“That’s not the deal.”
“Why isn’t it the deal?” Royce snapped. “Why do I have to bring him? And if I do, why can’t he just stay with the horses? He’d serve an actual purpose then. Is this why you got me out of Manzant, to toy with me? Am I one of your many caged animals? Is it fun to tie my feet together and see if I can run? Are you keeping notes?”
Royce’s voice was more than a snarl this time, and Hadrian didn’t like how his muscles flexed. The dog was more than growling; his teeth were bared and his fur up.
Arcadius set the bag down and faced Royce without fear. “You’ll take him up the tower and get the book. That’s the deal.”
Royce took an aggressive step forward.
The professor didn’t flinch. Hadrian wasn’t certain the old man was even breathing.
Stand perfectly still, his father had told Hadrian once when they had come upon a bear and her cubs. Just let them pass. She’s as scared of you as you are of her. Fear makes anyone do stupid things. Take a step forward and she’ll figure she’s got nothing to lose. Take a step away, and she’ll think she has the upper hand and will press the advantage. The only way to win is to stand still and make her move first.
Arcadius was playing the same game and doing it well. Royce broke eye contact and walked out.
“We’re done until I make you a harness,” he said. “Something capable of lifting your dead weight.”
Royce flew by and slammed the door as he left, managing to blow out a nearby candle. The room was silent for a second and both continued to look at the door.
“He’s right.” Hadrian limped in and sat on the edge of the professor’s desk. “I’m only going to be a burden. You should let him do it alone.”
Arcadius took a deep breath and sighed. The old man looked weary. His head hung low, and his shoulders drooped. He reached out and supported himself on the edge of his little desk as he walked around it and sat slowly on the simple stool. He sighed again and stroked his beard. “Tell me, Hadrian, how did you learn to swing a sword?”
“How’s that?”
“When your father first started teaching you, did he give you that big spadone and the two of you go at it?”
“He started teaching me when I was four years old. I couldn’t lift any sword, much less that one.”
“So how did you manage it? How did you gain the strength to wield that giant metal blade?”
Hadrian remembered the wooden trainers he had used, but those were light as air. “The hammer,” he said, thinking out loud. “He had me pounding on the anvil as soon as I was tall enough to reach it. You swing a hammer long enough, your arms and shoulders build muscle.”
“Exactly. You don’t get stronger from lying around, or even from simply lifting your arms above your head. You need weight. You need resistance. You need challenge. And how did Danbury shape metal?”
“Metal?”
“Yes, how did he start?”
“Heated the metal, then beat it into a shape.”
“And what if he was making a sword-a good sword? One that had to be both sharp and strong? How did he do that?”
“You have to start with good metal, just the right mix of carbon and iron. Then you fold it.”
“Fold it? Why?”
“It evenly disperses the carbon and iron in layers, making them work together by providing both strength and flexibility as well as the hardness needed to keep a sharp edge.”
“How hot does the forge need to be to do that?”
“Very. And you have to leave the metal buried in the coal for a long time, until it is just the perfect color of gold.”
“You’ve made swords, haven’t you?”
“I made the ones I carry.”
“Do you think making a fine sword is a pleasant process?”
“Pleasant?” Hadrian thought about it. “Not really. It’s a lot of work and can be a torment. It takes a lot of time, and you’re never sure if it will work until you drop it in the water and see the tempering. Only then can you know how well the iron and carbon bonded.”
“Ever consider how the sword feels about it?”
Hadrian look puzzled. “The sword? No.”
Arcadius returned to feeding his animals. “That’s why it’s easier to be a blacksmith.”
Even after two days, Royce was still working on the harnesses, which was fine with Hadrian, who was in no rush. Whatever he was working on could define the line between life and death, so Hadrian liked to think that Royce was taking some time with it. However, this left Hadrian nothing to do. His ankle needed time to heal, but with the days so beautiful, he loathed to remain indoors.
He was on the common, staring up at the statue. In his time at the school he had learned the stone giant was actually a sculpture of Glenmorgan the First. Apparently he had come close to reuniting the four nations of man after the old empire fell into civil war. A big deal, he was told. Glenmorgan set his capital up north in Ervanon and built a massive palace there. He also built the university. It intrigued Hadrian that a world conqueror would also create a place of learning. Hadrian was trying to get a good look at his face because he thought he might have liked this man.
“Can you read?” Pickles asked.
“Yes,” Hadrian replied, his sight still focused on the statue. “My father taught me. Why do you…” Hadrian turned his attention to Pickles and saw the boy’s face was puffed and bruised. One eye had swollen closed and his upper lip inflated up to his nose.
Hadrian sat up. “Angdon?”
“You were right about his friends.” Pickles settled himself on the grass, moving slowly, cringing as he did. Once he settled himself against the base of the statue, he took a few calming breaths.
“Did the others hold you?”
Pickles shook his head. “They most certainly would have, but they had no need. He is a better fighter than I am.”
“I can see that.”
“All of them are.”
“Nobles being trained for combat start at a young age.” Hadrian stretched his ankle, testing it. No pain-nothing sharp, just a dull ache and a little stiffness. “So why did you want to know if I could read?”
“I thought perhaps you could teach me. I have never seen so many books.”
“Right now I think you’d have a hard time seeing anything. Are you all right?”
“I am fine.”
“Of course you are. Instead of teaching you to read, maybe I ought to teach you to fight better.”
“That is why I want you to teach me to read.” Pickles struggled to bring up his famous smile, but winced. “I have already determined how it is that I shall be beating that son of a baron-Angdon.”
“Really?”
Pickles leaned over slightly as if he were imparting a secret. “By being a most successful merchant, I will make piles of gold, travel in a fine carriage, wear the finest of silks, and live in a most luxurious palace. By obtaining the life he wants and achieving it by my own labor and my own very smart thinking, I will win. He will still have the title of noble, but I will have the life of a noble. If I could read, I could learn to be like those most powerful men in the citadel back in Vernes.”
“You’ve been speaking to Professor Arcadius, haven’t you?”
“A little.”
“No one talks to Arcadius a little.”
“Will you? I will trade whatever payment you had planned to give me.”
“I see. Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is that if you really want to become successful, to do all you just said, you’re going to need to know a whole lot more than just how to read. The good news is, you’re in the middle of a renowned university.”
“But they will not teach one such as me. This school is for nobles’ and merchants’ sons, and I’m … well … I’m not anything.”
“Professor Arcadius is an important man here, and he wants me to do something for him. In fact, I’m going to be leaving soon and you’ll be staying here.”
“But I-”
“No buts. You’ll stay here and the professor will see that you get a first-rate education, or I won’t do his job.”