmaster and tell him it’s a family heirloom and he’s exchanging it for his sons’ education.”
Ian moved over and placed a hand on Carl’s arm. “Carl,” Ian said. “We can’t pinch something so obvious. Van Schuft’s going to realize his silver’s missing.”
“So?”
“So,” Ian said impatiently, “once he realizes he’s been robbed, he’ll alert the authorities, who will likely go first to the school, as it’s so close to this home. And who’s to say that one or two of the students didn’t nick the silver between classes?”
Carl sat back on his heels, still holding on to the flatware. Reluctantly he began to put it back. “Well, we’ve got to find something valuable that he won’t miss,” he said. “I can change the shape of anything we find that has metal in it, but you’re right. Van Schuft will likely spot his missing silver straightaway.”