The patriarch reaction, as assessed through Phimalarlico e-mails, messages on the tomb’s voice mail, and infuriated phone calls to our Secretary, Josh, could be divided into three groups:
Standard: “I’ve called to express my disappointment with the current media coverage of our society. I stood by this new club, unorthodox though it might be, and was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt that your unconventional makeup would inject new blood into the organization. I’m beginning to wonder if my fellow patriarchs weren’t correct in their original decision to invalidate the tap. This is an appalling turn of events and I’m reconsidering my choice to continue supporting this society until you get your act together.”
Angry: “I knew we shouldn’t have expected much from you people, but this takes inappropriate to a whole new level. Less than six months in and you’re already doing your best to drive Rose & Grave right into the ground. You need to find the knight responsible for this leak and deal with him…or her. I did not spend the better half of my life protecting the oaths of my brethren to let you people destroy it. You’ll never see another dime from me.”
Kurt Gehry: “You incompetent sons of bitches, I told you to take care of this. Fine, since you either cannot or will not do what’s necessary, we’re taking matters into our own hands. Watch how real men, real Diggers, handle those who threaten us.”
On Thursday afternoon, my path crossed with Genevieve Grady, ex-editor of the Eli Daily News, ex-girlfriend of Malcolm Cabot, and ex—person-of-interest to Rose & Grave. Last year, Genevieve, in a fit of woman-scorned pique, had threatened to blackmail Malcolm into giving her paper a peep inside the tomb, but I’d managed to talk her out of it. When she saw me coming, she threw her hands up in surrender.
“Amy, I swear! I had nothing to do with—”
I shook my head. “No, I know. Your paper is simply repeating what’s already out there. It’s fine.” And no, I couldn’t resist the jab about recycled content.
“So you do know who’s responsible?” She went immediately into reporter-mode.
I gave her the evil eye. “Right, because I’m about to turn that info over to you.”
She smirked. “Come on, Haskel. You’re my secret source.”
“Not this time. You’ve lost your hold on me.”
Her smile faded. “Have you…heard from him?” Genevieve had been in love with Malcolm, but the poor boy was unable to return her feelings.
“Yeah, I have. He told his parents last summer and they, predictably, disowned him. He’s living in Alaska for his gap year and then he’s going to business school.”
“Disowned him?” She bit her lip. “I think I’d like to e-mail him. I feel so bad about…last year. I think I went a little nuts.”
You think? But I refrained from saying that. “I bet he’d appreciate it.”
“Okay, then, I will. Oh, and Amy…” She touched my shoulder. “In retrospect, I’m really glad they tapped you and not me.”
I shook her off. Yeah, she certainly dodged that bullet, didn’t she?
But the rest of us were feeling its bite. Thursday evening, we managed to sneak into our meeting through a very complicated system of visiting the Art and Architecture’s sculpture garden while various and sundry delivery trucks pulled up to the tomb’s supply door.
“This is why we need that secret entrance I was promised,” I grumbled to Odile as we hid behind a stack of milk bottles.
“Word.”
Dinner that evening was a dismal affair, despite Hale’s masterful preparation of beef Wellington. We wandered in, one by one, and picked at our food. Since Sunday had been reserved for a presentation from a patriarch who had recently returned from Bolivia, we’d temporarily switched the C.B. schedule to Thursday—though, given the consequences of the leak and the possible future humiliation should further Digger information come to light, no one was enthusiastic about sharing their sexual history. At first, we thought we’d can the schedule and just engage in a little old-fashioned Rose & Grave political debate, but state issues were not on the forefront of anyone’s mind—not even Soze’s, who was in full spin-doctor mode.
“Let’s look on the bright side,” he said, scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes, then letting it plop back onto his plate. “What did the stupid site really say? A bunch of crap about our initiations and a floor plan of the tomb. They didn’t actually release any of the info in the patriarch’s Black Books.”
“No,” said Frodo, who had finally arrived. So far, only eight of us had made it through the gauntlet. “They’re saving that for next week’s big reveal. We gotta track this guy down before it gets any worse.”
I took a bite of beef and looked at Soze. “Heard from Lucky, perchance? I haven’t seen her in days.”
“Drop it, ’boo,” Soze snapped. And if Puck noticed the use of his special name for me, he didn’t show it. Unlike the rest of us, my lover didn’t seem particularly morose about the recent turn of events, and was digging into his dinner with gusto. He’d already finished two servings of beef, and was eyeing the slice on my plate as well.
But Lil’ Demon jumped to my defense. “Why should she drop it? You were on my back about being in New York when the announcement was first posted. No one here has seen Lucky since it went live. She skipped our last Diggirls get-together, she skipped all of our recent powwows, and I bet you a bottle of Cristal she skips tonight as well. Doesn’t that seem far more suspicious to you?”
Soze narrowed his eyes in my direction. “Who else have you been sharing your suspicions with, Bugaboo?”
“They aren’t her suspicions,” Lil’ Demon said. “They’re mine. You’re not the only one who gets to make accusations around here, Soze.”
“Though I’m apparently the only one who realizes what doing so might mean.” He threw his fork down. “Has no one else been paying attention to Gehry’s threats? He’s out for blood, and we all know from personal experience the man doesn’t bluff. I also know from political circles he’s a leap-first-look-later kind of guy. If he thinks he can pin this on someone, he’ll ruin them without a second thought. He’ll do it even if it’s only to make an example of the person.”
“And he’d probably love to pin it on a Diggirl.” Angel slumped in her chair, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders.
“So what?” asked Big Demon. “He tries anything with Lucky and she’ll crash his whole system.”
“Not Lucky,” Puck piped up at last. “Something tells me she’s a turn-the-other-cheek kind of gal.”
I set down my fork. “Look, I’m the last person who would turn her over to that asshole. What do you take me for? I just want to talk to her. That’s all. I haven’t seen her for a while. She hasn’t managed to make it over here and I want to know why. Is this too much to ask?”
Apparently so. Of course, as it turned out, Lucky wasn’t the only no-show on that fine November evening. Graverobber (of course), Kismet, Shandy, Thorndike (who you’d think would have experience running blockades), and Bond all failed to make an appearance, and when it became obvious we had nothing even approaching a quorum, Frodo, the evening’s Uncle Tony, called a recess.
“We’ll talk online,” Soze suggested as we began to sneak out, “and make sure we can meet on Sunday. This should all blow over by then.”
Here’s hoping. And to that end, I decided to accompany Ben back to Edison College, which just happened to be my favorite missing knight’s home. Josh may think Jenny’s absence was more correlation than causation, but I’d decided to beard the computer hacker in her den of CPUs.
Edison is located on the far end of campus, near the gym. It’s one of the so-called ugly colleges. While the rest of us dwell in Gothic or Georgian splendor (a little cramped, but hey, lead-veined windows, enormous fireplaces, exposed brick, and wood paneling), the residents of Edison College enjoy spacious singles from sophomore year onward and spend their time at Eli in an ultra-modern architectural example of abstract art. The building has no right angles. Those of us who were lucky enough to draw into one of the older colleges don’t get the appeal.