Max hugged his knees, listening carefully.
Max swiveled from Miss Awolowo and followed the path of a plane far away over the moonlit lake. Its signal light blinked at steady intervals against the deep blue sky. When he turned to her, his face was set and fierce.
“I want to go.”
4
THE FLIGHT TO ROWAN
The night before he left for Rowan, Max had an extraordinary dream.
He was walking across an open field at dusk, tossing a ball high ahead of him and running forward to catch it. The wind was brisk and the moon was rising as he came to a path that led to a distant house with lighted windows. Suddenly, something large darted from a nearby hedge and loped onto the path in front of him. It was an enormous wolfhound. It paused and glowered at him.
Max froze. The animal’s heavy face began to flicker and shift—momentarily adopting the unmistakable features of Mrs. Millen, Nigel, Miss Awolowo, and the strange man from the train. The hound padded toward Max, a murderous rumble emanating from its throat as its face became his father’s.
Max could not move. The hound reared up on its hind legs and placed paws the size of baseball mitts on Max’s shoulders. It looked down at him, its breath a series of hot blasts. Growling, it pressed its forehead hard against his and spoke to him:
“What are you about? Answer quick or I’ll gobble you up!”
When Max opened his eyes, he saw his father sitting at the foot of his bed. He was smiling, but he looked older and tired. Deep circles lined his eyes.
“You sleep just like you did as a little boy.” Max blinked and propped himself up on his elbows.
“I had a bad dream.”
“Oh no!” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels in mock horror. “What about?”
“A big dog,” Max murmured sleepily, pushing his dark hair off his forehead.
“A big dog! Well, did he bite you or did you bite him?”
“Neither,” Max whispered.
His father patted his foot and stood up.
“Well, just remember—it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.”
Max sank back under the covers and wriggled toward the foot of the bed.
“I know, Dad. You’ve told me a hundred times.”
“So I have.” Mr. McDaniels chuckled. “Hop in the shower and get ready. Someone from the school is on your flight, and we’re supposed to meet him at the airport by eight.”
Max groaned as his father whisked the covers off the bed and drew the curtains to reveal a morning sky of peach and pale gold.
Nigel was waiting near the check-in, holding up a paper sign that read MCDANIELS and looking rather bored. The Recruiter was dressed neatly in a sport coat but had seen too much sun since his visit with Max. He stopped adjusting his glasses and extended his hand as the McDanielses approached. “Hello there. You must be Mr. McDaniels—I’m Nigel Bristow from Rowan.”
“Call me Scott, Nigel,” said Mr. McDaniels, taking Nigel’s hand. “This is Max, your copilot for the day.”
“Hello, Max,” said Nigel brightly, giving a quick wink. “Thanks for coming along. Flying is such a bore without good company. We’re a bit pressed for time, eh? Let’s get you checked in.”
Once Nigel had taken Max’s duffel and stood in line, Mr. McDaniels gave Max a nudge. “Seems like a nice enough guy,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Max, puzzling over why Nigel would be holding up a sign with his name. Given all that had happened, Max thought his name and travel plans would be more of a secret.
Nigel called over to Max when it was their turn to check in. Max answered the lady’s questions and watched his bag disappear down the conveyor.
“Well, we’re all set,” said Nigel, clutching their tickets. “I’ll leave you a minute to say good-bye to your father,” Nigel said under his breath as the two made their way back to where Mr. McDaniels stood with his hands in his pockets. “I know this sounds cruel, but try to be quick. No tears. It’s important.”
Nigel said his farewells and promised to look after Max before joining the long line snaking toward security. Remembering what Nigel told him, Max avoided his father’s eyes. He flicked his fingers against his thumbs and looked straight ahead at Mr. McDaniels’s big yellow shirt.
“All right, Max. Here’s where I say good-bye.”
Max nodded.
“You’re just the best, you know. The best boy a father could ask for.”
Max felt his father’s arms wrap tightly around him. Max shut his eyes and promised to call and write and say prayers for his mother. When his father finally let him go, Max walked stiffly to where Nigel was waiting. He did not look back.
Nigel left Max to his own thoughts until they were through security.
“Well done,” he said at last. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
“Was that another test?” asked Max thickly.
“No,” said Nigel. “A precaution. This airport’s a very busy place today. We need to avoid anything too real.”
“What do you—”
Max cut his own question short as he saw a boy who looked very much like himself walking in the opposite direction. Max blinked. The boy did not just look like him—it looked exactly like him.
“Try not to stare,” said Nigel casually, increasing their pace a step. “They’re on our side.”
Max passed himself several more times. He noticed that the boys were always accompanied by one or two serious-looking adults.
“You must be tired,” said Nigel quietly as they finally took their seats on the crowded plane. “I bet you had no idea you’ve been taking over a dozen flights a day for the past three days….”
“But—”
Nigel held up a finger to quiet him.
“Agents. Decoys. We can talk more when we get to Rowan,” said Nigel, procuring a bar of chocolate and a deck of cards from his briefcase. “We’re not quite out of the woods.”
Max nibbled the chocolate and listened to the plane’s engines as Nigel dealt the cards.
Several hours later, the plane set down. Nigel led Max out of the plane, along the moving walkways, and down toward baggage claim.
Nigel had just swung his duffel off the carousel when Max saw someone step out suddenly from behind a nearby pillar. It was the man from the train—the man with the dead white eye.
His coat was just as dirty and his eye just as unsettling as Max remembered. He stood as still as a stone between them and the exit while people filed past.
“He’s here,” Max whispered.
Nigel appeared not to hear as he fumbled with Max’s duffel.
“He’s here!” shouted Max, clutching Nigel’s arm.
Nigel shot him a puzzled glance before squinting past him.
His face went white.
The Recruiter immediately gripped Max by the collar and spun him around. Nigel marched him back up the stairs they had just descended. As they swam against a tide of startled faces, Max tried to look behind them, but there were too many people.
Nigel was speaking rapidly into a slim phone at his ear, but Max could not hear what was said. They crossed over to the next terminal, where Nigel hurried Max out the sliding doors and into a limousine that had screeched to a sudden halt at the curb.
The car sped onto the highway and made its way north while Nigel typed text messages into his phone, looking uncharacteristically grim. Over an hour passed in tense silence before they suddenly veered off the interstate and merged onto a smaller road. They were very near the coast; tall grasses swayed by the roadside as they wound their way past small farms and towns. Weathered signs advertised public beaches, fresh lobster, and clamming excursions. It all seemed very alien.
Nigel glanced out the back window. The road behind them had been empty for miles. Apparently satisfied, he pressed a button and rolled down the window. The warm summer air rushed in, fragrant and heavy with salt. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his serious expression softening to a smile.
“I’m fine now. It was him, you know—that man at the airport. He’s the one who was following me at the museum.”
“Yes, I know. He matched your description perfectly. It was a nasty shock, no question about it. But mission accomplished: here you are, safe and sound!”
Max took a deep breath; it seemed the first real breath he’d taken since the airport.
“Nigel, my dad’s okay, isn’t he? They won’t bother him now that I’m here…?”
“He’ll be fine, Max,” Nigel said sympathetically. “You’re the one they want.”
Nigel looked past Max and pointed at something out the window. Max turned in time to glimpse an old wooden sign:
WELCOME TO ROWAN TOWNSHIP, EST. 1649
They passed a few tidy cottages on the outskirts. The Atlantic Ocean shimmered ahead as Max took in the clipped lawns, fresh paint, and clean awnings. The town’s buildings were old but beautifully maintained. An old-fashioned movie theater rolled past, followed by a town green and a coffeehouse. Beyond these were a jumble of shops and small restaurants. Passing the row of businesses, they arrived at a small white church whose signboard indicated Rowan Academy was just ahead. Max swallowed and felt his pulse quicken. They turned off the road onto a smooth lane, passing beneath a towering green canopy formed by the overlapping branches of tall, twisty trees lining the road. They accelerated toward a high gate of black iron flanked by a sturdy stone gatehouse. The gate swung inward as they approached. Max tried to get a better look at a striking silver crest when the limousine crossed the threshold, but the gate swung shut behind them.
The road had become a gravel lane, and the car now followed it to the right, plunging into a thick wood of ash and oak and beech.
Max turned to Nigel.
“Why wouldn’t you let me say good-bye to my dad? Why did you make me hurry?”
“Oh, that—I am sorry. We needed to stay as consistent as possible with the others—those decoys—that preceded you. You did very well.”
“Who were those other kids? Are they in danger?”
Nigel smiled.
“Those weren’t kids, and they are well equipped to deal with any dangers that might arise. You’ve seen your first Agents, Max.”
Nigel wriggled out of his sport coat and held it up against the window. Max saw large dark stains under the arms. Nigel sighed.
“But I’m not an Agent, just a poor old Recruiter caught in the middle and not quite cut out for all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.” He sniffed once at the jacket before folding it neatly on his lap.
“Why were you the one traveling with me, then?” asked Max.
“The Agents insisted I’d be the best decoy out there,” Nigel admitted sheepishly. “They really can be brutal, you know.”
“They were wrong,” Max said. “That man wasn’t fooled. And anyway, I’m glad I got to travel with you and not some boring Agent.”
Nigel brightened as the limousine slowed for an upcoming turn.
“Thank you, Max…. Welcome to Rowan.”
The limousine emerged from the thick wood and into an enormous sunny clearing of smooth lawns, athletic fields, colorful gardens, and old stone buildings set near the sea. Max stuck his head out the window and listened to the seagulls. The car followed the lane along a grassy bluff high above the water’s edge before curving away to conclude at a large circular drive and a sprawling mansion of light gray stone. Many cars were parked in front.
Max opened his door and gaped at a marble fountain of fishtailed horses spraying water high into the air. Through the mist, he squinted up at the mansion. He couldn’t begin to count its windows and chimneys.
“One hundred and eleven,” muttered Nigel, shuffling around the car with Max’s duffel.
“What?” said Max, uncertain if his ears had fully popped from the flight.
“The Manse has one hundred and eleven chimneys. You were trying to count them.”
“How did you know?” asked Max, troubled that his thoughts were so transparent.
“Because I tried to do the very same thing when I arrived here—oh dear Lord—some thirty years ago.”
The Recruiter chuckled and stooped to pluck a white flower from among several clustered on the flagstones at Max’s feet.
“Rowan blossom,” he said, gesturing at the dozen slender trees ringing the drive. Nigel closed Max’s door and led Max up a number of stone steps, pausing a moment before the mansion’s great double doors.
“Ah—one thing, Max. I recognize the temptations, but I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention any of our excitement to anyone. That man, Mrs. Millen—any of it, frankly. The less gossip, the better our chances at fixing all this. Will you promise to discuss this only with the Director, and then only if asked?”
Max nodded solemnly and shook Nigel’s hand.
“Good,” said Nigel, visibly relieved. “Let’s join the others. Orientation’s already started.”
Max followed Nigel through the double doors and into a tall foyer flanked by sweeping staircases on each side. They passed through a door beneath the landing and down a long hallway, past several rooms, before stopping at a closed door of polished walnut. Max heard Miss Awolowo’s rich, warm voice speaking on the other side.
“Ack! Just as I feared,” said Nigel. “This door always creaks. Sorry about this….”
The door gave a long, slow squeal as Nigel pushed it open. Hundreds of people turned and looked at the two of them as they stood in the doorway of a little theater. Miss Awolowo paused mid-sentence from where she stood at a podium.
“Ah! There you are! I was beginning to wonder. Ladies and gentlemen, please say hello to Max McDaniels, who joins us from the city of Chicago, right here in the United States.”
Max scanned the sea of faces in mute embarrassment. He gave a little wave as Nigel led him to a seat in the back row. Miss Awolowo continued on; Max heard something about internships.
“Going to clean up a bit and make some calls,” Nigel whispered, patting Max on the shoulder. “I’ll check in with you later—before configuration.”
Max nodded until he realized that something was missing.
“Nigel,” he whispered urgently, “what’s configuration?”
There was no answer. He turned, but the Recruiter had already slipped out. A skinny girl with braces and her mother motioned for Max to be quiet. Max scowled back at them and turned to hear Miss Awolowo.
It was mostly talk of contact information and faculty advisors and school holidays and schedules. Max tuned most of it out and studied his new classmates instead. They did not look like the students at his old school; there was much more diversity sprinkled throughout these seats. While many wore foreign clothes, Max was more interested in subtler differences, such as their posture and facial expressions. He thought many looked older and very serious. He was trying to guess their ages when the whole audience stood and began to file up the aisles.
The scene outside in the driveway was awkward, and Max did his best to keep to the edges while those who had arrived with their parents said good-bye. Tears were shed and luggage was stacked in a cacophony of sound as Miss Awolowo answered last-minute questions and ushered parents to their cars. He watched the skinny girl with braces cling to her mother, weeping uncontrollably until Miss Awolowo gently pried her away and led her mother to a taxi. Max felt guilty for making a face at them.
When the parents had all gone, Miss Awolowo led them into the great foyer. She climbed one of the staircases to address them from the landing.
“All right, children. We now must get you situated in your rooms. Before room assignments, however, I would like to make an important announcement concerning Rowan, a place very dear to me and your new home.”
The air became very still; the chattering stopped immediately. Something in the older woman’s voice had changed.
“Thank you. Until you are given a full tour of the grounds and premises, I ask that you stick only to those rooms and areas t
hat I designate. As you will see, the Manse and the rest of Rowan’s campus are…strange. This campus and its buildings possess a certain unpredictability that can baffle our most senior faculty. There are also a variety of contraptions throughout this house and grounds whose proper workings require careful instruction. As it is only our first day, I have no desire to rescue or mourn any foolhardy students. Is this understood?”
Miss Awolowo’s frank and penetrating look swept from face to face just as Nigel appeared on the landing behind her.
“Wonderful.” She beamed. “Now, before the configuration begins, let me say the following. If history has taught us anything, it is that some students are inevitably disappointed with their rooms or roommates or both. If such is the case, I am sorry but urge you to make the best of it. Room configurations and roommate assignments cannot be changed. So, no crying, no whining. Agreed?”
The children nodded slowly and shot puzzled glances at one another.
“Excellent. This is Nigel Bristow. I believe some of you have already made his acquaintance. He’ll be showing the boys their rooms. The young ladies will come with me.”
“All right, then,” Nigel called down to them. “Up here and follow after me.”
Max swarmed up the stairs with the other boys. Miss Awolowo’s voice called after them.
“Good luck, Nigel! Good luck, boys! Meet back in the foyer at five for a quick tour before dinner. Listen for the chimes!”
Max hurried after Nigel, alongside dozens of other students.
“Okay, boys—keep up, keep up,” the Recruiter said. “North Wing’s for the gents here at Rowan; the ladies stay in the South Wing, so if you find yourself without a urinal in sight, you know you’re in the wrong place.” The boys giggled as they climbed a spiral staircase whose creaky wooden banister had been worn to a smooth polish. Nigel’s voice echoed from above.
The Hound of Rowan Page 5