The Paladin Prophecy

LYLE OGILVY

Puzzled, Will did as he was told. Brooke knocked on an inner door, then stepped back beside him. Moments later a tall, slope-shouldered young man entered, wearing a blue blazer with the Center’s crest on the pocket and a Windsor-knotted tie striped with school colors. He closed the door quietly and precisely behind him. He wore heavy black wingtips on big flat feet that splayed to the side as he walked. A helmet of oily black hair circled the crown of his unusually long head, and looked as if he ironed it every morning. His face was framed by an oversized brow and prominent jaw, creating an impression that the fleshy features jammed in between were fighting for space. Gray-green circles under his eyes added the only color to his deathly pale complexion. He sniffled constantly, fighting either allergies or a sinus infection. He looked at least eighteen.

“Will West, Lyle Ogilvy,” said Brooke. “Greenwood Hall’s provost marshal.”

Ogilvy looked Will over with darting black eyes that radiated furtive intelligence. He took two measured steps forward, offering a moist handshake and an obsequious smile. Something about Lyle, his stooped posture and covert vigilance, reminded Will of an undertaker or a large bird of prey. Brooke edged back as Lyle advanced; she seemed more than a little afraid of him.

“So pleased to have you with us,” said Lyle.

A surprisingly high-pitched voice for a person of his height and mass. Lyle affected a posh accent, halfway to British, the way actors in old movies talked when they wore tuxedos. His tone stayed polite on the surface, but a half-concealed sneer suggested he saw Will as his inferior.

“Likewise,” said Will. “What’s a provost marshal?”

Lyle seemed amused by the question. “We have rules in the residence halls. I don’t make them, but I am charged with enforcing them. Reluctantly on occasion, but at all times, I can assure you, with alacrity.”

He reached over and unzipped Will’s bag. Will thought about stopping him, but a worried look from Brooke dissuaded him.

“You can start by giving me your cell phone and laptop,” said Lyle.

“Why?”

“School policy,” said Lyle. “They’re not allowed on campus.”

“No phones, no texting?” asked Will, addressing Brooke as much as Lyle. Brooke confirmed, with a subtle shake of her head. “I’d like to hear the reason.”

“Students at the Center are encouraged to communicate through more traditional methods,” said Lyle patiently. “Using the neglected arts of face-to-face conversation and the written word. Or, if need be, our system of courtesy telephones, placed conveniently throughout the facilities.”

He pointed to an old-fashioned black phone on a corner cabinet that looked like it had been gathering dust since 1960.

“That seems, nothing personal … completely insane,” said Will.

“Everyone feels that way when they first arrive.” Lyle held out his hand, palm up. Dead serious. He wanted Will’s gear, and he wanted it now.

Will tried to stall. His iPhone he could part with, but he couldn’t afford to lose the phone Nando had given him. “Okay. The phone thing I can see in theory, but no laptops?”

Now Lyle sounded annoyed. “The school provides every student with a customized tablet for their personal use. Our IT staff will transfer all your data onto its hard drive—”

“What if I prefer my own?”

“—built with components and software developed in our labs. Considerably more sophisticated than this dreck from your trendy suburban retailer. Isn’t that right, Miss Springer?”

“Yes.” With her eyes, Brooke urged him not to press this.

“When do I get them back?”

Lyle made a visible effort to stay calm. “They’re securely stored and returned to you at the end of term.”

“I’ve got a bunch of stuff on my phone I need to back up to my hard drive,” said Will. “Address book, calendar, personal files—”

“Go right ahead,” said Lyle. “Now.”

Will’s laptop was his most precious possession, a luxury his parents had scarcely been able to afford. He glanced at Brooke again. She looked panicked: Please cooperate. Will took out his MacBook and iPhone, cabled them, and started a sync.

With Lyle watching him, Nando’s cell phone felt like it was burning a hole in his front pocket. He resisted an impulse to touch it while Lyle stared holes in him.

“Can I keep my iPod?” asked Will. “Or do we have to transfer everything back onto vinyl?”

A laugh burst out of Brooke, which she quickly stifled. Lyle didn’t react. He moved to the cabinet in the corner of the room, unlocked it, and collected some printed material.

Will reached into his pocket and pulled out Nando’s cell phone. While Lyle’s back was turned, he pressed it into Brooke’s hand and squeezed her fingers around it. Wide-eyed with alarm, she hid it behind her as Lyle walked back to Will and gave him a booklet and a letter.

“Your copy of our Student Code of Conduct,” said Lyle. “And I need your signature on this release form, which stipulates that you will comply with and be bound by all the rules and regulations herein.”

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