by Hilari Bell
“We’re here.”
I led the way up to Clerk Peebles’ office. If anything, the stack of papers on her desk had grown in the last few days, but she set her pen in the inkpot and read Professor Dayless’ note in silence.
“So, Master Fisk, what do you want to see?”
“Isn’t that request for free access to the whole campus?” I knew it was; I’d read it as soon as we left the tower.
“Of course.” Peebles pulled out a sheet of stiff paper as she spoke, and cut three slices off it with a set of shears. “One for you, one for Master Michael, and one for Mistress Sevenson here, correct? But all the passes do is give you permission to wander around and drop in on lectures. If I know what you’re looking for, I might be able to help you find it.”
“That’s very … helpful.”
Too cursed helpful, given her original resistance.
“I told you, I like Professor Benton,” she said. “And I find it hard to believe he needed to plagiarize any part of his thesis. This is my school, as much as any scholar or professor’s. So what are you looking for?”
“I want access to the library,” I said. “I want to see this thesis Benton was supposed to have copied.”
There was no reason to mention the blackmail notes we’d taken from the desk in Hotchkiss’ study and some very good reasons not to, but I could still feel Kathy’s critical gaze. I didn’t look at her.
Clerk Peebles had a neat hand and she wrote quickly. “Give these a moment to dry before you pocket them.” She handed over three slips of paper, introducing us as guests of Professor Monica Dayless, to be welcomed in all public spaces on this campus. “When you get to the library find a scholar-assistant there, Maddy Flynn. Tell her what you’re looking for — and why — and she’ll help you.”
Kathy caught the stress as well, and her brows lifted. “Thank you, Mistress Peebles. I’ll tell my brother of your kindness.”
“Just clear his name,” said the clerk briskly. “That’s what matters.”
The end-of-class bell tolled, like the shift bell in the town where I’d grown up. But even the end of the workday didn’t produce the jostling mob that bubbled out of every doorway. I blew on our passes to make them dry more quickly.
“They look like a flock of blackbirds.” Kathy eyed the growing crowds. “Only nosier. And that’s saying a lot.”
She had to raise her voice to be heard. I pocketed the passes and took her arm to keep us together. It felt slim, but not fragile, and warm to hold on a day this hot.
The library’s marble entry hall was delightfully cool, but there was still a member of the scholar’s guard, a bored young man with pimples, stationed by the big map at the foot of the divided staircase.
“Can I help you? Access to the library is restricted to scholars, unless you have permission to use it.”
“We’ve passes.” I pulled them out to show him. “We’re looking for a scholar, Maddy Flynn, who works as an assistant here.”
He looked at the passes long enough to be sure they were what I said they were, which surprised me. He saw it.
“The scholar’s guard was told to keep an eye out for people who don’t belong on campus, after Master Hotchkiss was … um. I don’t know where Maddy is, but Master Hotchkiss’ clerk manages the staff. His office is at the top of the stairs, right side of the balcony there.”
Master Hotchkiss’ clerk was in his office, and had probably taken over his boss’s duties along with his own — there were five people waiting to see him. After a few minutes in line, I asked my fellows-in-waiting if any of them knew where Scholar Flynn was working today, and learned she was shelving books in history-the-seven-hundreds.
Seven centuries ago had been the midst of the Barony Wars, and I’d never heard them referred to in any other way. He saw my confusion.
“Downstairs, left door, long gallery on the left,” he said. “She’s the plump, pretty girl with a big basket of books.”
We went downstairs, took the hallway to the left, and then went through an open arch into a long room, which had been three rooms before the dividing walls had been torn out. One wall was lined with windows, which cast rounds of sunlight onto the polished wood floor. The other wall, and a number of freestanding shelves in the middle of the room, were covered with books.
History is an interest of mine, and the bright leaf on their bindings exerted a pull as strong as a tray of glittering jewelry would … maybe stronger.
But Kathy was looking at the people in the room, and she soon strode off toward a girl with a long, honey-brown braid glowing against her black scholar’s gown.
Maddy Flynn had plump pink cheeks and an even plumper bosom. She was pretty, too, but the moment Benton Sevenson’s name was mentioned it was clear that no one else stood a chance with her.
“Is he all right?” Her pleasant face was dark with concern, and bright with caring. “I haven’t… It didn’t seem right to harass him. I mean, it might be painful for him, seeing scholars. But I, we, a lot of us have been worried about him.”
“You were one of his students?” Kathy’s gaze was full of sympathetic curiosity.
“History’s my field,” the girl said. “Though I’m more interested in the warring period and rise of the lieges than the ancients. But I… Well, never mind that. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She meant anything, and I saw why Clerk Peebles had directed us here. But we didn’t need to break any rules, much less laws. At least, not yet.
“I’d like to see the thesis Professor Sevenson is said to have copied,” I told her. “Then we’ve some book numbers to locate: 284.629 and 443.04272.”
“The 200s are math,” she said. “And the 440s engineering. I’ll get you a master sheet, and you can probably find them yourselves. Just remember that a longer number isn’t necessarily a larger number and you’ll be fine. If you get confused, ask the room clerk.”
“I know how decimals work,” I told her. “But I don’t have a number for that thesis.”
“I’m not sure it’s got one, yet,” she said. “Master Hotchkiss was cataloging that section when he found it, and then it was taken away for evidence and then he died. I’m not sure where it went, but I’ll find out.” Determination gave her face a firmness it had lacked, and I wondered if Benton had seen this side of her. “You can look for your other books, while I do that.”
She led us out of the long gallery, past another, and into a cluttered, book-strewn office where she lifted a sheet of paper from a stack on top of a cabinet.
“They give us these when we first start shelving.”
One side showed a map of the library, both floors, like the map in the entry. The back held a long, numbered list … of everything.
The alphanumeric system. I was still looking at it when Maddy left, and Kathy had to pull me out of the office.
“A number for everything,” I murmured. “It’s not complete, of course.”
“They’re cataloging the Liege’s library at court,” Kathy told me. “I’ve already seen it.”
“Zero hundreds: the human mind. Thought is the tool we use to understand the world, so I suppose that make sense. But he put emotions first, numerically. Maybe because we feel before we can think? One hundreds: the physical world, geology, geography, cosmology. Two hundreds: math, used to measure that physical world. Three hundreds: language… It tells you something about old Hotchkiss, about the way he thought, that he put math, with its precision, before language.”
“Then he didn’t think much of literature and the arts,” Kathy said. “They’re the nine hundreds.”
If she knew that without looking at the sheet it must be a subject she was interested in. But I was more focused on Hotchkiss, how his mind was revealed through the numerical system he’d created. Four hundreds: science, physics, alchemy, magic. Five hundreds: ecology, plants, farming. Six hundreds: animals, animal and human anatomy, human and veterinary medicine.
“Interesting that he counted us
as animals, at least in terms of our bodies.”
“But not in terms of intellect,” said Kathy. “He started his system with that. You’re right, this tells us a lot about our blackmailer.”
It felt like a dash of cold water in the face — and yes, I’ve experienced that. But blackmail, linked with this clear intricate structure giving numbers to all of reality, was as jarring as … as a mouthful of vinegar when you expected tea.
The four hundreds, which included engineering, were upstairs, divided between two rooms that hadn’t had their walls knocked out.
Sorting through the book numbers was tricky, particularly when you got into the decimals. But it got easier with practice, and within minutes I pulled 443.04272 from its shelf.
“Devices with Multiple Applications,” Kathy read aloud. “How could this have anything to do with blackmail?”
I turned to page 297 and found a diagram of a screwlike thing, with an X stuck on top of it. It was set into some sort of base, and surrounded by tables and formula to do with pressure and force.
“’Tis a screw,” Kathy said.
“A screw that ‘expresses exponential force in a downward direction based on…’ well, a lot of math. I’ll admit it’s not up there with embezzlement, or an affair.”
“But ’tis a screw ‘from the thesis of Scholar Willet Halprin.’ Could that be compass H, who paid four silver roundels a month?”
“Maybe. Let’s take this with us, and go find the other.”
Mathematics, the 200s, was on the other side of the second floor, in a single room that held fewer books than any of the others. Also fewer scholars — we were the only ones there.
“Formulas for Determining or Measuring Pressure and Stress,” I read. “And a Surefire Cure for Insomnia, Which Works Even Sitting Upright in Broad Day.”
I really did like Lady Katherine’s giggle.
I turned to page 42.
“No pictures here,” Kathy said.
“Then it’s a good thing we can read.”
We could even read boring mathematical theory … that became unexpectedly interesting about two-thirds down the page, when the writer described how the force of leverage might be applied to a twisting motion. If one attached levers to the top of a screw, that leverage would then be applied downward at a ratio of…
“’Tis the screw thing.” Behind the spectacles, Kathy’s eyes were bright with excitement. “He found it in this book and he built it.”
The binding of the book in my hands looked older than the book she held, but I flipped to the printer’s page to make sure.
“This was printed in Stephen nine, almost twenty years ago. What about yours?”
She was turning to the front of the book as I spoke. “Stephen twenty-five, just three years ago. And in the back here it talks about the contributors. It says Willet Halprin is now working for High Liege Stephen, in the Bureau of Projects and Works. This Halprin, he did what they say Benton did. He copied his thesis.”
“He could have credited it,” I said. “He could have mentioned in his thesis that he got the idea from what’s-his-name, and modified it.”
“If he did that, then why is he paying Master Hotchkiss?”
She was right.
“You’ve been at court for a while,” I said. “Could Master Halprin be fired for having cheated to get his engineering credential?”
“I don’t know. That’s not what the sacrificial maidens usually gossip about. It might depend on how well he does his work, or how much his boss likes him. But even if it wouldn’t cost his job, ’twould be worth paying a reasonable sum to keep it quiet.”
Sobered, we replaced both books and went to find Scholar Flynn. She led us up to a very small office on the third floor, hardly more than a closet, with one narrow slit of a window. It held a table that all but filled the room, piled with books, chapbooks, pamphlets, and three great tomes, open on their own stands.
“This is Master Hotchkiss’ cataloging room. I’m told they put the thesis back here about a week ago, so he probably hadn’t time to work on it before he died. It should be in one of these stacks.”
“Where does that door go?” I gestured to another door, off to one side.
“That’s Master Hotchkiss’ office. But you don’t need to worry about being interrupted — it was locked up after his death. This room’s left open, in case someone needs to consult the master lists. And your passes… It’s not exactly a public room, but it’s not exactly not, either.”
Even a chance to browse through the complete alphanumeric system didn’t interest me now.
“Thank you,” I said. “We’ll try not to be caught here, and we’ll tell Professor Sevenson how kind you’ve been.”
“Don’t you want me to help look for the thesis?”
She clearly imagined herself heroically risking all for love.
“We’ll manage. I’m sure you have other tasks you need to get back to.”
“Not really,” she said. “I could—”
“Got it!” Kathy exclaimed. “It was right near the top.”
“Oh. Then I’ll leave you to it.”
And she finally did, though she still cast a wistful glance back as I shut the door.
“Did you really find it?” I asked. “Though if you didn’t, I’m not complaining.”
If she hadn’t, she’d been very quick-witted. Which she was.
“’Tis here. I wonder if Benton knows she’s sweet on him.”
“How could he miss it? My guess is that, unlike our friend PN, your brother doesn’t sleep with scholars.”
“Good for him,” said Kathy firmly. “And it’s not as if she’ll be a scholar forever.”
“Benton may not be a professor long enough for that to matter, unless we can prove this is forged,” I said. “Hand it over.”
It was a chapbook, stitched between two flat leather panels instead of bound up the spine. It certainly looked like a thesis, handwritten, and dated Rupert eighteen, nearly fifty years ago. There was dust on the ridges where the folded pages had been cut.
“Someone really wanted to nail your brother,” I said. “If this is a forgery, it’s perfect.”
“If?” Kathy asked indignantly.
“Look how the paper is beginning to yellow, not splotchy, like someone was holding it over a flame, just that gradual color fade all round the edge, like you get when it fades from time, light, and air. And every page the same. The only way to do that is by keeping it in a sealed case with some sort of smoke or mist, for days on end, so it creeps into the paper at a uniform rate. And if you make it too damp, the whole thing…”
Kathy was staring at me.
“What? All kinds of scams require forged documents. Maps, deeds, diaries. I had to know this stuff.”
“Can you prove it was forged?” Kathy asked hopefully.
“Prove it? Probably not.” I picked the book up and sniffed it; if whatever they’d used to age the pages had a scent, it had faded. “I can tell you this was done by someone who knew what they were doing, and they spent a lot of time getting it right.”
“How much time?”
“At least three days to write it up. No, more than that, because they’d have to do some research even with Benton’s thesis to base it on. Say five or six days. Three or four more to bind and age it. And that’s assuming their first try worked perfectly, which it usually doesn’t.”
“So if Benton saw or did something that alarmed someone, ’twas more than a week before he was dismissed,” Kathy said. “Over a month ago now. No wonder he doesn’t remember.”
“More than that. It had to be planted for Hotchkiss to find, too.”
“Unless they bribed him to find it, and bring it forward,” said Katherine. “I’d not put it past the man.”
“At this point there’s not much I’d put past our genius librarian. Which brings us to the next part of today’s program. Keep an eye on the hallway, would you, and make sure no one’s about to pop in?”
Kathy went to the door and peeked out.
“No one there now. What are you going to do?”
“Ordinarily I’d be trying to pick the lock,” I said. “Which is harder, and takes longer, than most people think. As it is…”
The fourth key on Hotchkiss’ ring opened the side door to his office.
“Be quiet in here,” I murmured, as Kathy whisked into the silent room. “And stay away from the windows. We’re on the third floor so we don’t have to risk closing the curtains, but if someone sees movement…”
“Of course. What are we looking for? Where do I start?”
“We’re looking for whatever we can find.” I closed the door and locked it behind us. “But I’ve got an idea for where to start.”
Only a few days after the man’s death, his office had already developed that “unused” smell, which isn’t so much a matter of dust as of undisturbed air and emptiness. Like his office at home it was cluttered with books, and papers covered his desk. A large sturdy desk, that looked a lot like the one in his study.
“People are so unimaginative,” I told Kathy. “It makes a burglar’s life much easier.”
The hidden panel was even behind the same drawer, but there were a lot more papers in this one.
“That looks like a page from a play script,” Kathy said. “‘CON: Taking down walls is a bigger job than it seems. You’ve got to disassemble them, careful like.’ CON is a contractor?”
“Sounds like it.” I ran my eye down the page. “And I’m guessing BRD is a member of the university board. Look here, where BRD says, ‘Your bid for this job is one of the highest, Master D. I wish I could see a sample of your work. I’ve got a small job to be done at my home, but I’m afraid I couldn’t pay your price.’”
“Oh dear,” said Kathy. “The board member is hitting up the contractor for a bribe.”
“Do some work at my house for free, and I’ll approve your expensive bid for the job. Probably taking out walls right here in the library. Master Hotchkiss might have overheard this conversation himself.”