The Initiation (22 page)

J
AMES WAS URGED DOWN A SET OF STEEP STONE
steps by a cloaked raven behind him.

“You hurt my friend,” James said, amazed to hear himself calling Sherlock his friend.

“Silence, please.”

As he reached the bottom, James flinched as two men stepped out of shadow to wrap a purple cape around him. The two men wore horrid gargoyle masks obscuring their faces. Judging by their height, they were either sixth form or adults.

“I don't like this. I'd like to go back.”

“There is no going back.”

James was encouraged lower through the narrow stairway. Torches burned. He turned to the right and entered into a large space with earthen walls encrusted with enormous tree roots. There was a ceremonial altar behind which stood three figures, the center of whom wore a red gargoyle mask the color of old blood. Torches stuck out from the dirt walls, illuminating the space in a flickering dance of shadows.

On a stand in front of the three was a large leather volume that he knew had to be his family Bible.

James sucked for air.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, twenty or more figures surrounded the room, all in full costume.

“James Keynes Moriarty!” thundered the central figure. “You will bow before this tribunal and, on this day, the twenty-first day of September, the autumnal equinox, be presented with the rules and requirements to be initiated as a journeyman in the Fellowship of Scowerers, like your father and his father before him.”

James was led to face the three. He was moved by the raven onto one knee and his head was pushed down to bow in submission. He shook with fear.

“In two days you will be offered the opportunity, one time and one time only, to have your name inscribed into this Bible. Tonight, you will be
schooled by the fellowship as to our ways, though not our secrets. Those will only be revealed if and when you say the words.” The voice from the red mask sounded deep and rich and, somehow, vaguely familiar. Crudgeon? he wondered. “You may refuse us at any time in the next several hours. So be it. You will remember nothing of this. We will see to that.”

“Like Moria!”

“Silence! Your friend upstairs and you will know nothing of this place. For you both, the clues will stop at the sundial. Only then, if you're lucky. You will be forever puzzled by what they may have meant.”

James lifted his head slightly. The Bible was only a yard away. He looked down at his gloved hands.

This moment was what Father had seen coming. The clues had led Father just as they had led James. Father had lost his chance at whatever he'd needed more time for. James knew it had something to do with this place, and these men and this Bible. He would not leave his father's death without more answers.

“I accept.”

W
HILE THE STUDENT BODY'S ATTENTION WAS
on Headmaster Crudgeon and Mrs. Furman at the front of Hard Auditorium, I took a moment to search faces, hoping I might see Sherlock in disguise.

“Quiet please!” Mrs. Furman clapped three times sharply, reminding me of elementary school. The audience went silent.

“Students!” Headmaster Crudgeon called out in a voice that barely needed the microphone he held. “It is my pleasure to announce that the Moriarty family Bible has been found and therefore mandatory study hall for all forms is hereby suspended!”

A roar went up that may have cracked the building's foundation. I hadn't found a single face that might be Sherlock. For me, there was nothing to cheer about. Natalie, who was sitting next to me, looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, believing my lack of enthusiasm was a carry-over from my internment in the infirmary.

Crudgeon raised his hand. Mrs. Furman took one step forward and the place went as quiet as if we'd all been slapped in the face.

“You may be pleased to know you have the efforts of one particular student to thank for the Bible's recovery.”

I felt a sudden heat flood through me, pride and gratitude that Headmaster would single out Sherlock despite his suspension. That, I realized, was why I couldn't see him anywhere. No doubt Crudgeon had commuted his suspension and had him waiting in the wings of the stage to come out and receive the recognition he so deserved. Things actually did work out in the end, I thought. For the first time in what seemed like a long time the sting of Father's death lessened, if only a fraction.

“James, would you please stand up,” Crudgeon said.

Sitting in the second row, my brother came to his feet, basking in the outrageous volume of cheers and
applause that erupted. Kids thundered their feet on the floor, turning the entire auditorium into a kettle drum. James waved like the queen of England.

We met eyes, he and I, and I felt a pain in my gut as if I'd been stabbed. It was as if his eyes had turned into black cinders. My brother was gone; I didn't know this boy.

I couldn't take it. I hunched and moved past knees and reached the aisle and, as the student body rose to its feet in adulation for my brother, I fled the auditorium.

Mistress Grace followed me out and caught up to me.

“Moria, dear, whatever is the matter? Are you not feeling well? Should we get you back to the infirmary?”

“No . . . no. Thank you, though.” I tried to think of a plausible explanation for my departure. “I was claustrophobic, that's all.”

“We need to get you to the infirmary, dear. We're going now, before the students are released. Off we go.”

“Really, I'm fine!”

“It's not up for discussion.” She took me by the arm. I considered resisting but she was acting so strange—so buddy-buddy—that I didn't have the heart.

Adding to the oddity, laidback Mistress Grace was in a hurry. And it wasn't just her physical movement; she embraced me with an urgency that put me on edge. I didn't need guiding; I knew how to reach the infirmary.

We scurried across the back lawn toward McAndrews Science Hall and rode an elevator to the third floor.

“You go into room 4, dear. I'll let the nurse know we're here.”

Tired and upset, I was more than happy to follow her instructions. I had little desire, but perhaps great need for rest.

I opened the door to room 4, looked inside, and turned quickly to catch sight of Mistress Grace facing me. She'd been waiting to see me go inside.

“I can buy you five minutes, no more,” she said.

“Oh . . . thank you sooooooo much,” I said to her with tears in my eyes.

In the room's far bed lay a sleeping Sherlock Holmes.

“B
EFORE
I
CAME TO YOUR ROOM
I
CONSUMED
seven raw jellyfish. Not easy to find, but there's a health food store in Putnam that sells them frozen. Awful-tasting creatures. Do you know why I ate them?”

“I thought you were asleep,” I said. “You have a bandage on your head.”

He rolled over and looked at me. He was more pale and drawn than I'd ever seen him. His eyes had sunk farther into his head amid what were either two black eyes or one tired boy.

“Don't cry, dear. All's well.”

“Don't call me that! It's patronizing. You're not my father!”

“Jellyfish has been discovered to help in memory retention, ergo, the best defense for whatever it was on the Bible they used to put you into your stupor.”

I would have told him to slow down, but I was joyous at being in his company and I thrilled to the challenge of keeping up.

“You were attacked,” I speculated. “Drugged.”

“Mind you, the jellyfish were a bit like bringing a glass of water to a three-alarm fire, but I dashed their efforts at least somewhat, if not significantly. They clubbed me on the head. Very likely administered the amnesic concoction shortly thereafter, and left me by the Dumpster behind the dining hall, which is important to us.”

“Is it?” I wasn't following all of what he said, not by any means. But I didn't really care. I heard “us.” It rang in my head like the chapel bells. I liked this boy. I adored him.

“So it's bits and pieces, I'm afraid,” Sherlock said. “A slideshow that moves too fast. A raven mask made of papier–mâché. Boys, or men, wearing capes. Flames. Torches? I'm not sure. The smell of earth and incense.”

“Why is the Dumpster important?” I asked, latching on to that for no particular reason.

“Not the Dumpster, but the rear of the dining hall. It must have been close, you see? They couldn't go lugging my body all over campus, now could they? I'm not as light as you, and besides, you were moved long after the entire school was asleep.”

I enjoyed being called light. I appreciated that he'd noticed me in that way. “You've figured this out while recovering from being given a concussion and drugged? I couldn't even think the first twelve hours I was awake.”

“I'm quite something, aren't I?”

“Just shut up!” I said, laughing.

“It's not all done and dusted, but I do have a plan. That roar I heard just now? Crudgeon announcing the discovery of the missing Bible?”

“Gee whiz,” I muttered. “Who are you?”

“Did he say it was found in the ceiling of the computer lab by Proctor Sidling?”

“James,” I announced. “He said James found it.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Not you, not me, James.”

“It's not the credit for the thing, Moria, that is troubling. The best things we do are often those for which we receive the least credit. Not to worry. It's the implication of the thing that's troublesome. It's bigger, more widespread than I thought,” Sherlock said.

“What is?”

“We'll get to that, perhaps. The thing of it is, Crudgeon is deliberately, overtly, enhancing your brother's reputation here. He's king-making.”

“My brother's a king?” I used my voice to let him know how ridiculous that sounded. “I think you need more rest.”

“Your brother is being groomed, positioned to be well liked and trusted by his peers. He has the support of the highest administrator in the institution. What does that tell you?”

“That you need a sedative. Should I call the nurse?”

“Ha-ha!” Sherlock looked at me disapprovingly.

“It tells me you've thought a lot about this. It tells me that Father is connected to Crudgeon, and possibly what happened to him . . . if it wasn't an accident . . . and that James is now being groomed for something.”

“You did well,” Sherlock said from his position on the hospital bed. “I'm glad for that.”

I thanked him for the compliment, as they were rare. My throat tightened, and I'm afraid I scowled, if only just a little.

“What is it, Moria? Please!”

I spoke softly. “It's what I just said. Father. I need your help, Lock.”

“The cause of your father's death,” he said.

“How is it you're always a step or two ahead?”

“If I wasn't, would you want my help?”

I laughed.

“Is James with you on this? We would need James, Moria. It's his father, too.”

“I think we can bring him around,” I said. “I believe that with all my heart or I wouldn't ask you.”

“Even with James onboard, I'm not sure how I can help,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, but I do!” I said confidently. “You'll be my private detective.”

Sherlock's entire demeanor changed. It was as if some internal light switched on, all pain or traces of headache vanished, replaced by a sense of purpose and a visceral excitement.

“Splendid!” he said, sitting up smartly. “I very much like the sound of that, Moria.” Lock reached out his cold hand to me.

We shook hands vigorously to consummate the deal.

He looked at me eagerly. “Are you any good at papier–mâché, my dear girl?”

“What?”

“There's work to do. First things first, we need to get me out of this dress they've put me in. It's barely better than an apron, I'm afraid.”