by C. R. Grey
Tori rolled her eyes.
“He’s not actually that bad—for a Dominae-loving freak,” she said. “He just doesn’t realize what he’s doing. His father is a high-level tinkerer for Viviana—that blueprint Tremelo copied was his! He sends Lyle old prototypes like they’re toys! I had to check it out. Science Club is just Lyle’s excuse to show off, and the perfect way for us to get more information about Viviana’s Reckoning! What do you think that Catalyst machine is for?”
“But why didn’t you tell us you were spying on him?” asked Hal.
Tori went quiet for a moment, and shrugged.
“It felt nice to have my own mission, for once. I was going to tell you once I’d seen the orb, but I wanted to be sure first.”
Bailey believed her, but he was bothered by her insistence that Lyle wasn’t “that bad.”
“I don’t understand how you can stand being near him—after that poor mouse,” Hal said, adjusting his glasses, the better to glare at her.
“He felt terrible about that!”
“You mean the fact that someone’s kin was murdered?” Bailey said, not bothering to hide the sting from his voice. What he’d seen in that basement made him seethe. Whatever Lyle was playing with, it was dangerous. “You don’t even know what happened afterward.” But Bailey wasn’t sure that he knew what had happened—had the mouse come back to life? Lyle had seemed just as surprised as they had been, and had quickly dropped the orb, causing it to clang on the stone floor. Then he’d wrapped it in its black fabric and hurried out of the room, leaving the dead mouse behind.
“He has no idea what he’s even doing,” Tori said.
“That’s for sure,” breathed Hal.
“I’m not defending him—but he’s just some kid playing around.”
“But he sides with the Dominae!” said Bailey. “You’ve seen the things they do. What if he’s working with them?”
“I’ve been watching him closely,” said Tori. “He doesn’t know anything about the prophecies or the Child of War. It’s his dad I’d worry about—he’s the one who’s gotten Lyle into all this stuff.”
“Tori, this is dangerous!” Bailey said.
“You’re right,” said Tori. As she spoke, the small black snake emerged from her collar and settled around her neck. “And that’s why you have to trust me. Lyle can’t know, or even suspect, that I’m not his happy little Science partner. And if you two are always sneaking around, we’ll only get caught. One thing’s for sure, though: we’ll need to tell Tremelo about the Catalyst first thing tomorrow.”
Bailey went to bed that night somewhat relieved—he knew Tori wasn’t a traitor. But his imagination raced when he thought about Lyle and his orb. It had to be the missing piece from Viviana’s Reckoning machine. And now that he’d seen what Lyle had been able to do with it, he knew that Viviana was planning something terrifying. Her power, fed through that orb, could control countless animals. He wondered what Tremelo would say when they told him in the morning—hopefully, that he knew how they could stop it from happening.
Bailey couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the shuddering right paw of the dead mouse, and Lyle’s shocked face above it. But finally, after what felt like hours, he drifted into dreams.
He woke to the sensation of rough hands holding his chest down, trapping him against his bed. He felt a heavy, cold metal around his neck—choking him. He cried out, but the metal chain tightened as he kicked and flailed. Total darkness cloaked him, hiding his vision. He opened his mouth, bared his teeth, and roared.
Then Bailey sat up in bed. His heart raced. He was sure someone was here, in his room, and had tried to tie him down. He tossed his covers off. There were no chains on him, and no one else in the room but Hal, asleep. But it had been no dream—he’d felt the heavy, cold chain squeezing around his neck. And even how, sitting up in bed, he felt the strange sensation of being pressed to the ground. He could hardly breathe. Taleth was in danger. Someone had taken her, someone who meant them both harm.
All of Tremelo’s advice about lying low left his head like dried leaves in a harsh wind. He hurried to put on a pair of pants and his boots, and left Hal snoring behind him. He rushed down the front stairs of the Towers, not caring who heard or saw.
He knew he couldn’t rescue Taleth alone. He needed help, immediately. He ran to Tremelo’s quarters.
The night was bitterly cold; Bailey could see his breath streaming from his nose and mouth. A light shone from Tremelo’s sitting room window. Bailey ran to the door of the carriage house and rushed up the narrow wooden stairs. He stopped, out of breath, on the landing and pounded on the apartment door.
“Tremelo! Tremelo, I need your help!”
There was no answer from inside, though Bailey could smell myrgwood smoke. He stopped knocking and cried out as a fresh pain overtook him: he felt heavy sticks pummeling his sides and legs. His vision swam, and he could almost see the shapes of two tall men standing over him, kicking him—but they weren’t there, not in the hall outside Tremelo’s door. They were standing over Taleth, subduing her. Bailey felt the pain of welts forming on his sides and back. Catching his breath, he called out again to Tremelo. When he didn’t hear an answer, he leaned heavily on the latch and thrust his whole weight onto the door, breaking the flimsy lock. The door swung open.
Tremelo was not there.
On its side, on top of a porcelain dish speckled with ash, was Tremelo’s myrgwood pipe.
“Sir?” Bailey said to no one. He collapsed against the closest bookshelf, doubling over in pain as another blow struck Taleth’s flank. He looked around the apartment, hoping that Tremelo would emerge from behind a doorway—but the apartment was empty. Taleth needed them. “Where are you?” he wondered out loud, but whether he meant Taleth or Tremelo, even he wasn’t sure.
He felt a strong hand on his back, and straightened up, terrified.
In the doorway stood Dr. Graves.
“Now, Mr. Walker,” he said. “What do you know of the Child of War?”
RUN, BAILEY THOUGHT.
He pushed past Graves, but a sudden pain in his right leg caused him to stumble. He crashed against a bookcase and knocked over a heap of papers. A gray cat leapt out of the way, hissing.
Graves bent to catch Bailey’s arm, but Bailey pulled it away.
“Get away from me!” he shouted, fighting through Taleth’s pain to stand. He hoped someone would hear him. His showdown with Sucrette was the last time he’d been caught alone with a Dominae spy, and it would’ve killed him if his friends hadn’t come.
“There’s too much at stake,” Graves hissed, grabbing for Bailey again. He was too weak to dodge Graves a second time; the teacher took Bailey’s arm and bent it at an awkward angle behind his back. Bailey was marched down the stairs like a prisoner, barely able to walk or even think through the acute pain that throbbed in his leg. He felt nauseated but tried to clear his mind—where were they going? He needed to break free of Graves’s grip, but timing would be crucial.
“What did you do with Tremelo? What do you want?” Bailey said.
“Information,” Graves said, and pushed Bailey along across the empty campus. They walked in silence to the classrooms.
When they reached Graves’s office, he hurriedly shoved Bailey through the door and into a chair. The gray cat skittered in too, and rubbed its face against Graves’s leg.
“The Dominae will not be denied their prize, Mr. Walker, so think carefully about your answers. Again, what do you know about the Child of War?”
“I don’t know anything,” Bailey said.
Graves crossed his arms over his patched velour dressing gown.
“You’re lying,” he said. “Perhaps because you underestimate how much I know already.”
What does he know? Bailey wondered. Sucrette hadn’t gotten a chance to pass along the information from the Loon’s book of prophecies before she’d died…or had she? Panic began to rumble in his belly and chest. He didn’t ha
ve time for this—Taleth was being dragged farther and farther away. Graves stared at him with his dark, beady eyes. Bailey looked away, trying to think of how to escape.
His eyes fell on something on Graves’s desk that sent a shiver down his already aching back: it was a list of names.
Sophia Castling, Harold Quindley, Victoria Colubride, Bailey Walker.
“Your ‘Bert,’ as you call him, is not your real kin—that much is obvious.” Graves leaned closer to Bailey, his voice lowering. “I’ve been watching you since I arrived, and you’re hiding something. So what is it, Bailey? Tell me, and I’ll—”
“I won’t!” said Bailey. Though his body throbbed from Taleth’s injuries, he kicked upward from the chair, sending Graves reeling.
“Mr. Walker! You must—”
A shrill chatter cut him off, and a tall stack of books in the corner collapsed. Two squirrels stood on a pile of books fanned out across the floor. The gray cat scrambled across the room and swatted at them.
“Stop that!” Graves said.
The cat began biting at the squirrels, its tail lashing. Two against one, the squirrels retaliated, with one latching on to the cat’s back, and the other scratching at its face and ears. Yowls, chittering, and hissing filled the room.
“Stop. This. At. Once!” yelled Graves, though neither the cat nor the squirrels paid him any attention. The cat shrieked and hissed as one of the squirrels bit its ear, and Graves cursed, holding the side of his head. Annoyed, in pain, and nearly out of breath, Graves bent and attempted to pull the squirrels and cat apart. One of the squirrels leapt up onto a bookshelf, causing a heavy Latin textbook to tumble down from where it had been hastily stowed on the edge. It landed with a thud on Graves’s head. Crying out, the teacher stumbled forward against the wall. Bailey took his chance. He slipped out of the chair and grabbed the list from Graves’s desk. Then he ran. Behind him, he heard Graves yell something indistinguishable.
Bailey didn’t look back; the longer he stayed on campus, the more likely Graves would come after him again. There was no time to try to find Tremelo, and he knew now what he had to do. He had to go after Taleth alone.
As he ran down the corridor of classrooms, Taleth’s consciousness washed over him. His vision blurred, and he saw dark shapes moving around him. She was being hustled onto a boat—the unsteadiness beneath her feet transferred to Bailey, making him dizzy. He saw the moon through her eyes—she, and the boat too, were facing north. He heard a voice speaking close by, but he had to strain to make sense of the words. “Reach the Red…days, maybe less.”
As soon as the wave had come over him, it receded, and he was once more aware of the long hallway around him, with photos and paintings of Fairmount’s past lining the walls. All was quiet.
So the kidnappers were taking Taleth up the Fluvian, to the Red Hills. They weren’t too far yet, and he could still track them if he could only continue to bond with Taleth as he just had—but he didn’t know how.
When he returned to the Towers, Hal was sitting alone in the study room. He’d wrapped a tasseled scarf over his striped pajamas, and his coat was draped over the chair next to him, as though he was getting ready to leave. He stood up as Bailey entered, and his eyes were heavy with worry.
“What’s going on?” he said. “I heard you leave, and then a whole flurry of bats was at the window. They were scared for you. What happened?”
“Graves,” Bailey said, not sure where to begin. “Taleth was kidnapped, and Graves—he knows about the Child of War.”
“Bailey, what happened?” Hal asked.
“I went to Tremelo’s office, looking for help, but Tremelo is gone—I don’t know where—but Graves showed up and he asked me all these questions. He knows about me. Which means the Dominae know too.”
Hal listened silently. Bailey could almost see the whirring of gears and cogs behind Hal’s thick glasses.
“Something doesn’t add up here,” said Hal. “You said Taleth’s been kidnapped? By who? Did Graves have something to do with it?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that Graves has been watching us.” Bailey took Graves’s list from his coat pocket, and waved it at Hal. “I found this on his desk. There’s no doubt now—look! He has a list of our names. He knows one of us is the Child of War!”
Hal looked over the paper closely.
“And you said Tremelo is gone too?”
“His apartment was empty, but I can’t wait. Taleth is in danger, and they’re taking her north, on the river. I have to follow her.”
Hal nodded.
“We’d better get packing, then,” he said.
Bailey leaned on the back of one of the wooden chairs around the study table. He still felt a little weak.
“You can’t come,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than staying here, with Graves?” Hal asked.
“Find Tremelo,” Bailey said. “He’ll take care of Graves, and then you’ll all be safe here. What I find out there might be even worse than one spy. I’ll be better off on my own.”
“You’re wrong,” Hal said. His tone wasn’t argumentative or even defensive. It was clear and to the point. “It’s too dangerous for you to travel alone. You need me; you need my help. How will you find Taleth by yourself? And how will you travel? On foot or by train? Have you thought about getting money, so you can eat—or whether you’ll be able to scavenge? Who’ll watch your back?”
Bailey had to admit he hadn’t considered any of this.
“But who will find Tremelo?” Bailey said. “You need to warn him. If the Dominae knows about me, then they could know about him too.”
“The Dominae wouldn’t send Graves after you if they already had him,” Hal said. “If they don’t know who the Child of War is, then they don’t know about him being the True King. He’s probably hiding out. Listen, Tremelo can take care of himself,” Hal continued. “And your kin was kidnapped, meaning you’re the one who needs the most protection. Tori’s not safe here either—her name’s on that list as well. Let us come with you. Let us help.”
Within five minutes, Hal and Bailey had made their way through the darkness to Treetop, with rucksacks packed with warm clothes, some food, and Bailey’s only weapon: the Velyn tiger claw. A bleary-eyed Tori met them.
“Are you insane?” she asked, as Hal laid out their plan to follow Taleth. “We can’t all go disappearing. How will that look?” She raised an eyebrow at Hal. “It makes more sense for me to stay here. Someone will have to fill Tremelo in on everything once he reappears—we can’t all leave without him knowing about that orb. And I can help him keep tabs on Graves.”
“But what if Graves comes after you?” Hal asked.
“I can handle myself,” she said. “And besides, what did you think you were going to do with him?” Tori pointed at Bert, who sat cradled in Bailey’s arm.
“We figured we’d just bring him with us,” said Hal.
Tori reached out her hands.
“Give him here,” she said. “He’d die out there with you two. Honestly. He’s cold-blooded. He can’t keep himself warm!”
“As soon as Tremelo comes back, stick with him,” Bailey said, after handing over Bert. He felt relieved that the lizard would be safe with Tori. “Tremelo won’t let anything happen to you. That is, if he’s okay.”
“I won’t let anything happen to Tremelo,” Tori corrected him. “I’ll watch his quarters tonight. Bet you a snailback he comes home full of rootwort rum. But be careful. For all you know, this could just be a big trap. Send word as soon as you can.…” But she was looking at Hal, not at him.
Hal managed a nervous smile, and the two boys took to the woods, out of sight of the sleeping campus. Bailey could see the moon reflecting off the grand windows of the library as they walked quickly into the trees. He thought once more about the Loon’s book, safe—he hoped—in its hiding place. Because of that book, he knew he had a role to play in what would come: as the Child of War. But
he hardly knew what that foretold for him, except that now it meant he had to run.
TREMELO ALSO RAN, SEARCHING for something lost. He’d set out late that afternoon, and now had already passed the divide between the campus and the Dark Woods. He had nearly reached the rocky hills that led toward the southern mountains. It was the path the Velyn had taken away from Fairmount, led by Eneas Fourclaw. Tremelo had questions for him—most of which were contained in the leather-bound book tucked safely in his traveling bag.
The Loon’s book, written in the Velyn’s language, was much like the Loon himself: it asked more riddles than it answered. The Child is both the reflection and the opposite of evil? What was he meant to understand by that? The Equinox was only a few weeks away; without knowing what to make of the strange orb in the center of the blueprint or what role Bailey would play at the Reckoning as the Child of War, Tremelo had decided to seek out assistance. Perhaps the Loon’s prophecies contained some hint that would help him. Eneas, he wagered, could give him some sort of advice—but in truth the prophecy was not the only mystery that occupied Tremelo’s mind.
He stopped to catch his breath, and Fennel, trotting alongside him, jumped ahead. The Velyn moved quickly, and they’d had several weeks’ head start. He hoped to come upon them camping over the ridge.
He fished the worn photograph of Elen Whitehill from his coat pocket, though he knew it by heart: her strawberry-blond hair, and her sharp Velyn features. She had been his first love—murdered during the Jackal’s massacre.
In the dozen or so years since her death, he’d become obsessed with finding anyone who had known her. He ached when he remembered her smile, and he wanted desperately to fuel that pain with more stories of her life. But the only people who could know of her were now miles away, doing their best not to be found.
He still remembered taking the photo. Elen hadn’t known what to do in front of a camera. She had lived her entire life in the mountains, traveling the Unreachable Road with her father, Luca. A photograph was a luxury she was unfamiliar with. She’d laughed when he arranged her furs around her, and told her to sit very, very still.
