Henry Neff - The Maelstrom

For a few seconds, Cooper merely looked at them, his eyes going from Miss Boon to Max and then to Scathach, who was sitting quietly by the runeglass.

“I know you,” the Agent muttered in his flat Cockney accent.

“We haven’t officially met. I’m Scathach.”

Cooper nodded slowly, as though emerging from a very long and horrid dream. He glanced up at Max. “I cut you,” he muttered, his inflection teetering between question and statement.

“I’m fine,” said Max. “Scathach came to my rescue.”

“And Grendel …,” continued Cooper, horrified.

“Grendel is lying at the foot of the bed,” said Miss Boon. “Aberdeen is keeping him company.”

Cooper blinked at the ensuing, unseen chirp.

“Xiùmĕi,” he whispered, staring at his hands. “I killed her.”

“No, you did not,” said Miss Boon firmly. “The Atropos killed Xiùmĕi, not you.”

At the mention of the Atropos’s name, Cooper sat straight up and stared at Max. “There are clones,” he said. “Clones of you. And they’re working for the Atropos. The leader gave them my compass … the one that points toward you.”

“I’ve met those clones,” replied Max grimly. “David buried them under half a palace near Bholevna. They’re probably dead.”

“Don’t you believe it till you’ve seen the bodies,” muttered Cooper darkly.

“That’s what I keep telling him,” said Scathach pointedly.

“You,” said Cooper, turning to her once again. “Who taught you how to fight like that? You fight just like Max.”

Scathach shook her head and smiled. “I beg to differ,” she replied. “Max fights just like me.”

The Agent stared at her, nodding ever so slightly as he came to understand. “You’re from the Sidh.”

“I was,” she replied. “I live at Rowan now. You might even say I report to you.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Cooper, frowning.

Pulling back her sleeve, Scathach displayed a small red tattoo on her wrist.

“You’re in the Red Branch?” exclaimed its commander.

“The Red Branch needed a replacement for Xiùmeĕi,” Max explained. “Ms. Richter was confident that you’d find Scathach qualified and appointed her in your absence.”

“Shoot,” muttered Cooper, sinking back against his pillow. “From what I’ve seen, Scathach should be running the damn show.”

The man sat quiet for several minutes, periodically gazing at his visitors as though still skeptical that the entire episode was not a dream. At length, he cleared his throat and nodded up at Max. “Gotta question for you,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Would you consider being my best man?”

Max was taken aback. He glanced at Miss Boon, whose jaw had come unhinged.

“And what do you need a best man for, William?” she interjected.

“Because I’m getting married,” replied Cooper matter-of-factly.

Miss Boon’s eyebrows nearly shot off her forehead. “My God, he’s still possessed,” she said. Leaning forward, she stroked Cooper’s hand and spoke to him as though he were a very sweet and dense child. “William, who exactly are you marrying?”

The man’s pale, ruined features broke into a grin as he kissed her hand. “I’m marrying you, Hazel.”

The teacher flushed fire red. “W-well,” she stammered, blinking rapidly. “I’m hardly an expert, but aren’t you supposed to ask me first?”

“But I have,” explained Cooper, placing her hand over his heart. “In here, I’ve asked you a thousand times. And you almost always said yes.”

The woman’s glasses promptly fogged. “I shall have to consider it,” she replied, primly wiping their lenses. “But it might be prudent for Max to clear his calendar should he be needed to serve in that capacity.”

“I’m all for prudence,” said Max, smiling. “In any case, we should probably get going.”

“Yes,” said Miss Boon, rising and smoothing her robes. “Yes, you should. It’s going to be an absolutely historic afternoon, and the Director would never forgive me if I kept you. You should both go at once. No need for ceremony.”

They had almost escaped when Max heard Cooper call his name. He stopped and turned to see the Agent pointing decisively at Middlemarch .

“Take that with you.”

At nearly four o’clock that afternoon, Max stood beneath the arched, interlacing canopy of branches that formed the Sanctuary tunnel. He wanted to watch the crowds gathering in the orchard and all along the garden paths to the Manse, but he could not take his eyes off Tweedy. The Highland hare was a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth and addressing his clipboard as though it were his personal assistant. When David sneezed, Tweedy gave a start and snarled his medals on his shawl.

“Look what you made me do!” he grumbled, untangling them.

“Sorry,” sighed David.

“Well, come on,” said the hare, beckoning impatiently. “Let me have a look at you.”

“You have looked me over eight times,” growled David. “I look fine.”

“A sneeze can wreak havoc on the fringe,” said Tweedy knowingly. He stood on tiptoe to examine the silver mantle over David’s navy robes.

“This entire outfit is a sham,” David declared, flapping his sleeves throughout the hare’s careful inspection. “These are instructor’s robes. The school expelled me over a year ago. I should just wear my regular clothes.”

“You will not,” gasped Tweedy, outraged. “I’ll not have you looking like some penniless friar for the greatest moment in Rowan’s history! Do you have any idea what’s about to transpire?”

“I do,” said Max drily. “You’ve made us recite the program twenty times.”

“That is because practice makes perfect,” retorted the hare, hopping over to reinspect Max’s dress. When he could find no fault in the armor’s gleam, the tunic’s drape, or the boots’ polish, he stabbed a paw at Max’s spear. “And remember that you are to keep that blade sheathed, McDaniels! We don’t want an untimely scream to spoil the ceremony and cause a general panic. It is because I pay attention to these details that the Director—”

“—trusts you with matters of highest importance.”

Tweedy’s whiskers twitched as the boys finished his sentence.

“You two can stand there grinning like imbeciles, but this is no laughing matter. Oh, why can’t you be more like Mina?” he moaned. “She’s quiet and well mannered and—dear me—she looks like an absolute angel!”

“Thank you, Tweedy,” called Mina, peering down from atop YaYa.

“Don’t lean, child,” pleaded the hare. “Your robes must remain just so. Now, take a deep breath, all of you, and wait for the signal.”

When Old Tom finally began to chime the hour, Tweedy held up a paw and counted the beats.

“And one … and two … and three … and now .”

Thrusting out his chest, Tweedy led them out of the leafy tunnel and into the sunshine. Max blinked at both the sun and the enormous crowds. He and David were walking on either side of YaYa, each holding one end of a golden sash that was draped over the ki-rin’s shoulders. Mina was perched atop the saddle, looking uncharacteristically clean and scrubbed in white silk robes trimmed in silver lace. Tweedy had tried to explain that a magechain was not a proper accessory for an Ascendant’s robes, but the girl had refused to part with it. It glittered around her neck, resplendent but for its lumpish centerpiece; a wax-dipped acorn crudely wrapped with copper wire. Apparently teleportation was such a rare ability that there was no official gemstone or token to commemorate it. David had improvised. Privately, Max thought he should have commissioned the dvergar.