with the lock. Uskan huffed and slumped against the wall. “I should have told you, ‘Any minute,’” he muttered.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Adamat said.
“Yes, I am. And I won’t be able to lie to the vice-chancellor when he asks if someone’s been in his office.”
“Come, now. He won’t know.”
“Of course he will, how can…”
The lock clicked and Adamat pushed the door open gently. The office inside was more representative of what one might expect from a university type. Books and papers were everywhere. There were plates of half-eaten food on chairs, tables, even the floor. The entire room was walled by bookshelves twice as tall as a man, and those were overflowing, sagging with the weight of too many books stacked haphazardly upon each other.
“Don’t move anything,” Uskan said. “He knows exactly where he left every item. He’ll know if…” Uskan fell silent at a look from Adamat. “Here, let me find the book,” he said sullenly.
Adamat stayed at the edge of the paper-and-ink jungle that was the vice-chancellor’s office while Uskan looked for the missing book with the natural grace of a secretary. Papers were lifted, plates and books shifted, but everything was returned to its exact place.
Adamat stood on his toes and surveyed the room. “Is this it?” Adamat asked, pointing to the center of the vice-chancellor’s desk.
Uskan pulled his head out from beneath the vice-chancellor’s chair. “Oh. Yes.”
Adamat stepped gingerly through the room. He lifted the book carefully and began to leaf through it. Uskan came up beside him.
“No damaged pages,” Adamat reported. He scanned the pages, flipping through, looking for just two words to stand out. He found his prize in the book’s afterword, on the last page.
Adamat read aloud: “And they will guard Kresimir’s Promise with their lives, for if it is broken, all the Nine might perish.” He scanned the page, and then the page after, and then the page before. There were no other references. He scowled at the pages. “This doesn’t make sense.”
Uskan’s finger stabbed the middle of the book, right at the spine.
“What?”
“More pages missing,” Uskan said. “Half the afterword.” His voice trembled with rage.
Adamat looked closer. Sure enough, the pages had been torn clean from the book. The binding was different on this volume, making it difficult to tell that the pages were missing at all. He sighed. “Where can I find another copy of this book?”
Uskan shook his head. “Maybe the Public Archives. I think Nopeth University has a copy, too.”
“I’m not sitting in a coach for the better part of a month just to ‘maybe’ find a book at Nopeth University,” Adamat said. He snapped the book shut and returned it to the vice-chancellor’s desk. “I’ll have to check the Public Archives.”
“The riots,” Uskan protested as Adamat made his way to the door.
Adamat paused.
“They’ll have it locked up,” Uskan said. “The Archives contain tax records, family histories, even safe-deposit boxes. They have guards, Adamat.”
That was only a problem if they caught him. “Thanks for your help,” Adamat said. “Let me know if you find anything else.”
Chapter 7
Taniel eyed the mob moving systematically down the street and wondered if they’d give him much trouble. The city was in chaos; wagons overturned, buildings set ablaze, bodies left in the street to fall victim to looters and worse. The smoke hanging like a curtain over the city seemed as if it would never blow away.
Taniel flipped through his sketchbook randomly. The pages fell open to a portrait of Vlora. He paused there for just a moment before he gripped the spine of the book in one hand and tore the page out. He crumpled it up and threw it to the street. He stared at the jagged rip in his book and instantly regretted damaging it. He didn’t have money for a new sketchbook. He’d sold everything of value in order to buy a diamond ring in Fatrasta. That damned diamond ring he’d left nailed to a fop in Jileman. He could still see the blood spreading from the man’s shoulder, crimson dripping from the ring he’d slid on the man’s sword before he shoved it in. Taniel should have kept the ring. He could have pawned it. He forced a lump down in his throat. He regretted not saying something—anything—to Vlora as she stood in the bedroom door, sheets clutched to her chest.
He checked the time on a nearby clock tower. Four hours until his father’s soldiers would begin to reassert order. Any of the mob left out after midnight