by Kaylin Lee
“I didn’t know,” I said. “Asylia’s schools closed for a few years, too, when I was young, but they reopened quickly. I went to a higher academy, but I left early to begin working full-time.” I hesitated, wondering how much I should reveal. “I don’t mind. I grew up reading and writing quite a bit.” To say the least.
The man’s eyes crinkled just slightly, like he was holding back a smile. “Good, good. Reading and writing are good.”
“So …” C’mon, Ruby. Be brave. “I heard that you work for the Wolf clan.”
The man’s face gave nothing away.
I plowed ahead. “I’m looking for a job with the Wolf clan, as well. Would you mind telling me what you do for them?”
He was quiet for a minute, still studying my face like he was searching for the answer to a mysterious question. Finally, he nodded, and rose stiffly to his feet. “I’ll do that and more. How’d you like to be my assistant?”
My heart skipped a beat. What in Theros? “I’d … I suppose I’d need to know what kind of work you do first. Sir.”
His lips twitched. “Then come along with me and I’ll show you, miss …?”
“Kata.” I frowned, wondering if I dared follow this strange man out of the square on a street urchin’s tip. “Come along where?”
“To the University of Draicia. I’m a professor there, and Praetor Demetrius has hired me to tutor his clansmen. You may call me Professor Kristof.”
What? I felt my mouth drop open. I didn’t know what shocked me more—that the old university tradition Grandmother had mentioned lived on in this broken city, or that the Wolf clan’s leader cared one whit about educating his bloodthirsty clansmen. I settled on the former. “The university still operates?”
Professor Kristof’s eyes had a glint of humor. “In its own way, yes, it does. Come with me. You’ll see.”
Chapter 16
The campus was three blocks away, in what was now Hawk clan territory, according to the professor.
Professor Kristof walked stiffly beside me as we approached the campus, his pace slow and pained but unfaltering. He gestured to a large, domed building that peeked through the low clouds down the street. “That’s the main classroom building. It houses the auditorium and most of the science lecture halls. And the big library. Used to, anyway.”
“Used to?” I followed the professor down a side street and into a small square lined with beautiful, wooden buildings that had once been brightly colored but were now faded and sagging. I frowned. Every single window pane in the lovely, old buildings had been smashed. “What happened to the windows?”
Professor Kristof paused, his gaze distant as he appraised the campus for a moment. “It’s odd to see this campus from your perspective.” He offered me a small smile, but there was no joy in the expression. “Those windows were smashed long ago, before I was born. I barely notice them now. Looters raided the university when the city government fell in the last century. They took everything of value but the books.” He chuckled dryly. “The ignoramuses didn’t realize our books were the most valuable things on campus. The university staff realized that repaired windows were like beacons, welcoming new looters to try their luck, so eventually, they stopped repairing them.”
It was hard to imagine finding anything funny about such a tragedy, but perhaps Draicians had a different sense of humor than Asylians. I pointed at the domed building that rose on the other end of the square. “So what happened to the library?”
“When the plague came, Praetor Demetrius locked down the city for a few years. I suppose he got the idea from your Prince Estevan that perhaps he could stop the spread if no one entered or left Draicia. Since commoners without magic needed firewood from the Badlands for fuel, they looted the library for books to burn in their stoves.” From the tightness around his eyes, he didn’t find that event quite as humorous.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “In Asylia, they burned all the Western books at the beginning of the plague. They thought that would stop the spread of the sickness. It didn’t work, of course, since the plague had arrived on more recent imports and was already spreading from person to person. And now we have no way to study Western literature in the original language. We have nothing but translated texts.”
Professor Kristof nodded curtly, then shot me a sidelong glance, his countenance brightening just slightly. “I saved what books I could from the looters.”
I felt a tingle of excitement in my fingertips at the thought. “Original Western documents?”
The professor winked. “A few.”
Professor Kristof’s office was located on the second floor of the smallest stone building on the southern edge of the square. The building contained several classrooms and offices, room for at least fifty students, which made the quiet emptiness eerie. The stairwell and hallway were narrow and glum, littered with papers and trash.
“Don’t mind the mess,” he said as we picked our way down the hallway. “I try to make it look unappealing.” He paused at a half-opened door at the end of the hallway and turned back to face me. Natural light spilled through the opening, so I could see his solemn expression. “I did my best. But Kata, it’s nothing compared to what we once had.”
He pushed the door open, and the sight took my breath away.
A few turned out to be the understatement of the day.
Books lined the walls, crammed into crooked, haphazardly-built shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling on every wall. An ancient luminous lantern flickered in one corner like it was drawing on the last of its magic to provide the room with weak light.
Stacks of books covered every surface—the scuffed wood floor, three desks, and several chairs.
I inched my way into the office, careful not to disturb the teetering stacks by the door. “You saved all this yourself? And the looters haven’t found them?”
Professor Kristof nodded. “So far. And the city’s been open to the Badlands for years now, so I like to think they’d leave the books alone if they found them today.” He winked. “I’m an optimist.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I can tell.” To undertake such a project, he’d have to be. “So, if the city government fell a century ago, and the library was looted over a decade ago, how does the university still exist? And why are you still here? Besides …” I waved a hand at the piles of books. “Taking care of all this.”
Professor Kristof removed his glasses to polish them with a soft cloth. “Even after the city government fell to the clans, they—the university staff, that is—thought it would recover one day. My parents were among them. They manned their posts, certain that the university’s mission hadn’t changed even though the city was crumbling around them. ‘Truth illuminates as darkness flees.’ The famous Western proverb was carved into the marble floor of the science hall when the university was built.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, looters from the Hawk clan dug up the marble floor years ago, so it probably decorates their clan compound now. I hope they appreciate the irony, considering the fact that clan warfare is what plunged the city into darkness, but it seems unlikely.”
I chewed on my lip as I mulled over his words. “The university continued to teach students, even in the midst of clan wars and looters?”
Professor Kristof’s eyes twinkled. “They sure did. It was a wild existence, as I’m sure you imagine. I grew up huddling under desks during riots and dodging clan skirmishes between classes. There weren’t many students, but my parents and the other professors gave them the best education they could. And I tried to follow in their footsteps.”
“So you became a professor, too.”
He finished polishing his glasses and slid them back up his nose. “I wasn’t the only young professor. Many of our students followed my parents’ example and became teachers themselves. They believed that old Western proverb about truth and darkness. We all did—it was carved on our hearts, not just in the marble floor. We thought that if we just kept teaching, kept educating
every willing student we could find in the study of philosophy, history, science, and art, eventually, the darkness smothering our city would flee.”
“And then …”
“The plague came,” the professor finished for me. “Students who weren’t taken by the plague in that first year left to care for their own families. The other professors died in the plague or simply gave up.” His voice was quiet. “By the time the looters came for the library, I was the only one left. I hid the books and holed up here. When Demetrius opened the gates and trade resumed, I thought things would get better. I started looking for qualified students to take on.”
“But the lower schools stayed closed and the younger generations are barely literate, you said. You had a university with no students.”
“Not quite.” The professor watched my face with an odd degree of care, as though searching for my reaction.
I frowned. “Right. Praetor Demetrius hired you to teach the Wolves.”
“He wants his clansmen to be educated. He hired me two years ago. The clansmen themselves are …” His eyes crinkled slightly. “Well, they’re not the most cooperative of students. But if you’ll be my assistant, I’m sure that together, we can help them along.”
I could scarcely contain my amazement that such a perfect opportunity had fallen into my lap. “And it’s safe? To go onto the Wolf compound and tutor the Wolf clan members?”
Professor Kristof tossed back his head and laughed for a full minute. “Nothing in Draicia is safe, my dear,” he said when he finally stopped chuckling and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
~
Professor Kristof helped me register for an account at the nearest courier’s office, which he used to correspond with his cousin in Asylia, a healer mage who had emigrated to Asylia when it became apparent that the Draician government was never going to be rebuilt.
I was momentarily grateful that Grandmother had been paranoid enough to assign me a name for the trip. At least now I could be certain I’d receive correspondence without giving away my identity. I counted quickly in my head as I paid the girl in the courier’s office. It had been ten days since I’d left Asylia. For all I knew, the Draician couriers’ warehouse already held correspondence for me. I’d find out soon enough.
I ate dinner with Professor Kristof back at the little market—hot cabbage rolls stuffed with more vegetables than meat. We said goodnight before the sun set. “Best to be inside before night falls,” he instructed me kindly. “It always helps.”
I wasn’t going to put that piece of advice to the test. I thanked him and promised to meet him in the morning in front of the Wolf clan compound’s main entrance, then I hurried through the damp streets back to Wasp territory.
When I returned to the boarding house, it was almost twilight, and Auntie was scrubbing grime off the front stoop. She paused, straightened, and grinned when she saw me. “You’re still alive,” she said brightly. “Good work.”
“Well, thank you, I suppose.” I climbed the steps. “I did my best.”
“Hot water bottles are in the hall,” she called after me as I entered. “You’ll need one to put in your blankets, or you won’t sleep a wink. Temperature’s been dropping more than usual. Tonight will be a cold one.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.”
I pulled a warm flask from the small pile by the foot of the stairs and hugged it to my chest, taking comfort in the heat after the cold, wet air outside. I’d wondered how Draicians heated their homes without suffio rations created by government mages. Now I knew. I wondered how long the heat would last.
Upstairs, my little room was so cold my breath left visible puffs in the air. I put the flask under my blankets and hoped it would heat them quickly.
I bathed, shivering in the cold water, then changed into my nightgown and huddled under the covers. The fading evening light lit the room just long enough for me to fill a page in my journal with fragmented, overwhelmed thoughts.
Cold darkness. Hungry little girls. Warm winterdrop rolls.
Books on books on books. Piles of words, towers of truth, hidden behind broken glass.
City of Light. Truth illuminates.
What if the darkness never flees?
What if no one understands the truth—does it still illuminate?
I sketched a side-profile view of Professor Kristof’s kindly face in the margin, then drew his glasses slipping down his nose. “I’m an optimist,” I wrote. Beside him, I shaded several towers of book spines.
One man held onto his city’s entire legacy in his cramped, cold office, and without an educated younger generation, he had no one to pass it on to. The sheer fragility of his predicament made me dizzy.
No. It wasn’t just Draicia’s legacy piled up in Professor Kristof’s office. It was the West’s, too, now that their civilization had been lost to the plague. The whole world’s past, and perhaps its future, tucked away and waiting.
Waiting … for what?
I closed my journal and let it drop to the floor beside the bed, my mind a bit calmer after transferring the chaos of my thoughts onto paper. I was exhausted from the day, and my eyes drifted shut the moment my head hit the pillow.
But hours later, I jolted awake from a deep sleep. The room was pitch black, and I rubbed my eyes, wondering what had caused me to stir.
Something loud crashed in the street outside. A window? Men shouted. There was another crash. What would people be doing in the street in this hour?
I rolled out of bed and opened the door, then stumbled down the stairs.
Opal stood in the hallway, a lamp in her hand, and a few pajama-clad men huddled in the hall behind her.
“What’s going on?” My voice was scratchy from sleep.
The golden-haired man who stood closest to Opal glanced back at me. He held a wicked-looking axe in one hand and a crossbow slung over his shoulder, and his arms were covered with the intricate, black tattoos I’d heard Badlanders favored. His expression was grim. “Looters outside.”
Chapter 17
Opal turned around. “Come on, everyone,” she hissed. “You know what to do.” She arched a brow at me. “Ruby, keep quiet and stay with us. It will be over soon enough.”
My stomach seemed to wring itself out. “I—” I broke off mid-sentence, silenced by shock as Auntie reached down and lifted a small carpet by the foot of the stairs. In the darkness, I could just barely make out the outline of a cellar door in the villa’s wood floor.
Auntie took out a thin hook, jammed it in the crack of the door, and pulled it up. She gestured toward the nearest merchant, who clambered into the hole in the floor without protest. One by one, each merchant followed, save the one with the axe.
“Inside, Ruby.” Opal glared at me. “Hurry.”
I stepped down into the void, my feet shaky on the high, steep steps. I quickened my pace when Auntie followed me down the ladder.
“Opal, get in there,” the tattooed Badlander whispered at the opening. “I’ve got this.”
“No! It’s my villa. It’s my responsibility to—”
“Opal!” The Badlander’s whisper was decidedly annoyed.
There was a feminine squawk and the thump of a door closing.
The low light of Opal’s lamp illuminated the underground space as the Badlander carried her down the narrow, high stairs then set her on the ground in front of him. There was a beat of silence—nothing but wide eyes and frightened faces in shadow, except for Opal, who was sending the Badlander a furious glare. He ignored it.
Somewhere above us, there was the sound of wood cracking. I flinched as heavy footsteps shook the floorboards over our heads.
“Opal. The lamp,” Auntie breathed beside me.
With a flick of her finger, Opal turned off the lamp. The hidden room went black.
There was a rumble of boots ascending the stairs over our heads. We waited in tense silence. My heart pounded. What would looters be looking for? And wha
t would they do if they found us?
I wasn’t sure how long we waited. When the boots descended the stairs, the men were laughing. “—almost five hundred marks,” one man said. “Idiots.”
“Where do you think they’re hiding? Looks like there’s at least one girl among them.”
I swallowed.
“Who cares? We’ve got more marks here than a girl would be worth. Let’s go before the others notice and try to split it with us.”
The boots thumped overhead and disappeared. We sat in the quiet darkness for hours, listening to the sound of crashing and shouting outside, until finally the sounds faded and didn’t return. My head ached from exhaustion and fear.
The lamp flicked on. Warm, yellow light flooded the small room and made my eyes hurt.
“Ruby.” Opal’s annoyed gaze searched me out in the light of the lamp. “Why didn’t you hide your things?”
“You think they took my money?” I rubbed my temple, my head throbbing too much to grasp the implications of my question.
“She’ll learn.” The merchant nearest me, an older man with a long beard, patted my shoulder. “Try the floorboards next time.” He winked. “Not that that’s where I hide my stuff. We all have our methods.”
Opal climbed the stairs and opened the door, and we all filed upstairs. When I reached the hallway, everyone but the well-armed Badlander had dispersed.
I hovered in the hallway, confused and overwhelmed and not at all ready to face whatever I would find in my room.
“Go back to bed, Ruby,” Auntie said. “You can worry in the morning.”
I climbed three flights of stairs and stopped, dismayed at the sight of my open door. I’d known they’d entered my room, but the feeling of violation made my skin crawl. I’d begun to feel oddly safe in the ramshackle, old villa, and now I was only just realizing how wrong I’d been.
Inside my room, the mattress was half off the bed, the quilts on the floor. I lifted the blankets and shook them out. My stipend envelope had been under the mattress, and it was nowhere in sight. I was penniless.
