Scholar's Plot Read online

  I had unsaddled Chant, filled the feed trough with hay and the big bucket with water, and was now brushing his dappled hide with long, soothing strokes. A relaxed setting for asking difficult questions.

  “Who says you did? And why is that important?”

  “Why … why is it important? A dissertation is a scholar’s masterwork, Michael! Mine is the reason I got this job, instead of being packed home to Father when I finished my courses. And it must be original work. To copy your dissertation from someone else, ’tis … ’tis the worst thing you can do!”

  I thought there were things far worse, but maybe for a scholar ’twas true. If it was, this university must be a safe and kindly world. Which made it a place Benton would do well in. Clearly ’twas both my brotherly and knightly duty to restore him to it.

  And besides that, Benton and Kathy were the only members of my family who hadn’t scoffed at my desire to be a knight errant, even though ’tis a profession two centuries out of date. I didn’t owe him much for that — I’ve become accustomed to being laughed at — but it did incline me kindly toward him.

  “I’ll take your word for the importance,” I said. “So who accused you?”

  “’Twas Master Hotchkiss, the head librarian,” Benton said. “Not his fault. He’s creating a catalog of all the books, giving them numbers and filing them in order. And he’s working in the ancient literature room now, and he found this old thesis and read it and … Michael, it was mine!”

  “’Tis not impossible for people working in the same craft to have the same idea,” I pointed out. “Sometimes at near the same time, in villages at opposite ends of the Realm.”

  “It wasn’t just the same idea,” said Benton. “Someone else might have thought of it, too. Though I thought I was the only one who cared enough about the ancients, and their relics, to bother. If we were able to learn more about their lives, people might be more interested. I’ve found that—”

  “So this other paper was much like yours. But why do they claim you copied it?”

  When Benton started talking about the ancients, ’twas best to interrupt him quickly.

  “It wasn’t just that he had similar ideas,” Benton said. “There were paragraphs, whole passages sometimes, that used the same words, the same phrasing I did. Not quite word for word, but with only a few things changed. Which made it worse, because it looked like I’d copied it, then deliberately tried to make mine look different.”

  I came out of Chant’s stall and found the oat bin. ’Twas a good thing Benton’s rooming house reserved space for its tenants in a nearby stable, or ’twould be expensive to house him. After setting up a tribe of orphan children in their own chandlery, I was a bit short of coin. In fact, if I stayed in the city for more than a day or two, I was going to have to ask Kathy to pick up Chant’s tab.

  “I didn’t copy any part of my dissertation.” Benton’s voice was firm now. Bitter and proud. “I’d never seen that other paper before. And I’d have sworn I read every book on the ancient history shelves, in the years I studied here. Though it might have always been in another section — or even in another room, as disordered as things are in the areas Master Hotchkiss hasn’t cataloged. He found it in a stack of ancient poetry, and it might have been there for years. If I had copied my thesis, that would have been a good place for me to hide it after I copied the parts I wanted. But I didn’t.”

  The passion had left his voice now, only defeat remaining. I knew what ’twas like, to stand before a tribunal and be condemned, so I gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder on my way into Chant’s stall. I dumped a measure of oats into the feed bin, checked to be sure he still had enough water, and then departed, giving my horse a farewell slap on the rump. Much the same gesture I’d used on Benton, now that I thought on it.

  “If that other paper was so much like yours, and you didn’t copy it, then whoever created it must have copied you,” I said. “How long is this dissertation of yours? Twenty pages? Forty?”

  Benton cast me a wry look. “Two hundred and fifty-two. Though some of that is diagrams, and examples of how you might show the relationship of objects buried at different depths. You see, the deeper an object is buried the older it will be. So if you can determine the age of any item on that level, you can—”

  “So creating this new dissertation, which mimics yours, would be no small task. Who hates you, Benny?”

  The childhood nickname made him grimace, but he made no protest as he led True and me up a creaking side stair to the rooms he leased on the second floor.

  “No one. And the dissertation Master Hotchkiss found wasn’t new. It was dated from the reign of Liege Harold, almost ninety years ago, and the paper was yellowed, the leather cracked and—”

  “There are ways to fake that.” I knew someone who would have known how. But he wasn’t with me, anymore.

  Except now, as I restlessly paced the dark campus, it seemed he was. Or if not with me, at least in the same town, and in need of my rescue! When was this lecture going to end? I was circling the back of the buildings that ringed the square, so when people poured into it I could swiftly return. But every time I peered down the lane between buildings, ’twas still empty.

  I wondered what Fisk would make of Benton’s tale, when he heard it. As my brother had led me up the side stair to his rooms, he’d assured me that no one hated him, or sought his job as a junior professor of history specializing in the ancients.

  But I paid this almost no attention, because when he opened the door to a pleasant sunny room, with padded benches and chairs, there was a young woman sitting at the table reading one of the stacked papers.

  I hadn’t seen Benton for almost six years, but I’d recognized him instantly. I had seen Kathy only a little over three years past, but even as she rose and came to hug me, I scarce knew her.

  “You’ve grown up!” I broke her embrace and held her off a little, so I could look her over.

  She snorted, and pushed up the spectacles that had slipped down her nose. “It would be peculiar if I hadn’t. I wrote you — well, I wrote for Fisk to tell you — that Father had packed me off to court for the Liege’s marriage fair. Did you think I was still fourteen? Although me going to court may turn out to be a good thing, because I know about something that might have given someone a motive to do this.”

  I was still staring, even as True frolicked up and introduced himself, and Kathy bent to give him a pat. She was thin, as always, with mouse brown hair and mouse gray eyes. But the child’s gawky awkwardness had given way to the grace of a stalking marsh heron.

  “Michael.” She waved a hand in front of my eyes. “Pay attention. The Liege’s only son, Rupert, is in love with a Giftless woman.”

  My brows flew up. “That’s unfortunate. For everyone involved.”

  Magic doesn’t exist in normal humans, under normal circumstances, but Gifts, which pass only through the female line, are much prized. All who are Gifted have the ability to sense magic, in plants or animals that have it. This enables them to avoid the catastrophes that occur when such plants or animals are harvested without proper sacrifice. But the ability to sense magic is often accompanied by a host of lesser talents and quirks. I’d once met a man who could instantly tell if something he touched was a forgery, and I wondered what he’d make of the dissertation that had brought my brother down so neatly. Still…

  “What does the Liege Heir falling for some Giftless girl have to do with Benton? ’Tis tragic for them, since the High Liege will never let them wed. A simple baron would object to such a wife for his heir. But that’s nothing to do with us.”

  Kathy looked glum. “You’re not one of the sacrificial maidens the High Liege has hauled into court to induce Rupert to pick someone else. But as for this… Rupert’s trying to find a way out of the trap. He’s offered funding, and a huge reward for success, to anyone who can find a way to make a Giftless person Gifted. Or to have Gifted children, since that’s the part that matters.”


  I sank down on one of Benton’s comfortably padded chairs, though the statement wasn’t so very shocking. People had been speculating about doing that for ages — from the time of Benton’s ancients, probably — and no one had even come close.

  Except for one terrible woman, and she hadn’t been trying to Gift the Giftless, but to turn Gifts to full-out magic. The memory of her attempts, of rope chaffing my wrists as I fought, and potions cramping my stomach, and that terrible thrumming in my blood…

  “Then the gods had best make an exception and look out for that poor woman, because… Wait a moment. If he loves her, surely the Heir won’t allow anyone to experiment upon her.”

  “Of course not.” Kathy gave me an odd look. “He’s funding universities to do the experiments, to figure out what might work and test it. ’Tis only if they come up with something safe … and if they did, it’s not just Rupert and Meg who’d benefit. Think of it, Michael — anyone might have Gifts! Gifted healers would be common, instead of rare. With so many herb talkers making it, magica medicine would become cheap. No hunter losing limbs because he happens to bring down some beast with magic, or house burning down because ’twas made with a magica wood.”

  “No lords or barons,” said Benton, “since it was the ability to sense magic and avoid it that enabled our ancestors to rise to power. Though I think they started as tribal chieftains, which was a much more fluid position than—”

  “Yes, Benton,” Kathy said. “But the important part now is how you got caught up in the project.”

  “Oh, that.” Sometimes my brilliant brother could be rather dim. “They wanted to know if the ancients had ever tried such a thing. And some of them had — there are songs and such that hint at the formulas they used. I compiled them.”

  I readied myself to interrupt a spate of information about ancient songs, but Benton said nothing more.

  “And…?” Kathy demanded.

  “Hang it, Kathy, it was nothing! I don’t have a Gift for reading people, not that that would tell you much. It seemed like they were beginning to get results off some of the formulas I gave them, but that’s all I really saw.”

  “And…?”

  Benton rolled his eyes in a brotherly way, and turned to me. “I mentioned, once, that something felt a bit off about the project.”

  “What do you mean, ‘off?’”

  “Just… I don’t know. It felt…” His hands wav-ed vaguely, trying to shape something he couldn’t describe. “I didn’t see anyone do anything, or say anything wrong. I was mostly helping them with the rabbits, so even if there was something off I wouldn’t know about it.”

  “Rabbits?” I asked. “Wait, they’re not trying these formulas on people?”

  “Of course not.” Benton sounded shocked at the very idea. “First they have to find something that works on one species, then they have to try it on many others, to be as certain as they can that it’s safe before they even start testing it on humans. They’re a long way from that. Although they did seem to be getting some results from the formulas based on my notes. That’s why they wanted me around. Or at least, Professor Stint did. He’s the one who’s actually creating the formulas. Once I turned over my research, I wasn’t much use.”

  “But,” said Kathy, “’tis a project that’s bringing the university a lot of money, and if it succeeded would bring them even more. I’ve been talking to Benton for three days now, and there’s nothing else in his life that gives anyone even a shadow of a motive to do this.”

  So she’d written to me even before she’d spoken much with Benton? That was sufficiently flattering that I wished I had some brilliant idea for what to do next.

  “Kathy, have you spoken to this librarian? Asked him about finding this faked dissertation? Or about who knew where he was working, and could have planted it for him to find?”

  Like our father, Kathy does have the Gift for reading people, and she cast me an exasperated glance. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Even if I could tell something about him, ’twould more likely be that he’s allergic to parsnips or hates pink, rather than anything useful. And I tried to see him day before yesterday. He refused to see me, just as he’s refused to talk to Benton.”

  “He sent a message, that he’d said all he had to say at my hearing,” Benton put in. “He doesn’t believe me. I can understand that. I’m just glad the two of you…”

  His voice husked into silence.

  “Of course we believe you,” I said. “You care about your ancients too much to cheat on them. You’d feel as if you’d dishonored them.”

  Which probably made him as crazy as most of my relatives think me.

  “And you’re the worst liar in the family,” Kathy added. “If you were lying, ’twould show.”

  “Thanks,” said Benton. “I think.”

  But there were tears of gratitude in his eyes. I could see this, because both he and Kathy were looking at me now.

  “Well…” I cast desperately for another idea. And then it occurred to me: What would Fisk do? “If this Master Hotchkiss won’t speak to us, mayhap a look around his office would prove enlightening.”

  So that was how I found myself roving the campus in the dark, trying to figure out how to break into a locked building without getting caught. And failing miserably. Despite his claims to hate burglary, such enterprises were always Fisk’s idea.

  Well, usually.

  Soon I would be able to tap his expertise once more. I was eager to speak with him … so of course, the lecture went on interminably. When it finally came to an end, and the crowd poured out into the square, Benton was surprised at the speed with which I swept him out the gates. But once I’d explained, he not only told me where to find the town lockup, and reminded me to give him the student’s coat I’d borrowed, he also handed over his purse to add its contents to mine.

  He wasn’t carrying much. I carried all the coin I owned, and the total was still rather small — but it should be enough to buy Fisk out of his cell until some final reckoning of his debt was pronounced. Assuming the charge against him wasn’t more serious than it appeared.

  Between that unsettling thought, and my uncertainty as to what I might say to bridge the gap between us, I was somewhat agitated as I approached the lockup. ’Twas near the town hall, in the cellar of the guard barracks, though it had a separate entrance and offices above it. ’Twas also conveniently near both the university and Benton’s lodging … where Kathy had been given the only bedroom, and Benton was to sleep on the padded bench in his front room, while I spread my bedroll on the floor.

  Mayhap I should take Fisk to a tavern, so we could talk privately before returning to Benton’s rooms. Though what to say…

  I was in such a dither that the guardsman in charge of the lockup was reluctant to let me in to see his prisoner, even after I offered to bail Fisk out. He donned his sword, and insisted on accompanying me down the narrow stair, mayhap fearing I planned a gaolbreak, or some such idiocy.

  So there was an audience to our first meeting after that terrible fight. Not, as it turned out, that it mattered.

  The first thing I noticed, as a resigned expression spread over Fisk’s face, was that he wasn’t surprised to see me.

  The lockup consisted of three iron-barred cages, so I could see him clearly. Little moonlight fell through the barred slit high in the wall — on the far side of the room from the cells, so no slipping in a note or weapon. But some kindly soul had left a lamp burning, to keep prisoners from finding themselves alone in the dark.

  Not that Fisk looked ill at ease. He sat on the narrow cot, but he’d pulled the thin straw tick off the boards to pad the wall he leaned against. His relaxed hands were clasped about one knee, in a manner that suggested he felt quite at home. An attitude even the guard’s glower didn’t change.

  “Fisk.” For some reason my voice was hoarse. I cleared my throat and went on. “I’ve come to buy you out. I’m told the only charge against you is trespass, so I … that i
s, Kathy, will be able to pay your debt.”

  His resigned expression became more sardonic at this — though he knew how I’d spent my share of the reward, curse him.

  “I shall pay your bail tonight,” I finished more firmly. “Then we can talk.”

  Fisk contemplated me for a long moment, and then said, “No.”

  “What? What do you mean, ‘No?’”

  “Does that mean the prisoner refuses bail?” the guard asked precisely.

  “Of course he doesn’t.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Fisk. “I’ll stay here till the judicars total up my debt, then work it off.”

  “You’d sit here, in gaol, rather than accept my help?” I wasn’t sure if I was more incredulous, or more angry.

  “You’d be more comfortable in your own lodging, sir.” The guard eyed us both with suspicion now. He’d probably never had a prisoner refuse to leave these cells, given the choice. And who’d have thought Fisk, of all people, would be so absurdly stubborn.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I tried not to snap at him, but I fear I failed. “I’ll get you out. Then we’ll go to a tavern and discuss this trouble you’re in, and—”

  “You no longer have a right to say what I will and won’t do. Noble Sir.”

  Those words had always stung, but never as they did now.

  Fisk sat up, lowering both feet to the floor. If there was pain under the determination on his face, the dim light concealed it. He turned to the guard.

  “I refuse bail. And if I refuse, you can’t accept it.”

  Of all the lunatic, stubborn, asinine…

  “No, he doesn’t,” I told the guard.

  “Yes, I do,” said Fisk.

  “No, you don—”

  “Well, sirs.” The guard’s gaze was now very sharp. “In fact, he can refuse bail. No one ’cept a judicar can saddle a man with a debt, if he don’t choose it. May I ask who you are, and why it’s so important to you this man goes free? And what was he doing, sneaking around the university in restricted areas?”