Chapter 20 #2
In Master Solcor’s robes. Zephyra must admit, Zephyra took pleasure in seeing Master Solcor fall. Master Solcor isn’t always kind.
I rooted through Master Solcor’s robes until I found a ring of iron keys. It took me several tries, but I finally found the key that unlocked the entrance to the flight cage. The cage was easy to climb, and I was at the top in seconds. Zephyra flew beside me in ever higher circles.
Little Cas is like a bird without wings!
At the top of the cage was a hatch, which I unlocked using the same key.
The hatch groaned as I pushed it upward.
It had likely been a long time since it had been opened.
I scampered through and onto the top of the cage, and Zephyra followed me out.
I was standing on top of the aviary, which jutted out from the main library with the clock tower looming above me.
The whole of Analon spread out below me in every direction.
Zephyra’s wings flapped as she circled around me.
Oh, the wide-open air, and the wind! Zephyra forgot about the wind! And the sea air! Oh, how Zephyra longs to taste a fresh fish!
With that, Zephyra ascended, then flew directly toward the bay. Her joy in her newfound freedom hit me harder than expected with a mix of happiness and longing.
She was nearly out of sight when she looked back, her thoughts barely a whisper in my mind.
Thanks again. Zephyra is forever in little Cas’s debt.
From the top of the aviary, I considered the clock tower before me, rising to the clouds.
Its height was dizzying. It would be easy enough to climb, and I had hoped I could find a window, but in broad daylight, I would stand out starkly against the ivory-colored stones.
A well-aimed arrow from a Royal Archer would end my ascent quite abruptly.
I needed to find a way up from the inside.
But according to my map, if any such path existed, it had been walled up long ago.
The clock tenders were legendary. Sequestered for life in the clock tower, their one job was to keep the clock running with perfect accuracy under penalty of death. No penalty had been administered in hundreds of years.
It stood to reason that if the clock tenders lived in the tower, there had to be ways for them to obtain supplies. The most obvious place to check was the kitchens, one set of which was positioned just under the tower. That would be my first target.
I weaved through the hallways, peering into rooms filled with books and lab equipment as I passed.
I was tempted to stop in and see if I could uncover any secrets, but the danger was too great, and the clock was ticking.
My time would be up when Master Solcor woke up or someone found him unconscious.
Several stories up, the rooms changed from labs and libraries to classrooms filled with initiates, all wearing silver-lined robes like mine.
Standing at the front of each room was a master lecturing in a lofty tone.
I walked swiftly past. On more than one occasion, I ducked into an empty room to avoid a passing group of robed figures.
When I ascended another story, the pleasing aroma of seared meat and grilled onions hit my nose.
I approached a door from which steam and smoke billowed.
Inside was a large room filled with open hearths and a smattering of worktables filled with cooking implements.
Cages filled with chickens, ducks, and other small animals were lined up along the wall to my left.
A half dozen people in robes adorned with yellow ribbon scurried around, tending to fires, stirring stews, and rotating meat on spits over coals.
I snuck into the room, hid in the shadows, and observed.
On the far wall were three small waist-high openings.
Several minutes passed as the servants continued their work.
Eventually one of the Initiates approached the far left opening, placed a basket filled with food and other supplies inside, and rang a handheld bell.
A moment later, a platform began to rise, and the basket disappeared out of sight.
That was how supplies made their way to the tower.
And that was my key to getting in.
This wouldn’t be as simple as sneaking into Garrick’s office in a dark tavern full of drunk people. This room was bright and filled with stone-cold sober initiates who were likely trained in combat. I looked around the room to assess the situation, and the solution presented itself.
Slowly, quietly, I unlatched the cages of most of the animals, leaving each door open only a crack, then snuck around to the other side of the room.
Out of my pack, I pulled a paper tube smaller than my pinky finger.
Of the many skills my father had taught me, pyrotechnics was by far the most entertaining.
In the early weeks of every summer, we’d toil away making noisemakers, flash bombs, and exploding rockets to launch at the midsummer festival.
With a quick toss, the tube flew across the room toward the animal cages.
The moment it struck the far wall, a loud pop rang out.
The animals went crazy. In moments, several dozen chickens had knocked their doors open and were flapping wildly around the far side of the kitchen.
The initiates all stopped their cooking duties and ran over to wrangle the loose chickens, yelling as they went.
With everyone distracted, I raced over to the rightmost opening and ducked inside.
I was in a shaft about two shoulder widths apart.
Above me, it rose into darkness. A wooden slab suspended by a rope kept me from falling.
I wasn’t sure what I would find, but I began my ascent up the shaft, hoping to reach the clock tower.
The shaft was constructed from stone blocks and mortar, making the ascent relatively easy, although my robe hung awkwardly, making everything more difficult.
I stopped every few stories to rest my arms and legs, but I didn’t pause for long—at any point, the platform might start rising.
Soon the ruckus of chicken squawks and calls of alarm from below faded until all I could hear was the wind whistling up the shaft.
As I climbed, I considered what I might face when I reached the top.
How would the clock tenders react to a thief in their supply shaft?
If the rumors were true, the tenders were trained in combat, ready to defend the clock with their lives.
And even if I made it past them, I wasn’t even entirely sure what I was looking for.
After what felt like tens of stories, a faint light shone above. I quickened my pace, eager to be done with this climb, ready to face what was next, be it friend or foe.
Soon I reached an opening. Although the shaft continued upward, my arms and legs ached from the climb. I needed the rest and was eager to see where I stood. Garrick’s maps of the lower library were thorough, but none existed for the tower. I was exploring blindly.
I hopped out of the shaft and into a small stone room with only a single door. I expected a fight and was ready for armed resistance, but to my surprise, the room was empty and quiet. The silence provided little comfort, as a surprise attack could come at any moment.
I approached the exit cautiously, taking each step with care.
The door opened easily and had no visible lock.
Outside, a stone corridor extended in either direction with beams of light pouring in through small slits in the outer walls, just wide enough for an archer to shoot arrows out of.
Each slit revealed a streak of blue sky and a small slice of Analon far below the tower.
Down the corridor, a flickering light came through an open doorway.
Inside was a large room lined with bookcases filled with books of varying shapes and sizes.
Sturdy-looking tables and chairs occupied the middle of the room, all adorned with elaborate carvings depicting forest scenes with wolves, bears, and other woodland creatures.
Hanging in the middle of the room was an iron chandelier with a dozen or more small tubes pointing upward, each containing a flickering candle-less flame.
I took a moment to inspect the books’ spines.
The library included such titles as Emberborn History: The Middle Years, A Comprehensive Guide to Embers, Emberborn Royal House Lineage, and many other books that appeared to relate to Emberborn lore.
Mrs. Crowe had said that King Tarnasau had wiped out the entire history of Emberborn, but it appeared that a slice of their—our history was preserved in the clock tower.
Despite the fact that I’d only understood my Emberborn roots for a short time, pride bloomed within me.
The sharp scent of ozone and citrus assaulted my nose. I was struck with the same sensation I’d felt in the alley when Darion had disappeared. Time broke, disjointed from reality, just like in the alley. Was Darion here? Surely not.
In a flash, an arm was around my chest and the cold, sharp steel of a blade was pressed against my neck. Soft but deadly, a woman’s voice said, “Say the pass phrase or die.”