The three agents met up at the car lot the next day. Weiss was carrying their letters of acceptance from Angus Flittman and the other head of the Pershing-St. Clair Wizards, Holly Rosenthal. "We've all been accepted," he told them. "I was told to start today. Apparently the corps heads out tomorrow for a tour of Los Angeles, Victoria Springs, Loveless Lake, and Strasburg."
"Tomorrow? We leave tomorrow?" Sydney asked. "But we don't know the music yet."
"Au contraire," Weiss continued, pulling out a sheaf of music. "This is for you, and here's some for Vaughn."
"That's Linus Deming to you," Vaughn responded testily.
"Right, Linus. And here's for… Emma," Weiss finished, handing Sydney her music. She began to study it, then looked up.
"And what will you be doing, Joel?"
He smiled, pleased that she had remembered his "name." "Well, as a roadie, I'll be loading drums, musical instruments, and equipment."
"Sounds good."
Vaughn had reached the car they'd been given – a light blue Honda Civic – and unlocked it. "Come on, you two," he called.
They hurried to catch up, stowing their duffel bags in the trunk with Vaughn's bugle and Sydney's stick bag. Vaughn unlocked the car and got into the driver's seat, Sydney in the passenger seat, and Weiss in the back. "What time do you have to report to Flittman?" Vaughn asked.
"Two," Weiss replied. Vaughn calculated; it was just past ten o'clock and the drive to Pershing-St. Clair would take them approximately three hours. They would arrive a little after one, which would be plenty of time to check in at the camp and sign in.
Vaughn drove the first stretch of the journey, which was from Los Angeles to the tiny town of Loveless Lake, where the Wizards would be performing later. Weiss slept and Sydney went over her music. When they stopped, he stretched as he got out of the car, loose and limber in his knee-length black shorts and white T-shirt. "Who wants to drive next?"
"I will," Sydney volunteered, shrugging into a gray Pershing-St. Clair Wizards sweatshirt. Like Vaughn, she wore loose clothing suitable for heavy physical activity – gray yoga pants, a light blue T-shirt, and the sweatshirt. Weiss, on the other hand, had chosen light blue jeans and a Metallica T-shirt straight out of the Metal Age.
The next leg of the journey brought the three to the town of Strasburg. Weiss took over the driving while Sydney and Vaughn studied their music together. They arrived in Pershing-St. Clair at one-thirty. They reached the camp for the drum corps five minutes later, parked the car, and headed for the main building, where they were checked in by a young woman with curly red hair. "Hi!" she greeted them enthusiastically. "I'm Serena Newquist. And you are?"
"Linus Deming, second bugle," Vaughn said.
"Emma Henry, snare," Sydney added.
"And I'm Joel Fielding, new roadie."
"Excellent. Mr. Flittman's been looking for a new roadie ever since Kevin broke his leg."
"That sounds serious."
"No, he just dropped some heavy equipment." She shook her head noncommittally, and handed them each a different sheaf of papers. "You have your music?"
Sydney and Vaughn nodded. On the floor next to them was Vaughn's bugle case and Sydney's drumming equipment.
"Good. The corps is in rehearsal in D-Building right now, and the roadies are down at Tip-Top for their daily meeting." On Weiss's confused look, she explained, "Tip-Top Café. It's the light blue building down the road. And D-Building is right across the courtyard. Is your luggage here?"
"It's in our car," Vaughn answered.
"If you give me your keys, I'll go get it and take it over to the dorms," Serena offered. "I can drop the keys off with Willie."
"Willie?"
"Willie Sorenson. He's the chief conductor for indoor and technical rehearsals. Mr. Flittman's only involved with the choreography. He's probably down at Tip-Top with the roadies, knocking back an Orange Crush." She smiled.
"Sounds great. Here's the keys," Weiss said, handing them to her.
She led them outside, and pointed out D-Building. "That's where we rehearse, eat, and have corps meetings," Serena explained. "Those are the dorms. The roadies sleep down at Rainbow Motel, which is twenty feet down the road."
Vaughn and Sydney nodded appreciatively. Weiss had headed in the other direction, for the Tip-Top Café and his new roadie friends.
Serena left them at the door of D-Building. Vaughn turned to look at Sydney, but she had nothing to say to him. They entered D-Building and could instantly hear the unmistakable sounds of a 200-piece marching ensemble practicing.
"Guess we're in that room," Vaughn said, trying to be chipper.
The room was large, about the size of an industrial-strength meeting hall or ballroom. The floor was pale green tile and the walls were an unobtrusive shade of gray. At the left side was a large fireplace, and to the right were the French doors Sydney and Vaughn had just entered through. People were everywhere. The percussion section was at the back of the room, underneath a landscape painting. In front of them was the brass section. The pit stood to their left. Flag corps was at the farthest end of the room. And they were all standing in front of a man on a carpeted podium.
Willie Sorenson was obviously the man on the podium. Sydney pegged him as mid-forties; he sported a yellow-and-green Hawaiian shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts, as well as battered red Keds. His gray hair stuck up in the heat of the room, and his eyes were wide behind his large glasses. When Sydney and Vaughn entered, he raised his baton suddenly and stopped the corps. "Yes?" he bellowed. "Who are you?"
"I'm Linus Deming, sir, and this is…"
"She can answer for herself!" the man snapped.
"Emma Henry," Sydney answered quickly.
"Ah, yes. The new players. Please, join your sections. Don't hesitate any longer – you're wasting valuable time!"
Vaughn hurried over to where the brass was, unpacking his bugle as he went. Sydney turned and went to the percussion, who were standing at the far end of the large room. The person who was obviously the leader was a stocky person, male, maybe nineteen or twenty in age, with curly brown hair and wide-set brown eyes. "I'm David Kelleher," he introduced himself.
"Emma Henry," Sydney answered.
"Snare, right?" On Sydney's nod, he continued, "There's the extra snare over there, and the fifth harness is here." He handed her a confusing-looking contraption. "Do you have marching sticks?"
Sydney nodded; both Marshall and Dan Gold had contributed their sticks, and she now possessed two pairs of the large, white sticks.
"Good. We tape our sticks in blue, you can probably get some tape from Patrick or Natalie." He nodded as he spoke, picking out two drummers – a male bass drummer with closely cropped blond hair, and a quad-playing female with two long brown braids. "Do it later. Here." He handed her a snare drum she hadn't seen him pick up. Behind them, the ensemble had started to play again. Willie Sorenson was yelling out directions to a recalcitrant bugler.
"Thanks," Sydney said appreciatively. David smiled at her, then picked up his drum and glibly swung the harness onto his broad shoulders. Sydney followed suit after settling her drum carefully onto the harness.
She gasped, not audibly, but close enough. The drum's dead weight was more than she had expected. After a moment, its weight seemed to settle somewhere around her lower stomach, and she concentrated on the music, which she was sharing with another snare player, a teenaged boy with large glasses and a smattering of freckles across his pale face. "I'm Jeremy Foxworth," he whispered as Willie Sorenson stopped the ensemble again.
"Emma Henry."
"All right, drums, let me hear what you've got at measure five," Willie Sorenson requested.
Jeremy pointed out the measure to Sydney with a stick. She smiled gratefully as Willie counted. "One, two, one, two, ready, go."
The sound of the drumline – six snares, three quads, five basses, and five cymbals – was louder to Syd's ears than the rushing of the tides in the ocean. She barely managed to keep track of the measures as they played, first a string of triplets, then a variegated pattern of sixteenth notes and rim shots.
"Good! Good! Stop!" Willie Sorenson yelled over the commotion, tapping his baton and waving his arms.
The drumline came to a halt, and Jeremy was grinning at Sydney. "Loud, isn't it?"
She breathed in a breath she hadn't known she needed. "How did you know?"
"You looked like you'd been hit with a sack of cement," he responded.
Twenty minutes later, after a final rehearsal of the Dave Brubeck piece "Take Five," Willie called rehearsal to a halt. "That's good for today," he informed the corps. "Be on the field at seven for choreography."
Jeremy turned to Sydney. "What did you think?"
"It's marvelous," she answered, her eyes wide. "I've never heard anything like it."
"Except back at home, right? In high school?" he questioned, taking off his snare and setting it gently in its case. The harness he removed separately.
"Right," she replied, doing the same with her drum.
David stepped to the front of the line. "All right, guys, let's introduce ourselves to our newest member. This is Emma Henry, from…"
"Pittsboro," Sydney answered. Their cover story called for both her and Vaughn to be from Pittsboro; Weiss was from neighboring Atamalta.
"Pittsboro. You already know me, David Kelleher, and Jeremy Foxworth."
The next snare player next to Jeremy was Mariah Ruiz. She was shorter than Jeremy, with caramel-colored skin and shoulder-length brown hair bound into a braid. Blake Thompson stood next to Mariah. He was tall and gawky, with pale blue eyes and a shifty look. The final snare drummer was Haley Pierce. She had curly reddish hair and piercing hazel eyes, but smiled at Sydney.
"Moving onto the bass line – Patrick, start us out," David requested.
"Yo, I'm Patrick Metz," the boy said. He had short blond hair and wore tinted sunglasses propped on his head.
"Dillon Marshall," the next bass player said, yawning. He wore his shoulder length dark blond hair back in a ponytail.
"Tara Frost," the third bass player called. Her black hair was pulled up into two buns on her head, and she had a friendly, likable smile.
The fourth bass player was Jeremiah Douglas, a short boy wearing cutoffs and a Twisted Sister shirt. He had a friendly smile as well, and his head was shaved.
"And last but not least," Jeremiah said, smiling at the fifth bass player, a strong-looking, broad-shouldered girl who wore her light blond hair in two braids.
"Isabella Vassar," she said, smiling icily at Sydney. "Pleased to meet you."
"Onto quads," David said, seemingly not noticing Isabella's unfriendliness. "Our head quad player is Darius Michaud, but he was called out to attend his grandmother's funeral today." He motioned to the next drummer.
"I'm Maxwell Clark," the drummer said. He had the look of old money, someone whose family had power and prestige. He was dressed simply, in knee-length khaki shorts and an Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt, but his brown hair was neatly combed and his round glasses looked expensive. His smile was friendly, however, and he looked genuinely pleased to be in the corps.
"Natalie Birchmont," the only female quad player said, introducing herself. She had waist-length brown hair, pulled back into two braids. Like Maxwell, she looked genuinely excited about being in the corps, and possibly about being alive.
The third quads player looked up from where he was taping a loose end of his mallet. "Zachary Peru," he said, stepping forward to shake Sydney's hand.
There was nothing threatening about Zachary Peru, but the simple gesture of hand-shaking made Sydney a bit uneasy. He has nothing to hide, she chided herself. They know nothing about Angus Flittman's Covenant ties. "Pleased to meet you," she answered.
"Okay, guys, pack it up, have a good break. Dinner's at five-thirty tonight, and then rehearsal starts at seven," David informed the rest of the line. He turned to Sydney, smiling. "Aren't they great?"
She had to agree. The Wizards' drummers seemed like some of the nicest people she'd met lately. "Yes."
"Do you like your dorm?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't been there yet. Serena took our bags over there. Mine and Linus's."
"Oh, you're friends with him?"
"Yeah, we're both from Pittsboro." She smiled in a way she found much too silly. "We've been dating since sophomore year."
"I'll walk you over to the dorms," he said, setting her snare case on top of his. "And then I'll show you the dining room."
They walked out of D-Building together, and David led the way to the dormitories. "That's Peach, the girls' dorm, and Apple, the guys'."
"Clever names," Sydney remarked.
They stopped at the door to Peach, and David leaned in to talk to the middle-aged woman sitting just inside the foyer. "This is Emma Henry, Allyson," he said. "What floor is she on?"
The woman looked up from the romance novel she was reading and leaned forward, grasping a ledger covered in faux blue leather. "Let's check, shall we?" she said, flipping it open. "Henry, Henry… you're on Douglas Floor, that's the second floor, in Cherry Room."
"Who's her roommates?" David asked, grinning.
"Uhh… Stevenson, Keppler, and Birchmont," Allyson replied.
"They're a good group, Emma," David said, still smiling. "I'll see you at dinner."
"Okay," Sydney said, a little confusedly. "Bye!"
He left, waving, and Sydney headed up the steps to Douglas Floor.
Cherry Room was the fourth room on the left. Sydney knocked tentatively, and heard a brusque "Come in!" from inside. She entered and was faced with Natalie Birchmont and two other girls. "Emma, right?" Natalie said. "Chelsey, Maya, this is Emma. She's our new snare."
The freckle-faced girl with unruly brown curls smiled. "Chelsey Keppler. Glad to see some fresh faces around here."
"Maya Stevenson," the other girl said. She had ivory skin, black hair bound into a braid around her head, and bright green eyes.
"They're both bugles," Natalie informed Sydney.
Sydney was attempting to place the second girl, Maya. She looked so familiar… Anya Dombrowski! What is she doing here? Sydney thought suddenly. That was where she had seen the girl – in the photo Dixon had shown them.
