Cyrus closed his eyes, and he was running through deep, cool sand toward two unconscious bodies stretched out on the beach — his brother beside his mother.
thirteen. TOOTH TALES
YAWNING, CYRUS KICKED his blankets to the floor as he stretched. His legs flexed and shook. His hands pressed against cold stone. Stone? In the Archer?
Cyrus sat bolt upright.
Antigone was facing him, sitting stiffly on her own stone bed. She tapped the bridge of her nose.
“You have some goop.”
Cyrus slapped at his face and then ground his knuckles into his eyes.
The lights were on in the Polygon, and Nolan was missing. His blanket was folded neatly and his pillow was perched on top of it. Antigone’s black hair was freshly wet and pulled back tight. Her eyes were tired. She already had on her riding boots, and her ragged safari shirt was tucked in. A piece of paper and the Order of Brendan, Guidelines for Acolytes, Ashtown Estate, 1910–1914 sat open beside her.
“We’re done for, Rusty,” she said. “Listen to this.”
Cyrus yawned again. His sister picked up the booklet.
“Are you listening?”
Cyrus nodded.
“ ‘In order to achieve the rank of Journeyman, Acolytes must be tested in the following areas before the end of the year in which they were presented: Linguistic: Competency in one ancient language and one modern (in addition to their mother tongue) is required. Celestial Navigation: Acolytes must complete a three-day open-sea voyage without instruments (may be tested in pairs). Weaponry: Acolytes must achieve the rank of Free Scholar with dagger, foil, and saber, and the rank of Marksman with small-caliber pistol and rifle. Aerocraft: Acolytes must complete pilot qualification in the Bristol Scout biplane or comparable (to include advanced maneuvers and solo flight). Medicinaclass="underline" Acolytes must be competent in the diagnosis and herbal treatment of infectious disease, the resuscitation of the drowned, the setting of bones, and the amputation of limbs.’ ”
Antigone looked up at her brother. His eyes and mouth were wide. “Yeah,” Antigone said, nodding. “The amputation of limbs. And that’s not all. ‘Physical Fitness: Apart from specific exclusions granted by the community of Keepers, Acolytes must be capable of running a grass-track mile in under six and one-half minutes, submerging for a duration greater than two and one-quarter minutes, and free diving to a depth of ninety feet. Zoology: Acolytes must show themselves capable of handling creatures of at least five distinct and deadly species. The Occult: Acolytes must demonstrate themselves to be impervious to hypnosis and intrusive telepathy.’ ”
Antigone sighed and spread the open booklet over her knee. “Should we go home now or wait until they kick us out?”
Cyrus tried to clear his sinuses and ran a hand through his matted hair. “Look on the bright side, Tigs.”
“What bright side would that be, Brother Optimist? I have to learn how to amputate a limb. And shoot a gun. And they want us to fly a plane? That has to be illegal. So please, share with me the sunny bright side.”
“No math,” Cyrus yawned. “As long as there’s no math, I’m fine.”
Antigone burst out laughing. “Cyrus Lawrence Smith! How deluded can a kid be?”
“Who’s the kid? And I can be as deluded as I need to be. Everything gets harder if you start going on and on about how hard it is. This will be tough enough without you giving up beforehand.”
“Cyrus,” Antigone said. “You’ve always hated school.”
“Yeah,” said Cyrus. “What’s your point? This isn’t school. We decided to come here for a reason, Tigs. Because we came here, Rupert Greeves is trying to find Dan. He will find Dan. And after Dan comes back, we’re going to stay here until we learn how to do all those things you just read, and then we get Skelton’s estate, and then we’re going to buy a big house in California right on the cliffs, and we’re going to move back to the ocean and not worry about money and never eat waffles again.” He smiled. “Plus, you have to admit it would be pretty cool if we could actually do all those things. Flying planes? We’d be like, I don’t know …”
“Journeymen in the Order of Brendan?”
“I was going to say ninjas. But you’re right. And we’d be the hardcore 1914 version, the kind that live in the Polygon — the Polygoners.”
“You really think we can do this?” Antigone’s eyebrows reached maximum arch. “We’re going to learn languages and fencing and free diving and flying?”
Cyrus flopped back onto his bed. “And we’ll amputate limbs. I wonder how you practice that? And we have until New Year’s. That’s practically forever.”
“Right.” Antigone puffed her cheeks. “Practically.”
Cyrus laughed. “And maybe Christmas will distract everyone and they won’t notice that we haven’t learned anything. And if that doesn’t work, we can always be squatters down here with Nolan. Where is Nolan?”
Antigone stood up. “I don’t know. But I want breakfast and a toothbrush and a bathroom, and I want some different clothes, and I want to know where the laundry is. And I want to know what Rupert found out about Dan. And I want to find out when we can visit Mom.”
She tucked the tutor list and the Guidelines into her pocket, and walked out into the big room.
“Come on, Cy. You’re dressed already.”
When they finally reached the great hallway outside the Galleria, Cyrus stopped, yawning desperately and rubbing his head. His hair was sticking straight out in back like the feathers on a duck’s butt, and it felt just as oily and water-resistant. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to curl up against a wall and go to sleep. Antigone tugged on his arm and kept him moving.
He watched the mapped ceilings go by, bumping into people and muttering apologies, but when they passed the leather boat on its pedestal, his eyes drifted to the corridor that he knew led to another hallway and two big black doors and a man on a column with a hole in his head. The whole thing felt like a strange dream, and for a moment, he wondered if he should tell his sister about what he’d seen. But only for a moment.
The hallway was crowded, and Antigone was moving slowly in front of him. Most of the people were heading in the same direction — toward the dining hall. But a fair number were leaving — women chewing muffins and carrying fencing sabers, men in flight suits munching bacon, teams of boys and girls in white. Everywhere, Cyrus saw guns on hips. All the passing people looked at Cyrus, at his face and his hair, and all of them smiled.
From down the hall, small bells began to ring, echoing from every wall. The river of people paused and separated. Antigone saw her chance.
Dropping her shoulder, she forced her way into the opening channel in the middle of the hall. With Cyrus jogging behind her, she hurried around the corner and straight toward the dining hall doors. Thirty feet away, a line of monks was coming in the other direction. Ten men in brown rope-belted robes paced in time, chanting something in a strange language. The second man in line was ringing the small bells. A bald, fat-faced man in the very front held a long, thick green bamboo rod, using it to slap at any feet or hands or thighs that encroached into the monks’ center path. Looking up, he saw Cyrus and Antigone, and his small eyes lit up.
“C’mon!” Antigone grabbed her brother’s arm and raced toward the door.
Spitting unintelligible wrath, the thick monk hustle-shuffled to beat them.
Antigone reached the doors and blasted through. The monk, shouting, jumped after her, knocking Cyrus away. The clatter and chatter in the dining hall died as every head turned.
The monk grabbed Antigone by the back of the shirt, raised his bamboo rod, and lashed it down across her neck.