Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) (29 page)

              “How do you mean sir?”

              “Consider for a moment, what makes a good hiding spot,” the professor said, drawing a small golden coin from his pocket. “You want a spot that is not easily seen.” As he said this, the coin turned translucent before vanishing altogether. The professor clicked his fingers loudly and suddenly, the coin resumed its original state. “And you want a spot that is not easily accessible.” Another finger click, and suddenly a multitude of sharp spikes protruded from the table, enveloping the coin into a small cage.”

Professor Wenchenberg shrugged slightly before lowering the spikes he made and gripping the coin between his thumb and pointer finger. “The concentration camp has both of these qualities. A place that exists on no map, seems to have no entrance or exit, and is guarded by an entire army would make a fantastic safe house would it not?”

             
“So you’re suggesting something valuable is hidden here?” I asked with wide eyes.

              “I wouldn’t be suggesting seeing as I know that it exists.” The professor's breathing suddenly pulsed. His fingers began to stroke the table with an irritation I had never seen in him before. “An object people have only deemed as a mere legend exists within this camp Jacob. Having it in your possession will be the next step in ensuring your survival.”

              “What is this object?” I asked, breathlessly bringing myself closer.

              “For, now, you only need to know that the object you’re looking for is a necklace with the distortion insignia engraved on it.” The professor retrieved a quill from the far side of his desk, and quickly scribbled a circular shape that looked almost like a ring of sharp teeth.“This is the symbol of distortion abilities. I imagine you might have seen it around in various locations such as the distortion quarters, or on the door for the Montrose.”

              “Oh,” I mumbled weakly, feeling utterly ridiculous that I wasn’t able to piece that together myself. “What does this necklace even do?” The professor brought his fingers to his forehead and sighed deeply.

              “According to my research, the pendant is capable of distorting one’s sense of fatigue. Many warriors have dreamed of never growing weary in battle and I believe that this artifact is capable of doing just that.”

I spasmed as the leafy tea I was drinking suddenly shot into my lungs. Professor Wenchenberg calmly patted me on the back as I convulsed on the spot for a minute or two.

              “No fatigue in battle? Is that even possible?” I asked, wiping away the thick drool from my lower lip.

The features of the professor seemed grow slightly, as his face was submerged into shadow.

              “I don’t believe that description is entirely accurate,” he replied carefully. “Basic principles of magic and anti-magic say it’s simply not possible to make or create energy without energy being taken from elsewhere. It’s entirely possible there are traits this necklace has that may be very dangerous. Should you ever find the artifact, under no circumstance are you allowed to put it on.

              I nodded quickly. “Does this artifact only work for people with distortion abilities?”

              “I don’t believe so,” the professor replied quickly. “Nor do I think that it should affect you any more because you can use distortion anti-magic. Even if I’m wrong, the object I’m asking you to retrieve will still be very dangerous.”

              “So this object is hidden in...?”

              “The dungeons of Castle Lambalitrate,” The professor responded, causing the ends of my hairs prickled uncomfortably on my arms and face. Professor Wenchenberg cleared his throat, and began to explain in a hurried voice.

              “I’m going to be sneaking you into the castle to do three things in no particular order. Firstly, I would like you to sneak into the dungeons to retrieve the artifact I have mentioned. The second thing I request, is for you go examine the office of Caterwaul
Lozenge
to try to find out why he has agreed to host this competition.”

              “What do you mean?” I asked, cutting him off quickly. The professor grimaced.

              “I told you awhile ago that the Caterwaul was reluctant to start this competition because he was convinced Orthonus wasn’t even alive. Therefore he must now have definite proof he exists. Why then, doesn’t he send the other elders out to kill him? Why has he agreed with the king’s plan to send out a single Grimlar trainee to do this?”

              “You think he has evidence in his office explaining why he’s decided to hold this competition?” I asked dubiously.

              “That I do.”

              “Why can’t you do these things yourself? Why do you need my help in doing them?” The professor carefully placed his mug on the counter and responded almost instantaneously.

              “The Caterwaul has powerful enchantments that will activate if his elders go where he does not want them to go. His dungeons for example. He doesn’t have these enchantments set for the Grimlar trainees. Unlike me, your presence will not set off his alarms.”

              “I understand.” I mumbled quietly. “What’s the last thing you want me to do in the castle?” The professor sniffed, and uncertainly fumbled with his moustache whiskers.

              “I do not mean this last task as an order, but rather an invitation. Castle Lambalatrate does have quite an extensive library filled with many books that may or may not be of great service to you.” The Professor shrugged slightly. “Entirely up to you to pay a visit though.”

The professor was asking me to search for the last book he had recommended, I realized wearily. I would have laughed, had the occasion not been so somber.

              “And this is taking place when?” I asked with a sneaking suspicion I already knew the answer.

              “Tonight.”

As the professor answered, I cursed silently under my breath.

Professor Wenchenberg reached into his coat pocket and withdrew two violet silk sacks. He opened both of them and let me examine what looked like indigo coloured bath beads. “These are objects of my own creation. I call them ‘
Bearing Bombs.
’ Don’t ask how I made them, but I will tell you that they required a large amount of dilladum leaves.

              “What do they do?” I asked, bringing one of them up to sniff. The repulsive smell of rancid lavender and rotten eggs caused me to throw the bomb back into the back and gag.

              “You need two bath sized bodies of water for these to work. Say I have a tub of water in here, and I drop a bomb. The bearing bomb would then dissolve, and turn the water purple.” The professor chuckled. “That by itself is not very impressive. But say I had another body of water, and I again dropped a bearing bomb into the other tub. This time, both baths would turn bright green. When this happens, you can put an object into one bath, and have it emerge from the other. The water from both tubs will evaporate as soon as this phenomenon occurs, leaving no trace the transportation ever took place.” The professor paused to catch his breath.

I offered him another cup of tea but he waved me off.

              “I will drop one of these bearing bombs into the bath in my private quarters. Likewise, you will go to the trainee baths and use a bearing bomb as well. You will jump in when the liquid goes green, and appear shortly after inside Castle Lambalatrate. From there, we will talk about our next course of action. Do you understand?”

              “Yeah... Yeah I think so.” I said breathlessly. Leave it to the professor to think of something completely ingenious. “What happens if I get caught?”

The professor scratched his moustache whiskers in careful consideration. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” he began.
“
But if you ever need to talk to me,
I
'll give you this.” From
a drawer on his desk
, he produced a ring of a
poorly cut obsidian
, similar to the one on his left hand. “Another one of my creations
,” he explained bashfully. “I call these rings ‘fingalinks.’ They allow for communication over great distance to take place. You address the ring as if you were addressing the other person wearing the ring, and you can communicate. Put it on and we’ll try.

              The ring felt slightly cold against my finger
as if the professor had left it outside for a while.
He cleared his throat
a
nd raised his hand to his mouth.

              “Jacob! Hello! How do you fancy these rings?” A few moments
went by
before the obsidian mass on my finger
suddenly cooled to an unnatural temperature
.

              “Hello! How do you fancy these rings?” The voice that rang out was exactly like the professor
’
s, except
it sounded maybe a little bit more strained. It was almost as if two of him were talking at once.

              “Did it work then?”
t
he professor inquired. I looked up, startled by this question. “Didn't you hear?” He shook his head.

              “You
were
the only one to hear what I was saying
. Unless a kinetic Grimlar was directly examining your thoughts, they would never know what was ever going on.
If you get into any trouble
at any time I’ll ask that you contact me. I will do everything in my power to help you. Do you understand?
”

              “Yes sir.”
I said before quickly looking elsewhere.

“Then we had both better be off
,
”
h
e
responded
solemnly.

             
***

              Walk-running through the dark musty grounds, I eased my way over to the trainee baths.
Much to my surprise they seemed particularly quiet and dark on this day. Perhaps no one wanted to take a bath this cold twilight evening? Cheap
wood and shabby tile
cluttered the surroundings as I approached the entrance. I rattled the handle, however much to my dismay the door wouldn’t budge. I glanced up, and fixed my gaze onto a quickly written notice posted outside:

             
“Baths closed due to maintenance”

             
I peeked around the corner and examined each of the boarded up windows. Entry that way seemed highly unlikely, but I advanced despite myself. With some help from the boulders surrounding the baths, I clambered onto the roof and began looking for any possible opening. Everything appeared sealed up. I brought the fingalink ring to my mouth. “Professor Wenchenberg, the baths are locked, what should I do?” Nearly a minute had passed before I heard a response.

              “Jacob you have two options at this point,” the professor’s voice echoed through my head. “You can either try to break into the baths, or sneak into the prefect baths. Either way, you must hurry. We don’t have a great deal of time on our hands.” Umber glanced up at me with unconcerned eyes.

              “The bath doors are locked from the outside Mortal. Use your distortion anti-magic to unlock the door.” I glared at him suspiciously.

              “What makes you think it will be that easy?” Meeting Umber’s demanding gaze, I sighed, and brought my hands to the handle of the door. A small click rang out through the night air as I concentrated my anti-magic onto the lock. I tentatively reached out for the door and slowly opened it. “Oh.” I replied in answer to my own question. Umber chortled loudly as I patiently waited for my embarrassment to die down.

The fifty or so porcelain baths built into the floor were covered in a thick layer of dust. Tucked away to one side of the enclosure were a great number of wooden buckets, as well as a single water pump. I threw one of the pails underneath the faucet and furiously began to siphon. Only three large droplets of water landed into the canister. I tried again many times, however nothing but a pathetic gurgling sound emanated came from the tap. I scrunched my nose, and fixed an irate look at Umber. “Any more bright ideas?”