The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3)

by Garrett Robinson

  “Mako? What are you doing here?” Something made Ebon’s skin crawl, something more than his normal reaction to the man. How did Mako get to the third floor of the library without causing some sort of commotion in the Academy? Guests were not allowed to roam these halls unescorted. Yet no one else was in sight.

  “Your lack of hospitality wounds me,” said Mako, frowning. “It seems an eternity since last I was privileged to lay eyes upon you.”

  Ebon swallowed hard. “It has not even been a month.”

  “The days seem like years, and all that drivel.” Mako slapped the book shut and made to return it to the shelf. But then he caught Ebon looking at it, and he held it up in mock surprise. “Oh, were you looking for this one? Here it is, young lord. Take it with my compliments.”

  “How did you know?”

  Mako’s too-friendly grin widened. “How did I know what, Ebon? There are far too many answers to that question for me to give them all here and now.”

  “Never mind. What do you want?”

  “That question, too, comes with a host of replies. And why should I answer your question, when you have not answered mine?”

  “Yours?” said Ebon, blinking.

  “The first thing I asked you: how go your studies?”

  Ebon looked about, unsure. “They go well enough, I suppose,” he said. “Though I find it—”

  Mako clapped his hands sharply, and Ebon’s words died in his mouth. “Quite enough of that. I have come for another purpose. The family requires something of you.”

  The library was utterly silent about them. Ebon could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears. “The family—by which I suppose you mean my father. What does he need?”

  Mako looked down at the fingers of his right hand. His left drifted to the hilt of his knife, and Ebon’s hands tightened on the spine of his book. But when Mako drew the knife, it was only to pick under his fingernails with the tip. It glistened in the dim orange glow of the library’s lamps.

  “What sort of question is that?” said Mako lightly. “He is your father, and the reason you attend the Academy at all. Are you not happy to fulfill his heart’s desire, whatever that may be?”

  “Of course,” Ebon said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Mako to run back to Father with tales of his ingratitude. “I only meant to ask, how may I be of service to him?”

  “There will be a package left for you. Tonight, after the Academy’s lanterns have been dimmed and that white-haired old bat no longer guards the front door. Too, there will be a special permission slip from your loving cousin the dean. It will allow you to leave the Academy.”

  Ebon’s throat caught, and his voice grew weak, as though he were being strangled. “Leave?”

  Mako took his meaning and grinned. “Not forever, boy—only for tonight. You must bring the package to the west end of the Seat, where you will find an inn called the Shining Door. A man there will recognize you, and you must give him the package.”

  “What is in it?”

  “You need not trouble yourself over that.”

  “Could you not bring it yourself? This seems an awful amount of trouble.” Mako’s eyes went cold, and Ebon shivered. “I mean only that, certainly my father would like it to be done fast. It will be many hours until I can leave this place.”

  Still the bodyguard stared with ice in his eyes, though the grin never wavered. “He has patience enough for this. And besides, I am somewhat well known in that part of the city, and not in any way one would consider complimentary. But no one there will think you are up to anything nefarious.”

  “And will I be?”

  Mako gave him a wink. “Why should you be? You are only delivering a parcel. If you get up to any mischief, it shall be on your own account.”

  Ebon felt as though the jaws of some unseen steel trap were closing about him. “But if I am doing nothing wrong, why must it be done so late at night?”

  “Who would not enjoy a nighttime adventure? And you have the dean’s special permission.”

  Ebon wanted to refuse. He wanted to tell Mako he would not do it, and that the bodyguard 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 being cast from the Academy, his tuition no longer paid, his allowance cut off, and he himself bundled into a ship bound for home. Again he saw in his imagination the triumphant sneer on Father’s face as Ebon marched in through the doors of the Drayden mansion.

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

  “He does,” said Mako. He pushed himself off the bookshelf and gave Ebon a little bow—but Ebon thought he saw mockery in the gesture. He turned away 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 parcel.”

  Ebon turned to look at him, but Mako had vanished. He leaned out to look around the bookshelf, but the aisles on either side were empty.

  THE DAY ENDED QUICKLY—FAR too quickly for Ebon’s liking, for he dreaded 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 boy’s 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 children here were of Kalem’s age, and they looked at Ebon somewhat fearfully and left him alone. He found that he much preferred it that way.

  As day turned to night at last and attendants came to light fires upon the hearths, Kalem began to yawn 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?” said Ebon, looking up. He had only been half listening.

  Kalem looked at him oddly. “What has gotten into you? You are half bouncing in your seat, and I do not think you have heard a word I have said all night.”

  “It is nothing,” said Ebon. “If you are tired, I will leave so that you may go to bed.”

  “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 somewhat too quickly. “I will make my way to my own room. Good night.”

  “Good night,” said Kalem, yawning once more. He stood and retreated to his dormitory.

  Ebon made his way quickly downstairs. Curfew approached but had not yet come, and so he was somewhat unsure what to do with himself. He did not wish to return to the common room outside his dormitory, for fear of meeting Lilith there. Instead he stole down to the first floor and made his way to the dining hall. Some spare loaves had been left out on the serving table, as they were each day, and Ebon snatched one up to tear into it. Something about his anxiety had raised his appetite.

  He took the loaf with him as he went out through a white door into the training grounds. There was a stone bench he often liked to sit upon. He went there now, clutching his robes a bit tighter against the chilly night. The moons were just rising in the eastern sky, their glow drifting down to paint the grass in silver. The stars were bright that night, and Ebon watched them make their slow way through the sky. Soon it would be time, and he would have to go. But for a moment he could rest here on his stone bench, and pretend it was where he meant to spend the rest of his evening u
ntil he went to bed.

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

  Around the corner came two instructors, obvious by their age even when the night turned their dark grey robes as black as a student’s. Ebon recognized one of them: it was the kindly-faced weremage he would sometimes watch when he snuck out into the training grounds. The man walked with another instructor, one Ebon did not know by name, though he thought she might be a mindmage. They walked slowly, and their talk seemed without purpose.

  But as they passed by, a curious thing happened. The weremage paused for a moment, and he turned so that he was looking straight at the spot where Ebon hid. Ebon’s pulse raced so fast that he thought his heart might burst 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 of the Academy, and Ebon let loose a sigh of relief.

  It was time, or past time now. He snuck out from the hedge, wolfing down the last scrap of his bread loaf, and made his way back to the Academy’s entry hall. He half hoped to find Mellie standing guard there as she always was, but Mako had spoken true: it was a new woman, tall, thick, and matronly. Ebon had never seen her before. 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,” she said. Ebon was unsure if it was a question, and so he did not answer. She shoved the parcel into his arms and led him to the front door.

  “When you return, knock twice, then thrice, and I shall know it is you,” she said. Then she very nearly pushed him out the door before closing it behind him.

  Ebon sighed, looking up and down the street. A few figures moved about in the light of torches, but none seemed the least bit interested in him. He knew it was not unheard of for Academy students to go out after hours for one reason or another, but still he felt nervous, as though at any moment a constable would snatch him up and inquire about his business.

  Quickly he set off into the streets. Then he changed his mind, thinking it might be better to stay out of sight as much as possible. Nearby was an alley 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 they did not adjust fast enough—he ran into another figure with a crash and a yelp.

  “I am sorry,” he stammered, stepping back into the moonslight. But then his eyes became accustomed to the darkness at last, and he recognized who he had run into: it was Theren. She looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

  “What under the sky are you doing here?” she said, sharp eyes narrowing.

  “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 he found them, too late. “As am I.”

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

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

  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 they 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 she could not see his cheeks burning in the moonslight.

  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 lamely, averting his eyes as he searched for an 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 help one so lowly born.”

  “Theren, I give you my word, I did nothing of the sort. I wish I were not here at all, and I—” He 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 do not like anything about this.”

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

  Ebon snatched it away from her. “I am not allowed 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,” he insisted. “I only know that my father asked this of me, and he is the only reason I am at the Academy in the first place. So I mean to do as he asked and then promptly forget the matter entirely.”

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

  He balked. “No. You should not. Go to your lover, and pretend you never saw me.”

  She waved a hand in dismissal. “What pleasures could I find that would be 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 into the alley. “Yet one never knows the perils that may lie in one’s future.”

  He tried to think of how to dissuade her, but she pressed on so determinedly that he soon resigned himself to his fate. But he shook her grip off his arm and walked beside her in sullen silence. Theren, for her part, seemed to take this all as some glorious nighttime adventure, though to his relief she stopped asking him any questions.

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

  She set off, and he hurried to follow her. Soon they found the place: a squalid little building tucked in between two larger ones. The thick beams that held up its roof were bent outwards, like a child taking a deep breath, or a body about to burst with pox. From the smell that drifted from its open front door, Ebon thought it was more likely the latter.

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

  He wanted to leave immediately, but he forced himself to take another step beyond the threshold. His eyes roved about, seeking someone who recognized him. No one paid him any special attention at first, but then he caught sight of a sudden motion. In the back of the room, a figure beckoned him forth. Ebon did not want to approach, but neither did he want to be in this place a moment longer than he had to. With Theren by his side, he wove his way quickly between the tables until he reached the one where the figure sat.

  It was a man, his skin pale to the point of being ghostly. This was certainly no man of Idris, and 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?” said Ebon, fighting and failing to keep his voice steady.

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

  “I was told you would come alone,” he said in a rasping voice. He did not wait for a response, but stood quickly and left, making for the rooms at the back of the inn.

  Ebon released a long sigh he had not known he was holding. “Let us leave this place, for I feel as though I grow dirtier the longer I remain.” He nearly ran for the door, Theren beside him, and once in the open air he drank it in with long, deep breaths.

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

  “I am glad,” said Ebon. “The less I know of what just transpired, the better, I suspect. If I could drink enough to forget it ever happened, I would.”

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

  “The moons are halfway through the sky,” said Ebon. “Let us return and sleep, or else tomorrow’s classes shall be a torture.”

  “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.”

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

  Theren grinned at him, teeth flashing in the moonslight. “You do not mean he is enamored of me? Oh, the dear boy. Yes, do let him know that he would have no hope of turning my head, even if he were not so young.”

  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 he found himself even more fearful of ignorance. Always he had taken great pains to avoid any inkling of his family’s dealings. It was common knowledge that the Draydens were spice traders, but Ebon knew of his father’s late-night meetings, of Mako’s strange work that seemed to take him all across the nine lands. He saw the terror that shone in others’ eyes when they heard he was of the family Drayden. Always he had shied away from such things. And now he suspected that, unknowing, he had been thrust straight into the middle of it all.