“No,” Nolan said. “The floor is not safe.”
Cyrus and Antigone bounced forward into an area with no paint. The floor was still linoleum, at least where it hadn’t been torn up, but the pillars and walls and ceiling were all dark, moist stone.
“What’s not safe about it?” Cyrus asked. “What are we talking about?”
A chuckle reached them, doubling and tripling off the angled walls, and then reaching them again. “The Whip Spiders. Why do you think I have this place to myself?”
“They’re still here?” Antigone scanned the floor. “That was over eighty years ago.”
“It was,” Nolan said. “Whip Spiders can hatch many young in eighty years. Stay on the paths.”
The sound of water grew louder, until Cyrus and Antigone rounded a corner and stood looking at the showers.
Two miniature aqueducts ran from wall to wall above head height. Stone spouts lined both sides of both aqueducts, spilling water to the floor in four falling curtains. On the floor, the water collected in a central trough and drained through a hole in the wall. Where the plank path passed beneath the showers, the spouts had been plugged with wine corks.
Cyrus and Antigone moved carefully through, catching only a few drips on their shoulders as they did.
They had reached the end, or at least one of several ends, of the room. The plank pathway led straight into a dark, jagged hole in the wall.
Nolan leaned out of it, slowly stretching his arms against both sides. “Come in, if you’re going to.” He yawned and ducked back inside. “Or don’t.”
Cyrus hesitated, looking around. A leggy shape flashed out of a corner, clattering toward him across the grimy floor. Antigone grabbed his arm as the thing disappeared under the plank beneath them.
“Right,” said Cyrus. “Well, we’re not staying out here.”
nine. WHIPS AND VISITS
CYRUS SAT ON cold stone. Beside him, Antigone was bouncing her leg nervously. Nolan’s room was a bizarre assortment of elements. But, for a crowded crypt through a hole in the wall, it was surprisingly tidy and warm.
The room was circular and had clearly been intended for use as a tomb. Seven stone beds — for statues, hopefully; for corpses, maybe — had been set in arched and pillared alcoves all the way around. Oddly, all of the visible stone had been slathered with a thick coat of bright yellow paint. One of the alcove beds now held a vivid red cushion with tassels and a brown corduroy pillow. Another held a rickety, tightly packed bookshelf and two reading lamps with green shades. The third held an old pint-sized refrigerator, humming loudly, a hot plate, and a toaster oven old enough to match the Archer’s waffle iron. Nolan had buried two pieces of bread beneath mayonnaise and cheddar from the fridge, and he was now crouching on the floor watching the mixture bubble in the toaster oven. The smell made breakfast seem like long, long ago, and Cyrus’s stomach was humming audibly. The fourth alcove held neatly stacked wooden boxes full of odd-looking tools. The fifth held a stuffed two-headed eagle missing half of one flapping wing, and a square pile of mismatched blankets. The sixth was a nest of books, papers, a small lap desk, and a stack of tightly folded clothes. A similar load had been scraped out of the seventh, which now held an impatient Antigone and a curious Cyrus.
The floor was covered with a pair of Turkish rugs, one missing a burnt corner, the other boasting a large bleach spot near its center. A cluster of three ship lanterns hung from the middle of the yellow ceiling, and the decapitated head of a large grandfather clock, with pendulum and weights attached, was balanced on rough timber legs between two of the stone beds.
A tangle of electrical cords bound up with string ran out of the hole in the wall and up toward the ceiling.
Cyrus stared at the toaster. He hadn’t actually eaten that much at breakfast before Maxi had arrived, and the previous night hadn’t involved much sleep. He yawned, blinked slowly, and tried to ignore the hungry knife in his gut.
He passed his yawn on to his sister, and she stretched her arms above her head. “How long have you been sleeping in this tomb?” she asked.
The strange boy rubbed his smooth jaw. “Not a tomb,” he said quietly. “A Resurrection Room. They are different. In theory.”
Antigone slapped the stone bed beneath her. “You’re telling me there’s not a body inside here?”
“Maybe once,” Nolan said. “Not anymore. Not for a long time.”
“You’ve checked?” Antigone asked. “You really pried up the lid?”
Nolan stared at the slowly melting cheese. “I was looking for a friend.”
“In a coffin?” Antigone shivered. “That’s crazy.”
“My friend is dead,” said Nolan. His voice was flat. “Where else would I look?”
Cyrus laughed. Antigone elbowed him. “And you’re really okay if we stay in here with you?”
“No.” Nolan leaned farther forward and peered into the toaster oven. “But I’m willing. For a time.” He pointed out the room’s rough entrance. “You wouldn’t survive out there.”
Cyrus looked through the hole at the plank paths. The Polygon was silent. Empty. He looked back. Nolan might be crazy, but it didn’t matter. Right now, he was toasting cheesy bread.
Antigone tucked her feet up in front of her and pressed her back against the wall. “Are you part of the Order?” she asked.
Nolan smiled slightly. “I am a spider in a corner. I watch. I listen. I live on what I find.” He looked up. “On what finds me.”
“Um.” Cyrus glanced at his sister. She widened her eyes, and he turned back to Nolan. “Does Rupert Greeves know that you’re down here?”
“Rupert Greeves.” Nolan sighed. He sounded tired. “He can find a spider when he has need. He found you a nanny among the cobwebs, didn’t he?” He looked at Cyrus and then back at the slowly toasting bread. “He is already lost in your troubles.”
“What?” Antigone dropped her feet back to the floor and edged forward. “What do you mean?”
“Your brother was taken,” Nolan said quietly. “I heard you speak with Greeves.” He glanced at her surprised face. “I do not need to be seen to listen.” The toaster oven sparked and its interior light flickered off. Sighing, Nolan thumped it lightly. Cyrus jumped forward, touched the toaster, and then sat back down. The light returned, along with the quiet hum of heat. Nolan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Cyrus. Cyrus blinked and said nothing.
“What else do you know?” Antigone asked.
Nolan inhaled slowly and turned his worn eyes away. “More than I care to. Maxi and his master are hyenas. Their pursuit will not end. But Greeves will stand or fall with you when the time comes. He’s cut from old stone.”
Antigone shivered, rubbing goose-bumping arms. “Greeves is the one in charge of this place?”
Nolan slid his stare onto her. “No. He’s Ashtown’s Blood Avenger. The Avengel. He protects and — when needed — he avenges.”
Antigone dropped her brows. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Nolan’s mouth twitched into a small smile and then grew into another yawn. “If an Explorer from Ashtown freezes on Kilimanjaro or is burned in New Guinea or is imprisoned in France, Rupe sets out after the remains. If a member commits treason against the Order, Rupe’s the one after him. If the Orbis — the circle of Sages — identifies a threat, Rupe hunts him — or her — or it — to ground. He is both hound and tiger.” He slid a glance back over his shoulder, as if his own words wearied him. “And I am one who knows.”
Crouching on the floor, Nolan flipped open the toaster oven, twisted a cloth around his hand, and pulled out the toasted bread. The cheese on top had browned and bubbled, and the edges were crisp. “Hot,” Nolan said. “Careful.” Banging the little glass door shut, he set the toast on the stone between Cyrus and Antigone. Cyrus breathed in slowly, letting the smell taunt his stomach.