Rachel sighed. “Sigfried, you’re a human being. You don’t have glands like that.”
“Yet!” said Siggy stubbornly. “You told me people can’t turn into dragons—but look at Dr. Mordeau! If she can do it, I can do it. I have great hopes for alchemy class. I can’t wait to perform alchemical experiments on my head!”
“It’ll work out great!” Lucky added loyally. “You’ll overcome many naked monkey boy handicaps! When have horrible experiments with unknown magical forces ever gone wrong?”
Siggy put down his hotdog on the dirt. He smacked his palm against Lucky’s catlike paw with a high-five. Picking up the dirty hotdog, he wiped it haphazardly, and put it in his mouth.
“The crazy arsonist boy who eats dirt is telling me not to go into danger?” objected Joy.
Siggy shrugged, unimpressed. “Plants eat dirt. They’re healthy!”
Rachel listened without weighing in, for two reasons. While she knew that she could do some things as well as boys could, many even better, she thought that the world where men tried to protect women was likely to be a finer one than the world where they did not. Things would have been much better for Valerie Hunt had someone taught Jonah Strega that girls should be protected. Rachel was not as keen as the other two on talking the unusually-strong, super-magical boy out of his chivalric beliefs.
The second reason was, while Joy was a member of the Inner Circle, it was only because she had barged in, and they had been forced to share their plans with her. If they were going to bring in someone else, she would rather have had it be Zoë.
The others continued arguing. Rachel sighed. The time had come to resolve the matter.
In a calm voice, she said, “Sigfried, it’s ridiculous for it to be safe enough for us and not safe enough for Joy. It’s detention, not monster-hunting. Besides,” her face became solemn, “your roommate, Enoch, was sitting in alchemy class when he got attacked. How dangerous does that sound? Wherever we are is the front line.”
“Enoch Smithwyck is dead,” Joy announced. They all gaped at her. She shrank back. “M-my sister Hope told me. He died this morning, from his injuries.”
The princess lowered her head respectfully.
“Then…I didn’t save him.” Rachel felt an odd floating sensation, as if the bottom of the world had vanished, but she had not yet fallen. She wished very much that Gaius were nearby.
Siggy blinked three times. “You mean dead-dead, like dead forever? Like Neeley at the orphanage, the time Punker swung the fire poker wildly and accidentally impaled Neeley through the eye, so that when Banger pulled the poker out, Neeley’s brains fell out onto the floor, all gray and squirmy? That kind of dead?”
All three girls became paler. Siggy was quiet for a time, blinking and scowling.
Finally, he turned to Lucky. “All the girls are against me! Miss O’Keefe thinks I broke a promise, which no man alive dares to say; and Her Highness thinks my words are unbecoming of knighthood; and the freaky, genius, dwarf girl thinks there is no point in keeping the women back at camp with the luggage, because the camp is where the foes are! I can’t fight O’Keefe. I can’t disobey royalty, and I can’t argue with the brainy girl! What do I do?”
Lucky rippled his body in an elegant shrug. “They’re your harem. Can’t you control a doe or three?”
“Harem?” Joy stamped her foot.
The princess frowned severely.
Sigfried crossed over to where Joy O’Keefe stood, and solemnly went down on one knee. Her eyes grew wide. He pulled the hot gooey marshmallow off the knife point. Holding the marshmallow behind his back, he laid his Bowie knife down on the dirt before her. “I, Sigfried Smith, solemnly vow I will not leave O’Keefe behind when we go on adventures.”
Joy looked extremely pleased. Her cheeks turned bright pink.
The princess sighed and opened her purse. “If you must come, you had better hide in my bag. That way, there will not be any fuss about whether you are allowed along or not. You better hurry, the proctors are on their way over to investigate the burning roses.”
Gratefully, Joy climbed inside. From within, her voice trailed out, calling, “Hey, this is where I left my hat!”
Lucky, who was warming his whiskers near the burning bench, asked, “Boss, are you going to eat that whole marshmallow?”
• • •
The Gardener, Mr. Burke, met them by the garden shed. He was a young man with curly, light brown hair, who had aspirations of joining the faculty as an alchemy tutor. He had a gentle disposition and a ready sense of humor. Rachel liked him immediately.
Mr. Burke explained that the assistant dean had given him the task of presiding over their detention. They would leave school grounds to collect herbs for the Alchemy Department. He handed each of them a pair of work gloves and a satiny black bag. Rachel took them and thanked him. As she prepared to depart, she caught a glimpse of two of the proctors putting out the burning bench with a cantrip. Rachel noted that one was the handsome young Mr. Fuentes, who had helped her the time the beastly Drake girls attacked her. She was grateful to see that he had recovered from the geas cast upon him by Dr. Mordeau.
Mr. Burke gave brooms to the princess and Siggy, and the four of them—five including Joy in the bag—flew across the commons, over the lily pond, down the tree-lined path, and out through the ruins of Frances Bannerman’s castle onto the docks. From there, they circled north and east around the island, toward Stony Tor and the rolling hills beyond, following the path Rachel and Siggy had taken the first time they met.
The wind caught at their hair and chilled their ears. Rachel rejoiced to be up in the sky again. The weather had been so oppressive the last two days; she had missed her early morning flights. Breaking away from the others, she pinned her square black cap in place with bobby pins from her pocket. Then, she soared upward, celebrating her good fortune with a series of twirls and loops.
Mr. Burke called cautiously, “Miss Griffin! Do be careful.”
Siggy stuck a thumb in her direction. “Don’t worry about her. She’s an ace in the air! We call her the Broom Goddess.”
“I see why,” the young gardener murmured, his eyes still concerned. His light brown curls flew every which way. “That is some flying, Miss Griffin, but perhaps you should play it safe and stick with the rest of us, rather than do these daredevil tricks.”
Rachel smiled. She had not yet begun anything dangerous. Mounting upwards, she dived down in a rotating spin, the move she had come up with when Siggy asked her to imitate a butter churn. It was much easier when she was not carrying a second person. The wind whipped through her hair. She gained speed. The exhilaration made her shout with joy. Then, laughing gaily, she evened out. By the time she flew dutifully into formation with the others, the gardener’s face had become so pale that it was almost green.
They flew upward. The brown water of the Hudson stretched out beneath them. To their left, Storm King rose, a pyramid-like peak, its blunted top stark against the steely gray sky. To the north, the faint line of the Newburg Bridge was visible crossing the brown waters of the river. To the right stretched the Breakneck Ridge and the Hudson Highlands, rolling green-clad peaks, dotted here and there with bright spots of yellow and red. Behind them, at the bend in the river, glittered West Point Military Academy.
Directly beneath them lay Pollepel Island, the false obscuration cast to hide Roanoke from the Unwary. It consisted of a ruined castle, a short stretch of forest, and an abandoned white brick mansion that Rachel had seen from the air on her first day.
“What is that place?” the princess inquired, pointing.
“The mansion of Francis Bannerman the Fourth,” Mr. Burke said. “He is the one who set up the obscurations that protect the island. He was the Grand Inquisitor until his death in 1918. His successor, Herodotus Powers, was murdered by the Terrible Five in 1999. The Powers twins, Napoleon and Sebastian—maybe you saw them at the Bonding Ceremony?—are Herodotus’s grandsons.”
“Since Po
wer’s death, the Grand Inquisitor has been Cain March,” intoned the princess. “Mr. March is a family friend.”
Mr. Burke looked impressed and, perhaps, slightly nervous.
“The Grand Whoha?” asked Sigfried.
“The Grand Inquisitor is the member of the Parliament of the Wise who represents law and justice,” explained Rachel. “He is the head of the Obscurae and the Wisecraft—which means he’s my father’s boss.”
“The justice you called swift and terrible?” asked Sigfried. “Sounds like a man to avoid.”
“It’s better not to cross him,” Rachel agreed quickly. She added, “Two of March’s children are students here: Evelyn and Joshua. They are both in the Knights of Walpurgis.”
“I would be careful of socializing with them, were I you,” the gardener spoke warily.
“How so?” asked Rachel.
“The Grand Inquisitor is parano…” The gardener glanced at the princess and pressed his lips together. “He is very protective of his children. Everyone who becomes friends with them gets grilled by their father—under the Spell of True Recitation.”
Recalling the discomfort of being under the effects of the spell that had caused her to blurt out her thoughts without filtering, Rachel flinched.
She added, “Joshua March was the one Xandra Black told the princess not to touch.”
“Was that the guy who made her faint?” asked Sigfried. “The one the princess’s brother slugged, who was being tortured by the Lightbringer in her vision?”
The gardener gave him an odd look. Rachel nodded.
“If Miss Black should offer any more advice,” the princess opined, as she flew gracefully beside the gardener, “I shall be inclined to listen.”
“Bannerface’s mansion looks spooky.” Siggy’s voice had a nervous edge to it, as he glanced to the left at the partially ruined cement and brick house with its crenelated turrets and empty windows.
“It is,” Mr. Burke assured them with a scholarly cast to his voice. “Every Halloween, the Dead Man’s Ball is held there.”
“What’s that?” Rachel leaned forward eagerly.
“The shades of the drowned—all those who have died in these waters, killed by the storm goblin and his lightning imps—gather there to dance and remember.”
Rachel gazed curiously at the mansion. Ghosts fascinated her. Who knows what secrets they might possess? Several haunted Gryphon Park—a white lady who appeared in a window in the West Wing; an ancient ancestor who died in some horrible calamity; and Thunderfrost, a beautiful black-and-silver horse with a huge flowing mane who was said to appear as a warning when the family was in need.
Rachel had seen the second one, her ancient ancestor, twice in the main library, though he would not speak to her. Thunderfrost, on the other hand, she knew well. He used to canter beside her and her pony Widdershins as they sped across the fields or up the slopes of Gryphon Tor. Sometimes, a ghost boy in dark Victorian garments rode on the back of the magnificent steed. Rachel mentally referred to him as Thunderfrost’s Boy.
“Ghosts!” Siggy shivered. “That’s awfully creepy!”
“Wouldn’t that be exciting! To attend the Dead Man’s Ball!” Rachel gazed at the old dilapidated mansion with a strange sense of longing.
Siggy shook his head, his face pale. “Not interested in seeing ghosts. Thank you.”
“What, really?” Rachel glanced over in surprise. Siggy looked a bit pale. It had not occurred to her that anything could scare the erratic orphan boy. “Huh.”
Siggy murmured in a low voice, “I hope my dead roommate doesn’t come haunt us.”
Mr. Burke dived down. As the other three followed, the obscuration broke. They could see the real Roanoke Island spread out beneath them. Behind them, they could see the spires of the school. To the left, the mansion was still there, but beyond it stretched several extra miles. Ahead, a bare, stony peak loomed above the five green hills beyond.
“Oh! I can see the real island,” the princess called, as they descended. “And Stony Tor.”
“How do they do that?” Siggy gawked. “Make a bigger space fit in a smaller one?”
“Kenomancy,” Rachel replied.
“Keno…like the gambling game?” Siggy asked.
“No,” said Mr. Burke. “Keno, like the Greek word for void. It is the sorcerous art of adding space.”
Nastasia added, “Kenomancers are the people who manufacture the bags that are bigger on the inside than on the outside.”
Directly north was Dutchman’s Cove, a large inlet, with cliffs to the left and an island in the middle. To the right, the barnacled ribs of an abandoned man-o-war jutted up above the brown waters. Only one of the massive sailing vessel’s three masts rose from the wreck.
They landed on the southern shore of the cove, in a field of tall dried grass. Forests surrounded the fields. A river leapt down the side of the closest of the northern hills ending in a waterfall. Its distant roar mingled with the tweeting of songbirds and the soft rustle of the wind. Now and again, a loud rumbling, like that of an approaching storm, came from the tor.
Mr. Burke gestured to the forest stretching to their west. “We are looking for three herbs. These are magical plants that are hard to grow in our gardens: moly, royal yarrow, and honeymint.” He held up a long slender stalk with a puff of flowers at the top; a lacy-leafed plant with a metallic glint to its purple flowers; and a square-stemmed herb with a sweet minty scent, which he let the students sniff. It reminded Rachel of pennyroyal with a hint of honey.
“By no means cross any of the stone walls,” Mr. Burke continued. “They are wards against the greater dangers out here.”
“Greater dangers?” Sigfried asked intently.
Rachel wondered if this was the first time the boy had ever given a tutor his full attention.
“Many unsavory things are drawn to Roanoke by the extraordinary amount of sorcery gathered in one place.”
“Like what?” Sigfried pressed eagerly. “The Storm Goblin? If we cross the stone wall, will he get out?”
“No, but there are worse things than Storm Goblins.”
“Worse! Lucky, do you hear that?” Siggy cried excitedly. “There are monsters! What kind? Are there dragons?”
“No…” Mr. Burke frowned, flustered. Apparently, this was not the response his admonitions ordinarily provoked. “I don’t know them all. The head of the proctors, Mr. Maverick Badger, could tell you more, but…”
He turned towards the river and pointed his arm, sweeping from left to right as he spoke. “Each-Uisge in the marshes. A type of kelpie. Very dangerous. And folks have spotted Wilis on the cliff. Wilis are the ghosts of women who died of a broken heart after being jilted by their lovers. They tend to be vindictive. What else? See the caves along the west side of the cove? Near the shoreline? Two years ago, an ogre emerged from there and ate three kayakers.”
“Wicked!” Siggy cried, high-fiving Lucky.
Rachel cringed inwardly at his callousness, but her face betrayed no reaction. The princess rubbed her temples and sighed.
“Men died, Mr. Smith.” Mr. Burke frowned severely.
Sigfried entirely failed to look chastened.
“There are spriggans on the slopes,” Mr. Burke continued. “Not as dangerous but troublesome enough. Spruce trolls on the hillsides, their cousins, the trow, in the rocky valley beyond. Phookas have been spotted on the meadow by the northeast lake, which is said to contain a water panther. Recently, a herd of selkie moved in hereabouts. Oh, and it is said that a Mexaxhuk lives in the lake on the island in the Cove. I had forgotten that one.” He pointed back at Dutchman’s Cove where an island was visible beyond the hulk of the Man-O-War.
“What is a Mexaxhuk?” the princess asked.
“A horned serpent that eats human beings. It and the water panther lived here before Roanoke Island floated into these waters. As did the Storm Goblin.”
“Double Ace!” Siggy peered out fiercely, as if the fervor of his gaze
would force the creature to emerge.
Mr. Burke ran a hand through his curly hair and sighed. “The point is, ordinarily, the wards of the school keep us safe. You are not behind those wards. This area has been protected for the purposes of gathering herbs. Do not cross the stone walls. Do you understand?”
“Indeed,” said the princess.
“I guess.” Siggy shrugged.
Rachel did not speak. She did not even nod. She just stared steadily back at the gardener, her eyes large and dark, hoping he would interpret her silence as assent. She had no intention of obeying his instruction. She was here to find the Tree. Where it was, there she would go. But she preferred not to break a promise. To her relief, it worked.
As Mr. Burke turned away, Rachel noted with mild surprise that it did not trouble her to disobey a direct order from an adult. She felt no sense of resistance, no rebellion. Rather, it was as if the words were not meant for her.
During her wild ride to warn her fellow students of Dr. Mordeau’s wickedness, whatever had made her so obedient throughout her previous life had broken beyond repair.
Chapter Nineteen:
The Magnificent Tree of Roanoke Island
“King of the Big Rock!” Siggy shouted. He leapt atop a lone boulder in the middle of the field. In the gloom of the overcast sky, the rock gleamed with a silvery sheen. He swung his clasped hands to the left and right over his head, like a champion prize fighter. Lucky zipped around him, crowing his victory crow.
Nastasia shook her head and headed for a nearby little pond to search the shore for royal yarrow. Tickled by the enthusiasm of the boy and his dragon, Rachel watched a bit longer. Then, she, too, set out to collect herbs. She left the tall grasses and moved into the trees. Smooth leaves brushed her cheek, and dead ones crunched under her feet. Inhaling deeply, she luxuriated in the scent of forest.
She found a few sprigs of moly growing in a sunny patch. As she bent to pick the long stalks, a strange feeling came over her—of hush and exhilaration. It felt like the mounting excitement before a storm, like the dawning of a long-awaited morning, like the sudden realization that anything truly was possible.
The Raven, The Elf, and Rachel (A Book of Unexpected Enlightenment 2) Page 22
