Scholar's Plot Read online

  She turned into an alley between a couple of buildings, one of them presumably Benton’s lodging. The walls were whitewashed plaster so the alley was reasonably bright, which let me see it was also surprisingly clean, and a stairway angled down the taller building’s wall. Kathy’s hips twitched with annoyance in a very feminine fashion as she climbed to the second floor landing.

  Michael stood at the bottom, looking at me. His expression was mostly unreadable, but there was bitterness there, and maybe anger. He followed his sister up the stairs.

  I could have walked away. Michael wouldn’t chase me down, I knew that now. And in skirts, Mistress Katherine wasn’t likely to catch me. On the other hand, she might get mad enough to send the guard after me. The cells hadn’t been that bad, but I’d now been identified as the Fisk.

  I probably should have whipped off a note before I left Tallowsport, but I’d just finished fighting with Michael and writing to his sister hadn’t seemed necessary. So now, I was stuck.

  I followed them up the stairs, and was almost knocked off the landing by a bouncing whirlwind of dog. It seemed Trouble had missed me, and nothing else could happen till I’d assured him that I’d missed him too — whether I had or not. Besides, watching his dog fawn over me made Michael scowl, so the time wasn’t completely wasted.

  Once Trouble settled down, I followed the others into a front room with two sunny windows and shelves crowded with papers and books, interspersed with bits of pottery and stone. It looked like a pretty fair collection of ancient artifacts, which hardly anyone collects, except for the few people who can’t accept that the gods have no interest in man.

  There was a fine carving of the Creature Moon, in its aspect of bear, the avenger: a full fat circle embedded in the stomach of a grizzly that was not only upright, but snarling in a way that made you want to avoid pissing off both the bear and the god.

  This piece transcended artifact and became art. I was surprised to see it in the cluttered rooms of a junior professor.

  Cluttered, and crowded. Looking through the only door, to the single bed in the room beyond, I could see that this was a fine space for one man. For two it would be tight. With the four of us, not to mention the dog, it would get downright claustrophobic.

  Particularly with two of the four being Michael and me.

  “I have a room at an inn,” I suggested. “I can stay there.”

  Michael, to my annoyance, looked happy about that.

  “Don’t worry,” Katherine said. “I’ve rented more rooms from Benton’s landlady. You and Michael are in the attic, and I’m on the ground floor.”

  Hang it.

  “Isn’t that awfully expensive?” I asked hopefully. “You’ve already paid our bond, and as for Benton here…” I gestured to the plump, hapless looking man who appeared to be almost as disturbed by this news as Michael and I. “What’s the difference between a bandit and a scholar?”

  Michael grimaced and Kathy snorted. It was Benton who said, “I don’t know. What?”

  “A bandit has money, even if he just took it from you. Scholars don’t have any money. Ever.”

  Benton grinned. “You’re not wrong. But Father’s giving Kathy an allowance for court, and as you can see—” he gestured to the fine linen skirt and glove-soft leather “—she doesn’t spend much.”

  I’d have priced her outfit at a silver roundel for the skirt, and at least three for the bodice. But if her father was giving her money for damask, silk and gems, she probably did have a fair bit left over.

  “Fisk and Michael are going to help you get your job back,” Kathy told Benton.

  I noticed that this news didn’t make Benton look particularly cheerful, but she went on, “I’ve been thinking, and I think it’s probably all tied together. Master Hotchkiss’ murder, you being framed, whatever’s wrong with the project. So many odd things, happening all at the same time, they have to be connected.”

  “Actually, they don’t,” I said. “It’s inevitable that coincidences will occur, through the normal operation of random chance.”

  “Marman’s law of coincidence,” Benton supplied the attribution. I made a mental note not to quote philosophers in his presence.

  Having established that we were still best friends, Trouble abandoned me and went to sit on Benton’s feet, wagging confidently. Of course the man bent to pet him — Trouble knew a sucker when he saw one.

  “Well, I think ’tis tied to the project,” Michael said. “You were working on that, and even if you don’t have a Gift for reading people, you sensed something wrong there.”

  “But it was Master Hotchkiss who accused him,” I pointed out. “And then was murdered. Surely that’s the sensible place to start.”

  And as soon as we figured out who killed the man… Who’d want to murder a librarian? But whoever it was, and whyever they’d done it, as soon as we found them my debt to Mistress Katherine would end.

  “I can’t believe anyone would kill him,” Benton echoed my thoughts. “That brilliant mind… What a terrible waste.”

  “I still think we start with the project,” Michael persisted. “Our task is to clear Benton, after all. So that’s where we begin.”

  I started to shrug — in truth, I didn’t think it mattered where we started since we’d get to the murder in the end. Then I remembered. I was setting my own direction, now.

  “I say we start with the librarian’s murder. You’re not in charge anymore. Noble Sir.”

  Angry red stained Michael’s cheekbones. “Is that what you wanted? To be in charge? To take us robbing, and scam—”

  “I’m in charge,” Kathy interrupted firmly. “And if you’re both going to be so childish about it, you can take turns. First one investigation, then the other. Michael in charge while you investigate the project, Fisk in charge when you investigate Master Hotchkiss’ death. Is that all right with you boys?”

  “’Tis well with me,” Michael said huffily. “I don’t have to be in charge all the time. ’Tis Fisk who suddenly—”

  “What about you, Fisk?” Kathy asked hastily.

  It wasn’t all right but Michael had agreed, and objecting would make me look childish and petty. And even if I felt that way, I didn’t want to show it.

  “That works for me. But once it becomes clear that the project’s nothing, and it’s the murder that matters, do I get to be in charge all the time?”

  “And if ’tis the project that got Benton framed, then I was right, and I take charge!” Michael said swiftly. “Done?”

  “Done!”

  “Men,” Kathy muttered.

  “I’ll even let Michael go first,” I added magnanimously. Which not only made me look more mature, it gave me time to figure out something to investigate. Because right now, I had no idea where to start.

  Michael realized it, of course. He was crazy, but he wasn’t a fool. He just played one. And for almost four years — had I actually been mad? — he’d sucked me into the farce with him.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “Unlike Fisk, I know what to do next.”

  I claimed a few hours’ sleep, having got none the night before, but the tavern across the street from Benton’s lodging was still serving luncheon by the time we were ready to set out — so I insisted on a meal, as well. The turkey was cold, left over from yesterday, but the rolls were fresh from the oven and piping hot.

  Conversation was stiff, for I declined to share my plans. In part because they were still a bit vague. Though Fisk had some questions for Benton I’d not thought to ask.

  “When you had your hearing, did you think the university board or the headman might be in on it? Because if the fix starts at the top they’re going to hire the first person who shows up, and we won’t stand a chance of getting your job back.”

  Benton looked startled. “Oh, surely not. At least, I don’t think so. They all seemed sincerely angry and distressed. Mostly angry,” he finished glumly. “The board I mean. They went on and on about how a university�
��s reputation is its most important treasure, and all it took was one cheating professor to defile it.”

  “What of the headman?” I asked. “He’s the one who recommended that you be hired, wasn’t he?”

  Benton nodded. “He was both angry and upset. Headman Portner would never cheat on anything to do with the university, or anyone involved with it. The scholars make jokes about his title, the headman is coming for you, that kind of thing. But he’s very tolerant of student idiocy. The only thing he’s strict about is academic honesty, which is why he was so furious with me. He cares deeply about the university’s integrity — he doesn’t even tolerate academic sloppiness, much less cheating. So ’tis no wonder he said…”

  His voice trailed off in misery, and Kathy put in a swift suggestion that before we went to the university we should go to Fisk’s inn, and fetch back Tipple and his traps. By the time we got back, she added, our attic rooms should be clean. I noted Fisk’s grimace as he realized the rooms weren’t in use at the moment, and instantly resolved not to complain no matter how hot our lodging got, or even if the roof leaked.

  Heat was the more likely problem. We had to hike across half the town to reach the inn, and the day was already growing hot.

  Fisk went in to argue that since he hadn’t slept in his room last night, he shouldn’t have to pay full price for it, while I went to the stable to greet a dear old friend. Tipple isn’t the companion to me that Chant is, but I can’t deny that giving her to Fisk had wrenched my heart.

  Though not as much as losing Fisk had.

  What else could I have done? He’d freed a criminal, a man who’d probably earned hanging. A man who’d continue preying on others — and didn’t that make all his future victims Fisk’s, as well? And he’d done it without consulting me, because he knew I’d forbid it, because I’d have stopped him. He should have been stopped! ’Twas an outrageous, wicked, criminal…

  ’Twas mayhap as well that Fisk came out of the inn shortly, wearing a hangdog face that told me he’d not won his point. We strapped his luggage onto Tipple’s saddle and set off for Benton’s lodging.

  By the time he’d stowed his gear the day was so warm we shed our coats before setting off for the university, but the distance was short enough that the silence hadn’t grown too uncomfortable by the time we approached the gates.

  They looked different in the daylight, tall enough to admit a man on horseback, with the great blank wall rising around it, both smaller and more formidable, despite the intricate wrought iron. Mayhap because this time there was no crowd to shield me.

  I reflected once more on the utter uselessness of the magic Lady Ceciel’s potions had given me. I could see magic, as a living glow around the animals and plants that had it, instead of feeling it as a tingling warmth against my skin. And sometimes it welled up within me, and performed prodigies of … well, magic.

  But it seemed to answer to its own will, and never to mine.

  I had lately come to believe that Fisk had been right about this, at least, and been trying to learn to make it answer to me. I had yet to succeed in any way.

  ’Twas quite exasperating. Last night, for instance. The magic that had once built a pillow of air beneath me as I fell from a high cliff wouldn’t boost me over a twenty foot wall. Which left me no choice now but to approach the gates, whose nearly blind keeper had tipped the guards off to my last excursion here.

  He looked up as the sound of our footsteps reached him.

  “Good day, sirs. You’ve business at the university?”

  Up close I could see the white film over his eyes. His expression was pleasant and helpful, so I answered readily.

  “I’m Benton Sevenson’s brother, here about his business. This is my … associate.”

  As soon as I spoke the murky eyes widened. “You’re the one who came in with Scholar Benton last night! The guard, they came asking about you.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve spoken to them, and answered all their questions. So if we might pass?”

  “Of course, of course. I’m not surprised he left some things behind, poor lad, hauled straight up before those old … ah, fired so sudden, like he was. Your associate, he has a name?”

  His dim gaze turned to Fisk, clearly wanting to hear his voice, so I said nothing.

  “I’m Fisk,” my erstwhile squire said. “Did you know Master Sevenson well?”

  “Since he was a student here. I was just getting used to calling him Professor when he lost the job, poor lad.”

  “Were you surprised,” Fisk asked, “that he plagiarized his thesis?”

  “I wasn’t just surprised,” the gatekeeper said. “I don’t believe it, not for a minute, no matter what papers that Hotchkiss found.”

  Then he remembered “that Hotchkiss” was dead, and his mouth tightened. But he didn’t take the words back.

  “Professor Sevenson, he was in the scholar’s guard when he was a student.” The man lifted the copper whistle that hung around his neck on an embossed strap. “I work with everyone who volunteers for the guard, so’s I’ll know their voices and can’t be fooled. And I’m not fooled, for all my eyes have gone, not easily. Professor Sevenson would never cheat.”

  He used the title deliberately, defiantly.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll tell my brother you believe in him.”

  “You do that, sir.”

  And the gatekeeper passed us through.

  “So, we’re going with your usual plan,” Fisk said, as soon as we were away from the man’s keen ears. “We’re going to walk up to people and tell them everything.”

  “’Twill likely get us farther than your usual plan, of skulking about and trying to burgle things. Which got you caught. By the scholar’s guard.”

  Fisk, who’d already opened his mouth to reply, closed it with a snap and I went on.

  “Benton said the project was housed in a tower, at the west end of the campus, against the—”

  “I know where it is.” Fisk stepped out in front of me. “What building do you think I was trying to burgle? And it wasn’t the scholar’s guard who caught me — a lady professor was working late and we surprised each other.”

  “You think your jeweler’s housed there?”

  Fisk was leading me between the buildings, on neat graveled paths that bustled with scholars, professors, and even groundskeepers doing something with potted mums. The campus was more pleasant by day, with the sun glowing on windows that had been opened to vent the summer heat. Snatches of voices came from them as we passed, talking about quadratic equations, the essential nature of the gall bladder, and ballad cycles in the reign of High Liege Cormorigan.

  I would go mad in such classrooms in a week, but Fisk looked wistful.

  “Where else would someone who can work magic be, except part of a research project trying to give people magic?” Fisk asked.

  “’Tis not about magic.” A subject I find uncomfortable to discuss. “’Tis about giving Gifts to those born without them.”

  Fisk shrugged, also uncomfortably. His great grandmother had been from a Gifted line, but she had no Gifts, and passed none on to her descendants. This sometimes happens, and by Fisk’s generation the family had fallen on such hard times that he’d been forced to take to theft to keep a roof over their heads. ’Twas after that he met Jack Bannister, who’d taught him far too much, and given him a taste for criminality that I, for one, refused to believe he’d been born with. Whatever he might say.

  But Jack Bannister was high on the list of subjects we weren’t going to discuss, and I was relieved when Fisk stopped at the intersection of several paths and gestured to one that ended at the foot of an ancient tower.

  “There it is. And when we’re finished with your part of the investigation, I’d like to stop by the library and take a look at this thesis Benton’s supposed to have copied.”

  “You think you can prove ’twas forged?”

  “Depends on how they did it. Or if it was forged. We have onl
y Benton’s word for that.”

  Even Fisk wasn’t so cynical as to suspect Benton … which meant he only said it to provoke, so I ignored him.

  Like many old buildings, the tower’s door was several yards above the level of the ground. The windows held the thick glass rounds that let in light, but distort the view. There was a walled bailey off to one side, and I guessed there was a cellar with four stories atop. ’Twas probably there long before the university had been built up around it, and the guard at the front door would have looked quite at home had he been standing up with a halberd or a pike, instead of sitting on a camp stool and… “Is he knitting?”

  “Looks like it,” Fisk said. “I couldn’t tell what he was doing last night.”

  “Is he the one who hauled you off?”

  “Unless they’ve got two knitting guards.”

  I stared at the building, only a few hundred yards away, and tried to think of another way to do this. I couldn’t think of anything, and ’twas unworthy of a knight errant to stand dithering.

  “Come,” I said. “We only want to ask a few questions.” I matched the deed to the word, starting briskly off toward the guard with Fisk trailing reluctantly behind me.

  The guard put down his knitting as I approached. It appeared to be a sock, which I was once told takes some skill in the turning of the heel.

  “Good morning, sir, may I ask your…” His gaze went past me and found Fisk. “You!”

  He leapt to his feet, started to turn for the sword that leaned against the wall behind him, and then realized he shouldn’t take his eyes off us. I sympathized with his dilemma. My sword was currently where it usually is, rolled into the bedroll in my pack. This is by far the most practical place to carry it, but means I never have it to hand.