Among the Barons Read online

  “What’s he really like?” Trey asked as he poked his fork at the tasteless heap of boiled greens on his plate. “Is he truly awful?”

  Luke chewed for a minute and swallowed, glad for once that the food was so stringy and tough. It gave him time to think. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance.

  “Well, he’s my brother,” Luke said. ‘Aren’t most brothers awful?”

  Trey snorted. “Your brother—right. So why didn’t you bring a computer and a TV? Why don’t you have a private room? Why are you eating this slop when you could be having—I don’t know—caviar? Foie gras?”

  Luke didn’t have the slightest idea what caviar or foie gras was, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He could feel the whole tableful of boys watching him, waiting for his response. He shrugged again.

  “Guess I’m just not as picky as he is,” Luke said. “Guess I’m a nicer person.”

  Luke was relieved that the other boys had stopped staring at him. Instead, their gaze was trained just beyond him, right over his head.

  “Lee,” someone said.

  Luke whirled around and saw what the others were looking at. It was Smits. Luke felt his face go red. How much had Smits heard?

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Smits asked coldly. He slid into a seat beside Luke. The other boys scrambled to make room for him, as if the table actually belonged to Smits and they were just grateful that he wasn’t ordering them away entirely.

  “Um, sure,” Luke said. “Everybody, this is my brother, Smits.” He was proud of himself that he could get the words of that colossal lie out of his mouth so smoothly. “Uh, Smits, this is Trey and, um, Robert and Joel and John. . . .”

  Smits nodded after each name and reached out his hand for each boy to shake. After some fumbling, Luke’s friends managed to think to stick their hands out as well. Luke wasn’t surprised by his friends’ awkwardness, but he felt strangely ashamed. Why couldn’t Trey have remembered to put down his fork before he reached out his hand? He’d splashed some of the slimy greens right onto Smits’s shirt. And Smits only made it worse, pretending not to notice, just shaking hands right and left, smooth as a politician.

  “Nice to meet you,” Smits said again and again. “Nice to meet you.”

  Luke remembered what he’d thought when he’d first seen the picture of Smits—that Smits looked like a miniature grown-up. He acted like one, too. Or like a little robot, programmed to say what some stiff, formal grown-up would want a kid to say. Luke had half a mind to yell at him, “Oh, knock it off. Tell us all the truth. Why are you here?”

  But of course he didn’t.

  “So,” Smits said when the introductions were finally over. “Is this a decent place? Lee here hasn’t told me a whole lot. Doesn’t write home as much as Mom wants him to.” He gave Luke a playful punch on the arm and sort of winked at the rest of the boys. “I must say, I’ve found the staff quite accommodating.”

  Luke figured Trey was the only one at the table who knew what “accommodating” meant. That had to be the reason Trey actually opened his mouth.

  “So they did let you have a private room,” Trey said. “And get the food you want.”

  Smits looked down at the other boys’ meals.

  “Sure,” he said. “Nobody could possibly be expected to eat that.”

  Luke saw Joel and John silently put their forks down.

  “It’s not so bad,” Luke said. “You should give it a try before you make up your mind.”

  Smits laughed.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “Mom always did say you had an undiscriminating palate. Dad used to joke, ‘Lee’ll eat anything that doesn’t eat him first.’ I’m not like that.”

  “Nothing but the best for Smits, right?” Luke said quietly.

  Smits clapped him on the back.

  “You remembered!” he said. He shoved away from the table. “Well, I’ll be off now. Just wanted to meet Lee’s friends. See you all later.”

  And, in total defiance of school rules, he strolled out of the dining hall.

  Nobody stopped him. Luke and his friends stared off after him for a full minute.

  “What was that all about?” Trey said finally.

  “I haven’t the slightest clue,” Luke said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  They had games after dinner.

  This was something that Luke was very proud of. It had been his idea to ask Mr. Hendricks for a time to run and play. Most of his friends, in hiding, had been in small spaces. They’d been trained from birth to be quiet and still, to whisper, not yell, to tiptoe, not run. Their lives had depended on it. Luke didn’t know how many shadow children had ever been discovered because of a poorly timed squeal of joy or a scamper across a creaky floor. He didn’t want to know. But his friends were so good at not moving, at not talking, that they sometimes seemed hidden even now.

  “They need a chance to be kids,” Luke had argued with Mr. Hendricks back at the beginning of the summer. “They need a time to run as fast as they can, to scream at the top of their lungs, to . . .” Luke hadn’t been able to finish his sentence. He’d been overcome with the memory of all the games he’d played with his brothers—his real brothers. Football, baseball, kickball, spud. Dodgeball, volleyball, kick the can, tag . . .

  “All right,” Mr. Hendricks had said. “You’re in charge.”

  At first Luke’s idea had seemed like a disaster. Boys who had sat still all their lives had no idea how to run. They cowered at the sight of a ball rolling toward them, collapsed in fear to see a football spiraling their way. But Luke had been patient, throwing the balls so slowly they barely seemed to move, applauding anyone who managed even to walk fast. And now, after three months, Trey had a pretty good pitching arm on him, and John was a master at dodgeball, and there was a little kid in the eight-year-old class who could run so fast, he could even beat some of the teachers who occasionally stayed for races.

  Luke thought he had every right to be proud. They still mostly played in the dining hall, with all the tables and chairs cleared away, because the idea of going outside was too much for most of the boys. But Luke had hopes. By next summer, he thought, they’d all be outdoors climbing trees, maybe even making up games of their own.

  That was what Luke dreamed of, when he wasn’t dreaming of the Population Law being changed.

  But tonight, as he began folding up chairs and tables after dinner, Ms. Hawkins, the school secretary, stopped him.

  “No games for you tonight, young man,” she said.

  Luke gaped at her. Ms. Hawkins never stayed around school until dinnertime, let alone afterward. She was a shadowy figure herself—Luke couldn’t remember her saying two words to him even once since the first day he’d arrived at school.

  Ms. Hawkins went on talking, as if she was used to boys not answering. She probably was.

  “You’re to meet your brother in the front hallway instead,” she said. When Luke didn’t move, she snapped, “Now! Get on with you!”

  Luke handed her the chair he was holding. She managed to grasp it but looked puzzled, as if she could no longer understand what it was just because it was folded up.

  Except for Mr. Hendricks, all the staff at the school were a little strange. If Luke hadn’t known better, he would have wondered if they’d all spent their childhood in hiding as well. But the Population Law had been in effect for only fourteen years; Luke was among the oldest kids to come out of hiding. Mr. Hendricks had just hired odd people on purpose.

  “If Ms. Hawkins ever tried to turn any of you in,” he’d told Luke once, “who would believe her?”

  That was true of the teachers, too, and the school nurse. It was even true of the school janitor. Luke understood Mr. Hendricks’s reasoning, but sometimes he longed to be around normal adults. He wasn’t sure now what to believe of Ms. Hawkins’s instructions. What if she was just confused? Shouldn’t Smits be here playing games with the other boys, instead of pulling Luke away, too?

  “Didn’t you
hear me?” Ms. Hawkins said threateningly.

  “Um, sure,” Luke said. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  He turned and walked toward the door.

  “Trey, can you organize the games tonight?” he called to his friend on his way out.

  “Wha—how do I do that?” Trey asked. He sounded as panicked as if Luke had asked him to attack Population Police headquarters.

  “Get John to help. And Joel,” Luke said.

  Joel and John glanced up from the table they were folding. They looked every bit as stricken as Trey.

  Luke had no confidence that they’d manage without him. But he pushed his way out the door anyhow.

  The hall outside the dining room was quiet and dimly lit. Luke rushed past dark classrooms and offices. He’d just tell Smits to get lost—that’s what he’d do. Smits had no right to order him around.

  But when Luke got to the front hallway—an echoey place with ancient-looking portraits on the walls—his resolve vanished. Smits was standing there alone. He had his back to Luke, and for the first time Luke realized what a small boy Smits really was. From behind he looked like the kind of kid you’d pick last for a baseball team.

  Then Smits turned around.

  “Hey, bro,” he said heartily. “I thought you might give me a tour of the school grounds. Let me see what this place is really like.”

  “Okay,” Luke said hesitantly.

  Smits was already pushing open the front door, as if he, not Luke, were the one who knew Hendricks School. They walked down the stairs in silence, then Smits turned around and regarded the building with narrowed eyes.

  “Why aren’t there any windows?” he asked.

  Luke wondered how much Smits had been told about Hendricks, about third children, about the needs of kids coming out of hiding. Surely Smits knew the truth. Surely he didn’t need to ask a question like that.

  Luke opted for the safest answer possible anyhow.

  “Some of the kids here have agoraphobia. Do you know what that is? It means they’re afraid of wide-open spaces. Not having windows is part of the way Mr. Hendricks is trying to cure them,” he said. “He thinks that if they can’t see the outdoors, they’ll start longing for it.”

  “But that’s pretty much torture for the rest of us, isn’t it?” Smits countered. “It’s like cruel and unusual punishment. And it’s a fire hazard.” He shook his head, flipping hair out of his eyes. “I’m going to have a window installed in my room. Maybe in every room I’d ever be in. It wouldn’t do to have the heir to the Grant fortune killed in a fire or something.”

  Luke noticed he said “heir,” not “one of the heirs.” Was that a clue? Was that why Smits had come—to warn Luke away from the family money? Was this Luke’s cue to say, “Hey, I don’t want a dime of your fortune. I don’t want anything from your family. Just an identity. Just the right to exist”?

  Luke didn’t say anything. It was true, he didn’t care about the Grants’ money. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak sincerely to this strange, overconfident kid. It was easier to keep pretending the lie between them was reality.

  They started strolling down the driveway. In different company this would have been a pleasant walk. Crickets sang in the bushes; the sunset glowed on the horizon. But Luke was too tense to enjoy any of it.

  “That’s the headmaster’s house over there,” he said, pointing. He was just talking to break the silence. “It’s where Mr. Hendricks lives. You won’t see him around the school much. He kind of lets it run on its own.”

  “I’ve already talked to him four times today,” Smits said.

  “Oh,” Luke said. A few months ago he wouldn’t have had the nerve to say anything else. But now he ventured, “What about?”

  “Important matters,” Smits said. They walked on. Luke could tell Smits wasn’t really paying attention to anything around them. Not the weeping willows draping gently toward the driveway, not the sound of the brook gurgling just beyond the school grounds.

  “I already saw all this, driving in,” Smits said impatiently. “Isn’t there anything else?”

  “There’s the back of the school,” Luke said. “That’s where we have our garden. And the woods—”

  “Show me,” Smits said.

  They turned around. Luke struggled to hide his reluctance. If he was proud of the school’s nightly games, he was even prouder of the school garden. Under his direction the Hendricks students had planted it, weeded it, and coaxed it into its full glory all summer long. Luke could just imagine Smits barely glancing at it, then sniffing disdainfully, “So?”

  And the woods—the woods were a special place, too. Back in the spring, when Luke had first arrived at Hendricks, he’d found refuge in the woods. He’d made his first attempt at a garden in a clearing there. He’d dared to stand up to the impostor Jason there. He’d met girls from the neighboring Harlow School for Girls there—including his friend Nina, who, he was sure, would also someday help in ending the Population Law.

  Luke knew he could never explain all of that to Smits. Smits had no right to hear any of it. He probably wouldn’t even care. So the woods, to Smits, would just look like a scraggly collection of scrub brush and untended trees.

  Silently seething, Luke led Smits off the driveway and along an overgrown path winding down toward the woods. Darkness was falling now. Maybe Smits would be satisfied if they just rushed by the woods and the garden, and Luke wouldn’t have to listen to any of Smits’s comments.

  At the edge of the woods Luke turned around. “Here. This is it. The woods. Now you’ve seen it.”

  Smits didn’t answer, just ducked under a low branch. He reached out and touched a tree trunk hesitantly, as if he were afraid it would bite.

  “Do you come here a lot?” Smits asked.

  “I used to,” Luke said brusquely.

  “I don’t know anything about nature,” Smits admitted. “Sometimes I wonder . . .”

  “What?” Luke asked.

  Smits shook his head, as if unwilling or unable to say more. His fingers traced a pattern on the bark. He looked back toward Luke. In the twilight his face seemed paler than ever.

  “Can you help me?” he whispered. “Can you be Lee?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Luke stared at the younger boy.

  “I—I don’t know,” he admitted. It was probably the first honest thing he’d said to Smits. “I can try.”

  Smits dropped his gaze.

  “There’s something wrong with the way he died,” he whispered. Luke had to lean in close to hear.

  “He was skiing, wasn’t he?” Luke asked. Luke had only the faintest idea of what skiing was. “Did he run into a tree or something?”

  Smits shook his head impatiently.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “He—” Smits broke off, his gaze suddenly riveted on something far beyond Luke. Then he snapped his attention down to the ground and raised his voice. “Ugh! Why did you bring me here! Now my shoes are all muddy!”

  Baffled, Luke glanced over his shoulder. A burly man Luke had never seen before was running down the hill toward them.

  “I see you, Smithfield,” the man yelled. “Your game is up.”

  The man came closer. It was like seeing a tree run, or a mountain—the man was that imposing. Luke could only watch in awe. The man had muscles bulging from his arms and legs. His neck looked thicker than Luke’s midsection. He had his fists clenched, as if he was ready to fight. Luke felt instant pity for any opponent this man might face.

  “Hello, Oscar,” Smits said, his voice as casual as it had been back in the dining room, greeting all of Luke’s friends. He suddenly seemed like the little robot again.

  “It is not funny, what you did,” the man—Oscar—raged. “I have fully informed your parents. They are not amused, either.”

  Smits shrugged.

  “Having a bodyguard is very tiresome, you know,” Smits said.

  For a minute Luke was afraid that Oscar was going to slug Smit
s. The huge man stepped closer, but he did nothing more threatening than narrowing his eyes.

  “It is necessary,” Oscar huffed. “It is not safe for you to go anywhere without protection. Especially”—he gazed distastefully around him, taking in the scrubby trees, the tall, untrimmed grass at the edge of the woods—“especially someplace unsecured like this.”

  “Well,” Smits said. “Here’s Lee. Why aren’t you protecting Lee, too?”

  Oscar’s gaze flickered toward Luke, then back to Smits. His glare intensified.

  “Your parents hired me solely to protect you,” Oscar said. “I do my job with honor and dignity and pride.” He spoke so pompously, Luke almost expected Oscar to snap into a military salute.

  Smits was rolling his eyes.

  “So you say. ‘Honor and dignity and pride,’ ” he repeated, making a total mockery of the words. “You must have had a hard time explaining why you woke up hours late this morning, locked in your closet, when I had already left.”

  “I blame you!” Oscar exploded. “Your parents blame you! I told them the whole story. You drugged me and dragged me into that closet.”

  Luke decided he’d totally underestimated Smits if Smits had managed to drag Oscar so much as an inch. Smits would not be the last kid picked for a baseball team. He’d be the kid who could trample every other player, even without teammates.

  “Me?” Smits said innocently. “I’m just a little kid. Where would I get anything to drug you with? How could I drag you anywhere?”

  “You had help,” Oscar growled. “The chauffeur—”

  “Hey”—Smits shrugged again—“it’s your word against his. And mine.”

  “But your parents believe me,” Oscar retorted. He grabbed Smits’s arm and jerked him practically off his feet. “Come along. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

  “Fine,” Smits said. “You can wipe the mud off my shoes when we get back to my room.”

  Oscar grunted.

  Luke followed the other two up the hill. He kept a few paces behind. Smits seemed to have forgotten about him; Oscar had barely noticed him in the first place. Smits was now keeping up a running banter, making fun of Oscar for being muscle-bound and stupid and easily tricked.