“You’ve a cruel streak in you, Captain.”
“A minor flaw.” Almar rubbed his nape, foregoing jovial banter for the sake of duty. “What reports have you brought for me?”
“No troubling incidents yet. A few minor arguments needing intervention and a higher rate of pickpockets than we anticipated. They seem to be popping up all over the damn place. Running down the little shits as they try fleeing is spreading us somewhat thin. We’re holding each one until Ironcleft will take them.”
“More cutpurses than normal isn’t truly discouraging. If this is the worst we see, I’d call that a good evening. Anything else worth mentioning?”
“Seems to be a legitimate duel starting over a broken business arrangement.”
“I’d wondered why the music stopped.”
“Guards are keeping their distance and leaving responsibility to the nobles.”
Almar groaned, using one hand to stifle an itch migrating across his forehead. “Damned Asdori and their idiotic duels.”
“I’m Asdori, sir.”
“I stand by my comment. Wish I could outlaw duels on Starwatch grounds and put an end to this fool tradition.”
“Don’t bother trying. It’s engrained in our culture, sir. You’d have more success striving to punch through a stone wall.”
“Walls can always be breached, Elvia. Ask any soldier.”
“I’ll leave the attempt up to you.” She started to withdraw before halting and hoisting a finger. “Oh, one other thing. A new hire didn’t show earlier today.”
Almar arched a brow. “I thought all arrived as ordered.”
“That was a mistake. Rensan accidentally counted the same woman twice. And we’re managing fine with one less guard, which is why I’m only bringing it to your attention now. Seemed trivial next to all the other things we need to be thinking about.”
“Which one failed to report for duty?”
“Kalyna, I believe.”
“An Asdori,” he whispered.
“Sir?”
“Never mind. When was she last seen?”
“Five days ago during her final training regimen. She wasn’t asked to return until now.”
“Have you received any correspondence from her? Word of an illness or other notice?”
“No, sir. We expected her to arrive this afternoon for outfitting. She didn’t show.”
“And there are no hints of excusable reasons? Nothing to explain her absence?”
“Not that I’ve found. We have no idea where she is.” Elvia furrowed her brow and stepped closer. “As I said, we aren’t stretched beyond our limits. One absent guard is nothing to fret over. This isn’t like you, Captain. Is everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay. In fact, something might be terribly wrong.”
“I’ve seen nothing, sir.”
“Kalyna may be here, on the grounds.”
“I’d find that unlikely. She couldn’t have passed through the gate without being noticed.”
“Gather however many guards can be pulled away from duties and meet me in the Tower Galleries,” Almar commanded, ignoring her utterance. “Try to do it quietly without inciting overmuch panic.”
“I don’t understand. What’s happening?”
“Someone is stealing from Starwatch. Right now.”
Almar brushed past a confused Elvia and threaded between partygoers. An errant shoulder or elbow jostled some who stumbled and voiced protests, though Almar did not bother to slow. Their angry words were lost before entering his ears.
Kalyna was among the most promising candidates, a woman he even hoped to hire permanently following the festival. An inexplicable absence made little sense from one with commendations and professionalism in spades, unless her true talents related to guile and deception.
His hurried route passed through small gatherings of hushed conversations a short distance from one massing crowd. Likely that idiotic duel fought at the behest of aristocrats too dimwitted to glimpse another means for conflict resolution. They probably disagreed over matching a delicacy with the proper wine.
Almar reached Starwatch Tower and navigated across unnecessary ponds, stopping at the main staircase before Shinzio and Bydal. Each sentry stood without fatigue and gave a salute at his presence.
“Captain Graycloak,” Shinzio said.
“Has anyone passed through here this evening?”
“No, sir. Though one student and her guests entered the lift.”
Almar glanced over his shoulder to the lift doors, likewise watched closely by armed sentinels. “What guests?”
“A man and a woman,” responded Bydal. “Both northern by the look of them. Never heard their names, but the gentleman showed parchment to Dyrholm. Everything seemed in order, sir.”
Dyrholm was a loyal veteran, one Almar had known for almost ten years. If he authorized visitors accompanying a student, then the reason must have been irrefutable. Almar pivoted to calm mounting anxiety, only feeling a measure of reprieve when Elvia finally jogged closer with six guards in tow. Four were stalwart men and women, the other two temporary hires who looked out of their depth though trying to project a resolute mien.
“Up the passage double time,” Almar directed.
A rhythmic staccato of boots slapping stone resounded in the narrow confines of spiraling stairs. Almar steadied the wooden scabbard whacking into one thigh, increasing his pace against the wishes of straining muscles. A lone man descending the stairs with a limping gait cried out in distress and cowered as Almar whacked into him. Blood crusted the stranger’s trembling nostrils and lips, seeped from a split cheek and stained his jacket. He reached upward and brushed moist, disheveled hair from his eyes.
Unsheathing a sword in one hand, Falkirk clapped him on the shoulder and hauled the man upright. “Fellow looks halfway to death.”
“Man’s in rough shape, aye,” voiced Aervin.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he beseeched, eyeing the drawn blade.
Almar edged closer, one hand clutching his own leather grip. “Who are you?”
“My name is Fendrel Ornaen.”
“Search him,” Almar commanded.
Two sentries thrust him against a wall and combed over Fendrel’s body, scouring pockets, creases and sleeves. Elvia returned holding scrunched parchment in one hand.
“Found only this, sir,” she said. “No weapons or tools.”
Almar unfolded the envelope, dismayed to glimpse Chaereas’ fine penmanship. “You’re the man who represents that wealthy patron. The one bequeathing his fortune to Starwatch.”
“I am,” Fendrel confirmed. “The Headmaster invited me to return.”
“What happened? You had an assistant with you. A woman.”
“My associate…I did not suspect.”
“What?” demanded Almar. He threw the crinkled parchment onto stairs and stepped closer. “What did she do?”
“She assailed me without warning and left me behind. I know not what she hopes to accomplish or why she even did such a thing.”
“There was a student with you as well. What became of her?”
Fendrel licked blood from his lips and swallowed. “Taken forcibly by my associate. She was unharmed when last I saw her.”
“Where were they heading?”
He touched his forehead with one shaky hand. “I’m having trouble…”
“Where?” Almar roared.
“Higher in the tower, I think. Please, I don’t know more than that.”
“Damn it. She’s one of them. Elvia, take Falkirk and Aervin to the second floor library and search every alcove for trespassers with weapons drawn. If you uncover nothing, proceed to the third story. The rest of you follow me.”
“What about him?” she inquired.
“He has nothing. Fendrel isn’t who we’re seeking.”
“All I want is to leave this place,” he stuttered.
“Get out of my sight,” barked Almar, turning to continue his ascent.
/>
Fendrel shoved himself against stone bricks as guards trampled past behind Almar. Elvia disappeared through an archway while he sprinted higher to a level few were ever allowed to tread, where fortunes untold awaited a suicidal thief.
He emerged from the staircase and felt his heart sink. Correa and Hardin were collapsed outside sealed doors, their chests and limbs unmoving. Partially obscured in shadow beneath fluttering torchlight, Almar could not discern whether wounds adorned their figures.
“Check them,” he ordered.
Shriya skidded on her knees, yanking off a glove to feel for signs of life. “Hardin’s breathing,” she announced. “Looks to only be sedated. Some kind of powder on his face.”
Almar closed heavy eyelids as relief washed over him. “And what of Correa?”
“Alive, but barely,” replied Dalon. “Her breathing is weak.”
Almar crouched beside her, dismayed to glimpse brown pupils lock onto his with purpose. “She’s awake.”
“Don’t look like it.”
He gently cradled Correa’s head with both hands, surveying her neck and face until he discovered a red welt beneath one ear. “This mark here. Someone injected her with a toxin, though I don’t know which. It’s left her paralyzed. She’ll make a full recovery given time.”
Almar withdrew and kept his face within sight of her roving eyes. “In the meantime, she can hear us. Correa, we’re going to get the bastards who did this. And we’ll wait for you to recover so you can join in on delivering a special punishment.”
Though he could not be certain, he liked to believe a sparkle of exuberance touched her pupils. Turning away, he strode to the closed entry and attempted to rotate one handle. He found it unsurprising the door refused to budge. Almar wrenched a key off his neck and rammed it into the lock, feeling it clank to a halt partway through. He tried forcing iron deeper, discovering the effort to be a futile one. His fingers strained to a bone-white hue as he sought to twist the key.
“Gods be damned,” Almar uttered. “It’s obstructed.”
Shriya came alongside, her scowling features suggesting she wanted to attempt smashing through with bare hands and feet. “What next, sir?”
“Fetch me axes, pikes, whatever you can find so long as it’s sharp and forged from metal. We’ll hack this door apart if we have to.”
*
Maylene hopped off the chair clutching a broad paintbrush in one hand and a clay bowl in the other. Horsehair bristles were saturated with volatile gray paste and susceptible to ignition, so she removed a vial from her pack and doused it in water. She likewise splashed liquid in the gooey dish until droplets spattered over one side. Throwing brush and bowl inside the haversack, she glanced upward to admire her handiwork. The nameless, horrifying medley coated a stretch of ceiling beneath private galen studies above, primed to create an alternate exit from the highest library. Suffice it to say, one the ancient architects had never envisioned.
Earlier this afternoon she mixed all but one ingredient together in advance, though refused to carry around the completed concoction. Imagine the stupidity in hitching a substance capable of melting through stone to her person. For prudence’s sake, Maylene decided she could afford to dawdle long enough to add one final component while amid the library.
She tugged a torch wrapped in resin-soaked hemp from her haversack, far and away the most cumbersome item she hauled through the sewers. Too large to smuggle in books or busts, and risky to rely on finding one close at hand in the tower. Maylene withdrew a beeswax candle from her lantern and kindled the torch, climbing atop a chair once again. Flames danced from her outstretched arm and licked the concoction, shifting its color from pallid gray to glowing white. Piercing sizzles erupted and sparks burst outward in a glaring shower. One landed atop her hand, biting into skin as though an implacable hornet.
Maylene scrambled onto flooring and kicked the furniture down a staircase, poised to let the cleansing fire work its magic. White-hot droplets plunged from the ceiling and splattered onto marble tiles, hissing upon contact. The substance clung with admired tenacity, though small spillage was anticipated. Which was why she made certain to seize her belongings and get the hell away. A glance at her hand revealed a crimson welt sinking into scorched flesh. Maylene crammed the torch through a vacant sconce bracketed to one wall and flung a shrouding hood over her lantern. She gritted teeth and shook her singed hand, appreciating once more the folly inherent in this scheme. Never again would she brew the infernal mixture, or countenance others to do so. The secrets would follow Maylene to her grave.
Setting the blackened lantern on smooth tiles, she returned to where her unsupervised hostage awaited, fastened to a copper railing. “How are we feeling?”
Aryll glanced upward with ire visible even in dim light. “You won’t escape our tower.”
“You’re becoming cheekier, I see. Only a matter of time for the fear to fade. I wouldn’t recommend forcing me to reawaken it.”
“This whole thing is pointless.”
“I’ve heard that sentiment from too many naysayers. I’m sick of this endless doubt. It’s become a matter of personal pride to prove you all wrong.”
Aryll cocked her head to one side, her sweaty brow furrowed in thought. “What was that noise? Sounded like a swarm of flies or locusts.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” Maylene rested her hands on the rail and faced an approaching orange glow. “Ah, our compliant academic returns.”
Vanrir hobbled from beyond narrow shelves clutching rolled parchment in his fingers. Zalla remained close with one hand holding a lantern and the other grasping his upper arm, though whether for support or coercion Maylene did not know. Not that it mattered, since Vanrir was incapable of outrunning either woman. Or even a determined toddler. He lumbered up several steps, glowering at Maylene all the while, and placed his cargo in her awaiting hand.
“Here is what you demanded, fiend.”
“Name calling. How cultured and mature.” She waggled the scroll in Zalla’s direction. “Blaer?”
“I haven’t lied to you,” retorted Vanrir.
“I’d rather have my own specialist verify the artifact if you don’t mind.”
“It’s legitimate,” Zalla affirmed. “This is the Codex Sceleratis Caedes.”
Maylene stuffed the ancient relic within one narrow oilcloth satchel, spreading her lips to form a mischievous smile. “I’m pleased you’re willing to take my threats seriously, Professor. You’ve avoided all manner of spiteful responses from me as a reward. Though I’d wager your fertile imagination already knows that.”
“You have what you desired,” snapped Vanrir. “Now leave Learner Aryll and myself alone.”
“I think not. I might still need a frightened hostage, since I’m betting your zealous guards will try something stupid.”
“Then let her depart unmolested and take me with you instead. I can serve as your captive.”
“Tempting, but no. I believe you’ve seen too many years. A strenuous bout of exercise awaits on the horizon and we have need for young blood. Can’t have you huffing and puffing during our escape. But don’t think I’m not touched at your selfless offer. Even though I’m rejecting it without a second thought.”
Maylene grasped the galen by his sagging hood and dragged him between shelves to an alcove beneath one stone arch, listening to Aryll’s quieting pleas as she walked. A shove dropped the man onto bony knees. “Here looks to be a lovely place. I don’t want you spoiling our fun.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Damn it all, why does everyone assume I’m giddy killing folks who stand against me? I’ll have you know that I’ve gone out of my way to keep intrusive adversaries alive tonight. Even though it must be said I didn’t have to. You think measuring the precise amount of toxin and injecting it into a guard’s skin is easier than just shoving a knife through the spine?”
Confusion colored Vanrir’s face, etching additional wrinkles
into his forehead above drooping brows. “But you threatened my life. And that of Aryll, too.”
“Nothing more than a ruse to earn your cooperation. The key element is my ability to sell the lie. I missed my true calling as a mummer. Of course this career pays far better, so no regrets at my life choices. From the moment I set foot in your tower I had no intention of ending lives, especially an innocent teenage girl. That’d be a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Then what…?”
She held a looped cord in one hand and crouched alongside the galen. “I only plan to shackle you here. Can’t have you running about, mucking up my schemes. A guard or fellow literati will stumble on you eventually, I’d imagine.”
“And will you do the same to Aryll when your use for her has concluded?”
“I want you to know that I’m not a murderer.” She wrapped fabric around Vanrir’s hairless skull, cramming the cloth into his mouth. “No, that’s not true. Truth be told I am a murderer. Many times over in fact. Though never while burgling. I intend to continue threatening Aryll’s life in exchange for her compliance, but I promise no lasting harm will come to her.” Maylene stood and glanced down at his fettered figure. “Enjoy your forced sabbatical, Professor.”
She pivoted and strolled away, pausing alongside one shelf. Eyeing the scrolls and tomes with some desire, Maylene indiscriminately snatched several and crammed them into her haversack. Why pay a visit to Starwatch’s famed House of Wisdom and only claim one artifact when a hundred thousand others were there for the taking? Being unflinchingly circumspect in this instance made little sense to someone possessing a covetous mindset.
Pleased with her haul, she hurried back to the others and skidded on polished marble when a piercing crash echoed from beyond the entry. Maylene cast an eye over one shoulder and glimpsed wood rattling against its frame, spewing minute splinters amid the reverberating din. The Starwatch Guard had finally arrived, and Maylene wagered Almar Graycloak was among their number. An unhappy reunion with her one-time employer seemed imminent.
“Oops,” she uttered. “Time to quit this place.”
Smug satisfaction seeped onto Aryll’s face. “They’re coming to get you.”
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