“Oh, but these clothes are perfectly clean,” the disguised actress said, fending off the ersatz baron, who was trying to take her clothes. “There’s no need to wash them today!”
“Washing must be done, clean or no!”
On any other day, Veranix would be unable to breathe, he’d be laughing so hard. Most people in the crowd were in such a state. He moved to the outer fringes of the crowd, searching the faces for a flash of darker skin. He saw nothing but fair Druth complexions, brown and blond hair. Then he saw a familiar face.
Colin stood at one corner of the square, under the statue of Lord Cantarell, giving half his attention to the show, the other half to the crowd around him. More than likely he was keeping watch while some of the Princes stole purses and picked pockets. The square marked the border between Rose Street Prince territory and two of the other Aventil gangs, Waterpath Orphans and Red Rabbits, as far as Veranix remembered.
Veranix approached Colin, but as he moved in Colin spotted him. The two of them locked eyes for a minute, Colin’s burning with anger. Colin spit on the ground in Veranix’s direction, and then gave a sharp whistle.
In response to the whistle, two other Princes on the outskirts of the crowd pushed each other, knocking over a pie stand. People around the stand screamed and cried, and all attention turned to them. Veranix spotted several other Princes dashing out of the crowd, and when he looked back to Colin, his cousin was gone.
Kaiana didn’t know where she was when she saw light again. She was no longer paralyzed, but she was tied to a wooden post, someone else bound at her back. She presumed it was the professor. She was in a large room, a great warehouse by the looks of it, gray brick walls and stone floor. There were no crates or other storage, just people. Some were thugs like the ones who had grabbed her, some were the mages who had come hunting in her carriage house this morning. The others were gentlemen, at least by their clothes.
“What is the meaning of this?” Alimen shouted from behind her. “Kalas, did you really think you could get away with assaulting and kidnapping me, a member of the University and—”
“Actually, no, Gollic, that wasn’t part of the plan,” the older mage said as he slowly circled the two of them. He leered appreciatively at Kaiana. “Why did you take him, Forden?”
“He was there. He was disrespectful of us earlier.”
“He was indeed,” Kalas said. “Very foolish, Professor.”
“You are the foolish one,” Alimen said.
“I can feel you, Gollic,” Kalas said. “Don’t even think of building up your numina. I already have a hand around the girl’s heart. You can feel that, yes?”
“Yes,” Alimen said, his voice dejected.
“Good,” Kalas said. He came around to face Kaiana. “Now, young lady, I believe you have been in possession of something that belongs to me.”
“I’m just a poor groundskeeper,” Kaiana said. “Blazes, thanks to you lot, I’m not even that now.”
“I told the professor I had my hand on your heart, girl,” Kalas said, holding his empty hand up to her. “I am quite serious about that.” He tensed his fingers slightly, and Kaiana’s chest was flooded with pain. Nothing could hold in her screams.
“Stop it, Kalas!” Alimen said. “Let the girl go. If you have a quarrel with me—”
“He really thinks this is about him.” Forden giggled.
Kalas leaned in closer, his face barely an inch away from Kaiana’s. The pain stopped. “Shall I ask again?”
“No,” she gasped, struggling to get her breath. “You don’t need to.”
“That’s very smart,” Kalas said.
“You don’t need to,” she said again, looking up at him defiantly, “because I won’t answer.”
“Stupid girl,” he said, and her chest was again nothing but agony. Only the fact that she was tied to the post kept her from falling over. She screamed, but forced herself to keep her eyes open, to stare at Kalas and every other man in the room, to memorize every face. The gentlemen stood in the back, watching what was happening with vague disinterest.
The young blond mage, the one Alimen had called Kent before, came leaping over, his face red with rage. “Tell us, you dark whore!” he screamed. Kalas hadn’t released his grip, her chest was still on fire. Despite this, she spit in Kent’s face.
He hit her with the back of his fist in response. “Try that again, filth!”
Suddenly Kent was knocked back by an unseen force. “Leave her!” Professor Alimen cried. He was wheezing out of breath.
“Poor choice, Professor,” Kalas said. He squeezed tighter on Kaiana’s heart. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t even breathe.
Kent stood back up and grabbed a cudgel from one of the thugs who was just standing and watching. He stalked over to the professor and hit him across the head. Then he hit him again, and again.
“Enough!” said one of the gentlemen. Neither Kalas nor Kent reacted. The gentleman came up and put a hand on Kalas’s shoulder. “Enough!” Kalas released her, and two of the goons pulled the blond mage away from the professor. She could feel his body hanging limply behind her, held up only by the post.
“She knows!” The last mage, the impossibly gaunt one, came over and pointed an emaciated finger at her. “She’s had it!”
The gentleman shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Let us handle this, Fenmere,” Kalas said to the gentleman. Kaiana’s heart, already pounding uncontrollably, raced even faster. This was Fenmere, the man responsible for so much death and pain, in her own life and so many others. She was surprised how ordinary he looked, especially next to these powerful mages.
“I don’t think this is going to give you anything, Kalas.”
“But she has had our items,” Kalas said. “I can feel it on her!”
“I believe you,” Fenmere reached out and lifted up Kaiana’s chin, appraising her face. “But I know something about breaking people, making them talk. I’ve made men tell me secrets they wouldn’t tell God.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “This girl won’t tell you anything.”
“So what do you expect us to do?” Kalas asked.
“We do this our way,” Fenmere said, walking away. “Very simply. We want the Thorn. We want what he has. We have something of his.”
“Arrange a trade?” another gentleman asked. “For tonight?”
“Exactly, Corman,” Fenmere said.
“How do we set the deal?” one of the thugs asked. “How do we get word to the Thorn?”
“You lack imagination, Bell,” Fenmere said. He turned to the gentlemen, asking a question he clearly knew the answer to already. “How do we get word to the Thorn, Corman?”
“Hire a paper job, along Aventil and the campus.”
“Exactly. And just to make a point, Mister Corman, muscle a weaker Aventil gang to do it.”
“Muscle or hire?” Corman asked.
“Oh, hire, of course,” Fenmere said. He smirked at Kaiana. “Pay them well for the job. Just make it perfectly clear that not taking the job isn’t an option for them.”
“Red Rabbits would be good for that,” Bell offered.
“Red Rabbits it is, then,” Fenmere said as he approached Bell. He gently cupped the thug’s face. “I trust in your judgment here, Mister Bell. Please don’t disappoint me.”
“I’ll—I’ll get on it,” Bell stammered out. He whistled to a few other thugs and left the room with them.
“Good,” Fenmere said. “That’s all settled, then. Does this suit you, gentlemen?” Kalas and the other mages nodded.
“We’re going to trade the girl for the goods?” Kalas asked.
“No, we’re going to say we are,” Fenmere said. “When the Thorn comes, we kill him, and you get your things.” He waved dismissively at Kaiana and the professor. “The two of them are your problem, but k
eep them intact until it’s done.”
Chapter 23
VERANIX HAD SEARCHED up and down throughout Aventil, with no luck in finding Kaiana. He even asked shopkeepers and strangers, but no one had seen anyone who looked like her. One man had offered to get him a young Napa girl for twenty crowns. The man backed off when Veranix threatened to thrash him.
His search brought him to the front steps of Saint Julian’s Church. Desperate for any kind of guidance, he went inside.
In the first part of the church, through the large wooden doors, was the life-size statue of Saint Julian, depicted as a shield-bearing pilgrim, to protect the innocent as he was said to have done. Theological history was another subject in which Veranix’s studies were less than what they should be. Surrounding the statue, scattered and pinned at the base, were tokens of prayers, small wooden carvings or brass figures, representing whatever it was people were hoping Saint Julian or God would help them with. Most of the tokens were in the shape of a heart or a coin: love and money, the most common of prayers. Two old women were kneeling at the base as well, muttering their prayers.
On the other side of the room was a coin box. Veranix went over to it and dropped a half-crown in.
“I don’t have a prayer for Saint Julian,” Veranix whispered. “But today is the day of Saint Senea. Look after my friend, Saint Senea. The law is on the side of the man who sacked her, but I don’t know a more righteous soul than hers. Please protect her tonight. Intercede on her behalf. Help her to . . . help her, like she has always helped me.”
“Don’t see many students in here,” said a man’s voice behind him. Veranix startled, and turned to see the priest. Young enough that his face had few lines, and his fair hair hadn’t begun to whiten.
“We mostly go to the Campus Chapel, I suppose,” Veranix said.
“Who is the patron saint of that chapel?” the reverend asked.
Veranix had to think for a moment to answer that. “I don’t think there is one. It’s more vaguely toward all the saints. Students come from all branches of the church.”
The reverend shrugged, as if the idea disappointed him. “Did you come seeking something more specific?”
Veranix glanced back at the statue. “I’m not sure the Humble Prince can help me today.”
“Why did you come here, son?” the reverend asked.
“Looking for a friend,” Veranix said. “I don’t know where she is.”
“Perhaps she went home.”
“She lost her home today.”
“So she needs a new one.” The reverend nodded thoughtfully. “You do know we have no sisters’ cloister here. You could try Saint Arrianne’s in North Colton.”
“I don’t think she will take holy orders.” Veranix laughed. “She’s not the type.”
“What type is she?” the priest asked.
“Loyal,” Veranix said.
“Loyalty is a pillar of virtue,” the priest said, pointing to the statue. “Saint Julian was most noted for it. Loyalty is often rewarded.”
“Not if you have to be loyal to more than one thing.” Veranix started down the steps.
“Are these loyalties in conflict?” the priest asked.
Veranix stopped, his heart suddenly pounding. “I’m—not exactly. But they don’t exactly work together that well either.”
“A man can serve two masters. Or more,” the priest said. “You study several courses at school, yes?”
“Quite a few,” Veranix said.
“And each professor you have considers himself your only master. You must serve each of them.”
“It does seem that way,” Veranix agreed. “But one in particular takes precedence.”
“Of course. When the time comes for you to discover what loyalty takes precedence for you, you will know.” Six bells rang above them. “The hour is late, son. If my knowledge of University rules is correct, you do need to be back by the sunset, yes?”
“Not exactly,” Veranix said. “But I should keep looking for my friend. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” said the priest. “For the donation.”
“The least I can do, Reverend,” Veranix said.
“Then the blessings of God and Saint Julian be with you,” the priest said. He retreated deeper into the church, and Veranix returned outside.
The sky was starting to get dark, but there was still plenty of activity in the streets. Shopkeepers were gathering up their goods, bringing them inside for safekeeping. People were heading home, or to the taverns. Young men were racing about, tacking up sheets of paper along any surface they could stick them to.
Another paper job, Veranix thought with wry amusement. He wondered if Colin was going through the trouble of showing him further disapproval. He went to look at one of the pages.
Across the top of the page was a picture of a thorn.
He ripped the page off the wall and looked at it closer. It was definitely a message for him. At the bottom of the page was a blue mark, a hand in a circle. The center of the page was a scale, with a bag and a crown on one side, and a figure of a man and a woman on the other.
It clicked in his mind as clearly as if it had been written in plain prose. The Blue Hand Circle, and with them Fenmere, wanted to trade the rope and cloak for someone. Two people, a man and a woman. The rest of the message made it clear that they wanted to meet at the fish cannery at midnight to make the trade.
A man and a woman.
Kaiana.
Deep in his gut, he knew it meant Kaiana. They had figured out his identity, and they knew to take her to get him. Then who was the man? Was it Delmin? Could it even be Colin?
Veranix barely realized he was running, running as fast as he could, back toward campus. He didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t even have the cloak and rope. He couldn’t make the trade.
He bolted past the south gate, past the two cadets at guard with barely a wave. They waved back but did nothing else. He pounded up the walk toward Almers Hall, bursting through the main doors. He charged up the steps, pushing past several people, ignoring a few startled complaints. He didn’t listen or care. He didn’t stop until he reached his room, where Delmin sat, quietly reading.
“Delmin!” Veranix shouted, his heart leaping up on seeing his friend. He raced over, grabbing Delmin by the shoulders. He looked him over, searching for any signs that he had been hurt. “You’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Delmin said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, they . . . I thought . . .” Veranix paused for a moment. His head was still racing, still swimming. “Maybe they don’t know, then.”
“They don’t know what?” Delmin asked.
“They don’t know for sure who it is,” Veranix said, half to himself.
“Who what is? What are you on about?”
“They grabbed Kaiana. And someone else, I think,” Veranix said.
“Someone else? Why?”
Veranix showed him the paper. “Two people, male and female. I had thought it was you, if they knew who Kaiana was.” He shook his head. “Then they would know it was me. Who else might they take?”
“Well . . .” Delmin trailed off, looking like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say what he was thinking.
“What is it?”
“I was supposed to meet Professor Alimen at one bell after noon. He wasn’t at his office. I had asked around, and no one had seen him. I didn’t think much of it, but—”
Veranix nodded, his gut churning. Alimen gone all day couldn’t be a coincidence. “I bet that’s it. They took him too. They took them both, and they want the rope and the cloak in exchange for their lives.” He wanted to throw up. The two people who had done the most to help him, to protect him . . . they were both in danger now, because of him.
Delmin’s eyes went wide, his face lost all color. “Wh
o? That gang boss, what’s his name, Fenson?”
“Fenmere. No.” Veranix thought for a moment. “At least, not alone. His thugs couldn’t take Alimen.”
“So, who then?”
“The Blue Hand Circle, and that Lord Sirath.”
Delmin swallowed hard. “Lord Sirath? That mage who looks half dead already?”
“Who else could capture the professor?” Veranix asked. Delmin sat down on his bed. He looked like he was going to throw up. Veranix felt the same way. The professor and Kaiana had both put themselves at risk when the Blue Hand was searching for him. He hadn’t asked them to, but they both fought to save him.
He had to do the same for them. Whatever it took.
He went to his trunk, opened it up, and pulled out the false bottom. His old gear, including his father’s bow, was sitting underneath.
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t leave them,” Veranix said, pulling out his burgundy leather vest and soft boots. “I can’t let Sirath hurt them, and I can’t let him have the cloak and the rope.”
“Are you sure, I mean . . .”
“Delmin, you saw him. If his natural ability was amplified by the napranium, what could he do? What couldn’t he do?”
“He’d be . . .” stammered Delmin, growing paler. “I’d say he’d be unstoppable, but he seems pretty unstoppable now.”
Veranix put on the vest and buttoned it up. His father’s bow—his bow now—lay wrapped in cloth at the bottom of the chest, with all his father’s oils and waxes. He bent down and placed his hand on it. He’d taken care of the bow whenever he had the chance, whenever Delmin wasn’t around. It was good that he had, since he didn’t have much time to get it ready for action.
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