Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [42]
Most of them were enthusiastic, engaged kids, and we had a lot of fun. So I was really glad that Jeff had offered me this opportunity.
After we wrapped up the class, Jeff and I stayed behind to answer a few students’ questions while most of them drifted out of the room, laughing and chatting. Max waited for us by the open door. I was by now feeling ravenous and hoped we were going to question Jeff over a (very) late lunch, rather than set off immediately for the spot where I had seen Darius attacked by gargoyles. I was about to ask Jeff if he had time for a meal, when Max gave a startled cry.
“Esther! The huntsman!”
“What?”
I looked over at Max and saw that he was pointing down the hallway, in the direction from which we had come earlier.
Jeff said, “Huntsman?”
Max cried, “A young man armed with a sword!” And he set off at a run.
8
I set off after Max.
Jeff followed me. “What’s going on?”
“Max!” I cried. “Stop!”
The sword-wielding young man hadn’t threatened me last night, but that didn’t mean I thought it was a good idea to run after him and jump on top of him. Which seemed to be Max’s plan.
Shoving past startled students, Max disappeared through the swinging double doors at the end of the hall. I ran after him, apologizing to students as I pushed them out of the way, then I plunged through the double doors, too, letting them slap shut in my wake. Right behind me, I heard Jeff give a howl of pain.
Max ran across the lobby of the building. The man at the reception desk who had initially welcomed us here today looked worried now. As Max disappeared through another set of swinging doors on the other side of the lobby, the man called out, “Is there a problem?”
Behind me, Jeff cried, “I don’t know! Esther! What’s going on?”
I dashed after Max and through the double doors, hoping that Jeff, hot on my heels, would be more cautious this time.
Directly ahead of me, Max cried, “Halt!” and seized his quarry by the shoulder. They were the only two people in this corridor.
I caught up to Max and found him wrestling with . . . a boy who looked about twelve years old. The kid was wearing a white fencing jacket and carrying a French foil with a protective rubber tip on its point.
The boy looked more startled than alarmed by this sudden seizure. He was wrestling with Max and saying, “Whoa! What is your problem?”
Jeff caught up to us. “What are you doing?”
Max said to the boy, “In the interests of safe and rational discourse, I must ask you to lay down your weapon.”
“Max!” Jeff said. “Let him go!”
“Max, let go,” I urged, putting a hand on his arm. “This isn’t the huntsman.”
“What huntsman?” Jeff snapped.
A young man came through the doorway of a nearby room. I suddenly realized that I heard the click and clash of metal blades coming from that room—the sound of swords hitting each other.
The young man’s face registered surprised recognition when he saw me. “What are you doing here?” Like the boy, he wore a white fencing jacket. He carried a rapier in his hand.
Startled, I pointed at him in dumb silence.
Max looked at him. “The huntsman?”
I nodded.
The young man, who was athletically lithe with a stern face, close-cropped black hair, and mocha skin, said to me, “You can’t come in here dressed like that! What’s the matter with you?”
“I haven’t had time to change,” I snapped.
Jeff said, “You two know each other?”
“No,” we said in unison.
The boy in Max’s grip said impatiently to the young man, “Biko, will you tell this dude to let me go?”
To the boy, Biko said, “We do not refer to elders as ‘dudes.’ ” And to Max he said, “Take your hands off this boy right now.” Biko looked