“No.”
“Now let me ask you this … how does wearing these glasses make it possible for me to see more clearly?”
“I don’t know.”
“Magic!” The old man smiled brightly, looking over his glasses. “You see, as I get older I have more trouble seeing. The world hasn’t changed-my eyes have. Noting the way glass alters perception through focus, I’m able to create these bits of glass that assist my eyes by magnifying my vision. That’s what magic is, you see. Observations, coupled with logic, knowledge, and reasoning, provide a wizard such as myself with an understanding of nature. This allows me to harness its power.” The professor looked up as if hearing something. “Relax, Phineas. I didn’t really poison you.”
Hadrian turned and indeed there was a frog in a cage behind him. When Hadrian turned back, Arcadius was busy adjusting the position of his stool.
“In your case,” he went on, “it was a simple matter of putting one’s ear to the ground and listening for news of a great warrior. I know the kind of training your father provided you. He also informed me of your intentions after you left Hintindar. Together those bits of knowledge all but guaranteed you would be famous by now. Determining your location was easy.”
Hadrian nodded, feeling foolish for having asked. “I want to thank you for notifying me and for taking a hand in administering my father’s affairs in my absence. I’m glad he had someone he could count on, especially since you seemed to have stopped coming around.”
“Your father and I were old friends. I met him long before you were born-just about the time he settled in Hintindar. I visited him often in those days, but the years and our ages got in the way. It’s hard to travel long distances when walking across the hall is a challenge. That happens … time slips by unseen.”
“How did you hear of his death?”
“I visited him last year and we reminisced about old times. He was very sickly, and I knew his time was short, so I asked to be notified of any change in his condition.”
“Did you go back to Hintindar, then?”
“No, and I don’t suppose I ever shall.”
“But you said you had artifacts of my father’s to give me.”
“An artifact to be precise. The last time I visited Danbury he gave me instructions that I should give it to you.”
Judging by the state of the room, Hadrian wondered at the odds of finding this heirloom, assuming it was smaller than a dog. Looking up, he noticed an owl roosting on the second-story balcony rail, the random collection of boxes and chests, and the near-complete human skeleton that dangled from a Vasarian battle spear driven into the wall.
Arcadius smiled and pulled a chain with an amulet from around his neck. Hadrian knew the medallion. His father had worn it every day of his life, even when sleeping or bathing. The amulet was such an integral part of him that seeing it there was like looking at a finger severed from his hand. Whatever fantasies Hadrian might have held that his father still lived were snuffed out, and for an instant he saw the bloodied tiger again, taking its last breath, eyes still open and staring back with the single question: Why?
“Would you like to sit down?” Arcadius asked, his tone gentle. “I think there’s another chair in here. Should be five, in fact. I suppose you could just use my stool. I sit too much anyway.”
Hadrian wiped his eyes. “I’m fine.”
Arcadius offered the sock, but Hadrian shook his head.
“Did he speak of me?”
Arcadius, who had gotten to his feet, returned to his seat. He removed the necklace and placed it on a pile of clutter in front of Hadrian. “He told me of your leaving. Something about an argument between you two, but he didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t press.”
“I called him a coward. It was the worst thing I could think of, and the last thing I said to him.”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned. He’s been called worse.”
“Not by his son. Not by the one person he had left in the world.” Hadrian let his head hang over the desk, over the medallion. The circle of silver was just a bit larger than a coin and was comprised of a ring of twisted knots. “Where did he get this? Did my mother give it to him?”
“No, I suspect this medallion is an heirloom that has been handed down through generations. It is very precious. Your father asked me to tell you what his father had told him. That you should wear it always, never sell it, and give it to your son should you have one. This was the first part of what became his dying wish.”
Hadrian picked up the chain, letting the medallion swing from his fingers. “And the second?”
“We’ll get to that, but that’s enough for now. You’ve had a long trip and your clothes look wet. I suspect you’d like a chance to dry them, perhaps take a bath, have a tasty meal and a good night’s sleep in a warm bed. Sadly, I can only offer you three of the four … Tonight is meat pies.”
“Thank you. I am a bit…” His voice cracked and he could only shrug.
“I understand.” Arcadius looked across the room and shouted, “Bartholomew!”
The door to the office creaked open. “Sir?”
“Be a good lad and see that Hadrian gets a meal and a bed. I believe Vincent Quinn is away, so there should be a vacancy in the north wing dormitories.”
“Ah … certainly, but … ah … how did you know I was still here?”
“Magic.” The old wizard winked at Hadrian.
“Pickles!” Hadrian grinned upon seeing the boy.
Bartholomew led Hadrian up a flight of steps to the dormitory, a long room lined with a row of neatly made beds. All were empty except one. Hearing his name, the Vernes street urchin popped up and offered Hadrian his familiar smile.
“I have made it, good sir. Rushed as fast as I could, fearful I would miss you, but here I am and arriving in this wonderful place two days ahead of you.”
“I had some problems and spent some time in Colnora. You were lucky to have missed that barge.”
Hadrian found the boy’s hand and squeezed tight. They were nearly strangers, but also foreigners with a common history. Even if they had shared only a few minutes walking through a rat-infested city, at that moment, Pickles was Hadrian’s oldest and dearest friend.
“I must apologize again, good sir, for being arrested just as you needed me most.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that, and you can call me Hadrian.”
Pickles looked shocked. “I am your humble servant. I cannot call you by name.”
“Well, sir makes me uncomfortable-and people might think I’m impersonating a knight.”
Pickles wrinkled his forehead in contemplation. Then the smile returned. “Master Hadrian, then.”
Not what he wanted, but he could settle for that.
“This is an amazing place, Master Hadrian. Never have I seen anything like it. So clean. It does not smell at all of fish or horse droppings.”
Horses. Dancer. He’d forgotten all about her.
“I’ve got to find a place for my horse.”
“I know a place,” Pickles said proudly. “I saw the stable. I can take care of all your livery problems. Besides, I need to go down to drop off this book.”
Hadrian noticed a surprisingly large tome on the bed. “You can read?”
Pickles shook his head. “Oh no, of course not, but this book has many pictures. The professor said I could look through it to pass the time while I waited for you to arrive as long as I returned it to the library in the east building where he had borrowed it from. I will drop it off and then see to your horse. Where is it that you left this animal?”
“I’ll show you.”
“You do not need to. I am your happy servant. You can stay here and be most lazy.”
Hadrian looked at the stark room that reminded him of too many barracks. “That’s okay, I’ve been most lazy enough.”