Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

“It is light. Not so light as a feather, but much more than expected.”

“Two and a half pounds.”

Pickles let go with his left hand to hold it up with only his right. “It does not feel even that heavy.”

“Because of the balance I mentioned.”

“Does it not need to be heavy?”

“It doesn’t take much to penetrate skin. Faster is better.”

Pickles dipped his wrist and swung the blade through the air. “I almost feel heroic with this in my hand.”

“And almost is as close as anyone ever feels with one of those.”

Pickles held the sword out at arm’s length and peered one-eyed down the length of the blade. “So was this made by an illustrious weapons master?”

“I made it.”

“You, Master Hadrian? Truly?”

“My father was a smith. I grew up beside a forge.”

“Oh.” Pickles looked embarrassed. “My most humble apologies, Master Hadrian. I am so very sorry about saying it is looking tired.”

“It’s tired,” Hadrian said. “And ugly-an ugly tool for an ugly purpose.”

“That one is not.” He pointed to the spadone on Hadrian’s back.

“I didn’t make that one.”

Hadrian took his weapon back and dropped the blade into its scabbard, where it landed with a clap.

They returned to the common, and he removed the straps that held his gear to Dancer while Pickles untied her lead. When Hadrian hoisted his pack to one shoulder and looked up, he saw the last thing he expected. On the third floor of Glen Hall, in the last window on the left, a man peered out-a man in a dark hood. It took a moment for Hadrian to realize what he was seeing, and the man stepped back, receding into the darkness and dissolving like a ghost.

“Did you see that?” Hadrian asked.

“See what?”

Hadrian pointed. “Up in that window just now-a man in a hood.”

“No, Master Hadrian, I am not seeing anyone. Which window exactly?”

Hadrian pointed. “That one.”

Pickles stared a moment, then shook his head. “Are you sure you saw someone? Why would anybody wear a hood inside? It is very warm in there.”

“I don’t know,” Hadrian muttered, still staring. “You’re sure you didn’t see it?”

“No, sir-I mean master.”

Hadrian felt foolish. It couldn’t be him . If anything, it had to be a student.

“Should I be running up to see if there is a person in a hood up there?”

“No, let’s get Dancer put away,” Hadrian said, but took one more look at the window before giving up.

After settling Dancer, they climbed the steps and entered the big doors of Glen Hall once again. The interior appeared so different from the first time, less bright, less inviting. The chandelier and the wall lanterns were not quite up to the task of illuminating the huge entryway and dark stretches of corridors now that the sun was down. It felt like a cave, deep and black.

“The professor said you were welcome in the dining hall,” Pickles explained as Hadrian dropped off his pack and swords on his borrowed bed.

“What about you?”

“Me? I will stay here and guard your many precious things from many prying eyes and many empty fingers.”

“It’s a school, Pickles. Theft isn’t allowed.”

“It is not allowed in Vernes either, but you would be surprised how many things disappear each day.”

“This is different. You think a kid is going to walk off with my spadone? Where would he hide it?”

Pickles pondered this, looking at the huge blade lying on the bed, then said, “Still, it is my task to watch your many wonderful possessions so they will not be stolen.”

“I insist you come.”

“But I-”

Hadrian folded his arms sternly. “What is more important? My things or my person? It’s inappropriate to walk around a school with weapons, but what will I do if I’m attacked?”

This brought a curious look from Pickles. “I am thinking bad things would happen to anyone who would attack you, Master Hadrian.”

Hadrian frowned. “I still need you to watch my back. A simple warning could save my life.”

“Oh yes. This is true.” Pickles’s head was bouncing up and down in a motion that was far too enthusiastic to be a mere nod. “You are far too trusting. I will come and do the watching and the warning.”

As Hadrian started to walk out, Pickles grabbed Hadrian’s belongings and stuffed them under the mattress. Then he grinned up at him. “There, now no empty hands will be touching Master Hadrian’s many wonderful things.”

“Lead on, Pickles.”

They entered a large hall with long tables where boys crowded together, eating. A few banners hung from the ceiling, but aside from those everything was made from wood, stone, or pewter. The chatter from what looked to be a hundred students created a roaring din.

Pickles had a dreamy look. “Wonderful place. You just walk in and they give you food.” He grabbed a pair of pies from the kitchen table where they were being shoveled out on large wooden pallets; then together they squeezed into seats near the end of a long table. The two stood out, as they were the only ones not in gowns.

As hungry as he was, Hadrian only stared at the pie. He started thinking about the window and the hooded man again.

It couldn’t be him. Why would he be here?

Hadrian was a witness to the murders. He could identify him-the only one left who could.

A witness to what? There is no boat, no jewelers, no Vivian.

It had been just a moment. Perhaps he didn’t see anyone at all. He might have been tricked by the light or lack thereof. Pickles had been right there, and he hadn’t seen a thing.

He couldn’t find me here anyway, could he? Did I mention Sheridan on the barge?

He wasn’t sure. He might have. There had been a lot of talk, the merchants and Vivian always asking questions. It was possible. But how did he get into the school? Not that anyone had stopped or questioned Hadrian. The boys on the common didn’t count. Neither would have likely spoken to the hooded man, and had they, Hadrian was certain he would have been even less deterred than Hadrian had.

“Who are you? You’re not students.”

Hadrian recognized the face. Angdon, the baron’s son, who’d run into him in the foyer.

“Guests,” Hadrian replied. “And we already met. I’m Hadrian, remember? Bumped into me just an hour or two ago.”

“Oh yes-the ignorant oaf who doesn’t know how to get out of the way.”

“You got all that just from walking into me, did you?”

“You didn’t move, and you didn’t know where you were going, so yes. And who’s this creature with you?”

Hadrian didn’t like the baron’s son very much. “This fine young man across from us is Pickles.”

“Pickles? What kind of name is that?” one of the other boys said.

Hadrian saw Pickles diminish.

“Memorable, wouldn’t you say?” Hadrian responded brightly.

“It’s ridiculous-but clearly fitting,” Angdon said. “And whose guest are you that you’ve come to steal our food?”

“Professor Arcadius. Oh, and you were right about the Morning Star-the white not the red,” Hadrian offered.

“Do you think that makes you clever? Do you think I will praise you now for siding with me?”

“Just thought you’d like to know.”

“I already know. I don’t need an ignorant peasant boy to confirm my education. I also don’t need your filthy presence at my table. Take your stolen pie and your Pickle and eat outside where you belong. You miserable-”

All Hadrian saw was Pickles’s pie slam into Angdon’s face. The plate fell away, taking the lower crust with it. The rest hung on the boy’s cheeks for a second. The incident would have been hilarious if the pie hadn’t been piping hot. Angdon screamed, clawing the pie from his face.