by Guy Antibes
“Isn’t it illegal to break into a person’s house?” an assistant said.
Pol could sense these were questions meant to teach him. “It is. Do Seekers always follow the laws in a strict fashion?” He thought of Val sneaking around. Seekers wouldn’t need stealth if they didn’t push the limits of the law. “Guards are more restricted than Seekers, aren’t they?”
The assistant looked at Jonness and nodded. “We generally don’t get to that point with our initial trainees, but you are right. Valiso had you running around in the dark at Borstall?”
Pol nodded. “I did it a few times. Once successfully, to my regret, and another a bit more open, to a different kind of regret.”
“You’re a novice. It’s easy to fail but hard to succeed, as you found out.”
“I did. We can’t search their cells, then?”
Jonness shook his head. “A truth spell can’t be administered with the scanty evidence that we have. Without those rules, we could question everyone in the monastery to find the culprit who stole.”
Paki wouldn’t have any problem playing at the edges of legality, but it still bothered Pol, even though he saw the necessity of getting information any way one could. He could imagine Val doing all kinds of questionable things on the border with Tarida, getting information that helped keep the North Salvan border safe a few years ago when the Emperor assigned him to help King Colvin, his stepfather.
“I guess I’m a bit uncertain about when a Seeker works by the rules and when a Seeker ignores them,” Pol said.
Jonness shrugged. “That is a judgment that every Seeker makes a little differently, something my two assistants have never had to make.”
“It’s why I’m still at Deftnis, Pol,” one of them said. “I went out on a few Seeker missions for Ranno Wissingbel after I left here, and I couldn’t make the right decisions. I love the concept of Seeking, but the actual thing…” the assistant shivered.
“Same here. I didn’t have a problem with doing something on the other side of the rules, but I knew there would be decisions that would test me. It’s safer teaching than doing, in my case.”
Pol looked at Jonness. “I’ve done plenty of Seeking in my time,” Jonness said, “but I eventually got tired of it. There aren’t many old, active Seekers.”
How much longer did Val have? He was much younger than Jonness, but he still looked older than Malden Gastoria. Pol remembered Val had traveled with someone to Deftnis.
“Val escorted a person to Deftnis around mid-summer. What ever happened to him?”
Jonness laughed. “Whatever brought that to your mind?”
Pol felt his neck heat up. “I wondered how long Val would remain a Seeker.”
“Oh, I think you mean Namion Threshell, who stayed for a month waiting for orders from Ranno Wissingbel. He and Val had just completed a mission on the Volian continent. I taught him a few advanced locating techniques. The orders came and he went,” Jonness said. He stood up. “I’ve got to return these files. We will meet at the practice hall tomorrow morning and see what report we get from Mancus. There should be a report of another theft.”
Pol had enough time to make it to the commissary for lunch and had plenty to think about until the next morning. He was upset that the thief had stolen his mother’s jewels, but he knew someone other than Paki’s thief had done the deed, and he didn’t want to wait until they had found the original monastery thief.
Paki didn’t join him for lunch, so Pol sat in a corner of the large room wondering what motivated the second thief to steal Pol’s precious possessions. Could he create a pattern where he could evaluate all the possible reasons why someone would target him?
He felt the amulet under his robe and began to think. The person would likely have personal animosity towards him. Perhaps the thief had orders from North or South Salvan to retrieve the jewels. Pol nodded to himself as he took another bite of the mutton stew on his plate.
Kell didn’t particularly like him, but he was from the other side of Eastril. Sakwill or Coram seemed to be the likeliest candidates. Pol didn’t know of any who would have a motive. The solution might be much easier than capturing the monastery thief. He finished off his lunch and went to see Vactor or the Abbot.
The Abbot welcomed Pol into his office. “I haven’t quite ordered your papers copied,” the Abbot said.
“I didn’t come to visit for that. It’s about the theft of my mother’s jewels. There are three acolytes who have some antipathy towards me.”
The Abbot nodded and said, “Go on.”
Pol’s train of thought was interrupted for a moment. He was nervous enough anyway and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Kell Digbee, Sakwill, and Coram.”
“You think it might be one of them? Why?”
“Kell has been angry with me from the start. Sakwill and Coram were jealous of my becoming a Fourth Level. We both know about Sakwill, but I think Coram could have been the person who encouraged him. Sakwill had to have had some help.”
The Abbott nodded. “Go on.”
“I’d like to collect some evidence. I think I know where Kell is from, but I don’t know the origins of Sakwill and Coram. There is a possibility that my step-father or King Astor might be supporting the thief.”
“So you are doing some Seeking on your own. Why do you come to me, rather than Jonness?”
“He is busy with the monastery thief solution, and I don’t want my mother’s jewels to leave the island. I have nothing else to remember her by.” That wasn’t the full truth, but Pol didn’t want much time to lapse.
“I see. I know where each has come from. Rather than let the youngest acolyte at Deftnis ruffle through other acolytes’ files, I will answer your questions,” the Abbot said. “Kell Digbee is from Fen. His father is the leader of the Merchant’s Guild in the capital. Kell is jealous of you, I think, but not destructively jealous. In fact, I am sure all three are jealous of you to some extent. Sakwill is from the family of a minor noble in Boxall close to the border with North Salvan. I agree that someone must have provoked him to challenge you. I am sure that you will be eager to learn that Coram is a transfer from Tesna Monastery. He is in his second year at Deftnis. Does that help?”
“It can’t be that easy, can it?” Pol said.
“I’m afraid it is,” the Abbot said. “Tesna looks upon Deftnis as its rival. We have no secrets,” the Abbot shrugged, “but they think we do. Coram is the likeliest to be your thief, although I expected more from a spy in our ranks. If Coram were fully Deftnis-trained, he would at least have realized that we would have our eyes on him. Jonness didn’t put your theft on a priority because there is no mystery. We even know where your mother’s jewels are hidden.”
Pol sat back. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Have you learned anything looking for the original thief?”
Pol had to nod. “I have, more than just detection,” he said. “I suppose you didn’t think I’d be willing to participate in the investigation if I knew who stole my property?”
“Would you?”
That was a good question, and Pol had to admit that his own theft was a motivation. “I might not.” That was as honest an answer as he could give the Abbot.
“Just tell Jonness that we had this talk when you see him next. Don’t confront Coram. He’s more experienced than you.”
“I won’t,” Pol said.
“By the way, there was another theft reported at noon. It occurred last night. Jonness has updated me with your investigation. All four of you have done a good job.” The Abbot looked down at the papers on his desk. “If you don’t mind, I have other matters.”
Pol rose from his chair and bowed to the Abbot. “I appreciate your candor,” he said. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”
The Abbot’s face crinkled into a smile. “I don’t expect you to. You’ll have to hurry to your next class. Have a good day.”
Pol felt a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders
. He smiled as he made his way to class. The rest of the day went well. Pol looked forward to dinner, but he wouldn’t tell Paki anything until after his meeting with Jonness.
After his last class, Pol decided to visit Demeron. As he walked into the large stable yard, Coram had just mounted Pol’s horse.
“Stop!” Pol said.
Coram urged Demeron right towards Pol.
Move to the side! Demeron said.
Pol felt the disappointment that his horse would desert him, but he didn’t want the massive horse to run him down, so he stepped to his right.
Coram drew his sword and leaned forward, switching his sword to his left hand. He cocked his arm back for a sweeping stroke. Pol looked into Coram’s eyes and couldn’t summon a pattern. He was frozen to the spot, just as he had been when he fought Sakwill!
Pol could only move his eyes, and he shut them waiting for the killing blow. He expected to die, but his ears detected the sound of metal sliding on the cobbles. Pol instinctively tried to duck, but thought he was a dead acolyte. He heard a yelp.
Pol raised his eyelids to see Demeron’s head not much higher than his own. He stood up to see Coram fly over his horse and roll along the cobbles. The sword clattered between Pol and the other acolyte. Free from the spell, Pol ran to the sword and picked it up. Stable hands and the monk in charge of the horses ran up.
Coram struggled to his feet and began to pose. Pol’s mind filled with anger at the man and used his strength to push Coram’s body fifty feet further into the main courtyard, where the man tried to rise up and then fell back.
Pol tossed the sword away while he collapsed on the pavement. His strength had deserted him, as usual.
~
“Here are your jewels,” Jonness said, putting the familiar bag on the table. “Coram admitted under a truth spell to being the Teslan equivalent of a Fifth Level magician. Originally, King Astor put him into the monastery to learn our ways, but when he found out that you ended up here, Astor wanted him to retrieve the Listyan jewels for his daughter. She’s the Queen of Listya, right?”
Pol nodded. “He coerced Sakwill to kill me, didn’t he?”
It was Jonness’s turn to nod. “He did. Coram had a South Salvan ship anchored just off Port Deftnis to retrieve your horse and the jewels. When he saw you in the stables, he probably thought fate had brought you to him.”
“I’m not sorry to disappoint him,” Pol said. “Demeron saved me.”
“He did. A marvelous horse. I can see why your brother Landon wanted him.”
Pol smiled. “But I can talk to him, and Landon can’t. He told me to stand aside so he could quickly stop, bucking Coram over his head onto the pavement.”
“Not that you didn’t contribute to his injuries. I talked to eyewitnesses. You threw him a good long ways. Not a nice way to treat a fellow acolyte.”
Pol refused to think of Coram as a ‘fellow’ anything. “He deserved what he got.”
“Even if he wasn’t judged?” Jonness said.
The words shocked Pol. He remembered Val’s execution of the stable master who had been instrumental in the murder of Paki’s father. What had he just done that was much different? He winced. “I had his sword in my hands and could have killed him right there.”
Jonness squinted. “Or he could have blown you away before you did the same to him. He was a Purple, remember? Who knows what they teach Purples at Tesna?”
“Maybe that was why I did what I did.” He looked at Jonness. “But I didn’t seek his life. I was so frightened that he would kill me, that all I felt was anger looking at him on the ground and did what I did because I was mad.”
“At least you’re honest. Garryle didn’t let the South Salvan ship land. I don’t think your horse would have let them put him on a ship, anyway.”
That thought brought a smile to his face. “He wouldn’t.”
“Now that we’ve settled that, let’s get back to our thief.” Jonness pushed the bag across the table to Pol and called for his two assistants to join them. He rubbed his hands together. “What do we have?”
“The acolyte and one of the monks have wives and family living in Mancus. The both have some family money, so that leaves us with a single monk.”
“Just because they have family money, doesn’t mean they don’t need more,” Jonness said. “What about the monk?”
“Harvell Crestglen. He’s a pattern-master, sixth year.”
“Should we bring in Master Edgebare?” one of the assistants said.
“Darrol Netherfield might know him, as well,” Pol said.
“You trust Darrol?” Jonness said.
“I do, and he trusts me.”
“So let’s begin with two inquiries. Pol and I will visit Master Edgebare.” Jonness got up. “You can start the class if we run a bit late,” he said to his assistants.
On the walk to the armory, Jonness turned to Pol. “What is the disadvantage in interviewing someone you know well?”
Pol thought a bit. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Think harder. How would your presence change their pattern?”
The question rolled around Pol’s brain for a bit, and then he nodded. “My presence can change the answer?”
“Why?”
“The questioner wants to please me? That’s what servants would do. So that makes their answers less credible?” Pol said.
“Right. So you have to make sure when you interview Darrol that you make it plain that you seek the truth and nothing else.”
“You want me to interview him?”
Jonness nodded as they walked through the door to the armory. “Edgebare first.”
Edgebare ushered the both of them into his office. Pol had sat here once before. Jonness and Edgebare nattered on about gossip in the monastery. Pol had no idea what they were really talking about.
Jonness cleared his throat. “Now on to a little bit of business. Tell us about Harvell Crestglen.”
Edgebare narrowed his eyes. “Why are you asking me that question?”
“His name has come up in something we’ve been working on in the Seeker class.”
“Well, he’s a decent enough teacher. Better swordsman than magician. He’s a Red, like Pol, here for magic and a Red belt for swords. Didn’t like crossing swords for real. That happens often enough, but he fancies himself as a rather dashing fellow among the ladies, if you know what I mean.”
“Is he a generous sort of man?” Jonness asked, looking sideways at Pol.
“Not particularly, I’d say. What is this about?”
“We will let you know, soon.” Jonness got up. “Can we have a few words with Darrol Netherfield?”
“He’s just finishing up his early morning class, but feel free.” Edgebare gave Pol a stare, but it didn’t strike Pol as unfriendly.
Jonness and Pol walked to a corner of the armory where a group of eight acolytes practiced basic forms with Darrol. None of the attendees were close to Pol’s age, and none had anywhere near the expertise that Pol had quickly picked up with intensive training the summer before.
Darrol nodded at Pol and Jonness as he monitored the movements of each of his charges. Pol noticed that all of them were First Level magicians. He looked down and flipped an end of his red cord.
“That’s enough for today. More drill tomorrow,” Darrol said. He walked to a chair that had a damp towel draped across the back and used the towel to wipe his face while he walked up to Jonness and Pol. “I assume this isn’t an offer to become a Seeker?” Darrol said.
Jonness bumped Pol.
“We are engaged in an investigation. A name came up and we wondered if you could answer a few of my questions,” Pol said. He rubbed sweaty palms on his robe. He didn’t want his discomfort showing, but he plowed ahead. “Do you know Harvell Crestglen?”
Darrol tried to keep from laughing, and that infuriated Pol. “Of course I do. He’s one of my fellow instructors.”
“Tell us about him?” Pol asked. He use
d the same question that Jonness had asked Master Edgebare.
“What do you want to know?”
Darrol answered a question with a question and that flustered Pol, but he had to continue to ask his friend more questions. “Uh, what kind of instructor is he?”
“Fair to middling. He has decent sword skills, and he can do anticipation magic, something that I can’t. I don’t think he connects to students very well.”
“So he’s aloof?”
“Yes.”
Pol realized that his question wasn’t a very good one. Edgebare was a better interviewee than Darrol.
“Does he have much of a life outside the monastery?” Pol said.
Darrol grinned. “That’s a much better question, Pol. Yes, he does. He often goes over to Mancus to break hearts. He’s boasted about his ability with the ladies, and there are more of them over there than in Port Deftnis, you know.” A cloud seemed to pass over Darrol’s face, but he shook it off. “I think he’s a bit overconfident about his looks, though.” Darrol looked across the armory. “There he is.”
Pol turned to look. Monk Crestglen didn’t strike Pol as the dashing type. He was tall and built well enough, but he sported an over-long nose and a scraggly beard that did little to make up for his balding head. Crestglen turned his head their way, causing Pol to turn back to Darrol. “That’s him? A pattern-master?”
Darrol smiled, the tone of his voice lowered. “The gods make men in many images.”
Pol thought furiously for another question. “Does he talk about buying gifts for his, uh, girls?”
“Women. Women who are usually bought, Pol. Yes, he does.”
The revelation stopped Pol in his tracks. He looked pleadingly at Jonness.
“How often do you go to Mancus, Netherfield?”
“No more,” Darrol said. “I learned my lesson.”
Jonness finally turned to see Crestglen disappear through a door. “Has he learned his?”
“I can’t say for sure, but probably not.”
“Thank you, Netherfield. Pol thanks you as well.” Jonness looked at Pol. “Time to go.”
“I’ll see you later,” Darrol said.
