The Drowned Vault Read Online Free PDF

but every eye followed the Smiths as they passed.
    They knew who Cyrus was, and they knew what he’d lost.
    Antigone and Cyrus quickened their steps. The halls were crowded with the late rush to the dining hall.
    “New people everywhere,” Antigone said quietly. “Where are they coming from?”
    Cyrus watched a group of five teens approaching. Three of them he knew—Sean, Chris, and Francis—typical boring, rich-kid Journeymen who disliked the Smiths and always seemed to be vacationing with family somewhere incredibly obscure. The three of them wereclustered around and chattering at two blond brothers who Cyrus didn’t know. Both of the brothers were shorter than Cyrus, but had broader, heavier shoulders and long, thick arms. They were wearing tight black T-shirts and pocketed fatigue shorts. A simple white design had been stenciled on the center of each shirt—an elephant skull with large curving tusks above crossed telescopes.
    Cyrus stared at the strange Jolly Roger and then looked into the boys’ faces. Tan skin, square jaws, and very blond hair. One of them had traded half of his right eyebrow for a lump of white scar tissue. Cyrus could still see a faint crisscross where the wound had been stitched.
    The boy with the scar saw Cyrus and Antigone as they tried to pass, and shouldered his way free of his fans.
    “You’re the Smiths?” he asked. His voice was accented, almost British, but Cyrus knew that wasn’t right. Australian? That was wrong, too.
    Cyrus nodded. Antigone looked down the hall, where Rupert had stopped and was waiting for them.
    “I’m Silas Livingstone,” the boy said. He pointed at his brother. “This is my little brother George.”
    “Hey,” said George. “You two are why we’re here.”
    “Great,” said Antigone, glancing at the three other Journeymen. They all looked like they smelled something unpleasant. “Nice to meet you. Cy, we should keep going.”
    “Wait.” Silas cocked his head, raising one and a half eyebrows. He was looking at the emblem on Antigone’s shirt. Then he looked at Cyrus’s. “What is that? A boxing monkey? I’ve never seen that before.”
    South African accent, Cyrus thought. Or something close.
    George pointed at it. “Is it your family’s crest?”
    Silas laughed. “George, that’s not the sign of the Smiths.”
    “Right.” George looked embarrassed, like he’d forgotten something obvious. “Well, it’s not a Continental crest or an Estate crest or an Expeditionary Badge. Is it a new trainer’s?”
    Cyrus looked at Antigone, and back at the two brothers. He shrugged. “I have no idea what most of that meant.”
    Antigone tucked back her hair and smiled. “It’s the sign of the Polygoners,” she said. “We got it off a World War One flight jacket. Now it’s our symbol.”
    “Smiths!” Rupert yelled. “Now!”
    “What
is
the sign of the Smiths?” Cyrus asked.
    Silas cocked his half-eyebrow in surprise. “The three heads?”
    “Heads?” Antigone asked. “Of what?”
    “Of men,” said Silas, confused. He seemed to think he was missing a joke. “Grand to meet you both. And no hard feelings, I hope.”
    Cyrus and Antigone continued down the hall and rejoined Rupert. Antigone glanced at her brother.
    “Heads? That’s a little weird,” she said. “And no hard feelings? What was that about? Why would there be hard feelings?”
    “They’d like their father to be named Brendan instead of your trusty Keeper. Some would take that personally, but I share their hope, as unlikely as it is,” Rupert turned and continued down the hall. “Stay close and keep moving.”
    “Where are we going?” Cyrus asked. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
    “We’ll talk in your rooms,” Rupert said. “Not before.”
    “Our rooms?” Cyrus said. “What about dinner?”
    Rupert laughed. “Cyrus Smith, we’ll talk when we get there.”
    Rupert carved his way through the crowded halls. Even side by side, Cyrus and Antigone fit easily in