“It is, indeed, and always has been.” Quaeryt followed the two down the corridor to an open door … and inside.
Zarxes shut the door, deftly sliding the bolt, then stepped over beside Phaeryn.
The study was modest in size, if richly paneled in what Quaeryt thought was walnut. A wide desk was set forward of and between two windows flanked by dark green hangings, and three straight-backed chairs faced the desk. The side wall to Quaeryt’s right, as he faced the desk, was composed of floor-to-ceiling shelves, although less than a third of the space actually contained books. The wall to his left also held shelves. Two armchairs were set before the shelves on the left.
The silver-haired Phaeryn smiled politely. “You might explain why you need all those troopers if you are here merely to talk.”
“Oh … they’re just here to assure that we do talk. Some people, even scholars, have an aversion to discussing certain matters.”
“Might I assume the disappearance of Scholar Chardyn was your doing?” asked Zarxes.
“He disappeared? That would almost be a pity, except for the fact that he was a part of the botched efforts of the Pretender. As for assumptions, you can assume what you wish. All I know is that, if Scholar Chardyn vanished, it was a result of his own acts.”
“He disappeared in the middle of the night on the same night you departed … and you had nothing to do with it? That’s rather unlikely.”
“I never said I had nothing to do with it. I intimated that his disappearance was the result of his own decisions. Someone lurked in my room that night. I suspect that Scholar Chardyn discovered that I had been appointed scholar assistant to the princeps of Tilbor. I also suspect he knew what I had discovered.” Quaeryt smiled.
“Oh?” asked Phaeryn smoothly, moving toward one of the armchairs, against which rested what appeared to be a walking stick, but was more likely a half-staff. “And what was this dark and mysterious secret you discovered?”
Quaeryt smiled politely as Zarxes took a position before the other armchair, where another half-staff rested. “It was no secret to either of you. Actually, there were several secrets. One was the fact that you’d made several unsuccessful attempts to murder High Holder Fhaedyrk. Another was that you-or, more directly, Chardyn-were behind the bloody attack on Governor Fhayt. That didn’t include-”
Both Zarxes and Phaeryn attacked with their Sansang half-staffs. The staffs impacted his shields, and rebounded. Phaeryn’s dropped from his hands, while Zarxes dropped his and, drawing a wide-bladed knife from under his brown jacket, turned and slashed Phaeryn’s throat, then dropped the knife.
For a moment, that act froze Quaeryt. In that moment, Zarxes turned, took three steps to the shelves, and reached out. The shelves swung aside, revealing a circular staircase.
Quaeryt rushed toward the staircase, but the shelves closed with a dull thud.
He tried pressing or pushing where he’d seen Zarxes put his hand-on a seemingly ornamental protrusion on the bracket holding a lamp-but nothing happened. He glanced back at the still-struggling Phaeryn, whose bloody hands came away from his neck as he pitched forward, dying, if not already dead.
Quaeryt tried to image part of the mechanism away, but nothing happened except that his head felt like it would split where he stood.
Iron-lined … or metal anyway … behind all that.
Quaeryt sprinted to the study door, fumbled with the bolt, then flung open the door and sprinted down the corridor and out onto the porch. As he started across the porch to issue orders to Gauswn, a figure with a half-staff launched himself at Quaeryt, only to rebound from the scholar’s shields. Quaeryt ignored the interruption as he stopped at the edge of the porch. “Gauswn! Send a patrol out to look for a scholar with silver-blond hair and beard! That’s Zarxes. He killed the Master Scholar. Have them capture any scholar they see away from the scholarium. Then report back to me inside.” Then he whirled and jabbed a finger at the middle-aged and gray-haired scholar who stood waiting. “Nalakyn-find me a sledge and an ax! Bring them to the Master Scholar’s study! Now!”
The scholar paled, then swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt thought that Zarxes had probably used the hidden staircase to access an escape tunnel, if one happened to be located near the staircase. Quaeryt had few doubts about that, but he needed to make certain, just on the off chance that Zarxes was holed up down below.
He turned in time to see the man who had attacked him-Alkiabys-scurry across the porch and into the building by the eastern front porch door. He took a step in that direction, then stopped. He couldn’t afford the time to chase Alkiabys.
“None of you are to leave the porch or the building!” He turned and hurried back inside and down the corridor to Phaeryn’s study. Several scholars and students backed away from him as he did. Absently, he realized that neither Lankyt nor Syndar were among them.
He stopped in the study doorway, but the only figure inside was the sprawled and motionless form of the Master Scholar. In a few moments, Nalakyn appeared with a sledge, followed by a young scholar bearing an ax, then by Gauswn.
Quaeryt stepped back. “Nalakyn, Undercaptain, inspect the body. I’d like you to see what happened before anyone else disturbs matters.” A few moments wouldn’t matter so far as Zarxes happened to be concerned. He was either running-and while the cavalry patrol might catch him, Quaeryt wouldn’t-or hidden in the lower levels, in which case he wasn’t going anywhere soon.
Gauswn knelt first, away from the blood pooled on the polished but worn wooden floor. “A single cut across the throat. It’s deep.”
Nalakyn bent over and then straightened. He was pale when he rose, and he swallowed several times. “Why … why would Zarxes do that?” He frowned. “Where did he go? None of us saw him.”
“I was hoping you could shed some light on why the princeps did that. Think it over. Now … there’s a hidden staircase behind those shelves. That’s how he left. If anyone knows how to open it … fine. If not, we need to break through it.” He looked to Nalakyn.
“I didn’t know there was anything there, sir.”
“Which side was swung out, sir?” asked Gauswn, rising to his feet.
Quaeryt concentrated, trying to remember. “The left.”
“Then there might be a catch somewhere between the planks that form the edges of the cases there.” Gauswn took the ax from the student scholar, hefted it, then stepped toward the seemingly unbroken wall of shelves.
Three deftly aimed strokes of the ax-so precise that Quaeryt had to wonder where the undercaptain had learned to handle it-and one slightly splintered polished support later, the section of shelves leaned forward, but only about a third of a yard, if that.
Gauswn stepped away. “The back is lined with iron, and there’s an iron rod affixed to a plate. A long cold chisel would be better. I’ll just break the ax, otherwise.”
So Quaeryt found himself waiting for another fraction of a quint before another student hurried back with the cold chisel.
Finally, Gauswn snapped the junction between rod and plate and the shelves swung open. “I should go first, sir.”
“No. You follow me.” Quaeryt stepped around the undercaptain, contracted his shields so that they were close to his body and strengthened them, and then eased down the circular wooden staircase, sturdy enough that it did not even creak once.
At the bottom of the staircase he faced an open space and two doors. Both were closed, but in the dim light that filtered down, he could see bootprints on the dusty stone floor leading to the door on the right. He stepped forward and opened the door-only to find shelves stacked with bottles that looked to hold wine.
He studied the wine closet again, until he saw where the dust had been disturbed. He tried to lift the bottle, but it did not move. He tried to pull it toward him. There was a slight give, but nothing more. He pushed the neck of the bottle, and the entire back of the closet swung away, revealing a long tunnel curving toward the west and angling downhill, a tunnel not quite tall enough for Quaeryt to stand erect.