Nick shoved the walkie-talkie into his pocket, pushed through the nearest doors, and limped down the long corridor into the depths of the Barn.
Will heard a scuff of footsteps to his right. A third mask, the Ghost, stepped onto the far end of the walkway, heading for the waterline. Will ducked back around the corner.
The Ghost stopped and looked out toward the woods, checking the perimeter. Will focused on the back of his head and pushed a picture at him:
An image of the door near the water, standing open a few inches.
The Ghost turned and hurried to the end of the walkway. He stopped just outside the door. Will heard the Ghost try the knob. It was locked. Will closed his eyes, shuddering with effort, and pushed again:
An image of himself, hiding behind some crates inside the boathouse.
Will heard a key slide into the lock. The knob turned. The door opened and the Ghost stepped inside the boathouse. Will gave him a moment, then hurried around the corner and snuck in behind him.
The boathouse was a lot bigger than it looked from outside. It consisted of three sprawling, rambling stories above a stone foundation at the waterline. The first two levels were all open flooring and exposed timbers. The only light trickled in from small windows along the sides. Dampness rising off the lake made the dead, still air feel even colder.
The Ghost was looking for him behind some racks packed with sculls and canoes. Will reached for a rowboat suspended just above him on ropes and pulleys. He grabbed the boat and shoved it as hard as he could. The Ghost heard the creak of rope and wood and turned to look, just as the boat swung in. It slammed into his mask. He shuffled his feet for a moment, twirled once, and then dropped to the ground.
Will dragged him behind the racks and stripped off the Ghost’s jacket, watch cap, and mask: It was Wendell Duckworth, from the cross-country team. He secured Duckworth’s hands behind his back with two plastic garbage bag ties, then put on Duckworth’s coat, mask, and watch cap.
Will looked around. Wooden ladders on the walls led to the loft space above. There had to be some enclosed rooms on the top floor above that. From somewhere upstairs, one of the black campus phones rang. He heard footsteps as someone walked to the phone and answered.
Will’s walkie-talkie crackled to life. He heard Nick’s voice, faintly:
“Yo, Chuck Norris to Base. Six masks down, but the Paladin flew the coop. Could be headed your way. But, uh, there’s another Paladin here? Only this time—and, dude, I know how freaky this sounds—it really is the statue.”
Will heard a male voice shout from somewhere near the top of the building: “Everybody upstairs! Get up here now!”
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#8: ALWAYS BE PREPARED TO IMPROVISE.
Will climbed one of the ladders to the second floor. Boats and gear filled most of the space. A windowed door led to a small office tucked against the right wall. Straight ahead, an interior staircase led up from the front doors to a landing, then turned and continued to the third floor. The Pigtailed Girl and Pirate who’d been stationed outside hurried in; they spotted Will as they headed up the stairs.
“You heard him,” said the Pirate to Will. “Move your ass.”
Will fell in behind them. His peripheral vision halved by the edges of the mask, he followed them up a flight of narrow unfinished stairs toward what looked like an attic. They passed through a narrow door at the top of the stairs into a cramped landing. Through an open door ahead, Will caught a glimpse of the dark room they’d seen in the video feed.
“What’s going on?” he heard Brooke say from inside the room.
Behind him, Will heard the Paladin’s voice, buzzed flat by the electronic filter. “Padraig?”
A moment ago he’d heard Nick say that the Paladin had just left the Barn. But this was the Paladin’s voice behind him.
“Padraig!”
Then he realized Padraig must be the Ghost’s Knights of Charlemagne name.
Will turned, trying to make it seem as if he was responding to the name.
The masked Paladin stood five feet behind him—Nick must have been wrong; he couldn’t possibly have gotten here this fast—pointing something at Will.
Unless there was more than one of them—
Will heard a whirring sound as the Paladin fired a Taser. Three darts smacked into Will’s chest, and a searing jolt shot through his body as he fell to the floor.
The last thing he saw was the Paladin lifting a black carbon-fiber container about the size of a thermos.
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THE STATUE AND THE BEAR
Nick’s first bright idea was to try the swimming pool. Two thousand pounds of metal couldn’t float or swim, right? No way. So he took the first swinging door into the pool area. Motion-activated lights flicked on as he hobbled around to the middle of the far side of the Olympic-sized pool and hunkered down behind the lifeguard stand. A moment later, the overhead fluorescents flicked off.
The only light came through glass panels in a pair of swinging doors to the hallway across the pool. Nick heard the statue’s clanking footsteps and saw the Paladin stomp by the first door. Moments later the second door slammed open, the Paladin stepped inside, and the lights flicked on again.
Nick waved to it from the far side of the pool.
The Paladin started around the deep end. Nick countered by moving to the shallow end. The Paladin stopped, Nick stopped. Nick waved again across the pool.
“Can’t catch me,” said Nick.
The Paladin started back the other way. Nick backtracked to match him. When they were across the middle of the pool from each other, the Paladin stopped again. So did Nick, who had been trying not to let it see him limp. Nick tucked his hand under his chin and wiggled his fingers at it.
“Marco,” said Nick. He stuck his thumbs in his ears, wiggled his fingers again, and said in a high falsetto, “Polo.”
This time the Paladin walked straight at him and dropped into the pool. Nick stepped forward and looked down. He’d been right; the thing couldn’t float or swim. But it was walking toward him along the bottom of the pool without any trouble.
“Okay, that sucks,” said Nick.
He hurried toward the nearest door. The Paladin changed course, tracking Nick’s movement, and seconds later stomped up the steps at the shallow end. This time it knocked the door off its hinges as it followed.
Nick limped down the long corridor and pushed through a door marked COACHING STAFF ONLY. He entered a modernized warren of offices and cubbies, videotape study suites, and conference rooms. The hallway lights were on but he didn’t see anyone in any of the offices.
A desk light was on in one of the last rooms; Nick hurried to it. The plate on the door read COACH JERICHO. Of course, thought Nick. One dude in the whole building and it has to be him.
Nick pushed open the door. Lights burning, tablet open, stacks of statistical printouts on the desk. And nobody in the room.
“Crapalicious,” said Nick.
Limping back down the hall, Nick failed to look to his right, where, in the kitchenette two glass walls away, Coach Jericho was leaning down into an open fridge.
Nick pushed through the door into the corridor and left the coaches’ complex. When Jericho stood up and closed the fridge, Nick was gone.
But Jericho heard thudding footsteps and turned in time to see the Paladin storming down the hallway outside his office. Without taking his eye off the metal figure, Jericho calmly set his mug down on the counter. With one hand, he reached for the necklace around his throat—a long, yellowed animal incisor attached to a string of rawhide—and with the other removed a stitched leather pouch from his pocket.