All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [222]
Aaron loosed an explosive sigh. He grabbed the sake he had set aside and drank it.
They were silent a long moment. Henry sensed the crush of the endless sea around them and found it oddly comforting.
How he missed his uncle. Were Poseidon’s ashes scattered in these very waters? What would he say to all this? Madness? Folly? Or perhaps The game is on?
“Your Paxington contact,” Gilbert finally whispered. “Did they give you any specifics on the Infernals’ plans?”
“The school is neutral, which makes them the most elusive, and perhaps the most dangerous, players upon the board.” Henry’s hand felt his throat (a silly instinctive reaction). “And the cost to extract even this morsel of data,” he murmured, “. . . I must not push.”
Gilbert nodded. His lips pressed together into a single grim line. “And Dallas,” he asked, “can she be made to see our side of things? Help us?”
Henry flipped his hand dramatically. “Her loyalty flits and dances hither and yon.” He cocked his head. “I don’t know where she will land, but we dare not underestimate her. When she awakens, she may be our greatest asset to play . . . or our fiercest opponent.”
Aaron shook his head. “I will not stand against Dallas, I—I cannot, if it comes to that.”
“Well,” Henry said, and eyed the sushi. “We need not decide such things today. Try the soft-shell crab. It looks divine.” He plucked up chopsticks and mixed soy sauce and wasabi on a plate shaped like a flounder.
“How can you eat?” Aaron asked, sneering at the fish.
“Really, Henry. Don’t you ever take anything seriously?” Gilbert demanded. “It’s not just our necks on the chopping block if this goes badly. And not just Eliot’s or Fiona’s either. It’s everyone. Everywhere.”
Henry picked up a piece of sushi and toasted Gilbert. “Oh yes, yes, I completely understand the stakes, Cousin. That’s precisely what makes it so much fun!”
64
FIRST TIME IN THE HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE
Fiona crossed her arms tight over her chest and watched the others pace. Nervous didn’t begin to cover it. When the Headmistress of Paxington called you up to her office . . . it wasn’t going to end well.
She and Eliot and Robert were probably here to get expelled for what they did in Costa Esmeralda. That was fine. Fiona had done the right thing saving those people. Miss Westin could kick her out of school if that’s what she wanted.
If that were the case, though, why had everyone on Team Scarab been called here?
“Here” was the waiting room outside Miss Westin’s office. It was on the thirteenth floor of the Clock Tower attached to the Southern Wing of the House of Wisdom. The tower was a twin to London’s Big Ben (except the roof of Paxington’s tower was polished copper and gold filigree).58
This tower looked all the more startling because Fiona hadn’t even seen it until this morning—not to mention the entire Southern Wing of the library. Where had that come from?
Like the smaller coliseum where she had her Force of Arms class and the helipad north of that . . . this was more of the Paxington campus that had just appeared as if it was kept hidden from freshmen. How much more of this place was there?
She gazed out the wall of windows. The school was laid out for her in miniature. The quartz paving stones in the main quad glittered like a jewel box. The Poseidon fountain was a blur of white spray, and a spiderweb of paths wound through the Grove Primeval toward Bristlecone Hall and other places that vanished deeper in the forest, and then there was the Main Gate.
Fiona squinted and swore she saw Mr. Dells standing there, looking back at her.
Blanketing the rest of the campus was thick, roiling fog.
As much as Fiona loved a good puzzle, she’d have to figure this one out later. There were more pressing problems today. She turned back to her teammates.
Apart from the large window, the other three walls of the waiting room were covered in cream-colored wallpaper with red pinstripes—perfectly aligned with the black-and-white checkerboard floor. The effect of pattern and reflection and geometry made