“A magister’s wand?”
“Very good.” Taro scribbled a bit of nonsense on the back of Clyde’s hand. “You see, I’m a magister. And that girl your boss took? She’s my little sister.”
Clyde’s eyes widened. “We didn’t—"
Taro shushed him. “This mark on your hand is a special kind of magic. If you move more than ten feet from me at any time, it’ll drop you stone dead. Please, Clyde, if you feel like testing it out, go ahead and run.” Taro gave him a sinister grin. “Otherwise, you’re going to take me to Rashkal.”
Clyde walked so close to Taro, it must’ve looked a bit strange to the casual observer. The Downings was a mile south, along what looked like the end of the underground. Here, huge dripping pipes and culverts drained into a mushy river below. It wasn’t sewage or storm water, it looked more like an oily runoff from the Magisterium.
This area was much less populated than the rest of the Lower City. There were no crowds here and certainly no shops. The only people in this place were the drunkards and destitute. Many had turned boxes and crates into makeshift homes and burned trash for warmth. Others weren’t so lucky and slept directly on the icy ground.
Clyde pointed toward a rusty culvert with the bars filed off. Water was trickling out of it into the oily river. “That’s it.”
They climbed into the culvert and continued for a dozen yards, down a drainpipe with an inch of oily water at the bottom.
Two boys, one of which was older than Taro, waited at the end of the pipe. They sat by a lantern, throwing darts at a wooden plank. The plank was nailed to a large wooden barrel, and fourteen other barrels lined the small room. One of them was overturned, and red liquid spilled out of it and mixed with the water at the bottom of the culvert.
“Who’s your friend?” the older one said, just missing the drawn-on circle with the number twenty scratched into it.
“He’s lookin’ for work,” Clyde said. He was fairly convincing, considering the circumstances.
“Might wanna bring him back tomorrow. Rashkal’s busy with that Magisterium girl.” The boy had a grin that made Taro want to bash his face in. “She’s a feisty one.”
“What did she do?” Taro asked, trying to summon the strength not to punch the kid’s teeth out.
“Been workin’ in our territory. Her bein’ in the Magisterium’s just a bonus. Rashkal wanted her snuffed, but that Sikes kid’s gone squealing to the boss.” He threw another dart, totally missing the board. “If you bother him, it’s your funeral.”
Taro motioned for Clyde to continue into a cramped three-foot-wide pipe. Nima’s muffled whimpering and Rashkal’s shouting came from the end.
Clyde stopped in his tracks. “I did what you asked, can I please go?”
Taro took the boy’s hand and crossed out the symbol with an x. “I don’t want to see you again. Ever. Is that understood?”
The boy nodded.
Clyde bolted, and Taro peeked around the hallway bend into the next room. It was filled with stacks of more barrels and broken pieces of furniture. Nima was tied and gagged in the corner.
“I said shut up!” Rashkal hurled a chair leg into a pile just below an air vent. “Freezin’ my ass off is bad enough without your squealin’.” He tried, in vain, to light the treated wood, and became increasingly angry that it wasn’t working.
Nima got to her feet, but Rashkal pushed her down with one boot to her back. He grabbed a splintered piece of wood and pressed it to her neck. “Feel that? One more squeak and I’ll bleed that pretty neck dry. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?”
Just as Taro was going to run in, he heard a familiar voice from the entrance on the other side of the chamber.
“Have some self-control.” It was Mr. Mathan. He shook the ashes of his cigar onto the floor and traced his glance across the room.
Rashkal revealed his long, white teeth. “Boss man.”
“This is what you missed your check-in for? Beating on a little girl?”
“She was working in my territory, not to mention costing me a great deal of money with—”
Mathan hushed him like one hushes a dog. “I couldn’t possibly bring myself to care less. Drawing attention to yourself in this way jeopardizes the entire operation.”
Mathan knelt beside Nima and pulled the sack off her head. When he saw who she was, the cigar fell out of his mouth. Nima’s battered, tear-soaked eyes peered up at him.
Mathan struck Rashkal so hard, one of his teeth flew out. “Idiot.” He struck him again. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Rashkal wiped the blood from his chin. “It’s just some girl.”
“She’s one of our tickets into the Magisterium,” Mathan said, slowly and deliberately. “Her brother’s going to find out about this.” Mathan put his hand to his mouth. “He’ll probably kill you. And if Vexis finds out about this, she’ll kill us both.”
Rashkal’s ears perked up. “Vexis?”
Mathan pulled the gag off Nima. “You have no idea how much I regret what Rashkal has done to you.” His eyes bore into Rashkal. “You will return her to her brother and beg forgiveness.”
Mathan looked like he had a headache and said he was going to get some fresh air.
When he was out of earshot, Rashkal knelt beside Nima. “It’s a shame. We were becoming such good friends.” He stuck his calloused tongue out and licked her cheek.
Taro’s vision went red, and every muscle in his body clenched. His templar flared, and he brought his fist down onto Rashkal’s body like a hammer. The bones in the man’s shoulder snapped like dry twigs, and Taro continued whaling on him, punctuating every word he spoke with his fist.
“Don’t. Ever. Touch. My. Sister.”
Nima’s shaky voice caught his ear, despite his anger. “You’re going to kill him!”
Somehow, Taro was able to stop himself. Rashkal’s jaw was broken, his face was puffy and red. Taro was surprised he hadn’t knocked his head clean off.
Taro tossed the despicable man aside and he pulled Nima in for a hug. “He deserves it.”
Mathan had been observing, and, while Taro tended to Nima, he lit a new cigar and sauntered over to Rashkal. The man reached toward Mathan and begged for help. Mathan answered by pressing the sole of his shoe into Rashkal’s neck.
“You’re a liability, my greasy friend,” Mathan said calmly.
While Rashkal writhed and choked on the floor, Mathan looked positively indifferent to his suffering. Rashkal choked and struggled, until he was still.
Mathan glanced at a horrified Taro. “Walk with me.”
They continued to where Mathan had entered from. It led to a ladder so tall, it must’ve led to the surface. Around the ladder were more numbered barrels and shelves of Rashkal’s merchandise: books (of course), jewelry, statues, purses—anything his boys could steal. He was much like Mr. Boors in that regard, but even Boors wouldn’t harm a little girl. Mathan sat on a chair beside a counting table.
“That was impressive, what you did to Rashkal,” Mathan said. “Do you regret it?”
Taro thought for a moment. “No.”
“Good. There’s no shortage of bad men in this world. You shouldn’t feel bad about ridding it of one of them.”
Taro sat on the cold floor. “Sir, I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said, sounding a like child.
Mathan rapped his hands on the counting table. “Then go home.”
“You’d let me?”
“After what happened to your sister, I wouldn’t blame you. And to be perfectly honest, if Vexis finds out, she’d hold me responsible.” Mathan took a flask from his pocket and took a swig. “Nevertheless, I would ask you to stay of your own free will.”
“Why?”
“You know your parents don’t have much time. What if I told you there was a way to cure them?”
“There’s no cure. The alchemist said—”
“By now, you’ve heard of the Arclight. It can cure most any disease.”
“The magisters stuck their crude tools into a symphony of godly precision and broke it. Like a group of cavemen, trying to disassemble an engine. It could heal Talthis and Era. Unfortunately, the Magisterium threw the one person who could fix it into prison.”
Taro tilted his head. “Vexis. This is why you brought me here? Why didn’t you just tell me at the beginning?”
“Rule number three, lad. Information is always on a need-to-know basis.” He held out his hand. “Your parents’ wellness in exchange for your voluntary cooperation.”
“What exactly do I need to do?”
“We’re planning a bit of a distraction for the Magisterium. The specifics aren’t important, but when it happens, you’ll be in a position to slip into Vexis’ cell and let her out.”
Taro thought long and hard. “If the magisters found out, they’d—”
“Kill you, most likely. As I said, I won’t force you, and I won’t lie. Even with all of our planning, it’s a long shot. What do you say?”
Taro thought of his family for a long moment, before speaking. “On one condition.”
“What would that be?”
“Take Nima back to Ashwick.”
Mathan rubbed his chin. “She won’t like that.”
“I know.”
“I suppose the plan can proceed with just you and Mr. Sikes, but there will be little room for error. If you fail...”
“I won’t fail,” Taro said, more confidently than he felt. “Take her back, and I’ll do anything you ask. By force, if you have to.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Nima shouted. Taro figured she’d been listening for a while. She pushed Taro against the chest. “You don’t get to decide where I go or what I do.”
“I can’t focus if I’m constantly worried about you. You’re put in danger every day: in class, in Lower. And who knows what the trial’s going to bring.”
“You have no right to make that decision for me.”
“I have every right.” Taro was done with her. He turned his attention back to Mathan. “Well?”
Mathan crossed his fingers across his stomach and leaned back in his chair. “It’s a deal.”
Before they parted ways, Taro had the good sense to ask Mathan about his tuition. Mathan beat around the bush, but the ultimate answer was no.
“You paid Sikes’ tuition,” Taro said.
He patted Taro on the side. “Trust me, you don’t want that kind of help.” If Mathan had a reason, he wasn’t talking.
Taro headed back to the Magisterium without so much as a goodbye to Nima. She was furious and didn’t even want to look at him. He couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. He knew it was selfish, but at that point, he didn’t care. She was his little sister, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.
Chapter Seventeen
Cheaters Prosper
The frigid air in the Magisterium courtyard helped clear Taro’s headache. He paced back and forth amongst the frozen fountains and the dead trees, trying to reconcile what he had done. When he sat on a park bench, Aris appeared beside him. He waited idly for Taro to speak first.
“I sent Nima home,” Taro said.
“I’m surprised Victor allowed that,” Aris said.
“He said the Arclight could heal my parents. They want to fix it. Is that true?”
Aris stood with his hands clasped behind him. He murmured to himself in confusion. “The Arclight? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Arclight is benign. Its purpose was to heal and to create. What good would that do him and Vexis?”
“Maybe they’re sincere.”
Aris scoffed and poked Taro on the forehead. “Don’t tell me you’re that naïve. Obviously, they’re using you, but why?”
“If there’s even a chance my mom and dad could get better, I have to try. I have to make it through that trial.”
“There are recruits far more gifted than yourself that have been trying for years.”
“Maybe you could teach me a few spells that would help.”
“Perhaps. But cheating would improve your odds dramatically. That’s right up your alley, isn’t it?”
There was no point in arguing. “What do you have in mind?”
“I made some discreet inquiries. I found that your Imperator has an office below the Librarium. If you can get inside, I’d wager you’ll be able to learn more about the trial down there.”
“If I can get inside.”
“Now that’s something I can help you with.” Aris untied a small sack and pulled out a copper cylinder with two prongs on the end. “Find her office and touch this to the lock.”
Taro raised an eyebrow. “You just carry this with you?”
“It comes in handy. It can break most door enchantments.”
“Most. And if it can’t break hers?”
“You’ll get a little nap.”
Between the Sun King’s palace and the Magisterium, just inside the Midway, was the circular building that housed the Librarium.
The area between the tower and the Librarium was crawling with warders. A large number of homeless people were on the other side of the courtyard fence, as if they were waiting for something. Soon, two men hauled out surplus food from the mess hall and homeless lined up to receive their bread crusts and half-eaten cheese. Taro tried not to stare.
Each of the Librarium’s seven walls were lined with bookshelves three stories high, and people climbed fifteen-foot ladders to reach the higher shelves. The ceiling was glass (as most Endran buildings were) and completely frosted over. The skeletons of four winged beasts overlooked fifty tables of studying students.
Taro scanned the room, trying to see if Moira was around. Either it was her off-hour, or she was busy helping someone. Taro found Ross’ workshop, tucked away beside a reading alcove, far in the back. He pretended to browse the bookshelf nearby. When he was confident he was clear, he pressed the metal cylinder to the keyhole and braced himself.
The door clicked open harmlessly.
Taro descended into the dank underground. He got the impression that Ross didn’t get many visitors down here. The stairs ended right in the middle of a large, multi-layered room with several workbenches covered in brass pipes, cogs, and spanners. He couldn’t get two feet without tripping on a screwdriver or flywheel. On the far wall, buried under a mountain of books, was Ross’ desk.
He rummaged through papers and through boxes, not quite sure what he was looking for. He found diagrams of new airship engines and newspapers.
He opened one of her desk drawers and found ledgers of new recruits going back two years, each with a pass or fail scribbled beside their name. The ledger for the current year was blank, but alongside it was a map with a large mark indicating Endra Edûn and a smaller one labeled South Waystation. Clipped to this were diagrams of an airship called the Titan. Taro recognized this as the ship Mr. Crissom had served aboard.
The door upstairs rattled, and the top stair creaked. Taro bolted behind one of the mountains of junk and peeked from the side as she descended. It was Magister Ross, and she looked positively miserable.
She took a deep breath. “Pull it together,” she said out loud, and threw her cloak onto her desk chair.
Taro’s breathing stopped for a moment. He’d forgotten to put the ledger back in the drawer. Ross picked it up and glanced around the room; her eyes were like two searchlights, scanning to see if anything else was amiss.
Footsteps creaked toward the stairs, toward her airship models, and finally just a few feet away from where he was hiding. To his relief, there was a knock at the door.
“Amelia,” a muffled voice called from the other side.
“Who is it?” Ross groaned as she climbed the stairs and opened the door.
Taro heard the door open. “Your Majesty,” Ross said.
“May I come in?” the Sun
King said.
“Of course, watch your step.” Ross helped him down the stairs. The Sun King was wearing a tattered brown robe over his fine clothing.
“Your guards are going to be furious,” Ross said.
“They often are.” He patted her cheek. “I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you on your advancement to Imperator. I only wish it were under better circumstances.”
The Sun King looked for a place to sit and settled on the only part of a desk not covered in junk. “We’d often take council from each other.”
“Magister Briggs was a great man. I’ll do my best to live up to his legacy.”
The Sun King coughed, hard, into his hand. “I can’t ask for more than that.”
“Are you ill?” Ross said.
“It’s just the dust.” He cleared his throat.
“I apologize for the state of my workshop.”
“I’ve come to learn that magisters are an unorganized lot. I long ago stopped trying to manage it.” The Sun King coughed again. He looked up, and Ross was fiddling nervously with her glasses. “Something’s on your mind.”
“I just don’t believe it. A first-year artificer kill a magister? It’s absurd.”
“I know it’s hard to accept.”
“It’s not just hard. It’s impossible. I’ve decided to keep Vexis alive for a while longer, for questioning.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” the Sun King said.
“I must insist. She knows something, and I have to find out what it is.”
The Sun King tried to stand, but stumbled. Ross caught him just in time. “Come, I’ll escort you back to the palace.”
“I make it a point to never turn down the company of a lady.” He took Ross’ arm, and they ascended the steps. “I’m looking forward to this year’s trial.”
“Your daughter’s been incredibly helpful with designing it. I swear, Kyra might have her eyes on my job one day, if I’m not careful.”
Chapter Eighteen
A Lesson in Suffering
Magister Ross hated the Blocks: the dank, putrid smell; the mice, scurrying across the floor; the water, dripping from the moldy walls and ceiling. She descended the circular stairwell, like a deep-sea diver growing accustomed to crushing water. Two warders awaited her at the bottom.
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