them again. Stuart was their leader, and it was three against the world.
The big case clock in the hallway said 11:00 a.m., the face of the bronze moon smiling above the ornate numerals. In the noise, the chimes were nearly inaudible. When would they begin formal deliberations?
Did he dare to go up to Stuart’s room? But wouldn’t that be natural for him? Stuart was his tutor within the Order. Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do? And what if Stuart was in panic again, crumbling, questioning everything? What if Stuart turned on him again, as he had on Wearyall Hill, and he did not have Tommy to help him bring Stuart back?
Something had just happened. He could hear it in the council room. He took a few steps, until he found himself in the north door. Members were taking their seats around the huge oak table. And there was Stuart, Stuart looking straight at him—a sharp-beaked bird with small, round blue eyes, in the usual somber, almost clerical clothes.
Dear God, Stuart stood beside the empty chair of the Superior General. He had his hand on the back of the chair. They were all looking at Stuart. They had appointed Stuart to take over! Of course.
Marklin reached to cover his imprudent but inevitable smile with a curled hand and a muffled cough. Too perfect, he thought, it’s as though the powers that be were on our side. After all, it might have been Elvera, or Joan Cross. It might have been old Whitfield. But it was Stuart! Brilliant! Aaron’s oldest friend.
“Come inside, all of you, be seated, please,” said Stuart. He was extremely nervous, Marklin could see it. “You must forgive me,” said Stuart, forcing a polite smile which was certainly not required and was hardly appropriate. Dear God, he’s not going to be able to pull this off! “I have not quite recovered yet from my shock. But you know I’ve been appointed to take over. We’re waiting at this very moment for communication from the Elders.”
“Surely they’ve answered, Stuart,” said Elvera. Surrounded by cronies, she had been the star all morning, the witness to Anton Marcus’s murder, the one who had conversed with the mysterious man who had entered the building and asked strange questions of those he encountered, and then coldly and methodically strangled Marcus to death.
“There is no answer yet, Elvera,” said Stuart patiently. “Sit down there, all of you over there. It’s time for this meeting to begin.”
At last the room fell silent. The giant table was surrounded by curious faces. Dora Fairchild had been crying, and looked it. So had Manfield Cotter. So had others whom Marklin didn’t even know. All friends of Aaron Lightner, or worshipers, to be more correct.
No one here had really known Marcus. His death had horrified everyone, of course. But grief was not a problem there.
“Stuart, has the Mayfair family answered?” came another question. “Do we have any more information about what happened to Aaron?”
“Patience, all of you. I will post the information as soon as it’s received. What we know now is that something has gone terribly wrong within this house. Intruders have come and gone. Perhaps there have been other breaches of security. We do not know if all these events are connected.”
“Stuart,” said Elvera, raising her voice shrilly. “This man asked me if I knew that Aaron was dead! He walked into my room and started talking about Aaron!”
“Of course it’s connected,” said Joan Cross. Joan had been in a wheelchair for a year now; she looked impossibly frail, even her short white hair was thinning, but her voice was impatient and domineering as it had always been. “Stuart, our first priority is to determine the identity of this killer. We have the authorities telling us the fingerprints are untraceable. But we know that this man might have come from the Mayfair family. They do not.”
“Yes … all connected somehow, doesn’t it seem?” Stuart was actually stammering. “But we have no further indication. That is what I meant.” Suddenly his deep-set eyes fixed upon Marklin, who sat almost at the far end of the table, looking calmly at him.
“Gentlemen, to tell you the truth,” said Stuart, tearing his eyes away and searching the faces around him, “I’m completely inadequate to take Anton’s place. I think … I think I should pass the scepter to Joan, if it’s all right with the entire assembly. I can’t continue!”
Stuart, how could you! Marklin stared at the table, trying to