The Eyes of God (58 page)
Authors: John Marco
On the afternoon of the fourth day, a surprise visitor arrived. Gilwyn was loading up his cart in the main hall when he heard the insistent pounding at the door. At first he ignored it, thinking one of the scholars was begging entry. But when the knocking finally grew to a crescendo Gilwyn stopped what he was doing and stomped to the door as quickly as his bad foot would carry him. Angry, he threw the latch and reached for the pull.
“Can’t you read?” he asked before the door was half open. “We’re closed.”
The austere faces of armored knights greeted him. Gilwyn stiffened when he saw them—three men, all similarly garbed in silver armor and crimson capes. They wore no helmets, but each man bore a scabbarded sword. They were a daunting trio, and the one at the center was the most frightening by far. Unlike the others, his cape was trimmed with silver and held with a golden clasp, and he had colored ribbons on his armor at the shoulders, denoting him as a man of rank. His jet hair was combed back slick against his head, its color mimicked by his meticulously trimmed beard. A pair of dark eyes smouldered in his stern face.
“I don’t give a damn if you’re closed, boy,” he boomed. “Didn’t you hear us knocking? Or are you deaf as well as—” His insults suddenly stopped as he spied Gilwyn’s clubbed hand. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. “I am General Trager. I want to see your master.”
Gilwyn was stunned. “General Trager?” He stared at the man stupidly. “Really?”
Seeing Gilwyn’s awe, the general puffed a little. “Yes, it is I. Now step aside.”
“Of course,” said Gilwyn. He had only seen the general once or twice before, and only then from a great distance while watching the knights drill on the grounds around Lionkeep. Now that he was in the man’s presence, Gilwyn was tongue-tied. He stepped aside for the soldiers, then remembered Figgis’ strict orders not to be disturbed. The general crossed the threshold and looked around, nodding.
“So, this is what King Akeela has spent a thousand fortunes on, eh? Very nice.”
“You’ve never been here, General?” Gilwyn asked. The idea shocked him. “Never once?”
For a moment General Trager seemed perturbed by the question. But he indulged Gilwyn, saying, “Oh, a long time ago, yes, when I had time for such nonsense. But it’s grown since then.” His men followed him into the entry hall as he continued to study the structure. There wasn’t much to see in this part of the library, just stone walls and torches, but the general seemed intrigued by it. He rapped on the wall with his knuckles, testing its soundness. “I’ve always though that Library Hill would make a good location for a fortress. Such a commanding position.”
His underlings nodded.
“Good construction,” the general added. “Now, boy, where is that waterhead Figgis?”
“Uhm, well, Master Figgis is in his study. But he asked not to be disturbed.”
“He will see me. Which way is the study?”
“Right down that hall, sir. But really, I don’t think he’ll take to being disturbed. He’s on a project for the king.”
General Trager sighed dramatically. “The king and I are closer than two toes in a stocking. I’m here on the king’s business. Now be a good boy and take me to your master.”
“Well, all right,” Gilwyn stammered, unsure what to do. Figgis might be very cross, but he knew there was no way to disobey the general. “This way, sir,” he said as he walked down the hall.
General Trager and his silent entourage followed. But before they had taken ten paces, the general noticed Gilwyn’s uneven gait.
“You limp, boy. What’s that shoe you wear?”
“Figgis made it for me. Before I started wearing it I couldn’t walk without a cane.”
“Remarkable. Your foot is like your hand, then?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Gilwyn. He didn’t know how much he should tell the man. “Since I was born.”
General Trager nodded. “So that is why you work in the library. Otherwise a boy your age should be in service.”
“I like books, sir, and I like working for Figgis,” Gilwyn looked at the general hopefully. “But I’ve always wanted to be a horseman.”
The general shook his head. “No chance. Not with a hand like that. Be grateful for your place here. You wouldn’t last a day in the Royal Chargers.”
Gilwyn continued down the hall, hiding his reddened face from the men as he walked. Suddenly he was acutely aware of his limp and did what he could to conceal it. Yet even with his special shoe the limp was always there, shouting out his malformation. He was grateful none of the knights were laughing, but he could almost sense their smug smiles. Finally, he rounded a bend in the hall and came to Figgis’ study. The corridor was quiet and the study’s door was closed. A tray of neglected tea and biscuits sat outside, cold and untouched. Inside, Gilwyn could hear Figgis paging madly through books. He knocked gently.
“Figgis?” he queried, pushing the door open slightly. “Can I come in?”
“Uh-huh,” replied Figgis, hardly glancing up from his books. He was surrounded by manuscripts and papers. Maps and charts cluttered the floor, rising to his knees.
“Uh, Figgis, there are people here to see you.”
“Tell them to be gone.”
“Your attention, Figgis,” said General Trager, shouldering past Gilwyn and entering the study. “I’ve already been delayed enough by the boy.”
Figgis lifted his nose from his books. He looked exhausted. His red eyes widened when he recognized the general. “What are you doing here?”
The general sauntered into the room, his two men close behind. “I need to speak to you. It’s urgent.”
“No, general,” countered Figgis. “What I’m doing right now is urgent. It’s for the king, and you’re interrupting me. Now if you don’t mind—”
“I’m here on the king’s business, old one,” said General Trager. “It’s about this work you’re doing.”
Figgis hissed in annoyance. “Tell Akeela I’m doing the best I can. Sending you down here to nag me won’t hurry things.”
“I’m not an errand boy,” huffed the general. “I have important news to discuss.” He paused, turning toward Gilwyn. “But it isn’t for everyone’s ears.”
Gilwyn grimaced. “I’ll go then, Figgis?”
The general said, “Quickly.”
“Very well,” Figgis relented. “Gilwyn, leave us for a few minutes. Why don’t you go and find those maps I asked for?”
“All right,” said Gilwyn. There was no sense arguing, so he left, careful not to close the door behind him. He took a few steps away from the study, rounded the corner again toward the main hall, then quietly doubled back and cocked his ear to listen. Muffled voices came to him, amplified by the stone corridor. General Trager was talking, his tone loud and clear off the stonework.
“There’s no time, Figgis. Akeela’s made his decision. I’m organizing my divisions now and will lead them myself.”
“Divisions?” shrieked Figgis. “How many men are you taking?”
“Enough to overpower the Jadori, be assured. If they stand in the way of finding Grimhold, we’ll destroy them.”
“No! There’s no reason to invade!”
“It’s not your decision. Akeela wants it this way. He wants that amulet, and he’ll brook no failure.”
Amulet?
Gilwyn seized on the word.
Gilwyn seized on the word.
“Trager,” Figgis continued, “the Jadori aren’t a threat to anyone. You know that. You can tell that to Akeela.”
“Akeela doesn’t want a repeat of our last fiasco, Figgis. That’s why he’s sending an army. If the Jadori know where Grimhold is, we’ll make sure they tell us.”
There was a long pause in the conversation. Gilwyn pressed closer to the wall, straining to hear.
“I need more time,” said Figgis. His voice was quieter now, almost despondent. “If I can find out more about Grimhold, maybe I can convince Akeela not to invade Jador. Maybe I can prove to him there’s no need for an army.”
“Don’t waste your breath. If you argue for a peaceful solution, I will speak against you. Akeela is wise to send an army. I have already told him so.”
“Oh, of course you have.” There was a sound like a fist being slammed. “Anything to lead a massacre.”
“Curb your tongue,” warned the general. “And do what you’re told. You will continue your research. And you will report your findings to me so that I may make arrangements for my army.”
The conversation seemed to be ending, so Gilwyn began inching away. Suddenly the door to Figgis’ study slammed shut. Heavy footfalls entered the hall. Thinking quickly, Gilwyn ducked into an alcove and crouched out of sight just as General Trager and his entourage thundered past. The men were only a pace past him when Figgis hurried into the hall after them. Gilwyn pressed against the wall, a hair’s breadth from being seen.
“Tell Akeela to forget it,” shouted Figgis. “I won’t research the amulet anymore, not if he insists on this invasion!”
General Trager turned on his boots. His voice dipped to a threatening growl. “Oh, yes you will, Figgis. Because what do you think will happen to your precious Jadori if you don’t?”
“You’re a monster,” Figgis sneered.
The general laughed. “You’ve always thought so, haven’t you? You and that girl-pretty pretender Lukien. Well, let me tell you something if you don’t cooperate, I’m going to show your precious Jadori just how monstrous I can be.”
“Yes, you’d do that just to spite me,” spat Figgis. “You’re a jealous bastard, Trager. You always have been.”
“Why are we arguing, Figgis? We all want the same thing. You want to find the other amulet as much as Akeela does.”
“No,” said Figgis. “I’d never want another massacre. Great Fate, last time we killed Kadar’s wife! Isn’t that enough?”
“Bah,” scoffed the general. “We won’t win this quest with sentiment.” He turned once again and started off down the hall. As he walked he called over his shoulder, “Do your job, Figgis. And have a report to me within the week.”
He left Figgis smouldering alone in the hall. Gilwyn watched his mentor from the shadows, holding his breath. Figgis shook his head, cursing softly. The exhaustion on his face melted into total despair. Then, remarkably, he spoke.
“Gilwyn, get out here.”
Gilwyn froze.
“I know you’re there. I saw you.”
Without a word Gilwyn stepped out of the alcove. Figgis would not look at him.
“That was very stupid of you to eavesdrop. If Trager had found you he would have skinned you alive.”
“Figgis, I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t say anything, Gilwyn. And don’t ask me any questions about what you overheard. Understand?”
Gilwyn nodded. “All right. But—”
“That’s it,” snapped Figgis. “Not another word.” He still didn’t look at Gilwyn; he simply turned around and retreated toward his study.
Confused, Gilwyn stood like a statue in the corridor, his head full of troubling questions.
For three nights Cassandra waited for Gilwyn Toms to return to his secret balcony. And for three nights he did not show. Cassandra had risked everything in finding the boy, because she sensed that she could trust him and because he was the only one she knew that wasn’t blind, other than Akeela. She had a mission for the young apprentice, a mission that couldn’t be accomplished by any of her sightless servants. If Jancis or any of the others were to go missing, Akeela would surely notice. And Cassandra didn’t want Akeela suspecting anything. He was lost in his new obsession over Grimhold, and was perfect for her scheme. Too enamored with the thought of reuniting with her, Cassandra knew Akeela would never suspect her plans. But her plans depended on Gilwyn, and Gilwyn was nowhere to be found.
It took Cassandra all of three days before Akeela told her that the library was closed. Figgis, Akeela explained, was doing research into Grimhold. Cassandra realized that the research was probably keeping Gilwyn occupied as well, and she supposed it was why he hadn’t come to his lofty hideout. But she needed to deliver a message to the boy, and time was of the essence. Cassandra knew that she could not risk going to the library herself. Even if she could be seen by human eyes, she didn’t want anyone knowing it. That left only Jancis in her sphere of trust, but Jancis was blind and the library was closed. There was simply no way to get a message to Gilwyn.
Cassandra brooded over her predicament, but only for a moment. Blindness, she decided, could be turned to an advantage.
Silence and suspicion hung over the library like a pall. Figgis continued his feverish research, refusing to speak to Gilwyn about his clash with General Trager. Gilwyn kept out of his mentor’s way, dutifully performing his chores and keeping his thousand questions to himself. The conversation he had overheard played over and over in his mind as he worked, organizing the endless shelves of books after Figgis had gone through them like a whirlwind in his mad search for information about. . . .
What?
Gilwyn still didn’t know for certain, but he wasn’t stupid either. He had been able to add up the disparate clues and knew that Figgis was researching Grimhold. He just didn’t know why. And he didn’t know why General Trager and Akeela were interested in Grimhold, either, or why the Jadori were involved. It was a fascinating mystery, but Gilwyn couldn’t unravel it without help, and Figgis wasn’t talking. So far, he wasn’t even coming out of his study. The old man’s silence left Gilwyn with a feeling of impending doom, for he knew that Figgis was suddenly miserable in his work.
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