To Best the Boys

by Mary Weber

  “Me too.” I refuse to look at Lute as I get my turn out of the way. “And I’m here because I want a higher education.”

  “Well, I think most of you know why I’m here,” Germaine exclaims. “To win.”

  Everyone chuckles, because even if he’s an oaf, at least he’s honest.

  “Obviously we’re here for the fame and love connections,” Sam says for both him and Will. And everyone laughs again because at least they’re honest too.

  “I’m here because of the restrictions they’re putting on the fishing industry,” Lute says quietly. “My brother—he has certain needs. And with my pops gone, it’s my responsibility to care for him and our mum.” He looks at the skin on his knuckles. “I don’t have any imaginings I’ll win this thing, but I have to at least find a way to earn a better life for them, you know?”

  The room falls quiet. Even Germaine and Rubin have stopped their chortling, and when I glance from Lute to Vincent, the latter is glaring at him with what looks like annoyance. And Beryll . . . Beryll’s expression is annoyed too, but in a different way. I swear he looks like he might cry.

  Vincent sniffs. “Well I’m here because my parents could use the money. If my way is paid, it’d free up their ability to donate to other things. And I feel strongly about my responsibility to contribute wisdom and talents to better our world.”

  I study him. That’s the shallowest answer I’ve ever heard from him. Kind of like everything else these days. No heart, just a shell. In the past I would’ve demanded a real answer from him—a better answer—one that is true of a friend. Except I no longer care.

  “Spoken like a politician’s kid,” Will says beneath his breath, and Seleni nods.

  Beryll looks at Rubin. “Your turn, man.”

  “Well, it’s none of your business why I’m here. But just to prove you wrong on this whole confession sesh—I’m here for the fame.” He raises his hands and waits. “Annnnd just as I predicted—your sweet assertions didn’t do a bleeding thing to get us any freer. In fact, it wasted our time.” He goes back to standing at the table near Will.

  Germaine and Beryll go back to messing with the number pad, and I take a spot on the floor, from which to study the room and painting. Until, after ten minutes of pressing every combination we all can think of, Germaine throws up his hands and declares the thing broken, and surrenders himself to the floor, too, while Vincent gets up and tries his own attempt at it again. I shut my eyes to tune them all out so I can focus.

  Someone bumps my foot and sits down, and even with my eyes closed I know it’s Seleni. I can feel her heightened nerves. I open my eyes to smile assurance at her—only it’s not her. It’s Lute.

  He holds my gaze a solid ten seconds—long enough for me to blink—then he looks away.

  My stomach hits the floor. Maybe he knows who I am after all.

  I sneak him a side glance and am met with my answer clear as day on his somewhat handsome, stony face. Lute waits until Vincent rattles off more number combinations before he bumps his leg against mine and stiffly mutters, “You’re wearing pants.”

  “So are you, thank Caldon.”

  His lip twitches. “You dress as a boy often?”

  “No more than you.”

  A small smirk appears.

  Vincent pivots from the keypad and says to the room, “You know my father would suggest no one rests until we’ve figured this thing out.”

  Lute’s smile is instantly gone. He drops his tone. “I’m sure his father would also suggest how progressive you are to have followed your beau in here.”

  Annoyance floods my veins. My mouth goes dry, and I start to whisper that Vincent is certainly not my beau, but Lute’s gaze interrupts me. “I saw your fears back in the maze,” he says quietly. “Seems like a pleasant future you’ve chosen, Miss Tellur.”

  Pleasant?

  He tips his head toward Vincent but doesn’t move from watching me. Just hardens his jaw beneath a swag of black bangs and says coldly, “He’s quite the catch. I’m sure your future will be too.”

  Is he jesting? What is he talking about? Those were fears, not choices. Before I can reply to his rudeness, he stands and strides off to join Sam, and I am left wondering what in King Francis’s name is wrong with him. I glare until a sense of someone else watching me takes over.

  I turn to see Vincent staring right at me. Eyes sharp. Blond hair perfectly in place. He furrows his brow, then shifts his interest to Lute.

  With a scowl at both of them, I pat my cap to ensure it’s still in place, then rest my head on the floor because my brain needs a break from all the talking and Lute’s daft assumptions and Vincent being Vincent—whoever that is anymore.

  The group of them keep mumbling things, but I tune them out and wander my mind back over the words from Kellen that I’ve heard three times now thanks to that blasted number pad. “Up and down and all around . . .”

  “Why are you here?”

  My shoulders relax against the cool stone floor.

  “Up and down and all around . . .” The words and numbers on the painting are shifting order in my peripheral sight.

  I tip my head a little farther upside down from the position I’m already lying in, and for some reason the room looks clearer from that perspective. In fact . . .

  I frown and shove my hat tighter on my head—and do a headstand against the wall and take in the view. The room is almost an exact mirror image of itself from the top—with the number pad halfway up the wall, the clocks now flipped around, and, in fact, the painting itself looking more precise.

  “Why are we here?” I murmur.

  “Hey, kid, what’re you doing?” Germaine asks. “This isn’t playtime.”

  “Shh.” I lift one finger to measure the distance between the floor and ceiling and that picture hanging much too perfectly to be a coincidence. “Look. Why are we here—instead of . . . there?” I point to the ceiling.

  Rubin groans.

  “Oh,” Seleni says.

  It’s so simple I almost laugh in embarrassment. How could we have tried every combination but the obvious one? I turn my gaze on the boys. “Gentlemen, I think we’re supposed—”

  A loud thump shakes the floor, followed by the sound of someone gurgling. I drop and flip back onto my feet to see Will writhing on the floor with foam bubbling from his mouth. The next second Sam’s going for Rubin—plowing his head into his chest and knocking him over.

  “What the?” Germaine roars and rushes Sam, but Lute and Beryll jump in to stop him.

  I scramble to Will. The foam is dripping from his mouth onto his neck and the floor. I tip his head to the side, so he doesn’t choke, when I notice the prick of blood on his trembling neck as if he was stung. I frown and peer closer at it. Then at him. His symptoms are very much like . . .

  I look up. Rubin and Sam are rolling on the ground, and Rubin’s right fist is clenched around something. Lute’s already caught sight of it too because he’s left Beryll and Germaine’s squabble to dart over and set his foot on Rubin’s wrist, hard enough to warn him that he’ll break it. He leans down as I hurry over and bend Rubin’s wrist back enough for me to peel the boy’s fingers open and reveal a thorn as thick as my thumb.

  “What is it?” Sam demands.

  I hold it up. “It’s a thorn from the Sleeping Man-Trap hedge,” Seleni says.

  “That was your blokes’ plan?” Beryll bellows at Germaine. “To take us all out with a thorn?”

  “Gotta use what the Labyrinth hands you,” Germaine says.

  Beryll steps back and gapes as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. He clenches his hand into a fist and looks about ready to take a swing, even as Germaine’s smile says he’ll welcome it.

  “That’s enough.” Lute inserts himself between them.

  I drop the thorn and Seleni squashes it beneath her boot until the juice runs out and quickly evaporates upon contact with the air, while I return to Will. His body is shaking more violently now, and I press on his
pulse to check his blood pressure.

  “Hey, Vincent. You want to help here?” Seleni says, and when I glance up she’s glaring at him and the fact that he hasn’t moved from his spot against the wall where he’s watching with a look of passive interest.

  I start to agree with her, only to get distracted by Will’s weakening breathing and pulse. He’s having an allergic reaction—his throat is closing up. I elevate his head and look around for anything to use, but there’s nothing here to counteract it with or to open up his windpipe. “We have to get him out of here. He needs help. I think the poison might be cutting off his airway.”

  I turn to Seleni. “Try the buttons again—punch in 1–9–8–8.”

  She jumps to press them and, in a sweet mercy of reprieve, rather than a replay of Kellen’s voice, there’s a ding and the entire room starts to shake. “Nobody move, in case he’s wrong,” Germaine mutters.

  Suddenly the floor is rumbling, and a loud metal chain begins clinking, and the entire middle of the far wall slides open.

  17

  Another loud clink resounds across the room, and just as Beryll gives a soft cheer, the metal wall begins to slide back down. Lute and Sam grab Will’s arms and drag him over as we rush to shove everyone through before the panel drops and once again locks us in.

  The moment we exit, the whirring quickens and a gear clunks into place and the wall shuts with a heavy thud that vibrates the ground. We tumble to the grass, gasping and coughing and facing up at a night sky filled with stars, on a mountaintop overlooking a part of Caldon I don’t recognize.

  The sounds of the festival in the distance slowly draw my attention.

  I sit up and note the massive stone and hedge wall stretching behind us as far as I can see into the dark. I pause. It’s still dark.

  We’ve only been gone a few hours.

  It’s felt like days. My body is already begging to be done—not with the acuity test but with the emotional stress. Because while the first I’d expected, the second—not so much.

  I peer around for Seleni and Lute, and instead my gaze falls on Sam. He’s looking around with an odd expression, which is quickly turning frantic as he gets up to search the area. “Where’s Will? Will! Has anyone seen Will?”

  Beryll, Lute, Seleni, and I jump up to scan the hill. He was here one moment, then gone the next. Seleni walks over to me to whisper, “We’re not going to find him, Rhen. I guarantee Holm pulled him from the test.”

  “Why wasn’t anyone watching?” Sam’s voice is rising. “We have to go back and—”

  “He’s been pulled, mate.” Lute’s tone soothes as he steps in front of Sam. “Better that than let him stay and maybe die. If the kid here was right about his reaction to the sleeping thorn, your brother needed medical help.”

  Sam sags back and his breath comes heavy as he glares at Lute’s logic. He pinches two fingers over the sides of his temple and holds them there—before he clears his throat and looks up. “All right then. But one of you better keep an eye on him—” He points at Rubin. “So I don’t kill him.”

  Rubin’s lip curls. “Hey, it’s all fair—that’s the name of the game. Nothing’s personal.”

  Sam turns to sock him, but Lute grabs his arm. “Let it go, Sam. He just knocked him from the competition—he didn’t kill him.” He glances my way. “Let’s just cool our heads a minute.”

  Sam acquiesces but keeps his scowl on Rubin, who just shrugs and peers around. “Where to now, geniuses?”

  Beryll points to the base of the steep mountain we’re on—where the stars are reflecting off a huge lake that surrounds what appears to be an island.

  “Now that’s more like it,” Vincent says, and takes a deep breath. “Give me outdoors any day, mates.”

  “Well, well, well, what do you know,” a voice says. “Seems there are a few players left yet.”

  I swerve to see a group of boys strolling toward us. They’re covered in sweat and look strained, but still more relaxed than we are at the moment.

  “Thought we might be the only ones left.”

  The speaker is a tall boy about Lute’s age and build but with an accent and style suggesting he’s from one of the far northern lord’s houses. He assesses us. “Pity, though. Seeing as the competition is now double from two minutes ago.”

  Germaine eyes the group behind the kid. “Funny. I don’t see any competition.”

  “Ohhhhh,” the boys groan.

  “Big words, buddy.”

  “Maybe you’d like to test that out?”

  Beryll puts his hands up. “We’re not looking for a fight. We just got here.” He addresses the main kid. “Want to tell us what the deal is?”

  The guy puckers his lips and continues summing up Beryll. Then Germaine and Vincent and the rest of us. After a second he tips his head toward the area behind him and his group. “We have the tents over there in that divot. You can have the other side of the hill.” He indicates one lone tent to the far right of us. “Now if you—”

  A buzz reverberates through the air so deafening it stings my eardrums, as if the very atmosphere just came alive. I cringe and cover my ears as Seleni and the others do the same.

  “Oh lovely, it appears we’re all here then. Even though some of us are not.” Kellen’s voice ripples through the noise. I frown and twist to find the old man, but the only people I see are the group of boys and my team.

  “Where is he?” someone yells.

  “Don’t know. Shh.”

  The sound of Kellen clapping his hands ricochets across the landscape. “Did I mention you’ve earned a reprieve? A moment to breathe—and I strongly suggest you take it. Only be on guard for what roams these hills, as worse things than my beasts are now seeking to kill.”

  “That sounds promising,” Vincent says dryly.

  “Survive the night and tomorrow your path will be clear. Find your way to that island, beneath which, the key you seek may be near. But fair warning—try it tonight or in dim light, and you’ll be risking your life. But for now perhaps you should ponder the thrill—how good are your engineering skills?”

  The next moment the buzzing air is gone, and my ears and skin are prickling like sea urchins, and the boys who were facing us moments ago are scrambling back the way they came.

  “Did you hear him?” the tall one yells. “He said the island. See if there’s a boat!”

  “Are they serious? They’re going to go for it tonight?” Beryll says. “Holm just said not to.”

  Vincent shrugs. “Maybe they’re just going to confiscate a boat.”

  “Yeah, but what if there’s only one?” Rubin looks at us.

  “Did you see the size of most of them?” Germaine says. “We can take them and their boat. Besides—” He points down at the water where the glint of metal masts can be seen near a tree line. “I count at least five down there.”

  “The real question is—by waiting until morning, are we doing what we’re supposed to, or is it part of the test?” Vincent glances at Germaine. “Are we supposed to risk it, or is the water actually unsafe?”

  “Why don’t we ask the fisherman?” Beryll turns to Lute, whose eyes have been scanning the island and water for the past two minutes. Lute tips his head at Sam. “With the wind direction, you’ll be facing a pretty strong current. And while I’m not familiar with this lake, the waters around these parts have dangerous whirlpools. I’d be hesitant to test out any water at night that I’ve not seen during daylight.”

  Sam is nodding. “Watched a whaling boat get sucked into one last year. Two men died.”

  “We’re not talking about the ocean here; we’re talking about a lake.”

  I ignore Vincent. “So would you two chance it or not?”

  Both Lute and Sam shake their heads, and Lute says, “Not if we can wait a few hours for dawn. Might be wise to regain our energy in the meantime.” He looks over at Germaine and Rubin and mutters, “I suspect we’re going to need it.”

  Vincent considers this,
then nods. “If you boys want to wait, fine by me. You’re the water experts, and I’m exhausted.” He spins around and, smoothing his hair into place, heads for the tent.

  “Plus, I’m sure there’s more than one way to get across,” Seleni adds. “Right?”

  She has a point. Holm said engineering, not just boating.

  When no one answers her, I just nod and take off after Vincent. Because the truth is, I’m beat too. And I need water. And I need to pee.

  “Is it strange that no one ever sees Holm in normal life?” Sam follows us across the grassy knoll toward the small encampment. “Like Holm is everywhere but nowhere. I wonder how many community events he’s been at and no one has any idea.”

  “I’m sure someone has an idea,” Berryl responds. “Otherwise, how would he get invited to them? I mean, there are people who must know who he is—at least some of parliament and the university. After all, isn’t he on their board?”

  “I’ve seen him,” I say quietly. Because I’m now quite sure Kellen and Holm are the same. “At a party once, at a friend’s house.”

  I don’t have to look at the group walking behind me to feel their shock and instant questions. Seleni swerves to peer at me and her eyes are enormous. “You did?” they seem to say. But all she hisses is, “You never told me that!”

  Beryll’s tone lifts an octave. “Whose? What was he like? Did he speak to you?”

  I shrug as if I don’t know, because the truth is, I really don’t know much. “He was exactly like he is now. Eccentric. But also kind.”

  Germaine breaks into a laugh. “Kind? What sort of description is that? You sound like a girl talking about your mum.”

  Seleni tenses. I don’t change my stride, but I flash her a grimace.

  “Ah look, you made him blush.” Rubin laughs, but the sound dies off the moment we come upon the mountaintop’s indent, where a small fire pit and white tent are laid out.

  On the side of the tent, four words are written in giant black lettering. Crafted just like the others in the sections we’ve been through thus far. This time they ask:

  WHAT DO YOU WANT?