Rex objected to my going alone.
His objection took the form of standing on my coat.
I looked down.
One black paw covered the hem.
"Move."
Rex stared at me.
Morning had barely touched Catington. The harbor beyond the Sierra remained blue-gray, its towers still carrying night lamps. Somewhere below, dockworkers were already shouting about tariffs, rope, fish, and the thousand minor tragedies required to make commerce function.
Rex did not care.
He pressed harder.
"Abraham Dubois requested one person."
The manticore's ears flattened.
"I know. Suspicious."
A low growl.
"Extremely suspicious."
The paw remained.
Xavier leaned against the cabin door, arms folded.
"I think he's voting."
"This vessel is not a democracy."
Elisabeth sat at the table behind him, eating bread with her left hand while the poisoned right remained inside its reinforced glove.
"You established that right before we saved the ship without you."
"A temporary administrative failure."
"You were unconscious."
"Exactly. Administrative."
Xavier smiled.
I pointed at him.
"You are responsible for the Sierra."
His smile disappeared.
"Wait."
"Elisabeth controls the cargo documents and accounts."
She raised her bread.
"Already regretting this."
"Neither of you leaves the quarantine district unless something catches fire."
Xavier frowned.
"What if someone tries to steal from us again?"
"Then something may catch fire."
"That's not guidance."
"It's flexibility."
Rex's paw remained on my coat.
I crouched carefully. My ribs had improved, but they still believed sudden movement was a personal insult.
I put one hand beneath Rex's jaw.
"Stay."
His red eyes narrowed.
"If I fail to return by third bell, you may become unreasonable."
Xavier looked at me.
"Third bell?"
"It creates motivation."
"For whom?"
"Everyone."
I pushed Rex's paw away.
This time he allowed it.
Mira had been asleep beneath Elisabeth's chair. She opened one eye, evaluated the situation, then returned to sleep.
Different management styles.
I took Marduk's sealed letter from the inner pocket of my coat.
Still intact.
The wax carried his mark.
The impossible formula remained etched beneath the seal.
Salt.
Mercury.
Ash.
Gravity.
The fraction that was not a fraction.
Abraham's messenger had reproduced it perfectly the previous evening.
Which meant Marduk had not invented a private joke for my benefit.
Someone else knew it.
Someone else had been expected to know it.
I placed the letter back inside my coat.
Xavier watched.
"You're actually going alone?"
"Yes."
"You told me isolation is how people get controlled."
"It is."
"And?"
"I intend to be charming."
Elisabeth swallowed.
"That's worse."
I stepped onto the gangplank.
Behind me, Rex growled again.
I did not look back.
Mostly because I knew I would see three people and two manticores staring at me like a family waiting for someone to make an irresponsible decision.
I had a reputation to maintain.
---
A black carriage waited outside the quarantine gate.
No academy crest.
No gold trim.
No escort.
That interested me.
The driver wore gray and did not ask for my permit.
That interested me more.
"You're expected," he said.
"How intimate."
He opened the door.
I checked underneath the seat before entering.
The driver watched.
"Explosives?"
"Habit."
"Find any?"
"Not yet."
He shrugged.
Catington had already begun improving its people.
The carriage moved uphill.
Yesterday, reaching the administrative district had required detours, permits, private roads, guards, and enough stamped paper to wallpaper a respectable bedroom.
Today every gate opened.
Nobody checked us.
Nobody even slowed us.
That told me more about Abraham Dubois than a biography would have.
Power was rarely demonstrated by how many doors you could force open.
Real power was when nobody remembered they had been closed.
I watched through the window.
Catington changed with altitude.
The port stink faded first.
Then the shouting.
Warehouses became offices. Offices became stone residences. The street widened. Trees appeared. The people walking here did not carry things.
They had other people for that.
At one intersection, our carriage stopped beside a column of academy students.
Forty of them.
Young.
Uniformed in dark blue coats trimmed with silver.
Some wore swords.
Others staffs.
One girl had six floating metal rings rotating behind her shoulders while she argued with a boy holding a book upside down.
Mana was everywhere.
Not wild like the island.
Shaped.
Trained.
Catalogued.
An entire society had learned to put numbers and uniforms around the supernatural.
I found that both impressive and depressing.
One student noticed the carriage.
His eyes lingered on me.
Not recognition.
Assessment.
Old coat.
Cane.
No academy colors.
Wrong age to look frightened by the gates.
I smiled at him.
He looked away.
Sensibly.
The carriage turned north.
Nexus Academy rose above us.
Calling it an academy was generous in the same way calling a fortress a house was generous.
The outer walls alone could have swallowed my island cabin three hundred times over. White stone towers climbed from the hillside, connected by bridges suspended over courtyards and gardens. Some bridges were stone.
Others were not.
One consisted entirely of flowing water held in the shape of an arch.
Students walked across it.
I decided not to ask.
Large copper circles turned slowly above several roofs, catching sunlight and redirecting mana through channels carved into the towers.
Beyond the main buildings stood training fields, an arena, greenhouses, dormitories, and one black tower that looked as though every architect involved had been threatened.
Naturally, the carriage went toward that one.
A gate guard checked nothing.
He bowed to the driver.
Not to me.
Correct hierarchy.
The carriage stopped inside a quiet courtyard.
"No weapons beyond the second door," the driver said.
I looked at my cane.
"That depends on your definition."
"Blades, firearms, offensive artifacts, poison, explosive alchemy."
"Very narrow imagination."
He pointed toward the entrance.
I stepped down.
My ribs complained.
I ignored them.
A woman in white waited inside.
Thirty, perhaps.
Short hair. Academy insignia at the throat. No jewelry. A scar crossed one eyebrow.
"Raymond?"
"Yes."
"Follow me."
"No introduction?"
"No."
"I already admire Nexus hospitality."
She walked.
I followed.
The first corridor contained portraits.
Founders.
Benefactors.
Dead professors who had apparently spent their lives perfecting the art of looking disappointed from canvas.
Abraham appeared in several paintings.
Younger in each.
In one, he stood beside five other people before an unfinished Nexus tower.
I stopped.
Marduk was not among them.
Or perhaps he was.
One figure on the far edge had been painted over.
Not removed.
Painted over.
Dark lacquer covered the face and most of the body.
Interesting.
My guide turned.
"Problem?"
"No."
I continued walking.
Chessmaster stirred.
Portrait.
Erased person.
Founder.
Marduk.
Possible—
No.
One painted-over figure did not constitute evidence.
I let the thought die.
Second door.
A brass arch hummed when I passed through.
My skin tingled.
The woman stopped.
"Knife."
I sighed and removed the one in my boot.
She held out her hand.
I gave it to her.
"Second knife."
I looked at her.
She waited.
I removed the one from my sleeve.
"Anything else?"
"No."
The arch hummed.
She stared.
I smiled.
"Medicinal needle."
Her expression did not change.
I surrendered that too.
"Anything else?"
"I'm beginning to feel exposed."
The arch remained quiet.
She pointed upstairs.
"Founder's Tower. Top floor."
"You're not coming?"
"He requested private."
"Everyone keeps emphasizing that."
"Perhaps you should consider why."
"I have. None of the answers were flattering."
I climbed.
Slowly.
Thirty-seven steps.
Landing.
Another thirty-seven.
Apparently Abraham had founded an academy dedicated to magic but refused to install an elevator.
By the fourth floor, I considered revising my opinion of him downward.
At the seventh, I stopped pretending the cane was decorative.
At the ninth, an elderly student passed me going down while carrying twelve books without touching any of them.
He looked at my cane.
I looked at his books.
We disliked each other immediately.
At the top waited one wooden door.
No guards.
No runes that I could see.
No plaque saying FOUNDER.
I knocked.
A voice answered.
"You took longer than Marduk would have."
I opened the door.
"Then you should have invited his corpse."
Abraham Dubois sat behind a small desk.
That surprised me.
Not the man.
The room.
For someone who had founded half the city's educational prestige, his office was almost aggressively ordinary.
Books.
Too many.
Two chairs.
One cold fireplace.
A kettle.
A window overlooking the academy.
No throne.
No giant magical relic floating ominously behind him.
Disappointing.
Abraham himself looked seventy and possibly enjoyed being underestimated because of it.
White hair, cut short.
White beard.
Dark skin lined around the eyes.
He wore plain gray robes with no ceremonial decoration except a bronze ring.
Four uneven divisions.
The same symbol worn by the messenger.
His eyes went to the letter beneath my coat.
Then to my face.
"You have his eyes."
I closed the door.
"No."
Abraham's expression barely changed.
"Good."
"Good?"
"Marduk hated when people made sentimental comparisons."
"So do I."
"That part you may have inherited."
"I inherited nothing from him except unpaid instructions."
Abraham leaned back.
"That sounds more like Marduk."
I took the chair opposite him.
He looked at the cane.
"Injured?"
"Fashion."
"I knew him forty-three years."
"Then you should recognize sarcasm."
"I recognize avoidance."
Better.
Abraham pointed toward the kettle.
"Tea?"
"No."
"You checked my doorway for traps before entering."
"Yes."
"Yet you'll refuse a drink because you think it might be poisoned?"
"No."
I looked at the kettle.
"I refuse because the leaves have been boiling too long."
For the first time, Abraham smiled.
Small.
Annoyed.
"Insufferable."
"He mentioned you too."
The smile vanished.
That landed harder than expected.
Good.
I placed the sealed letter on the desk.
Abraham did not touch it.
He looked at the wax.
For a very long time.
Then at the tiny formula beneath it.
His right thumb moved across his bronze ring.
Once.
A nervous habit.
Maybe.
Chessmaster opened a fraction.
Pulse visible at throat: stable.
Pupils: unchanged.
Breathing: slower after seeing formula.
Left hand beneath desk.
Right thumb on ring.
Emotional association probable.
Threat classification—
I shut it.
Not enough.
Abraham looked at me.
"You used a skill."
I did not move.
Interesting.
"What makes you say that?"
"Marduk used to get the same look when he was deciding which part of a person to distrust first."
"My face is naturally unpleasant."
"Yes."
He looked back at the envelope.
"You didn't open it."
"No."
"You wanted to."
"Very much."
"Why didn't you?"
"An intact letter is worth more than a satisfied curiosity."
Abraham laughed.
Once.
It contained no humor.
"Oh, Marduk."
He finally picked up the letter.
His fingers stopped over the seal.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"People say that when there is something."
"Children say that when they believe every silence belongs to them."
"I'm not a child."
"Then stop asking like one."
I smiled.
"I see why he distrusted you."
Abraham looked at me.
"He told you that?"
"No."
"Then that was fishing."
"Yes."
"And I answered."
"Yes."
He leaned back.
"Insufferable."
"You've mentioned."
Abraham broke the seal.
Something tightened in my chest.
Ridiculous.
It was paper.
Dead men became very powerful once you could no longer interrupt them.
Abraham unfolded the first page.
There were three.
He read silently.
His expression changed less than I expected.
The first page annoyed him.
The second made him still.
The third—
His left hand came out from beneath the desk.
Scarred.
Not old age.
The palm and fingers were marked by pale alchemical burns that climbed into the sleeve.
His grip tightened on the page.
Only for a second.
Then relaxed.
There.
A fault.
A memory.
Something Marduk had written had touched it.
I stored that.
Abraham finished.
Placed the letter flat.
Did not hand it to me.
I looked at it.
He looked at me.
"You know I'm going to ask."
"I know."
"What did he write?"
"He recommended you."
"Terrible judgment."
"On that we agree."
"Anything flattering?"
"No."
"I knew there was hope."
Abraham took off his glasses.
"Marduk describes you as intelligent, suspicious, badly socialized, pathologically unwilling to die, and dangerous when bored."
I considered.
"Reasonable."
"He also says you believe every relationship is a transaction."
"That sounds judgmental from a man who sent me to collect his debts."
Abraham's gaze sharpened.
"So you found the other message."
"Yes."
"White Sage?"
There.
The room changed by less than a breath.
His scarred left hand closed.
Not much.
Enough.
"You know the name," I said.
Abraham put his glasses back on.
"I know many names."
"Is it yours?"
"No answer."
Not a denial.
Better.
I leaned forward.
"Marduk said White Sage would tell me the truth."
"Marduk said many things when truth suited him."
"He respected you?"
Abraham looked at the letter.
"No."
Interesting.
"You founded the academy together?"
"No."
"You trained together?"
"No."
"You tried to kill each other?"
A pause.
"Twice."
I smiled.
"Finally, a respectable relationship."
Abraham did not.
"One of those attempts was serious."
"Which one?"
"Mine."
There it was again.
Not enough to understand.
Enough to remember.
Abraham folded the letter.
"Your teacher was brilliant."
"Unfortunately."
"He was generous in ways that made people uncomfortable."
"Rarely around me."
"He was also a liar, a thief, an arrogant bastard, and the most dangerous alchemist I ever met."
"Now that sounds familiar."
"No."
Abraham looked directly at me.
"You're different."
The word irritated me for reasons I did not examine.
"How disappointing."
"Marduk wanted to understand things."
"And I don't?"
"You want to understand people so they cannot surprise you."
I became very still.
Abraham continued.
"Marduk wanted knowledge because ignorance offended him. You want knowledge because uncertainty frightens you."
Chessmaster stirred.
Threat.
Counter.
Weakness exposed.
I let none of it reach my face.
"Remarkable diagnosis after twelve minutes."
"Thirteen."
"You counted?"
"I founded a school."
"That explains the pedantry."
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then tapped the letter.
"You came here expecting this to open Nexus for you."
"I expected it to open you."
"That sentence would impress a younger administrator."
"And you?"
"It tells me Marduk taught you confidence before humility."
"No. Life handled humility. Poorly."
Abraham stood.
Slowly.
No cane.
No visible weakness.
He walked to the window.
Below us, Nexus moved like a city inside a city.
Students crossed bridges.
Training circles flashed.
A wyvern flew between two towers carrying mail bags beneath its belly.
Abraham clasped his hands behind his back.
"Marduk did recommend your admission."
"Wonderful."
"I haven't agreed."
"Less wonderful."
"He made a request."
"There it is."
Abraham looked over his shoulder.
"You expected one?"
"He was dead and still hiding compartments inside furniture. Of course."
"The request concerns a debt."
"My debt?"
"His."
"Then he should pay it."
"He died."
"Poor planning."
Abraham's jaw tightened.
"He knew he was dying for years."
"He knew many things."
"And told me almost none of them."
"Yes."
That answer came too quickly.
Abraham realized it.
So did I.
For one quiet second, we were not founder and applicant.
We were two men irritated by the same grave.
Then he rebuilt the distance.
"Marduk wrote that if you arrived with the seal intact, I was to give you one chance."
"At admission?"
"At proving he was wrong."
I smiled.
"That sounds more entertaining."
"He believed you could survive Nexus."
"High praise."
"I believe survival is the least interesting thing about this place."
"What is?"
"What people become while succeeding here."
I followed his gaze to the academy.
Nobles.
Commoners.
Mages.
Merchants' children.
Priests.
Probably criminals with better tailoring.
A kingdom compressed into classrooms.
Marduk had sent me here intentionally.
Not merely for books.
Not merely for power.
Why?
Abraham returned to the desk.
"The admission cycle has already entered its final stage. Foreign candidates require sponsorship. You have none. Your academic records do not exist. Your citizenship is unclear. Your vessel is unregistered. You possess no recognized magical certification."
"You make me sound mysterious."
"You sound administratively exhausting."
"I've been told."
"Even with my sponsorship, the Council can reject you."
"Then manipulate them."
Abraham stared.
"You think that's what founders do?"
"I think founders who survive forty years do whatever the minutes later call policy."
A pause.
Then Abraham laughed.
Properly this time.
It made him look much younger.
"Marduk would have hated you."
"He did."
"No."
Abraham's laughter vanished.
"He wouldn't."
That landed somewhere inconvenient.
I looked toward the letter instead.
"What is the debt?"
Abraham's face closed again.
"Not today."
"Then why mention it?"
"To determine whether you would ask about admission first."
"And?"
"You asked about the debt."
"Debts accumulate interest."
"Marduk would say the same."
"You keep comparing us."
"And you keep objecting."
"Perhaps we should both grow."
"No."
I liked him a little.
Dangerous.
Abraham locked Marduk's letter inside his desk.
I watched the key.
Left drawer.
Inner lock.
Bronze ward.
He saw me watching.
"You're not getting it back yet."
"It belongs to you."
"Good answer."
"It also contains information about me."
"Better answer would have been less honest."
"I'm experimenting."
He returned to his chair.
"You will return tomorrow."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"My familiar objects."
"I'm sure he does."
"You haven't met Rex."
"I was informed about the quarantine incident."
"Which one?"
Abraham stared.
Fair.
"Tomorrow, you will hear Marduk's request in full. Then you decide whether you still want my sponsorship."
"And the journal?"
Nothing.
But there.
A hesitation so small most people would have lost it.
I did not.
"Which journal?" Abraham asked.
I smiled.
Ah.
There you are.
"Les Manigances du Diable."
His eyes went cold.
"You've seen it?"
"No."
"Did Marduk give you pages?"
"No."
"Did he tell you where it is?"
"No."
Abraham stood again.
Conversation over.
Too fast.
Very interesting.
"You should leave."
I did not move.
"The journal exists."
"No."
That was wrong.
Not because I knew the fact.
Because his denial came after three questions about how much I knew.
A man does not ask whether you have seen something before deciding it does not exist.
I let the silence stretch.
Abraham's expression did not change.
Mine probably did.
A little.
"Tomorrow," he said.
I stood.
My ribs protested.
I took the cane.
At the door, I stopped.
"One thing."
Abraham looked tired already.
"What?"
"When Marduk wrote White Sage…"
His scarred hand moved again.
I saw it.
He saw me see it.
Neither of us pretended otherwise.
"Tomorrow, Raymond."
I nodded.
"An increasingly expensive word."
I opened the door.
"Raymond."
I looked back.
Abraham sat behind his desk, Marduk's letter locked within arm's reach.
His face had lost the founder.
For one moment, he simply looked old.
"Marduk did not send you here because he trusted me."
That was unexpected.
"Then why?"
Abraham looked toward the drawer.
"Because he knew I owed him."
The door closed between us.
---
On the descent, I did not count the stairs.
I thought about debts.
Marduk's.
Abraham's.
Mine.
White Sage.
The journal that apparently did not exist so aggressively that merely naming it had ended a meeting.
By the time I reached the courtyard, Chessmaster wanted a board.
I refused.
Too many unknowns.
Instead, I took out the Blacklist.
Leaning against a stone column, I opened to Abraham Dubois.
ABRAHAM DUBOIS
Confirmed:
— Founder, Nexus Academy.
— Recognizes Marduk's seal and private formula.
— Knew Marduk personally for decades.
— Relationship included distrust and at least two violent conflicts.
— Received recommendation for my admission.
— Marduk attached a debt/service to that recommendation.
Probable:
— Carries personal guilt connected to Marduk.
— Knows White Sage or reacts strongly to the title.
— Knows Les Manigances du Diable exists.
Speculation:
— Is White Sage.
— Knows the journal's current location.
— Unknown connection to second observer who recognized seal.
I looked at the categories.
Confirmed.
Probable.
Speculation.
No magical revelation.
No convenient answer.
Just better ignorance.
Chessmaster stirred behind my eyes.
This time the sensation was almost approval.
I added one more line.
Condition: do not let Marduk's debt become Abraham's leash.
The academy bell rang.
First.
Students flooded the courtyard.
Hundreds of them.
They moved around me in uniforms, arguments, laughter, rivalry, ambition.
Nobody knew my name.
Nobody cared that I had crossed an ocean.
Nobody knew what had happened on the island.
Good.
There are few luxuries greater than entering a room where your reputation has not arrived before you.
I closed the book.
Then noticed the man across the courtyard.
Gray registry collar.
Thin spectacles.
Ink on both thumbs.
Desk Five.
The agent who had recognized Marduk's seal.
He saw me.
Stopped.
And immediately walked the other way.
I smiled.
Abraham had just told me Marduk sent me because of a debt.
Someone else had recognized that same dead man's mark before Nexus contacted me.
Perhaps they were related.
Perhaps not.
That was the lovely thing about unanswered questions.
They multiplied.
I started after the registry agent.
Then stopped.
Third bell was approaching.
Rex had permission to become unreasonable.
Some priorities were sacred.
Tomorrow Abraham would tell me what Marduk wanted me to pay.
Today I had learned something far more valuable.
The old bastard had not left me one creditor.
He had left me a city full of them.