The Hound of Rowan (6 page)

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 that 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.

“As it happens, your class is on the third floor. Unlucky you. Third and Fourth Years will torment you from the second floor. Fifth and Sixth Years enjoy first-floor convenience and feel very much entitled to it.”

Max emerged from the stairwell into a long, broad hallway arched with heavy beams. It was lined on either side with dozens of gleaming green doors. Nigel led them toward the far end of the hallway. Straggling behind, Max noticed that each door had a large, ornate keyhole and a shiny silver numeral in its center. Next to each door was a towering plaque of polished black wood and brass, the first two dozen of which were engraved with names.

Reaching the end of the hall—where, Max noted, the plaques were blank—Nigel turned to the boys, who began to fidget.

“Let's see…sixty-nine, seventy, and Omar there makes seventy-one. Excellent—didn't lose anyone along the way! Hooray for me. Now, when I say the word, go hunt for your name on the plaques next to the doors. When you see your name, hold right there and do nothing else. Everyone understand?”

A stocky, handsome boy with chestnut hair and bright blue eyes raised his hand. His Irish accent was so thick that Max could hardly understand him.

“Our names are already on them?”

“What's your name, O curious creature?”

“Connor Lynch.”

“No,” said Nigel, rubbing his hands together. “But they
will
be. That's part of the fun. You don't pick your roommates and neither do we; that's the Manse's job…. Everyone ready? Go find your room!”

To Max it seemed like a frantic Easter egg hunt as the other boys sprinted or bumped into one another to scour the nameplates up and down the hall.

“I've found mine!” called a short boy who looked like a mouse.

“Me too!” cried another, losing his retainer.

Max walked slowly down the hall as the other boys shouted in excitement and jumped about. Max wanted to be excited, too, but he felt queasy—the lurking presence within him was stirring once again. He stopped before Room 318 and stared at the plaque next to the door. As though scripted by an invisible hand, two names appeared where before there had been none. Max ran his fingers over his name, feeling the letters etched deep into the brass. A cough sounded behind him.

“My name's there, too, isn't it?”

Max turned at the voice, which sounded American. He looked down at a small boy with skin as pale as milk. The boy's features were small and faint, except for purplish circles beneath his eyes. He looked unhealthy, like an underexposed photograph.

“Are you David Menlo?” asked Max.

The boy nodded and coughed again.

“I'm Max.”

Just then, Max heard Nigel's voice rise above the din.

“
Aha!
Stop right there, Jesse Chu! Didn't you hear me before? Do
not
do anything else until I instruct you to!”

A chunky Asian boy across the hall scowled and yanked his hand away from his doorknob as though it was hot. Nigel walked briskly toward him, wagging a finger. He stopped, however, as he saw Max and David standing by their door.

“Hey there—who are you two missing?”

Max glanced again at the plaque, realizing the other groups had four or even five boys in them.

“No one,” said Max. “Our names are the only ones.”

“Really?” said Nigel, giving a curious smile and leaning in for a closer look. “How very strange.”

He shook his head before cupping his hands to be heard throughout the long hallway.

“Now,
when I instruct you to,
I want you to open the doors and step inside your respective rooms. Once inside, you will lock the door behind you and shut your eyes. You will soon feel dizzy—it is to be expected. Keep your eyes shut until the feeling subsides entirely. To be safe, I recommend that you count to three once the dizziness stops before you have a look around. Everyone clear?”

Max nodded with the others, terrified.

“All right, gents. Please enter your rooms and let the configurations begin.”

Max looked at David, who inclined his head, suggesting Max should open the door. The two tentatively stepped into a small dark room with a plain stone floor and knotty wood walls.

“Are you ready?” Max whispered. “When I lock the door, shut your eyes. When the dizziness stops, let me know and we'll both count to three. Okay?”

Taking quick, shallow breaths and trying to ignore the furious patter of his heart, Max locked the door and squeezed his eyes shut.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Slowly, however, his body felt as though it was accelerating to a tremendous speed while spinning like a top. The sensation intensified for what seemed to be a full minute, culminating in a gagging wave of nausea.

He was on the verge of being sick when the spinning stopped. His body felt almost weightless, as though drifting slowly back to the earth. Moments later, the feeling had subsided. He hissed at David.

“David? Has it stopped?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Okay. Count with me. One. Two.
Three!
”

Max opened his eyes and drew a sharp breath.

Instead of the small square room, they now stood on the top stair of a very large circular chamber with a glass-domed roof. Through the glass, Max gazed up at the moon and stars, but they appeared much larger than he had ever seen with his naked eye. They rotated slowly beyond the glass. Max gasped as faint gold threads materialized to outline a celestial centaur before silently fading. A moment later, a giant scorpion was highlighted from among the many stars twinkling above.

At the level of the door and top step was a broad, brass-railed balcony. It led in either direction to enormous, curtained sleigh beds of polished wood, positioned at opposite ends of the room.

Without a word, Max and David descended the steps to a sunken floor. At its center was a large octagonal table inlaid with designs of moons and stars, resting on a thick ivory-colored rug. Beneath each balcony were identical curved niches. Each niche had a cozy couch, tall bookcases, and a wardrobe, all lit from above by lights recessed into the surrounding golden wood. At the far end, a stone fireplace crackled with a small fire. With a shock of recognition, Max saw his duffel bag folded neatly by the wardrobe along with his drawing pads and pencils. The rest of his things were similarly arranged.

“What do you think?” David breathed beside him.

Max whirled and shook David by the shoulders.

“I think it's amazing!”

With a series of triumphant whoops, the two raced up to the balcony and then ran in opposite directions to leap onto the sleigh beds. Max sprawled on a soft comforter stitched with golden suns before brushing aside the curtains. David was grinning from the opposite bed, kicking his feet against its navy curtain embroidered with silver moons.

There was a knock on the door.