Hunter's Legend

by R. J. Vickers

  Hands stiff from the cold, I fumbled in my purse for the key. Every sense was on edge. I slotted the key into the hole—it fit more easily this time—and turned.

  When I pushed the door open, my lantern cast its glow over a rusty set of chains and handcuffs beneath a shelf stacked with glass bottles.

  Just as I took a step inside, I caught sight of a flicker of light above me.

  Jakor’s secret stairway.

  My heart nearly stopped. I dropped the key, and was scrabbling about the icy floor to find it when Professor Jakor himself strode from within his lair and kicked me in the knee.

  “Filthy rat. Stand up right now.”

  There it was—I grabbed the key and stood, knees shaking so badly I could barely straighten.

  “What the plagues are you doing down here?” Professor Jakor grabbed my wrist and dug his nails in. “Get out. Now.” He shoved me into the hall and yanked the door closed behind him. “How did you get in?” he spat.

  I said nothing. My tongue could not form words.

  With frightening strength, Professor Jakor spun and marched me down the hallway; I had to run clumsily to keep up. When I stumbled and collided with his shoulder, his grip tightened further still, until all sensation was cut from my hand.

  I half expected Jakor to thrust me into one of the side rooms and beat me senseless or, worse still, leave me to starve, but instead he dragged me to the end of the hallway and up the stairs into the open night.

  It was a relief to leave the suffocating darkness. The moon was brilliant after the dim cast of my lamplight, and my trembling stilled as the warm, dry air filled my lungs.

  I opened my mouth to ask where he was taking me, but my throat was so dry no sound came out. Yet my question was answered quickly enough. Jakor dragged me to the office at the far corner of the courtyard, where I knew the head administrator worked and lived. The door beside the office must have been his bedchamber, because Jakor yanked me to a halt and rapped fiercely on the wood.

  “Professor,” he barked. “I have an emergency.”

  It was a long, excruciating wait before the administrator appeared at the door, pale and not at all pleased at being roused in the middle of the night. “What the bloody Varse are you on about?” he grumbled.

  “This interfering, worthless—student—was just caught sneaking about in the basement. She must have picked the lock. She only started school two days ago, and already she’s trying to cause mayhem. I told you she would be trouble. I swore it. Remember?”

  The administrator scratched his head in irritation. “Of course I remember. I went against my better judgment when I allowed her in, what with the stories I’ve read. But Volandrik and all three Weaving professors were adamant.”

  “Well, I want her thrown out. Immediately.” Jakor shook my wrist to emphasize his fervor. “And banned from the school premises. She ought not to meddle where she doesn’t belong.”

  The administrator sighed through his teeth. “Your point is valid. But I should speak to Volandrik first. He is the one who interviewed her, after all.”

  “Well, go wake him now,” Jakor hissed. “I don’t trust this girl. She must have a talent she’s kept quiet from us.”

  “I don’t,” I squeaked.

  The administrator blinked at me, surprised I had spoken.

  “Go!” Jakor insisted. “I will guard the girl.”

  With a foggy, dazed look, the administrator pulled his bathrobe closer about his shoulders and shuffled from his bedchamber. I did not know whether he was accustomed to following orders from Jakor, or if the professor’s insistence had unsettled him so that he could not help but comply.

  I glanced at Jakor, wondering if he would hit me or tie me to a chair, but he merely stood with his thin arms crossed, watching the archway through which the administrator had vanished.

  Before long, Professor Volandrik followed the administrator into the courtyard and toward the office. Unlocking the office, his key ring clanking, the administrator gestured the three of us inside. There were not enough chairs in the office, so the administrator took his usual office seat, Professor Volandrik beside him, and I wound up across from him with Jakor hovering vulture-like over my shoulder.

  “Volandrik,” the administrator said sharply, rotating in his chair until his deep-set eyes were fixed on the head of admissions. His sleepy, befuddled air had fallen away. “What is the story behind this girl? Why did you insist on her admittance? What set her apart?” His eyes narrowed. “There is more to this story than anyone is letting on.”

  Volandrik gripped the arms of his wooden chair in defiance. He must have been awake, even at this hour; he still wore his usual billowing sleeves, and his hair was not mussed. “I have no particular interest in this student,” he said shortly. “She is an oddity, an experimental data point that I have never seen before. Because of this, she is of great value to the University.”

  “Have you read any of the stories about her?” Jakor asked nastily. “Even you can’t have missed them—front-page news, her lover’s death was.”

  Volandrik shot me a scrutinizing glance. “Of course I saw the stories,” he said, peeved. “Nothing but rumormongering, if you ask me. Who would take anything the Palace Times prints as fact?”

  “Then it might interest you to know that this girl was found snooping around my private storerooms in the basement, not an hour hence.”

  Volandrik’s expression darkened. “Alas, I cannot vouch for her honesty or her intentions.”

  Jakor was not finished. “I told you, when you brought her case before us, that she was found trespassing on school grounds shortly before Hunter’s suicide. I warned you that she cared nothing for study; the whole reason she wished to attend the University was to meddle more easily in our affairs. She can’t mean anything good from it. For all I know, she drove Hunter to his death. Or perhaps she pushed him from the tower. She was there, after all.”

  “Thank you!” the administrator said, cutting Jakor off. “This is unfounded speculation. You should not speak this way in front of your student.”

  “You’re as bad as the Palace Times,” Volandrik said, so quietly I thought I might have imagined it. I clasped my hands beneath my knees, trying not to reveal how much they were shaking.

  In a more audible tone, Volandrik said, “Have you asked Cady what she thinks of the matter? I believe she has a right to defend herself.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. “May I speak to Professor Volandrik?” My voice wavered, but at least it did not crack. “In private?”

  “No,” the administrator said. “If you have anything to share, you can tell everyone present.”

  I could not. Jakor must not know that I suspected him. Crossing my arms, I remained silent.

  “Well, then, I suppose we will have to expel her from the University,” the administrator said, readjusting the collar of his robe. “Her admittance was on a trial basis, and she has far exceeded the bounds of reasonable student behavior.”

  Volandrik sat straight, gripping the arms of his chair. “Don’t expel her. Not yet. I want to get to the bottom of this. If she was breaking school rules to sneak into the basement, she must have done so with good reason. Whether she was involved in some nefarious scheme, or perhaps lured there under false pretenses, I can see there is more to the situation than meets the eye.”

  I saw a flicker of sympathy in his seemingly offhanded glance in my direction; perhaps there was some hope after all.

  “She cannot stay!” Jakor flexed his fists.

  “Put her on probation,” Volandrik said calmly. “She will move out of the dorms and be banned from the school grounds, until a more convincing set of evidence emerges that points either to her innocence or her guilt.”

  The administrator stood. “Good night,” he said firmly. Clearly the matter was settled. “Volandrik, help the girl collect her belongings and see her to the gates. The gatekeeper must be informed of her suspension.”

  With that, we were
dismissed.

  As Volandrik followed me to my dormitory, I seized the opportunity to press upon him my case.

  “I did come to the University to learn something,” I whispered, pushing open the door to the dormitory hall. “One of the first things Hunter did in Baylore was visit the University, and Professor Jakor was involved.”

  I glanced at Volandrik to gauge his reaction. Only a pale beam of moonlight filtered down the hallway, and in the dimness I could discern nothing of his expression. Was I overstepping myself?

  Nervous now, I continued. “Hunter had a flying coat when he jumped off the tower. It was new and flawless. But someone meddled with it. He didn’t kill himself; someone intended him to die.”

  “Are you accusing Professor Jakor?” Volandrik said icily. “Your evidence is very shaky.”

  “No!” I realized I had spoken too loudly. We had reached my room now, and I paused to unlock the door. “No,” I whispered. “I’m not accusing anyone. I just know that Hunter’s death was no accident, and I’m afraid I might be in danger now as well.”

  Still Volandrik betrayed no sign of his thoughts. He leaned against the doorframe as I collected my meager belongings and shoved everything into my small bag. At last I hoisted the bag on one shoulder, bent to glance beneath the bed, and bade the room a sad farewell. Where could I go now? My lease on the sculpture garden had expired, and I did not have enough money to put myself up indefinitely at an inn. In fact, I might be living on the streets three nights hence. Unless I abandoned my pride altogether and asked my parents for help.

  Volandrik led me down the stairs and across the courtyard, trees looming over us like great watchful shadows in the dark. Just before we reached the gates, Volandrik stopped abruptly, blocking my way.

  “I am inclined to believe you,” he whispered. “But you will be hard-pressed to persuade anyone else of your suspicions.” He looked down at the cobblestones. “If you do manage to persuade us that your tale holds merit, I will personally ensure you return to the University. And if not—” He met my eyes with an unforgiving stare. “If you are found on the school grounds again, we will have no choice but to arrest you.”

  I nodded, grateful that the darkness concealed my pallor. As Volandrik summoned the gatekeeper and escorted me from the University grounds, my thoughts were a painful jumble. What was I thinking? I could be arrested! I was not a troublemaker—I was a quiet, obedient, hardworking citizen. Certainly not the sort who would be mixed up in such foolishness. And Hunter was already dead. What difference would it make if I discovered who killed him? I was after vengeance more than anything, proof that Hunter had not committed suicide.

  Yet I could not shake the fear that whoever had killed Hunter was still at large. The murderer could target me next. I could not return to a life of ignorant safety; I knew too much to be left in peace.

  With the gates behind me, the darkness of the city seemed to close in all around. I thought I heard footsteps on the cobblestones behind me, and the angry swishing of a traveler’s cloak.

  When I chanced a look over my shoulder, all was dark and still.

  The matter of my homelessness was more urgent than ever. It was past midnight, and I was close enough to the central square to be in danger from stray vagabonds. In fact, I had unconsciously been heading toward the central square ever since leaving the University gates behind. Slowing, I rethought my situation.

  Where could I go? The warm air was almost tempting enough to justify a night outside—if I had been in the open countryside, not trapped within these dirty, overcrowded streets, that would have been a lark. Here it was beyond foolish.

  I could return to my parents, dragging all my worldly possessions with me, weighted down by shame. They would welcome me back, certainly, but they would never trust me or respect me as a grown woman. They would say my choices had led me to this desperate place, and they would be right.

  There were a few coins remaining in my purse. Perhaps it would be best if I delayed my decision until the morning.

  Drawing up my shoulders, I started again toward the square. I would stay the night at The Queen’s Bed, and reassess my situation in the friendlier light of day. To my relief, no one stopped me on the long walk across the square, though I could see at least seven figures huddled in the shadowed corners. Perhaps they were innocents, too poor to pay for a proper inn yet never hoping to prey on those wealthier than them.

  The door of The Queen’s Bed was open. It was a young man, pockmarked and sullen-looking, who greeted me at the bar. Wordlessly I handed over my fee, and he led me to a small chamber at the far corner of the inn. As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, every fearful moment of the day fell upon me, and I was so weighted down by exhaustion that I collapsed on top of the bed, fully clothed. I was asleep at once.

  Chapter 18

  T hree days passed, three days of listlessness. The day after I arrived at The Queen’s Bed, I negotiated a deal where I helped scrub dishes, cut vegetables, and sweep rooms in return for a very cheap room at the back of the inn. Tucked beneath the slanting roof, it appeared to be little more than a closet equipped with a sagging straw mattress, yet it suited me just fine.

  When I was not helping around the inn, I huddled in a corner of the restaurant and continued my studies as best I could. I completed the assigned reading, wrote a few discussions on the proper incorporation of Weavers’ hair in enchanted objects, and spent more time than necessary just moping. If only Hunter could return for the briefest of moments, emerge from wherever he had gone long enough to give me the answer, everything would become clear.

  Why had he said, “You were right about that professor?” What had he learned about Jakor, just hours before his death? What was Jakor doing? And why had Hunter been involved with him?

  What had prompted Hunter to return to Baylore in the first place? Every newspaper article—and there had been a few more after the first smattering of headlines—blathered on about his loss of sanity, his delusions of grandeur. Yet I knew there was more to the story.

  On one of my brief forays from the safe bustle of The Queen’s Bed, I wandered past the University gates, intending to do a bit of detective work. The gatekeeper’s glare was enough to propel me straight past. Instead I made my way toward the statue garden, hoping against hope that Hunter had left his diary behind somewhere I had overlooked. That might give me a clue, or at the very least a shred of insight into his purpose.

  The house had already been sold, though, and the owners were out. They had even taken it upon themselves to remove most of the statues. The garden looked oddly lonely without its jumble of carved figures.

  I returned to The Queen’s Bed more dejected than ever. I had not truly thought either of my plans would come to fruition, yet I was quickly exhausting every idea I had. Where would I go once I had nowhere else to turn? I could not live as a scullery maid at The Queen’s Bed forever.

  That night I had trouble concentrating. I spent five minutes trying to peel turnips with a butter knife, and searched my closet-like room for ages trying to find the textbooks I had left downstairs. Weary and frustrated, I slouched back downstairs and took up my seat in the corner. I squandered a portion of my remaining funds on a mug of cold peach wine and set to reading one of the textbooks with something bordering on desperation.

  Surely there was a spell that could help me. I didn’t even need to bring back a dead person; I just needed to talk to one. Or force Jakor to tell the truth. Or even sneak my way into the University, invisible, and find the evidence I needed.

  I was barely skimming now, catching nothing more than spell titles and key phrases before flipping to the next page.

  Wristband Enchantment to Enhance Hair Growth—if only I could use that to regenerate my full head of Weavers’ hair.

  Belt Enchantment to Increase Sexual Pleasure—I wrinkled my nose. Imagine wearing that while making love!

  Harness Enchantment to Guide Horses Home

  Everlasting Pen Enchantmentr />
  Hat Enchantment to Improve Night Vision

  The idea of being able to cast even one of these spells was thrilling, but at the moment they were useless. I skimmed more rapidly, eyes fogging over. A stray word would jump out at me occasionally, and I would stop to read the entire title; I skipped the entire chapter on household charms, though I could not deny they would help the staff at The Queen’s Bed.

  There—the word lost caught my attention. Hunter was lost. I was lost. So was any hope of solving this mess. Slowing, I read the title:

  Compass Enchantment to Find Lost People and Objects

  Perhaps that could help me find Hunter? But that wasn’t helpful; I knew where his ashes had been interred.

  I sat up stiffly, my blurred vision clearing. No, this was exactly what I needed. I could find the diary!

  Tucking my hair behind my ears, I bent once more to read the entire spell.

  Though endlessly useful, there is no variation of this spell that allows any person other than the caster to use the enchanted compass. Only people or objects the caster is familiar with may be located; it cannot be used to aid in uncovering lost artifacts or in hunting animals other than pets or livestock the caster has come in contact with before. The compass will continue to find lost objects as many times as it is called upon, though the caster must be careful not to unintentionally search for more than one item at once, for fear of confusing the spell.

  The hair must be worked into the body of the compass itself, in a way that cannot be removed except by wrecking the entire compass. One skilled in metalwork may use the silver hair as a filigree pattern within the compass face itself; otherwise, the simplest enchantment involves welding the hair between two layers of metal anywhere within the compass. Since Weavers’ hairs cannot be destroyed by heat, there is no danger of these melting or catching fire. Extreme care must be taken while casting, as the spell will begin to take hold at the exact instant the hair sinks into the metal or the gap disappears between the two plates. The caster must not forget to remove the metal from its heat source before the entire compass melts, while maintaining the concentration necessary to work the enchantment.