“Oh … Uh, I really didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“I sincerely hope that is untrue. If you arrived here with no objective capable of disturbing me then you arrived with no objective at all, and you will have succeeded in disturbing me without purpose.”
Any man is rendered more intimidating by the walls of his office and Aedan found himself considerably off balance now.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked.
“Do I look angry?”
Aedan could never tell what mood Fergal was in. He was not even sure if the man was capable of such things. Whatever emotions played through Fergal’s thoughts ran as deep as water gurgling under a glacier.
“I … don’t know,” said Aedan. “I can’t really tell.” He saw the eyes wrinkle slightly.
“Fair enough,” Fergal said. “Osric the stone-faced himself accused me of being unreadable.” He moved over to a bookshelf that spanned the room and drew a red volume which he handed to Aedan. On the cover was an image burned into the leather surface – a lizard wrapped twice around itself, exactly as Aedan had described the book to Fergal during the journey home.
“You hid it from me!”
“I did not. I spent some time searching and when I found it I drew it for you. There are archives that you do not know about. Very few of us have access. Before you leave here, you need to assure me that you will look after this volume. It is an original and there are no copies.”
“I will,” said Aedan, barely able to contain his excitement.
“I might have sent word earlier,” Fergal mused, half to himself. “Could have saved you a lot of searching, but I thought it good to hold back for two reasons. Firstly, it would cause you to become acquainted with the shelves of all the libraries you have access to and those you do not; secondly, it would be fitting punishment for disturbing me.”
“But I hadn’t disturbed you yet.”
“Quite so. An appalling exercise of distorted ethics – punishment before crime as if making a purchase. But as it turns out, my wrath is appeased and I send you on your way with pleasant wishes and the stern warning I hope you have not forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten – I’ll look after it. But how do I return it when I’m done?”
“By disturbing me again, boy. How else? Now off with you.”
Aedan ran all the way back to his dorm as fast as his cumbersome pile of books would allow. It was the second time he almost triggered one of the stair traps. They had caught two inattentive daydreamers over the years. The first was Lorrimer who had been seen a moment earlier lagging behind with dreamy eyes and a tender smile. The second was also Lorrimer, and this time he took two others with him. He claimed to have been thinking about an abstract problem in trade law. No one even pretended to believe him.
When Aedan reached the dorm, he tossed his own books on the desk and settled down to discover what was hidden within the red covers.
The script was less than neat, but it was not this that caused him to frown. He worked through the first words. Some were familiar – enough to tell him that the book was written in Lekran.
He slammed the cover shut and pushed it away. After pacing the room a few times, he decided to at least find out what it was about. There was no name on the cover, but the title page made it clear. The Customs and Rituals of Ulnoi. If Fergal had not cautioned him against damaging the book, he would have repeatedly hurled it against the wall until it fell apart, then burned the pages and mixed the ashes with pig muck. Ulnoi was the foulest word he knew in any language. It was the north island of Lekrau, the island where his beloved Kalry had been offered to whatever filthy gods those murderers served. And he was expected to read this?
He clapped the book shut again, booted his chair across the room and stormed out.
The sun was shining outside and it annoyed him further. What was this obsession that everyone seemed to have with understanding Lekrau? Why was he constantly pushed to not just face but to study the one culture that was death to him? He felt tricked, betrayed. Forgiving and confronting his father was one thing, but this was going too far.
The rest of the day was spent in a fog of disappointment lit with the occasional flashes of anger. He could not throw the book out; neither could he return it so soon unless he wanted to hear Fergal’s opinion on blinding prejudice and the need to overcome it. He pushed the volume to the back of his shelf and stacked the rest of his books in front until the red cover was hidden. Then he concerned himself with other matters and drove the book from his thoughts.
One of these matters was the arrival of the emissary from Tullenroe along with two hundred cavalry. The entrance was spectacular. Prince Burkhart and his entire retinue publically welcomed them, and – Aedan suspected – privately wished them dead. If there were any uncomfortable scenes, though, they took place behind thick walls.
–––
When the students returned from recess, so did Aedan’s greatest source of misery – Iver. Aedan’s friends were used to seeing him ordered about by the cruel-looking young man. The mood in the group became heavy as Iver approached. The big senior’s eyes were sifting through the grounds and it wasn’t long before he recognised his slave. He yelled a summons. Aedan hurried away to meet him.
“Where have you been, cur? Trying to hide?”
Aedan looked at him with some surprise. “The commissioned quest to Kultûhm. I thought everyone knew.”
“You did not excuse yourself from me.”
“Prince’s urgent orders. He obviously forgot to ask your permission.”
Iver stepped up to Aedan until he was looking directly down on him. He was easily a head taller and much broader. “You address me as ‘sir’, and you do not presume to be funny or chatty or I will show you up in front of all your friends as the worm you are.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Iver glared at him for a long, uncomfortable time before stepping back and giving instructions for an important delivery. When he was finished he spat in Aedan’s face.
“That’s to remind you of your station. Don’t you forget it again.”
When Aedan returned to the group, he was preoccupied as he sat down and wiped his face.
Murn had not been saddled for months and it took a while to reacquaint him with the leather. Aedan went back to the sand bags and started over. But it was quicker this time. He worked up the courage to get on the horse’s back again, at first just sitting, then walking with a lead, and then, finally, with the bridle.
Sometimes Murn took it into his head to perform, and then he was a ship in a tempest. It was a game to him; most things were. Students would come to watch Aedan aboard the dark beast. He tried valiantly to put on a good show, but mostly he looked like a desperate sailor clinging to the mast for dear life.
The few moments of trotting or walking were never long. Murn had too much energy. His antics weren’t vindictive, but shaking Aedan loose was an entertaining challenge. Aedan put up some jumps which gave Murn a new purpose. It also gave Aedan several new bruises.
The mischievous ruthrek was still causing trouble with the other horses, in fact, with anyone or anything that came within range.
A dog once slipped into a neighbouring arena, yapping at the ponies’ hocks. They neighed and tooted and galloped clear. The dog was having a wonderful time.
Then it spied the tall, dark horse standing alone in the middle of its paddock. The dog’s hair bristled, courage poured into its veins. It stalked into clear ground, head low, shoulders rolling, eyes fixed. Then, when the distance was right, it launched into a furious, barking charge, straight for the isolated horse.
The dog left the paddock a moment later, doing at least double its initial speed. It was no longer barking but yelping, then squealing, and it’s back legs looked as if they were about to run under its body and overtake the rest of the dog. Twenty feet behind and gaining fast, was half a ton of black, barrelling fate. The dog shot under the fence and kept going until its yelps faded
away. Murn thundered to a stop just before the beams, looking mildly disappointed. He had enjoyed the game.
Liru and Peashot found Aedan in Murn’s stable one afternoon. A loud tinkling rattle drew their attention. When it stopped they saw Aedan straighten up and emerge from the stable with a bucket. Even Murn looked puzzled and nosed over Aedan’s shoulder.
“You can tell the difference between a cow and a stallion, right?” asked Peashot, wrinkling his nose at the bucket.
Aedan grinned. “It’s a rotten habit some horses have. When they get into their stables they foul the straw. I thought I would try something to keep the stable clean. Better for his hooves.”
“You do this every day?”
“No. Don’t think I’ll try it again. It splashes.”
Peashot backed away.
“Liru,” Aedan said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. You have access to the chemistry labs, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think they would let you take a small vial of powdered madder root?”
“I’ll see if I can find some. I’m sure it would be fine. What’s it for?”
“Just a little experiment I was thinking about.” Aedan would say no more.
It was night. Everyone of Aedan’s classmates bar Malik was there. They crept past the half-nosed statue of Olemris – still frowning at his herbaceous audience – past two sentries, between the giant crindo boards, and through the forbidden boulevard of the law wing. Then they took cover in the shadows while Aedan knocked at a window.
Iver’s heavy-browed face appeared. Aedan began handing the costly wine bottles through the window. Even he could tell that this was good stock. Iver had made it clear that a single broken bottle would be repaid with a broken arm. Aedan had treated the bottles like gold, wrapping them in his own clothes to protect them. When the last bottle was handed over, Iver said something and Aedan bowed slightly and withdrew.
“Are you going to tell us now why we are here?” Hadley asked on behalf of the waiting group.
Aedan spoke in a whisper. It only took two sentences and the entire group rushed to the window as one. They stayed low, not looking, but listening.
There was a good party going on inside. Many women’s voices were mingled in the din.
Corks popped, Iver’s name was cheered, and there was the sound of back-slapping. The bully’s voice could be heard as he bragged about his little slave. There was a clinking of glass and the gurgling of wine. A toast was proposed, something about shaping the world any way they pleased. More cheers were heard and then everything grew strangely silent. There was some violent coughing.
“Wow! Kicks like a mule!”
“What year did you say this was?”
“Sort of smells like a mule too.”
“I think one of the bottles was a bit corked.”
“Mine tastes funny. Actually it tastes … it tastes …”
“I think I’m going to throw up!”
“Iver, what filth have you bought us?”
“Quick, she’s going to be sick!”
“No! Not on the carpet!”
“If you’ve poisoned my Gertie …”
The small crowd of listening boys was shaking so violently with suppressed mirth that it seemed they would burst apart. They scampered and staggered around the corner where they laughed until they ached.
“Ah,” Peashot sighed, stumbling up to Aedan. “If only Murn could have been here to take pride in his work. The world’s first horse wine-maker. Oh – madder root – it’s a red dye isn’t it?”
“With a bitter taste. I had to match the colour to the original wine. I hope it didn’t spoil the flavour.”
The reprisal came early the next day. Aedan was alone, flicking acorns over the benches. Iver marched down to him at a pace that was nearly a run. He caught Aedan by the collar and twisted it, pinching the skin.
“You want to die?” he snarled.
“I’m sorry, sir, was the wine not good?” Aedan spoke loudly. Too loudly.
“Keep your voice down, you impudent beggar.”
“Why? Don’t you want people to know that you’ve been forcing me to smuggle your wine? I thought that would make you seem strong.”
“Don’t play with me, worm. Remember, I have five witnesses to defend me and you have –”
“Twenty-eight.”
Iver stared. Aedan pointed to the trees where the long line of his classmates appeared, less only Malik and Cayde. Eleven of the girls were there too, having got wind of what was happening. This was something they would not miss. The large group waved and called greetings to the senior, whom they all addressed as “Sir”.
Iver let Aedan’s collar go.
“I would be more than happy to stay on as your smuggler,” Aedan said. “I have really enjoyed my position just recently. No?”
Iver spat. Aedan brushed his face off, turned and walked away.
“Come back here you snivelling cur, and I’ll …”
Aedan came back.
Iver clenched his fists and shook. But it was all too obvious that if he beat Aedan to a pulp, there would be a whole line of witnesses to testify at his expulsion hearing. And if he lost … Aedan was looking at him in a way that was almost – almost eager.
“I’m resigning,” Aedan said. “And I’m also removing that little first-year boy from your employment. If we” – he gestured to his friends – “speak of what we saw, you face not just expulsion, but barring from all forms of legal practice in the district. I checked with my master of legal studies.”
Iver looked like he was about to explode. His eyes grew black as a winter’s night and his face turned pink and swelled up, but his hands stayed at his sides. Eventually he threw off some choice threats and curses, and marched back across the field to a chorus of cheering and applause.
Winter had the day in a firm grip and was filling it with a wind made of ice and nails. Aedan was happy for once to be indoors, though he regretted not bringing a lantern. He was cleaning out Murn’s stable which – while providing an escape from the wind – was dark as night on this gloomy morning. Telling the good hay from the soiled was not easily done by sight, and he was not prepared to lower his nose and sniff. He held his breath and thought, with a grin, of Iver, as he tossed another forkful of pungent hay to the side.
Snatches of voices slipped through the open door as they rode the gusts of cold air. Aedan looked out from his dim stable and immediately pulled back. It was the royal guard, plumes and capes being flung about them, spoiling their dignity. It made them look like perched birds when the wind catches them from behind.
Ahead of the soldiers, wrapped in thick coats, were two men Aedan would have recognised from any distance – the Prince, who walked with an unusually eager spring to his step, and Ganavant who, as always, thumped beside him like a giant bullfrog. Two more men walked on the other side of the prince, and it appeared as if he was giving them a tour of sorts by the way he pointed and talked.
Aedan had no desire to be seen by Burkhart or his councillor. He wanted to keep as far away from those men as possible. The corners of his stable were sunk in darkness, so he moved into the blackest one and waited. He just wanted them to pass on. The party appeared to have stopped nearby, judging from the voices.
Then the two strangers stepped into the doorway of Murn’s stable and began to speak, keeping their voices low. Something about them struck Aedan as unusual, but when he heard the words he understood. They were speaking Vinthian. He could follow most of the conversation.
“What think you of the city so far?”
“I think she will like it. I think she will like it very much.”
“Can they withstand the Fenn?”
“Let’s hope so. We may not find another leader so ralge as this young prince.”
“Let us ask if we can inspect the defences. Considering the krulua, it is not an inappropriate request.”
Aedan had understood all the words but ralge and krulua. B
urkhart’s nervous manner suggested that there was some kind of foreign courtship underway. If that was the case then ralge probably meant desirable or something, and krulua courtship. He ran the new words through his mind a few times so he would be able to ask about them later.
The two men had finished talking. They were looking out at the paddocks, looking at Murn.
“That is an animal worth remembering,” the nearer of the two said. They watched for a long time.
Aedan did not like the way they admired his horse. He was happy to see the last of them as the party reassembled and moved away across the lawns.
Aedan ran back to the main buildings as soon as Burkhart turned the corner and was hidden from sight.
“Finished the book already?” Fergal asked as Aedan pushed the door open.
Aedan dropped his gaze. “No. It’s something else. Can we be overheard?”
“Not if you close the door.”
Aedan did so and took the seat Fergal indicated. “Do you remember you once said you thought Prince Burkhart had another motivation for suppressing any rumours of danger to the city?”
“I do.”
“Well, I just overheard another … Stop laughing at me. It wasn’t my fault. I was busy in the stable and they happened to have a discussion in the doorway of my horse’s stable.”
“I apologise. I’m only amused at your consistency. Let’s hear what concerns you.”
Aedan repeated the conversation as well as he could remember. When Fergal made no response, he offered an opinion. “It looked to me like the prince was showing off. Is there a woman he wants to impress? Some royal Vinthian he is courting?”
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 69
