The Maelstrom

  Grendel began to growl. The Cheshirewulf bared its teeth in a jagged grimace as the animal’s ears pricked forward. One by one, the candles began to gutter, as though a breeze was eddying about Rolf’s body. From the corner of his eye, Max saw David point a finger at the circle.

  A footprint had appeared upon the talc—a hideous, four-pronged print that might have belonged to a man-sized bird of prey. A second footprint appeared, slow and cautious, as though whatever was in the circle was creeping about its perimeter. David stood.

  “We know you are here. Reveal yourself.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Tempus volat hora fugit—time flies, the hour flees,” David said testily, seizing the talc shaker and striding over to the circle. Throwing its remaining contents into the air, he stepped back as the cloud of particles plumed and settled around the invisible demon, revealing a glimpse of its silhouette. For an instant Max could perceive a tall and horned shape, hunched and gangling with arms that nearly reached the floor. There was a hiss as it realized what David had done. A second later it vanished.

  Rolf’s body gave a spasm, as though receiving an electric jolt. To Max’s horror, the corpse sat up, the coppers falling from its eyes as it swung its legs off the table. Grimacing, the corpse eased onto unsteady legs and examined the circle’s inscriptions. It spoke in a chilling chorus of intertwining voices, young and old, male and female.

  “Coddle, hobble, gobble the codding kiddie,” it muttered, stooping to peer at a sigil. “We’ll gorge upon his bell, book, and candlezzzz.…” Three times, the demon repeated the strange verse, ending each with a gurgling, flylike buzzing. When it appeared satisfied by the circle’s merits, it turned to David.

  “What dost thou want, sickly spawn of moon and womb and mandrake?”

  “Mortui vivos docent. The dead must teach the living,” remarked David with a wry smile. “But first, tell me your name.”

  The demon laughed, its voices jingling like change from within Rolf’s bandaged throat.

  “Flee to your grandsire’s shadow,” it tittered. “ ‘Cower all the moanday, tearsday, wailsday, thumpsday, frightday, shatterday till the fear of the Law!’ ”

  Walking over to his table, David struck the silver bell again. Its note rang out in the dark room, clear and true. With a moan, the corpse clapped its hands over its ears and shuffled to the circle’s farthest point.

  “Apparently, you know who I am,” said David. “So I’m going to forgo the niceties. I will have your name and you will answer my questions or I’ll have you bound within a pig of iron and cast to the bottom of the sea. Salt and iron for all eternity, demon. Most unpleasant. So tell me your name and answer my questions and perhaps we’ll let you make amends.”

  “I am Namalya,” replied the corpse, speaking in a woman’s voice. “And I am punished unjustly. Even now the poor boy’s family is searching for the body of their son. How they wail and cry and gnash their teeth! They shall curse your name forever, David Menlo. You desecrate the dead!”

  The sorcerer was unmoved.

  “My friend was desecrated when you possessed him. And you lie. Namalya is not your name.” Pivoting upon his heel, David made to strike the bell. With a hiss, Rolf’s corpse rushed forward, stopping only at the circle’s edge. Its voice became a deafening baritone.

  “I AM MOLOCH!” it bellowed. “Great Moloch, swollen with the blood of innocents!”

  When the corpse’s eyes went white and blank, David actually laughed.

  “This is not my first summoning,” he said, shaking his head wearily. “Do you think to frighten us with carnival tricks? You are small in power but great in mischief. Your actions have caused my friend’s death. I will have your name and the truth or I will break you.”

  The corpse swiveled its head toward Max and spoke in Rolf’s own voice, as though the boy’s vocal cords had not been severed by Umbra’s spear. “It is you who are to blame for my death. If you had only surrendered to the Atropos, none of this would have happened. What will you tell my mother, Max? Will you tell her that I had to die so you might live?”

  In his heart, Max knew there was truth in the demon’s words. He had not struck the blow that killed Rolf Luger, but he might as well have. His classmate was dead because of him. His grief must have shown, for the demon smiled and turned its attention to Miss Boon.

  “We have your man,” he sniggered. “He cries out for a merciful death, but we shall not give it to him. Have you ever seen someone on the rack? Your man is strong, but no one is that strong.…”

  Miss Boon remained silent, but her hands were shaking, worrying at the ends of her sleeves.

  “You can help him,” the demon hissed. “This son of the Sidh is all that stands between you and the one you desire. All your life, you feared that you’d never experience love, Hazel Benson Boon. You thought your books would make you happy, but there you sit with a hollow heart in a scholar’s robes. Do not throw away your only chance at happiness.…”

  “David,” warned Ms. Richter. “I think you must silence him.”

  “You have nothing to fear, Gabrielle Richter,” cackled the demon, flicking his eyes to her. “I know better than to think I can move one so cold as you. After Rowan recruited you away from your nothing life in that nothing town, you never went back, did you? Naturally, you were ashamed of your father’s drinking and the way decent folk scorned your mother. A pity they died in that fire before you got a chance to say goodbye. I’m sure you were the last thing on their minds, beautiful and brilliant Gabrielle who went off to a something life in a something town and never looked back. I’m sure they’d be proud. I know you must be.…”

  “Are you going to silence this thing, or must I?” Ms. Richter snapped, glaring at David. Her voice was steel, but Max saw that her eyes were bright with tears. Reaching over, he took her hand. She gripped it fiercely and took Miss Boon’s in turn. David appeared unmoved by her plea. Within the circle, Rolf’s corpse had climbed back atop the table where it sat idly dangling its legs and leering at them.

  “Your name,” David commanded, thoughtfully examining the bell. “I won’t ask nicely again.”

  “We shall have each of you,” the demon hissed, speaking with many voices. “Koukerros for all and for all a good night!”

  “As you will,” said David, marching swiftly toward the circle.

  The corpse’s smile faded. “H-haven’t you forgotten your little bell?”

  “You had your chance.” David pointed at the circle. “Sol Invictus.”

  Unconquerable sun. It had been the motto of Solas, the ancient school of magic that Astaroth had broken long ago. As soon as David said the words, the powder that Mina had sprinkled about the circle burst into purple-blue flames. With a shriek, Rolf’s corpse flipped over onto the table, screeching and scrabbling madly at the wood as though the circle’s flames were coursing through every bone and nerve.

  “Graeling!” it screamed in a little girl’s voice. “I am called Graeling!”

  “A lie,” replied David, folding his arms.

  The demon moaned and writhed, its eyes going black. When next it spoke, Max realized that Graeling’s voice had been stripped from the chorus. So had the voices of Moloch and Namalya. The corpse spun around, staring at David as though every vein and capillary would burst.

  “I am Legion,” it panted, hugging itself and rocking while the circle’s flames blazed with sparking, phosphorescent intensity. “Legion with a thousand faces, a million faces …”

  The sorcerer shook his head and the demon sobbed pitiably. The rest of the names came quickly. When David declared them false, the corresponding voice was stripped away. Soon, only one voice remained—the wheezing rasp of an old man.

  “Ghöllah is my name. What is it you wish to know?”

  The flames died away, retreating into the floor so that they shimmered like violet coals within the etched designs. Max sat forward.

  “Are there other assassins at Rowan?” inquired David. br />
  “Of course.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I do not know.” The corpse grinned maliciously at Max. “I was summoned and I served. I may have failed, but the Atropos will not. The son of the Sidh will not escape them.”

  “Where are William Cooper and Ben Polk?” asked David.

  “I do not know.” The demon shrugged. “My summoner only gave me the scarred man’s knife.”

  Miss Boon stood. “S-so you never saw William on the rack,” she stammered. “It was just a lie.”

  “If you like,” the demon chuckled. “I’ve seen the rack.”

  “Why did they arm you with William Cooper’s blade?” asked David.

  “It is the kris of Mpu Gandring,” replied the demon. “Its blade is accursed. My masters fear no ordinary weapon can slay the Sidh prince.”

  David paused at this. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Do the Atropos know Max’s geis?” he asked softly.

  “No,” replied the demon. “But they are searching, scrying, lying, pining for it. They care not whether they slay the Hound of Rowan or he slays himself. They care only that he dies.”

  “What were the terms of your service to the Atropos?” asked David.

  “Nothing fancy,” the demon tittered. “Ghöllah was to get close to Sidh boy and murder him. If Ghöllah succeeds, he is free. If he fails, he must report back.”

  “Where specifically?”

  “A grotto,” the demon hissed. “A grotto in the sea cliffs north of Rowan’s outer walls. A day’s ride. Last question, vile sorcerer, before our bargain is fulfilled.”

  “Certainly,” said David. “Can you detect if another being is possessed?”

  “Of course we know our own,” the demon scoffed. “Mortal flesh is a flimsy cloak.”

  “Excellent,” said David, walking over to a bookcase and opening a carved wooden box upon its topmost shelf. Fishing inside, he selected a silver ring. Rolf’s corpse watched him, its eyes dark and mistrustful. When the sorcerer returned, the demon hissed and retreated to the table’s edge.

  “You shall warn my friend of peril,” said David, holding up the ring. “For seven years, you shall inhabit this and warm its metal to a scald whenever you detect your own kind nearby. You shall serve faithfully and true. In seven years, your service shall end and you will be free to go. I give you Solomon’s Pledge. The choice is yours, Ghöllah—you can wear silver for seven years or a pig of iron for all eternity.”

  “But my service to the Atropos is not complete,” the demon reflected. “I must report my failure.”

  “You may report your failure in seven years.”

  The corpse shook its head as though weighing all options and liking none.

  “They are a dangerous enemy, Sorcerer.”

  “So am I.”

  “Very well,” the demon sighed. “I agree to your terms, curse you. Seven years, not a second longer.”

  David tossed the ring inside the circle. Snatching it out of the air, the corpse stared at the object upon its palm with a look of unmitigated loathing. With an awful snarl, it closed its fist about the ring and toppled over, lifeless once again. The simmering flames about the circle died away so that only the seven candles remained, merry and golden.

  “An ugly business,” mused David wearily. “But it is finished.” Stooping, he blew out the candles and knocked gently on the bedroom door. The door unbolted and Mina slipped out alone. “There is a ring in the body’s hand,” said David. “Give it to our Max and tell him what it is.”

  If the corpse frightened Mina, the girl did not let it show. Without a hint of squeamishness, she retrieved the ring from Rolf’s clenched fist and turned it over in her fingers.

  “There is a demon in this ring,” she declared, half turning to David. The boy nodded and gestured for her to go on. “His name is … Ghöllah. And he promises to warn fierce Max if there are others about. Seven years he will serve and he has vowed revenge against you.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” said David, smiling.

  “She can tell all that from merely handling it?” wondered Miss Boon.

  “Of course I can,” said Mina, coming over to Max. “It cannot keep secrets from me.”

  Max thanked her, studying the ring as she placed it on his finger.

  David turned to Ms. Richter. “Are there any others from the Red Branch still at Rowan?”

  “Xiùmĕi and Matheus are still here,” she replied. “And Peter Varga returned two days ago.”

  “What of the Vanguard or the Minstrels?” he inquired, referring to other elite cadres of Agents. There were several such groups at Rowan. They were not as skilled or exclusive as the Red Branch, but each had their own specialties.

  “Fifteen,” she said. “Perhaps twenty.”

  “Good,” said David. “I would send them along with the Cheshirewulf to the area Ghöllah described. I don’t know if they’ll find Cooper and Ben Polk, but it’s a starting point. Even if the Atropos have moved, Grendel should be on the scent.”

  The Cheshirewulf twitched and growled at the mention of his name.

  “I’m going, too,” said Miss Boon, rising.

  “Hazel,” said Ms. Richter, “best to leave this—”

  “No, Director!” flashed the young teacher. “If they could have possessed William by now, they would have sent him for Max instead of using Rolf. William’s too strong-willed to give in easily, but if they’re torturing him …”

  Ms. Richter relented. “I’ll give the order,” she sighed. “We’ll put Xiùmĕi in charge. She has the most experience with this sort of thing. Take Grendel and prepare yourself for a journey. I would pack for at least a week.”

  “My students—”

  “Will be fine,” Ms. Richter assured her. “We’ll see to your classes; you see to William.”

  The two women embraced. With a parting glance at Rolf’s body, Miss Boon hurried out of Bram’s chambers with Grendel at her side. When the door closed, the Director turned to the two boys. Her face was grave.

  “There’s something else,” she said softly. “War has broken out. I had word earlier this evening. Aamon has declared war on Prusias. His armies are marching on Blys from the east. Rashaverak is attacking from the south. Given this development and the events this evening, I want you to leave for Blys at once—before Prusias can blockade our shores. Make contact with the Workshop through the one we discussed, David. The Workshop would be a valuable ally in the days ahead, and perhaps the war will give them an opportunity to break free from Prusias’s grasp. Even if they refuse to join us, we need intelligence. We need to know how Prusias intends to use their technologies should the war come to Rowan. Sir Alistair has already prepared a dossier for you.”

  “Alistair Wesley?” Max exclaimed, remembering his old etiquette instructor. He had long regarded the departed teacher as a vain and patronizing fop. The man had accepted Prusias’s offer of land and titles and abandoned Rowan two years earlier. “Isn’t he an earl or something, lording it up in Blys?”

  “Sir Alistair is one of our finest intelligence operatives,” replied Ms. Richter firmly. “And he accepted that awful mission at my request, so please show some respect.”

  “How have you been in contact with him?” asked David. “I thought scrying was impossible.”

  “Laqueus Diaboli isn’t the only old trick in use tonight,” observed the Director. “We’ve been communicating with Alistair using Florentine spypaper the domovoi discovered in the Archives.”

  “Ah,” said David, understanding at once. “I should like to see some.”

  “There is some in your dossier,” said Ms. Richter. “It contains all of Alistair’s recommendations regarding the Workshop, along with my comments and notes. Do not write upon the sheets unless you wish the contents to be transcribed back to those in Sir Alistair’s keeping. That could be very dangerous.”

  “Understood,” said David, taking a portfolio from the Director. He gazed about his grandfather
’s room, absorbing each detail as though he might not see it again. “What will you do with the body?” he asked.

  “The moomenhovens will prepare Rolf for burial and we will arrange a service,” Ms. Richter sighed. “Sarah and the Second Years are with Miss Awolowo. As to the refugees, we shall have to see what to do with them.…”

  “They didn’t do anything wrong,” said Max quickly. “Ajax and the rest … they’re valuable. They’ve seen a lot more than Rowan’s students and they’re tougher for it. The girl who killed Rolf … Umbra. Her strike was faster than anything I’ve seen since the Arena. We shouldn’t overlook these people, Ms. Richter. There’s real trouble brewing unless we break down the barriers between us.”

  “I’ll look into it,” she promised. “Now you must be off. I feel better knowing that you have that ring, but be vigilant, Max. You must be wary of everyone you meet. Both of you.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” said Max.

  “We’ll be back well before the solstice,” said David, blushing as Ms. Richter embraced them and kissed each boy on the cheek. “Please consider the additional defenses I recommended. Tell Mina or my grandfather to help if the builders or Mystics are overtaxed.”

  “Your grandfather doesn’t often do as he’s told,” said Ms. Richter, tapping her chin. “I don’t suppose you know where he is or what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t ask and he doesn’t tell,” said David. He laughed. “Secrecy’s a family trait, I guess. Will you look in on Mina and my mother while we’re away? Ms. Kraken can instruct her in transmutation in my absence. She’s been anxious to learn, but I’ve had her focused on other things. Which reminds me …”

  Producing a key from his pocket, David went over to a writing desk. Unlocking a small box, he retrieved a polished teardrop of lapis lazuli. Mina could hardly stand still as Max unfastened her magechain so that her teacher could thread the stone upon it.

  “For identifying the ring,” said David. “Be a good girl while I’m gone. And stay out of my trove.”

  Mina stiffened.