The Dragon's Tooth

by N. D. Wilson

“What are you doing here?” Cyrus asked.

  Rupert smiled. “Waiting for you to wake up. You earned your sleep yesterday.” He raised his eyebrows, scrunching the bandage above them. “And down here, I do not have so many Keepers demanding access to a certain shard of tooth for their research or the monks asserting ownership and demanding that I immediately execute all the occupants of the Burials. Even some of the Sages have heard the news and wandered out from their rooms. Where is it?”

  Cyrus slid Patricia off his neck and held up her silver body. The keys clinked against the tooth as she slowly squirmed, rubbing against Cyrus’s skin. Cyrus had liked her already. He could have spent an entire day just watching her move. But after yesterday, he loved her.

  Rupert nodded. “Good. Put it back on.”

  “Her,” Cyrus said. “She’s named Patricia.” She went back around his neck. “Why did you let me keep the tooth?”

  “Because that is something not one of my enemies would expect me to do. And because I felt that I should.”

  Cyrus inhaled slowly, gathering courage. He looked straight into Rupert’s eyes.

  “It was you,” he said quietly. “In the truck. The day our dad died. I remember your beard.”

  Yawning, Antigone pushed back her blankets. She blinked, looked at Rupert, at Cyrus, and sat up. “What’s going on?”

  Rupert Greeves set his book down and cleared his throat. Cyrus watched the man’s big hands clench, and his dark skin glistened with moisture. He tugged at what remained of his short, pointed beard and then scratched the nest of old scars high on his chest.

  Cyrus shifted on his seat. Antigone glanced at her brother, eyebrows up, eyes wide.

  Rupert sighed and ran his bandaged hand across his scalp. “Two years ago, I was contacted by Skelton. He was insulting, but he was also warning me. Phoenix was quite near to recovering the last remaining shard of the Dragon’s Tooth.” He looked up. “I should tell you what the tooth is.”

  “We know,” said Cyrus. “We’ve heard the story.”

  Greeves nodded. “Of course. Then you know that it was supposed to be destroyed—even the shards. Well-meaning fools did some horrible things with the Resurrection Stones.” He looked around the little room. “Skelton told me that Phoenix knew where the last shard was—in a place where your father and I had once searched for it. Skelton and others were being sent to collect it, but he wanted me to get there first. He did not want Phoenix to have it. The man was becoming too vile—even for Billy Bones.”

  Rupert looked into Cyrus’s eyes, and then turned to Antigone. “There weren’t many people I could trust, and I was in a hurry. Your family had moved to Northern California, quite close to where I needed to be. I knew your father could help me, and I arrived at your house a few hours later—right before a storm. I saw you both then. Briefly. I did not know if you had seen me.”

  Antigone sat up like she’d been shocked. “What? You said two years ago. Two years ago when?”

  Cyrus couldn’t find words. Blinking, he could see his father smiling, the kitchen door closing, and the back of two heads as the truck bounced away.

  Antigone tucked back her hair and stood up. “You were the one! How? You’re supposed to be dead. Were you in the boat? What were you doing? Dad called you Rupe, didn’t he? When Mom got home, she totally lost it. She put us in the Red Baron and we drove down onto the beach and just stared at the island until dark and, and …”

  Rupert coughed.

  Cyrus tried to breathe slowly. The itch in his memory was gone, but it felt much worse. He didn’t want Rupert to tell the story. He didn’t want to hear what had happened. He was falling again, he was tumbling toward something unknown but awful. He was going to hear something that could never, ever be changed.

  His heart kicked hard against his ribs.

  Antigone shoved her fingernails between her teeth to keep from talking.

  “I was on the island—”

  “Elephant Island,” she said. “With all the elephant seals. The sharks live around it. It’s illegal to go on it.”

  “Yes.”

  “With the ruined mansion,” she added. “And the smashed lighthouse and the tidal caves.”

  “Tigs!” Cyrus yelped. He couldn’t have looked away from Rupert’s face if he’d wanted. He needed this over.

  “All those things, yes,” Rupert said. “May I go on?”

  Antigone nodded, chewing.

  “We anchored the boat beneath a small cliff, and the sun was setting by the time we reached the ruined mansion. It was impossible to hear anything with the barking and bellowing seals, and they hated our flashlights. The animals were in every room of the house—upstairs and down—except the one Skelton had told us to search. That room was full of Phoenix’s men. Skelton was with them. They’d gotten there too soon, and we hadn’t seen their boat anchored in a tidal cave.

  “We ran. We ran down through that rickety ruin of a mansion, tripping over seals and slipping in their scum. And then we ran out across the rocks. They were shooting at us before we reached the water—bullets, not fire. One of them hit me in the shoulder. I fell on the rocks and was knocked unconscious.

  “Your father must have carried me, because when I came to, I was washing around in the bottom of our sinking boat—the frigid water had stopped my bleeding. The waves were pounding us through the jagged boneyard just off the cape, and the hull was cracked and cracking further. Cold water was rushing in. Your father was slumped over the wheel. He’d been shot in the back. More than once.

  “I tried to reach him, but the hull was splitting fast, and the swell was towering. Before I reached him, we rolled beneath one final monstrous wave, the boat shattered, and I was left clinging to flotsam. Your father was gone.

  “The boat flipped and sank not far from the cliff. The wash of the next wave slammed me up on the rocks, and I managed to grab on. Then I climbed.

  “That night, while we were being chased, Skelton palmed the tooth. The next morning, knowing Phoenix would uncover his betrayal, he went on the run. If I had died, he would have felt no grief, no guilt at all. But your father, he loved. And that is the reason why you were there when his running ended, the reason why he made you his Acolytes and tried to leave you everything, the reason why he placed that tooth in your hands, Cyrus Smith. Your father died for it. And I will not be the one to take it from you.”

  Cyrus bit his lip. His eyes were blurry. His hand was at his throat, gripping the sheath. Antigone’s thumbnail was bleeding. She still chewed, staring at the big man, the man who had taken her father to his death.

  “He didn’t drown?” she asked quietly. “I always pictured him drowning, shivering in the water. I had dreams.”

  Rupert shook his head. “He did not drown.”

  Cyrus shut his eyes. He felt cold and sick in his stomach, hot and angry in his head. His pulse drummed in his temples.

  “My mom,” Antigone said quietly. “She tried to swim out. In freezing water.”

  Rupert lowered his head. “I know.”

  “Dan pulled her out. She never woke up.”

  Rupert nodded.

  Cyrus jumped to his feet, wiping hot tears from his face, stepping forward. “You did nothing for us! Our dad saved your life. Two years and you never said anything! You never even told us what happened.”

  “I did several things,” Rupert said quietly, “none of which make up for what you lost. I was the one who bought your California house. That money has kept you alive these two years.”

  “Why didn’t you buy the motel?” Antigone said. “We hated the motel. That’s what we wanted to get rid of. We all cried when Dan sold the house.”

  “It was better that you be closer to Ashtown. In violation of a number of protocols, I sent Eleanor Eldridge to inhabit the Archer Motel and protect you.”

  “That didn’t work,” Antigone said coldly. “Now she’s dead, too.”

  “Yes. And these hands will bury her.” Rupert’s jaw pumped. “I thought
the Archer could provide for you. When it didn’t, I left what money I could for Daniel to find.”

  “You came into the Archer?” Cyrus asked.

  Rupert nodded. “It had belonged to Skelton—he used it as a club for his more rebellious understudies and recruits. He gave the motel to your parents when your father was first expelled. It was all they had. Your father gave me a key. Because of your mother, I had never used it.”

  Antigone sat down. “Why didn’t you just tell us every thing?”

  “Your father wanted you to know nothing about the O of B, and to have nothing to do with it. When I became a Keeper, I offered to bring Daniel in as my Acolyte. Lawrence nearly threw me through a window. Katie, your mother, hated me, too. To her, I was a traitor. I represented all that had been stolen from her husband as a result of his love for her. It was difficult for me to accept, but I honored it.”

  “That’s really dumb,” Antigone muttered. “Our dad was dead, our mom was in a coma, and poor Dan, trying to take care of us. Forget what they wanted, you should have just done what you thought was best.”

  Rupert Greeves met her eyes. “Miss Smith,” he said calmly. “That is exactly what I did. But now you are here, and many things have changed.”

  Cyrus swallowed hard. “Why don’t you just take the tooth? I don’t want it.”

  Rupert sighed and shook his head. “Maximilien is dead. Later, I will take you to the Brendan. He can decide the tooth’s fate.”

  “The Brendan?” Cyrus asked. “Who is he? Where is he?”

  “You will know soon enough.” He glanced at Antigone. “Today, the two of you should meet with tutors. Without Mrs. Eldridge, I am now your Keeper. I will train you both, but not in every field—I know too little myself. Nolan—when he shows his face again—is more than capable with languages.”

  “Shows his face?” Cyrus asked. “What do you mean? How bad was he burned?”

  Rupert smiled. “Nolan is fine. He peels quickly. But he hates hospitals and doctors, and he disappeared last night. I asked him to go on the run for a while—act like he stole something important.” He turned to Antigone. “Did Eleanor, Mrs. Eldridge, mention any available tutors?”

  Antigone nodded. “Diana Boone, Llewellyn Douglas, somebody called Jax, you, and some others I don’t remember.” She looked at her brother, and then at the few retrieved papers and semicharred Latin books beside Cyrus’s jacket on the floor.

  “That’s good enough for a start,” Rupert said, standing. He stiffened and cleared his throat. “Acolytes, your Keeper, Eleanor Elizabeth Eldridge, lies in the chapel, awaiting burial. We shall not all die, but we shall all be changed.” Stepping forward, he gripped Cyrus’s shoulder with one hand and Antigone’s with the other. Surprised, Cyrus began to twitch against the strong grip, but stopped himself when he saw the man’s face. Rupert’s eyes were soft with grief, his voice was a chant.

  “Who brought us to birth? In whose arms shall we die? He that keeps us neither slumbers nor sleeps. He is the Keeper of souls.”

  Rupert exhaled and looked from Cyrus to Antigone. “I owe a debt to your father. I will repay that debt to you.”

  Dropping his hands, he ducked through the hole in the wall. The planks sighed beneath him as he left.

  Cyrus looked at his sister. For the first time, he knew exactly how his father had died, and it made him feel raw, peeled like an orange. In his head, he could see Rupert Greeves in the truck. The last man to see his father smile? To hear his laugh? To see him move? No. That would be the men who’d shot him—the killers. Had any of them died in the Archer’s parking lot? He hoped so. And Mrs. Eldridge … she was really dead. All the way dead. Not coming back. Gone. He hadn’t liked her enough, hadn’t been kind enough to her, and that made it worse.

  Antigone tucked back her short hair and squinted at him out of one eye. She obviously didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want her to cry.

  “Should we go to the chapel?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “And then food. And then we’ll find that Douglas guy.”

  Dennis Gilly sat on a thirteen-inch stone ledge, with his knees tucked tight beneath his chin. When the other porters were on break, they played cards in one of the porters’ closets. When Dennis was on break, he perched above the kitchen’s garbage stoop, staring at the lake.

  The first time he had climbed up onto the ledge, it had taken him half an hour. Now, a mere four minutes into his break, he could be up, breathing easily, his eyes on the water and his mouth around an apple filched from the kitchen. He didn’t know that he oughtn’t take apples from the kitchen, just like he didn’t know that he oughtn’t climb up onto the ledge above the garbage stoop. Some rules had yet to be written. Nobody had ever said anything about it, one way or another. But he still felt a little guilty, and that made enforcing all the rules he did know about even more important.

  Despite the growing wind, Dennis was wearing his bowler hat, tied on with a ribbon beneath his chin. Despite the heat, he was already wearing his black waterproof cape in anticipation of the rain he could see on the horizon.

  Dennis loved storms. He loved wind. He loved the sound of snapping sails and the creaking of decks and the splash of the bow in rough water. Watching the colors in the harbor and the rise and fall of the small boats in their slips and the larger ones tugging at their anchors, Dennis ached. And he took a bite of apple.

  Yesterday had been a bad day. Three porters were in the hospital, two with burns and one with a bullet wound. Judging from the bullet hole in his cape, he had nearly been killed himself—and by one of the nightmare transmortaled, too. But Cyrus and Antigone had put an end to him. Imagine an Acolyte having a weapon like that. Of course, Rupert had taken it away. He had to. The Order was buzzing. And the monks had been shouting at Rupert during breakfast. Why would anyone want something like that? Unless, of course, they were trying to kill someone like Maximilien Robespierre.

  Dennis shivered. Today, of all days, he needed water. He needed wind. He needed to race in front of the growing storm on the Great Lake’s hackling back. Then worry would disappear. Loneliness would vanish.

  But he couldn’t sail anymore. He couldn’t walk down to the harbor and hop into the Order’s little number thirteen and let the wind drive him out onto the lake.

  He was a porter. Not an Acolyte. His parents were dead. Dues had gone unpaid. But at least he was still here, still able to wedge himself onto a ledge and watch the water. He filled his mouth with crisp, starch apple.

  Beneath him, the door on the garbage stoop opened. And then it slammed.

  Dennis leaned forward. Cecil Rhodes was fidgeting nervously, turning in place beside the trash bins, picking at his mustache. He was talking. Muttering quietly. Not to himself. Someone else was with him, out of sight beneath the ledge.

  Dennis Gilly heard the jingle of small bells and the sound of a lighter flicking. Pipe smoke rose up around Dennis’s toes before a gust from the lake swept it away.

  “I’m not useless,” Rhodes said. “Sterling, I’ve done everything, everything he’s asked. And more.”

  “Having Eldridge tortured in your office was a lovely bit of planning,” Sterling said. “You could have just asked where the whelps were; I’ve been keeping tabs. And Rupe’s more than just a touch curious what Maxi was up to in your rooms, isn’t he now? And he has the tooth.”

  “I couldn’t stop Maxi!” Rhodes said. “And you couldn’t have done any better. He’s mad.”

  “Was,” Sterling said quietly. “Maxi was. Rupe incinerated the corpse this morning. Tell me, Captain Cecil, did you stop little John Lawney from filing Skelton a pair of Acolytes? No, sir. You didn’t. Did you stop that sweet little pair of Smiths from entering the Order’s protection? No, sir. You didn’t. Is Lawney still breathing? Yes, sir. He is. And now Greeves is hovering over his bed like a thirsty mosquito. And Maxi? Right, he’s dead. Oh, I’d say you’ve done everything he’s asked of you. If I were a liar. Have you ev
en gained access to Skelton’s rooms?”

  “They’re charm-sealed!” Rhodes said frantically. “And I don’t know with what. I need those keys. I’m not equipped to deal with this kind of thing!”

  “I agree,” Sterling said. “You’re not equipped to deal with much of anything, are you, Rhodesy?”

  “And what about you? What are you supposed to be doing? According to you, the brats weren’t even carrying the tooth. Well, they were, and did you see that hole in Maxi’s head? Somebody told them what that tooth could do. If Phoenix comes tonight and Rupe’s hidden it … if we can’t find it …”

  “I’m doing my part,” Sterling said. “And don’t you worry your hollow head about it. As for that chip off the old Reaper’s Blade—they didn’t have it. Sir Roger would have bellowed hell if they did.” The sweet smell of pipe tobacco surrounded Dennis as the smoke came up in clouds. “And ask yourself this: Why would Rupe be putting it out so loud that he took the tooth when he knows Phoenix is after it?”

  “Because he’s a fool and a brute and only happy in a fight.”

  “Yes, and he’ll get one. But Rhodesy, you’ve never seen war or left a chessboard a winner. He’s drawing fire. He’s set himself as a decoy. Kitchen money says he doesn’t have it.”

  “What? Then who does? Did he hide it? If we don’t find it, Phoenix will kill us both.”

  “Hush, duckling,” Sterling said. “Who else was in the room when Maxi died? Who would know how to use that tooth? Who, better than anyone, can disappear in this place?”

  He paused. Rhodes cocked his head. Sterling continued. “If only I had my sidewalk chalks, I’d draw you a picture. Find Nikales, Nolan, the Polygon boy. The thief. He left the hospital last night and no one has seen him. His pocket will be heavy. You and your clerks search every corner and shadow and stick of this place. Hunt the tunnels, hunt the grounds, hunt the towers. Find him. Seal him. Come fetch me. When we’ve got him and Rupe and the little Smiths, one of them will have it or point to where it is.”

  Rhodes stopped his pacing and began cracking his knuckles.

  “Now,” Sterling said. “Go.”