Chapter 3

Zacharias vanished into thin air for a few hours. By the time the younger kids had settled down and gone to bed, Lasa was beginning to worry.

She did a quick tour of the house, and found him in the living room. Since the last time she'd been in there - it had to have been a month, at least - the kids had redecorated. There were new curtains of a soft, smoky blue, and the ceiling had been painted black, with pale yellow stars in sweeping constellations. Lasa suspected that they would glow in the dark; it seemed like the kind of thing that the kids, who occasionally camped out in the living room, would enjoy.

Zacharias was slumped over the couch, apparently asleep. Lasa didn't see how he could possibly get any rest in his position. One leg was tucked under him, the other dangled off of the couch's arm. His glasses were slightly askew; without thinking, she reached out and hooked her fingers under the arms, carefully removing the spectacles. He made a small noise and turned his head away from her.

"Oh, dear," said a voice behind Lasa. She jumped and spun, feeling oddly guilty. Rebekah stood in the doorway, her arms loaded with blankets and a pillow. "I was going to sleep on the couch, but I see he's taken it. Do you remember where we put the cot?"

They eventually found it, hidden behind a folding table in the basement. Setting it up was difficult, and left Lasa with a cut on her thumb and several painful welts on her legs. She dragged herself up to bed, wishing that she didn't have to live in the attic.

She woke early the next morning, cranky and out of sorts from lack of sleep. She almost fell down the stairs, crashed into the wall in her attempts to enter the kitchen, and burned herself making coffee. She hated coffee, but when she woke up early, it was completely necessary.

No one else was awake yet, so she sat down at the table and sipped at the coffee, wincing at the bitter taste. Sugar...where did they keep the sugar? In the pantry.

She spilled flour on the floor while trying to locate the sugar, and couldn't bring herself to care.

"Wow. You're less of a morning person than I am."

She cursed and almost spilled the coffee, turning her head to glare at Zacharias. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, hair tousled, eyes dark and dilated. Lasa looked away after a moment. "Never have been," she said. "A morning person, I mean."

Zacharias laughed and went over to the counter, moving with a liquid grace. "You took my glasses. Where are they?"

That was a very good question.

Lasa left him in the kitchen and began to search. She was spending far too much time lately looking for things and people. She had tossed his glasses onto a chair in the living room; after retrieving them, she returned to the kitchen.

Zacharias had the stove on and was cracking eggs into a bowl, then bending forward to look for eggshells with his myopic eyes. "If you haven't found them, I'll probably burn the house down," he said without looking around.

"Here," she said, handing them over, and went to have more coffee.

"I despise eggs," he said conversationally, settling the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Don't you people eat anything else for breakfast? I couldn't find cereal or anything."

"Most of us don't even eat breakfast," Lasa informed him.

"Well, that's unhealthy."

"Most of us don't care." She took another sip of the coffee, decided that she was awake enough, and pushed the mug away. "So, that girl. Who is she?"

Zacharias poured the eggs carelessly into the pan, gazed at them for a moment, then spun away and slid across the floor to the pantry. Lasa couldn't imagine why he was sliding - it wasn't as if the floor had been waxed recently or anything - except possibly that he liked showing off that devil-may-care style of moving he had. "No one important," he finally said, flinging the door open and pulling the broom out. He skipped back over to the stove, pushed the eggs around with a spatula, and was off again to sweep up the flour Lasa had spilled earlier.

"Oh, come on. You wouldn't have reacted so badly if she wasn't important."

"I did not react badly. I reacted as well as any sane person could be expected to react when suddenly confronted with..." He trailed off, and this time simply walked back to the stove. "Where's your dustpan?"

"Bottom shelf. You don't have to clean up after me."

"I like it. This is fun. Do I look like I'm not enjoying myself? I'm going to burn these eggs. Probably the house, too. I hope you didn't waste all the fire extinguishers on the boathouse."

"You are the strangest person I have ever met," Lasa informed him.

"I try." He turned off the heat and left the pan where it was. "Where are the plates?"

"Let me do it," she said, and spent the next few minutes opening and closing cabinets. Someone had rearranged everything. The dustpan wasn't in its usual place, either; they eventually located it under the sink.

The bottoms of the eggs were burnt and crunchy, so Lasa avoided them. Zacharias shoveled his portion down with reckless abandon, threw his dishes into the sink, and reached up to open the window. He couldn't figure out the lock and rattled it for a moment.

"Fix it," he whined, and gave Lasa a pitiful look.

Lasa did, and stood there for a moment, staring out. The sun hadn't risen fully, and the lake was touched with gold and pink. "That girl," she began.

"I don't want to talk about it. You can't make me."

Lasa had met people who were absolutely horrible in the morning. She had met people who were disgustingly chipper. She even knew one person (Joseph) who routinely forgot everything that happened between the hours of seven and nine A.M.

She had never before met someone who had mood swings quite this ridiculous.

"Maybe you should go back to bed," she suggested. "I'm going to."

"I'll never get back to sleep. Insomnia."

"That girl - "

"Would you shut up? I don't want to talk about her."

"Why, Zac," a soft, musical voice drawled. "I'm hurt."

It was undoubtedly the voice of the girl who had appeared so mysteriously the night before. She leaned against the doorframe, lips twisted into a smirk. Lasa loathed her immediately.

"I thought," the girl continued, "that you missed me. I thought that you'd be at my side when I awoke. I thought - "

"You thought wrong," Zacharias snapped. "Lasa, where's the dish soap?"

"Lasa. What an odd name. I'm Jen Matthews." Jen pushed herself upright and sauntered into the kitchen. "Short for Genevieve, not Jennifer."

"Lasa Taylor."

Zacharias found the dish soap on his own and turned the water on full blast, humming tunelessly in an apparent attempt to drown out their voices. Jen rolled her eyes and, uninvited, took a seat at the table.

"You're feeling better?" Lasa asked coolly.

"Much better, thank you. This is a very nice house." Jen looked around. Her eyes were a strange shade of deep grey; there was something slightly off about them, but Lasa couldn't quite figure out what it was. "It's big."

"Fifteen people live here, counting you two," Lasa said. "It's only meant to hold eleven."

Jen made a noncommital noise and picked up the salt shaker. Neither of the girls spoke; Zacharias stopped humming.

Finally, Lasa came up with a question. "How do you two know each other?"

Jen smirked again. "That depends on how much he's told you about his profession."

"We grew up together," Zacharias said loudly. "We were at school together."

Lasa nodded. "So, is she a spy too?"

"I'm not a spy," Jen said indignantly, while Zacharias dropped the spoon he was drying and braced himself against the counter, snickering.

"She prefers," the blond finally managed, "the term Codebreaker. As do I."

"I don't understand that," Lasa said. "How can you be Guildmembers already? What's up with your promotion system?"

Zacharias shrugged and turned to face them, adjusting his glasses idly. "It's a very long story. We've got a progressive-thinking Guildmaster, that's the crux of the matter. I'm actually fourth in the guild...or is it fifth?"

"Fifth," said Jen.

"What? Then who's fourth?"

"John Barnaby."

"No way. I'm better at everything than he is. It's because of the cloning fiasco, isn't it? I told you not to let me drive."

Lasa knew perfectly well that they were joking. There was simply no way that a teenager could be fifth rank in any guild. And cloning? How utterly ridiculous. At the very least they could have come up with a better scenario than that.

"No cars," Lasa pointed out smugly. "You're lying."

Jen rolled her eyes and tipped some salt into her hand. "Oh, how would you know? You met him, what, three weeks ago? I've known him for sixteen years."

"Four," Zacharias corrected. "No, I tell a lie. Five."

"Well, now you're just nitpicking."

"How is that nitpicking? I never even saw you before that one day."

"She's right. You're a liar. You horrible person."

"This is insane. I'm not going to have this conversation." Zacharias shut off the water rather belatedly and swept out of the room.

Jen laughed and pushed the chair back so that it balanced on its back legs. "I love doing that to him." She licked the salt off of her palm, watching Lasa with mildly interested eyes.

"How did you know it had been three weeks?" Lasa asked. She was probably picking up some of Roger's paranoia. The fact that it wasn't even seven in the morning probably added to her suspicion of Jen.

"I'm - how do you say it - a spy, remember? It's my business to know things." Jen laughed. "And I'm good at what I do."

"I wouldn't have thought that spies would be so free with information."

"You've obviously never met our generation. There's a reason for it, but telling you would completely spoil the idea behind it."

Lasa wondered how it was even possible for the chair to stay in that position. It looked precarious, but Jen wasn't even wobbling. "So," Lasa said after a moment. "How soon are you and Zacharias leaving?"

"I have four days before I have to go. I'm supposed to be in New York by the first of August. I don't know if he's going to come with me."

There was a loud thud from the hallway, and they heard Zacharias shout something in Spanish. The front door banged open and shut.

Roger skidded into the kitchen. "Hi, Las, hi, new person. I'm just going to grab some crackers and go." He rooted through the pantry and pulled out a half-empty package of Saltines.

"Where are you going?" Lasa asked.

"Zac's got a theory about the page numbers, we're going to the library."

Zacharias appeared at the open window. "Never call me that," he sang out. "Come on. Vámonos. Time is of the essence. Time is power."

"Power corrupts," Roger said. "See you later, Las. Tell the teachers where I am."

He was gone before she could interrogate him further.

"Page numbers?" Jen asked mildly.

"It's a long story," Lasa said. "As long as you're here...want to play racquetball?"

* * *

Zacharias was actually skipping when he and Roger returned.

"Akhenaten!" he cried as soon as he was within hearing range of the racquetball court. He babbled something else in the same language, presumably Egyptian, and grabbed a racquet from the box. "I'm going to beat you today. I'm too happy to lose."

"So you figured it out, then?"

"It's so ridiculously simple! All you have to know is..." He glanced over at Jen, who was bouncing the ball on her racquet and studiously ignoring him. "I'll explain later. Let's play."

Roger, who had been walking much more slowly and finally reached the court, groaned. "And I suppose I'm going to lose again?"

"Be my partner," Jen said, grinning at him. "Zacharias has never beaten me at racquetball before. It's the only thing I'm reliably better at than he is. Well, and archery."

"Put your goggles on," Lasa said. She was resigned to playing yet another game. Jen had utterly destroyed her in the three they'd played, but with Zacharias on her team, maybe Lasa stood a chance.

"Akhenaten," Zacharias said dreamily. "The heretic pharaoh. I just love Amarna. Gorgeous city. I don't wear goggles, Lasa, they make my glasses all smudgy and weird. Remember Amarna, Jen?"

"Quite well," Jen said coldly. "You can serve second. You'll need it."

"I really doubt that. You've never played with Roger."

"Bah," Roger said succintly.

Lasa and Zacharias won by two points. Roger went off to sulk, while Zacharias, practically glowing with delight, ran for the house, presumably to continue his translation of The Real History of the War.

In retrospect, Lasa should have known. When it started raining that afternoon, she should have known that the world was changing. She should have known.

It probably wouldn't have changed anything that came after, but at least she would have been prepared.

Mr. X and Rebekah, in response to the pleading and whining of the apprentices, took all eight out on the motorboat. Tubing was more fun in the rain, and Lasa nearly joined them, deciding at the last minute to finish the three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle that she and Roger had started months ago. It was languishing on a table in the basement; with Jen's help, she dragged it into the extension.

Though the new room was unpainted and there were transparent tarps nailed where the windows would be, it was shelter enough from the rain, and the steady drum of water on plastic was surprisingly soothing. Jen was remarkably adept at fitting pieces into difficult places, and they worked in silence for awhile.

Lasa would never be able to state when exactly the argument upstairs began. The voices weren't loud enough for her to hear until Roger and Zacharias were already downstairs, and then one or the other slammed a door nearby so hard that the table shook. Jen cursed and steadied the puzzle; Lasa pushed her chair back and ran into the hall.

Dorian came out of the living room, a newspaper in his hands. "What was that?" he asked.

"I have no idea."

Zacharias slammed the door of Mr. X's room open. He had shoved his glasses onto the top of his head; his hazel eyes were wild and blazing. A sheaf of paper was clutched in his fist. "I told you!" he yelled. "I told you he was onto us! Stole my notes!"

"Shut up, you liar!" Roger screamed from somewhere upstairs. "It's all a lie! I don't believe you anymore!"

"Hey, I didn't make history, I just translate it when stupid people turn it into a bloody code!"

Jen came up behind Lasa and said, in a sad sort of way, "Please stop the fighting! I simply can't take the fighting!"

"Shut up!" Zacharias shouted. "This is your fault!" He ran for the stairs and took them two at a time, pausing only to add, "I don't know how yet, but it is!"

Jen shrugged. "Whatever. Coming, Lasa? We're almost done."

"I'm going to find out what's going on," Lasa said. She headed upstairs, leaving poor, bewildered Dorian to muse on the strangeness that was adolescence.

Roger and Zacharias were kneeling in the middle of the corridor, bent over the papers, still yelling at each other. Lasa couldn't even tell what they were saying anymore. Quite calmly, she poked Roger in the head.

"What's going on?"

"This book," he announced, in a relatively quiet voice, "is a tool of the rebellion and not to be read."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. It's not a tool of any rebellion. You're such an idiot." Zacharias shook his head. His glasses were back on, though slightly askew. "We managed to finish translating," he told Lasa. "Roger is unhappy with the truth. Especially the truth that your bloody teacher knows and we're probably going to be executed and it's your fault, you two, always leaving the notes about the truth lying around - "

"It's not the truth! It's a vicious lie! It's - "

"Oh, come on. What's lost by believing it? Your dignity if it's wrong. Your life if it's right and you don't trust it. Before you say anything, Lasa, allow me to enlighten you." Zacharias paused for dramatic effect, then went on. "The computer that the Education Guild is building is based on plans from 2093. According to this book, those plans were designed by an enemy. There are parts in the computer that shouldn't be there - they look completely innocent until the damned thing is switched on, at which point some kind of nuclear weapon explodes and we all die. Fare thee well, America."

"You see?" Roger shrieked. "You see what he's saying? It's madness, it's lies, it's all so - "

"Oh," Lasa said. "Is that all? Well, I knew that."

For a moment, there was dead silence.

Then Roger started shouting incomprehensibly, and Zacharias cried, "And you weren't going to tell anyone that the world as we know it is going to end in eleven months?"

Lasa was forced to scream in order to be heard. "That's not what I meant! I meant - will you shut up?"

Eventually, they did.

Lasa continued, "I don't mean I knew about this so-called weapon or anything. But I've known all my life that there was some kind of government conspiracy. Mom was always going on about it. I didn't expect it to be something like this. And I still don't. I think that book is some kind of hoax, or a parody or something, and we only believe it because it's two hundred years old and no one remembers that it isn't real."

"It's real," Zacharias said softly.

"Well, you can't know that, I mean - "

"I do know it. Lasa, this isn't some kind of copy. This is an original. I can tell, it's very simple to use a - don't look at me like that, Roger, sometimes the speeches are necessary - a kind of dating process. Anyway, it's original. That means it was specifically printed to be incredibly difficult to read. The multiple languages, the pages - it's real. But naturally the government, once the original threat of the computer was neutralized, wouldn't want everyone to freak out. They would suppress it. It should be obvious to anyone who's read the Codex that the government under the New Constitution was insanely corrupt. Things like this weren't meant to survive, but this one did. I'd like to know how your mother got her hands on it. That isn't the point. Stop it, Roger, at least I'm not lecturing about ancient Egypt anymore. At any rate, the truth is, somehow the design for this computer survived. It's the same one, by the way, you can tell because of the - "

"Stop talking," Lasa said wearily. Amazingly, he did. "The question isn't whether or not you can prove it. I, personally, think it's stupid and fake. The question is, what are we going to do about this? Go to the authorities, try to get production of the computer stopped until we can figure out the truth?"

"Zacharias," sang a lilting voice from the stairs. "I need to talk to you, Zacharias..."

"Jen," Zacharias gasped, and made a futile attempt to gather up his papers. "Er, give me a second, I just - "

"Right now, Zacharias..."

The blond dropped everything and jumped up like a puppet on a string. "Be right back." He slid down the banister. Jen followed more conventionally.

"Lasa," Roger whispered, hoarse from all the shouting. "It's not - it can't be - real?"

"Of course not." She leaned forward and squinted at the papers. Zacharias had a strange handwriting - cramped and spiky, almost illegible. "So, what is the system of the page numbers?"

"Oh, it's brilliant," Roger said eagerly. "The chapters are 'numbered' by the order of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt - the hieroglyphs for their names, I mean. Within the chapters, it's the same system. Do you get it?"

"I think so," Lasa said. "How did you recognize the hieroglyphs?"

"Pictures from books! Pictures of the tombs, and the - "

He was cut off by Zacharias's return. The blond had obviously been outside; his glasses were streaked with water, his hair damp and tangled - he had probably made some attempt to dry it off. "I'm going to New York," he said abruptly.

"What?" Roger cried, and "Why?" Lasa yelped.

"Because," the blond said impatiently. "I have to. Tenemos que ir a Indiana muy rápidamente, ¿sí? Jen and I have to - "

Roger, who probably knew a great deal of Spanish after three weeks of translating it and Latin, mouthed the words for a moment and then gasped. "You - what do you mean?"

"What did he say?" Lasa asked.

"Shut up," Zacharias hissed. "I'm going. All right? I have to pack."

As soon as the blond was out of sight, Lasa turned to Roger. "What did he say?"

"He said that we have to go to Indiana really soon, or something."

"By 'we,' does he mean the two of us, or him too?"

"It would seem that he meant all three, because otherwise - "

"Save it. I have no interest in linguistics." Lasa bit her lip, staring at the wall opposite. "Really soon, huh. We can't just up and leave. Running away from your guild is illegal - "

"But if Jen's taking him to New York - it would take weeks to get clearance!" Roger gazed at her for a moment, his dark eyes very wide, and then announced, "I'm going. You?"

"I can't just - "

"Come on. If the book is true, it's our lives at stake. If it isn't, you get to yell at your mother about it. We have to know, and we have to know soon, so let's go!"

"We won't get ten miles," Lasa predicted. "They'll have the Justice Guild on our heels, and - "

"We can at least try. We're already in trouble if Mr. X knows what we've been reading. Even if they catch us, the most we'll get is a few nights in jail and a criminal record. Wow, that's so terrible, compared to having the whole damn country blown up!"

"Do not swear at me." She picked up one of the papers and scanned the first line, adding, "But you don't believe in this..."

The War was never about freedom, the paper said. It was never about land or wealth. It was about that most basic and dangerous thing that mankind so often kills for - religion.

"He's right. It pays to believe it. We have to talk to your mom, Las. Please come with us."

The saints marched off to war, as they did in the Crusades, never dreaming of the slaughter to follow, never dreaming that in a simple act of terrorism, a War would begin that would destroy generations, topple dynasties, and, above all, never end.

Zacharias had drawn an arrow into the margin and had written his own comment: Well, that's right, at least, but I simply can't see...

He hadn't finished the sentence.

'The saints go marching.' Wasn't that an old song, or something?

"Lasa," Roger said again. "I'm gonna go pack. You coming?"

She stood up, lost in thought. "Yes," she said slowly. "I think I am."