The Alchemist's Touch (16 page)

“And yet you have the Dean’s special permission.”

Ebon wanted to refuse, to tell Mako he would not do it, and that the guard could deliver the parcel himself. How did he know that this was actually at his father’s request? It might be Mako’s own scheme, into which he meant to ensnare Ebon against his father’s wishes. But Mako must have seen something of these thoughts on his face, for he sucked a slow breath between his teeth, and shook his head.

“Ebon,” he said genially. “Could you truly be so eager to disappoint your father? Halab may have spoken for you, but he could withdraw you on the slightest whim. Do this for him, out of respect and gratitude. He cares for you so very much.”

The words carried no obvious threat, but still Ebon heard one. He could imagine himself cast from the Academy, his tuition no longer paid, allowance cut off, being bundled into a ship bound for Idris. Again he saw his father’s triumphant sneer as he marched in through the doors of the family manor.

“Very well,” said Ebon. “I will bring the package, if that is what my father wishes.”

“He does.” Mako pushed himself off the bookshelf and gave a bow—but Ebon thought he saw mockery in the gesture. He turned from the bodyguard, opening his book as if he meant to read it right there. “One more thing, little goldbag—do not look inside the package.”

Ebon turned to look at Mako, but the man had already vanished. He leaned out to look around the bookshelf, but the aisle was empty on either side.

sixteen

THE DAY ENDED QUICKLY, FAR too fast for Ebon’s liking, for he was dreading his errand. But soon the daylight had faded through the Academy’s many windows, and he felt an uncertain anxiety settle about him. He sat with Kalem in the common room—not the one outside Ebon’s dormitory, for Kalem feared to go where the older children lived. Ebon had taken to visiting Kalem instead, three floors higher. The other children in the room were of Kalem’s age. They looked at Ebon somewhat fearfully, and left him alone. He found that he much preferred it, when he compared it to wondering if Lilith would arrive to torment him.

As day turned to night at last, and attendants came to light fires upon the hearths, Kalem yawned heavily in his chair. His eyes were bleary, and he rubbed at them. “I slept poorly last night. Or rather, I slept not enough. I became caught up trying a new spell my instructor showed me yesterday.”

“Hm?” Ebon looked around. He had only been half listening.

“What has gotten into you?” Kalem looked at him oddly. “You are half bouncing in your seat, and seem distracted.”

“Nothing,” said Ebon. “If you are tired, I will leave so that you may retire.”

“I can stay up a bit longer, if you wish to talk. We have not tried your spell yet.”

“I myself am weary.” Ebon stood, and felt at once that he had done it too quickly. “I will make my way to my own room. Good night.”

“Good night,” said Kalem, yawning again.
 

Ebon made his way quickly downstairs. The hour in which he would normally be forbidden from leaving the Academy drew near. He wished to avoid the common room outside his dormitory, for fear of meeting Lilith, so he stole down to the first floor and made his way to the dining hall. Spare loaves had been left out on the serving table, as they were each day, and Ebon snatched one up. Something about his anxiety had turned him ravenously hungry.
 

He took the loaf and went out through a white door onto the training grounds. The moons were just rising in the eastern sky, their glow drifting down to cast the grass in silver. The stars were bright, and he watched them make their slow way through the sky. Soon it would be time, and he would have to go. But for a moment, Ebon could rest here on his stone bench, and pretend it was where he meant to spend his night.

Voices sounded on the air, coming from around the corner. Without thinking, Ebon dived back over the bench into hedges by the Academy wall.

A pair of instructors rounded the corner, obvious by their age even when their dark grey robes looked black as a student’s. Ebon recognized the kindly-faced weremage he would sometimes see when sneaking out onto the training grounds, walking with another instructor, one Ebon did not know by name, though he thought she might be a mindmage. They walked slow, almost aimlessly, their talk seeming to hold no purpose.
 

But as they passed, Ebon noted a curious thing. The grey-haired weremage paused, and turned so he was looking straight at Ebon’s hiding spot. Ebon’s pulse pounded hard enough to burst the heart from his chest. But after a moment the instructor resumed his walk, taking two quick steps to catch up with his companion. Soon they had passed beyond the next corner, and Ebon lost a sigh.

It was time, or past time now. He snuck out from the hedge, wolfing down the final scrap of his loaf, and made his way back to the Academy’s entry hall. He half hoped to find Mellie standing guard as she always was, but Mako had spoken true: it was a new woman now, a thick, matronly sort whom Ebon had never seen. Her fat cheeks puffed as she stood to greet him. Under her arm was a parcel wrapped in brown cloth.

“You are the Drayden boy.” Ebon was unsure if it was a question, and so he did not answer. She shoved the parcel into his arms, led him to the front door, and threw the latch.

“Knock thrice, then twice when you return, and I shall know it is you.” Then she very nearly pushed him out the door and closed it behind him.

Ebon sighed, looking up and down the street. A few figures moved about in the torchlight. He swallowed hard, hoping they would not ask after his purpose. He knew it was not unheard of for Academy students to go out after hours on some official business or other, but did not know how he would respond if someone inquired about his business.
 

He set off into the streets. Then he changed his mind, thinking it might be better to stay out of sight. There was an alley nearby that looked like it ran west for a ways. He made for it, blinking hard to help his eyes adjust as he slipped into shadow. But not fast enough—he ran into another figure with a crash and a yelp.

“I am sorry,” he stammered, stepping back into the moonslight. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he recognized Theren, looking just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

“What under the sky are you doing here?” Her sharp eyes narrowed.
 

“I might ask the same of you,” he said defiantly, trying in vain to hide the parcel behind his back.

“And I will answer you readily. I am off to visit a house of lovers. Now it is your turn.”

“I…” Words failed him for a moment. At last, too late, he found them. “As am I.”

“Truly?” she said, and he could hear in her voice that she did not believe him. “Then what is that package you are trying oh so earnestly to conceal behind you? It is too fat, or you are too thin, I cannot tell which.”

“It is nothing,” said Ebon, turning it sideways to better conceal it.

Her thin nose twitched. “Very well. Keep your secrets. It is no business of mine what a man does with his lover. But if we are of a purpose, then let us walk together. These streets are dark, and can be dangerous.”

Ebon scoffed. “Do not mock me by saying you wish for my protection.”

“I would never dream of it. I mock you by saying that you require mine.”

“I can fend for myself,” he said, hoping the moonslight did not reveal his burning cheeks.

She thrust a finger under his nose, eyes alight. “Wait. I know what you are about. You have spoken to the Dean, just as I said, and he gave you permission to leave the Academy.”

“I did not! I…” He trailed off, as if searching the air for a satisfactory answer.

“I knew it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Yet you would not even extend me the same courtesy. I might have known better than to think a goldbag would try to befriend me.”

“Theren, I give you my word, I did nothing of the sort. I wish I were not here at all, and I—” Ebon decided he must take the plunge. “I am not out to visit a house of lovers.”

“Of course you are not. What, then?”

He looked over his shoulder, and then back at her. “I was given a task. By my father. He wishes me to bring this package to an inn, a place called the Shining Door. The Dean gave me permission to be out, indeed, but I did not request it. Nor do I wish to be here. I like nothing about this.”

“What is in the package?” She reached out a hand curiously.

Ebon snatched it away. “I am not permitted to look inside.”

“How intriguing.” To his shock, her eyes sparkled in the moonslight. “What is this? Some black business of your family’s? Do you walk beyond the King’s law?”

“I do not know,” Ebon insisted. “My father made this request, and he is the only reason I am at the Academy. So I mean to do as he asked, and then promptly forget I was here.”

“An excellent plan,” said Theren, drawing herself up. “And I shall come with you.”

“No. You should not.” He balked. “Go to your lover, and forget you ever saw me.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “What pleasures could I find there, grander than the intrigue of a midnight plot? Besides, what if you should find yourself in trouble? What will you do, turn water into oil and throw it in their faces? You
need
me.”

“I shall not get into trouble. I am only delivering a parcel.”

“So you think.” She gripped his arm and dragged him onwards, into the alley. “Yet one never knows the perils that may lie in one’s future.

He tried to dissuade her, but she pressed on, determined enough to resign him to his fate. Still, he shook off her grip, and walked beside her in sullen silence. Theren, for her part, seemed to take this all as some glorious nighttime adventure, though to Ebon’s relief she ceased her questions.

As they reached the island’s western end, Ebon looked about for someone to ask directions. But Theren tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. “I know the Shining Door. It lies this way. Come.”

She set off, and Ebon hurried behind her. Soon they found the place: a squalid little building tucked in between two larger ones. The thick beams holding its roof were bent outward, like a child drawing a deep breath, or a body about to burst with pox. From the smell drifting out from its open front door, Ebon thought it was more likely the latter.

The common room was dim, and every conversation muted. Many wary eyes glinted at them in the darkness. Ebon was acutely grateful for his plain student’s robes; if he had appeared here in the finery to which he was accustomed, he would have feared a knife between his ribs, slid in hopes of finding a fat purse.

He wanted to leave immediately, but forced himself to take another step beyond the threshold. His eyes roved about, seeking the man he was here to see. No one seemed to pay him any special attention at first, but after a moment he caught a sudden motion. A figure beckoned them forth from the back of the room. Ebon did not want to go, but neither did he wish to be in this place a moment longer than he had to. With Theren by his side, he wove his way through the tables until he reached the figure: a man, his skin pale to the point of ghostly, certainly no man of Idris. Ebon wondered why he would be in league with the Draydens. A thin mustache clung to his lip, dipping down into a sparse beard. His eyes were rat-like, and flitted all about. His cloak and hood were blue, but his tunic and leggings were grey.

“You know who I am?” Ebon fought and failed to steady his voice.

The man sneered, and held forth a hand. Ebon filled it with the brown parcel. The man quickly undid the string holding it shut, lifted a corner, and peeked inside. Ebon craned his neck, trying to see, but the man quickly drew it back.

“Thought you were coming alone,” he said in a rasping voice. Then he stood and left, making for the rooms in the inn’s rear.
 

Ebon’s breath left in a rush. “Let us leave this place, for I feel as though I grow dirtier the longer I stay.” He nearly ran for the door, Theren beside him. Outside, he drank in the air with bottomless breaths.

“Well, that provided no answers whatsoever,” said Theren.
 

“I am glad. The less I know of what transpired, the better. If I could drink enough to forget it, I would.”

“There might be time enough for that yet. It is not very late.”

“The moons are halfway through the sky,” said Ebon. “Let us return, and sleep, or else we shall be like the wooden training dummies on the morrow.”

“If you insist, alchemist. I will show you the way.”

“You do not mean to go to your lover?”

She shrugged. “I think I have had thrills enough. She will still be there if I visit her on another night.”

“She?” Ebon blinked at her. “Oh, dear. I fear I must have words with Kalem.”

Theren grinned, her teeth flashing in the moonslight. “You do not mean he is enamored of me? Oh, the dear boy.”

Ebon shook his head with a little smile, and followed Theren as she set off through the streets. They walked in silence, and soon Ebon found himself wondering what it was, exactly, that he had just done. He feared to know, and yet found himself even more fearful of ignorance. Always he had taken great pains to avoid any knowledge of his family’s dealings. Everyone knew they were spice traders, of course, but Ebon knew of his father’s late-night meetings, of Mako’s strange dealings that seemed to send him all across the nine lands. He saw the fear shining in others’ eyes when they heard his family’s name. Always he had shied away from such things, for fear of what pursuit might uncover. And now he feared that, unknowing, he had been thrust into the heart of it all.

Theren must have entertained similar thoughts, for after they had walked a while, she said, “So, when do you mean to tell me what that was all about?”

Ebon shrugged. “I spoke the truth before: I do not know.”

She shook her head. “You cannot mean to persist in that lie. You are a Drayden. I know only rumors of your family’s doings, but if half are true…”

“If you know only a rumor, you know more than I. Never have I involved myself in…in whatever it is my family does that makes others fear us so.”