"Shhh," Cyrus whispered back. "I see it."

"Name yourselves," the bearded man commanded. His voice was accented, British.

Antigone coughed and cleared her throat. "I'm Antigone Elizabeth Smith, and this is my brother, Cyrus Lawrence Smith."

"Hi," said Cyrus.

"Do you present yourselves as the heirs of William Cyrus Skelton?

Cyrus blinked. William Cyrus? "What?" he asked.

Antigone hit him with an elbow. "Yes, we do," she said. "And we're his apprentices or acolytes or whatever."

A thin man with a pencil mustache, wearing a cream suit and a skinny blue tie, stepped out of the crowd. He smiled at Cyrus and Antigone and then turned to the bearded man. "The Order challenges. With my colleague John Horace Lawney unfortunately injured, there is no longer a Keeper to confirm the children's ident.i.ties. Without confirmation of ident.i.ty, their presentation as Acolytes and claims to inheritance cannot be acknowledged."

The bearded man turned to the boy behind the table. The boy's eyes were down, but he nodded slightly.

"Will any Keeper stand up as witness?" The bearded man scanned the crowd.

The thin man winked at Cyrus.

"Hold on," Cyrus said. "Can't we wait till our lawyer wakes up?"

"You could have requested an emergency deferral." The thin man smiled. "But you didn't. You presented and declared yourselves."

"Seeing no witness ...," the bearded man yelled.

"Wait a bit there, Rupert Greeves!" An old woman in a belted safari jacket forced herself forward. "Eleanor Elizabeth Eldridge will stand up. I watched them born, and I watched them grow."

Cyrus gaped.

"Mrs. Eldridge?" Antigone asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Ident.i.ty has been confirmed," said the man called Rupert Greeves. Mrs. Eldridge nodded, and retreated to the rim of the crowd.

Stunned and confused, Cyrus watched her go. Then an old and very bald monk hustled forward, bowing to the boy as he came. "Perhaps," he said, bobbing, "I could remind the dais that William Skelton was duly excommunicated from the Order of Brendan on charges of theft, murder, and other gross misconducts. He was an outlaw with no standing to bring Acolytes into our Order."

The boy ignored him. Rupert Greeves cleared his throat. "Perhaps I could remind you, Gregory, that Brown Robes and Brendanites do not have the authority to expel anyone from this Order with your own declarations. Your charges were thrown out without a hearing."

"But our evidence," the monk said. "So much evidence."

"Visions, spectral testimony, and dreams are inadmissible," Rupert said. "You know this. Now step back."

Sniffing, the monk spun and retreated, glaring at Cyrus as he did.

The thin, cream-suited man jumped even farther forward. He was almost to the table. "The Order wishes to establish Pa.s.sage."

The big, bearded man grimaced. "On what grounds, Cecil?"

The lawyer turned, smiling to the crowd. "These children stand before you, hoping to be established as Acolytes and heirs to one of the most notorious outlaws this community has ever seen. No, he was never successfully expelled, but his misdeeds have become a matter of record. If the community were to reclaim the entirety of the Skelton estate, it would be no injustice, and only the slightest step toward righting a lifetime of wrongs."

The crowd murmured its support, and the thin man turned, locking eyes with Cyrus. "In addition," he said, "twenty-one years ago, their father, Lawrence Smith, was himself expelled from this Order. Children to an outlaw, Acolytes to an outlaw? I have to wonder how committed these two would be to our ways and to the rule of our law. I have to wonder why we would want them at all." Again, he winked at Cyrus, and then turned to face the bearded man. "Their Acolyteship was filed literally minutes before the death of Mr. William Skelton-suspect already, to say the least-and their family has a questionable history with our Order. In fact, these two would become the only living members of the Order to have a known ancestor contained in the Burials. At a minimum, Pa.s.sage as established in the case of Earhart, 1932, would seem an extremely reasonable request for the community to make before acknowledging such a substantial inheritance."

Rupert Greeves scratched his pointed beard and turned his dark eyes to Cyrus and Antigone. "Any response?" he asked.

Cyrus looked at his sister. Her brows were down over eyes that looked as confused as he felt. Turning back to the big man, he shrugged. His shoulders ached, and his head was spinning. "Honestly, I don't have a clue what's going on. But that guy is snaky."

"Our lawyer ..." Antigone looked back over her shoulder. Horace was gone.

"If I may," the thin man continued. "The Order would like to suggest the achievement of Explorer for inheritance, and the ..."

The boy behind the table shook his head. Whispers raced through the crowd as they strained to see.

"The Order would like to suggest the achievement of Journeyman, and the successful ..."

The boy shook his head.

"The community would like to suggest the achievement of Journeyman?" The thin man's voice hooked up nervously.

The crowd waited. Rupert Greeves waited. Cyrus and Antigone, unsure of what they were waiting for, waited.

The boy at the table pursed his lips. For the first time, he looked at Cyrus, and then at Antigone. He nodded and dropped his eyes.

Chatter climbed the walls.

"Seal the records!" Rupert bellowed. "The estate of William Skelton, Keeper in the Order of Brendan, is declared dormant!"

Two men moved forward out of the crowd and closed the lid on Skelton's coffin.

"A final thought!" the thin man shouted, and the noise in the enormous room died. The boy looked up from the hay-bale book, where he had been writing. "According to Mr. Lawney's Acolyte filings, the oath-declared and a.s.sented to-was the Latin variation, last used by mandate on this continent in the year 1914. The Order would like to suggest that the Acolyte requirements correspond to the oath. Let the achievement of Journeyman be established according to the standards of that year."

Gasps of surprise were swallowed by laughter.

"That's ridiculous." Rupert Greeves shook his head. "Even for you, Cecil."

All eyes turned to the boy at the table. He shrugged, nodded, scribbled something in the enormous book, and rose. Turning his back, he walked toward a small door in the wall behind him.

Cyrus stood, surrounded by a wash of surprised voices while he watched the strange boy leave. He was hungry, he still had Horace's blood all over him, his throat was still phlegm-full of last night's smoke, and his feet ached. That much he knew. But he had no idea what had just happened.

"Cy," Antigone said. "I don't think that was good."

Before Cyrus could answer, the thin man stepped in front of them, clutching a folder, smiling, and scratching his mustache with a long finger. "Children," he said, nodding. "Lovely to meet you both. My name is Cecil T. Rhodes, and no, that wasn't good. At least not for you."

Cyrus glared at him. The man had a face like a mustached rabbit. "I don't like you," Cyrus said. "And I don't think I ever will."

"Ha," said Cecil. "Amusing."

The big, bearded man thumped on his lectern. "Rhodes, step back. Initiates!" His voice filled the crowded hall. "Approach the Book and place your hands upon the table."

Looking over his shoulder at the crowd, Cyrus moved cautiously forward. Most of the faces were smiling. But they weren't all happy, supportive smiles. Smirks. Giggles. Whispers. He knew the tone. He felt like he was being called forward in cla.s.s after he'd fallen asleep and drooled on his desk.

Antigone's hands were already palms-down on the table, and she was studying the huge book. Cyrus made fists and pressed his knuckles against the smooth, waxy wood.

Rupert Greeves moved away from his lectern and stood behind the table, looming tall across from them.

"Kneel."

Antigone dropped quickly. Cyrus eased his knees down carefully onto the cool stone.

Greeves cleared his throat. "Do you renounce evil and all the powers of wickedness in this world and others?"

Cyrus glanced at his sister. "Yes?" they both said quietly.

Greeves leaned over the table. "I do renounce them," he whispered.

"I do renounce them," they said, almost in unison.

"Do you renounce all dark knowledge and sorceries which corrupt the body and destroy the soul?"

"I do renounce them," Antigone said.

"Yes," said Cyrus. "I mean, I do renounce them."

"Do you renounce all vile incantations, demonic snares, and dark communications with the dead?"

"I do renounce them." Cyrus twitched a smile at his sister. He'd nailed it that time. But what exactly were they worried he might do? Dark communications with the dead? How did you even try something like that? Suddenly, he could feel the weight of the key ring between and beneath his collarbones and his smile was gone. The room seemed colder. He tried to breathe slowly. With one quick pulse, nervousness had tightened his chest.

"Will you tread the world and tend the wilds? When the world whispers her secrets, will you keep them? Will you protect the weak and face your own end without fear?"

Cyrus swallowed. "Yes," he said.

"I will," said Antigone.

"Do you now honor and bind unto yourself the strength of heaven, the light of sun, the radiance of moon, the splendor of fire, the speed of lightning, the swiftness of wind, the firmness of earth, the will of stone?" Greeves leaned forward again. "I do honor and bind," he whispered.

"I do honor and bind," they said.

Rupert Greeves looked up at the crowd. "Do the a.s.sembled receive these among them, a brother and a sister to Brendan?"

A few laughed. Many muttered. But a cl.u.s.ter of loud voices announced their agreement.

"We do receive them."

Rupert Greeves nodded at Cyrus and Antigone, and they both quickly stood. Leaning across the table, Greeves gripped their shoulders. He spoke, and as he did, his dark eyes met Cyrus's. His accented voice softened. "May you be shielded from poison, from burning, from drowning, from wounding, from betrayal, from the rage of seas, the anger of mountains, and the plottings of men. May you be a strength to the Order, and the Order a strength to you." He turned to Antigone. "Miss Antigone Smith, Acolyte in the Order of Brendan, congratulations. Would you please sign the book?"

Greeves picked up a battered quill, dipped it in ink, and handed it to Antigone. Then, heaving pounds of dusty pages to one side, he found the appropriate place and set his finger above it.

Cyrus watched his sister sign her name in blobby ink, and then Rupert Greeves took back the quill and blotted her signature. The big man's pointed beard swung up, and his eyes were back on Cyrus. He redipped the quill. "Mr. Cyrus Smith, Acolyte in the Order of Brendan, congratulations. Would you please sign beneath your sister?"

While the crowd began to disperse behind him, Cyrus bent over the book, and the smell of dusty leather and ancient pages rose up to meet him. The paper was beyond yellow, aged to brown. He was signing in a long column of names, and all of their owners had better handwriting than he did. Biting his lip, he scratched his name as neatly as he could, but the lines thickened and bulged as he went. When he finished Lawrence, he began to breathe. And then he left out the "i" in Smith. Smth.

Greeves reached for the pen.

"Darn it," Cyrus said. "Hold on a sec." It was too tight to squeeze the letter in, but he added a large dot-more like a raindrop of ink. Straightening, he stared at what he'd done.

Smiling, Rupert took the pen and blotted the ink. "Come on, then. I'll show you each to your Acolyte quarters." Closing the book, he glanced up. The thin lawyer slid up beside Cyrus.

"The Polygon," said Cecil Rhodes. He giggled and then grew suddenly serious. "Show them to the Polygon, Mr. Greeves. The standards of 1914 have been applied. Don't go and disqualify them so soon."

Laughing, he hurried away.

Antigone sputtered her lips. "I really don't like him."

"Who cares about him?" Cyrus looked up at Rupert Greeves. "Hey, you know, we're actually in a lot of trouble. Horace said you would help us once we were members. And, well, a guy named Maxi killed Skelton and burned down our motel. Then he took our brother, Dan. He chased us here-probably shot Horace, too, him or one of his sidekicks."

"Maxi?" Rupert's jaw clenched beneath his beard. His eyes narrowed. "Why would a creature like Maximilien be after the two of you?"

"Ask him," Cyrus said.

Rupert shook his head and sighed. "You have brought trouble, haven't you? Maximilien wouldn't attack a member of the Order without reason. We are too large a threat to his appet.i.tes." He looked at Antigone and back at Skelton's coffin, and then he turned sharp eyes onto Cyrus. "You may have something his master wants."

"His master?" Antigone asked. "What kind of master are we talking about?"

"The kind of master capable of controlling a man like Maxi." Rupert inhaled slowly, inflating his broad chest. "He calls himself Dr. Phoenix," he said quietly. "And at times, Mr. Ashes. He is the stuff of nightmares, I will not say more. If Maxi took your brother, then he took him to Phoenix. I am very sorry."

Cyrus looked at his sister. Antigone tucked back her hair and crossed nervous arms. "Can't you ... do anything?"

Rupert stepped between them. A few people were still loitering by the big doors. One of them was an old woman in a safari jacket. Rupert whistled sharply.

"Eleanor Eldridge!" he yelled. "Can I beg some a.s.sistance?"

Cyrus watched the old woman approach, avoiding his eyes. When she got close enough, she began to chatter.

"Rupert Greeves," she said. "I don't care how big you think you are, and I don't care what you call yourself or what you think you can make me do. I knew you when you were as timid as a possum and as awkward as a young giraffe. I swore off these two ungratefuls. I washed my hands and shook the mud off my boots. I wouldn't tie their shoes if they lost their arms. I'll not be helping them."

Rupert almost smiled. "Something has come up. I'll need you to show them to the Polygon for me, Mrs. E." He turned back to Cyrus and Antigone, and for a moment, he simply stared, unblinking, breathing slowly. Cyrus squirmed, fighting to keep his hands from drifting up to his neck. The big man's face was worried, his eyes searching. When he spoke, his voice was low.

"Today, you two have become a brother and sister to me. Your brother by blood is now like my own, and I will do all that I can for him. I wish I could make you promises, but I cannot. Not when it comes to Maxi and Phoenix. For now, I will see what can be seen and hear what can be heard. When I know more, we will speak again. Soon." He smiled with tight lips. "I must hear more from the Order's outlaw Acolytes."

Turning, he strode toward the tall doors, the sound of his boots doubling and tripling in echo.

"Listen to Mrs. E!" he shouted, and he was through the doors and gone.

eight.