The Alchemist's Touch (22 page)

Kalem frowned and spoke reluctantly. “Ebon, I know it would be kind to believe that. It would mean your family plotted nothing untoward, and that you held no blame in following orders. Yet it seems a perilous conclusion too reach so easily.”

“But surely the uniform of a King’s guard cannot be obtained from just any clothier. Mayhap he is in hiding, until he leaves upon his mission and must reveal himself to be the High King’s agent?”

Theren and Kalem traded an uncertain glance, but said nothing. Whether they could find no counterargument, or simply did not wish to give one, Ebon could not tell. After a moment they shrugged.

“I think we should rest,” said Ebon. “Whatever the truth behind this map, it would be foolish to act only upon guesses. The hour is late, and our minds may be befuddled. Can we at least agree upon that?”

“I suppose so,” said Kalem, though his voice was filled with doubt.
 

Theren loosed a mighty yawn. “Wise words indeed, it seems. Very well. I am only glad we have had another night of excitement. We should do it more often.”

“We should
not,”
muttered Kalem.

Ebon rolled up the map and tucked it into his sleeve. “Very well, then. I shall bid you both a good night.”

Kalem rose and went to his dormitory, just in the next room. Theren followed Ebon, and silently they descended the stairs towards the older students’ dormitories. But upon reaching the bend where the hallways were meant to part, Ebon stopped her.

“Thank you, Theren.”

Slowly she smiled. “Why? Because I taught you to break the rules without getting caught? It is a service I wish I could provide to more within these walls, but they are all so timid.”

“You have done more than that. I do not blame you for your impatience, yet you have never abandoned me.”

Theren looked away uncomfortably, and shrugged as though bored. “You have not given me sufficient cause yet, I suppose. And besides, I have already said I find you a decent enough sort. For a goldbag.”

Ebon stepped close and took her shoulders. For a moment Theren looked as though she might strike him, but he only kissed her cheek, and then another, before stepping away.

“What was that?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“A greeting, and a parting, for dear family and friends. The custom of my home—though one in which I am ill-practiced, for there are few I hold dear enough to earn it.”

Theren’s jaw clenched, and she did not answer. To his surprise, Ebon thought he saw her eyes glistening. Gruffly, she said, “Well. A bit more kissing than I am comfortable with, but then your kingdom is quite strange. Good night.”

She turned and quickly made her way down the hall.

twenty-three

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Ebon met with his friends at every opportunity. They would sit together discussing the map whenever possible, and every day for hours Ebon would pore over it in the library with Kalem. Yet no matter how hard they tried to read the markings, they could find no more meaning.

Once Ebon went to Jia and asked her if there were any special significance to red and blue in mapmaking. She seemed surprised by the question, and launched into some explanation of how farmers used them to mark the rotation of crops through the seasons. Though Ebon knew immediately that it had nothing to do with his own map, he found himself forced to sit and listen to the lecture.

“I feel nearly dead from boredom,” he complained to Kalem after at last escaping Jia. “I can think of nothing but cotton and wheat and the best dates for planting. Only I have them mixed up, and would likely try to grow cotton in the dead of winter.”

One day at lunch, they were huddled together as usual, sitting in silence, staring into their bowls, with no new ideas springing to mind. Ebon had thought for so long upon the map that he imagined it splayed out on the table before them, though he had hidden it away in his dormitory chest ever since the night they had found it.

“There is something we might do,” said Theren slowly. “Though I doubt Kalem will like it.”

“With such an introduction, how could I refuse to hear the idea?” Kalem rolled his eyes.

“We could go to the docks and see what we might find to explain the marks,” said Ebon.

His friends both gaped, but Theren spoke first. “That is just what I meant to say. How did you know?”

“I have thought the same thing myself,” said Ebon. “I did not mention it before now, because if even you had not spoken it aloud, the idea must be terrible indeed.”

“It is!” hissed Kalem, leaning forwards. “A terrible idea, and you must cast it from your mind at once! Already you have nearly seen us killed. Would you risk our lives again?”

“I know no other way to learn the truth,” Ebon said with a shrug.

“And this is entirely different besides,” added Theren. “Before, we went in search of a man who we knew—or at least suspected—was up to mischief. Now we are only going to the docks.”

“Mayhap we could go during the daylight hours, to further reduce any danger.” But Ebon knew it for a poor idea, and saw the same thought in Theren’s face.

“That would likely teach us nothing,” she said. “Whatever this plot, we are unlikely to find it lying plain to find. If dark deeds are to be done, wisdom says they should be done in the dark.”

“Another nighttime adventure, then,” said Kalem. “Well, you may count me out.”

“Dear cousin Ebon! Might I have a word?”

Shocked from their quiet conversation, Ebon looked up to see the Dean standing over their table. He froze, as did Kalem beside him. Theren leaned back carelessly, eyeing the Dean with casual disinterest.

“Dean Cyrus,” Ebon stammered. “Forgive us. We did not see you there.”

“Please. Dean Cyrus sounds so formal. ‘Dean’ is sufficient. Now, about that word…?”

The Dean looked pointedly at Kalem and Theren. Kalem took the hint and leapt from the bench as though stabbed, disappearing among the other children in the dining hall. But Theren only looked to Ebon, her brow arched. He nodded, and she removed herself from the table, though much more slowly than Kalem.

Dean Cyrus took a seat opposite Ebon. He had no food, and leaned forwards on his elbows with a friendly smile. The effect was immediate. The students around them quickly shifted away. Some stood and fled, while others merely slid as far down the benches as they could go. In moments, no one sat within earshot.
 

“So. How go your studies, Cousin?” Cyrus’ voice came smooth as silk.

“They progress well, Dean.” It was a lie, of course, but Ebon well remembered how the Dean had treated Credell when he thought the instructor was not doing his best to teach him.

“I notice you are still in Credell’s class.”

“Yes, he is working hard to teach me.” Ebon tried to smile, but was afraid it might leave as a grimace.

“Clearly not hard enough,” said the Dean, sounding annoyed. “A bright boy like you, and especially one so old, should have already graduated his class. I imagine he has you fooling about with that wooden rod?”

“Yes, Dean,” Ebon said.
 

“Such a simple trick. The basest alchemists can perform it. Some students come to the Academy already having learned it from some wizard in their homeland. As I said, he cannot be working hard if you have not even mastered so easy a spell. I shall speak with him immediately.”

“I assure you that is not necessary, Dean.”

“Think nothing of it, my boy,” he said, airily waving a hand. “Your loyalty is admirable, but you owe nothing to an instructor who shortchanges your attention.”

Ebon wanted to sink through his seat and into the floor. “Yes, Dean.”

“Now, then. What of our dear family? How fare they? Have you had any words with our dear Halab recently?” The Dean leaned forwards, his fingers spreading across the tabletop. Ebon caught a curious light in his eyes.

Now we come to it—the true reason for this visit.
 

Ebon knew full well the Dean cared little for his studies, but could not interpret his interest in Ebon’s correspondence with the family. Unless…Ebon’s heart quailed with terror. Perhaps the Dean was in league with his father in whatever plot was transpiring at the Shining Door. Mayhap they suspected Ebon had revisited the inn, and now the Dean was here to investigate the truth.

“I have not spoken with Halab, nor with any other of the family, since I arrived, Dean,” said Ebon slowly, carefully choosing his words.

“Certainly that is not true.” The Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Why, Jia tells me you have sent some letters to your dear sister.”

Sky above.
Ebon had forgotten about that. “I have, Dean. But she has not answered.”

“Oh? Are you certain? You may tell me, of course.”

Why should he fear to speak of letters from his sister? “She has not, Dean. Honestly. Perhaps…perhaps she has been too busy to write me.”

The Dean smiled and shook his head. “Oh, Ebon. You cannot think me so simple as all that. If she has told you something that you do not wish to reveal, let me rid you of your fear: I am fully informed of what is happening back in Idris. I only thought to combine our knowledge, and see what we might surmise. I would be especially interested in correspondence with Halab, for she has not answered my letters in many days.”

“I have not written Halab, though you have reminded me that perhaps I should, to thank her for sending me here. Only by her grace was I able to attend.”

The Dean’s mouth twisted into something sour and foul. “Yes. Grace, indeed.” Then he leaned back, his eyes taking a crafty look. “Well, perhaps we shall speak of something else. Have you learned any…
other
…spells? That is, spells other than what Credell has tried and failed to teach you?”

Ebon shuddered. He thought of the mists, and how they had used them to slip out of the Academy. Did the Dean know?
How could he
?

Ebon had taken too long, so he answered quickly. “No, Dean. I have learned nothing else. I am trying to focus on Credell’s lessons.”

The Dean leaned even closer. “Come, Cousin. I was a student here myself once. I know students will often pass knowledge to each other of spells they have learned. Has one of your alchemist friends taught you anything new? Perhaps that young copper-haired boy who was just here?”

Ebon swallowed. “Kalem said it is unwise to learn our spells out of order. I tried to persuade him, but he has only tried helping me learn to turn wood to stone.”

“Hm. Very well.” The Dean leaned back, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe. His brows drew close, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I understand the urge to guard your friends’ secrets. As for our family, should you hear from Halab, please come and tell me at once.”

“I shall, Dean,” Ebon said.

“See that you do.” The Dean’s voice had grown suddenly hard. “I can be a powerful ally within the citadel, Ebon. And you certainly do not want me as your enemy.”

He stood quickly and swept off, leaving Ebon wondering as to his meaning. Though he could not see them, he could feel the jaws of some terrible trap closing around him.

twenty-four

The next day, Ebon was slumped against the wall in Credell’s class. He watched the instructor go back and forth through the classroom, giving the children tips and answering their questions. Just now he was sitting beside Astrea, the little wild-haired girl who had become the closest thing Ebon had to a friend in his class. She seemed to be on the cusp of transforming her wooden rod. Often Ebon had seen her eyes glowing with magic while the rod swirled beneath her fingers. But when Astrea stopped, she still held only a stick. Credell was turning the rod from wood to stone and back again before her eyes, explaining with murmurs that Ebon could not hear.

It made his heart ache; Credell was not a bad instructor in truth, for Ebon could see how gently he dealt with the youths in his care. Yet he still could not speak to Ebon without trembling, nor provide answers to whatever unseen barrier stood between Ebon and his magic.

A knock came at the door. Credell’s head jerked up at the noise, and for a moment he only stared. Then his gaze flitted to Ebon, eyes filled with fear. Ebon shrugged.

Credell rose and went to the door, ducking outside to speak with someone Ebon could not see. Then he closed the door holding a written message.
 

“Er…ah…Ebon, of the family Drayden. You have a visitor. She awaits you outside the Academy. The Dean has given you permission to go.”

Ebon started in his seat. A visitor? Who would visit him here on the Seat? It could not be Father, for Credell had said
she,
and if Ebon’s parents had returned his mother would never visit alone
.
For a moment the thought of Adara flitted through his mind, but he dismissed it as foolish. Then it came in a flash. He shot from his seat and ran from the room, ignoring Credell, who flinched as he passed.

He burst from the Academy’s front door into the street. There she stood: Halab, wearing fabulous golden clothes interwoven with threads of real silver. She turned towards the opening door, and her warm gaze fell upon Ebon. She held her arms wide.

“Dearest nephew.”
 

“Halab!” Ebon cried, throwing himself into her arms. They embraced for a long moment, and then he remembered his manners. He pulled back, kissing her first on one cheek, and then another. She placed a gentle hand to his cheek.

“Even now you have not forgotten your manners. I am glad, for you are now long away from home.”

“My heart gladdens to see you, dearest Aunt.” To Ebon’s great surprise, tears sprang to his eyes, and leaked down his cheeks against his will. “I have missed you most terribly. And the same for all my family.”
 

She arched an eyebrow, as though knowing he thought of his father. “Indeed? Then I am only sorry to have not visited sooner. I have arranged for us to spend the day together.”

“Truly?” Ebon glanced back at the Academy. “I…well, then I am most grateful.”

“Oh? Do you not enjoy your studies?”

“Of course I do. I cannot tell you how much joy I have found here.”