The Hound Of Rowan Part 33

Alex just smiled and shook his head incredulously.

"You really are an idiot. Did you know that? An idiot," he said again, stretching each syllable. "Our punishment isn't about scrubbing the Kestrel Kestrel clean! h.e.l.l, Miss Boon could do that in five minutes with a bit of Mystics. It's about standing out here as punishment. Scrub till you break your back, Maxine. No one cares, you moron. Man, wait till Daddy's blubber catches up with your brain-they probably won't even admit you ever went here!" clean! h.e.l.l, Miss Boon could do that in five minutes with a bit of Mystics. It's about standing out here as punishment. Scrub till you break your back, Maxine. No one cares, you moron. Man, wait till Daddy's blubber catches up with your brain-they probably won't even admit you ever went here!"

Max stopped scrubbing. His words were soft.

"Don't you say a thing about my father."

"I don't have to." Alex shrugged with a laugh. "You should hear what everyone says about him! You think it's a coincidence he 'helps out' in the kitchens? I don't. Personally, I think Daddy's just trying to snag some extra meals.... No wonder I hear Mommy took a hike, huh?"

The words slapped Max across the face. Alex suddenly became vividly clear despite the tatters of fog blowing across the dock. Max dropped his brush off to the side. Alex's smile faltered a moment-a flicker of doubt-before he resumed.

"What?" he asked. "You want to fight me? Aren't you scared without Bob or Miss Boon? They're not here to save you this time...."

Max shook his head and took a step forward, grinding his toe into the dock to test his footing. A hoa.r.s.e quake rose in his voice.

"I'd worry about myself if I were you."

Alex frowned and took a small step backward. Suddenly, his face contorted with shame and disgust.

"Fine!" he muttered as if to himself. "Fine. Let's do this. One condition, though."

"Name ten," whispered Max. "They won't help you."

Alex's eyes glittered as he smiled.

"No watches," he said. "I don't want you crying for help in the middle of this!"

Max glanced down at his security watch, its small screen fogged by mist. He had been explicitly warned never to remove it. But Alex slipped his own watch off and snickered at Max's hesitation.

Unclasping his watch, Max placed it on the dock.

As he expected, Alex's foot shot out just as Max stood back up. Stepping to the side, Max caught it and swept under the boy's other leg, spilling him hard.

Alex scowled and scrambled quickly to his feet; Max stood completely still, trying very hard to control the rage that flooded every inch of his being. Alex advanced at him, breathing heavily and circling around to try to position Max against a heavy wooden post. Feigning a rush, he suddenly stopped and raised his hands.

The wet dock turned slick with ice beneath Max's feet.

Max tried to jump, but the lack of friction caused his feet to shoot out from under him. He fell heavily, hitting his head against the post. In a moment, Alex was on him, pinning an elbow against his throat and throwing wild punches.

Anger erupted within Max. He seized Alex's wrists, causing the older boy to gasp in pain. With a violent heave, Max flung Alex off of him.

Max sprang up in a heartbeat. Alex was sprawled on the dock, and before he could even move, Max was upon him.

"Let's hear it, Munoz," Max panted. "Let's hear everything everything you want to say. Let's hear all about my family!" you want to say. Let's hear all about my family!"

With a sharp crack, Max's fist tore through the wooden plank immediately to the right of Alex's head. Smoke rose from the deck. The Second Year shrieked and writhed in terror but could do nothing to break Max's grip.

Emotions flooded Max's heart; he shook and tears streamed down his face.

"I don't hear anything. Is that even possible possible with you?" with you?"

Crack!

"All out of insults for my dad? Why don't you tell me how stupid I am?"

Crack!

"No? Then tell me something about my mom! Why don't you tell me where she went? Sounds like you you might know! might know! Go ahead and tell me! Go ahead and tell me!"

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Three more holes were punched in the surrounding dock, which was now smoking heavily and hot to the touch. Max raised his bleeding hand again, and then froze. Alex had stopped struggling and lay very still, a cool drizzle falling on his blank face.

For a moment, Max thought he had killed him, that he had throttled the boy to death in his rage. But then Alex suddenly focused his eyes and gave Max a look of mute horror. Max blinked. His anger dissipated into the fog. He released Alex and rose slowly to his feet.

"You're not worth it," he sighed.

Alex lay there for several moments, breathing heavily. He groped at his face, apparently feeling for any damage that might have been done. Blindly, he sought out the holes in the dock, tracing their splintered edges with his fingers. Climbing sluggishly to his feet, he coughed and stumbled past Max, who watched in confused silence. Alex became sick, throwing up over the side of the dock. Wiping his mouth and coughing again, Alex reached out with a trembling hand and flung Max's watch far out into the gray swells. The Second Year watched it sink and stared at the water for several moments. When Alex at last turned around, he held a long, thin knife-the same ugly weapon Cooper often carried. He was crying.

"Alex," Max said with measured calm. "You're not supposed to have those things outside the Training Rooms."

Alex said nothing; his face contorted in a silent scream of rage, fear, and humiliation. His shoulders shook as he switched the knife to his left hand.

"Alex!" Max hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

The answer was a murderous sweep with the knife, its tip swooshing past Max's chest as the younger boy jumped backward, gaping in disbelief. Sobbing, Alex shifted the knife to his right hand and stabbed upward. Max leapt backward out of range, almost slipping off the pier and into the water.

"Alex-stop it!" Max said. "The fight is over over!"

Then, over Alex's shoulder and through the fog, Max caught sight of a figure approaching quickly from the beach.

"Help!" Max shouted. "Miss Boon? Over here-help!"

Alex stopped and turned, squinting into the fog. He bent down and let the knife slip through one of the jagged holes Max had made in the dock. He rose and stumbled toward the figure.

"Miss Boon?" Alex called. "Thank G.o.d you're here! McDaniels tried to kill me!"

Max was about to raise his voice in protest when he froze; the approaching figure did not move like Miss Boon, and it was far too tall. Bile rose in Max's mouth as he recognized what it was.

"Alex!" Max cried. "Get away from it! That's not not Miss Boon!" Miss Boon!"

A vye was loping up the dock.

Alex's hands fell limply to his sides, and in a flash, the vye swept the boy up and crushed him to its hip.

"Let him go!" Max shrieked, running down the dock toward the creature.

A deep-throated growl rumbled from the vye, ending in a high-pitched whine. It clutched Alex closer and stooped to seize Max. But Max was too fast, launching himself at the vye like a missile. The top of his head smashed into its snout. The vye gave a startled yelp and dropped Alex, giving Max time to land an off-balance kick that caused the bony leg to buckle.

Alex was unconscious. The vye was between them and the beach. While the older boy's watch was only some twenty feet away, Max could not get it without momentarily abandoning him. Seizing Alex's limp hand, Max dragged him backward away from the vye, which now scrambled after them on all fours.

The shock and horror of his sudden realization almost made Max laugh: Nigel's voice practically screamed inside his head.

"Always look for the second vye, Max. Always!"

The blow to the back of his skull was so hard that Max was unconscious before he could feel the taloned hands take hold of him.

Max groaned and forced open his eyes. It was dark. His neck was clammy, and his joints ached as a fever coursed through his body. Some sort of fur was piled on him, and it stank-a nauseating reek of animal fat and musky hair. He gagged and retched only to find that his limbs were bound tightly to a hard surface. Tossing his head from side to side, he tried to nuzzle the revolting fur away from his face, knocking over several gla.s.s objects in the process. His body rose and fell in a smooth roll that made his stomach queasy. Timbers creaked and strained nearby.

I'm on a ship, he realized. he realized.

He heard footsteps above; a doorway clattered open, and a shaft of moonlight streamed into the room at an angle.

"I think one is awake," said a man's voice. Tentative. Older.

"Which one?" came the familiar voice of a woman. Max squirmed and felt the sweat roll off him in smooth little beads.

"The feisty one," said the man. "It is time for his shot."

Something blocked the moonlight; a terrifying silhouette was projected on the wall.

Max heard stairs strain under slow footsteps. He struggled with all his might against his bonds, but they held fast. A face peered into the cabin. Max felt a wave of primal horror as he met its eyes: cold, animal eyes-appraising eyes-with a distinct gleam of human intelligence. The moonlit cabin only hinted at its features: the sharp glint of a tooth, the wetness of its snout, a glittering eye, its wolfish ears. Max held his breath as they gazed at each other for several moments. The vye carried an unlit lamp that began to glow as the monster's contours and features danced and shifted. By the time the cabin had filled with a dim yellow light, Max looked upon an older, gaunt man with small black eyes and wearing a loose, dirty overcoat. The man hooked the lamp to a small chain that hung from the cabin roof. eyes-with a distinct gleam of human intelligence. The moonlit cabin only hinted at its features: the sharp glint of a tooth, the wetness of its snout, a glittering eye, its wolfish ears. Max held his breath as they gazed at each other for several moments. The vye carried an unlit lamp that began to glow as the monster's contours and features danced and shifted. By the time the cabin had filled with a dim yellow light, Max looked upon an older, gaunt man with small black eyes and wearing a loose, dirty overcoat. The man hooked the lamp to a small chain that hung from the cabin roof.

"Good evening," he said, inclining his head in greeting and making his way to a cooler wedged within a large coil of rope. Max watched in silence. After rummaging through the cooler's contents, the man wheeled around and displayed an enormous syringe, far larger than any needle Max had ever seen. He steadied himself as the ship rolled before shuffling over to Max.

"Time for your shot," the man explained, squeezing a bit of clear liquid out of the syringe.

"Keep away from me!" Max pleaded, straining against his bonds. His head was burning.

"Tut, tut," cautioned the man, rolling back the filthy fur cover. "You need this medicine-unless you want these. these." The man opened his mouth wide to reveal jagged fangs poking through his gums. "You see, Peg scratched you-didn't mean to, but it couldn't be helped with you struggling and all."

"It was you on the dock," Max murmured, searching the man's face. "I kicked you."

The man smiled and dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"You were frightened," he said. "It was a natural thing to do."

"I'm hungry. I don't know what day it is."

"Your fever was very bad," the man said sympathetically. "You've been asleep for three days now. I can get you something to eat in just a minute, after your medicine. You see, we don't want another mean old ugly vye. No, sir, got enough of us running around as it is. We want you just the way you are. Now hold still. This might pinch a bit."

The man pulled up Max's sweatshirt to expose his stomach. Max clamped his eyes shut, trying desperately to ignore every instinct that screamed at him to buck, flail, and protect the vulnerable spot. The needle stabbed like a flame as it entered; tears streamed down Max's face while his hands flopped and clawed against the wooden plank. Then suddenly, the pain was gone.

"There, there," soothed the man, slipping the needle out of sight. "All done. You may call me Cyrus."

The cabin seemed suddenly very small; Max broke out in a sweat.

"I need air, Cyrus," he croaked.

The man frowned at that request. He stepped over to the cooler and stowed the syringe before starting up the stairs.

"I'll check with Peg," he muttered, disappearing out the hatch.

Max heard a series of whispers from up on deck. A moment later, Cyrus crept back down and hovered over Max, deftly loosening the complex knots and cords that bound him. Shaking in fits, Max rose to his feet.

"It's cold up there," Cyrus said. "Keep this over your shoulders. It'll keep you warm."

Max fought his gag reflex as the man wrapped the strange fur over his shoulders; bits of dry skin and fat still clung to it as though some great animal had been skinned in haste.

"Where's Alex?" he mumbled as the events from the dock started to seep back into his memory.

Cyrus grunted and pointed to the bunk above, where Alex lay similarly bound and fast asleep. His face had an unhealthy pallor.

"He's fine," Cyrus whispered, ushering Max toward the steps. "Just sleeping. Here-eat this."

A biscuit was pressed into Max's hand; it was coa.r.s.e and damp and smelled of mold. Despite his hunger, Max balked.

"There's nothing better till we land unless you want to share our rations," said Cyrus. "We've got plenty of meat. Fresh meat. Say the word and I'll share some-just don't tell Peg!"

Max did not want to guess what kind of meat a vye would have. He forced himself to chew the mealy biscuit, which had the consistency of carpet.

It was cold on deck but not unbearably so. The cloudless sky was sprinkled with stars that looked impossibly sharp and bright. The moon bathed the surrounding sea in shimmering waves of light, spotlighting chunks of ice that bobbed in the water. Ghostly icebergs loomed in the distance as the ship made smooth, swift progress over the gentle swells.

Cyrus led Max toward a red glow, steering him across a deck cluttered with wooden crates and ropes that lay strewn about the deck. The red glow was revealed to be an iron kettle suspended over hot coals. Near the kettle sat a woman knitting.

That woman was Mrs. Millen.

She looked up at Max, her eyes two unnatural pinp.r.i.c.ks of cold light gleaming in the darkness. Her throaty chuckle came flooding back like a nightmare.

"Hoo-hoo-hoo! How are you, Max McDaniels? Didn't know if I'd ever get to see you again! Come have a seat next to Peg-I won't bite!"

Max tried to resist as Cyrus moved him nearer, but he had no strength. He was close enough now to see her face clearly. She wore no makeup and looked much older. Her mouth was sunken, and she gummed her lips as she rocked, knitting swift loops of black wool into a shroud.

"You've grown," she muttered.

Max collapsed heavily onto a crate next to her, helped by Cyrus, who took his own seat at the opposite end. Max's head swam with fever, and for several minutes he simply watched his breath waft away in little billows of mist. The night was silent except for the occasional click of knitting needles and the soft crashing of coals as they were consumed.

"Where are we going?" Max asked in a small, weak voice.

"A secret place," she t.i.ttered, gumming her lips.

"Where?" Max breathed.

The needles stopped and Cyrus began to fidget. Peg's hand suddenly shot out. She seized Max's wrist and jerked his arm out over the shroud.

A knife flashed.