Scholar's Plot (11 page)

Michael sighed, but evidently brothers came before knightly principles. He said nothing as I refolded the papers, and tucked them inside my vest since neither of us wore coats on this warm day. I would have left then — it was almost dark — but Michael led me down to the kitchen, and went to the compost pail that sat below the basin. I could smell the contents when he removed the lid, fresh and rotting at the same time. He reached in and pulled out a mass of damp brown gunk, then looked around helplessly for something to carry it in.

I went into the dining room and pulled a clean napkin from one of the drawers. It might stain the linen, but Hotchkiss wouldn’t care.

“Was the tea magica,” I asked, as Michael folded damp grounds into the cloth. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“No.” Michael could see magic, as well as feel it, so he’d know. “But there’s a scent to it that’s … off. I just… ’Tis not right, Fisk.”

Whether they’re related to magic or not — and I think they are, no matter what the scholars say — Gifts are quirky, vague, unpredictable … and they work. So I nodded, and was grateful that the slowly dampening napkin would end up in his pocket instead of mine.

“Come on,” I said. “It’s almost dark, and I want to return Peebles’ keys before we tackle the library.”

There were fewer students in the commons behind the library when we left Master Hotchkiss’ house, locking the door behind us and strolling off as insouciantly as we’d gone in. Since there was no longer enough light to read by only the debaters remained, almost invisible in their black coats, for ’twas finally turning cool. Their topic had shifted from natural science to whether Mistress Selina could be brought to notice Tommy’s attempts to court her, and most didn’t think the odds were in his favor.

Several windows in the library glowed faintly, proclaiming that a few scholars had lit lamps to finish up their work. So I made no objection when Fisk insisted that our next task was to return Mistress Peebles’ keys. We’d have to wait till the library was deserted before we broke in, since…

“Why would Professor Dayless set a scholar to keep us out of the library? Has she some reason to dislike Benton? He said nothing of it.”

“More likely she doesn’t like us,” Fisk said. “I did try to break into the tower last night, and you came back this morning, snooping around her precious project. Or it could be she’s just following the rules. You told her we were going there next, and most universities restrict access to their libraries.”

“If ’tis something to do with the project that got Benton framed,” I said, “she might have reason to fear our questions, and to keep us from the thesis as well.”

“Possibly. But then you have to explain why, as head of the project, she brought Benton into it in the first place. And why she went to the trouble and considerable risk of framing him. All she had to do to get rid of him was tell him his services were no longer needed — which seems to have been true, anyway — and let him go back to his history. Not to mention why she’d kill Hotchkiss.”

Talking about our rival theories reminded Fisk of our quarrel, and his voice grew cooler as he spoke. Involved in the puzzle of Hotchkiss’ death, we’d fallen into the familiar pattern of working together, playing off each other’s ideas.

But by the terms of our agreement, ’twas my turn to lead the investigation now.

“I think we’ll find that whoever killed Hotchkiss also bribed him to proclaim Benton a cheat, to take him from the project,” I said. “A man who’d stoop to blackmail would also take a bribe.”

“You really think a blackmailer is going to be murdered by someone who wasn’t his victim?”

“We haven’t established for certain that he was a blackmailer,” I pointed out. Though ’twas hard to think what else that list of payments might represent.

“We haven’t established for certain that old thesis is a forgery, either,” Fisk retorted, then scowled when he found himself walking down the logical trail
I
wanted to follow.

“Then we’d best do that next, hadn’t we?” I said. “I’m so glad you agree.”

Returning Mistress Peebles’ keys was even easier than taking them had been, since the key to her office was also on her key ring. Fisk hesitated a moment before putting it back in the drawer, and I could understand why — that ring held over a score of keys, which would probably admit us to most of the buildings on the campus, including the tower. But there was no way for us to keep it without her noticing it had gone missing, probably within a day. And we still had the half dozen keys we’d found in Hotchkiss’ desk to let us into the library, at least.

By the time we left the building that held the university’s offices there were even fewer people on the paths, and the shadows between the phosphor lamps were deepening.

’Twas now late enough that the library might be deserted, and ’twas still early enough that the lamp we’d have to light would be taken for that of a hard-working scholar. We even had keys, which would probably open the library door. In short, ’twas the perfect moment to set about my part of the investigation.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when I saw the pale light of a phosphor lamp on the path ahead of us turn lavender, and then bright orange. We were too far away to make out the features of the thin man gazing up at it, but he didn’t seem alarmed. On the other hand, phosphor light doesn’t change color. Fisk and I both stopped to stare.

“Mayhap some scholar’s experiment?” I said.

The light turned blue and the thin man — who wasn’t wearing a scholar’s coat — began to dance an awkward, high-kneed jig.

Fisk swore under his breath and began to run.

I followed, and though I hadn’t recognized him, I wasn’t surprised when I reached the light and found Fisk clutching the mad jeweler’s arm.

“How under two moons did you get out?” Fisk demanded.

“The night lifted her skirts to me, the wicked hussy. So I had to step up, didn’t I? Up to the sill, not my will. Defenestrated, they call it. But I stepped up like a man. Pork the whole night, I will.”

A feverish excitement shone in his face — but now that he was distracted from it, the phosphor light resumed its normal silver-green glow.

On the other hand, anyone who’d seen that rainbow display was bound to investigate.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” I said, taking the man’s other arm. “Where do we…?”

I started to pull him down the path toward the library, and saw three young scholars pass through the light of another lamp, hurrying in our direction.

We weren’t the only ones who’d seen.

“Hang it!” Fisk turned, dragging the jeweler in the opposite direction. “I don’t want him caught — they’ll lock him up even tighter.”

We had reached the darkest part of the walk, between two lamps. I pulled Fisk and the jeweler off the path.

“You hide him,” I said. “I’ll draw them off.”

I turned to check on the scholars — whom I couldn’t see at the moment, for they too were between lamps. But if I couldn’t see them, they probably couldn’t see Fisk and jeweler. Particularly if I gave them something else to look at, and in one way young men resemble cats — if something runs, they tend to chase it.

I sprinted under the next lamp and heard a shout go up behind me. I too am a young man, and my heart leapt with the thrill of the chase. I kept to the path for some time, letting them see me as the circles of light flowed toward me and fell away. I’d hoped to simply outrun them — Benton couldn’t keep up with any of 
us in a footrace — but these scholars evidently kept themselves in better shape than my brother had. If anything they were gaining on me.

At least none of them were members of the scholar’s guard, for no whistle sounded. I might be able to outlast them … but I also might not.

My first thought, when I saw another scholar walking through the light ahead of me, was fear that he might join the chase. I didn’t want to lose them too swiftly, but when I saw him I almost swerved aside.

My second thought was that if my magic worked as well as the jeweler’s I could have turned the light over his head pink, and set them after him — he was even in shirtsleeves like myself, with his coat thrown over his arm. But magic didn’t answer my command.

On the other hand, did it have to?

I summoned up my reserves and put on a bit more speed, increasing the distance between me and the hunters on my heels. I heard one of them gasp for his friends to go on, and glancing back saw him stop and bend forward, catching his breath while his more fit companions ran on.

The man in front of me was walking while I ran. I gained ground on him quickly, marking the intervals when he passed in and out of the light.

I caught him in the deepest shadow, and offered a breathless apology as I yanked his coat away, sending books and notes flying. His curses followed me as I raced onward.

My pursuers encountered him — indeed, judging by the shouting one of them almost ran over him as he knelt to pick up his fallen books.

But unless they stopped to talk to him, in which case I’d escape easily, they had no way to know that I now possessed the means to change my appearance. All I needed was another scholar in his shirt sleeves — and surely few would wear a jacket on a night this warm.

There was no one in sight at the moment so I put my mind to running, turning corners occasionally, but establishing a pattern of keeping to the lighted paths. I only prayed that the next people I encountered wouldn’t be a troop of that accursed scholar’s guard.

I gained more distance as they began to tire, but they clung to my trail with dogged determination and I was beginning to run short of breath myself.

I came up on yet another cross path, and off to my left saw a scholar walking away from me … and he too carried his coat over his arm!

I turned onto the leftward path, right under a tall lamp, and then put on the best burst of speed my laboring lungs could supply while I dragged the dark coat over my betraying white sleeves. I passed just one building, then in the darkness between the lamps I swerved off the path, falling into a walk moments before I reckoned they’d come into view.

’Twas an absurdly simple trick — but even if they noticed me walking away from the path, they should at least be forced to split up, uncertain which of us to chase.

I heard one of them call out as they rounded the corner, but he was so breathless I couldn’t understand what he said. Fisk has trained me well enough that I didn’t look back, but every particle of my being focused on the sound of their footfalls on the gravel as they ran nearer, nearer … and right on down the path, after my decoy.

I took to my heels as soon as they were out of sight once more, for they’d soon catch up with a man who wasn’t running and learn their mistake. Now, I only needed to gain a bit of distance before I found a place to hide.

In the yard between four buildings, an ornamental garden that centered on a small fountain looked wonderfully inviting — it had benches to hide behind, flowerbeds, and even some sculpted topiaries.

I immediately turned toward the far less notable junipers that clustered beside the buildings, diving into the thickest clump I could find and burrowing in like a rabbit escaping the fox. The tangled woody stems were a bruising maze, but the branches were thick — and prickly enough to discourage casual investigation.

To refrain from hiding in the obvious place is a good trick for eluding pursuit. An even better trick is to be willing to do something your pursuers won’t.

I was near the center of the bush when they burst around the corner, and immediately went still. In my stolen black coat I must be all but invisible, and the branches had twisted my face away from them. I closed my eyes and breathed through my mouth, as quietly as I could — though they were puffing so loud they probably couldn’t have heard anything softer than a shout.

“Do you see him? If he was the guy in the coat, he must have come this way.”

“I don’t see anyone. I didn’t see anyone in a coat, either. Are you planning to run around tackling everyone on campus? Because the last one almost took a swing at me.”

“We both saw him take that path,” the other one said. “If he wasn’t ahead of us then he must have turned off, and I did see someone walking this way. Look behind that fountain, will you? And make it quick. He may be getting away.”

“I hate to be the one to break the news, but he’s
gotten
away.” The scholar was walking around the fountain as he spoke. “I don’t know why I’m running after whoever it is, anyway.
I’m
not an alchemist.”

“Well, I am, and I want to know what he was doing with that lamp! It had to be a chemical … but did he put it on the phosphor moss? Into the water? Or if it was some sort of smoke or gas, how did he direct and concentrate it so quickly?”