Antigone sputtered her lips. “I really don’t like him.”
“Who cares about him?” Cyrus looked up at Rupert Greeves. “Hey, you know, we’re actually in a lot of trouble. Horace said you would help us once we were members. And, well, a guy named Maxi killed Skelton and burned down our motel. Then he took our brother, Dan. He chased us here — probably shot Horace, too, him or one of his sidekicks.”
“Maxi?” Rupert’s jaw clenched beneath his beard. His eyes narrowed. “Why would a creature like Maximilien be after the two of you?”
“Ask him,” Cyrus said.
Rupert shook his head and sighed. “You have brought trouble, haven’t you? Maximilien wouldn’t attack a member of the Order without reason. We are too large a threat to his appetites.” He looked at Antigone and back at Skelton’s coffin, and then he turned sharp eyes onto Cyrus. “You may have something his master wants.”
“His master?” Antigone asked. “What kind of master are we talking about?”
“The kind of master capable of controlling a man like Maxi.” Rupert inhaled slowly, inflating his broad chest. “He calls himself Dr. Phoenix,” he said quietly. “And at times, Mr. Ashes. He is the stuff of nightmares, I will not say more. If Maxi took your brother, then he took him to Phoenix. I am very sorry.”
Cyrus looked at his sister. Antigone tucked back her hair and crossed nervous arms. “Can’t you … do anything?”
Rupert stepped between them. A few people were still loitering by the big doors. One of them was an old woman in a safari jacket. Rupert whistled sharply.
“Eleanor Eldridge!” he yelled. “Can I beg some assistance?”
Cyrus watched the old woman approach, avoiding his eyes. When she got close enough, she began to chatter.
“Rupert Greeves,” she said. “I don’t care how big you think you are, and I don’t care what you call yourself or what you think you can make me do. I knew you when you were as timid as a possum and as awkward as a young giraffe. I swore off these two ungratefuls. I washed my hands and shook the mud off my boots. I wouldn’t tie their shoes if they lost their arms. I’ll not be helping them.”
Rupert almost smiled. “Something has come up. I’ll need you to show them to the Polygon for me, Mrs. E.” He turned back to Cyrus and Antigone, and for a moment, he simply stared, unblinking, breathing slowly. Cyrus squirmed, fighting to keep his hands from drifting up to his neck. The big man’s face was worried, his eyes searching. When he spoke, his voice was low.
“Today, you two have become a brother and sister to me. Your brother by blood is now like my own, and I will do all that I can for him. I wish I could make you promises, but I cannot. Not when it comes to Maxi and Phoenix. For now, I will see what can be seen and hear what can be heard. When I know more, we will speak again. Soon.” He smiled with tight lips. “I must hear more from the Order’s outlaw Acolytes.”
Turning, he strode toward the tall doors, the sound of his boots doubling and tripling in echo.
“Listen to Mrs. E!” he shouted, and he was through the doors and gone.
eight. LOST AND FOUND
CYRUS, FINDING HIMSELF wandering the halls outside the Galleria, progressed at a caterpillar pace. His own little shelves at the Archer loaded with ditch discoveries and thrift-store treasures were less than nothing compared to what surrounded him now. The walls were dotted with strange artifacts — tapestries, swords, axes, arrows, muskets, a pair of tarnished green cannons, certificates and charters, bones and teeth and skulls, paintings, maps, and fading photos of men and women in knee-high boots beside cloth-winged planes and sailboats and archaic trucks. Not one display was corralled with a velvet rope. Not one was guarded by a plastic sign commanding those with fingers to keep them to themselves.
And so Cyrus touched. And waited for Mrs. Eldridge to grumble before moving on.
While Cyrus browsed the walls, Antigone’s eyes lurched between the ceiling and the floor.
The map frescoes on the ceilings glittered with gold foil, and made no attempt at scale. These were maps where ships and sea creatures were larger than islands, and brightly painted birds and beasts floated in the air above forests.
The floor was a swirling mosaic of painted tiles, segmented into a different kind of map. When Antigone stared at her feet, she was looking down at tiny city streets, winding and twisting beneath her. Minuscule buildings, rivers and bridges, city squares and palaces were spread out in detail. A few steps later, they were gone, replaced by a crisp floor plan of some enormous structure, labeled in tiny Latin.
She scuffed at it with her foot. “Won’t this stuff wear off with everyone walking on it?” She wasn’t asking anyone in particular. Mrs. Eldridge had already refused to answer any of their questions.
Cyrus glanced over his shoulder, and then turned back to his examination of an oddly tusked skull. “It’s probably lacquered or something. Tigs, what do you think this is? A mini-elephant? Maybe a warthog?” He reached out and brushed his hand over smooth, yellowed bone.
“No clue,” said Antigone. “Ask one of them.”
Four men wearing bulging canvas packs and wide belts heavy with hatchets, sheaths, and holsters hurried down the hall, followed by a boy with his arms full of rope. They split up to move around Antigone.
“Excuse me,” Cyrus said. “Do any of you know what this is?”
The men managed to walk by without so much as seeing Cyrus or his sister. Four pairs of eyes twitched away, avoiding the soot-and bloodstained clothes and the questioning faces.
Only the boy turned around, smirking at Cyrus as he walked away. “Outlaw trash,” he said. He grinned at Antigone. “Your mother was a savage.” Shaking his head, the boy turned his back and hurried to catch up to the men.
“Wow,” said Antigone.
Cyrus cupped his hands around his mouth. “Keep walking, you little snot! The outlaws are here!”
“Cyrus Smith!” Mrs. Eldridge came storming back down the hall, her thin white hair straggling in a tattered halo. “It’s bad enough that you two can’t keep up, and now you’re shouting insults?” She crossed her arms and glared.
Cyrus shrugged. No smug kid got to say things about his mom.
“Did you hear what the brat said?” Antigone asked.
“I did,” said Mrs. Eldridge. “And I can’t say that I disagree. Look at you two, all filth and rudeness, goggling over the floors and touching everything. Do you belong here? No. No, you don’t. And that’s no insult. Here isn’t always the nicest place to belong.”
She spun on her heel and began to walk away. “Now stay with me this time, or I’ll leave you to find your own way. And,” she added, “you will never find your own way.”
Cyrus sighed, and then yawned, trying to keep up the brisk pace. As much as he wanted to look at everything, as much as he wanted to be mad at the insulting boy and the rabbit-faced man, he was too hungry and too exhausted, and his head was still too full of smoke and thoughts of Dan. The mosaic floor looked like it would be cool against his skin, and he could easily stretch out beneath one of the long display tables against a wall.
Antigone tugged on his arm, forcing him to keep pace.
“You two should never have come,” Mrs. Eldridge said, clicking quickly down the center of the hall. A group of six young girls wearing white snake shirts tucked into pocketed trousers tucked into boots, all carrying short rifles, moved by quickly in the opposite direction, eyes bouncing between Antigone and Cyrus. Three of them flashed friendly smiles. Around the next corner, four middle-aged men in full fencing gear, swords and wire masks tucked under their arms, leaned against the wall, laughing. Their laughter faded when they saw Cyrus and Antigone. Two faces hardened, but a short bald man and a tower with a beard both met Cyrus’s eyes. Cyrus gave them his best diner nod, and then smiled when they nodded back.