Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
There he is, Julita crows as I step into the warm morning air of the outer courtyard. You just need to sneak close enough to overhear what he says.
It doesn’t look as if Wendos is going to be saying much of anything right now. He’s hunkered down on the grass off by the southeast corner of the yard where Julita said he often takes in some sun, currently alone.
As far as I can tell, he’s totally immersed in the book he’s propped open on his knee. At least that’ll make it easier for me to “sneak close.”
I wet my lips and meander along the side of the Quadring beneath the first-floor classroom windows. Sticking to the shadows, I shouldn’t be noticeable from any direction, but if someone happens to look my way, I could be simply taking a casual stroll.
Near the corners of the building, the stone walls jut out with a cluster of statues.
The one at the southeast shows a figure meant to be King Melchior, the ruler of nearly a century past who shattered the tyranny of the Darium empire in Silana not long after Signy did in Velduny.
He stands with bearded chin raised high and a majestic stone cloak draped over his broad shoulders, looming over several hunched figures gazing up at him in chiseled awe.
After a swift glance around to make sure no one’s looking my way, I hop into the midst of the fawning subjects. Tucked between two of the stone figures, no one should be able to see me at all unless they walk right up to the statue.
I pull out one of the books I borrowed from the archives for further plausible deniability. I suspect whatever the peasant girls and wandering spirits get up to in the Woudish folktales will be more interesting than listening to Wendos read anyway.
Julita doesn’t share my sentiments. Don’t get too distracted. If he’s going to talk to any of his co-conspirators, it’ll be quick.
I nod in acknowledgment, gritting my teeth against an argument. As soon as I woke up this morning, she started badgering me about what Wendos had gotten up to after the daimon assault at the ball, even more after I told her he’d seemed to think Romild had done something wrong.
So I’ll humor her for an hour or two before our next meeting. Maybe if nothing happens, she’ll finally reconsider the idea that her childhood tormenter is some kind of evil mastermind as well.
The vibe around the campus is noticeably uneasy after last night’s bloodshed. The students passing me walk briskly rather than ambling, sticking close to their friends. There’s still chatter, but I hear a lot more nervous giggles than I’m used to.
Our target doesn’t remain totally isolated.
A couple of women pause to chat with him briefly about his reading material.
Not long after they’ve headed off, a male classmate he seems mildly annoyed with descends on him with a series of questions about a recent lecture on “resource” accumulation or something like that.
Each time, I peek around King Melchior’s whirling stone cloak to watch for any unspoken signals passing between them. Nothing about the conversations looks remotely extraordinary.
“Do you know how long he and your brother kept up their experiments after they stopped hurting you?”
No, Julita admits. As soon as Borys realized I wasn’t going to let him bully me anymore, he got much more secretive. Anything else they did, it was well away from me.
My ass is starting to ache from being squashed against the hard stone, but then a fourth schoolmate ambles up to Wendos. He casts a furtive glance around that sets my senses on the alert.
This guy looks like he might be up to something.
Unfortunately, he’s cautious with his voice as well as his surroundings. I can’t make out the words he murmurs to Wendos.
Julita’s former tormenter shakes his head, his voice also lowered, but more as if he’s appeasing his companion than like he really thinks he needs to hide it. I still catch his response.
“Believe me, I tried my best.”
The nervous guy rubs his mouth and mutters something else I can’t hear.
Wendos sighs. “It’s like with rootbeetles—you can point them in the right direction, but you can’t ensure they’ll act exactly the way you’d want. I conveyed the information as clearly as I could.”
He gives a rueful smile. “Speaking of rootbeetles, have you seen that specimen Rolf brought back to the club room? I’ve never come across one quite that color before.”
As they exchange a few more comments about various creepy-crawlies, Julita gives a little shudder. Ugh. Bug club. It figures he’d be interested in creatures that scuttle in the dirt.
I’m turning his early remarks over in my head. “Do you think he was talking about bugs the whole time?” I murmur. “What he said about conveying information—maybe he tried to tell the college staff or even the palace about whatever he thought Romild was up to. And they wouldn’t take action.”
My ghostly passenger snorts. I can hardly imagine that. He probably enjoyed the violence.
He hadn’t looked as if he was enjoying it when I saw him, but I’m not sure how to convince Julita of that when she wasn’t aware enough to see for herself.
“I could try talking to him myself,” I venture. “Feel him out, see what he might—”
No, Julita cuts in. I don’t want him paying any attention to you at all.
I grimace, holding back further argument. She does know the man better than I do, even if her knowledge is colored by long-held resentment.
It’s resentment that he totally earned, whether he’s realized that and is trying to make amends or not.
When I glance over again, Wendos is getting up from the grass with a stretch of his arms. He tucks his book against his side and strides off toward the Quadring’s main entrance.
I watch him go and then wriggle out of my hiding spot.
We’ve still got nearly an hour before we’re due for the meeting, but Alek will probably be in the archives already. I could always mention to him what I’ve overheard from Wendos and see what he makes of it.
As I pass through the inner courtyard, a chipper voice rings out. “Ivy! Where are you off to?”
Esmae trots over to join me, her expression so eager that guilt jabs through my gut. I made a point of finding her in the dining hall this morning to confirm that she made it through the ball unscathed, but she was just hustling off to a class, so we barely had time to talk.
Now I’m the one hustling… and I can’t even give her a real excuse.
“Good to see you again,” I say with a hasty smile, scrambling for a suitable pretext. “Ster. Stavros wanted me to attend a meeting with him, some important staff thing, and I’m nearly late.”
Esmae’s face falls a little, but she catches it with a renewed smile of her own. “Oh, well, you wouldn’t want to upset him. I’m sure our paths will cross later.”
“I’ll look for you at dinner.”
I hurry on as if I really am risking Stavros’s wrath. Just inside the Domi’s door, I pass a soldier from the Crown’s Watch, whose gaze slides over me without remark.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I veer down the hallway toward the library. Stavros did say that the palace was going to send extra guards to keep an eye on the college.
Which means they’re keeping an eye on me too.
I’ll just have to keep looking like a totally normal professor’s assistant. This is what I committed to last night when I decided to stay.
A couple of younger students are drifting down the hall hung with tapestries, commenting on the artwork. I make as if I’m simply appreciating the woven illustrations too until they walk around the corner and I can open up the secret passage.
In the room below, Alek is leaning over the desk as usual. His head lifts when I emerge from the wall, but without the same jerk of surprise as the first time.
A brief smile crosses his face before it falls into his usual stern expression. “You couldn’t wait to get to work?”
“After that catastrophe of a ball, it seems slightly more urgent than before.”
I step closer, peering at what I can see of his skin around his mask. “Did you make it through completely unscathed?”
He lets out a rough laugh. “There are a few benefits to sticking mostly to the walls. I was on the outskirts from the start.”
The question of why he feels the need to hang back itches at me.
Does he think whatever he’s hiding behind his mask is really so off-putting? Every bit of him that I can see is perfectly appealing.
I yank my thoughts back before I spend more than an instant admiring the curve of his full lips. I’ve already been imagining kissing enough of these out-of-reach men without adding another to the heap.
My gaze drops to the scroll Alek has spread open on the desk, and it proves an excellent distraction. There’s a large T at the top of the paper, with lines branching off in various directions leading to scrawled notations.
I motion to them. “What’s all this?”
Alek’s stance straightens at the change in topic. He taps the scroll. “I’ve been charting out all of Ster. Torstem’s associations. Family members, friends, close colleagues, favorite students, clubs he runs or has been involved with, classes he teaches…”
He’s made a map of the man’s life. I study the flow of the lines. “Most of them don’t appear to connect to each other, only to him.”
Alek nods with a twist of his mouth. “Yes. I haven’t found any cluster that would suggest an unexpectedly large collaboration or an unusual combination of personal and professional life. If he’s involved in a college-wide conspiracy, he hasn’t shown any outward signs of it in his affiliations.”
“I suppose that would be a little much to ask for anyway,” I mutter, resting my fingers at the top of the page. “Is there any sign of where he might have brought kids from?”