Feeling pleased that he had found the lock at the first try, he had tugged at the pick to remove it, only to discover that it was stuck.
It had flexed as he tried to twist or wiggle it free. Afraid he would damage it, he left the tool lodged in the crack and reached for another. This he inserted slightly higher than the first.
Before he’d had a chance to prod around to find what was holding his first tool, the second had locked into place. Cursing, Cery had pulled at it with all his strength, but he only succeeded in bending it.
Reaching into his coat for a third pick, he had slipped it in the gap between the floor and door. At once it became stuck. No matter how hard he pulled, the pick remained in place. He tried removing the others, with no success.
As dark hours passed, he had tried several times to retrieve his tools. He could think of no device that would grab and hold a pick so fast. Nothing except, of course, magic.
His legs began to cramp with the cold, so he rose to his feet. He put a hand out to the wall to steady himself as his head began to spin. His stomach growled, telling him it had been far too long since he had eaten, but his thirst was worse. He longed for a mug of bol or a glass of pachi juice, or even a little water.
He wondered, again, if he would be left to die in the cell. If the Guild had wanted him dead, however, he was sure they would have arranged it before hiding his body somewhere. That gave him some hope. It meant that their plans probably relied on him being alive—for now. If those plans failed, however, he might find himself getting very hungry.
Thinking of the other magician—the blue-robed one—he could not remember any signs of deceit in the man’s demeanor. The magician was either skilled at projecting trustworthiness, or he had known nothing about Cery’s impending captivity. If the latter was true, then this was Fergun’s game.
Whether the blonde magician was the sole plotter or not, Cery could see only two reasons for his imprisonment: the Thieves or Sonea.
If the magicians intended to use Cery to manipulate the Thieves, they would be disappointed. Faren didn’t need or care about Cery that much.
They might try torture to get information out of him. While he preferred to think that he could resist such persuasion, he was not going to fool himself. He would not know if he was capable of remaining silent until he faced such a trial.
It was possible that the magicians could read his mind anyway. If they did, they would discover he knew little that could be used against the Thieves. Once they realized that, they would probably leave him in the dark permanently.
But he doubted that the Thieves were their target. They would have questioned him by now.
No, the only questions he had been asked concerned Sonea. During his journey to the University, Fergun had asked what kind of relationship Cery had with her. If the magicians wanted to know if Cery was important to her, they probably meant to use him to blackmail her into doing something she didn’t want to do.
The thought that he might have made her situation worse tormented him as much as, sometimes more than, the fear of being left to die. If only he hadn’t been tempted to see the University. The more Cery thought about it, the more he cursed himself for his curiosity.
Between one breath and the next he heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. As they grew louder his anger subsided and his heart began to race.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. There was a dull metallic click, followed by the lighter patter of his tools falling to the floor. A long slice of yellow light appeared as the door opened.
Fergun slipped through, his light following. Blinking at the brightness, Cery saw the magician regard him with narrowed eyes, then look down at the floor.
“Well, look at this,” Fergun murmured. Turning to one side, he let go of the plate and bottle he was carrying. Instead of falling, they descended slowly to the floor. He spread his fingers out and the picks rose obediently to his hand.
As he examined them, the magician’s eyebrows rose. He looked up at Cery and smiled.
“You didn’t really think these would work, did you? I expected you to have a little experience with such things, so I took precautions.” His eyes dropped to Cery’s clothes. “Do you have any more of these hidden away somewhere?”
Cery swallowed the denial that came to his lips. Fergun would never believe it. The magician smiled and held his hand out.
“Give them to me.”
Cery hesitated. If he gave up several of the objects hidden within his clothes, he might be able to retain a few of his more valuable possessions.
Fergun stepped closer.
“Come now, what use are they to you here?” He wiggled his fingers. “Give them to me.”
Slowly, Cery reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of his less-useful tools. Glaring at the magician, he dropped them into the outstretched hand.
Fergun looked thoughtfully at the picks, then his eyes rose to meet Cery’s. A malicious smile thinned his mouth.
“Do you really expect me to believe this is all you have?”
His fingers flexed. Cery felt something invisible push against his chest and he staggered backward until he hit the wall. A force wrapped itself over him, pressing him against the bricks.
Fergun drew closer and examined Cery’s coat. With a jerk, he ripped open the lining to reveal hidden pockets. He plucked out the contents, then turned his attention to the rest of Cery’s clothes.
As he drew the knives out of Cery’s boots, Fergun made a small grunt of satisfaction, then a more appreciative “ah” as he found Cery’s daggers. Straightening, he pulled one of the weapons out of its sheath. He examined the widest part of the blade, where a rough picture of the small rodent that was Cery’s namesake had been etched.
“Ceryni,” the magician said. He looked up at Cery.
Cery stared back defiantly. Fergun chuckled and stepped away. Taking a large square of cloth from his robes, he wrapped up the tools and weapons, then turned to the door.
Realizing that the magician was going to leave without giving any explanation, Cery’s heart skipped.
“Wait! What do you want from me? Why am I here?”
Fergun ignored him. As the door closed, the magical restraints vanished and Cery stumbled forward onto his knees. Panting with fury, he felt his coat, cursing as he confirmed that most of his tools had been taken. He regretted the daggers most, but it was hard to hide weapons of that size.
Sitting back on his heels, he let a long sigh escape him. He still had a few items. They might come in handy. He would just have to come up with a plan.
22
An Unexpected Offer
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.” Dannyl grasped Rothen’s shoulders, turned him about and pushed him out of his rooms. “If you hide yourself away you’ll only add strength to what Fergun’s supporters are saying.”
Rothen sighed and followed Dannyl down the corridor. “You’re right, of course. I’ve barely spoken to anyone for the last two weeks—and I should ask Lorlen to delay visiting for a few days. Wait ...” Rothen looked up, his brow creasing. “What have Fergun’s supporters been saying?”
Dannyl smiled grimly. “That she learned control in a few days, and you’ve been keeping her locked away so Fergun can’t see her.”
Rothen made a rude noise. “What nonsense. I’d like to see them suffering some of the headaches I’ve had in the last week.” He grimaced. “I guess this means I can’t delay Lorlen for long.”
“No,” Dannyl agreed.
They reached the entrance to the Magicians’ Quarters and stepped outside. Though the snow was melted from the paths and pavement by novices each morning and evening, the courtyard was already covered in a thin white powder. It crunched under their boots as they crossed to the Seven Arches.