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.He was so weary he was seeing double.Heaving a sigh of relief to be at home at last, he crawled under the quilt and fell into a deep sleep.He slept through most of the following day.If he had dreams, he didn't remember them when he awoke late that afternoon.His knee felt stiff and sore.Mrs.Crumlin arrived with a bowl of crushed millet chowder and his medicine.If she knew about him sneaking out last night, she didn't let on."Mrs.Crumlin?" he said, slurping the cough syrup."Have you ever heard stories about plague wolves?" He choked as the syrup stuck halfway down his throat, remembering the terrifying creature in Cavernstone Hall.Risky talk, he knew, but he had to know whose side she was on.Was her loyalty to him--or was the government paying her to report back to it?Mrs.Crumlin narrowed her black eyes.Max felt the air crackle between them."Plague was wiped out decades ago," she said curtly."The High Echelon's brilliant technology put an end to that."He handed her the spoon, wiping his sticky fingers on the quilt."So there's no such thing as black wolves infected with plague virus?" he asked, trying to sound casual."They're a myth, right?"She threw him a brittle smile."Of course they're a myth, you silly boy.Wolves went the way of the trout and the polar bears, and those animals have been extinct for ages.Where in the world did you hear such an absurd story?""Nowhere.I made it up." Max closed his eyes and sank into the pillows, heart racketing inside his chest.That's it, he thought.Mrs.Crumlin lied to me about The Ruins110and now she's lying about the plague wolves.She's totally untrustworthy.On the other hand, was the High Echelon feeding her half-truths, keeping her in the dark like everyone else about its secret experiments? Did she, he wondered, know about the skræks?"Maxwell Unger!" shrilled Mrs.Crumlin.His eyes flew open.Lips pursed, she stood before him, feet planted on the rug, holding up his dripping jacket.One of the pockets hung by a thread."Whatever happened to this? How could you be so careless?"Max shrank under her beady gaze, realizing that he'd done a poor job of hiding his clothes under the bed.Mrs.Crumlin brushed clumps of matted grass and mud off the jacket."Where on earth have you been?" She stumped over to him and, reaching down with her large hand, pushed the hair off his forehead."How did you get that goose egg?" she demanded."And those scratches on your face? Hmmm?""I had an accident," he said, recoiling from her touch."It was raining and I fell down the back steps." She would never believe him, but he didn't care--not anymore."I am aware that you wander outside in the night, Maxwell.Your father says I have eyes in the back of my head, even when I'm not here, and I daresay he's right." She hung the sodden jacket over a chair.Max watched the water drip off, forming tiny puddles on the floorboards."Am I correct in assuming that you keep within the boundaries of your parents' property, Maxwell?" She set the bowl of soup on his nightstand."You wouldn't be hiding anything from me, would you?"111"I'd never do that, Mrs.Crumlin." Max reached for the soup.A cog in the wheel.That was how Rose had described Mrs.Crumlin, which Max took to mean a drone who worked for the authorities.Was Mrs.Crumlin reporting things he said to the High Echelon? That would explain why she was always peppering him with questions.Her expression turned cold and distant."Keep in mind, Maxwell, should you encounter any lurkers, lurchers or runaways on these midnight excursions of yours, you are to inform me at once.Understood?""Yes, Mrs.Crumlin." He stirred his soup, not daring to look up.Her suspicious tone made him uneasy.Could she know about Rose, or was she just guessing?What would happen if he told her the truth? He was sure Mrs.Crumlin would act out of blind loyalty; she'd have no qualms about reporting Rose to the authorities.He realized he knew deep in his bones that Mrs.Crumlin was on their side, not his.She bustled about the bedroom, moving things around on his bureau, plumping pillows, dragging his wet sweaters and long underwear out from under the bed.Now he was seeing Mrs.Crumlin in a new light.Was her wise, kindly guardian routine just a facade? He wondered if behind the flour-stained dresses and graying hair tucked into a hairnet there was a devious, calculating, much scarier Mrs.Crumlin.He had a sinking feeling that the answer was yes."Shall I set up a game of Dark Hearts and Winding Shrouds in the parlor?" she suggested."That might cheer you up.""No thanks," said Max."My throat's scratchy.I just want to112sleep." He dipped his spoon into the broth, vowing never to believe another thing Mrs.Crumlin told him.And he would never, ever say anything that might give Rose away."Suit yourself." With a hurt look, she whisked away his wet clothes and stomped out.Max set the broth aside and jumped out of bed, his thoughts turning to the skræk.He wondered where it was now.Had it found anything to eat? He pictured the creature flying through the forest, or hanging upside down in a bat cave, resting after its traumatic ordeal.He didn't know why he had felt compelled to set it free.It had been an irrational act, utterly insane.Rose had been furious last night when she saw Skræsk #176 flapping away
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