The Second Siege

  “Hi,” said Max.

  “We came as soon as we heard,” said Sarah, hugging Max tightly. The others followed suit and filed in, bringing plates and bags and silverware. Cynthia set the table downstairs while Connor got a fire going.

  “How is your father doing?” asked Sarah, wiping a tear away with her palm.

  “He’ll be okay,” said Max.

  “It is beautiful that you saw her again,” said Lucia decisively.

  “It was,” said Max, smiling.

  David walked over and returned the necklace that Cynthia had given them before they had stolen Bram’s Key from the Archives.

  “Ha!” said Cynthia, kissing the necklace and clasping it around her neck. “I knew I would get this back! And where has she been on her travels?”

  “And how long has she been traveling?” asked Sarah thoughtfully, looking at Max, who had gained several inches on the tall Nigerian girl. Max felt self-conscious as their attention turned to him and the fading scars that laced his older-looking features.

  “Far away and a long time,” said David, piping up on Max’s behalf. “We might have been there forever if it hadn’t been for Mrs. McDaniels.”

  “Is that true?” asked Sarah.

  “It is,” said Max quietly. “We never would have found the Book or made it home without her.”

  “I suppose Richter’s got it?” asked Connor, glancing quickly at Max. “The precious book that’s got everyone whispering?”

  “No,” said David. “She wanted me to keep it safe.”

  “You’ve got it here?” asked Connor incredulously.

  David nodded and pointed to his bed, where its golden cover could be seen peeking from beneath a fold of his comforter. Connor whistled and shook his head.

  “All the world’s dirty little secrets and they’re just a-lyin’ on an unmade bed.”

  “There’s nothing dirty about them,” said David defensively. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Figure of speech, Davie,” quipped Connor with a wink. “Let’s go eat, eh?”

  The boys and girls went downstairs and had supper together by the fire. As they ate, Max and David shared tales of the Sidh with their friends and Max was happy to laugh along with the others at David’s stories from his days in the cobbler’s shop. One involved a customer who apparently suffered from a forgetfulness curse and arrived at the shop each morning, loudly protesting that he’d been swindled, having paid for shoes he never received. The problem, of course, was that he had received them already and was, in fact, wearing them. Connor chuckled between bites of mashed potato.

  “And he showed up each day?”

  “Every single day,” said David wearily. “He was really punctual, actually. Each morning, the cobbler and I would wager on whether he’d use old insults or invent new ones.”

  “And what would you tell ’im when he came in?” asked Connor.

  “That we sympathized with his frustration, but certainly the excellent gentleman was in error and had forgotten that he had already taken possession of the shoes for which he had paid. We had a signed receipt to that effect and further proof was on his feet.”

  “And what would he say to that?” asked Cynthia, passing a bowl of green beans.

  “Oh, he’d start to laugh and ask us if we thought him such a fool as to believe a crafty urchin who was clearly in league with the Evil One, as I have only a left hand, you see. ‘Downright sinister!’ he’d declare, and make the sign against evil. . . . Ooh!” said David, suddenly scanning the goodies the other had brought. “You didn’t happen to bring coffee, did you?”

  Sarah produced a thermos with a grin of triumph.

  “Ah!” said David, twiddling his fingers with glee as she poured him a cup. “May the sun shine upon your splendid bosom in all eight kingdoms, Sarah lass!”

  “David!” cried Cynthia as Sarah’s mouth gaped in shock. David blushed furiously.

  “Sorry,” he squeaked. “It’s just my bad translation of an old Sidh expression.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sarah, raising an eyebrow and flicking Connor, who practically slid off his chair with laughter.

  “Aw, Davie,” said Connor, shaking his head. “We’re gonna miss ya.”

  Max glanced sharply at Connor.

  “I’m right here, Connor,” said David. “No need to miss me.”

  “I meant we have missed you,” corrected Connor, sitting up straight and reaching for a cookie. “It’s a good thing that spell of yours kept us all hidden while you and Max were off in the Sidh,” he said, deftly changing the topic.

  “It’ll stay until I dispel it,” said David, happily sipping his coffee. “Even if I’m elsewhere.”

  “Must be a complicated bit of work,” said Connor, doodling on a napkin.

  “To cast, yes,” said David, “but not to dispel. When the time’s right, I can do away with it with a word.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Connor, bringing his distracted scribbles to a halt. “Abracadabra and it all comes crashing down?”

  “David,” warned Max, suddenly fearful that his roommate might share the perilous word. Max did not like the drift of Connor’s questions. He longed to tell them of Vilyak’s meeting, but found that the impulse strangely dissipated as soon as he began to open his mouth.

  “It’s okay, Max,” said David. “I could write it on the front door and it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m the only one at Rowan these days who can spark that word into action.”

  “Still,” said Max, “it’s best to keep it to yourself.”

  “Oh, c’mon!” said Connor, laughing as he tore at his thick chestnut curls. “You both know curiosity will drive me batty! You have to tell me, Davie.”

  “You’re already batty,” sniffed Lucia.

  “Ha!” said Connor, thumping the table. “Could Batty Boy be acing all his classes?”

  “Please,” said Cynthia. “We all know the secrets of your success, Connor. There’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Connor defensively.

  “Mr. Sikes,” said Sarah. “We know he’s been helping you with your classes.”

  “All right,” said Connor, raising his hands. “I’ll admit I used to summon Mr. Sikes for a bit of help. But I haven’t used him in months.”

  The girls crossed their arms and offered disbelieving stares.

  “Honest,” said Connor, raising his hand as though to take an oath. “I, Connor Lynch, solemnly swear that I have not summoned Mr. Sikes since last fall. If I’m lying, may lightning strike me where I sit.”

  Lucia and Sarah abruptly moved their chairs away from him.

  “Very funny,” moped Connor.

  There was a knock on the door. David started to get up, but Max waved him off and climbed up the stairs. Standing in the hallway was not Commander Vilyak but Mr. McDaniels.

  “Dad,” said Max, standing aside to let him in.

  “Are you having a party?” asked his father, hearing the voices down below.

  “No,” said Max quickly. “Nothing like that—my friends just brought dinner.”

  “Oh,” said Scott McDaniels. “That’s nice. Mind if I pop down and say hello?”

  Max shook his head and followed him down the steps to the lower level, where the other children promptly stood and offered their condolences.

  “Thank you,” said Max’s father, accepting a hug from Cynthia. “It’s awfully good of you to come and comfort Max.”

  “It’s the least we could do,” said Sarah. “Do you need anything?”

  “No, Sarah,” he said with a weary smile. “I just came by to tell Max that we’ll be having the service at dawn tomorrow down at the beach. It would be nice if you all could come.”

  “We will,” said Cynthia. “Is it okay if I bring my mum and brother?”

  “And my parents, too?” asked Lucia. “They arrived last week.”

  “We’ll bring everyone if it’s all right with you, Mr. McDaniels,
” offered Sarah.

  “Of course,” said Mr. McDaniels. “That would be very nice. I’d like to stay, but there’s lots to do.”

  “We should be going, too,” said Cynthia, glancing at the others and stacking the plates.

  Minutes later they filed out the door with parting hugs and promises to see Max first thing the next morning. Max watched the girls accompany Mr. McDaniels down the hallway. Connor lingered outside the door, waiting until David had gone inside and was out of earshot.

  “I’ve got a message from Vilyak,” whispered Connor, his ruddy face becoming deadly serious. “He extends his condolences and wants you to know you’re off the hook. No assignment for you.”

  “What is he planning, Connor?” asked Max.

  “Wish I knew,” said Connor. “I’m just a messenger boy doing my job.”

  “And how did you get to be Vilyak’s messenger boy?”

  “Needs a pair of eyes and ears among the students, don’t he?” Connor said with a shrug. “Seems to appreciate my talents even if the girls don’t.”

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Max, almost pleading with his friend.

  “Everything Vilyak said at that meeting was true and you know it, Max,” said Connor. “The Director might be a fine and dandy peacetime administrator, but she ain’t up to the job right now. My family’s here, too, you know. I’m just glad I can do my part to keep ’em safe.”

  Max stared at his friend a moment, searching his face. Connor’s eyes flickered with amused curiosity.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Who’s here?” asked Max.

  “My family, mate,” repeated Connor, blinking. “You lose your hearing in the Sidh?”

  “What are their names?” asked Max.

  “Excuse me?” asked Connor, coughing into his hand.

  “Their names,” said Max, grabbing Connor’s wrist. “Now.”

  “Mum, Dad, little Katie, and Uncle Liam,” said Connor, ticking them off on his fingers. “Me mum’s name is Margaret and Dad is Robert.” The Irish boy frowned and jerked his wrist from Max’s grip. “What gives?”

  “Since when are you left-handed?” asked Max.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You were doodling with your left hand downstairs,” said Max.

  “So what?” replied Connor with an exasperated shrug. “Renard said it helps build motor control in the off hand. Jesus, does the Sidh make a boy paranoid, too?”

  Max said nothing, but Connor sighed.

  “Get some rest, Max,” he said at length. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  Giving Max a farewell pat on the shoulder, Connor slipped into his own room across the hall.

  When the door had closed, Max hurried down the hallway and out of the Manse. His footsteps crunched on the ground as he wound past the steam-belching Smithy and the dark wall of trees lining the way to the Sanctuary.

  Nick came at his call, cleaning his short, broad muzzle in the grass and licking his bloodied claws clean. The Sanctuary was nearly empty, just a few distant students carrying lanterns as they visited their charges in the Warming Lodge or cared for the clearing’s nocturnal denizens. The lymrill seemed to sense something was amiss. There was no hiss or reproach or rat innards flung because of Max’s long absence. The creature waddled close and pressed its body against Max’s legs, giving its tail a soft rattle. Max scooped Nick into his arms and strode off toward the very thicket where he had first found the playful lymrill. Climbing high up into the boughs, Max held his heavy charge close and concentrated on a blue face with yellow cat’s eyes.

  Nick hissed and squirmed for a better look at Mr. Sikes when the small imp appeared, standing at the bough’s end like an attentive butler.

  “Master McDaniels,” purred Mr. Sikes. “I feared you had forgotten all about me. I understand both congratulations and condolences are in order. Please allow me to offer both.”

  “That’s not why I called you,” snapped Max, restraining the lymrill, which seemed to regard the imp as an exotic dessert. “Have you possessed Connor Lynch?”

  “I beg pardon?” asked the imp, widening its eyes at both the question and the lymrill’s unblinking attention.

  “Answer the question,” said Max.

  “Of course not, child,” said Mr. Sikes. “My modest kind is hardly capable of such a thing. Any book on summoning will confirm it.”

  “Are you working with the Enemy?” asked Max, staring hard at the perplexed face before him.

  “No,” replied Mr. Sikes coolly. “I am not. And I would humbly ask that you devote both hands to your charming pet.”

  Max clutched Nick closer and ran his hands along the lymrill’s quills to calm it. Momentarily appeased, Nick ceased struggling but continued to eye the imp hungrily, giving periodic snorts.

  “Where have you been?” asked Max after a moment’s pause. “Why didn’t you come to Rodrûban with me? I was all alone there.”

  “I could not,” explained Mr. Sikes. “That place is wound with many spells—no stowaways permitted. You may rest assured that I tried many times to visit, but I was always found and sent back. They are prejudiced against my kind there, I’m afraid. My troubles are of little consequence, however. The real question is how you are doing, Master McDaniels. It is a terrible thing for a boy to lose someone so dear. . . .”

  Max nodded but said nothing. Throughout the night, he sat in the treetops and silently wept while Mr. Sikes’s soothing voice spoke of hope and healing on the eve of his mother’s funeral.

  Before dawn, Max crept back to the Manse and padded down the hall to the showers. When he returned, David was already dressed in his formal Rowan uniform, sitting by the downstairs fireplace. Max carefully combed his hair and buttoned up his shirt before tackling his tie with stiff, mechanical movements.

  His father was waiting in the foyer, dressed in a black suit. He took Max’s hand and the two walked outside into the still, gray morning.

  Along the paths they went, their way lit by the gas lamps that still burned bright in the gloom. They walked past Old Tom and Maggie and crossed to the rocky bluff, where they climbed carefully down the carved stone steps that led to the sea. Bob was already present, placing the last of many folding chairs that were arranged in neat rows. The ogre was dressed in an enormous black suit, and his craggy face was downcast as he ambled over to shake their hands.

  “Is everything as you would wish?” asked the ogre.

  “It is,” said Mr. McDaniels, looking over the seating and fiddling with a paper in his breast pocket. “Was it difficult bringing everything down?”

  “Not for Bob,” said the ogre with a gentle smile. He pointed to a stretch of sand near the empty dock where the departed Kestrel had once been moored. There, on the beach, was a slim gray boat. Max saw his mother lying within it, wrapped in white silk, with her arms folded upon her breast.

  “Good, good,” said Mr. McDaniels, unfolding his paper and glancing at it. He thrust it at the ogre. “When the time comes, would you read this for me, Bob? I don’t think I’ll be up to it.”

  The ogre took the paper and peered at it through his monocle.

  “Bob would be honored,” he said, folding the paper and putting it in his shirt pocket.

  Max and his father took the seats nearest the little skiff while people arrived, walking down the stone steps in small clusters as Nolan played a plain but beautiful tune on his old, worn fiddle. Hundreds came: faculty and students and families, arriving in silence until they filled the many seats or stood in the cold sand or along the lawns atop the bluff. Max saw Bellagrog and Mum dabbing at their eyes, the pair stuffed into ridiculous dresses of black velvet and green doilies. Hannah waddled down with the goslings, which followed after their mother without so much as a disruptive peep. Max saw Ms. Richter sitting across the way, flanked by Miss Awolowo and Miss Kraken. The Director’s face was grave; her gray eyes stared out at the sea. When the sun rose, a faint yellow haze beyond the thin veil of mist, No
lan brought his playing to a close and Miss Awolowo stood.

  She was dressed in beautiful black robes, with clacking necklaces of jet and cowrie shells. With her regal carriage, she walked across the beach to stand by the skiff. While her rich voice carried over the sound of the gulls, Max knitted his hands together and stared at the pale gray boat and the small, lifeless body within it. He was vaguely aware that others spoke, too: Ms. Richter, Miss Kraken, and an elderly teacher whom Max did not know. When Bob stood, Max tore his eyes away from the skiff and watched the ogre carefully unfold the paper. His lumpy features crinkled with concentration; his words rolled in Max’s mind, deep and hopeful.

  Do not stand at my grave and weep,

  I am not there, I do not sleep.

  I am in a thousand winds that blow,

  I am the softly falling snow.

  I am the gentle showers of rain,

  I am the fields of ripening grain.

  I am in the morning hush,

  I am in the graceful rush

  Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

  I am the starshine of the night.

  I am in the flowers that bloom,

  I am in a quiet room.

  I am in the birds that sing,

  I am in each lovely thing.

  Do not stand at my grave and cry,

  I am not there. I do not die.

  At the poem’s conclusion, the ogre refolded the paper and handed it to Mr. McDaniels, whose shoulders shook. Bob looked out over the mourners and gestured for all to stand, and Nolan began to fiddle once again. Taking hold of the skiff, Bob slid it into the water. The ogre walked into the ocean up to his waist, guiding the boat through the rolling swells until he gave it a gentle push and it floated out upon the sea. Max watched the skiff go, bobbing like a cork on the gray swells, until it passed beyond Brigit’s Vigil and was lost in the morning mist.

  Bob led the mourners away from the beach and back up the stone steps. Max and his father filed out last, while Nolan continued playing behind them on the sand.

  As Max climbed, a member of the Red Branch glided past them down the stairs, scarcely pausing to give them a second glance. Max was puzzled and stopped to watch the man’s progress.