The Hound of Rowan

  “As it happens, your class is on the third floor. Unlucky you. Third and Fourth Years will torment you from the second floor. Fifth and Sixth Years enjoy first-floor convenience and feel very much entitled to it.”

  Max emerged from the stairwell into a long, broad hallway arched with heavy beams. It was lined on either side with dozens of gleaming green doors. Nigel led them toward the far end of the hallway. Straggling behind, Max noticed that each door had a large, ornate keyhole and a shiny silver numeral in its center. Next to each door was a towering plaque of polished black wood and brass, the first two dozen of which were engraved with names.

  Reaching the end of the hall—where, Max noted, the plaques were blank—Nigel turned to the boys, who began to fidget.

  “Let’s see…sixty-nine, seventy, and Omar there makes seventy-one. Excellent—didn’t lose anyone along the way! Hooray for me. Now, when I say the word, go hunt for your name on the plaques next to the doors. When you see your name, hold right there and do nothing else. Everyone understand?”

  A stocky, handsome boy with chestnut hair and bright blue eyes raised his hand. His Irish accent was so thick that Max could hardly understand him.

  “Our names are already on them?”

  “What’s your name, O curious creature?”

  “Connor Lynch.”

  “No,” said Nigel, rubbing his hands together. “But they will be. That’s part of the fun. You don’t pick your roommates and neither do we; that’s the Manse’s job…. Everyone ready? Go find your room!”

  To Max it seemed like a frantic Easter egg hunt as the other boys sprinted or bumped into one another to scour the nameplates up and down the hall.

  “I’ve found mine!” called a short boy who looked like a mouse.

  “Me too!” cried another, losing his retainer.

  Max walked slowly down the hall as the other boys shouted in excitement and jumped about. Max wanted to be excited, too, but he felt queasy—the lurking presence within him was stirring once again. He stopped before Room 318 and stared at the plaque next to the door. As though scripted by an invisible hand, two names appeared where before there had been none. Max ran his fingers over his name, feeling the letters etched deep into the brass. A cough sounded behind him.

  “My name’s there, too, isn’t it?”

  Max turned at the voice, which sounded American. He looked down at a small boy with skin as pale as milk. The boy’s features were small and faint, except for purplish circles beneath his eyes. He looked unhealthy, like an underexposed photograph.

  “Are you David Menlo?” asked Max.

  The boy nodded and coughed again.

  “I’m Max.”

  Just then, Max heard Nigel’s voice rise above the din.

  “Aha! Stop right there, Jesse Chu! Didn’t you hear me before? Do not do anything else until I instruct you to!”

  A chunky Asian boy across the hall scowled and yanked his hand away from his doorknob as though it was hot. Nigel walked briskly toward him, wagging a finger. He stopped, however, as he saw Max and David standing by their door.

  “Hey there—who are you two missing?”

  Max glanced again at the plaque, realizing the other groups had four or even five boys in them.

  “No one,” said Max. “Our names are the only ones.”

  “Really?” said Nigel, giving a curious smile and leaning in for a closer look. “How very strange.”

  He shook his head before cupping his hands to be heard throughout the long hallway.

  “Now, when I instruct you to, I want you to open the doors and step inside your respective rooms. Once inside, you will lock the door behind you and shut your eyes. You will soon feel dizzy—it is to be expected. Keep your eyes shut until the feeling subsides entirely. To be safe, I recommend that you count to three once the dizziness stops before you have a look around. Everyone clear?”

  Max nodded with the others, terrified.

  “All right, gents. Please enter your rooms and let the configurations begin.”

  Max looked at David, who inclined his head, suggesting Max should open the door. The two tentatively stepped into a small dark room with a plain stone floor and knotty wood walls.

  “Are you ready?” Max whispered. “When I lock the door, shut your eyes. When the dizziness stops, let me know and we’ll both count to three. Okay?”

  Taking quick, shallow breaths and trying to ignore the furious patter of his heart, Max locked the door and squeezed his eyes shut.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Slowly, however, his body felt as though it was accelerating to a tremendous speed while spinning like a top. The sensation intensified for what seemed to be a full minute, culminating in a gagging wave of nausea.

  He was on the verge of being sick when the spinning stopped. His body felt almost weightless, as though drifting slowly back to the earth. Moments later, the feeling had subsided. He hissed at David.

  “David? Has it stopped?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  “Okay. Count with me. One. Two. Three!”

  Max opened his eyes and drew a sharp breath.

  Instead of the small square room, they now stood on the top stair of a very large circular chamber with a glass-domed roof. Through the glass, Max gazed up at the moon and stars, but they appeared much larger than he had ever seen with his naked eye. They rotated slowly beyond the glass. Max gasped as faint gold threads materialized to outline a celestial centaur before silently fading. A moment later, a giant scorpion was highlighted from among the many stars twinkling above.

  At the level of the door and top step was a broad, brass-railed balcony. It led in either direction to enormous, curtained sleigh beds of polished wood, positioned at opposite ends of the room.

  Without a word, Max and David descended the steps to a sunken floor. At its center was a large octagonal table inlaid with designs of moons and stars, resting on a thick ivory-colored rug. Beneath each balcony were identical curved niches. Each niche had a cozy couch, tall bookcases, and a wardrobe, all lit from above by lights recessed into the surrounding golden wood. At the far end, a stone fireplace crackled with a small fire. With a shock of recognition, Max saw his duffel bag folded neatly by the wardrobe along with his drawing pads and pencils. The rest of his things were similarly arranged.

  “What do you think?” David breathed beside him.

  Max whirled and shook David by the shoulders.

  “I think it’s amazing!”

  With a series of triumphant whoops, the two raced up to the balcony and then ran in opposite directions to leap onto the sleigh beds. Max sprawled on a soft comforter stitched with golden suns before brushing aside the curtains. David was grinning from the opposite bed, kicking his feet against its navy curtain embroidered with silver moons.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Hey there!” Nigel’s voice sounded a bit worried. “Max? David? Open up, boys, and let’s have a look. Boys?”

  They galloped back along the balconies and swung open the door. Nigel stood outside with the Irish boy, Connor.

  “Oh, thank goodness! Had me worried there that you’d gone and lost yourselves! Mind if I have a peek? I’m always curious how these configurations turn out—never seen two the same.”

  As Nigel entered the room, he froze and scanned the threshold.

  “No vomit. Well done, gentlemen! These are new loafers, after all!”

  He stepped past them and gasped.

  “Oh, this is wonderful! Much more inspiring than my old room! I begged to switch the god-awful thing. You would, too, if you’d gotten a Mongolian yurt!”

  Max and David savored their triumph as Nigel poked around, muttering the occasional “Would you look at that!” and “Those lucky devils!”

  Connor Lynch stepped in after Nigel and stood gaping at the ceiling. His bright blue eyes blinked in wonder, and he delivered an impressed thumbs-up to Max and David before stepping back into the hallway. A minute la
ter, Nigel sauntered up the steps, shaking his head and scowling at the two of them.

  “I don’t want to hear even a peep of complaint from you two for the next six years! Oh, my wife would kill for those bookcases, you scoundrels! I’ll never understand how this old Manse works.” He threw his hands up with feigned disgust, brushing past them into the hallway, where the others were now darting in packs to explore the various rooms in a chorus of shouts and slamming doors. Max and David peered in at a medieval bedchamber high atop a tower and a Japanese temple before stumbling into a very plain room across the hall.

  They looked around in awkward silence. Connor was lingering in the room alone; his roommates had apparently left to explore. The only sounds came from a small fire sputtering in a modest brick hearth. The room was not any bigger than the bare room Max had entered before the configuration. Narrow wooden bunk beds were stacked beneath a low, flat ceiling of dark beams. The room was otherwise furnished with only one small desk and a red rocker positioned near the fireplace. Two small windows were cut through the plaster walls. They looked onto a lazy, sunlit meadow dotted with wildflowers.

  Nigel poked his head in and broke the silence.

  “A cozy little nook to hang your hat in, eh, Mr. Lynch?”

  “Yeah, Nigel, home sweet home. Not a traffic-stopper, but it’ll do.”

  Connor hopped up onto one of the top bunks and dangled his legs over the side, grinning at them defiantly. Max liked him immediately.

  “C’mon, boys,” said Nigel. “Help me round up the others, and let’s get back to the foyer.”

  Nigel hurried down the hall as Max, David, and Connor looked down into a sunken room that appeared to be the captain’s quarters of a luxurious galleon. Three large portholes showed a distant sunset and dark blue waves lapped at the glass. The room’s four occupants were laughing as they sat on the cozy beds that were sunk into deep alcoves. Sea chests and old maps and bright yellow lanterns were scattered about. Connor spoke up just as a brightly colored fish leapt past one of the portholes.

  “Hey—Nigel wants us out there. Come on.”

  The boys nodded and took turns climbing up the brass ladder.

  “Honestly,” said Connor as they filed past, “if any of you boys get the wobblies down there, just let me know and we can swap out. You there!” He shot a finger at the last boy to climb out. “You’re lookin’ awfully pasty. We should probably switch rooms, mate.”

  “Never!” shouted the boy, running after Nigel.

  Connor sighed and fell in step with Max and David. By this time, Nigel had managed to gather most of the class back near the staircase.

  “Right, then, congratulations on completing your configurations. You’re a lucky lot, you know. Some of the chaps in my class got stuck with a dungeon, a moldy wine cellar, and a chicken roost!”

  “But, Nigel,” said a boy, “how did the rooms change? Did you change them?”

  Nigel shook his head.

  “Dear me, no. This is Old Magic—far older and far stronger than anything Nigel Bristow can conjure up. But more of the Manse and Old Magic after dinner.”

  The chimes began just as Nigel herded them down the stairs.

  5

  EVILS OLD AND NEW

  The boys and girls met outside by the fountain, where room configurations were discussed in a buzz of competing voices. Max found it hard to keep track as he overheard breathless girls talking about a pharaoh’s throne room carved with hieroglyphics and snug lodges in the mountains. Nigel stood near him looking bemused while Miss Awolowo shielded a tall, plump red-haired girl from the onrush of a petite black-haired girl who stabbed an accusatory finger while muttering in her native language. The red-haired girl looked miserable.

  “What happened with them?” Max asked Nigel. “Oh—happens every year. Roommates blaming one another for how their rooms turned out during the configuration. My Italian’s atrocious, but I believe Lucia is upset over the leaky hovel they’ll be sharing. Thinks it’s all Cynthia’s fault—something about an English preference for miserable weather…”

  Nigel frowned and glanced at Max.

  “That last part’s not true, by the way. We merely cope with miserable weather—we cope out of sheer necessity!”

  Miss Awolowo restored order with a calm snippet in Italian that left Lucia in smoldering silence. Nigel took his leave as Miss Awolowo addressed the group.

  “All right. Now that the configurations are complete—Lucia, stop that!—we’ll take a brief tour of Rowan’s grounds before we have supper. If you’d please follow me to the orchard…”

  They walked around to the back of the Manse, passing between low hedges thick with flowers, and arriving at a large stone patio. Just beyond the patio, separated by a strip of lawn, were long rows of apple trees. Max walked along with Connor and David as Miss Awolowo gathered the group by the closest tree.

  “The apples!” a girl exclaimed. “They’re made of gold!”

  Max looked up to see a number of small apples that appeared to be cast of gold. Jesse Chu slipped past Max and stood on his tiptoes to reach one of them.

  “Do not touch that apple!”

  Jesse recoiled as if he had been stung. Miss Awolowo slipped past several students, lifting the hem of her dress above the grass.

  “Forgive me for startling you, Jesse, but these trees are sacred. Let me explain a bit about the Rowan orchard. Omar, will you please read that plaque for me?”

  A dark-skinned, studious-looking boy with glasses bent down and read the stone tablet embedded at the base of the tree.

  “Fiat Lux—Class of 1653.”

  “Thank you. Does anyone know the expression or why we are looking at this tree?”

  A tall blond boy, whose nametag said he was Rolf from Düsseldorf, raised his hand. Max thought he must be at least fourteen.

  “Fiat Lux is Latin,” Rolf said in a heavy German accent. “It’s translated ‘Let there be light.’ According to the brochure, 1653 is when Rowan graduated its first class.”

  Miss Awolowo smiled; the boy looked very pleased with himself.

  “Very good, Rolf—correct on both counts. This is a sacred tree—a Class Tree representing Rowan’s very first graduating class. They chose Fiat Lux for their class motto, as they arrived here in a time of great darkness. There is a sacred tree in this orchard for every class at Rowan.

  “Every year, a Class Tree will bear one apple for each living member of that class. When a member of that class has passed on, his or her apple turns to gold. Thus we remember them, and these apples we do not touch. Take a few moments and walk among them.”

  Fanning out with the others, Max threaded his way through the rows of trees whose golden apples gleamed brightly in the summer sun. He tried to imagine the people they represented and what they had made of their lives. After a few moments, he noticed that gold glinted from most of the trees, including some of the younger ones.

  Miss Awolowo called, and they continued through the orchard and into a dense wood of ash, oak, maple, and beech. Sunlight twinkled through the leaves as they followed a meandering path through the trees before stopping at a long, low building set in a small clearing. Its windows were dark, but small puffs of white smoke issued from a chimney.

  “This is the Smithy,” said Miss Awolowo, pointing at a formidable-looking door of black iron. “As Apprentices, you will not yet take Devices, but during the school year you may have occasion to visit.”

  Connor mouthed the word “Devices?” at Max with a quizzical look. Max shrugged with a smile as Rolf shot his hand in the air.

  “Speaking of classes—when do we get our class schedules? My parents insisted that I’m to be enrolled in advanced math.”

  Max saw Lucia roll her eyes.

  “Class assignments will be distributed tomorrow, Rolf,” Miss Awolowo answered.

  She continued their tour through the forest, pointing out notable trees and deflecting questions regarding the small side paths that veered off the main w
ay to disappear into the thick undergrowth. There were several of these, and Max was curious about them. David paused so long at one that Max had to trot back to pull him along.

  “Wait a minute,” said David, fishing in his pockets.

  “C’mon,” said Max, watching the tour disappear beyond a bend in the path.

  David retrieved a coin from his pocket. He scratched at the soil and buried the coin beneath the twisty root of a sagging elm. Apparently satisfied, he brushed the dirt from his hands and hurried with Max after the others.

  “Why’d you do that?” asked Max.

  David did not seem to hear him.

  As they rounded the bend, Max heard the neighing of horses. Miss Awolowo and their classmates were circling around several long buildings and a fenced ring where a dozen unsaddled horses capered about. Beyond the buildings was a high, mossy wall with a heavy door. The wall continued out of sight; the hedge and trees behind it were very tall. Max wanted to go through the door, but Miss Awolowo kept them moving, calling out over her shoulder as she went.

  “These are Rowan’s stables. Beyond that wall is the Sanctuary—you’ll be visiting it tomorrow. No time to stop now. Please keep up!”

  The children hurried after her. She waited for them on a path that curved out of the forest and led back to the main campus. Emerging into the sunlight, Max gazed at the Manse and orchard far away to his right across the clipped lawns. The group continued along the forest’s edge and gathered at a rocky outcropping above the sea.

  “Wow,” said Connor, reaching the edge before Max and looking down.

  Max looked over his shoulder to see a large ship with three masts, creaking as it bobbed slightly in the waves. Well over a hundred feet long and looking very old, it was anchored to a long dock with a heavy chain. A rough stone staircase led down from where they stood to the narrow, rocky beach below. Max strained to hear Miss Awolowo’s voice over the wind.

  “That, children, is the Kestrel. You’ll be hearing more about her tonight.”

  She waved to a tall man stacking driftwood down on the beach and herded the class away from the water, back toward two imposing buildings. They were made of gray stone and faced south on the lawns between the Manse and the beach. The class approached along their long shadows cast by the sun sinking over the woods to the west.