Under the Rose (37 page)

When I finally did arrive at the tomb, shortly before dinner, I was greeted almost as you’d expect: as a conquering hero by the “good” Diggers and with cold silence by the disgraced Elysians. Fortunately, I only had to bear a moment or two of the juxtaposition before Lucky showed up. The reaction she provoked was unanimous.

“Wow, so you do have the
cojones
to show your face,” said Angel, raising her glass. “I salute such extraordinary chutzpah.”

I was busy saluting such an extraordinary combination of foreign tongues. We convened in the dining room for the most awkward meal I’ve ever attended. Actually, “awkward” isn’t the word. Neither is “uncomfortable,” “intolerable,” “ill-at-ease,” “strained,” or even “torturous,” though really, dinner was defined by all of the above and more. It was tough to eat, what with the giant woolly mammoth of issues arm-wrestling the enormous King Kong of unresolved tension right there in the room with us. Hale had cooked salmon in what I’m sure was a scrumptious creamy dill sauce, but I couldn’t swallow a bite. Nobody met the eyes of anyone else, the room remained more silent than the Stacks at exam time, and Puck appeared to have been body-snatched, to judge by his utter inability to crack anything resembling a joke.

Not that I would have laughed.

Twenty-nine painful minutes later, I gave a little cough to get everyone’s attention. “Shall we get this show on the road?” I said. Murmurs of assent replaced the choked stillness, and we adjourned to the Temple. I started the meeting with the usual rituals, but skipped right past the song-singing and hair-ruffling part. Who were we kidding, really?

“Tonight, in lieu of the usual discussion of fines for minor rule transgressions, let us skip straight to the real issue.” I paused for effect. “What the fuck, people?”

Everyone looked at me. I shoved back the hood of my robe.

“Seriously. I spent the last few days running around this campus and a good portion of the tri-state area, trying very hard to hold this society together. I’m tired. I’m angry. And I want to know why I should keep bothering, other than the obvious reason that I swore I would. From what anyone with the sense God gave a goldfish has been able to gather, some of you aren’t happy with the current incarnation of the society—and some of you aren’t happy with the society, full stop. So what we’re going to do now, if it’s okay with everyone, is let each knight speak in turn on the following topics.” I counted them off on my fingers. “The existence of Elysion, the perceived failings of this year’s club, the recent leaks, and what, if anything, should be done about these things. Right to left. Go.”

I sat on the throne, folded my arms across my chest, and waited.

And one by one, people began to speak.

According to Thorndike and Angel—who, stop the presses, actually agreed with each other about something—we should ride the lot of them out of the tomb on a rail, including Lucky. Oath-breaking is oath-breaking, and they’d each committed some serious oath-breaking.

Bond’s stance was that we should give the lot of them a “right good titching.” Being a bit behind on Eton slang, it wasn’t until Soze gave me a meaningful glance that I realized that whatever it meant, it was the kind of behavior more often practiced by Lydia’s society than the Diggers. Bond also suggested we follow that up with several months of probation. Except he didn’t say “probation.” He said we should “gate them.” Same thing, apparently.

Juno said we should accept the new status quo (but still kick Lucky out). As Soze had intimated earlier, she saw Elysion as not materially different from the informal gatherings the Diggirls participated in. Others (and I include myself in that number), however, argued that the Diggirls weren’t keeping any secrets—especially about our existence—from the rest of the club, nor had we formed any kind of formal parameters or rituals for the group, like the Elysions’ red robes, nor would we exclude any knight who wished to join us at whatever pizza place/coffee shop/bar we were frequenting,
nor
were we doing anything that could be remotely interpreted as “skimming from the top” of the Tobias Trust, so that argument didn’t hold much water. Juno merely retorted that our tattoos were rituals of the oldest and most traditional sort, and just because Elysion had thought of the dedicated meeting space and special subtrust first didn’t mean the girls wouldn’t have come up with it later. It was her recommendation that, henceforth, all Rose & Grave initiates, depending on gender, be granted simultaneous entry into either Diggirls or Elysion, much in the same way that, until recently, female students at Harvard received diplomas proclaiming them graduates of Harvard
and
Radcliffe.

In a move that shocked pretty much everyone, including perhaps herself, Lil’ Demon agreed with many of Juno’s points. “Not the stuff about the Diggirls and the tattoos,” she was quick to add, “but I don’t think Elysion is the harbinger of doom we’re making it out to be. Yeah, it was a bitch move to do it all behind our backs, but so what? We caught them; it’s out now. At the risk of sounding like a walking stereotype, can’t we all just get along?” She added that she thought Lucky should be punished for her actions, but she was certain we’d be able to find a suitable penalty without resorting to dissolving anyone’s membership. “We can try that titching thing Bond mentioned.” (Quoth Soze: “Um, no.”)

Graverobber reiterated his old chestnut of funding, expounding on his argument that Elysion was the last great hope of the Rose & Grave of the past. (At this point, Thorndike began to argue that the
Elysion
of the past was the last great hope of the Third Reich, at which point I pounded the gavel a few times to get her to shut up and let Graverobber finish his speech, when what I really wanted to do was shout “Hear, hear!” and fling said gavel at Graverobber’s head.) He finished up by saying he was in complete support of Juno’s suggestion as long as they contained a provision to keep Elysion money with Elysion, et cetera.

Big Demon begged off financial analysis in favor of focusing his discussion on the problems he’d been experiencing in the club. However, he admitted, since its inception, Elysion had, for his money, been spending too much time talking about Rose & Grave and not enough actually doing all the cool bonding stuff. “Just once,” he said, “I’d like to spend some time in this society
not
talking about the state of the society. This is like a bad relationship.”

Kismet and Frodo both expressed dismay that they hadn’t been more well informed about the original incarnation of Elysion. “I’d probably have been loath to get involved had I known what the name stood for in Digger circles,” Frodo said.

Kismet concurred, but added that he felt their main sin had not been naming their subsociety after the earlier one, but rather, keeping their true purpose a secret. “Had we approached you openly,” he asked, “would we even be arguing about this now? What is your greatest complaint: that Elysion exists, or that it exists as a fait accompli?”

We all considered this in the silence that fell after his speech. Finally, Kismet elbowed Puck, who started as if he’d been dozing off.
Perfect.

“Whatever you guys decide,” Puck said, still not meeting my eyes, “I’m cool.”

“That’s not sufficient,” I said.

And now, at last, he looked at me, his expression all casual and devil-may-care. “Of course it isn’t. ’Boo needs more. Well, I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ve got.”

I took a deep, calming breath. “You have nothing to say about your involvement in Elysion or your hopes for the future of the order?”

He tilted his head to the side, as if considering. “Nope. Can’t say I do. As you may recall, I’m not so involved that my heart will get broken if it all just…ceases to exist.”

Asshole. While I attempted to frame a calm response (not to mention keep an even expression), Jenny rose to her feet. The look she sent Puck bore the usual level of righteous hostility, but there was something noticeably different about its flavor. This time, she was angry on my behalf.

Jenny tugged on the hem of her shirt and began. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk during this, and judging from what most of you have said, I’m pretty sure how this is going to pan out where I’m concerned. To be honest, I can’t blame you. I made promises to Rose & Grave, and I broke them. And I’m very sorry. I’m sorry because I now realize how much it’s hurt you—not only due to what you’ve gone through this week, but also because I think all the concern over the last month has definitely contributed to the lack of…cohesiveness in this year’s club.” She turned to Big Demon. “I’m so sorry for usurping your C.B. night. I feel especially bad because you’re not only my brother, but before all of this, we were barbarian college mates. I should have made a point to become better friends with you.” She turned back to the group. “And I know this sounds selfish, but I’m mostly sorry because I know I’ll never have another chance like this. I should have realized it when, even as I was leaking info, I found myself picking and choosing what I’d let go of. I should have realized it meant that I didn’t want to do it. I loved Rose & Grave, even if I wasn’t willing to admit it. So now I am, and it’s too late.”

She sat down to resounding silence, and not the good kind, either. The Inner Temple began to feel every bit as uncomfortable as the dining room had. And then Tristram Shandy stood.

“I haven’t said anything yet. In fact, I haven’t really said much of anything all semester. I’ve felt pretty left out, to tell you the truth. Juno was the only other Straggler who actually made it into the society, and she was instantly gathered into the bosoms of the other Diggirls.”

Angel let out a little, snorting laugh.
“Instantly?”

“Bosoms?”
Thorndike added.

I raised my gavel in warning.

Shandy went on. “I’ve listened to you all make your arguments, and you’ve given me a lot of food for thought, especially about the idea that we can go on in this manner—Elysion for men, Diggirls for women. But in the end, I think it’s bullshit.” He crossed to the pedestal near where I sat and took down the book of oaths. “I don’t know if it was any different when I was initiated in Saudi Arabia, but I’m pretty sure my oath of fidelity said the same thing yours did:
to place above all others the Order of Rose & Grave.
As far as I’m concerned, that means above other societies as well. The very idea of subsocieties within the Order goes against the principles we swore to.

“Elysion does not represent me. Never has. And I won’t be a part of it, because as far as I’m concerned, its very existence is a mockery of the type of brotherhood we’re supposed to be creating. There’s not supposed to be a hierarchy within the club. That’s why we pick a new Uncle Tony every week. That’s why we vote on everything. We speak as one voice. It’s my understanding that our predecessors did the same when they chose to tap women. Why would we denigrate their efforts by splitting off into groups—the people who are girls, the people who are boys….” He trailed off. “What happens to the people like me who don’t want to be part of any subgroup?” He sat down, and once again, silence reigned. This time, however, I think it was because we were all shocked that Shandy, always so silent, had come up with the best argument of all.

Okay, then. “I suppose we all might want to take a few moments to think about—”

“Wait,” said Lil’ Demon. “You haven’t said what you think.”

What I think? What I think. Oh, where to start! All I’d been doing was thinking about this, all I’d been doing was fighting for it—for far too long—and I still had no answers. Hiding under my duvet began to seem like a permanent solution. “I think this club hasn’t been living up to expectations. I think I’ve devoted a ton of time and energy to it. I think we’ve all been hurt and disappointed by what’s happened ever since we joined. We lost jobs, we lost friends, we lost who knows what else. So there’s got to be something keeping us here anyway. It’s not the money, it’s not the networking, and it can’t only be Hale’s cooking. I think one hundred and seventy-six years’ worth of patriarchs would be devastated if we let it go to pot. But I think if we don’t, as a group, make a decision about the next step, then we’ll go down as the worst club—and possibly the last club—in all of Rose & Grave history.”

I lifted my shoulders and then let them drop as the words sank in my own ears as well as those of everyone else in the Inner Temple. “And I think I’m tired of having this argument. I’ve been tired of it for at least a month, and I’m not the only one. If we can’t get past trying to figure out where this society is going and actually start taking it there, then we might as well give up. Right now—and this may be my sleep deprivation talking—I’d almost be willing to take the position of Puck over there. ‘Fuck it. I don’t care what happens.’” He looked up at me, and actual surprise registered on his features. “But I do care. I just don’t have an answer. I suppose I think we should do whatever is best for the society we’ve been swearing to uphold. But I can’t decide that on my own, and I don’t know if we’re ready to decide it as a group.” I stood. “So I propose the following: We adjourn this meeting and go home. We all know what our options are, and where each person stands on the issue. For the next few days, we’ll try to come to some sort of agreement about where to go from here. And if we can’t, then I say we make Thursday’s meeting a time to admit we’re hung. At which point, we’ll vote to disband, and the Club of D177 will be no more.”