The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(115)

“Roebuck, Ash, Flint: you’re on patrol tonight. Stay out of sight, but don’t let anything through, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused.

“Leveret, Crow: I think I shall need your special talents.”

The last two boys grinned. One was as black-haired as his namesake, tall and thin with a pointed nose overshadowing his faint moustache; the other was shorter, with sandy hair and freckles. They turned as one and looked down the table towards Kit with bright eager eyes, like cats that had caught sight of a mouse. Kit looked away, not wanting them to see how scared he felt right now. This was something to do with the test Master Fox had spoken of, he was sure of it. He wondered if it was going to hurt more than the ear-piercing.

Despite their instructions, all of the boys retired to the dormitory and Master Fox snuffed out the candles one by one. Kit lay staring at the moonlight tracing the beams above him as the schoolmaster’s footsteps retreated down the spiral stair.

He took a long time to fall asleep that night, despite the unaccustomed labour and the generous supper. His ear still itched terribly, and some of the other boys talked in their sleep or even cried out. When sleep did come, it was deep and dreamless, and he woke what felt like only moments later. The sun was already up, and the other boys were getting dressed. The bed next to him, however, was empty, its sheets thrown back. Kit lined up to wash his face and hands, expecting to see Sidney in the queue, but the prince’s cousin was not there. They all went down to breakfast, and still Sidney did not appear. Heron gave Kit a sympathetic smile; Shrike peered over his shoulder, smirking like someone with a secret they were dying to reveal.

“What is it?” Kit said. “Where’s Sidney?”

Heron just sighed.

“You’ll find out, soon enough,” Shrike said.

Kit forced down his porridge, feeling sick. Had Sidney run away in the night and not even woken him? Had he been caught and punished, perhaps locked up in the storehouse again? He waited until all the other boys had left the dining hall before approaching Master Fox, who was putting something away in the chest. It looked like a set of clothes, of a size to fit Kit. Or his friend.

Fox looked up at the question. “Sidney? He’s gone.”

“Gone where, sir?”

“Away. He failed his test.”

Kit stared at him. “But he only just got here.”

“We have no room for those who do not fit in.”

Fox closed the lid and straightened up.

“And… when do I take my test, sir?”

“Tonight, I believe. Master Shawe is looking forward to it.”





CHAPTER XXXI



To Coby’s relief, Mal returned safely with the university’s own watchmen, and the soldiers were escorted away to the prison in the old castle gatehouse. That night all five of them slept in the bedchamber Mal had rented; in truth the bed was big enough for them all, though Sandy ceded his place and instead sat in a borrowed armchair all night, whilst he used his magics in search of Kit.

Next morning they held council over a breakfast of yesterday’s bread and flagons of small ale. The landlord had returned in the night and, whilst grateful to be rid of the “foreign ruffians” who had expelled him, had rightly guessed that it was Mal who had drawn them there in the first place, however unwittingly.

“We should find another place to stay,” Coby said, grimacing as she tore the heel of the loaf in two.

“I hope there won’t be need,” Mal replied. He turned to Sandy. “Did you find anything last night?”

Sandy yawned and sank his head into his hands.

“Not a thing. Monkton and his men have never even heard of Shawe, and though I searched the entire town I found no sign of a skrayling soul, not even a dormant one. My amayi is not here.”

“Damn.” Mal got to his feet and brushed crumbs from his lap. “I’d better visit my old college and try to find out if he’s been seen here. Coby, you can come with me; Sandy, get some rest. You can try further afield tonight if need be.”

“What about us?” Ned asked, putting his good arm around Gabriel’s waist.

“You should stay here and rest as well,” Coby said quickly. Someone ought to keep an eye on Sandy. “You look like you’ve been to Hell and back.”

Ned bristled. “We didn’t come all this way to sit on our arses. We’re fond of the lad too, you know.”

Coby turned to Mal in wordless appeal, but he was too busy fussing with his rapier hanger to notice.

“Very well,” Mal said. “Take our horses to the livery stable in town and hire fresh ones. If I get news of Shawe or Kit, I want to be able to leave immediately.”

“Just don’t be long,” she told Ned as Mal left the room. “Monkton might not be the only one on our trail, and I don’t want to be the one scraping you off the cobbles.”

They walked back into town, retracing their steps to King’s College Chapel and thence past more college buildings of red brick or creamy-yellow stone, until they reached the gates of what Coby assumed must be Peterhouse. Mal led the way inside, pausing in the lodge to speak to a grizzle-jawed porter who looked almost as ancient as the building he tended.

“Doctor Lambert?” The porter’s wrinkled face creased still further, though not in what Coby would call a smile. “Aye, he lives, sir. Ye’ll find him in the Old Court, in the same chambers he’s had these thirty years.”