Scholar's Plot (16 page)

“Pesky creatures,” I said. “The landlady has a real problem with them. They’ve been nesting in the attic. As soon as she finds one hole and boards it over, they chew another.”

“Ah,” said the guard. “Did that in my cousin’s barn. Got into the grain, they did. He had to fasten metal strips around the bin.”

He took his leave soon after that, leaving us all staring at each other.

“Who would want to sabotage the project?” Michael asked. “Benton, think about this. You must have seen someone do something suspicious. ’Tis why they had to get you out of the way.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Benton said. “Hang it, I’ve been racking my brains to explain this mess, ever since it started. And there’s
nothing
. It’s hopeless.”

There didn’t seem to be much to say after that, and the silence stretched until Benton sighed.

“I’m sorry. I’m grateful for all you’re trying to do. For everything my friends have done. I just hope no one figures out you borrowed Nancy Peebles’ keys. I’d hate to get her in trouble.”

“Is she a friend of yours?” I asked.

“She is, but she befriends most of the scholars who study here. They go to her when they get in a scrape, because she takes their side. Because her own son 
had so much trouble, I suppose. He was a scholar when he died.”

That could certainly explain a mother going soft on other scholars — in fact, it was the kind of deep emotional hook Jack used to look for when he was setting up a scam. Which was why I would never become Jack.

“Died? So young?” Kathy asked. “Did some illness take him, or was it an accident?”

“Killed himself,” Benton said. “And it may have been … well, not the university’s fault, but he didn’t have an easy time here.”

Something Benton understood all too well.

“He was one of those odd geniuses, whose mind seems to work only on their chosen subject, with no room for anything else. A mathematician, admitted on merit. They say his scores on the admission tests were higher than most students’ scores on the test to graduate. But the older Professors still talk about how hard he was to deal with. He’d go for weeks at a time, without saying a word to anyone about any subject except math — not even “hello” in passing. And he once tried to
eat
a bit of work his professor wanted to look at before he was ready to show it. The ink stained his tongue. Black for weeks.”

“I see why he’d have trouble with the other scholars,” Michael said. “Was that why…? Poor Clerk Peebles.”

“He was always afraid someone would steal his work, his teachers say. One day he started ranting, really shouting, that someone had stolen his numbers. He scared them. Then he ran home, and threw himself out of a four story window.”

“Poor lad,” said Michael. “Sometimes a mind so sharp is also fragile. And in the end, he slipped into true madness.”

“Or maybe somebody did steal his numbers,” I said. “Like someone stole Benton’s reputation, and Hotchkiss stole his victims’ secrets. Universities may seem placid, but they’re no better than any other group of people — often worse.”

Kathy looked startled by this, but Benton shrugged.

“They’re a little smarter, but no better in other ways. Though I didn’t realize how vicious … that is, I didn’t think anyone disliked me.”

“We shall find out who did,” Michael promised rashly. “And mayhap ’tis not you, but this project they 
hated. Could forging that thesis for Hotchkiss to find have been their first attempt to damage the project, and burning its records the second? Where does that leave us?”

It left us with Michael in charge of the investigation — he was being so careful not to look at me, he clearly knew it.

“I wasn’t that important,” Benton said. “The lore I passed on to Stint was useful at the start, but after I’d given him my notes I didn’t matter.”

“Whoever is sabotaging the project might not know that,” Kathy said. “Say they heard the formula that was getting results was based on your work, so they got rid of you. Then, when the project went right on without you, they had to burn the records.”

It wasn’t a bad theory. Hang it.

“I thought you were on my side,” I told Kathy. “‘How fickle is woman, she blows with the wind, loves tall then short, loves fat then thin.’”

“‘But coin is constant always,’” she added the refrain. “I’m blowing with the wind of logic. Who’s to say Hotchkiss’ murder and the sabotage of the project aren’t connected? In fact, they are connected if whoever is sabotaging the project used Hotchkiss to frame Benton. ’Tis really one investigation — you’re just pulling on 
different threads from the same garment. And I have to say, if I’d known you were going to take my sensible suggestion and turn it into a bone to scrap over, I’d never have—”

This time the knock made us all start and Benton hastened to the door. But instead of a Liege guardsman, a young man in a scholar’s coat, with spectacles thicker than Kathy’s, stood on the landing.

“Roger? What are you doing here?”

“I’m carrying a message from Professor Dayless,” he said. “You won’t have heard, Prof — that is, Master Sevenson, but someone broke into the tower last night and burned up all her records, and Professor Stint’s too.”

He saw that his condescending announcement had fallen flat, and peered at us more doubtfully.

“I did hear. The guard just paid us a visit.” Benton’s voice was cooler than I’d ever heard it. “Scholar Roger is one of Professor Dayless’ assistants. And this is…” His gaze swept over us, but classification was too complicated. “These are my friends. What do you want, Roger?”

I wondered if Roger was someone Benton had always disliked or, more painfully, someone he’d once liked, who had abandoned him when the scandal broke. Even if we proved that the thesis Hotchkiss found was forged, going back to his old life would be awkward.

Michael had hold of the dog’s collar, but Trouble didn’t seem eager to approach this man. I never said the mutt was stupid.

“I don’t want anything.” Under our critical gazes, Roger was regretting his rudeness. “It’s Professor Dayless. She can recreate most of her records from her finished copy—”

“Wait, she made a copy of all those statistics? Why?”

“Her notes were just the raw material,” Roger said. “She was already working on a final report to the Heir, which will include not only our conclusions, and the graphs, but a clean copy of all the data for his scholars to examine.”

The scrabbling of squirrel claws on wood sounded in the room overhead. I wondered how the jeweler had rebuilt his ladder so quickly. I also hoped Kathy had given the landlady
a lot
of money. Roger glanced up, his brows rising, but he went right on talking.

“Whoever made that nasty little bonfire didn’t know about that, or he’d have burned the final report, too. But Professor Stint only had one draft of his formulas so he’s going to have to recreate them, and for that he needs your notes. So if you’d please give them to me, I’ll take them to him now.”

I was beginning to see why Benton didn’t like this twerp, but like Michael, Benton had been raised to be obliging.

“I don’t have a copy either, so my notes probably burned with Stint’s. I’ll have to recreate them, and it’s going to take at least a few days. I might have them by—”

Clearly, Benton’s brain shut down the moment anyone asked him for help. Also like Michael.

“No, you won’t.” I rose to my feet, drawing all eyes. “Professor Sevenson is too busy trying to prove the accusation against him was nothing but a malicious lie. He has no reason to waste his time helping people who don’t understand that.”

“But…” Roger sputtered.

“But…” said Benton foolishly.

“But,” I swept on, “he might be willing to generously offer you his time and expertise, if Professor Dayless will grant his investigators—” I gestured to Michael and Kathy, as well as myself “—access to every part of the university as her sponsored guests. That includes complete access to the project.”

“The project is restricted,” Roger said.

“Which is why we need Professor Dayless’ permission. Because it’s beginning to look like your project may be involved in what happened to Professor Sevenson.”

Now it was my turn to avoid Michael’s eyes. He didn’t have enough proof to put him in charge of the investigation, not yet.

“If Professor Dayless wants Professor Sevenson’s cooperation, then she’s going to have to cooperate with us,” I concluded.

Behind the thick lenses, Roger’s eyes were wide. “I… I’d have to ask her about that. I was just sent to pick up Professor … I mean Master … um, the notes.”

“Then you should go ask her, shouldn’t you?”

He was still wiggling and objecting when I pushed him out the door and closed it in his face. Under three approving Sevenson gazes I went to the window, chased yet another squirrel off the sill, and peered out.

“He’s almost to the bottom of the steps. And now he’s off to the university. He’s running.” Well, it was a rapid jog. Professor Dayless must want Benton’s notes, badly.

“You think she’ll agree?” Kathy spread the question between Benton and me.

“Yes,” I said. “She wouldn’t have sent her beggar boy if she didn’t have to. It actually costs her nothing but a bit of pride.”

“There was a lot of detail in some of the formulas I complied,” Benton added. “Lists of herbs and minerals, twenty or thirty long, with notes on how they may have been gathered or treated. If he has to recreate his work, Stint will need them.”

“Then you’d better get started,” I said. “Because I think we’re going to hear from Professor Dayless 
shortly.”

In fact, Kathy barely had time to dress and comb her hair before Roger returned, red-faced and breathless, to say that Professor Dayless would like to meet with
Professor
Sevenson’s investigators.

“Why are you helping with my investigation?”

Roger and Kathy were walking down the street ahead of us, and I pulled Fisk back to ask my question. If he was up to something, I needed to know it.

“Why? Do you think I’m up to something?”

There was an edge of anger under the irony. And with Fisk, anger is often a mask over hurt. I took a moment to reach past my own frustration to honesty.

“Naught that would harm Benton’s cause, I’m certain of that. Nor anyone else. But the project is my part of the investigation, and you’ve no reason to help me win our wager, so… What are you up to, Fisk?”

“Nothing all that sinister.” He now sounded amused at my suspicion. “I don’t care what you investigate, because the problem will be solved by finding whoever went to such lengths to give Benton an alibi for Hotchkiss’ murder. Which is why I need access to the 
library … and hopefully, a chance to look around Hotchkiss’ office and finally get a look at that forged thesis! I also want to see if we can match some names to those initials.”

“Ah. Hence the bargain for all of Benton’s ‘investigators.’ I must say, that was quick thinking. But did you need to include Kathy?”

“Why not? She thinks quickly too, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

I had, and ’twas the prospect of two quick wits, with me for their target, that made me wish she wasn’t coming along. However, if we each took our own path they wouldn’t be so likely to team up against me. And ’twas now time to catch up, for we were nearing the university’s gate.

As usual in daytime the gates were open, but the gatekeeper greeted everyone who passed by. Watching closely, as he wished us well, I saw that he recognized both Fisk’s and my voices. He was happy to meet 
Professor Sevenson’s sister and tried to chat with her long enough to learn her voice too, but Roger was in a hurry to complete his task and he hustled us onward.

Classes were in session and only a handful of scholars wandered about, not the bustling tide the bell released. We reached the tower shortly, and Professor Dayless came to meet us on the steps. The guard hovered nervously behind her.

“So.” She was accustomed to weighing young men, and her gaze didn’t waver. “One of you isn’t an idiot.”

Fisk took this to himself. He was probably right.

“I don’t see why Benton should help you, if you won’t help him. In fact, I see several reasons he shouldn’t.”

Did a hint of color stain those thin cheeks? Her stern expression didn’t change.

“It may seem ridiculous to you, to maintain such tight security on this project — though what happened last night demonstrates exactly why we need it. And with that madman…” She frowned at Fisk. “I should tell you, your mad friend used his magic to demolish his own room night before last, and then blasted his way through the door and escaped into the campus. I don’t suppose he went to you?”

“He’s not my friend,” said Fisk. “And the Liege Guard told us about it this morning. Which makes what happened last night even more inexplicable, because you must have tightened your security.”

“Why? The madman broke out, not in. We’d no reason to think…” She stopped, rubbing her head as if it ached. “Looking back on it, with the usual perfect hindsight, we probably should have increased our security
before
he escaped. You must understand, whoever succeeds in doing this can write his own ticket with the Heir. Possibly with the High Liege himself. Nearly unlimited funding for research, for more classrooms, staff to expand the curriculum… Do you know why your brother joined this project, Master Sevenson?”

I thought ’twas because Headman Portner told him to. But I was there to learn, so I gestured for her to go on.

“He wants to found a new department, for the study of the ancients. The first on that subject, drawing scholars and professors interested in prehistory from all over the Realm. And he’d be running it in the best university in the Realm, which we could become with the Heir’s reward. Given that the stakes are that high, explain to me why I should give an unredeemed man and a criminal access to it.”

There’d been a time when this formidable dame would have intimidated me, but an unredeemed man has to deal with snubs of all sorts.

“Because without Benton’s notes, there’s less chance your project will succeed,” I said. “If his name isn’t cleared, Benton will never be able to head that department, even if you can make the Heir’s mistress shoot sparks out her ears. And from what Benton’s told me, there’s little about your project we don’t know anyway.”

“You don’t know Stint’s formulas,” she said. “And they’re at the heart of it. I’m just grateful the idiot — whoever he was, and whoever sent him — burned them instead of stealing them.”

“Are you sure he didn’t steal them?” Fisk asked. “Or make a copy, before he burned the originals?”

“Not completely,” she admitted. “But Stint found fragments of his work in the ashes, and they’d take a long time to copy. Most of the night, he says. So odds are the formulas were destroyed, and all he has to do is recreate them.”

“Which he’ll have trouble doing, without Benton’s help,” I said. “And if we’d been your saboteurs, Fisk, at least, would have kept the formulas and only burned the bits he couldn’t sell.”

Fisk grinned in a way I’d have found unnerving, but the dragon only looked us over and sighed.

“What do you want?”

“Very little,” I said. “I want to move freely about your tower, observe what I may, and ask what questions occur to me. Fisk wants access to the campus, so he can determine whether or not Master Hotchkiss’ death fits into this.”

“Hotchkiss? I thought a burglar killed him. And he had nothing to do with the project. One of the first things I did was have my scholars comb through all our books on the mind. A number of people have attempted to give people Gifts, but it’s never come close to working. There’s nothing in the library that helps.”

“Then there’s no harm in letting me look there,” Fisk pointed out.

I could see her beginning to yield, but she turned to Kathy next. “And you, in your fine court clothes. What’s your interest in this?”

Kathy wore a red linen bodice today, and a brown skirt without many petticoats. And though the lace at her cuffs and collar was rather nice, I’d not have taken her garb for “court clothes.” But she smiled up at the black-gowned professor.

“I’m here to keep Fisk and Michael on task. Though I think I’ll go with Fisk today. Benton told me all about your project, days ago.”

’Twas a shrewd stroke, and after a brief stiffening as the thrust sank home, the professor’s shoulders slumped.

“I suppose he has. I suppose he’s telling every passing beggar and town drunk all about it, and we’ve no way to stop him. I told the headman… All right,” she said. “Come in, and I’ll write a note to the campus clerk, sponsoring all of you as my guests. That gives you access to all public rooms, including classes in session, though you are only to observe and not interrupt.”

I guessed that “sponsored guest” was the status given to folk who were thinking of enrolling a child here, but it should suit Fisk’s purposes. I had what I most wanted, when she told the guard I was permitted to come and go from the tower as I willed.

Fisk and Kathy set off for the clerk’s office, with Professor Dayless’ note, and Roger was dismissed to his own concerns. Then the professor turned to me.

“Master Sevenson. What do you want to know?”

“I’d prefer to start with Master Quicken, since Benton seems to have spent more time with him than anyone.”

Her brows rose, in the surprised contempt of those who dismiss such folk as gamekeepers as unimportant. ’Twas the first foolish thing I’d seen her do. Those without power must use their wits to protect themselves from those who have it, and their observations of their “betters” are usually keen.

But she led me down the central hall Fisk had described, through a room that held vegetable bins, scraps of wood, and other materials and tools for making or repairing cages, then out the door in the far wall to the tower’s courtyard.

I put Quicken’s age in his early forties, but he rose from the crate he knelt beside with a muscular flexibility that spoke of days tramping through woods and over fields, instead of puttering about on this tame campus.

“Master Sevenson is Professor Sevenson’s brother,” she told him. “You may answer his questions, and help him find whatever he needs. And yes, that includes questions about the project.” She turned, and went back into the tower with no further ado.

Lat Quicken eyed me in some surprise. He’d probably been told not to talk about the project to anyone, on pain of some dire penalty. ’Twas no wonder he was wary at this sudden reversal.

“Benton sends his regards.” I had no qualms about saying this, for Benton had told me enough about the man that I knew he’d have done so. “And I’m to ask how your daughter fares.”

’Twas the right approach; the man’s wary expression faded into relieved joy.

“She’s doing well, sir. The surgeon says she’ll be off her crutches in another month, and likely walk without even a limp, someday.”

“It must have been a terrible accident.” Indeed, chatting as we rode home from the farm Benton had described a compound fracture, followed by an infection that might have carried the girl off, though she seemed to be recovering now.

“Twelve’s the age they get into the most trouble, if you ask me. Even the girls. We told the youngsters to stay out of that old mill, that the floors were rotten. Maybe now they’ll heed the next warning.”

“Do you think so? My brothers and I never did.”

He laughed, and turned back to the cage he’d been cleaning. “Well, maybe not. My brothers and I were the same. What do you want to ask me, sir? I only care for the rabbits, and trap more when they want to try another batch of potions.”

’Twas too soon to ask anything that mattered, so I grasped at a random question. “Do these potions hurt the rabbits?”

“No sir,” Quicken said. “Not that either of them would… Ah, they seem to be painless.”

I doubt many would have cared — though I’d wager the Heir’s mistress did. I remembered all too well how Mistress Ceciel’s potions had hurt me.

“They might not care,” I said. “But Benton would. Here, let me assist with that.”

I helped lift the cleaned crate back onto the end of a row — one of several rows of solid-bottomed crates, that covered the end of the yard and must have held 
several hundred rabbits. Each rabbit wore a chain with 
a numbered tag about its neck, but they seemed none the worse for it. As we cleaned the cages, with me drawing buckets from the well and moving rabbits 
to and from the runs, Lat told me that he’d trapped 
almost three hundred rabbits for them.

“But I released about fifty that were too wary of magica to show any ‘improvement.’ And about five magica rabbits, caught in my snares.” He shook his head 
in amazement. “You feel ’em wiggling in your hand, fur and bone, and even the beat of their hearts … but you can see your own hand right through ’em. A chancy business, letting ’em loose, but they go visible as they scamper off and none was harmed, so no ill luck to follow.”

I could feel the heartbeat of the rabbit I held — more rapid than a man’s, but not the racing beat of fear. These wild bunnies had settled into captivity remarkably well, and Master Quicken seemed to have settled too.

“When Benton was dismissed, how did folk around here react?”

Quicken cast me a sharp look. He knew what I wanted. The question was, would he answer, or retreat behind a servant’s dutiful politeness?