A stones throw, p.28
A Stone's Throw, page 28
part #2 of The Petralist Series
Connor wondered how Ilse could hope to slip in or out of the castle with such tightened scrutiny. Had she left? He’d never believe that, but where could she be? How would she deliver the promised letters to him?
After posting two particularly good runs, Jok rose to within just a few points of Shona, and it looked like he’d finally snatch the top spot from her. The next day, the Rhidorroch was swarmed with eager fans, chanting the names of both students.
Shona, whose freshly oiled battle leathers gleamed in the bright morning sunshine, took all of the attention with her normal grace. She waved to the crowds, made a little speech thanking them for their support, and assuring them their efforts helped her perform better.
The entire course had been altered overnight, featuring an entirely new obstacle: a slow-spinning wheel that reared twenty-five feet into the air, standing vertical, attached to a central support pole. Students needed to climb the wheel, using granite-enhanced strength to scramble up the widely spaced steps set in the outer edge. Some students moved too slow, gaining no ground against the wheel as it spun the other way, and more than a few students ran out of powder there. When they reached the tiny platform at the pinnacle of the central support, they slid down a steep rope.
Shona ran the course in record time, despite the new obstacle, and walked the outer wall of the Rhidorroch, waving to the crowds roaring approval and chanting her name.
Jok took the slide with a snarl of determination, and Connor silently wished he’d get lost in the maze.
He shot through the maze with no wrong turns, scaled the tricky wheel even faster than Shona had, and was on pace to beat her. The crowds packing the observation platform shouted support in a near-frenzy.
Then he fell from the suspended rope net above the final mud pit, screaming with frustrated anger all the way into the mud. He lost twenty seconds struggling up the sand-filled tube. The cries of dismay of the crowd spread to those outside the Rhidorroch who couldn’t see the actual run. Shona’s supporters cheered all the louder, while many of Jok’s fans wept openly, and half a dozen fistfights erupted.
Jok’s mistake dropped his overall score to just one point above the third-place Boulder, a quiet fellow who was also in Professor Greim’s class. The fellow gained a huge new following and looked shocked by the attention.
Shona greeted Jok when he returned, muddy and furious. “Nice try, Jok. Too bad you cracked under pressure.”
“I’ll have you tomorrow, Shona,” Jok snarled.
She gave him a teasing smile and leaned close as a hush settled over the crowd, everyone strained to hear her soft response.
“You will never have me,” she said, her face mere inches from his. “Not here, not anywhere.” His face reddened, although her close proximity seemed to have shaken his bluster. “Enjoy this moment because this is the closest you’ll ever come.”
Then she spun away and down the outer stairs, followed by her ever-increasing gaggle of supporters.
Connor grinned to himself. Shona’s twisting of the conversation had left Jok sputtering, without any good come-back.
While the rest of the students completed their runs, Jok paced the platform, muttering curses at Shona and her bloodline, clenching and unclenching the fist that had failed him on the ropes.
Connor was still in good humor when he descended the outer stair later that morning and slipped through the crowds dispersing for the lunch hour. He rounded the outer wall of the Rhidorroch, heading for the Sculpture House.
Jok and his pig-eyed friend were waiting for him just around the far corner. Few people passed that way, so they were far too alone for Connor’s taste.
“Come here, Connor,” Jok said, his expression calm for the first time all morning.
“Ah, I have pressing duties for the sculptress,” he said, trying to hurry past.
Jok lifted one hand. From it dangled the pendant. “We need to talk.”
He feared Jok, but he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try to retrieve the precious pendant. So he cautiously approached, wishing he had granite available in case the meeting turned unpleasant.
“I thought you said you planned to keep that,” he said, trying not to show how desperately he wanted the pendant back.
“I did,” Jok admitted. “But that girl of yours is like a ghost.”
“She is pretty fast,” Connor admitted, relieved that Jok still hadn’t realized where Jean was hiding. The fact that she’d spent so much time researching for Ailsa probably helped keep her location secret.
“She’s maddening,” Jok said. “Three times, my people spotted her in the Carraig near the library, but every time she disappeared. Tell me where to find her, and I’ll resume our original geall.”
“Maybe she doesn’t like people following her,” Connor said.
The pig-eyed student, whose name Connor still didn’t know, took a threatening step closer. “I still think you should just beat it out of him.”
“Is that what you want?” Jok asked, suddenly angry. “I’m granting you more honor than your station allows, which you clearly think you deserve. Don’t stand in my way, Connor, or I will destroy you.”
Connor retreated a step from Jok’s rage. “I’m not intentionally trying to cause trouble. It’s just, my duty to Jean prevents me from sharing her location unless she grants permission.”
Jok growled and took a threatening step forward. “You do know where she is, then!”
Connor raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Give me that pendant, and I’ll ask her if she’ll agree to meet you where proper introductions can be made.”
Jok lunged and grabbed him by the collar. “She’s not a lady, and you’re not a lord!” He lifted Connor by the throat and shook him until his teeth rattled. “Don’t play games with me.”
“I can arrange a meeting,” Connor wheezed, barely able to breathe.
“Tell me!” Jok shouted, shaking him harder. “I’ll not play second place to a stupid linn.”
“This is an interesting sight,” a new voice spoke behind Jok.
He spun, and only then did Connor see Professor Hector standing nearby, looking curious and not at all bothered to see Jok beating on him.
Jok dropped Connor, who fell to one knee, gasping for breath. “I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t see you there.”
“Indeed,” Hector said, advancing slowly. “You were too busy threatening to kill the one who brings our portions. I do hope you have good reason for risking our precious powder supply.”
Connor stood, for the first time grateful that Professor Hector was near. His need for powder would drive him to protect the one who delivered it.
“This one’s keeping secrets from me,” Jok said, his expression stubborn. “And I want the truth.”
“What secrets?” Hector asked, not even glancing at Connor.
“Jok wants Connor’s woman,” Pig-eyes laughed. “Even took his little necklace, but can’t get him to tell.”
“I just want to meet her,” Jok protested. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“If it is or if it’s not does not matter in the least,” Hector said, casting a disapproving glance at Connor. “If she is not the property of some other lord or lady, your desire is sufficient. You have the right.”
He leaned closer to Connor, his gaze growing intense. “Who are you to deny a righteous desire?”
“I was just promising to set up a meeting,” Connor offered. “As soon as he returned my pendant.”
“Not until I have her,” Jok replied.
Hector extended his hand and, after a brief hesitation, Jok dropped the pendant into his open palm. Connor nearly leaped forward to snatch at it. Jok was clueless enough to never recognize the pendant’s worth, but Hector was too clever by half.
Professor Hector examined the pendant. “Fine workmanship. No doubt a gift from the sculptress.”
“Yes,” Connor said, daring that the professor would broker its return.
Then all his hopes were dashed when Professor Hector’s eyes widened in surprise and he stared sharply at the pendant. He touched it, then turned back to Connor, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Jok, you are my class captain. I will grant you a boon. I’ll broker the meeting with the lass you so earnestly desire.”
“That would be appreciated, sir,” Jok said, even though it looked like he’d prefer beating the information out of Connor.
“Leave us,” Hector said. “I promise you, I’ll deal with this.”
“Thank you, professor,” Jok said, grinning with the expected victory. He and Pig-eyes trotted away, joking.
Professor Hector bounced the pendant on his palm, his grin turning predatory. “Tell the sculptress, I will visit her soon,” he said, his voice gloating. “She and I have much to discuss.”
He walked away, a spring in his step, the pendant clutched protectively in his left hand.
Connor was tempted to tackle him and try to get it back, but Hector was already tapping granite and Connor had no powder to burn.
Instead, he rushed back toward the Sculpture House, chased by fears of what was going to happen to Ailsa.
Chapter 44
When Connor burst into the workroom, Ailsa took one look at his face and motioned him toward her office. It took her a moment to finish instructing Gisela on how to deal with a flaw in the girl’s work in progress, then joined him.
“What’s happened?” she asked. “You look more shocked than when you first learned Shona had come to the Carraig.”
He hated to tell her. He felt like he’d failed her. He was the one who had lost the pendant, the one who had failed to retrieve it.
“Professor Hector has the pendant you made for me,” he blurted. “And he knows what it is.”
Ailsa paled, one hand rising to her mouth in more display of fear than he’d ever seen from her. It reinforced his own terror.
“Tell me everything,” Ailsa commanded, regaining her composure and motioning him to sit while she moved to her overstuffed chair behind the cramped desk.
Connor explained about the confrontation with Jok, Hector’s intercession, and his acquisition of the pendant.
“I’d hoped he wouldn’t know,” Connor said. “But he figured it out.”
“What did he say?”
She released a long slow breath after he related the exchange. “At least Jok knows nothing.”
“But he’s coming here,” Connor said. “You know what he’ll want to bargain for.”
“Indeed,” she said. “And that places me in a quandary. I should denounce him at once, force him to accept help for his addiction or run the risk of becoming unclaimed.”
“You can’t,” Connor said. “He’ll denounce you in turn.”
“No doubt, that will be the geall he intends to run,” she said.
“Is it really so bad to give him a little extra powder?” Connor asked, terrified to think what might happen to her if Professor Hector denounced her.
“Yes, and no,” Ailsa said, leaning back in her chair, her expression grave. “Yes because the powder is precious and it is entrusted to me. I took a solemn oath to manage it carefully and give an accurate and honest accounting of my stewardship. To do less is a breach of my word and a stain on my honor.”
Connor nodded. If word leaked that she had pilfered powder from the stores entrusted to her, the resulting damage to her reputation might be as bad as any punishment she might suffer from sculpting the pendant in the first place.
“I could say I stole the pendant,” Connor offered.
“I appreciate the thought,” she said with a sad smile. “But that does not absolve me of the crime of crafting it in the first place.”
“But there has to be a way,” he exclaimed.
“There may be, but it will not be a simple or an easy way, and to flip this geall back on Hector, we may need to perhaps bend a little.”
“What do you mean?”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Gisela stuck her head in. “Excusing me, mistress. Professor Hector wishes audience.”
“Send him in,” Ailsa said, composing her features.
Connor cursed under his breath. He’d hoped the professor would linger, allow them time to figure out a plan. No doubt he was eager to get his hands on the extra portions he’d been craving all term.
When he rose, Ailsa motioned him back down. “You will remain here, Connor.”
Professor Hector swept into the room and closed the door firmly in Gisela’s face. He all but quivered with glee as he extracted the pendant on its silver chain and bounced it in his palm.
“Good afternoon, Professor,” Ailsa said calmly.
“And a very good day to you, my dear sculptress,” Hector said, with a laugh in his voice. He glanced at Connor and made a mock bow. “Thanks to your servant, I am come to engage your services.”
“My services always come with a price,” Ailsa replied.
“This time, I’ll be the one naming terms,” he snapped, his good humor fading. He approached the desk, towering over Ailsa’s seated form. “Your own foolish pride has become your downfall, Ailsa. You dared stand above your station. That always backfires. This I know from sad experience.”
“You carry an item that belongs to me,” Ailsa said, extending her hand toward the pendant.
“Indeed I do.” Hector held it from its chain, but did not drop it into her palm. “Excellent craftsmanship. You outdid yourself with this one, sculptress. A wonderful example of understated elegance.”
He drew the pendant away. “And I will gladly return it to you after you provide the services I require.”
“And if I refuse?”
He leaned over the desk, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “Then I denounce you, Ailsa. You lose everything and your life of pampered luxury becomes a bitter existence of daor.”
Hearing him speak aloud the threat of slavery filled Connor with a raging fury. His fists clenched and he gathered his legs, tensing to spring at the infuriating man. Ailsa noted the subtle shift of his position and she stilled him with a glance.
“You’re assuming the sculpting is not sanctioned.”
Hector laughed and paced away. When he turned, he glanced at Connor and his laughter faded away. Connor thought he concealed his anger, but Hector was not fooled. The man increased his ever-burning tap rate, rippling muscles straining against his leather shirt. “You’re smarter than that, boy. Don’t dig your aunt in deeper.”
Connor yearned to throw himself upon the arrogant man, but Hector was right, it would have been little more than a useless gesture. So he willed himself to relax and lean back in his chair.
Hector gave him an approving nod and spun back to Ailsa. “My dear sculptress, don’t pretend I’m a fool, and I won’t have to make this any harder on you than it has to be. Of course this isn’t sanctioned. If it was, you never would have entrusted it to a common courier. Even if I could believe you were that stupid, you would have raised an official complaint against Jok when he took it. No, my dear Ailsa, we both know this cannot be a sanctioned sculpting. The question is, why would you take such a risk?”
“Why indeed?”
“I don’t care,” he said loftily. “All that matters is that it exists and that I possess it. We all have secrets, Ailsa, particularly here at the Carraig. I will guard yours as I guard my own. In return, you will double my portion.”
Ailsa laughed, looking far more at ease than Connor imagined she could. “Now it’s my turn to remind you not to play the fool, Hector. Not only is such a demand impossible, but it requires that I denounce you to the board of chancellors.”
“Which you cannot do without being denounced yourself.” Hector spoke quickly, making a rolling motion with his hand. “Blah blah blah. Demand, counter demand. Threat followed by counter threat. Are we really going to play every aspect of this farce of a negotiation? The fact that you crafted an unsanctioned sculpture is proof that you’re willing to break even major laws when you see fit. You will do my bidding, and we both know it.”
Ailsa seemed to deflate, and Connor hated Hector for forcing her into such an impossible situation. “I cannot double your portion,” she insisted. “But this I can do for you. I will arrange for one extra teacher portion for you per week.”
“Every other day,” he responded without hesitation.
She shook her head. “Like you said, this is not a negotiation. You hold the upper hand. I admit defeat, but I speak in earnest. I can arrange one extra portion per week, no more or the loss will be noted.”
“Your predecessor did better,” Hector said, looking down on her with open disgust.
“The accounting procedures are tighter now,” she said. “Do you want the extra powder or not?”
“Figure out how to get me more,” he ordered. “I’ll take the extra portion for now, but I insist you double it again by the first group battles.”
“I make no promises,” Ailsa said.
“Oh, but I do,” Hector said, his voice deadly serious. “Find a way Ailsa, or the truth of your indiscretions will come out.”
When she didn’t answer, he smiled, taking her silence for surrender. He leaned over the desk, his voice becoming warm, friendly. “I’m not a bad man, Ailsa.”
“No, you’re sick,” Ailsa said. “And your addiction is driving you to do bad things. In the end, your intentions won’t matter.”
“Are we so different?” he asked. “You committed a far more grievous treason than I. I just want a little powder. You exercised your powers in unlawful ways, produced a dangerous artifact.”
