Tungdil was too intent on reaching the magus's study to listen to their chatter. He knocked on the door. No one answered, so he walked straight in.
"I'll wait out here with Boпndil," Boлndal called after him. "We don't want to spoil the reunion."
On entering the room, Tungdil could scarcely believe his eyes. One half of the study was in a state of chaos with books, sheets of paper, and scribblings strewn over the floor; the other half was impeccably neat.
Tungdil had never seen such orderliness in Lot-Ionan's study. The books were stacked on the shelves in alphabetical order, the paper had been left in tidy piles, and the quill and inkwell were in their proper places.
He must have dreamed up a new charm that makes the mess tidy itself, he thought, impressed. He could see the logic in trying it out on one half of the study, but there was still no sign of the magus. I hope the spell didn't tidy him away.
He wandered round the chamber, looking for anything that might explain the silence in the vaults.
Boпndil sighed loudly. "Waiting is a hungry business," he declared. "I'm off to find the kitchens. If we ask nicely, they might spare us a bite."
"We should take Tungdil with us," his brother said anxiously. "The long-uns won't know who we are, don't forget."
"All the more reason for introducing ourselves." Boпndil was too hungry to worry about being cautious. "You can wait if you like, but there's a hole in my belly stretching down to my knees." He strode off.
Boлndal was reluctant to let him go anywhere unsupervised. They were guests at the school, and guests were expected to behave with a modicum of decorum, which didn't come naturally to his twin.
"Tungdil, we're off to the kitchens," he shouted. "I'll keep an eye on Boпndil, don't worry!" He hurried to catch up with his brother, who was disappearing around the corner.
The twins had no trouble finding their bearings in the vaults. Vraccas had given his children an infallible sense of direction when it came to orienting themselves underground. They knew instinctively whether a passageway would slope upward, downward, or curve gradually to one side, and they had no need of the stars to plot their course. In this instance, they were guided by the tantalizing smell.
All the rooms they passed were empty: There wasn't a soul in sight.
"Maybe it's dinnertime," Boлndal suggested hopefully, trying to ignore his growing unease.
They made for the passageway, where the smell of meat was strongest. Their tunics and armor clanked softly while their heavy boots clumped rhythmically on the floor. At last they reached a door that led into the kitchen, judging by the splashes and smears.
Boлndal tried to surge ahead to make a more orderly entrance, but his brother beat him to it. He gave the door an almighty shove.
Four great hearths burned in the high-ceilinged room, but otherwise the kitchens were as deserted as everywhere else. Curiously, there was evidence of recent activity: The stoves were roaring and supper simmered and hissed in covered pans. Large round cooking pots hung above two of the hearths, chunks of meat rising to the surface and sinking into the bubbling brown broth.
By now Boлndal had a definite feeling that something was wrong. Abandoned rooms and brimming cauldrons: It simply didn't add up. What's going on? He scanned the kitchen carefully.
"This is more like it," Boпndil said cheerfully. He let go of his ax, tore off a piece of bread, and headed purposefully for the nearest stove. Balancing on a stool, he lifted the lid of a pan and peered inside-juicy slabs of simmering meat and gravy. His mouth began to water. "It would be rude not to taste it."
He dunked a sizable hunk of bread into the sauce and prepared to swallow the morsel in one bite.
"Stop!"
His brother's warning brought him to a sudden halt. "What now?" he snapped, his stomach growling in protest at being neglected for so long. "Can't you see I'm eating?"
Boлndal had positioned himself next to the door, crow's beak at the ready. Judging by his stance, he was anticipating trouble. "I don't mean to spoil your appetite, but take a look over there."
Boпndil followed his gaze. The butcher's block, used ordinarily for chopping and filleting meat, was piled high with bones that had no place in a kitchen. Four skulls in particular held their attention: They were human in form.
It took a while for Boпndil to link the bones to the broth, but then he hurled away the dripping bread in disgust and jumped to the ground, drawing his axes.
"When I get hold of that magus, there won't be a spell in the world that can save him," he muttered darkly.
"Humans and wizards aren't usually cannibals," Boлndal told him. "If you ask me, there's been a change of guard. The magus didn't forget to lock the door; someone attacked." He peered into the corridor. "It's time we found our scholar."
Walking back-to-back, they retraced their steps through the eerily empty passageways, Boпndil leading and Boлndal following and watching his back.
Tungdil sat down on the footstool next to Lot-Ionan's armchair and waited impatiently for the magus to return. For want of anything better to do, he dusted off his garments. All he could think about was what the magus would say when he made his report. He had already decided to start with the most important business-Gorйn's books. There was no reason to believe that Lot-Ionan would divulge their mysterious contents, but Tungdil hoped he would.
Just then he heard someone approaching from the corridor. He knew at once that it couldn't be Boлndal or Boпndil; the soft footsteps belonged to a light, unarmored man.
Tungdil was too bored to pass up an opportunity to amuse himself and, leaving the knapsack and bag of artifacts beside Lot-Ionan's chair, he leaped to his feet and hid behind the door, intending to jump out and scare the unsuspecting famulus. Chuckling silently in anticipation, he peered around the door.
The young man who came into the room had short black hair and was dressed in the malachite robes of Nudin's school. He made straight for Lot-Ionan's papers and set about sorting through his documents with shocking disrespect.
What in the name of Vraccas is he doing? Tungdil watched from his hiding place as the famulus sifted through a stack of notes, thereby solving the mystery of the unusually tidy room. Next he made himself comfortable at the magus's desk and set to work on the higgledy-piggledy documents and books, sorting them into piles and jotting the details on a list.
Tungdil looked on in amazement. Who allowed one of Nudin's pupils to forage through Lot-Ionan's things? What's he doing here anyway? If Lot-Ionan wanted someone to tidy his study for him, he had plenty of likely candidates in his own school, but Tungdil knew that the magus was very particular about his work. The documents that the young man was handling were strictly private and no one was permitted to look at them, least of all an apprentice from another enchanted realm.
Dragging footsteps sounded in the corridor and a second figure appeared at the door. The famulus looked up crossly, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "What is it?"
Tungdil pressed his face to the crack in the door and peered at the newcomer. All he could see was a broad back and a coarsely woven shirt.
"I've finished in the kitchens," said a deep, sluggish voice. The dwarf placed it immediately: It was Eiden, the magus's groom.
"Good. Then find yourself a quiet corner and stay out of my way," came the famulus's sharp reply.
Eiden stayed where he was, filling the doorway like a fleshy statue. "I'm hungry," he said dully.
"Why don't you gnaw on some bones in the kitchens?" the famulus said impatiently. "But remember not to touch the meat-it's for our sentries. Now, leave me in peace."
"I want meat," the man insisted.
"Go!" The famulus picked up a letter opener and hurled it at him. Whether he intended to wound the groom or whether it was a poorly judged throw, he succeeding in striking Eiden in the chest. The man groaned and staggered from the room.