The Paladin Prophecy (17 page)

Words appeared: WOULD YOU LIKE TO BEGIN THE TUTORIAL NOW? (RECOMMENDED) YES/NO.

Will tapped NO. A mailbox icon appeared. He double-tapped the icon, and the screen opened to a graphically familiar in-box.

There was one message inside: To [email protected]. From [email protected].

He double-tapped the message. A video file opened of Headmaster Stephen Rourke, at the desk in his office, looking straight into the camera. The image quality was so good he appeared to be on the other side of a window.

“Greetings, Will. I hope you’re bouncing back from that bump on the noggin. Sorry I couldn’t wait around, but the docs assured me you’d be okay. And I apologize for taking you in there in the first place. That one’s on me: headmaster brain-lock. Hope you’re getting settled. Let’s catch up tomorrow. If there’s anything we can do to make your first days here easier, all you have to do is ask. Have a good night now.”

The mailbox came back up. Instead of using his finger as the cursor, Will tried another way to interact with it. “Close mailbox,” he said.

The mailbox collapsed into the icon at the bottom of the screen.
Cool
.

“Open hard drive,” he said.

A file cabinet icon opened in the screen’s center. A drawer opened into a list of folders and files from the hard drive on Will’s laptop. He verified that the data from his laptop had landed safely.

A muffled buzzing sounded somewhere in the room. He traced it to the bed, under the mattress. Nando’s cell phone.

“Power off,” said Will.

His tablet shut down. Will couldn’t see one, but he worried there might be a video camera built into its frame. There was no way of knowing who might have remote access to its feed—Lyle, for instance. Will dropped his sweatshirt over the screen for good measure.

#83: JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE PARANOID DOESN’T MEAN THAT SORRY IS BETTER THAN SAFE.

Will pulled out Nando’s phone and took it into the bathroom. He closed and locked the door, then turned on the faucet before he answered.

“Hey, Nando,” Will whispered.

“Yo, Will,” Nando whispered back. “I’m parked outside your house right now.”

“Why are you whispering? Can anybody see you?”

“No, I’m cool, man. I’m down the street. Why are
you
whispering?”

Will thought a second. “You’re not supposed to use phones in the hospital.”

“So listen up, bro, your old man might be right. What’s going down here’s kinda freaky. Three black cars are parked out front. Identical makes and models, like undercover vehicles. Cops were here earlier, too. Two local cruisers.”

“How long have you been there?”

“About an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Nah, man, this is way more fun,” said Nando. “Plus I got this little telescope my wife bought me at Brookstone? Puts you right up in somebody’s grill. I’m watching these dudes from the sedans go in and out.”

“Describe them,” said Will.

“Black caps and jackets. Look almost like FBI, ’cept it don’t say ‘FBI’ on the caps or jackets. They’re loading suitcases into the cars. Boxes, too. All taped up, the kind you use for moving.”

“How many Black Caps?”

“Six. Two in each car,” said Nando. “And whoever these cats in the chapeaus are, they’re in charge of whatever’s going down: They were giving orders to the cops.”

“Have you seen anybody else?”

“A lady came out a couple times. Black hair, kinda tall, good-looking. Tell the truth, first time I seen her, I thought she coulda been your mom.”

Will felt bad about lying to Nando but didn’t see an alternative. “Couldn’t be. She’s up here with us. Anybody else?”

“One other dude,
not
one of the Caps. Long hair and glasses, light brown beard. Only seen him once, through the window inside, talking to the Caps.”

So Dad is still there. But in what condition?

“I took some snaps but didn’t think I should send ’em till we talked.”

“I have an email you can use.” Will gave him the address of his new account.

“Okay, boss. Gonna stay on this. Looks like they’re getting ready to move.”

Nando hung up. Will heard a series of sharp knocks on his bedroom door. He went into the bedroom.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“House security,” said a male voice. “Open the door
now
.” Not Lyle, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there with a whole goon patrol.

“One sec, I was in the bathroom.”

He yanked the phone’s charger from the wall and buried them both under the mattress. His heart thumping, Will walked over and opened the door.

A tough-looking kid with close-cropped blond hair stood outside. He wore a crested blue school blazer identical to the one Lyle had been wearing. A scalloped cowlick rose on the left side of his hairline like a nautilus shell. He stood four inches shorter than Will but occupied more space horizontally and radiated serious athletic vibes. His electric ice-blue eyes drilled straight into Will’s.

The kid held up the rules booklet Lyle had given Will. “Are you familiar with Code of Conduct rule sixteen dash six, paragraph five, subsection nine?”

“No, I—”

“Mr. West, ignorance of the law is no excuse.” Glancing past the guy, Will saw Elise seated on the circular hearth. She’d changed into a short athletic uniform skirt, black cleats, and high blue socks, and she twirled a field hockey stick in her hands. Will thought she looked, oddly, like she was trying not to laugh.

“Since you’ve chosen to
ignore
the provost marshal’s order to study the Code, let me read the relevant passage
for
you: ‘New students are not allowed to ask other students about their personal lives for a period of six weeks—’ ”

The young man glanced back at Elise, indicating she had lodged this lame complaint against him. Will stared at them in confusion.

“Like I said, I didn’t know the rules—”

“That is some weak sauce indeed, Mr. West. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in? Would you like to know what
else
you don’t know about subsection nine? Please tell me if I’m going too fast.”

“No, go ahead.”

The guy lifted the book and read again: “New arrivals may only ask time of day or directions to classrooms. Random comments about your playlists? Violation. Gushing about your favorite sports team? Violation. Any mention of homesickness for pets named Pinky or Gum Drop? Violation. And you are never, under any circumstances, to ever, in the same sentence, use the words
totally, freaking
, or
awesome
. Unless you’re referring to me.”

Elise bent over double, shaking with laughter. The blond kid cracked up and staggered back into a nearby chair. “Oh God, dude, you’re priceless.”

“Punked,” said Will. “Nice.”

“Pinky or Gum Drop,” said Elise, and then shrieked with laughter.

“So you’re Nick,” said Will.

“That was so savage,” said Nick. “I am feeling you right now.” He turned and lifted off the arms of the chair into a perfect handstand: “Nick McLeish. Hope this doesn’t mean we can’t be buds.” He flipped over the back, landed softly, and stepped forward to shake Will’s hand. “Brooke told me you cracked heads with Lyle-Lyle-Crocodile, the Ogre of Greenwood Hall. Couldn’t resist. Elise put me up to it.”

“That’s a complete and total lie,” said Elise, suddenly not laughing.

“I’m okay,” said Will. “No harm, no foul.”

“Wow, you are being such a champ about this. Props, man, I’m majorly impressed. Aren’t you, Leesy?”

“Don’t let Nick’s charm mess with your savoir faire,” said Elise.

“She thinks I’m charming,” said Nick, offering a wide and—Will had to admit—exceptionally charming grin.

“They used to burn witches at the stake for less,” said Elise.

“Yo, we all know who the
witch
is, ’kay? And seriously, dude, I wouldn’t be anywhere close to this nice about it if you’d pulled the same gag on me.”

“I wouldn’t pull the same gag on you,” said Will.

“Right. I don’t think you would,” said Nick, looking at him searchingly. “You’re a dude of honor and character. Not sure you’ll fit in with us, but we’re open-minded. Where you from?”

“Southern California.”

“Shut up! So Cal, for real? You hear that, Elise? 90210. Hollywood. Surf City, USA, Lakers and Fakers—”

“Keep going,” said Elise. “You missed a few clichés.”

“You’re from Boston?” asked Will.

“Close enough: New Hampshire.”

“Celtics fan,” said Will. “I knew it. I’m sorry, Nick. We can’t be friends.”

“Come correct now. You know the kelly green of our championship banners is like Kryptonite to your shallow left-coast powers—”

Will turned to Elise. “You a Celtics fan, too?”

“Hell, no, bro,” said Nick. “She’s from Seattle. Like they’ve ever
sniffed
a championship in anything ’cept
chronic depression
.”

“The correct term is seasonal affective disorder,” Elise said.

“SAD,” said Will.

“Yes, it is,” said Nick. “Dude, let me tell you how life works in the pod. Our vixen-in-residence here, Miss Elise Moreau, is in charge of everything.” He walked to Elise—shaking her head while she tied her cleats—and massaged her shoulders.

“Every five minutes you listen to him,” said Elise, sighing, “you lose a point off your IQ.”

“Elise, esplain to Will what you’re like, girl,” said Nick.

“No.”

“Come on, you know I’ll only mess it up—”

“Nick?
No
is a complete sentence,” said Elise.

“Truth,” said Nick. “Elise is a mad gypsy fortune-teller. She’s got this spooked-out mind-ninja power. Once she locks on and gazes into your soul, you can’t run, you can’t hide, and you can’t resist.”

Will couldn’t imagine why anyone would
want
to resist. Elise looked at him alertly, as if she’d heard him think it. He shivered and looked away.

“And, dude, imagine what it must be like for
her
? Knowing she has the power to see into the deep, dark places peeps won’t even admit to
themselves
?”

Is that why Brooke thinks Elise and I have something in common?

With a crisp swing, Elise cracked Nick on the shin with her hockey stick.

“Ow! Did I say that? No, what I
meant
to say is she’s as harmless as a cheerleader with a Hello Kitty screen saver—”

“Please, ma’am, may I have another,” she said, swinging her stick again.

Nick hopped out of range. Elise turned to Will. He avoided her big green eyes; right now, no one’s soul held more secrets than his did. He also realized that if he was looking for
practical
answers, he’d been talking to the wrong person. “So should I really read Lyle’s Code of Conduct?” he asked Elise.

“Yes,” said Elise.

“Oh, no,
really
?” asked Nick.

“Don’t be thick, Nick. Just because
you
never did. Forewarned is forearmed.”

Nick sank back onto the sofa, rubbed his shin, and flipped through the booklet. “She’s prolly right, dude.” Heavy sigh. “It’s just every time I try to slug my way through it, I …” Nick closed his eyes, fell back, and snored theatrically.

Elise shook her head again and started for the door, twirling her stick. She turned back to Will to say emphatically, “Read it. Did you get your tablet?”

God, her eyes were unnerving
. “I just found it on my desk.”

“Have you taken the tutorial yet?”

“No, not yet—”

“Take it.”

“O-kay,” said Will.

Elise left the pod. Nick stayed prone on the sofa, pretending to be asleep.

“I’m going to finish … unpacking,” said Will.

Without opening his eyes, Nick flung his copy of the Code across the room like a Frisbee. It flew through the screen and right into the fireplace, where it began to smolder and burn. Nick waved at Will, eyes still closed, crossed his arms, and settled into a serious nap.

Will locked his bedroom door and lifted the sweatshirt off his tablet. The mailbox icon was blinking and had a question below it: WOULD YOU LIKE TO ADD “NANDO” TO YOUR OUTSIDE MAILING LIST?

“Yes. Open email.”

YOU MAY NOW SEND AND RECEIVE MAIL FROM THIS ADDRESS.

The email from Nando opened. “FYI. AS PROMISED.” Three photographs downloaded on-screen, one after the other. Will studied each as they came up. The first was taken from Nando’s car as he drove past: three black cars parked in front of the house. The second showed three men in black caps loading boxes into the trunk of the first car. The third showed Belinda talking to one of them in front of the house. The man had taken his hat off. He was bald.

On instinct, Will tried something else. “Zoom in,” he said.

His computer zoomed in on the photo until he could see Belinda more clearly. She hadn’t changed physically, but she looked less like his mom in this shot. Like an actor in costume and makeup seen off camera; she wasn’t
playing
Mom.

A tone sounded from the computer. On-screen, a new message from Nando opened. It was a text, sent from his phone: caps on the move … I’m all over it …

There was another knock at his door. “Close all files,” said Will.

The tablet instantly returned to its greeting screen, the animated school crest—angel, horse, knight—floating over shimmering black. The same message he’d seen earlier appeared: WOULD YOU LIKE TO BEGIN THE TUTORIAL NOW?

“Not right now,” said Will.

AS YOU WISH, WILL. The screen went blank again.

Will had never owned a pet, but he had the oddest feeling about this new computer. It seemed—he didn’t know how else to express this
—happy
to follow his commands. Like it was a dog.

Will moved to the door. Little Ajay stood outside wearing his school blazer, poised and formal.

“Will, we’ve decided you’re joining us for dinner,” he said in his deep voice. “And I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.”

THE DEAD KID

In addition to the soda fountain and the student union food court, there were four other restaurants on campus, including a formal dining room that required reservations and a coat and tie, for parental visits or faculty consultations, and a grillroom in the field house for team meals before or after games and practices. The cafeteria, by far the largest eatery, occupied most of the ground floor of a building near the student union and offered a perpetual buffet from 6:00 a.m. to midnight every day of the week. The fourth restaurant, where his roommates took Will for his first dinner, was the Rathskeller.