Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

“Well, if you are worried about noise, these harnesses jingle like sleigh bells.”

“Sound isn’t a problem on the climb, and we’ll take them off at the top before we go anywhere. I designed them to slip on and off easily. I just don’t see why you can’t get by with only that little sword. At least leave the big one on your horse.”

“I might need it.”

“You might need a piss pot, but you’re not bringing one of those up. And why three swords, anyway? You got a third arm I can’t see? ’Cause I’ll admit that would be impressive.” As he spoke, Royce began adjusting Hadrian’s harness, tugging on the buckles, pulling it tighter.

“I use it for a different style of fighting.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You don’t want to be the one fighting me when I pull that blade off my back.”

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. “Why don’t you always use that one, then? Prefer to give your enemy a sporting chance of killing you?”

“It’s a matter of choosing the right tool for the job. Most times, delicacy is what’s called for. You wouldn’t use a sledgehammer to pound a nail. You use a little dagger, right? Why would you do that? It puts you at a tremendous disadvantage if the other fella has a sword.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Just as you think I really don’t need all these swords.” He held up his pinky fingers. “I don’t really need these either, but I’m bringing them too.”

“Suit yourself. You’re the one who has to haul them up and down.” Royce walked back to the edge and stared down.

He stood on the lip so casually that Hadrian felt his own stomach rise, and he felt a sudden urge to grab him. Why, he didn’t know. An hour ago he would have greeted news of Royce’s death with a sense of satisfaction, perhaps even relief.

“The world always looks better like this,” Royce said so softly Hadrian almost didn’t hear. The wind pressed the thief’s cloak against his back, the edges flapping to either side like dark wings-a hawk watching for mice.

“How’s that?” Hadrian asked.

“Silent, still, dark, and distant. Far more manageable, less troublesome. People are small; they can be ignored.” He raised his head toward the invisible horizon. “The whole world is small at a height like this. Almost makes sense the way it lays out, like watching an ant hive. You never look at one of those and consider the politics, the petty prejudices, and all the vanities that drive them, but it’s the same everywhere. The queen has her favorites, her courtiers. The bigger ants lord over the smaller, the more productive over the weak, and the fortunate over the unlucky. We just can’t hear their squabbles. We’re too far above. Instead, they seem so pure of purpose, so simple, so happy. Maybe that’s how we all look to Maribor and the rest of the godly pantheon.” He peered up at the stars. “Perhaps that’s why they never think to help.”

He took a breath and glanced over his shoulder as if surprised Hadrian was still there. He checked his own harness, then smiled. “Now comes the fun part. Just try not to burn your hands on the rope by going too fast.”

With a wicked grin, Royce stepped over the side and dropped. Hadrian could hear the whiz of the rope passing through the rings on Royce’s harness as he flew down the side of the wall, pushing out with his feet, bounding his way until he was standing on the ground after only seconds.

“Your turn,” he shouted, his voice echoing between the buildings.

Hadrian shuffled to the edge, unwilling to even lift his feet. His muscles shaking with tension, he lay on his stomach and inched over the side. He hung from the lip, afraid to let go even though he felt the harness supporting most of his weight.

“Sometime tonight, perhaps?” Royce called.

Hadrian double-checked the tail rope to make sure it was clear of tangles and not twisted. He wasn’t certain if he was shaking because of fear, the cold, or the tension in his muscles.

“Let me make this easier,” Royce said. “Imagine twenty tower guards with sharp swords running at you, and twenty more with crossbows shooting, their bolts pinging off the stone. The thing is, you don’t just have to get down before they stab, hack, or shoot you. You have to get down before they realize all they have to do is cut the rope.”

Hadrian let go, catching his weight on the line and thinking how crazy it was to trust his life to a twisted bit of plant fiber. Dangling, he inched the line through the rings, creeping down the wall. He let a bit more of the line slip through, and he felt himself fall. Terror tore through him. He pulled the tail rope up at an angle against the ring and he slowed quickly to a stop. He paused for a moment, letting his heart slip back down his throat, but he also smiled. He saw how it worked. Royce had told him, but nothing could replace experience. With a push of his feet, he swung away from the wall and let the rope slide. The feeling was a rush of excitement and a sense of grace as he neatly let his toes touch the wall again, pushing off once more. He timed the rope release better and felt like a spider whirling from his web. He planned on really letting himself fly the next time he pushed off, only to discover his feet touching grass.

He looked at Royce. “We should do that again.”

Royce and Hadrian were confined to their room for the majority of the next day and told to keep the door locked. After the knifing of Angdon Lerwick, Arcadius preferred no one know they had returned. Hadrian was disappointed because he wouldn’t be able to see Pickles, who had been reassigned to the freshman dorm since being accepted as a student, but he also knew it was probably for the best. After four days on the road and staying up all night climbing the side of Glen Hall, Hadrian was tired. The two slept most of the next day, waking only when a boy delivered what he thought might be breakfast, or perhaps lunch, but turned out to be the evening meal. The steaming bowls of vegetable stew and round loaf of brown rye arrived along with a note from Arcadius asking them to visit his office after eating and to do so while being seen by as few students as possible. There was a postscript for Royce explaining it was all right if some students saw them. This was underlined twice.

They ate in silence with Royce tearing the loaf in half and handing Hadrian the larger piece. This act kept Hadrian’s mind occupied throughout the meal. Is he being kind? Is this some subtle peace offering? Or is it some sort of logic on his part that because I’m bigger I should have the larger piece? The half he handed Hadrian wasn’t that much larger and he finally settled on the conclusion that Royce never noticed the difference in size.

They made their journey downstairs without incident, and Hadrian was certain no one had seen them. By the time they reached the professor’s office, the sun had set and Arcadius’s room was illuminated only by candlelight. He had dozens melting about the chamber with the same haphazard pattern as everything else.

“All rested and fed I trust?” the professor asked.

They both nodded.

This appeared to amuse Arcadius somehow as he started to smile, then wished it away. “I’ve finished with the book. Fascinating tale, although most was in very poor penmanship. Quite choppy and disconnected near the end. Be that as it may, it is ready for you to take back. Which I strongly suggest you do immediately, as your presence here is precarious.” The professor walked around his desk, stuck his finger into a cage, and petted the head of a sleeping chipmunk. “You picked a bad time to cause trouble. Councilor Sextant of the Ervanon Delegation visited the morning after you left. He makes a habit of dropping by in the hopes of catching us doing something unseemly. I suspect the entire delegation believes all we ever do here is corrupt the nation’s youth, indoctrinating them into heresy with the allure of witchcraft, which most believe is what I teach.”