CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In the Maze

Oh, mercy of Heile, that was a big knife.

It lay only inches from Adon’s toes, on the near side of the curtain over the narrow door where he stood peeking. Had he made a terrible mistake bolting in here? Had the fighting Arissen seen him enter? Too late to worry about it now; he was already here. He could only follow the Headmaster’s rules as best he could, and that meant he couldn’t go back out.

He couldn’t stay here, though. That knife was staring at him. Its blade was broad, not quite straight, with a single sharp side that curved into a pointed tip. Deadly—and it made him imagine terrible things the fighting Arissen had intended. No, he should try to find his way to some Imbati. They could help him.

He turned his back on the crack of bright light and started into the dim, narrow corridor. There were delicious smells here. Brighter light came around a corner. He turned in through the doorway.

It was a kitchen, and very busy. He now stood amidst clouds of marvelous scent, surrounded by chopping and stirring and sizzling. The workers here were Household, wearing black suits and white aprons, and they worked in silence. Only two voices spoke, out of a speaker on the wall: one a stranger, and the other more familiar.

“I wonder where Falya has got to?” the familiar voice asked.

“Don’t worry, your Eminence, I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

Wait, was that the Eminence Herin? Talking to someone?

It felt acutely uncomfortable to be overhearing the Eminence’s dinner conversation, but he had to follow the Headmaster’s rules. Adon quietly leaned back against the wall beside the door so as not to be in the way, and waited to be noticed.

The Household was assembling food on three plates that they had arrayed on a metal table on the far wall, just below a long opening with a paneled curtain across it. Seared meat, and slivered mushrooms, berries and green nuts that must have been the first of the season.

His mouth started watering.

Then Nekantor’s Dexelin walked in the door beside him. The huge knife was in his hand.

Adon gasped.

Dexelin took one look at him and his eyes went wide. He hid the knife behind his back. “Young Master. What are you doing here? You can’t be here. Not now!”

“Please, help me,” Adon pleaded. “The Arissen were fighting, and I didn’t know what to do. Please don’t get me in trouble with the Headmaster.”

The stranger’s voice spoke again through the wall speaker. “Herin, if you wish, we could begin our planning for this week before Lady Falya returns.”

“That First Family Lady has no manners.” Herin’s voice was annoyed. “She came to cause trouble.”

“Oh, mercy,” said Dexelin. “Oh, mercy, there’s no time; I have to take care of this, first.” He found his way to a sink full of soapy water and sank the knife into it, washing its blade and handle.

“What are you doing?”

Dexelin pulled the dripping knife out and doused it in a neighboring sink of clear water, then wrapped it in a towel. He opened his coat and slid it awkwardly into an inside pocket. “I can’t have this in the equation.” He fastened his coat closed again.

“Equation?”

A sudden fit of coughing issued from the speaker, as if one of the men behind the curtain had inhaled some of his food.

Dexelin looked at him with pain in his face. “I don’t want this, young Master Adon. It’s just that I can’t stop it.”

“What?”

“Plist?” the Eminence’s voice cried. “Plist, what’s happening?”

Dexelin’s eyes filled with horror. “Oh, no . . .”

Suddenly, a huge voice roared, so loudly you could hear it through the speaker, through the curtain over the window, as if it could echo all the way to the heavens—and then came a sound, the worst sound in the entire world.

Zzap!

Shouts. Screams, cut off by—

Zzap! Zap-zap-zap! Zap!

“Gods help us!” cried Dexelin. “He’s shooting! Everybody out before he realizes we’re here!”

Every member of the Household team dropped their tools and ran. Adon stood frozen, breathless with terror. Then Dexelin’s hands grabbed him, lifted him—he found himself bent in half over the servant’s shoulder. He clutched at the Imbati’s arm, bouncing helplessly as Dexelin ran into the dark of the Maze.