#
Coop hustled along the ground, breathing heavily through his mask. He wasn’t worried about being seen. A few years on a creaky ship trying to move in and out of a room without disturbing his sister had taught him to step lightly when he needed to. The dark brown leather of his overcoat may as well have been black when illuminated by the green light. And even if he’d been dressed in blazing white, there simply wasn’t anyone to see him. The academy may have had a sturdy fence and a few armed guards on the grounds, but a prison it was not. The patrols were terribly plotted out and infrequent. During his approach he’d kept his eyes locked on the roving guards whenever they were visible between the two tall buildings he assumed were dormitories, and they rarely saw fit to even look toward the fence. They may as well have been sleepwalking for all the good they were doing.
More troubling would have been the windows of the buildings themselves. If it was true that there weren’t more than a few dozen students in this academy, each one must have had his or her own apartment, because each of the two tallest buildings comprised three stories with three windows per floor on the broad side facing him. That would have been a tremendous number of potential witnesses to raise the alarm. Fortunately even fug folk didn’t find the black void of the field surrounding the academy to be much to look at. Most flickered with amber light, and all had their curtains and drapes drawn.
The guards at the main gate were still considering whether or not Lester deserved to be admitted to the academy grounds, which was ample distraction for Coop to make his move. He scrambled up the fence with little effort, then performed a rather tricky vault over the top to avoid the pointed top. He hung there briefly, thinking over his next move. Finally he shifted hand over hand along the fence until he came to the corner of the dormitory where a sturdy downspout ran from the roof. He pushed off the wall and pivoted in midair, latching on to the pipe when he reached it.
A loud, hollow ring ran along the pipe as he collided with it. Distantly, he heard a curious comment and the half-motivated footsteps of a guard jogging over to investigate. By the time the man had reached the alley between the dorms and rounded the corner to look where the sound may have come from, Coop was out of sight. The roof was mildly sloped and covered by icy slate shingles. That made for a treacherous surface to walk on, but no more so than the main deck of the Wind Breaker after a few good hours of freezing mist. He moved with slow care to the peak of the roof and eased himself to his belly, trying to take in the surroundings and puzzle out where they might be holding this chemist of theirs.
“Should have sent Gunner down here. He’s been to an academy. Probably he’d know where they stow the teachers when they ain’t using them,” he muttered.
#
Despite the presence of the appropriate paperwork, the guards had yet to decide if they should let Lester in.
“Now see here, gentlemen. There really is no reason for this. If I didn’t know better, I would suspect you were purposely drawing out this humiliating process simply to prolong the appearance of authority over me,” Lester said. “But it has gone on long enough! I demand to be allowed entrance, as is my right as an alumnus!”
Both guards weathered the tirade with quiet patience, as though it was far from their first.
“Are you even listening to me?!” Lester fumed.
“Fine, fine,” muttered the taller of the two guards. “Welcome back to Fadewell.” He opened the gate.
“It is about time.”
Lester marched through the gate, brushing his shoulders and straightening his overcoat.
The interaction with the guards had so thoroughly irritated him that it had pushed any anxiety about his mission entirely out of his mind. He paced along the perimeter of the central courtyard, clenching his fists and running through the list of remaining tasks.
“Let me see now. As memory serves, there are two dormitories, the first for students, the second for faculty. It is early evening now, so the classes should have only recently ended. Miss Prist should therefore be in the faculty dining hall, her personal laboratory, or her dormitory for the evening. If those ruffians hadn’t delayed me, I could have no doubt spoken to her already. Really, what is it about little, insignificant peons who feel it necessary to lord their situational superiority over those who in all other circumstances rightfully hold the position of authority? People really ought to learn how a properly functioning society works…”
Lester walked past the two dorms on one side and a central stage of a sort on the other. The stage had the look of something temporary, likely set up for a speech or perhaps a dramatic performance. A long, low building with arched windows lay behind the courtyard. The inside was warmly lit, and through the windows he could see a mostly open interior that resembled a small restaurant. He stepped up to the door and pushed it open. Just inside the door a crisply dressed fug man with the same scrawny build as Lester stood in the doorway leading from the foyer to the main dining room. The sight of him, coupled with the rush of warmth and the smell of proper, dignified cuisine, brought a smile to his face. This was a tiny taste of the life he’d had shamefully little time to grow accustomed to. Any learning institution that staffed its dining hall with a mâitre’d was the sort of place he belonged.
The sharply dressed member of the staff raised a white-gloved hand, gesturing for Lester to stop. “May I help you, sir?” he asked in a mildly wheezy voice.
“Yes, thank you. I’m looking for one of the professors, a Miss Prist.”
“As you do not appear to be a member of the current class or the staff, before we progress, would you please state the nature of your visit?”
“I am an alumnus,” he said, presenting the card.
The mâitre’d took the well-worn piece of paper and held it to a candle atop his podium. After the flickering light revealed a complex watermark, he handed it back and took on a mildly more respectful tone.
“Welcome back, Master Clear. Dr. Prist takes her meals promptly at 8 p.m. She will thus not arrive for forty-five minutes. Would you like to be seated? I would be pleased to inform you when she arrives.”
“No, I’m afraid I’ve got some people waiting for…”
He paused, taking another whiff of the aroma surrounding him. In the dining room, there were people engaged in polite and intelligent debate, and even the tinkling sound of a harp. It was precisely the sort of environment he’d been raised to perceive as paradise.
“… Yes… yes, I believe I shall have a table, please. Send the sommelier to the table when I am seated as well.”
#
For the first fifteen minutes of his time in the campus restaurant, Lester’s mind nagged him periodically about the Wind Breaker crew and the time-critical nature of the mission. That was three glasses of wine and two plates of braised eels ago.
“Some more rye toast points and a freshening of my Vouvray, if you wouldn’t mind,” Lester said as a waiter approached his table.
“Of course, sir,” said the waiter with the utter lack of sincerity only available to those tasked with serving the extremely rich.
Just as the waiter turned to leave, the door opened and a woman stepped inside. She was dressed in a suitably academic fashion: a simple gray dress with some darker gray embroidery across the bodice, hem, and sleeves, topped with a furred wrap. Her build was slender and delicate, shorter by a hair than most of the fug men around her but still quite tall by human standards. She had a long face, hollow cheeks, and a short, sharp nose. Her expression was certainly dignified, but whereas dignity seemed so often to be coupled with a distant and cold disposition, even at first glance there was a quality of interest and curiosity to her.
Lester found himself transfixed by her. That she was the woman he was tasked with collecting was reason enough, but the simple fact that she was a fug woman at all would have drawn the eye to her upon first arrival.
“Oh! Hello there!” Lester said, loudly enough to illustrate to all in attendance that the alcohol ha
d begun to do its work. “Miss Prist! Here! Have a seat! I’ve been looking for you!”
She flinched lightly at the outburst, then squinted through the haze of pipe smoke, candle smoke, and fug.
“Oh! Er… hello,” she said, stepping uncertainly toward him as two members of the restaurant staff swooped in to collect her wrap. “I am terribly sorry, but do I know you?”
“I’m sure you don’t remember me,” Lester said, pulling her chair out for her and dusting it with his napkin. “I was fortunate enough to briefly partake of your class during my time here as a student. I was only able to maintain enrollment for a few months before circumstances elsewhere required my attention, but you made quite an impression on me.”
“I see. Well, I’m pleased to hear it.” She took a seat, and a menu was set before her. “So, er…”
“Lester Clear, Miss Prist. At your service.” He returned to his seat.
“Dr. Prist, actually,” she said gently. “So Mr. Clear, what brings you to the campus again?”
Lester glanced rather obviously about, then lowered his voice to what he likely interpreted as a whisper, but was in fact a normal speaking voice.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve recently been given the opportunity to engage in a fascinating new business venture, and there is a place in it for you.”
“Really? I am very sorry to inform you, sir, but the circumstances of my employment are such that I am quite unlikely to be given an opportunity to aid you.”
“There are ways around any circumstance, no matter how unfortunate. All I ask, Miss Prist, is that you allow me to bend your ear with my proposal and leave the rest to be solved by some employees of mine. But please, place your order. We shall speak as we dine. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
#
The clock ticked steadily onward, with Lester showing little in the way of motivation when it came to getting to the point of his sales pitch, while he ran his mouth and attempted to finesse and charm Dr. Prist. The attempts lacked subtly, but were also so thoroughly free of finesse and charm that Dr. Prist seldom noticed that he’d even made the effort.
While he worked, the steady flow of alcohol keeping him blissfully oblivious of his lack of success, the Wind Breaker crew watched from their various vantages and waited. Gunner and Mack kept vigil from the deck through optics, burning slowly through a small but not insignificant portion of their load of coal. For Coop, this meant lying prone on the icy roof of a dormitory, watching the guards trudge through the slush. Another man might have come close to madness spending so much time holding perfectly still and waiting, but in this as in so many parts of his chosen career, his simplicity was nothing but an asset. A man without much mind to spare has little trouble keeping it from wandering. It simply wouldn’t know where to go.
Nearly two hours after their arrival, as Coop gazed over the largely empty courtyard and mused over the next line of his poem, something in the sky caught his attention. He huddled lower and squinted, trying to make it out. At first he assumed it was an airship, because what else would be in the sky, but it didn’t look at all like an airship ought to. As it drew closer, emerging out of the mist and into the light, details became clearer but no easier to understand. It seemed to be white, or perhaps the same shade of green as the lights, and when it drew near enough, he noticed lettering on the side.
“… Who the hell is Lucky-us P. Alabaster? …”
#
“What do you make of that ship?” Captain Mack rumbled, gazing at Alabaster’s vessel as it settled down a short distance from the main gate.
“Could be a three-seater luxury vessel. With that color scheme I wouldn’t place it as a representative of any official authority. Lucius P. Alabaster… What fool would write his name on the side of his ship?” Gunner said.
“An idiot with too high an opinion of himself.”
“Perhaps the circus is in town. Or a traveling theater? It is certainly flamboyant enough.”
“I don’t like it. The timing stinks to high heaven, and even if it is a coincidence, someone that strange is going to put the guards on edge and ain’t going to make things any easier. What are our men up to?”
“Still nothing new. The last interesting event was when Lester had words with the guards and entered the eatery at the far side of the entrance. Coop is still on the roof of one of the taller buildings. He’s looking rather interested in the new arrival as well. Forgive the observation, but Coop is not our best man when it comes to dealing with the unexpected in a subtle and tactful manner.”
“He can handle himself.”
“Oh, I have no doubt he’ll come out of this alive. But if the past serves as any indication, when he’s left unsupervised his solutions usually leave a proportionately larger number of those involved bleeding.”
“It wouldn’t break my heart if Lester got a few new scars out of this. But if that chemist gets hurt or killed, we’ve got problems.” He pocketed the spyglass. “Keep your sights on them. I’m going to tie on the quick-release ropes for the mooring lines. I don’t imagine we’ll be leaving this place in anything but a hurry, and without Lil and Coop on board, that’ll be a problem. Be ready to take the wheel, just in case I’m not through before Coop starts shooting.”
“Aye, Captain,” Gunner said. “I don’t suppose this would be an appropriate time for me to point out that this is precisely the sort of thing I was expecting to happen when we got involved in this mad scheme.”
“If this had gone smooth from beginning to end, that would’ve made me nervous,” the captain said. “What sort of shot have you got loaded in the forward cannons?”
“One and one. Standard shot port, grape shot starboard.”
“Good man. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion them guns won’t be quiet for too much longer.”
#
The guards observed the white ship with dull confusion as a small anchor dropped from its hind end and dug into the soil beside the road. Their confusion grew when the door opened and Mallow kicked out a rope ladder. As he scurried down to steady the bottom, Alabaster stood at the open door and addressed the guards.
“Gentlemen! At long last your illustrious benefactor has arrived to tour the grounds!” he said, raising his cane.
Each guard looked to the other then back to Alabaster. The oddly dressed newcomer climbed down the ladder with surprising aplomb and approached them.
“While I’m certain you would prefer me to have sent word of my forthcoming visit such that you could prepare a more appropriate welcome, I’m afraid circumstances forbade such formality. Time, you see, is of the essence.”
“… Who’re you?” asked the taller of the guards.
“Who am I… Who am I?” Alabaster turned to Mallow, who was fighting with a mooring line and trying to find a place to tie it. “Egad, Mallow, I’m beginning to wonder why I bothered to have my name gloriously emblazoned upon my conveyance if the common rabble are unwilling to actually read it!”
He thrust his cane at the envelope of his craft. “The name is Lucius P. Alabaster! Now as I’ve said, would you kindly let me in so that I can go about my very important and time-sensitive business?”
After gazing at the envelope, one of the guards consulted his book.
“What is all this now? What are you after in that book of yours?” Alabaster snapped.
“We’ve got to see if you’re an approved visitor,” he explained.
“Approved… Oh really now, that’s too much. I’m Lucius P. Alabaster! … Of the Lucius P. Alabaster Center for the Advancement of Chemical and Alchemical Arts?!”
The guards gave one another the customary silent glance before the shorter one remarked, “What’s the name of that new building they broke ground on last month?”
His partner scratched his head. “I guess that might be the Alabaster building.”
“Look in the back of the book under ‘donors.’”
Alabaster tapped his foot and stroked his waxed beard. “I imagine I ough
t to be pleased. If you give so thorough a screening to the philanthropist who has helped to fund your very institution, one can only imagine how difficult it would be for a criminal or other interloper to gain unlawful entry.”
“Here. I found him. He’s on this add-in slip here. For… ‘Platinum Contributors’…”
Both guards opened their eyes wide.
“And so the realization dawns,” Alabaster said.
“I apologize, Mr. Lucius Alabaster…” began a guard.
“Lucius P. Alabaster,” he corrected.
“Right, sir. They only print the book once a year. All the other bits get added in, and they don’t tell us about the endowments and—”
“Please, please, my dear gentlemen. You needn’t worry yourselves. Is it true that you’ve failed to treat one of the men responsible for paying your salary with the respect and reverence he deserves? Yes, certainly. But you can be pleased to learn that your transgressions, which would normally be sufficient to inspire me to crush you each under the sheer weight of my influence, are today at best secondary to a more pressing concern. So, you can assuage my vengeance in two ways. The second is to help my long-suffering manservant Mallow to moor my ship, as he seems to be having trouble with your lackluster docking facilities. The first would be to answer me a pair of simple questions: Have you had any unexpected arrivals recently, and if so, where might I find those who arrived?”
“We did let an old alum in. Not two hours ago. I don’t know just where he went. He didn’t seem to be the sort who needed to be supervised.”
“It is that degree of shamefully poor intuition that has no doubt mired you and your colleague in this menial position. Open the gate, sir, and I shall seek him out personally. And while I would not think to distract you from the task of helping my valet, I will require the aid of some of your facility’s other security staff, as the players in the scheme I believe I shall shortly uncover are no minor adversaries.”
The guards, now fearful for their continued employment, snapped quickly to their tasks.
“Oi! You and you! Over here. All of you, over here! We’ve got a Very Important Person!” the taller guard barked to his fellow security personnel inside. “Platinum donor! Full platinum treatment on this one!”
Ichor Well Page 17
