The Crown Tower

CHAPTER 10

Hadrian spent the night in the vacated bed of Vincent Quinn, who was decidedly shorter than Hadrian, or perhaps he also settled for dangling his feet off the end. The beds were all filled now with a kennel of boys that reminded Hadrian of any number of barracks he’d slept in. Hives of men, living austere lives with no more property than what they could carry-the war hounds of a duke or king. Not a bad life, but without purpose. That’s what ruined it for him. A soldier was meant to be a wheel on a wagon, to roll when ordered. Hadrian always found himself more interested in the choice of direction and annoyed by the sense he was a sword being used to chop wood.

Pickles was in his own borrowed bed, somewhere at the far end. None of the boys spoke to either of them, but they received plenty of stares. Whispers passed between the aisles, and Hadrian caught the words meat pie more than once. The mattress was hard-not as nice as the room in Colnora but better than the cold ground. He undressed, stretched out, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

It might have been a nightmare that woke him. Hadrian had more than his share, but they dissolved upon waking, leaving little more than a residue of unease. He opened his eyes. It was still dark, with just a hint of gray. He closed them again but that was no use. Instead, he lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling beams, listening to the snoring of a student named Benny and thinking about the hood he’d seen in the window. Maybe that had been the nightmare.

Have you seen his eyes? Cold, I tell you. Dead eyes.

Going back to sleep was a battle he couldn’t win. He decided to retreat from the field. Hadrian put his bare feet to the floor. Cold. He expected to find the morning warmer than those he’d experienced on the road. This was the first time in two days that he had woken up dry, but he’d also woken up naked. Casting aside the blanket, Hadrian shivered. The heat of a dozen boys should have warmed the dorm like horses in a stable, and maybe it did, but this was a big room. He grabbed up his clothes, a bit stiff but dry. Pulling them on, the little bed creaked under his movements.

Hadrian had no sense of time, except that he could see. The utter black of the room had retreated to vague shapes, and the windows, invisible before, were now a source of gray light. Nothing but a soothing chorus of deep breaths and the occasional rustled blanket broke the stillness. The nightmare-whatever it had been-left him with an unease that caused Hadrian to reach for his weapons. He buckled his belt, taking great care with his swords to keep metal from striking metal. When he took a step, a board cried with his weight. One student looked up with squinting eyes before turning over and burrowing back under his covers.

Outside the dorm, Glen Hall was filled with silent corridors of dimly lit wood and stone. Hadrian paused when he reached the main stair and glanced up the steps. He was on the second floor. The window he had seen the hood through had been on the third.

Are you up there?

It took a special kind of madness to believe that a killer had stalked him all the way to the university and even greater levels of lunacy to think he was still there. Yet Hadrian had been wrong on the barge and it had cost the lives of six people.

He climbed the steps, slowing down as he reached the north corridor. The lamps were out and he felt his way along the wall until he came to the end of the hallway. Lifting the latch, Hadrian opened the last door on the common’s side. It swung inward with only a modest creak. Already the early dawn had grown to a bright gray and revealed the interior of the small room. The size of a large closet, the space was used for storage and filled with crates, buckets, even a stack of cut lumber.

Looking to the far side, Hadrian saw the window with the half-moon top he remembered from the previous day. This was it. Third floor-end of the row.

Hadrian walked over and looked out. Below lay the common. Now empty, even tranquil with the dawn, he imagined himself and Pickles standing near the bench where Dancer had been tied.

A storage room.

Students wouldn’t come in there.

He has wolf eyes, doesn’t he?

Hadrian wandered the corridors that morning like a ghost. Glen Hall was larger and more confusing than he expected. He thought of waking Pickles-he probably knew the way better-but decided against it. They would be moving on soon and it was best he got as much sleep as he could.

Eventually Hadrian landed on the main floor and spotted the giant painting. He was near the main entrance and from there he knew the way to the meal hall. He could also hear sounds of plates and banging pots. Other early risers with books in hand waited with him in line for something hot before finding seats at the many vacant tables. Unlike the day before, what conversations there were came in the form of whispers.

“How did you sleep?” Cutting through the quiet with total disregard, came Arcadius’s voice.

The professor sat near the fire where most everyone had gravitated, as the stone still held the night’s chill. On the table before him rested a cup and a small empty plate. The professor looked much as he had the day before with his white hair cascading in all directions like water hitting rocks. He continued to wear his glasses perched on the end of his nose, though he still did not look through them, and remained dressed in his deep blue robe, littered at that moment with crumbs.

“I don’t know, I just sort of put my head down and closed my eyes.”

The old man smiled. “You should be a student here. It usually takes months to break the habit of making unwarranted assumptions. Try the hot cider. It’s soft but if you get it with cinnamon it adds a little zest to your morning.”

Hadrian grabbed one and Arcadius indicated he should sit beside him. Hadrian settled in, feeling the growing warmth of the morning logs against his side. The steam from his mug billowed into his face and he warmed his hands against the cup. The professor reclined in a lush leather chair, one of only four in the room, indicating either he was one of the first to arrive or professorships had privileges.

“When I think about it, that’s my biggest problem,” Arcadius said, rubbing the sides of his own mug.

“What’s that?”

“Getting students to unlearn what they think they know. To erase bad habits.” The old man took a dainty sip even though his drink no longer steamed. “You see, everyone is born with questions.” Arcadius held up his mug. “Empty cups all too eager to be filled with anything that comes by, even if it’s nonsense. For example, what color is this table?”

“Brown.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can see it.”

“But can you describe a color without using a reference? How would you, for example, explain the color blue to a person blind from birth?”

Hadrian considered saying it was cool, or tranquil, or like the sky or water, but none really defined blue. Arcadius’s robe was blue and it was none of those things.

“You can’t,” the professor said at length. “We only know colors by relationships. Your father likely pointed to hundreds of objects whose only common feature was the color, and eventually you understood that the commonality of color equaled the word he used. A lot of things are that way, abstract ideas that have no object to define them. Right and wrong, for example. Problems tend to occur when people are eager to fill their cups and accept ideas by those who might be, metaphorically, color blind. Once an idea is learned, once it settles in, it becomes comfortable and hard to discard, like an old hat. And trust me, I have many old hats. Some I haven’t worn in years, but I still keep them. Emotion gets in the way of practicality. By virtue of time spent, even ideas become old friends, and if you can’t bear to lose an old hat that you never wear, imagine how much harder it is to abandon ideas you grew up with. The longer the relationship, the harder it is. This is why I try to get them young, before their minds petrify with the nonsense they learn out there in the color-blind world. I’m not always successful.” He stared at an older boy seated across from them and winked, causing the boy to scowl and turn away.

“I take it you found your friend Pickles?”

“Yes. We had dinner together.”

“I heard about that. Something about a thrown meat pie. Where did you meet this rash young man? Surely not in Calis.”

“In Vernes. On the way here. He’s not entirely civilized.”

“So I’ve heard. But tell me, what have you done with yourself since leaving home?”

“You must know some of it or guessed in order to have found me.”

“Your father said you became a soldier.”

“I told him I was leaving to join the army of King Urith.”

“And did you?”

He nodded over his cup, smelling the cinnamon.

“But you didn’t stay?”

“There was some trouble.”

“Veteran soldiers are rarely forgiving of being bested in combat, especially when the humiliation comes at the hand of a fifteen-year-old boy.”

Hadrian peered at the old man through the steam. “Took a while to learn that. I guess I thought they’d be impressed, clap me on the back, and cheer. Didn’t turn out that way.”

“So you moved on?”

“I did better in the army of Warric under King Ethelred. I wasn’t so quick to show off and I lied about my age. Made captain, but Ethelred got in an argument with Urith and I found myself lining up against men I had fought beside for almost a year. I resigned, hoping to join the ranks of a king farther away. I just kept moving until eventually I was in Calis.”

“The perfect place for a man to disappear.”

“I thought so, too, and it was-in a way.” Hadrian looked over his shoulder at the doorway as more students staggered in, their gowns disheveled. “Part of me certainly disappeared.”

Arcadius used his finger to stir his drink. “How do you mean?”

“The jungles have a way of changing you … or … I don’t know, maybe they just bring out what was already part of you. There’s no boundaries, no rules, no social structure to get entangled in-no anchor. You see yourself raw, and I didn’t like what I had become. Something snapped when I got your letter.”

Hadrian looked down at his swords. He’d strapped them on that morning with no more thought than when he pulled on his boots-less so, the boots were new.

“Have you drawn them since leaving Calis?”

“Not to fight with.”

Arcadius nodded behind his own cup. His eyes looked strangely bright and alert for such an old face, polished diamonds in an ancient setting.

“I can’t help thinking how many men would be alive today if I had listened to my father and stayed in Hintindar.”

“They might have died anyway, hazards of the profession.”

Hadrian nodded. “Maybe, but at least their blood wouldn’t have been on my swords.”

Arcadius smiled. “Strange attitude for a career soldier.”

“You can thank my father for that. Him and his stupid chicken.”

“How’s that?”

“Danbury gave me a newborn chick for my tenth birthday and told me it was my responsibility to keep the bird alive, to keep it safe. I diligently watched after the bird. Named it Gretchen and hand-fed the thing. I even slept with it nestled in my arms. A year later, my father declared his son would have roast chicken for his birthday. We didn’t have any other chickens. I pleaded and swore that if he killed Gretchen, I wouldn’t eat a bite. Only my father had no intention of killing Gretchen. He handed me the axe. ‘Learn the value of a life before you take it,’ he told me.

“I refused. We went without food that day and the next. I was determined to outlast my father, but the old man was a rock. For all my pride, my sense of compassion, my loyalty, it only took two days. I cried through the meal but ate every bite-nothing went to waste. I refused to speak to my father for a month, and I never forgave him. I hated my old man off and on, for one thing or another, until the day I left. It took five years of combat to realize the value of that meal, the reason I never took pleasure in killing or turned a blind eye to pain.”

“All that from just one chicken?”

“No. The chicken was just the start. There were other lessons.” Hadrian glanced at the other boys seated nearby pretending not to listen. “You should be happy to have the professor here as a teacher. There are worse masters.”

“He was teaching you the value of life,” Arcadius said.

“While at the same time training me on the most efficient ways to take it? What kind of man teaches his son to fly but instills a fear of heights? I wanted to do something with my life. Use the skills he pounded into me. What good is it being great with a sword if all you are going to do is make plowshares? I saw the others-rich knights who were praised by great lords for their skill-and I knew I could beat all of them. They had everything: horses, fancy women, estates, armor. I had nothing. I thought if I could just show them…” Hadrian drained the last of his cider and looked back at the line for breakfast, which had grown longer.

“So tell me, Hadrian, what do you plan to do now that you’re back? I assume you aren’t going to be joining the military ranks of any local potentate.”

“My soldiering days are over.”

“How will you live, then?”

“I haven’t thought about it. I have coin to last me a little while. After that, I don’t know … I guess I’m sort of avoiding the issue, really. Drifting sounds good at the moment. I don’t know why … Maybe I’m hoping something will just turn up-that something will find me.”

“Really?”

Hadrian shrugged.

The professor leaned forward, started to say something, then hesitated and sat back again. “Must have been a long trip from Calis to here. I trust your travels were pleasant at least.”

“Actually no-and it’s good you brought it up. Have you seen anyone around the school recently who isn’t a student? Someone wearing a dark cloak who keeps the hood up?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Six people were murdered on the barge I took up from Vernes to Colnora. Five in one night, throats slit. A guy in a hood slipped away before I could find him. I’m thinking he might have followed me here.”

Arcadius glanced at the other boys around them. “Why don’t we go back to my office. This fire is getting a bit too hot now.”

“Did I say-”

Arcadius held up a hand. “We’ll talk more in my office where I only need to be concerned with Sisarus the Squirrel spreading rumors.”

Arcadius was slow on the stairs, holding up the hem of his robes and revealing a pair of matching blue slippers.

Leave the mud on the street!

They reached the professor’s door, where Arcadius stopped and turned to Hadrian. “Do you remember yesterday when I spoke about your father’s dying wish?”

Before Hadrian could reply, the professor swung open the door. Inside, across the room, sat the hooded man.

He sat alone in a corner below the wasp nest and near the reptile cage. Wrapped as always in his black cloak, hood raised so his face was hidden. Still, Hadrian was sure it was him. He looked smaller sitting down, a black puddle or errant shadow, but the garment was unmistakable.

The professor walked in, oblivious to the intruder.

“Professor!” Hadrian rushed past him, drawing both swords. Just having them in his hands made him feel better than he had in days. As much as he disliked what they had accomplished together, they were still the best friends he had.

The hooded man did not move, not even a flinch.

Hadrian positioned himself between Arcadius and the killer. “Professor, you need to get out.”

To his surprise, Arcadius was busy closing and locking the door behind them.

“It’s him,” Hadrian declared in a low tone, pointing with a sword. “The murderer from the barge.”

“Yes, yes. That’s Royce,” Arcadius said. “And you can put the swords down.”

“You know him?”

“Of course, I sent him to escort you here. I told him to look for a man wearing three swords. Not too many of those, and even fewer arriving from Calis. He was supposed to show you the way here.” The professor glared at the hooded man and added in a louder, reproachful tone, “I had expected him to actually greet you and introduce himself like any civilized person would. I was hoping you would get acquainted during the trip here.”

“I got him here alive-that was hard enough,” Royce said.

“You killed those people!” Hadrian shouted now. There was no way he was sheathing his swords, not with the hooded man in the room.

“Yes.” The reply was as casual as if Hadrian had asked about the weather. “Well, that’s overstating-I didn’t kill all of them.”

“Meaning I’m still alive?” Hadrian said. “Is that why you’ve come here? To finish the job? I think you’ll find that’s a mistake.” Hadrian raised his blades and advanced.

“Hadrian! Stop!”

The hooded man did move then, faster than any man Hadrian had ever seen. He scaled the shelving and hoisted himself to the second-story balcony, out of reach. Overhead the owl screeched, and a flustered pigeon batted its wings inside a cage. Hadrian halted more out of surprise at the man’s athleticism than from the professor’s words. He wasn’t sure what he had seen. The man had become a blur of motion.

“Royce isn’t trying to kill you,” Arcadius said.

“He just said so!”

“No, he didn’t. He-”

“If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be annoying me with your stupidity right now.” Royce’s voice came from above.

“Royce, please!” The professor had his hands up, waving, his voice exasperated.

“Why did you do it?” Hadrian asked. “Why did you kill everyone?”

“To save your life.”

Hadrian wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What?”

“I had hoped this meeting would begin on a better footing,” the professor said, moving to position himself in front of Hadrian. “But I suppose that was wishful thinking, wasn’t it?”

“Telling me in advance might have helped. Maybe a polite ‘Oh, by the way, we’ll be having morning tea with a murderer’! This man killed three merchants, a woman, a postilion named Andrew, and Farlan the boatman. All of whom-”

“Not the boatman.” The voice-as that was all it really was to Hadrian, a disembodied sound emanating from the darkened depths of the cloak-had a distinct edge. “The woman killed the boatman.”

“The woman? Vivian? Are you insane?”

The very idea made him take a step toward the wrought-iron stairs.

“And why would she do that?” Hadrian shouted to the upper story.

“She told you herself. Farlan was going to have the sheriff investigate.”

“Yeah, investigate you!”

“But I didn’t kill anyone. Well, not anyone in Vernes … well, not recently.”

“And Vivian did?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want. They knew an investigation would match all the loot in their crates to missing items from the homes of those murdered in Vernes.”

“Wait … their crates? What are you talking about? Are you also accusing the gem merchants of being involved?”

“By Mar, you are slow.” Royce made a noise that might have been laughter. “First Farlan opened his trap about reporting to Malet, and then after they killed him for it, you went and declared your intentions to do the same stupid thing. You painted a target on your back and left it for me to erase.”

“And you couldn’t come up with any better solution than killing everyone?” Arcadius asked, disgusted. “You know how I feel about that.”

“And you know how little I care about how you feel,” Royce replied. “You wanted him here alive-he’s here. Be happy. And if it makes you feel better, I didn’t start it. They came after me. The fat one and the younger one tried to jump me as I was coming out of the forward hold. I guess they didn’t like the idea of me discovering their secret.”

“Or maybe Sebastian and Eugene just thought you were the killer,” Hadrian said. “And attacked you out of fear. You don’t know. You don’t have any evidence to accuse them any more than they had to accuse you.”

“I watched the woman kill the boatman,” Royce said. “She thought everyone was below. She sat next to him, all warm and friendly. Said she was cold-lonely. The boatman was happy for the company. She reached around his head with a knife, and he was still smiling when she slit his throat. She couldn’t get his body in the water-too heavy-so she fetched Samuel and Sebastian for that.

“The way I figure it, she’d done the same to the men in Vernes-got all friendly with them, then cut their throats. The other three did the heavy lifting. Not a bad system.”

There was a pause as Hadrian tried to process this.

You want to tell me what’s really going on?

I don’t understand, Vivian said.

Neither do I-that’s the problem. Your husband wasn’t killed, was he?

He’d known something wasn’t right. A woman who’d just lost her husband wouldn’t be inviting him to her room. And how odd had it been that everyone was so insistent that the hooded man was responsible for everything, despite any real evidence.

After a moment, he sheathed his swords.

“Does that mean he plans to play nice? Can I come down?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s quite safe now,” Arcadius replied. “Isn’t it, Hadrian?”

He nodded.

Royce descended effortlessly. He still kept his distance and his hood raised, but it was farther back and now Hadrian could see more of his face. His skin was as pale as his nose had suggested, his features were sharp, with distinct planes, eyes cold, calculating.

Hadrian was running the sequence of events through his head. “The barge-how did you make a whole barge disappear?”

“I didn’t. I sent it, and everything else, downriver with the current. All of five minutes’ work. Then I had a talk with the owner of the barge at his office. Convinced him to tell Malet he didn’t have a barge coming in that day. I’m certain the boat’s been found by now. Word might have even gotten back to Malet, who’s likely kicking himself for not having listened to you.”

“Wait a minute, you killed Andrew. Are you going to say he was in on this too?”

Royce shook his hood. “No, but you don’t kill four people and leave a witness behind. That’s just unprofessional.”

“You left me alive.”

“I was protecting you.”

“You really shouldn’t kill innocent people, Royce.” The professor scowled at him.

“And you really shouldn’t expect me to listen to you.”

“And the barge owner?” Hadrian asked. “Did you kill him later to cover your tracks?”

“I didn’t leave any tracks.”

Arcadius spoke up. “I guess I’m at least partially to blame. I should have known better. Royce isn’t terribly…” He sighed. “Well, social, I guess you could say. But now that we have that matter cleared up, can we discuss the original topic of this morning’s meeting?”

“Which is?” Hadrian asked.

The old man took his glasses off and wiped them once more with the same sock that he appeared to leave on his desk for that very reason. Either the tension had steamed the lenses or cleaning them served the same purpose as biting nails, or in Hadrian’s case, heavy drinking. “Your father asked me to look out for you upon your return. He anticipated your present state and knew you might need some guidance.”

“Do I really need to be here for this?” Royce asked.

“Actually you do, because this involves you as well.” The professor turned back to Hadrian. “As I was saying, I promised I would help you find a purpose.”

“And what does your great wisdom suggest?”

“There’s no need to take that tone.” The old man tilted his head, peering at Hadrian as if he were still looking over his glasses.

“Sorry, but he makes me nervous.” Hadrian jerked his head at Royce.

“He makes everyone nervous. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t plan on needing to.”

“Well that’s just the thing. I brought you both here because I want you to become partners.”

Both heads turned.

“You’re not serious?” Royce said.

Hadrian started to laugh. “Forget it.”

“I’m afraid I am, and I won’t. Both of you are at an impasse, both have unique skills and yet suffer from the question of What now? As a teacher of young minds, I can tell that neither of you are ready for the world by yourself. Together, however, there might be hope for you both. To put it in simple terms, I think you will be a good influence on each other. Besides, I have a task that needs doing, and the only chance of success is to have you two work together. My hope is that once you see the benefits of each other’s skills, you’ll see the value in forming a longer-term business venture.”

Royce moved forward out of the recesses, and Hadrian marveled at how easily he traversed the treacherous landscape. He glared menacingly at Arcadius and accentuated his words with a point of his finger. “Look, old man … I don’t need him for the job. I don’t want a partner, and if I were looking for one, what I’d require is someone with stealth, finesse, and some level of intelligence.”

“I’m sure Hadrian possesses all of those qualities and others that you haven’t listed. As far as skills he doesn’t have, you’ll just have to teach him.”

“I don’t need him.”

“I say you do.”

“You’re a fool.”

“It’s my payment, Royce.”

Royce drew back his hood, revealing black hair. He was younger than Hadrian had thought, maybe five or ten years older than himself. “You promised it would be just one job. I won’t be saddled with him for life.”

“And I’ll keep that promise.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s it? Afterward I’m through with both of you?”

“If that’s what you wish.” Arcadius had his glasses back on and sat with his hands folded at his desk like a man who’d just laid out his cards and was happy with his bet. “Although I would hope you’d still visit from time to time.”

“What if he dies? I can’t be responsible for his stupidity.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I will hold you to an honest attempt-a fair treatment. You can’t set him up to fail.”

Royce looked over at Hadrian and smiled. “Agreed.”

“I don’t know what you two think you’re talking about,” Hadrian said. “I just came up here to get whatever my father had left. That business is done, so I’ll be leaving.”

“And go where?” the professor asked. “Do you have a plan? An idea? Even a hint of what to do with the rest of your life? You wanted to know the other thing your father asked of me-your father’s dying wish.”

“Not if you’re going to say it’s partnering up with…” Hadrian hooked his thumb at Royce.

“Actually, yes.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“Why not? You believed everything Vivian and her boys said.” Royce resumed his earlier seat beneath the wasp nest, this time putting his feet up on a crate marked DANGEROUS: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL SPRING.

“You’re not helping, Royce.” Arcadius leaned forward and this time peered at Hadrian over his glasses. Why he wore the things when he never looked through them was baffling. “It’s the truth. You don’t honestly think your father trained you the way he did so that you could be a Hintindar blacksmith, do you?”

“That’s what he said.”

“That’s what he told a young boy with dreams of grandeur. The rest of the tale he was saving for later, only that boy ran away never knowing the truth.”

“And what is the truth?”

“You can only discover that by teaming with Royce.”

“Or you could just tell me.”

“If it was that easy, your father would have told you himself. This-like any real truth-must be discovered on your own. Honestly, I have no idea what your father might have told you. I do know he felt you were too optimistic, too naïve, and Royce is … well … not. At our last meeting, I spoke to him of Royce. It was Danbury’s idea-his last wish-that if I ever found his wayward son, I should introduce the two of you. I think he felt Royce could provide you with that last piece of the puzzle, the one thing he failed to give you. Consider it one last chicken test if you will, one whose lesson you might not see the virtue of just yet.” The professor stroked his beard around the edges of his mouth. “I suspect you have regrets at how you left home. Guilt perhaps. This is your chance to ease that feeling. This is the door your father left open for you. Besides, you don’t need to marry Royce-just accept this single assignment.”

“What assignment?” Hadrian asked.

“I need for you to fetch me a book. It’s a journal written by a former professor here at the university.”

“He means he wants us to steal a book.” Royce had picked up what looked to be a six-inch incisor from a bear and was rolling it between his hands.

“More like borrow without permission,” Arcadius expl-ained.

“Can’t you just ask, especially since you only want to borrow it?” Hadrian said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. First, it would be heretical to read this book, and second, the owner doesn’t lend his things. In fact, the owner has lived his entire life sealed off from the entire world.”

“Who are we talking about here?”

“The head of the Nyphron Church, his supreme holiness, the Patriarch Nilnev.”

Hadrian laughed. “The Patriarch? The Patriarch?”

The old man didn’t look amused. “At last count there was still just the one.”

Hadrian continued to chuckle, shaking his head as he walked in a small circle, stepping carefully to avoid islands of books. “Honestly, did you really have to go that far?”

“How do you mean?”

“Couldn’t you have demanded we steal the moon away from the stars? Why not request I help abduct the daughter of the Lord God Maribor?”

“Maribor doesn’t have a daughter,” Arcadius replied without a hint of humor.

“Well, that explains it, then.”

Royce smiled. “I’m starting to like him.”

“And I don’t trust you,” Hadrian said.

Royce nodded approvingly. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say yet. You might be right, old man. I think I’ve already been a good influence on him.”

“This isn’t a joke, Hadrian,” Arcadius said, his tone leveling deeper than he had yet heard it. “Royce has been planning this job for months. He’s confident it can be done.”

“It can be, but by me alone. I hadn’t been counting on anyone else, and certainly not him,” Royce corrected.

“It has to be with Hadrian or not at all.”

“Well that cinches it, then. Not at all.”

“Fine. But then your debt to me remains unpaid. If you want to be rid of that obligation, this is my price. Complete it with my rules and conditions. That’s the deal.”

“What book are we talking about?” Hadrian asked.

“The journal of Edmund Hall.”

Somehow Hadrian expected he would have recognized the title. He should have known better. While his father had taught him to read, Hadrian didn’t know many books and certainly wouldn’t know a rare or important one from any other.

“What kind of book is it?”

“It’s the rarest kind. Not only is there only the one but also, as far as I can determine, just one person has ever read its contents.”

“Let me guess, the Patriarch?”

The old man nodded. “Legend claims that Edmund Hall found the ancient city of Percepliquis. After returning, he was immediately arrested. He, and his book, were sealed away in Ervanon and never seen again. As that was more than a hundred years ago, I think we must give up hope for Mr. Hall, but his book should still be there with the rest of the ancient treasures of Glenmorgan.”

“Why do you want it?”

“That is my affair.”

Hadrian thought to press the issue, but expected that would be fruitless. “And why do you need me? I don’t know the first thing about thieving.”

“Excellent point,” Royce said. “Exactly why do you want him to tag along?”

Arcadius turned his attention to the man with the hood. “Hadrian is an accomplished fighter, and I think your plan is vulnerable as long as you are relying so heavily on stealth. If anything goes wrong, you’ll be thanking me for forcing him to go with you.”

Royce eyed Hadrian with a skeptical expression. “He’ll never manage the climb.”

“Climb?” Hadrian asked.

“The treasure room is at the top of the Crown Tower,” Arcadius explained.

Even Hadrian had heard of that. Even farmers in Hintindar knew of the Crown Tower. Supposedly it was the leftover corner of some ancient but legendary castle.

“I’m in good shape. A few stairs aren’t going to kill me.”

“The tower is heavily guarded in every way, except against a person climbing up the outside,” Royce replied, his eyes fixed on the long fang he continued to twirl.

“Isn’t that because … well, I’ve heard it’s sort of tall.”

“The tallest surviving structure built by man,” Arcadius said.

“Should I bring a lunch?”

“Considering we’ll begin after dusk and climb all night, I’d suggest a late dinner,” Royce replied.

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t. But I only ask one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“When you fall to your death, do so quietly.”

“It will only take a day or two,” the professor assured him. “Ride up, fetch the book, and then you’re free to live your life knowing you’ve done everything your father asked. What do you say?”

“I’ll think about it.”

The rains of the last few days had given way to a perfect autumn sky. Clear blue, the likes of which were unable to survive the haze of summer and the kind Hadrian hadn’t seen in almost two years. In the jungles he rarely saw the sky or a horizon. When he did, it was masked in steam. This was the kind of day he would have spent working beside his father at the anvil, then sparring; finally, he would sneak away to the oak on the hill and daydream. He would peer into that endless blue and imagine himself as a noble knight returning from battle, victorious, of course, and Lord Baldwin of the manor would welcome him to his table. While modest, he would be coaxed into recounting his deeds of valor: how he slew the beast, saved the kingdom, and won the heart of the fair princess. He could see it all so clear, like a reflection on a still pond that was lost the moment he reached for it. The dream took a mortal blow the day of his first battle, the day he killed the bearded man. The first of many, but he still saw his face, still met him in nightmares. All the chickens in the world couldn’t prepare him for that. His idyllic vision of kingdom saving and knightly valor wasn’t so pretty after that. The sky stopped being blue, and he found a new color, a bright color, that splattered everything its ugly hue.

Now Hadrian was back under that blue autumn sky. The father who had forbidden him from striving for his dream was dead, but the professor was right-he had no idea what to do anymore. Once, he thought he knew. It had been as clear as the sky and as simple as a boy’s dream.

Not a dream … a promise.

It did feel that way. But how important was it to keep a promise to a child, especially when that child had died years ago in a faraway land?

Hadrian wandered to the stable, looking for Pickles. He hadn’t been in the dorm when Hadrian returned, nor was he in the dining hall. The only place left to look was the stable. Entering, he found Dancer neatly brushed, watered, and fed. Even her shoes and legs were cleaned of the mud from the day before, but still no sign of Pickles.

“I thought I might find you out here,” Arcadius said with a hand up to block the glare of the sun until he entered the barn.

“Don’t you ever teach?”

“Always.” He grinned. “And I’ve just completed my lecture on advanced alchemy, thank you. Now I hoped to discover how you were doing.”

“Translated that means if I will accept my father’s last will and testament?”

“Something like that.”

“Who is this Royce…”

“Melborn.”

“Yes, Royce Melborn.” Hadrian recalled Sheriff Malet and wondered what he could tell about a man from his name, and he didn’t like where that took him.

Arcadius smiled. “He’s like the pup of a renowned hunting dog who’s been beaten badly by every master he’s had. He’s a gem worthy of a little work, but he’ll test you-he’ll test you a lot. Royce doesn’t make friends easily and he doesn’t make it easy to be his friend. Don’t get angry. That’s what he’s looking for. That’s what he expects. He’ll try to drive you away, but you’ll fool him. Listen to him. Trust him. That’s what he won’t expect. It won’t be easy. You’ll have to be very patient. But if you are, you’ll make a friend for life-the kind that will walk unarmed into the jaws of a dragon if you asked him to.” Arcadius could tell Hadrian wasn’t buying it and lowered his tone. “For all your tribulations, you, my lad, have lived a privileged existence in comparison. For one, Royce has never known his parents. He doesn’t have so much as a vague image, a familiar tune, or tone of a voice. He was abandoned as an infant in a filthy city. He doesn’t even know how he survived, or at least he refuses to say. He doesn’t trust me at all, and yet he trusts me more than anyone. That should tell you a great deal. All I’ve really coaxed out of him-he would say stolen-is that he was raised by wolves.”

“Wolves?”

“Ask him about it sometime.”

“He doesn’t seem like the chatty type-and certainly not with me.” Hadrian picked up a brush from the rail and began going over Dancer’s coat. She might not need it, but he guessed she liked it just the same.

“I suppose you’re right, and all his stories are depressing anyway, but those are the sorts of tales you tell when at the age of seven you have to smother your friends in their sleep so you can survive. Royce took his first life around that age. He doesn’t actually know how old he is, you understand. A lot of the things we take for granted are alien to him.”

“How did you two meet?”

“I bought him.”

Hadrian paused his brushing. “Okay … not what I thought you’d say.”

“What did you think?”

Hadrian threw up his hands. He honestly didn’t know. “Just not that.”

“It must be my sweet disposition that misled you into thinking I was above slavery.”

“He’s your slave?” Dancer turned her head and nudged him with her nose. Hadrian was still holding the brush but had forgotten what he had been doing with it.

Arcadius laughed. “Of course not. I am above slavery-hideous practice-and Royce would have killed me if I had tried. He really can’t abide people controlling him, which interestingly makes me both his worst enemy and his best friend. A very delicate and dangerous line to walk. Like befriending a tiger.”

Hadrian stared. “Did you say befriending a tiger?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re just not the first person to compare him to a tiger.”

“Is that significant?”

“I don’t know.”

Arcadius looked at him curiously, but Hadrian wasn’t going to explain. He refused to think about it. He merely found it odd that two people had used the word tiger-two people who’d likely never seen one, but Hadrian had.

Dancer shifted weight and began whipping her tail at a fly. Hadrian remembered the brush and went back to the horse’s coat. “So why aren’t you dead? Or more specifically, why hasn’t he killed you?”

Arcadius lifted an empty bucket from a hook on the wall, set it on its end, and slowly eased himself onto it. “Standing too long hurts my back, and I was on my feet through most of the lecture. I hope you don’t mind. Age is a terrible thing-perhaps that’s why Royce leaves me to it, or perhaps there’s a sliver of humanity left in him. You see, he was imprisoned in Manzant, a salt mine. A truly ghastly place where the salt is rumored to leech the soul out of a man before taking his life. I paid handsomely for his release, on the condition he come with me. He took my advice and let me teach him.”

“Was that wise letting him out? My thought is men don’t find themselves in prison by accident.”

“It certainly was no accident, but oddly enough he’d been sent there for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“I doubt there are any crimes that man hasn’t committed.”

“You are probably right. I should have been more precise. He didn’t commit the particular crime for which he was imprisoned.” The old man winced as he struggled to shift into a comfortable, or at least less painful, position. The professor wanted to be in that stable about as much as Hadrian enjoyed riding in the rain.

“Why are you out here telling me all this? Are you trying to make me feel sorry for the guy? He doesn’t exactly invite pity.”

“I’m trying to help you understand him. To show you that he’s a product of the life he has lived and the people he has met.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hoping you might change that. All the people he has known have hurt, betrayed, or abandoned him.”

“I can see why.”

“I think you’ll find he has hidden qualities-just as we all do. He would be a good influence on you too.”

“I’m not sure how. I already know how to kill. You think he might show me how to lose the remorse?”

“No, but you left home before your father could finish raising you. Since then you’ve lived in military camps or worse. That’s an isolated existence, a perverted microcosm, a false semblance of reality. The real world doesn’t live by rules, and what Danbury and your barracks life instilled in you is a pale reflection of what you’ll face. You haven’t really embraced the world. You haven’t seen how the mechanism works or been bitten by the beast. Just as Royce is too cynical, you’re too trusting.”

“I’m not too trusting.”

“You were almost murdered on that barge. At the very least, you already owe Royce your life. What he saw, what you missed, is proof that you could learn from him. Royce is a survivor. You’ve never seen the beast, and he’s lived his whole life in its stomach, yet managed not to be digested.

“And given that Royce deals in a very dangerous profession, he could benefit from the training your father gave you. He could use someone watching his back. For all his skills, he doesn’t have eyes on both sides of his head.” The professor clapped his hands on his thighs. “Just earlier you mentioned how the idea of soldiering was repugnant. You are tired of killing, but fighting is your talent, so what can you do? Here is your opportunity. I’m sure Royce will provide you with direction and many opportunities to use your talents.”

Hadrian stopped and this time put the brush down. Until that moment he had assumed the old man was only making guesses. Damn fine guesses, but then the professor wasn’t stupid. He had already used enough words he didn’t know, like microcosm and semblance, to prove that. Yet he was hinting at something now that suggested he knew more than he let on. Had his man, this Tribian DeVole, returned first? Perhaps he sent reports back. You’re not going to believe what this kid has been doing out here! Yeah, I can find him. Be hard not to. Maybe that’s why he mentioned the tiger. It shouldn’t bother him-it didn’t bother him. Arcadius wasn’t his father. He was just some old acquaintance who he met a couple of times so long ago he could barely remember.

The guilt returned like a weight on his chest. The news of his father’s death had been a shock, a blow to be sure, but he couldn’t deny a degree of relief-he wouldn’t have to face him and explain where he’d been and what he had done. Danbury’s death had opened the door for Hadrian’s return. That his newly won freedom was wrought from the blood of his father made it feel like a punishment. As with all punishments, once endured it’s best to forget and move on. Hadrian had thought he could leave his past in Calis, but Arcadius must have a piece of it, a secret kernel he wasn’t revealing.

“Speaking of trust,” Hadrian said. “I don’t buy this story of my father’s last wish being to pair up with this guy to steal a book. You never spoke with him about Royce and me, did you?”

“Actually I did,” Arcadius said. “I told him the day he gave me the amulet. I had only recently found Royce and we discussed him at length-the problems I was having with him.” The old man pushed slowly to his feet, wincing as he did. “But no, you’re right-I never discussed a plan where his son was sent to steal a book. Danbury was too much like you to have agreed to theft. So this task I have set before you is of my own making, but your father did feel very much as I do that you could learn much from working with Royce and he from you. If it makes it easier, consider doing this for me as reimbursement for settling your father’s affairs.”

“You’re asking for payment?”

“If it will get you to go with Royce-yes. This mission is very important to me.”

Hadrian wasn’t convinced of anything except that this mission was indeed important to the professor. If that was true, he ought to be able to get something worthwhile out of him.

“What about Pickles?”

“Excuse me?”

“If I do this, I want him to stay here and get an education-a chance at a real life. I imagine you could arrange such a thing.”

Arcadius licked his lips and stroked his beard in thought, then began to nod. “I could speak to the headmaster. I think I can arrange something.”

“And it would be for just this one job, right?”

Arcadius hesitated, then smiled. “Absolutely.”