by Guy Antibes
“Then it is hopeless. If everyone is wrong, how can you make sense of what you write?”
“Because it isn’t all wrong,” Sam said. He was still coming to grips about the details of his methodology. What he had been doing in Baskin needed some more structure, he could see, after his enlightenment.
“You are a crazy Toraltian,” she said, but Sam knew the girl better and just smiled as she left him to warm up. It was time he did the same.
Sam worked with a more advanced student that day. He tried to think about his positions and his strategy more when he fought, but he lost too easily. He sat down with his notebook and documented that too much thinking wasn’t a good thing in fencing. He would have to give up trying to remember what he did because his actions and reactions ended up being too slow. Sam smiled as he wrote that new insight down.
His next opponent didn’t know why Sam thrashed him so soundly, but Sam did, and he hurried to get cleaned up in time for his Vaarekian literature class with Professor Drak. As he listened to Professor Drak talk about the stories behind the words, Sam’s new perspective applied to literature, as well. What was the message the author was trying to get across? What made each element of the story cohesive? He walked up to the professor after the class to tell him of his personal discovery.
“Some works have an overarching theme, and some don’t,” Drak said. “Your insight is interesting, but everything isn’t always connected together. That is the fact in literature, fencing, snooping, and even history. Unrelated facts, I hate to tell you, often remain unrelated.”
“There has to be a link somewhere,” Sam said.
Drak laughed. “There is. Facts are part of the fabric of life. You were right about how history is fixed once it happens. It is like putting objects in a pollen matrix. The matrix itself links unrelated objects to each other, but it is just a matrix, a container of events.”
“So am I wrong?” Sam said feeling rather deflated that Drak had attacked his marvelous insight.
“No. Since you put your insight into snooping terms, what did you do with a fact that is found to be useless in one of your Baskin investigations?”
“I put a line through it in my notebook,” Sam said. He understood.
“Don’t cast aside your discovery, just put it in perspective. As a snoop, and as a historian, look for linkages and keep an eye open for them. Just don’t expect them to exist everywhere.”
Sam felt embarrassed about his enthusiasm. “I’m sorry I took up your time,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry. I am a teacher, Sam, and your advisor. You had an inspiring insight grab and shake you. That is a good thing. I hope I just gave you a little perspective. If you have other bright ideas, I’d be happy if you would share them with me. Perhaps we can find some undiscovered linkages together that you wouldn’t have caught on your own.”
Sam nodded. “Perspective. University is different than compulsory education in Cherryton. There was less call for perspective. I’m still going to document fighting styles and opponents’ dueling characteristics.”
“You started doing that on your own?”
“Linkages. That was my thinking. People doing things over and over under different conditions.”
Drak grinned. “We teach that after you have had more training. I have another class. Show me your notes another time.”
The professor’s reaction to Sam’s notes was encouraging and helped cancel out the awkwardness of his new look on things being so easily criticized.
~
Despite Professor Drak’s dampening comments, Sam eagerly sought out linkages in as much as he could and found that he was moving quickly through most of his classes. He was sitting at his desk going through a book on wheels and suspensions for his Mechanical Sciences class when a roommate entered through the open door.
The young man looked over Sam’s shoulder. “Is that my book?” he said accusingly.
Sam shook his head. “No, it isn’t. Mine is made out of real paper, not pollen.”
“Oh, mine was a pollen text,” the young man said, disappointment plain on his face.
Why?”
“Someone stole mine, and no one on our floor has it. You were my last hope. I think there is a book thief in the dorms.”
The young man was about to leave, but Sam asked him to sit down. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? I used to be an investigator.”
“You? Are you even sixteen?”
“A month past,” Sam said. “I was an apprentice for a year at the Baskin Royal Constabulary. Maybe we can find your book between us.”
The boy shrugged. “I’m Pal Wanker, a Third Year. You are Sam Smith from Toraltia, right?”
Sam was surprised that Pal knew his name.
“I had it when I left class this morning,” Pal said. “I went to the library, and it could have been stolen at any time after that. I didn’t notice until I tried to pull it out of my bag to do homework.”
“Did you go anyplace else other than the library?”
“I ate lunch in the commissary.”
“Was there any time when you left your book bag or the book alone and unattended?”
Pal smiled. “You do sound like a snoop. Library and Commissary, and I left my bag in my room when I washed up after classes.”
Sam wrote down Pal’s information. He couldn’t see how he’d be able to find the thief if there were three opportunities without a lot of legwork and a lot of luck.
“I’m ready for a break. Let’s go to the library and commissary to see if someone reported a missing book,” Sam said.
“That sounds good to me,” Pal said.
They walked through a light rain to the library, the farthest from the dormitory. Pal, it seemed, was a runner on the athletics team and was impressed that Sam was a Level One student in Professor Grott’s fencing class.
“Level Ones invariably make it onto the university’s dueling squads. There are three, you know.”
Sam smiled. “I didn’t know. I have been so intent on improving, I never asked about what happens after the course.”
“The three squads are graded by ability. You start on the lowest team and work your way up. Once you begin, you are put on the school’s fencing list, and students climb up and down the list, based on dueling results, practices, and evaluations by dueling judges after each match. The judges keep the leveling more honest.”
“Why haven’t I been told this?” Sam asked.
“The Dueling season doesn’t start for a few months. I don’t know exactly when,” Pal said. “Any other questions that you should already know?”
Sam shrugged. “I’m new to Tolloy, so who do we duel against? There isn’t another university in the city.”
“Ah, but there are dueling clubs, and some of the trades sponsor teams. Not all fill teams at all three levels, but there are probably twenty dueling organizations. Other than pre-arranged duels between clubs, there are contests at the beginning, middle, and end of the season where duelists compete against every other club. After that, there are tournaments where the professional duelists compete, with one open tournament a year where anyone can participate.”
Sam shook his head. Here he was so proud of his finding the larger picture, and he hadn’t thought to ask about why others were in the dueling class. He was probably the only Level One student that had no idea why Professor Grott was so intense about training his students.
They reached the library. Sam had been inside a few times on homework assignments, but it wasn’t a second home to him like it was for other students.
“This was where I sat,” Pal said.
Both of them walked around and looked under tables and on chairs, but they didn’t find any books. Sam walked over to the front desk. “Did anyone bring a lost book to you today?”
“Yes, they did,” the older student said. He retrieved a book.
“That isn’t it.” Pal looked dejected.
“Do other people lose books in the library?�
�� Sam asked, thinking a little bigger, and wondering if there were people who might take books and sell them.
“All the time,” the student said, rolling his eyes. “You would think there was a book monster gobbling up all the texts.”
Sam thanked him and led Pal out of the library. The rain had stopped, but a mist had taken its place. It was a cool walk back to the south side of the university and to the commissary. They ducked inside to warm up a bit.
Sam asked the same question to the lady who checked the identity disks that students used for the small commissary. “Has anyone brought a textbook to you today?” Sam asked.
The woman shook her head. “It happens occasionally, but not today. I get more complaints for missing books.”
“More this term than in others?” Sam asked.
“Now that you mention it, I think it has been more.”
Sam pressed his lips together while Pal retrieved two mugs of hot tea. They sat at a table.
“No luck?” Pal asked.
“It depends on what you want to know. Something is going on. I think your book was stolen in the library or in here. A book thief could be at work, or you left your book lying around, and someone took it. Did you write your name inside?”
Pal shook his head. “We aren’t supposed to write in the books if we want to sell them after the class ends.”
“You don’t keep the books?”
“Some do, but most get sold. The better the condition, the more money I get to put toward next term’s books.”
Sam thought for a moment. “So if I wanted to make money, I could sell used textbooks?”
“If they are really old, the pollen pages may be deteriorating, but if it is a term or two old, then I suppose I could make something off mine. Not enough to live on, though,” Pal said.
“What if there was an organized gang stealing books? Could they make easy money?”
Pal furrowed his brows. “You mean thieves?”
“I mean thieves.”
“You don’t think small, do you?”
“Do you want to put some bait out and see if we can catch some thieving fish?”
“Is that what snoops do?”
Sam smiled and nodded. “It isn’t as fascinating work as it sounds, since snoops have to be patient, very patient.”
“Did you have to wait for hours for something to happen?”
“I did. I can always bring a book with me. We can leave a new book on a table in the library in plain sight and see if anyone takes it.”
“I don’t want to miss any of my classes, but if it is this soggy tomorrow, I won’t be able to train after school.”
“Then after school. We can give it a couple of hours. I’ll have to buy a new book, a new bag, and put a few of my notebooks in the bag to make it look like someone has left their study materials out for a few minutes.”
“Is that all you have to do?”
“It is that or keep an eye on every person in the library. A trap is easier. You can get some homework done while we wait.”
“Then let's go to the bookstore just before we go to the library, if you’ll let me borrow your Mechanical Science text tonight?”
I can do that,” Sam said.
Chapter Six
~
S words weren’t worn around campus, as a rule, but Sam buckled his wand to his side as he went out with Pal to the bookstore next to the library. Sam put a few notebooks and a few pencils in the bag and bought a new Mechanical Science text with pollen pages for Pal, who wasn’t as well off as Sam, he admitted. He also bought two pollen texts that were virtually unreadable for a small fraction of the price. Three-quarters of the books were used, Sam noticed.
“Where do you get the used textbooks?” Sam asked. “I am a First Year and didn’t know we could sell texts back.”
The clerk shrugged. “I don’t do the buying, only the selling. You’ll have to ask Morlyn Poxter, but he won’t be in today.”
“Perhaps I’ll come back another time,” Sam said, and then left for the library.
Sam arranged the spot they had chosen in the line of sight from another table they would share a distance away. It looked right to Sam, and Pal agreed, so they retreated to their table. They agreed to switch off facing the bait.
Every half hour, one of them would sit at the bait table for a few minutes and re-arrange the bait. Nothing happened for two hours.
Pal yawned. “This is a waste of time. You say snoops do this kind of thing all the time?”
“Not everything comes easy,” Sam said, but he kept his eyes on the bait, and watched as an older student bumped into the table, and when he straightened up, the textbook had been lifted, and the two old pollen textbooks remained. It was just like what happened to Pal.
“There he goes,” Sam said. “Grab everything, and I’ll meet you back at the dorm. I have someone to follow.”
Sam tossed his cap and robe on the table and put on his coat before walking into a drizzly evening. The student wasn’t to be found, but whoever stole the textbook might have shed his robe just like Sam did. He saw a figure wearing a tan coat and carrying a bag or a case fading into the mist. He ran toward him, staying away from lanterns barely lighting the way in the dim weather.
Sam caught up enough to the man to see him more clearly. The man looked back, but Sam would appear as a dark blob in the gloom. He had followed people often enough for Dickey Nail in Baskin.
The man approached the East Gate of the university and disappeared under the arch. Sam could see the light on the other side of the gate and suspected the man he followed had slipped into a doorway or an alcove.
Sam kept in the darkness and slowly approached. A female student, with a cloak over her robe, intersected with him from a side path.
“Are you going out the East Gate?” Sam asked.
Her face took on an indignant look. “And if I am?”
“I just wanted to tell you that I am, too. I didn’t want you to think I am following you.”
She snorted. “Should I thank you for the warning?”
Sam shook his head. “No thanks needed.” He gave her a smile and walked closer to her, but not too close.
When they reached the arch, Sam said, “I didn’t mean for you to get so angry.”
“Angry?” She stopped under the gate. Sam peered into the gloom and saw the tan-coat standing in the darkness. “I find your behavior intolerable. Please leave me alone.”
Sam took a step back and hung his head. “Of course.”
She huffed and continued on. Sam followed her, but then she looked back. He stopped to watch her continue on. The tan-coated man passed him as he resumed his journey with his stolen goods. Sam wondered how many textbooks were in the battered leather satchel he carried.
He was about to follow his suspect at a discreet distance when two constables accosted him, along with the girl.
“He is the man who approached me,” she said, pointing at Sam.
The two constables stopped Sam who tried to follow his target. “Stop right there, young man,” the constable said.
Sam saw the tan-coat disappear into the darkness. He sighed. “Yes, constable.”
“You were harassing this student?”
“All for a good cause,” Sam said. He furiously tried to make up a story in his mind. “My dormitory mate bet me that I could walk under the East Gate with her.”
“Why me?” she asked.
“You walked past us,” Sam said. “I’m sorry if I bothered you. I was following you to apologize, since I won the bet.”
“That is a childish prank,” one of the constables said.
“I’m sixteen. Don’t teenagers do such things?” Sam asked.
“Don’t they now?” one of the constables said to the other. He looked at the student.
“Will you accept his apology?”
She looked Sam in the eye, but then her expression softened. “I suppose so. Don’t follow me again!” She turned to the constables. “I’
m sorry to have bothered you.”
Both men smiled. “No problem. Just go your separate ways.”
The girl turned and walked to a barrel with pollen umbrellas and stepped out into the evening.
Sam stopped the two constables. “I wasn’t following her,” he said. “I was following a book thief, a man in a tan coat.”
“Were you now? First, you are hustling women, then you are winning a bet with a roommate, and now you are a constable.”
“Snoop, actually. I apprenticed in Baskin in Toraltia. I do have a dormitory mate who had a book stolen. We set another book out as bait, and I think the man in the tan coat stole it.”
“Perhaps you should bring the matter of a stolen textbook in front of someone at the National Intelligence Agency,” one of the constables said dismissively.
Sam pulled out the constable’s token that he always took with him. “Here.”
The two men stepped under a lamp and looked it over, but looked puzzled. “It looks genuine,” they said.
“It is.”
“But it doesn’t mean a thing in Tolloy. You are a long, long way from Baskin. This badge doesn’t allow you to enforce Vaarekian law.”
“I was just following the man,” Sam said. He had already spent too much time with the constables, so the trail would be cold.
“You’d be better off going back inside, son,” a constable said. “We have real work to do.”
Sam nodded and headed back to the South Dormitory. His first encounter with the Tolloyan constabulary was markedly different from his experiences representing The Twisted Wind to other authorities during his voyage. But then, the street constables had treated him no better while he was in Baskin.
He stopped by the commissary before returning to his room and giving the disappointing news to Pal. Sam was tired, cold, wet, and hungry. He walked through the line, noting the fewer choices available after-hours, and grabbed enough food to satisfy his complaining stomach. He spotted Pal in the corner. It looked like he was just finishing his dinner.
Sam put his tray opposite Pal who looked up.
“Did you find him?”
“I did, but I had a little adventure along the way,” Sam said, and then related what happened under the East Gate arch.
