The Owl Keeper (19 page)

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"She's kind of far away to see, but yeah, I think she's beautiful!" Rose hugged him. "Your owl's going to be all right!"

Max hugged her back. "She's the most special owl in the world, and she's the toughest, too! Listen, Rose, she's singing!" He tilted his head, marveling at the mysterious sounds coming from his owl.

"I like her song, Max. It's got hope in it." Rose gave a loud sniff and spun away from him. "This place smells like the barn in Cavernstone Grey." Then her face fell. "Max, I don't know where my father is. They could've taken him anywhere!"

"Oh, Rose," said Max, feeling sad and helpless and sorry for her. Rose had such a fiery nature and most of the time she was fearless and unshakable. But seeing the anger in her eyes, and the sadness deeper down, he realized for the first time that a part of her was damaged. She carried a hidden sorrow that made his heart ache for her.

Maybe that was what drew them to each other, he reflected. They both suffered: Rose from her buried anger and sadness, Max from his illness and isolation.

"I want my dad and mom," whispered Rose. "I miss them so much, Max!"

Max's heart melted. His high spirits fell as he remembered his own parents. And he knew what it meant to lose someone you loved: after all these years, he still missed Gran terribly.

He put his arms around Rose, breathing in the tree-sap smell of her hair. What else could he do? He had no idea whether her parents were safe or not, and no comforting words came into his head, so he stayed quiet.

He thought of his parents at the dinner table, cutlery clinking,

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pretending to enjoy Mrs. Crumlin's scalded beet casserole. After a few days would they even notice he was gone? Would they ask each other, "Whatever happened to Max?" and shake their heads in bewilderment? A deep sadness tugged at his heart, and he wondered if they missed him.

He let go of Rose. Unscrewing the thermos, he poured the last of the milk and honey, which was lukewarm, into its lid and offered it to her. He felt compelled to say something, to give Rose a reason not to lose hope.

"Everything seems black right now, Max," she said in a quiet voice. "I feel so alone without my dad."

"But you've got me, Rose, I'll look after you," he said, trying to sound confident. "So what we do is, we keep going. We find the icebound tower and we bring the owl--"

But as he said the words, Max wasn't so sure he believed them. Away from the safety of his home and all the familiar things he'd left behind, Max felt uprooted, insecure. The world out here was so frightening and unpredictable. Still, he told himself, it was important to put on a brave face for Rose.

"It should be easy to find the Owl Keeper." Rose wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sipped the milk. "We just take your granny's poem and break it down line by line, like when my dad cracks a code." She smiled unevenly.

Max grinned, thinking how Rose could tell the most believable lies. Right then it didn't bother him--he actually sort of understood it. "But your dad's not really a spy, is he? I heard Einstein say he's a professor at a university. You made that spy stuff up, didn't you? It's not really true."

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"Yeah, I did, sort of." Rose giggled through her tears. "Sometimes I get carried away. I wanted to impress you, that's all. And it worked, right, Max?"

She giggled harder and he joined in, relieved to let go of his pent-up worries and fears. Soon they were falling all over the place, laughing hysterically. It felt good to be laughing, to forget the sadness that had come before.

Max rolled over and lay flat on his back, staring up at the rafters. Something slowly drifted down. A bundle of twigs landed in the dust beside him. "Look, my owl dropped a pellet!" Excited he reached over and picked it up. His owl had never made a real pellet before. That was something
he'd
told Rose to impress
her.

Rose looked on, curious. For once she didn't make any inane comments.

"Here's a skull," he said, gently tearing the pellet apart. "It could be a mouse, or a vole, maybe." He pulled out twigs and leaves and tiny bones, a glob of feathers, a cluster of seeds, setting them on the floor for Rose to see. She knelt down, inspecting each item, though he noticed she held everything very close to her eyes.

"Hey, Max, what's that shiny thing over there?" Rose pointed.

Max stared, incredulous, marveling at a small, gleaming object on the earthen floor. Tears of joy sprang to his eyes. His hand closed around the familiar shape, rare and delicate, with fluted edges and--by some quirk of fate--still in one piece.

Gran's shell.

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

[Image: Mrs. Crumlin.]

Max was drifting in and out of sleep when he heard the formidable voice of Mrs. Crumlin. At first he thought he was dreaming.

"A wonder he's survived. Such a pathetic, hyperfrenetic child." Hearing her words, Max felt a sudden creeping fear. "Well, it won't be long now--things are about to change rather quickly."

Max opened his eyes halfway and his heart sank. It wasn't a dream. Mrs. Crumlin stood inside the doorway watching him. Small and squat, she looked like an evil dwarf in a fairy tale. The person she was talking to, he realized, was outside the door, out

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of earshot and hidden from view. Immediately he closed his eyes again and, pretending to be asleep, listened intently.

"See that wretched urchin in black, over in the corner?" Mrs. Crumlin continued. "That's the one causing all the trouble! The boy has fallen under her influence."

A deep voice answered, the words muffled.

"I have no idea whether or not the girl can see! All I know is, she must be gotten rid of," said Mrs. Crumlin in a low, sinister tone. "Without delay. Wait here--"

But Max didn't hear the rest. Get rid of
Rose?
His heart began to race. How were they planning to do that? Through half-shut eyelids, he saw Mrs. Crumlin trundling toward him, swinging a large woven basket.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" she chirped sweetly.

Max opened his eyes. It was no good pretending to be asleep. She stood looming over him, her smile bleak and dangerous. He heartily disliked Mrs. Crumlin, but he'd never been afraid of her before--not until now.

Sickened by the smells of bleach and pickles, and confused by Mrs. Crumlin's sudden appearance, he shrank against the wall. He was stiff and cold in this cavernous room with stone walls. Was this a prison? Then he saw the sagging beams and battered carvings and remembered: he was in a ruined castle in the forest. He'd run from the sunrise and taken shelter there with Rose.

He rubbed his eyes. But what was Mrs. Crumlin doing here? How had she tracked them down?

"It took us a while to find you, but here we are, none the worse for wear." Mrs. Crumlin looked so ordinary and out of place,

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with her shiny quilted raincoat and a plastic rain hat tied in a crisp bow beneath her chin. Max realized with relief that she was unaware he'd heard her comments about Rose. "Who's with you?" he asked nervously.

"My bodyguard, of course. How could you be so foolhardy, Maxwell, venturing into the forest? Even in daylight it's treacherous. Dangers lurk at every corner!" With gloved fingers she massaged her temples. "We've been searching for you since early this morning. I'm absolutely shattered."

How are Rose and I going to get out of here? Max wondered, his eyes scanning the ruined structure. Except for the main doorway, there seemed to be no other way out.

"This may interest you, Maxwell: a wind-borne vessel delivered us here!" Mrs. Crumlin's tone was both lighthearted and boastful. "It awaits in a field nearby."

Her words caught Max by surprise. How did Mrs. Crumlin rate, flying in a wind-borne vessel? He knew they were few in number: most of the metallic pod-shaped flying craft had vanished during the Great Destruction. Known for their sturdy wings and tempered glass windows, wind-borne vessels were piloted by the Dark Brigade. Only top government officials traveled in them.

Mrs. Crumlin held out the basket she was holding. Max saw that it was filled with steaming hot muffins. "Take one, dearie," she urged, "you must be famished. They're made with golden-eye treacle--another radio cook-show recipe!"

Max eyed the muffins suspiciously. He didn't want to think what Mrs. Crumlin might have baked inside them. Why was she

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being so
nice
to him? he wondered. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten for a long time. Reaching for a muffin, Max went to take a bite, but it looked viscous and smelled oversweet. The cloying scent stayed in his nostrils as he dropped it back into the basket.

Mrs. Crumlin clucked her tongue. "Now then, Maxwell, I expect you're too overexcited to eat. Anxious to be home, is it? Ewan and Nora have been worried sick."

Max seethed inwardly. How dare she casually throw his parents' names around! Pain and guilt surged through him as he remembered his last days at home. He'd locked himself in his room, refusing to talk with his father and mother, and then he'd run away without a word of explanation. Now he found himself worrying about his parents all the time. Still, he knew he could never go back there--not when the High Echelon was planning to make him a Skræsk Master.

"I've brought a blanket to throw over you and protect you from sun particles," said Mrs. Crumlin gaily, as if they were setting off on an afternoon picnic. "And you needn't worry about riding in the wind-borne vessel--it has lovely tinted windows!"

Max stared down at the floor, despising her, as bleak thoughts crowded into his head. If he returned to Cavernstone Grey, his fate was sealed. And Rose? He had no doubt that she'd be thrown into Children's Prison. Once inside the wind-borne vessel, strapped into their seats and guarded by the Dark Brigade, they'd have zero chance of escaping.

He had to act soon.

Rose tossed back and forth in the corner of the ruined hall,

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mumbling in her sleep. "Rose!" Max called out, moving protectively toward her. "Wake up!"

With a groan Rose sat up, shaking leaves from her hair, rubbing her fists into her dark-ringed eyes.

"Hello, Rose," said Mrs. Crumlin merrily. "At last I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

Max nearly gagged. He'd never heard Mrs. Crumlin so disgustingly cheerful as she was today. He suspected she'd been rehearsing.

Rose's eyes opened wide. Max watched her sleepy expression change to open hostility as she realized who was speaking to her. Hands clenched, she sprang to her feet, taking on a fighting stance.

But Mrs. Crumlin appeared unfazed. "Call me Mrs. Crumlin, dear. I'm Maxwell's guardian and I've come to fetch you. Come here, young lady," she ordered in an imperious voice. "Right now!

Not moving an inch, Rose glared at the woman. If looks could kill, thought Max, admiring Rose's tough spirit. But he knew they had to make a run for it soon.

He figured they could get past Mrs. Crumlin--she wasn't too swift on her feet--but the big problem was the bodyguard. If they made it past the guard, Rose had a fighting chance. As for Max, the outlook wasn't so good: he'd be exposed to the sun's rays and that meant death. But what choice did they have?

"Maxwell never told me he had a new friend--though I had my suspicions, of course." Max saw Mrs. Crumlin give Rose a knowing smile. "I knew something was a teensy bit off. Maxwell hasn't been himself lately, but now I understand." Her bright

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smile hardened, then turned into a snarl. "You see, he's come under your influence, Artemis Rose Eccles!"

Max's mind snapped into focus. How did Mrs. Crumlin know Rose's full name? The authorities must be feeding her information! Wasn't riding in a wind-borne vessel and knowing things about Rose further proof that Mrs. Crumlin worked for the High Echelon?

Rose threw her skinny shoulders back. "You don't scare me, Crumpet."

Snickering to himself, Max threw Rose an encouraging look, impressed by her bravery and wishing some of it would rub off on him. Except for the time she'd taken his books and toy owl, he had never been bold enough to say anything even remotely insulting to Mrs. Crumlin.

"The name is Crumlin--
Mrs.
Crumlin to you. Insolent child, there is no excuse for bad manners!" Mrs. Crumlin was flustered, Max could tell, because her face was breaking out in hives. "Very well, I've wasted enough of my time." Her tone grew disdainful. "I've coddled and protected you long enough, Maxwell Unger. It's time you grew up." She tightened the strings of her rain hat. "We're going home."

Max said nothing. Gazing into Mrs. Crumlin's determined face, he felt the walls closing in around him.

"As for you"--Mrs. Crumlin shook a stubby finger at Rose-- "you are coming with us."

Max could hear the blood pounding in his ears. If Rose was sent to Children's Prison, he'd never forgive himself. They had to make a run for it.