Authors: Unknown
For
the first time in her life Fiona dared to ignore a direct question from
Grandmother and forged on. “We think it’s time for a change.”
“We’ve
done everything you’ve asked,” Eliot said, his tone now growing irritated as
well. “And we’ve passed the family’s first test, too. Doesn’t that mean we’re
responsible enough to make some of our own decisions?”
Fiona
wasn’t sure what the intense expression on Grandmother’s face meant. Could she
actually be uncertain?
Outside,
clouds covered the setting sun. The room got cold.
Grandmother
half closed her eyes and her face hardened into a mask. “It is true you are on
the cusp of adulthood, but now more than ever you must have no distractions.
The rules shall remain.” She made a cutting gesture to emphasize that the
discussion was over. Her decision final.
Fiona
trembled. She couldn’t believe that just this morning she had actually defended
Grandmother and her rules to Eliot. She wanted to shout that this wasn’t fair.
But
she already knew what Grandmother’s reply to that would be: Many things in life
are not fair.
She
stared into Grandmother’s eyes, wanting some small victory . . . even if it was
making her blink first in a duel of glares.
It
was like staring into steel-gray clouds, thunderheads upon the horizons, and
Fiona had about as much chance as influencing Grandmother as she had reaching
up with her hand and affecting the weather.
The
phone rang, breaking the one-sided contest of wills, and Fiona looked away.
Cee
picked up the receiver. “Hello? . . . Yes? . . . Oh, yes—one moment please.”
She
offered the phone to Fiona, and then Eliot, looking unsure whom it was for.
“It’s work.”
Grandmother
nodded to Fiona. “Get them off the line. We are expecting a call from the
Council.”
Fiona
hissed a great sigh. She was tired of people telling her what to do every
moment of her life. She disobeyed Grandmother and stalked to her
bedroom—brushing past the stack of homework papers on the table and scattering
them onto the floor.
She
needed her chocolates to help her deal with this family.
Fiona
didn’t care anymore about homework or Ringo’s or even Grandmother. What did it
matter if they passed the Council’s trials if they were only going to remain
prisoners in their own family?
34
GOOD
LITTLE BOY NO MORE
Eliot
took the phone. Grandmother looked after Fiona as she stormed off. He thought
Grandmother was going to order her to come back and pick up the papers.
She
said nothing, though. Her eyes followed Fiona, seeming to bore through the
walls after she slammed her door.
Without
turning to look at him, said she, “Well, Eliot? Answer the call.”
“Hello?”
Eliot said into the phone.
Julie’s
sweet voice filtered through the receiver. “Are you okay? Your family emergency
. . . ?”
“It
all worked out.” Eliot pressed the phone into his ear, hoping Grandmother
couldn’t hear.
“Thank
goodness,” Julie said. “You looked so freaked-out when you left. I was worried
about you. And Fiona, too, of course.”
Her
words moved Eliot. Cee had made much over him and Fiona when they had returned
from the sewer . . . but it felt rehearsed, as if Cee had already known they’d
succeeded.
Julie’s
concern was somehow more real.
She
sighed through the phone and Eliot imagined her breath on his neck. Gooseflesh
coursed over his skin.
He
had to be careful and not let Grandmother know this was a personal call . . .
from a girl no less.
There
was a rule.
RULE 99: No use of electronic communication devices, specifically, but not
limited to, telephones or telex apparatus. Exceptions include use directed by
an adult or for emergency medical, police, or fire assistance. Incoming calls
of a personal nature must politely, but immediately, be terminated.
He
hated these restrictions, but he wouldn’t let his temper get the better of him
as it had Fiona. He had to be smarter.
He
had more to lose.
“If
everything’s okay,” Julie said, “then you’re coming in tomorrow? We’re still on
for coffee?”
Eliot’s
heartbeat quickened. “You bet.”
“I’ve
been thinking about it all day.”
Grandmother
finally turned and glanced at the phone. No more warning was required.
“You
probably can’t talk,” Julie said, a slyness creeping into her voice. “I
understand. I’ll let you go . . . for now.”
“Thanks,”
Eliot whispered. “We’ll be in tomorrow. No problem.”
“See
you then, honey.” She hung up.
Eliot
replaced the phone in its cradle. “That was work. We left in the middle of our
shift. They wanted to know if we were okay.”
“That’s
nice,” Cee said.
Grandmother
said nothing and stared at the phone as if she could peer down the line and see
Julie at the other end.
“Dinner
is in an hour,” Grandmother said. “Tell your sister, if she is interested in
joining us, that is.”
Grandmother
retired to her office and slid the doors shut behind her.
Eliot
breathed a sigh of relief.
Cee
set a trembling hand on his. “Do you need to tell me anything?” she whispered.
“It can be a secret.”
Eliot
knew he could trust Cee, but he shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to
burden her with his secrets. All that would do was land her in hot water when
Grandmother found them out.
And
Grandmother always found out.
Cee
stepped back and sighed. “We can have a little party to toast your success. We
have cake from the Pink Rabbit.”
Eliot
glanced down the hallway at Fiona’s closed bedroom door, knowing there would be
no celebration tonight. “That sounds good. I better get cleaned up.”
He
knelt and straightened the papers Fiona had scattered. There was a page of
logarithm exercises and a writing assignment on Cape Town, South Africa. Half
their normal homework. Grandmother was being generous.
Cee’s
hands curled inward and she reached for him. She looked as if she wanted to
tell him something. Instead, though, she smiled her tremulous smile and said,
“You go then, darling. Get clean. I’ll have the food ready soon.”
Everything
in Eliot’s world had turned upside down, but Cee was the same: always there for
him. A little senile, maybe, but loving.
She
ambled into the kitchen.
And
yet Eliot had the feeling that she wasn’t exactly part of the family—not like
Uncle Henry, Grandmother, or Aunt Lucia. She didn’t act like the rest of them.
But
that was stupid. She was his great-grandmother, as much a part of his family as
Fiona. Wasn’t she?
Eliot
picked up his canvas pack and marched to Fiona’s door.
He
gently knocked. “Fiona?” he whispered.
There
was no answer.
He
slid her homework under the door and retreated into his room.
Eliot
closed his door and locked it. The tiny lever made a grinding sound as it
engaged. He’d never used the lock before—but then again, he’d never had secrets
like this to hide.
He
tossed his homework on his desk. He was so obedient. Cecilia’s “good little
boy.” He hated that.
Eliot
got as mad as Fiona—maybe even more—he just didn’t show it. What was the point?
Fiona had had to run off to her room because no one could stand up to
Grandmother.
Still,
it had been something: the world’s tiniest rebellion. There were other ways to
rebel, though. Quieter and more effective ways.
Their
studies of history showed that underground insurgencies could lead to big
revolts . . . the toppling of empires. That’s what Eliot was doing starting
tonight—organizing his own personal revolt against the family.
The
alternative was to continue being a “good little boy” . . . a possibility
perhaps before his fifteenth birthday—but not anymore.
He
set his pack on the bed, pulled off both pillows, and sat on the floor by the
heater vent.
“Fiona?”
he whispered into the grill.
Silence.
He’d
sit here all night if he had to.
They’d
been so happy only an hour ago. When they got out of the sewer, gave Robert the
proof of having “vanquished” Souhk, and told him how they’d done it. They
thought they’d won.
But
all it meant was the chance to do it all over again for the second and third
trials.
And
when and if they passed all the tests? Would they be accepted into the family?
Would there be even more rules and restrictions?
He
was tired of being shoved around.
Eliot
rummaged into his pack and touched the violin nestled in the rubber boot. Its
strings vibrated to the beat of his fingertip pulse—something that could only
be felt. Still, with Grandmother’s sharp ears he wasn’t sure, so he withdrew.
He
pulled out the Mythica Improbiba book next and ran a hand over its rough
leather cover.
Fiona
had insisted that he hide it in the basement, but he’d only pretended to do it
to shut her up. Something attracted him to this forbidden book.
He
opened to a random page and gazed at an ancient diagram of a clockwork sphere
with orbiting planets and moons, stars, and comets. In the center of the
mechanism sat a man cross-legged, observing. Crammed alongside the diagram on
the page were notes in Greek.36
It
was amazing, but the Greek was meaningless to Eliot.
He
suddenly had the feeling he was being watched. He looked up, listened intently,
and scrutinized the gap at the bottom of his door.
No
shadows moved. No one was there.
Well,
if someone came in, he was reading a book—that’s all. He could close it and it
would look like any other of the thousands of volumes in his room.
He
flipped through the pages. They weren’t paper, but vellum, calfskin of
remarkable thinness.
36.
The Sphere of the Celestials is described as the Wonder of the Ancient World
that never was, said to have been almost completed by Archimedes and an unknown
assistant, during the last thirty years of his life. According to legend, even
partially constructed the Sphere had the power to predict eclipses, comets, and
even foretell earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and the fall of empires. Gods of
the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 5: Core Myths (Part 2), 8th ed.
(Zypheron Press Ltd.).
Eliot
stopped on one page with Middle English scrolled upon it: a tale of the God of
the Seas, Poseidon, and a group of Vikings. Poseidon led the Vikings over the
Atlantic Ocean to the New World. The story read like one of his daydreams.
There were adventures with mermaids and sea serpents, wild storms, and Indian
princesses.37