Chapter 34
Adramal picked up her satchel and went downstairs, trying not to look as though she was about to break half-a-dozen of Kyturil’s rules. Outside, she glanced at Degoran’s tower, its stones stained crimson by the setting sun.
She headed for the gap between the Great Hall and the inner wall, where she’d tried to eavesdrop on the teachers as they were dining on Tanshalm’s Day. As she picked her way among the detritus, she wished she’d thought to put her boots on, but it was too late to go back and change now.
She squeezed past the staircase that led to the top of the inner wall. Sweat dripped from her, and not because of the heat. She decided to stay here for about an hour after curfew, to make sure everyone was asleep.
Something small hit the ground a few feet away. Adramal jolted and bit back a yell. Feathers rustled above her. A bell rang — curfew — no, eleventh hour. Another hour to sunset.
Do you know any songs? said Lelsarin. Or funny stories?
Adramal felt her tunic ride up her back as she slid down the wall. It’s going to be a long couple of hours.
The shadow of the inner wall crept up the side of Shendar’s tower. Eventually, the bell rang for curfew. Adramal tensed. If she was going to be missed, it would be now. She heard footsteps from the inner ward — apprentices leaving the library, she guessed, and servants returning to their quarters.
Shendar’s tower was now almost completely in shadow. How to reckon another hour? The bell wouldn’t ring again until morning. Overhead, the stars were coming out, peeping through scraps of cloud. She knew you could measure the night’s watches by the stars, but had never bothered to learn how. Angaris, the near moon, took about an hour and a quarter to go halfway across the sky. That would be perfect... if she could see the damned thing.
She decided to wait until Shendar’s tower was entirely in shadow. Then she would watch the first star that emerged above the Great Hall until it disappeared above the inner wall.
A few minutes after seeing a star, she regretted this idea. She had to squint to keep track of it among the clouds, and its movement was slower than the burning of a candle. Her neck and shoulders ached by the time the star finally passed out of sight.
Be here now.
With a deep breath, she took a step towards Degoran’s tower. The crunching of her foot among the leaves almost stopped her heart.
She waited, every muscle taut, straining to hear any sign that she had been heard. Then she edged forward, treading as lightly as possible. She still thought they would hear her footsteps in Kyer Altamar. At the corner of the Hall, she paused, peering into the darkness.
Anyone who’s supposed to be here would have some source of light, wouldn’t he? said Lelsarin.
Adramal looked up at Degoran’s tower, visible as something that obscured the stars behind it. She felt her way to the door. It opened to her touch with the faintest of squeaks, and she slipped inside.
As she fumbled in her satchel for a candle, the door swung shut, cutting off what little light remained. The candle slipped through her sweating fingers and landed on the floor.
Panting, she dropped to her knees and swept her hands over the flagstones. Dirt stuck to her fingers. When she found the candle, she gripped it so tightly that she feared she would snap it.
Didn’t think you were afraid of the dark, said Lelsarin.
I’m afraid of what — or who — this darkness conceals, Adramal replied. She put the candle on the floor and took out her tinderbox. After putting a small piece of tinder on the floor, she tried to strike a spark. On the fourth attempt, the flint flew from her hand and skittered out of reach.
Adramal thumped the floor, tears stinging her eyes. She took a few deep breaths. I’m going to have to risk a fire spell to light the candle.
Are you sure Degoran’s not going to sense it? said Lelsarin.
He should be asleep now. And the noise from the spell on his door should mask it. She felt for the wick of the candle and held her fingertips about half an inch from it — closer than usual, but this way she wouldn’t need as much power. She slowed her breathing and, out of habit, closed her eyes. Thoughts slotted together in her mind. She tensed in anticipation of the flame burning her fingers. No pain came.
She opened her eyes to find it was still dark. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobbing. Her other arm gave way, and she fell to the floor with a thump. I can’t do this.
Hush, hush, said Lelsarin, cradling her doll. It’s going to be all right.
Adramal tasted grit. I don’t want your pity, she said, spitting to clear her mouth. She pushed herself into a kneeling position and felt for the candle. Touching the wick with the tip of her index finger, she tried the spell again.
The yellow-orange light was blinding after so long in darkness. She was so pleased at having made the spell work that she forgot to take her hand away before the flame burned her. She swore and sucked her finger.
She inserted the candle into the candlestick and retrieved the flint and tinder. Hearing no sign that she had alerted Degoran to her presence, she rose slowly to her feet.
She lifted the statuette of the horse from the plinth. There was nothing underneath. It didn’t rattle when she shook it. She tapped the plinth to see if it was hollow. It seemed not to be.
She crept up the staircase, looking all around for Degoran. He wasn’t on this floor. She checked under the table and chairs, not finding the knife. She crossed the room to a chest of drawers and eased open the top right drawer. It held knives — the kind for eating with.
Do you think it might be one of these? said Lelsarin.
Could be. If the knife is enchanted, I should be able to see it with a sensing spell.
Do you think that’s safe?
Do you think we have any choice? Adramal held her face a few inches above the knives, to reduce the strength of magic she would need. As gently as possible, she slotted the spell together. She held her breath.
The spell revealed nothing. She let it lapse, and bit her lip to stop herself from swearing.
She brought the candle over the knives. All of them had rounded tips. Should’ve checked first whether any of them had sharp points. She opened the other drawers, finding them filled with crockery and other types of cutlery. She checked the underside of the chest and the floor beneath it, finding nothing but dust.
The candlestick shook in Adramal’s hand as she climbed the staircase to the servants’ room. She tensed, expecting Degoran to strike her down as soon as her head came above the floor. But he wasn’t here.
Lelsarin said, Tagahra thought the knife wouldn’t be somewhere that someone else was likely to find it by accident. So it’s not going to be on this floor.
Do you see anyone in those beds?
No, but the servants didn’t find it when they were here. And if he has a hiding place that works, why change it?
The blankets and pillows had been removed from the beds, but the mattresses remained. The wardrobe was empty. Nothing behind or underneath it. She stood on one of the beds to see the top of the wardrobe — nothing there either. She stepped down, jarring her knee. Nothing under either bed. She lifted the mattresses. Nothing under them.
She stood at the foot of the staircase, not wanting to ascend to the study. That would be where Degoran was lurking — plenty of hiding places between the bookcases. I should leave.
And let Degoran recover? said Lelsarin. Leave him free to kill again?
Easy for you to be brave. You’re not the one who’ll have that knife stuck in your neck. Or that symbol carved into your belly.
We’ll have less of that, young lady. If you die, I die.
Your words aren’t exactly reassuring, said Adramal.
Lelsarin snorted. If you want reassurance, go and kiss Perinar.
Adramal checked the candle. About half of it had gone; it would last maybe another thirty minutes. She readied a shield spell, allowing all but the final thought to gather in her mind. Unless that final thought completed, no magic would be released, so Degoran wouldn’t sense her.
She went sideways up the stairs, to see as much of the study as possible. The spell wriggled, wanting to be complete. Would a shield even be any use? She’d resisted one of Degoran’s attacks, but he’d just been testing her then. Even in his weakened state, he was surely more than strong enough to kill her.
The spell’s final thought forced itself into place. The shield formed with a hiss of displaced air, shimmering like a spray of water. Adramal raced the rest of the way up the stairs, hoping to dodge any attack.
The study was deserted. She put the candlestick on a corner of the table and leaned on the edge of it, panting. Still. Calm. Focus. She wiped her forehead and stood up straight. She turned through a circle to be sure Degoran wasn’t hiding between bookcases. Then she let the shield lapse.
The table had a set of three drawers on one side. The first held pens, ink and chalk, the second rough-cut sheets of paper, and the third blank slates.
On the table were several stacks of slates and a few pieces of paper. She took a slate from the nearest pile. At the top was the name Nyseth and a date, Tanshalm’s Day, both in a large, uncertain hand. Below was a set of spell formulae, variations on a basic light spell. At the bottom was a single word, Good, in a neater hand. This had to be the work of a junior apprentice, probably copied from the blackboard in Degoran’s classroom. She checked the next slate in the pile, seeing the same formulae. She put them back, as near as she could to their original positions. The other piles of slates were similar.
We’re wasting time, whispered Lelsarin. Check the bookcases.
Adramal picked up one of the pieces of paper. It was a letter from Degoran’s brother, dated Groll’s Day. Evidently, the two men had been corresponding about the murders. Part of the letter read, I do not understand why Eskalyn refuses to cooperate with the City Watch and the Temple. What is there to hide? You all have your little scandals, but their revelation would be nothing compared with losing the trust of the people. Further down, Please do not take it into your head to do anything you cannot undo later. Yebran, the Commander of the Watch, is trustworthy and will respect your wish for discretion if you approach him directly.
Adramal folded the letter and slipped it into her satchel.
What are you doing? said Lelsarin.
Captain Tagahra needs to see this.
Well make a copy of it, then.
No time. Who was saying I need to hurry up? Adramal went to the bookcase nearest the stairs. She took out each book in turn and shook it, to see if the knife was among its pages. She checked the gap left by each book, in case the knife was behind the books.
We’re going to be here all night at this rate, muttered Lelsarin.
As Adramal dragged out the first book on the next shelf, a puff of dust came with it, tickling her nose. Hastily, she put the book back and covered her nose and mouth. When the urge to sneeze had passed, she took her hand away and breathed slowly through her mouth.
That’s it, she thought. She moved from one bookcase to the next, looking at the front of each shelf.
What are you doing? asked Lelsarin.
The servants obviously don’t clean the bookcases, said Adramal. Degoran must be worried about them damaging or stealing the books. And he obviously consults some books much more than others — you see this shelf has hardly any dust, whereas the one above is covered in it?
Yes?
So if he’s hidden the knife among the books, he’d have to move at least one book to do it, so the knife must be on a shelf where the dust has been disturbed recently.
Clever girl. Lelsarin clutched her doll and looked around, wide-eyed. What was that?
What was what? Adramal turned to face the stairs that led up to Degoran’s bedroom.
Someone’s opened the door downstairs.
Adramal froze. Are you sure?
A noise came from downstairs — something scraping over the flagstones.
Yes, I’m sure.
He must have seen the candle, said Adramal. I’m going to hide in the wardrobe.
No, said Lelsarin. He might hear you. I’ve got a better idea.
Footsteps echoed from the staircase. Adramal’s breath came in quick gasps.
Turn to your right, said Lelsarin. Adramal obeyed. The candlestick had become slippery in her grasp, and she transferred it to her other hand. Go between those two bookcases directly ahead.
The footsteps grew louder. He’s bound to see me if I stand there.
Don’t argue, just do it.
Adramal did as Lelsarin asked. The bookcases stood forward from the wall, providing just enough of a gap for her to squeeze into. Behind one of them was a door, dark with age.
Open it, said Lelsarin.
Where does it go?
The inner wall, with any luck.
Adramal turned the rusty handle, making a horribly loud noise. The door didn’t move. The footsteps stopped, and then resumed, quieter and slower. She tried the handle again. Then she noticed a brass key in the lock. She held her breath as she tried it. It turned smoothly and silently. She pulled the door open, admitting a wave of cool night air. She put a foot forward and felt nothing.
Panicked, Adramal grabbed the door frame. It yielded beneath her fingers, soft with age. The footsteps grew louder, seemingly just behind her.
Jump! screamed Lelsarin.
Tears stung Adramal’s eyes. If I miss the wall, I’ll die!
Line yourself up with Shendar’s tower.
Adramal tried. A tall shape was faintly visible in the distance. It could just as easily have been a cloud.
Now jump.
I can’t! Adramal clung to the door frame by her fingertips. One foot tilted on the edge of the stones.
I hope I’m going to get the chance to apologise for this, said Lelsarin.
Adramal’s legs, and the hand that held the frame, suddenly went numb, as though from a strong pain-relieving spell. Her stomach lurched, and air rushed upwards over her.