Название | Among Wolves |
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Автор произведения | Nancy Wallace K. |
Жанр | Героическая фантастика |
Серия | |
Издательство | Героическая фантастика |
Год выпуска | 0 |
isbn | 9780008103583 |
Devin,
Under no circumstances are you to leave the city without speaking to me first. There is strong opposition to your trip and I think it would be wise to cancel it. I hate to disappoint you but you’ll have to trust my judgment in this. Come to the house after exams, we’ll discuss it then.
Affectionately,
Your Father
He read the message twice. Had his father truly intended to call off his trip? And if so, at what point had he reconsidered? Obviously, the decision had been made before Devin arrived: he’d had Marcus waiting in the hall. He stood a moment wondering whether to admit he hadn’t read the message before he came, and decided against it. His hands shaking, he folded the parchment and jammed it back into his pocket. After one quick look in the mirror, he walked back down the hall to the dining room.
Devin turned down his father’s offer of a carriage to take him back to the dormitory. The cool moonlit walk offered a quiet end to a hectic day. He strolled beneath the budding trees, marking his progress by the luminous pools the gas lights left on the sidewalk. The Académie buildings looked formidable against the dark sky. Only the Archive’s windows were still illuminated as first year apprentices labored to shelve the massive quantity of materials which had been used to study for final exams. The examination hall had closed at ten and it was now well past midnight.
The dormitory lobby reeked of pipe tobacco, its table and chairs littered with crumpled study notes, crumbs, and empty glasses. Devin mounted the stairs without seeing another student. An eerie quiet marked the darkened halls. Some students had already departed for the three month summer holiday. Others were celebrating or drowning their sorrows down at Antoine’s. Final exams sparked either high spirits or despair. The essays were excruciatingly specific with little room for fabrication. Rarely did a student leave the Examination Hall without knowing for certain he had secured a place in next year’s class, or that he would have to return home in disgrace.
Gaspard was not in his room. None of his clothes had been packed and his bed remained rumpled and unmade. Devin packed the contents of his own closet in the large trunk at the foot of his bed, reserving only a few items to put into his knapsack. He intended to take only what he could conveniently carry. He folded his itinerary and placed it flat on the bottom, and then a few shirts and trousers, a warm jacket and blanket, thick socks, and a pocket knife. Only because his father required him to make reports did he include paper and ink. Either item might be misconstrued by the Council members who disapproved of his journey. Whatever else he needed could be purchased along the way. The larger job was to strip the room of his belongings. Next year he would be assigned an apartment in the Archives. He would never return to this dormitory again.
It was after three when he finished marking the boxes of books and the trunk with instructions to be taken to his parents’ house. There was still no sign of Gaspard, and their ship sailed at five. He threw his roommate’s clothes into another knapsack and started to pack his other belongings.
He was so tired; even the thin, bare, mattress tempted him. The past two weeks he’d had little sleep, spending half the night studying for his own exams and the other half tutoring Gaspard. He gave into temptation, slumping down on the bed and closing his eyes.
A moment later, he heard running feet on the stairs.
“Devin?” Henri Ferrare, a first year student, hung on the doorframe, his breath coming in gasps. “It’s Gaspard. Can you come?”
Devin dragged himself up off the bed. “What’s the matter? Is he hurt?”
Henri shook his head. “No, just drunk…and Antoine needs to close up.”
Devin quelled his annoyance. It was typical of Gaspard to go on a binge when he needed to concentrate his energy elsewhere. He clattered down the stairs and out the front door after Henri, feeling a chill as the night closed in around them. The sky was as clear and starry as midwinter, and Devin wished he’d brought his jacket. A spring peeper piped his bell-like solo from the edge of the fountain. Behind them a cabbie shouted anxiously for a fare, but they kept on going.
“Antoine sent for Gaspard’s father,” Henri confided as they hurried along.
“God,” Devin murmured. “I hope we get there before he does!”
At Antoine’s, candles burned on every table, though the sign by the front door said “closed.” Devin stopped just inside, realizing he’d never seen this room empty before. Its cozy warmth faded without the camaraderie of dozens of students and scholars clustered around the bar and sitting at the tables. The silence seemed jarring, bereft of the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.
They found Gaspard on the floor under a corner table, a cut oozing blood across his right cheekbone. Antoine knelt beside him, a wet cloth in hand.
“How badly is he hurt?” Devin demanded.
The barman shrugged and stood up. “It’s nothing. The cut will heal without a scar.”
Devin leaned down to see for himself. Gaspard’s breathing was smooth and regular, his parted lips emitting an occasional snore.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I sent for his father,” Antoine replied. “I thought you’d gone home.”
“I went home for dinner but I had to come back to pack,” Devin answered. He had barely a month to spend in each province. He needed every moment of his summer holiday plus his entire Third Year to complete his project. He couldn’t have lingered a few days with his parents even if he had wanted to.
“Monsieur Forneaux came himself,” Antoine continued, “and Gaspard was not glad to see him.”
Gaspard’s father was René Forneaux, a high ranking Council member. He must have been very angry or very worried to have come himself to drag his son out of a bar in the middle of the night.
“Monsieur Forneaux tried to take him home,” Antoine continued. “Gaspard told him he hadn’t finished his exams. He said, when he turned them in, Isaac La Salle told him he need not return to the Académie next fall.”
Devin’s breath wheezed out in exasperation. The least Gaspard could have done was to finish his exam and not leave it half completed. The implication was that he didn’t care if he was ruining his chances at the Académie.
“This is not true?” Antoine asked.
“True enough, unfortunately,” Devin murmured. “And then, what happened?”
“Monsieur Forneaux said he would hire tutors for the summer so that Gaspard could be reinstated. Gaspard told him that all the tutors in the world wouldn’t help him graduate. He said if his father couldn’t accept that, he could go to hell. Then Monsieur Forneaux hit him.”
Devin winced, glancing at his friend on the floor. “He knocked him out cold?”
“No, no!” Antoine explained. “Gaspard passed out. He drank a whole bottle of wine after his father left.”
Devin rolled his eyes. “Can you help me carry him back to the dormitory, Henri?”
Antoine grabbed his sleeve and pointed. “That won’t be necessary. I think your father sent his carriage.”
“What?” Devin said in disbelief. He turned to see Marcus’s formidable bulk standing in the doorway.
“I’ll