Karigan adjusted her grip on the bonewood, and the professor pulled back a mechanism on his gun with a quiet click. As Karigan gazed at the gun, her eyes blurred. She looked away, blinking rapidly, and everything fell back into focus, but when she looked directly at the gun, it blurred again. She found she could look at it in general, or see it on the periphery of her vision, but she could not see it clearly when she looked directly at it.
She let the oddness pass as the footsteps grew nearer, louder, then paused.
“Professor?” a voice called.
“It is Cade,” the professor said in obvious relief, his hand that held the gun falling to his side. Karigan relaxed, but kept the bonewood at full length. “Come up, Old Button!”
Cade did, blinking in the light as he joined them. He set aside his taper and raised an eyebrow when he noted their weapons.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here,” Cade said. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come and do some training.”
The professor chuckled. “We were not, as you can see, expecting you either. I would not have come tonight, but Miss Goodgrave needed some things explained to her, and I in turn have discovered some startling information from her. She knows—or knew—our emperor personally.”
Cade glanced at Karigan in surprise, and the professor explained as the three of them strolled to the library sitting area. When they reached the big desk, Cade said, “It is difficult to envision the emperor as an ordinary, mortal man.”
“Clearly not ordinary if he became our emperor,” the professor said.
Karigan silently agreed. She’d known the swaggering nobleman, but there had to have been more to him that she hadn’t been able to see.
“I was just about to tell our Miss Goodgrave about what Silk is after.”
“I will make some tea.” Cade moved off to the kitchen area in the opposite corner, and Karigan resumed her seat, rolling the bonewood in her fingers, watching as Cade lit the tiny stove and placed a kettle of water on it, his movements calm, unhurried.
The professor did not wait for tea, and after returning his gun to its drawer, he began to explain.
ANSCHILDE’S HEIRLOOM
“Naturally it comes back to the sea kings,” the professor said. “As you pointed out, they were long gone from here during your time, and one of the enduring historical mysteries is why they left, and why so suddenly. A major focus of my research was trying to figure out the answers, and I eventually discovered some tantalizing clues.”
Cade joined them while he waited for the tea water to boil. “Perhaps, you should have asked why they came in the first place.”
The professor waved his hand dismissively through the air. “Oh, the usual. Land, resources, the fishing. A people to dominate. Why they left is of more importance to the opposition so we may learn something from it. Did our ancient ancestors somehow banish the sea kings? Or did the sea kings leave of their own volition?”
The professor gazed intently at Karigan like a storyteller relishing the build up to a dramatic point. “On the far east coast of what you knew as Coutre Province, I found a possible answer chipped into a rock ledge, submerged by the sea at high tide. It was almost worn away by the constant surf, and it was miraculous I found it. I would not have but for a local fisherman who knew the shore well. One of my finest discoveries!”
“If the fisherman knew of it, it wasn’t precisely a discovery now, was it, Professor?” Cade asked. Karigan espied a mischievous glint in his eye.
The professor harrumphed. “Semantics! To him it was nothing. To those of us searching for the stories of the past, it was a breakthrough. Now make yourself useful, student, and fetch my journal.”
“Yes, Professor. I am your obedient servant.” Cade bowed with an affectionate smile for his teacher and headed for the desk.
“Cheeky lad,” the professor said good-naturedly.
Cade rummaged through various drawers before producing a worn leather book tied with a string. The professor said nothing until Cade placed the journal in his hands, leaving Karigan to wait in suspense. The whistle of the tea kettle pierced the silence, and Cade sauntered off to attend to it.
The professor untied the journal and rested it on his knees. As he flipped through the pages. Karigan caught images of diagrams and sketches, and copious writing. It brought to mind the memory of Yates’ sketching in his own journal as they sat in camp so many nights in Blackveil. His duty had been to map and document their journey, and she’d seen some of his beautiful drawings of other members of the company, as well as that of the flora and fauna there. She closed her eyes trying to push the images away, for they were suffused with sorrow and loss.
By the time Cade returned with a tea tray and poured, the professor had found the page he was looking for. He turned the journal so Karigan could see it right side up. His drawing showed the figure of a man with some sort of helm or headdress who held a shield and an oblong object like a sword or rod. Three ships with triangular sails and curled bows and sterns, with lines dashed through the hulls that must have been oars, seemed to sail away on surging waves from the male figure. Beneath the picture the professor had written in a strange script.
“This is what I found chipped into that rock ledge,” he said. “The script is a primitive form of Old Sacoridian and it says, Anschilde, son of Ansofil, chief of men, bearer of the erangol. Erangol roughly translates to ‘dragonfly.’ The rest of the inscription has weathered away.”