But it was not this gruesome spectacle that made Max’s blood run cold. It was the cruel-looking knife that Rolf clutched in his right hand. Max had seen its wavy blade many times before. The knife belonged to William Cooper.
~ 5 ~
Laqueus Diaboli
Bedlam followed Rolf’s death, a crush of bodies as refugees rushed forward to see what had happened. Agents arrived within minutes, forcing the crowds back and questioning Max and the rest. Sarah had been inconsolable, weeping over Rolf’s body as one Agent led the Second Years away. She’d screamed at Umbra, vowing revenge, but the refugee girl didn’t appear to have heard her. She simply stood by, leaning on her bloodstained spear and gazing stoically at the boy she had slain.
Word arrived swiftly from the Manse; Max was to report immediately. He knew Ms. Richter’s concern. The scene at the sparring pit was too frenzied and chaotic; there might be more assassins lurking in the mob. Leaving Sarah in the care of another Agent, Max hurried away through the crowd, pushing and jostling through their ranks until he was free of them.
Miss Boon was waiting in the Manse’s foyer. She was composed but had clearly been crying. Rolf’s death no doubt hit her hard; he had been an uncommonly talented and industrious student. But it occurred to Max that she had another reason to grieve; the appearance of Cooper’s notorious dagger was a clear sign that the man was either dead or in mortal peril.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I take it you heard about the knife?”
Miss Boon nodded before gesturing weakly at his face and clothes. Wiping his cheek, Max felt that it was sticky. Glancing down, he now realized that his shirt was spattered with Rolf’s blood. “Go clean yourself up,” she said heavily. “We’ll be waiting for you in the Archmage’s chambers. Would you like a guard?”
Max shook his head. “Rolf was my friend and he meant to kill me. Why should I trust a random guard? For all I know, you’re one of the Atropos, Miss Boon.”
She nodded sadly. “We’ll be waiting for you. David says time is important. Be quick and be vigilant.”
Heading to the dormitories, Max ducked into the bathroom. It was nearly empty. The only occupants were the dozing domovoi attendant and a First Year who nearly swallowed his toothbrush when he registered Max’s gruesome appearance. Max gnored him, turning on one of the silvery faucets and scrubbing roughly at his hands and face until they were clean. Peeling off his shirt and jacket, he stuffed them into a waste-basket.
Back in his room, Max dressed quickly. He pulled on a gray doublet of quilted cotton before donning a hauberk of black steel rings. Over this he slipped the simple tunic of the Red Branch and a leather baldric to which he belted the gae bolga. Max’s enemies might be able to infiltrate Rowan, but they would not find him unarmored or unprepared.
Ten minutes later he stood before the Archmage’s door. The Director herself answered his knock.
“There are only friends here,” she said, sensing his wariness.
“How do I know that?”
“David has made certain.”
Looking past her, Max saw his roommate sitting by the fire in Bram’s chair. Their eyes met and David gave a small, reassuring smile. Stepping past Ms. Richter, Max walked inside.
There were others within, but Max hardly noticed them. His attention was fixed on Rolf’s corpse, which lay upon a long table in the middle of the common room. The boy’s neck had been cleaned and bandaged and someone had had the decency to place coppers on his eyelids. But whether due to rigor mortis or careless oversight, Rolf’s mouth remained open—frozen on the threshold of a scream. It was several seconds before Max realized that the body was lying within a summoning circle.
In the dark room, the hexagram glowed faintly orange, as though embers simmered beneath the floorboards. Glancing about, Max realized that all of the room’s rugs and clutter had been cleared away to reveal many such circles upon the floor. Some were large with complex symbols and runes about their periphery while others were small and simple. While each was etched with a jeweler’s skill upon the hardwood floor, only Rolf’s was glowing.
Max looked to the room’s other inhabitants. Bram was absent, but Mina was on the floor near Mrs. Menlo, who was rocking in her favorite chair and stroking Lila. Miss Boon sat on a long bench beneath three frosted windows. At her feet blinked a pair of feral yellow eyes.
“What is that?” exclaimed Max.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Miss Boon. “Grendel is Cooper’s charge.”
The rest of the creature’s body seemed to materialize from thin air. At first glance, Grendel looked like an ash-gray panther. As the creature rose and approached, however, Max saw that his snout and ears were more wolflike, while his coat was dappled with a tiger’s camouflaging bands. With each breath, Grendel’s body faded into his surroundings so that he nearly disappeared. Only the eyes remained, fierce and predatory. Growling deep in his throat, the animal circled Max, gliding once against him before padding back to settle at Miss Boon’s feet.
“So that’s a Cheshirewulf,” Max muttered. He’d read about them but had never seen one before. The creatures were very rare and dreaded by superstitious farmers and foresters in the north. It was said that they could smell blood from miles away and that no homestead was safe if one wandered into the vicinity. Like many magical creatures, Cheshirewulfs had been hunted to near extinction. Cooper had never mentioned Grendel before, and Max imagined that the creature probably lived deep in the Sanctuary among other wild charges whose stewards had died or no longer looked after them. “What’s he doing here?”
“He showed up yesterday,” replied Miss Boon, stroking the animal’s scruff. “We rarely see Grendel, but when William went missing … It’s as though he knew.” Her voice broke and she checked herself.
“We’re hoping Grendel can help,” explained Ms. Richter. “Some doing of the Enemy has rendered scrying ineffective. If we cannot find Agents Cooper and Polk using magical means, we must use more conventional methods. The bond between charge and steward is very strong, and Cheshirewulfs are legendary trackers. Perhaps Grendel can succeed where we have failed.”
Max nodded before glancing back at Rolf’s body. “Has anyone told his family yet?” he asked quietly. “I think they live near Wyndle Farm.”
“Nigel’s already on his way,” replied Ms. Richter. “We must work quickly. They will naturally want to see the body and I would not keep it from them. But we must have answers.”
“What are you planning to do?” asked Max uneasily. “Some sort of autopsy?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” David declared, rising from his chair. “Not a physical autopsy but a spiritual one. I doubt Rolf was any kind of traitor; in fact, I doubt he was acting of his own will at all. The Atropos often used possession as a tool for assassinations. I think Rolf was the unfortunate vessel they chose. But we need to be certain, and we need to know if there are others in our midst.”
“How are you going to do that?” Max wondered.
“Laqueus Diaboli,” replied David, directing Mina to get up and choose a beaker from among a dozen standing upon the chessboard. “That would serve,” he remarked, glancing at her selection. “But I think the iron and antimony mixture might prove better.” The girl retrieved a different vial filled with metallic powder and brought it to David, but he shook his head. “I trust you to do it.”
With unblinking concentration, Mina set to pouring the beaker’s fine grains so that they filled up the circle about the hexagram’s perimeter. Once David was satisfied with her progress, he returned his attention to Max.