image
image
image

Chapter 12 

image

“I feel like someone hung me upside down for an hour.” Whitt stole a glance over his shoulder to make sure Master Sibson was not within earshot. “My head is stuffed full of useless facts. I hate history.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Oskar had to laugh. The truth was, he enjoyed history and the lecture on the Godwars had fascinated him. He couldn’t see how anyone could resist the stories.

“It’s all the same: this god’s followers did this to that god’s followers, so they joined forces with another god’s followers and on and on and on.” Whitt sighed. “I’ll never keep all that useless information in my head.”

“It’s hardly useless. Think of all the things saikurs are called on to do that require understanding people’s values and traditions. How could you negotiate a peace treaty, for example, if you don’t know the history between the nations involved?” Oskar felt odd engaging in such a debate on only his second day of classes, but this was something he felt strongly about.

“Well said,” Dacio agreed. “I’m sure I’ve said similar things to our friend here.” He arched an eyebrow at Whitt. “But he doesn’t listen.”

“Fine. You two history lovers can help me study for the next exam. Or sit next to me so I can copy.” Whitt winked to show he was kidding. At least, that’s what Oskar hoped it meant.

They made their way along the dark corridor toward the classroom where Master Lepidus taught Alchemy. Oskar had seen the master from a distance, and he was quite a sight, with frizzy white hair that stuck out in all directions, and he walked like a dizzy hen. He wondered if the man’s teaching style was as eccentric as his appearance, but when he asked his friends, they just smiled.

The room was empty, save a group of three in the far corner: Agen, Dronn, and Shaw. Deep in conversation with his friends, Agen had his back to Oskar and the others, so he was unaware of them as they entered. That was fine with Oskar. He wasn’t afraid of Agen, as long as they weren’t dueling with swords, but he hated the way Agen grinned at him, clearly relishing the memory of yesterday’s combat class.

“After dinner in the hall that leads out to the combat grounds,” Agen whispered. “By the side door that leads into the back of the archives. You know—behind the tapestry of the two knights.”

Shaw cleared his throat and Agen snapped his head around. He shot Oskar an angry look and the three fell silent.

Wonderful, Oskar thought. The one time he was actually interested in something Agen had to say, and he interrupted it. Unlike the other classrooms he’d been in, this room did not have individual desks, but rows of long tables, and he and his friends chose seats on the second row.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered to Naseeb. “There’s a side door into the archives.”

“Agen’s not the most reliable source. Besides, the very day you announce you want to find a way into the archives, he lets something like that slip? That’s too great a coincidence for me.”

“I didn’t announce it. You’re the only person I told.”

“I’ll wager one of them overheard you and now they’re trying to wind you up.” With a wave of his hand, Naseeb silenced the retort Oskar was preparing. Master Lepidus had entered the room.

The wild-haired man didn’t look like Oskar’s mental image of a master, but the lesson was interesting and Lepidus clearly had a sharp mind. Oskar had been surprised to discover that, at the Gates, Alchemy consisted of much more than failed attempts to turn lead into gold. It also included herbs, potions, and what Lepidus called “chemistry.”

Today’s lesson was on the properties of Redroot. For once, Oskar’s rural upbringing was a positive. He correctly answered two questions, earning an approving nod from the master. The good feeling lasted until he volunteered that, when mixed with their grain, Redroot alleviated colic in cattle. Master Lepidus actually took a moment to write that down, but the laughter and derisive comments from the rest of the class made Oskar’s cheeks burn.

Magic, taught by master Zuhayr, kept his mind occupied for the entire hour as they learned a spell that caused a small ball of light to float in the air just above the palm of one’s hand. Casting a spell was much more than repeating the proper words; it had to be recited in exactly the right pitch and cadence and with a certain amount of focus. By the end of class, only Oskar, Dacio, and Agen had mastered it, though Whitt managed to set his roll of parchment on fire, earning him an evening with Oskar working in the kitchens.

When class was over, rather than return to their quarters, Oskar and Naseeb took a detour along the corridor that led to the combat grounds.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Naseeb insisted.

“Yes, you told me. I’m just curious if there’s even a door here.” He inspected the tapestries and found that several displayed two or more knights. “Keep a lookout for me.” Oskar ignored the dark-skinned boy’s sarcastic reply and started pulling tapestries away from the wall and checking behind them. His progress was interrupted several times by people heading out to or in from the combat ground. Each time, he and Naseeb fell into false conversation until they were alone again. It wasn’t until they reached the far end of the hall that he found something behind the last tapestry.

“There is a door here.” He stole a glance up and down the hall, and then tried the knob. It turned and the door gave way with a scraping sound, revealing a set of stairs that climbed up into the darkness. “It must lead up to the higher levels of the stacks,” he whispered, pulling the door shut and letting the tapestry fall back against the wall.

“Master Lang’s coming,” Naseeb whispered. They froze as the combat instructor entered the hall and fixed them with his steely gaze. “You come for extra sword instruction, Novit Clehn?”

“Ah, yes, that is, I came to ask if there might be a time I could come for instruction.” It was as good a lie as any to explain his presence here, and he did need the help.

“I can give you an hour after mealtime this evening.”

“I’m afraid I have to work in the kitchens.” Oskar looked down at his feet.

“Again? Not off to a good start, are you? Very well, then. Tomorrow after mealtime. That is, if you don’t land yourself in the kitchens again.” Lang didn’t wait for Oskar to reply but swept off down the corridor.

Oskar and Naseeb followed slowly, letting the distance between themselves and the master grow. When he turned a corner out of sight, they paused.

“Perfect! I’ll get extra instruction tomorrow evening, which will give me an excuse to be in this hallway. I’ll try the door then.”

Naseeb gave him a long look and sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can talk you out of this?”

“I have to do it. I wish I could explain more, but you’ll have to trust me.”

“All right, Oskar. Just remember, if you’re caught, they’re likely to do worse to you than give you kitchen duty.” Naseeb grimaced.

Oskar wondered what they would do to him. Put him out of the Gates, perhaps? It didn’t matter. If he could do something to help Shanis fight the next Frostmarch, he had no choice.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to avoid being caught.”