Pillage

  He held up his right hand and the class quieted. He then put his attaché case on the desk and pulled out a thin notebook. He flipped it open, sniffed loud enough for us all to hear, and then wrote the word fortune on the blackboard.

  When he turned his attention back to the class, he noticed me. I might have been imagining, but I could have sworn I saw the color drain from his face.

  “You,” he said. “Fifth row. And apparently above our dress code.”

  I squirmed in my seat.

  “He’s new, Mr. Squall,” Milo said.

  “Funny,” he said. “He looks at least fifteen years worn.”

  Most of the class laughed politely. A stocky kid with long black hair yelled, “Newbie!”

  “Stand and tell us who you are,” Mr. Squall insisted, making no effort to stop the taunting.

  I stood and felt every eye fall on me.

  “I’m Beck Phillips,” I said. “I just moved here.”

  “Phillips?” he asked, surprised. There was a long, awkward pause before he continued. “As in Aeron Phillips?”

  I nodded.

  “Impossible,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like there was steam coming out of his ears.

  “Did no one mention the dress code?” he finally hissed.

  I shook my head.

  “Ignorance is a sorry excuse. Come.”

  Mr. Squall beckoned me toward him impatiently. I moved out of my aisle and down the steps to his desk. He pulled a large wad of wrinkled fabric from his bottom desk drawer. He shook it out with one hand, revealing its true form: a long, blue sports coat.

  “Let’s have you wear this.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The class laughed impolitely.

  “This is the coat of justice,” he said smartly, as if he had created something dazzlingly clever. “It helps remind those who need reminding that Callowbrow is a school of organization and obedience. I expect you to wear this coat until you have a proper substitution.”

  I took the jacket from him and turned it around. It was wrinkled and filthy and had obviously not been laundered in years.

  “Really?” I asked as the class snickered. The dark-haired kid said something about owning a jacket just like that before his father had a job.

  Mr. Squall shook his head as seriously as if this were an inquisition and a person’s life was in the balance.

  “The jacket,” he insisted.

  I put the jacket on. It was at least five sizes too big for me. I couldn’t imagine it fitting anyone in Callowbrow properly. It smelled like the back of my old apartment complex on trash day.

  “Have a seat,” Mr. Squall said. “Ticktock, we’re wasting precious time.”

  I sat down while he gave the rest of the class a brief bio of me.

  “Mr. Phillips here is related to Aeron Phillips,” he said bitterly. “Aeron currently owns the monstrous and ill-kept estate at the top of the mountains. I say currently, because if what I hear is true, Aeron is having financial difficulties. It’d be a pity for him to lose the mansion, seeing how the Phillips’ ancestors founded this valley. But mismanagement and dementia are a terrible combination—hard to balance the books with a half-rotten brain. I personally have never met a man more anxious to meddle in other people’s affairs.”

  I had no idea what Mr. Squall was talking about. My only hope was that none of the other students understood him either.

  “Now, to the lesson at hand,” he continued.

  Mr. Squall turned and circled the word fortune on the

  chalkboard. He then spent the next hour telling us how too much money made people evil and how greed was a more powerful force than love. He used my uncle and his mistakes as the bad example as often as he could. By the time class was over, I felt as if I had been emotionally beat up.

  “Nice guy,” I said to Milo once we were in the hall.

  “Yeah, he’s a real horse’s—”

  Milo stopped talking. A small cluster of boys was blocking the hallway. The boy at the front of the crowd was the same black-haired boy who had taunted me in class.

  “Hey, Bland,” he mocked, making fun of Milo’s last name.

  “It’s Flann, Wyatt,” Milo replied.

  “Not from where I’m standing.” He laughed. “So, the new kid isn’t the newest kid anymore. You got yourself a little friend.”

  Milo was silent. I sighed, realizing that Milo was indeed one of those kids who was easy to pick on.

  I stepped in front of Milo and motioned as if to move through the roadblock. I had dealt with plenty of bullies in my life and I wasn’t about to give this kid the satisfaction of bothering me.

  “Ladies,” I said sarcastically, trying to get past.

  “Excuse me?” Wyatt snipped.

  “Come on, Milo,” I said casually. “We’ve got to go.”

  “So, Beck,” Wyatt sneered. “How’s your daft uncle?”

  I decided to at least give the silent treatment a try. Wyatt, on the other hand, wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Is it true, Beck?” he asked cruelly.

  “Yes,” I replied seriously, having quickly realized that silence wasn’t going to work. “It’s true—apparently garbage does have more personality than you. But don’t freak out, you beat the garbage soundly in the stench department.”

  Wyatt looked both confused and upset.

  “Listen, Beck,” he said, poking me in the chest. “My father has more money than your entire family combined.”

  “Tell him congratulations from me,” I said cheerfully, slapping Wyatt on the shoulder.

  Milo stepped back. I could see he was scared, but there was also a look of admiration in his eyes. I liked it. There weren’t too many moments in my life when I had been admired. I suppose I should have shown more restraint or just kept my mouth closed, but my personality had never stood for it. I remember being a nine-year-old kid and telling off some teenager who was picking on another teenager. I had a poor sense of how scared I really should be when dealing with other people.

  “How’s your mother?” Wyatt asked cruelly.

  I gazed at him. I could feel redness trying to creep up my neck. I fought the pigment in my own skin and took a long, soft breath.

  “She’s dead,” I said confidently. “But I have a feeling you knew that. Oh, and my father left us when I was one or two. Hard to say for sure exactly when he left seeing how I was so young and my mother was kind of—what’s the word you used?—daft.”

  I had always found the truth to be much more effective than trying to hide from what I was. I was not about to give Wyatt more ammo to use against me.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked, confused.

  I stepped up to Wyatt and looked him in his pale green eyes. He stared back at me, finally noticing the couple of inches I had on him.

  “Whatever,” he said. “This school used to have standards.”

  I was going to say something clever, but Milo grabbed my wrist as if to inform me of the benefits of letting things go.

  “Nice to meet you, Wyatt.” I smiled insincerely, turning away from him.

  “Wait,” Wyatt said. “I’m not done talking to you.”

  I turned to look at him, happy that he wasn’t aware of the benefits of letting things go. I was in the mood for a little excitement. I had never done well at school and most of that was because trouble found me at every turn. Now here I was on my first day of another new school and already I had made an enemy. I was almost happy at the prospect of getting my hands dirty.

  “We’re not done?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you had used up the extent of your vocabulary.”

  Wyatt didn’t scare me. He was shorter and, despite the few extra pounds around his waist, I had a feeling I could take him easily. Unfortunately for me, Wyatt realized that as well.

  “Ellis. Carl,” he said, red-faced. “Beck here wants to get through.”

  Wyatt stepped to the side and his two taller and bigger fri
ends moved forward. Ellis towered four inches above me and had a single eyebrow that stretched across his face and into his sideburns. Carl was my height with blond hair and a crooked nose that had probably been shaped by fighting.

  “Listen,” I said reasonably, not wanting Milo to get hurt. “We’re just trying to walk down the hall.”

  There was a nice-sized gathering of students surrounding us. Most of them had stopped by, hoping for a good fight.

  “Be my guest,” Ellis said, thumping me on the chest with his large, rubbery hands.

  Carl shoved Milo.

  I shoved Carl and was preparing to barrel into the dumb thug when I noticed the ivy pushing through the windows above us. The green leaves swung down and dropped like a web right above Wyatt, Ellis, and Carl.

  Wyatt raised an arm, preparing to take a swing at Milo, but was stopped by a shot of ivy that wrapped tightly around his wrist.

  “What the—?” Wyatt started to say.

  I stepped back, not understanding what was going on. I knew my life had taken a turn for the weird, but this was three steps beyond weird.

  Large tendrils of ivy draped over all three of them. They pushed and pulled at the growth, but it was useless. Some ivy grabbed Ellis by the ankles and yanked him upside down.

  The fearful faces of the crowd of onlookers told me quite clearly that rampaging ivy was not something that normally happened at Callowbrow. Wyatt began to scream like the class full of home-economic girls I had once dropped in on.

  Everyone stepped back in amazement and fear.

  The ivy jerked all three boys off the ground and, with steady speed, pulled them up to the ceiling and out of the high windows. We could hear all three of them screaming and crying as they disappeared into the great outdoors.

  Just like that, they were gone.

  Mr. Squall stepped out of his classroom, demanding to know what all the noise was about. We all stood there like frightened mice, most of the girls twisting their hands nervously. A few kids pointed up, but couldn’t find the words to explain what had happened.

  “What’s going on?” Squall barked.

  “Some kids . . . sort of . . . climbed out the window,” I managed to say.

  Squall looked at me and sneered. “Do you think I’m thick?” he said. “Looking to give Aeron something to laugh about? Now, stop making excuses and get to class.”

  The group dispersed slowly.

  Milo and I made our way to our next class in silence. Our English teacher was a squat woman with a long head and bristle-short hair. She wore a dark navy dress that was too long for her. High on the chalkboard’s right corner the name “Professor Phister” was written in blue chalk.

  “What was all that?” I asked as I took a seat next to Milo.

  “I have no idea,” Milo whispered excitedly.

  “Do plants usually do that here?”

  Milo shrugged. “I haven’t been here that long, so maybe. But I’ve never seen something like that before.” Milo shook his head in disbelief. “Should we tell someone about Wyatt?” he asked. “They could be hurt.”

  His concern for Wyatt and his friends ended as quickly as it had begun. At that moment Wyatt, Ellis, and Carl walked into class, late and covered with dirt and leaves.

  “A minute late is still late,” Professor Phister scolded. “And the reason for your tardiness?”

  Wyatt looked around. No one would make eye contact with him except me.

  “We fell into the bushes,” he lied angrily, his gaze locked with mine.

  “And there was a bunch of spiders in the ivy.” Ellis shivered.

  “Sit,” Professor Phister said impatiently.

  They sat, and the rest of the day transpired in a rather normal fashion. Although to be honest, I could not, no matter how I tried, get out of my mind the image of that ivy sneaking through the window and snatching Wyatt and his friends.

  There was something significantly different about the town of Kingsplot.

  Chapter 7

  A Rush and a Push

  Millie was in the kitchen creating smells that would make anyone with working nostrils hungry. As usual, she tried to smile at me, but she was more comfortable talking while staring into a bowl or chopping carrots.

  “It smells,” I said.

  “Foul or favorable?”

  “Very favorable.” I smacked my lips together.

  “Good. It’s nice to have someone who appreciates food in the house,” she said, her good eye looking straight at me.

  “What are you making?”

  “Not sure yet,” Millie admitted. “The beginnings of dinner.”

  “I still haven’t met my uncle,” I pointed out.

  “You will. Don’t rush what you don’t understand.”

  I hated the way adults spoke.

  I looked at the clock. “Where’s Wane?” I asked, wanting to know where everyone was before I snuck into the woods behind the house.

  “She’s at the stables.”

  “Are there any horses?”

  “Only a few,” Millie said sadly. “There used to be stables full of handsome stallions.”

  “And Thomas?”

  “He’s not exactly handsome,” Millie said absentmindedly.

  “I mean where is he?”

  “Shopping in town.” Millie blushed. “Your school called and informed us of your need for a jacket. He’s picking up one for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, not exactly sure how I felt about Thomas picking out my clothes.

  Millie handed me a piece of bread as thick as half a normal loaf and covered in red jam. A perfectly square piece of butter melted slowly in the middle of it.

  “Thank you,” I smiled.

  I stood up and moved to the outside door that led to the courtyard.

  “Where are you going?” Millie asked suspiciously.

  “Just outside,” I said. “I thought I’d eat and walk. Maybe I’ll go down to the road.”

  “Stay forward of the house,” she insisted. “I don’t want you getting hurt or turning up lost.”

  I took a huge bite of bread and jam. It was so warm and delicious, the flavor almost stunned me. I forced my feet to work and stepped out of the kitchen into the hall and back outside.

  The sky was predictably gray. A triangle of thick mist moved slowly through the air and smeared itself up against the mansion’s stone wall. The poorly manicured bushes that circled the drive shivered in the light wind. I looked up and smiled at the gargoyles gazing down at me.

  I finished my bread and then ran as fast as I could along the side of the mansion. I followed the towering hedge past where I had run into Milo the night before and all the way to the edge of the thick forest where it ended abruptly at the base of a giant moss-covered statue shaped like a crouching tiger.

  I stopped and caught my breath.

  “Don’t run much, do you?” Milo observed.

  I looked up in a tree, not terribly surprised to see him there. Milo jumped down from the branches and dusted off his palms. We had talked a bit about what had happened at school, but it still confused both of us.

  “That was just too weird.”

  “It was good, though,” he said. “Very good.”

  “I guess. We could have taken them.”

  “So, have you found the basement yet?”

  “No.”

  “Wanna see the backyard?”

  “That’s why I’m out here,” I said. “Instead of in the kitchen with Millie eating fresh bread.”

  Milo licked his lips. “Next time bring some for me,” he said. “My mom’s a lousy cook.”

  Milo began to walk and I followed. We ducked under some low hanging branches and crossed a small stream that was running strong. A tall rock cliff rose from the ground, forcing us to struggle to climb its back before running quickly over the knoll it created.

  The forest was remarkably dense and I could see now how it would be possible for a person to get lost.

  Milo turned behind a
grove of short trees and we threaded ourselves like string through tons of trees toward the back of the forest. After a couple hundred feet, the thick trees shrank to overgrown bushes. Beyond the bushes grew waist-high grass and wicked-looking shrubbery. I could see tops of stones and little bits of a large fountain sticking up among the growth.

  Milo stopped. We stood still, listening to the sound of our hearts slowing and the birds screaming in the distance.

  “This is it,” Milo said.

  I could barely see the back of the mansion from where we were. It looked to be at least a mile away. There was a set of stone steps leading down to a stagnant pond. Thin remains of what must have once been wide walking paths and roads crisscrossed the area, entirely filled in with weeds.

  I was disappointed. I had no real idea what I had expected, but more trees and grass was not what I had been hoping for.

  “They were right,” I said. “This place is an ugly mess.”

  “That gardener’s just lazy,” Milo said. “This could be a great place. Like a park or something.”

  “How far back does it go?” I asked.

  “Quite a ways,” Milo said. “Back that other direction a good bit is my house. I’d take you there, but my mother’s on one today.”

  “And which direction does Kate live?” I tried to ask casually.

  Milo smiled and pointed further to the right. “Don’t mess with her. She’s colder than dry ice.”

  I had always thought dry ice was amazing.

  “Come on,” Milo said, beginning to run.

  We ran for a few hundred yards and came to a stop in front of a massive field of stones. I had never seen anything like it. Millions, if not billions of stones of all shapes and sizes ran like a fat river up through one of the mountain’s ravines.

  “Holy—”

  “Shale,” Milo said. “Mostly. Have you ever seen so many rocks?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t even take it all in. I picked up a rock and threw it out in the middle of the others. Milo did the same and then we turned and walked back into the forest.