Kaavl Conspiracy, page 8
“But that’s not fair! I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You’re under investigation. You will abide by my rules, or you will go to jail.”
“I know I’m under investigation. But what about new clues? Have you found any of those?” Methusal’s tone skated on insubordination, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Petr’s accusations, not to mention him curtailing her freedom and manhandling her…it was all really too much.
His eyes narrowed. “Watch your mouth. If you want your freedom, tell me the truth. Who’s your accomplice?”
“I don’t have an accomplice!”
“So you did it alone?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Methusal cried out. “I’m innocent. Why do you always think the worst of me?”
A thick fist grabbed the neck of her tunic. “One more shout, and I’ll put you in jail.”
She stayed silent, but tears burned her eyes.
“Good. I didn’t think this day could come. Methusal quiet. Obedient.”
“Let me go!”
Petr released her. “Show some gratitude. After all, I haven’t put you in jail. Yet. But you’re a selfish, willful girl—you’ll never learn. Remember this: The penalty for murder is death. It may not be long before Liem forces my hand. Count your minutes of freedom, because they may not last much longer.”
He left her. A sob caught in her throat, but she didn’t let it out. He wouldn’t hear how upset he’d made her. Jail time. Death. Her uncle had actually just threatened her.
Shaking, Methusal stood in the middle of the hall. She wrapped her arms around herself. Tears slid down her cheeks. She felt angry and helpless, but she’d been wrong to let her temper take over, yet again. As had happened too many times in her life, her undisciplined tongue had gotten the best of her. But Petr frustrated her. He wouldn’t let her go outside to investigate Renn’s death, and he wouldn’t let her go out to practice kaavl, either. Soon, if not already, Petr would talk to Kitran. She had to talk to Kitran first.
“Thought I had more…” Sims’ mutter from the adjacent cave interrupted her thoughts.
In the supply room, the tall, thin old man bent over a sack of dried meat. His gnarled hands shook as he tied the sack closed with twine.
He straightened slowly, his lips moving in a silent commentary to himself.
“Sims?” From the doorway, Methusal spoke softly. She didn’t want to startle him.
Sims’ shaggy white head swiveled, and his faded blue eyes smiled. “Methusal, my girl! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Heard me talking to myself, did you?” A snaggle-toothed grin flashed. He reached for the clipboard. “We’re low on dried meat. Not sure how that happened. Last week I had eight sacks. Now I can only find five.”
“Did you check downstairs, too?”
Rolban had two supply rooms—one on each level. The cold storeroom on the lower level served as a temporary holding area for meats before they were cured, and for grain or berries that had overflowed from upstairs. Most of the supplies were kept on the second level, however, for several reasons: because a flood would destroy the food on the first floor, and also because the food was closer to the dining room on the second level. In addition, if wild beasts ever broke in, the food was easily defended on the second floor, since the only way in was through the entry hall and up the Grand Staircase, or through several portals in the roof.
“No. I haven’t had a chance.”
“I could look, if you’d like.” She probably still had a few minutes left before Kitran finished with the Quatr-levelers.
He sent her a keen glance. “This mean you’re coming to work for me?”
Methusal hesitated—although she’d already made her decision, even before Petr barred her from going up on the croplands. “If you’ll have me.”
Joy lit Sims’ face. He reached her in two steps, and his warm, gnarled hands wrapped tightly around her own. “Wonderful. How soon can you start?” His voice was eager and hopeful.
Methusal’s spirits sank. Now her worst fear was coming true. Sims wanted her to come work right now. He obviously needed help right away. And while she did want to help him, what about kaavl practice?
“I can start now,” she said quietly.
The old man sent her a keen glance, and then released her hands. “In the mornings, then, after class. I know the Kaavl Games are coming up quick, so you’ll want to practice hard for the next few afternoons.”
Methusal smiled with quick delight. “They’re the day after tomorrow.”
“Could you work a little this morning, then?” The old man sounded hopeful.
“Yes, but first I need to speak to Kitran.” And later, maybe after lunch, she’d investigate the ore mine.
“Off you go, then.” Sims waved her out the door. “I’ll see you soon.”
With a light heart, Methusal sped next to her kaavl instructor’s office. The Quatr-levelers had vanished, but Kitran Mehl was not alone. Behran, her ever present nemesis, lounged in the doorway.
“And here she is.” Behran tossed her a mocking smile.
What was that supposed to mean? Her happy mood faltered. Had they been talking about her?
No. Kitran would never discuss his students with other players. Behran just wanted to rile her, that was all. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
His lips twisted into an annoying grin. “Motr gave me the morning off so I can prepare for the Tri-level.”
Methusal’s expression remained carefully neutral. “That’s nice.” She glanced at Kitran, who sat ensconced in the small, warmly lit cave. “I’ll come back when you have more time.”
The large, broad-shouldered man glanced from Methusal to Behran. A smile twitched under his bristling black mustache. He knew about the long simmering rivalry between the two.
“Won’t be necessary. Behran was just leaving.”
With a half-smile, Behran stepped away from the door. “True. I have a little practicing to do. See you later, Kitran.” He strolled away.
A little practicing to do. Methusal managed to remain silent. She really must stop biting the bait every time Behran chose to provoke her.
“Come in, Methusal, and close the door.”
She did as he asked, and then perched on a chair facing her instructor. His intense black eyes held hers as he locked his hands together, his elbows resting on the narrow wooden table between them. Something was clearly on his mind. Had Petr already talked to him? Anxiety tightened in her chest.
Methusal couldn’t read Kitran’s expression. As always, it disconcerted her. Kitran’s only passion in life was kaavl. As a result, he was extremely self-controlled, and highly accomplished in the art of kaavl. He would participate in the Primary Level Game this week. Unfortunately, he had no competition among the Rolbanis. Verdnt and Petr were his closest opponents, but each had only achieved the Bi-level.
A thought flashed through her mind. Maybe Kitran favored the new Alliance. Then he could go up against true competitors.
As if hearing her thoughts, Kitran finally spoke. “Have you heard about the Alliance? And what that could mean for the Kaavl Games?”
“Yes.” Relief eased her anxiety. Apparently, Petr hadn’t spoken to Kitran yet. Good. She could plead her case first.
His opaque black eyes held hers. “I was in Dehre yesterday. Mentàll…” a note of awe crept into his voice, “…the Dehrien Chief, asked us to join in their Kaavl Games a week from Thirdday. Tarst invited us to their Games a few days later. Provided, of course, the Alliance is signed by then.”
Kitran had traveled to Dehre several times in the last several months, at Petr Storst’s request.
A question formed, but Kitran answered it with his next sentence. “Yes. I’ve been relaying messages between Petr and the Dehrien Chief about the Alliance. I know Mentàll from my early messenger days, so Petr asked me to work out a rough Alliance while he took care of responsibilities here.”
His reelection, Methusal surmised. Petr was determined to be reelected. Liem and Verdnt’s challenges for the title had only fueled his single-minded obsession.
“Anyway,” Kitran’s voice pulled her back to the present, “you’ll have a chance to participate in those Games if you do well here. I’m authorized to send the two best competitors from each level.”
Methusal’s cheeks warmed from that bit of praise from her enigmatic instructor.
Kitran held up a cautionary finger. “You’ll need to practice hard these next two days. I’ve written up a list of exercises.” A pale leaf, etched with bold dark markings, fluttered across the table. “The Tri-level event starts at noon sharp. I expect you to be prepared.”
Methusal heard the note of dismissal in his voice. Although she grasped the parchment, she did not stand. “I have a problem. Petr wants to disqualify me from the Tri-level.”
With a heavy frown, Kitran leaned forward. “Why? That’s under my authority.”
“I know.” Kitran’s black stare made it difficult to marshal her thoughts. “Petr thinks he’s found Renn’s murderer. Me.”
Kitran leaned back again. A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re serious?”
Did he believe she was innocent? Methusal quickly explained the whole story. “I’m not a thief, and I didn’t push Renn off that cliff.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
Relief flooded her. Finally, a small break. “Then you believe me?”
“Of course. But Petr can still prevent you from playing.”
“How? If you won’t disqualify me…”
“He can lock you in jail. Or keep you under community arrest. Either way, you wouldn’t be able to participate.”
“But that’s not fair. I’m innocent. Can’t you do something?” Kitran was her best hope, because Petr might actually listen to him. He wasn’t her relative, and even better, he held a high position of authority on the Council.
Kitran fell silent, apparently thinking it over.
“Please?” she added in a small voice.
He nodded. “I’ll try. Your kaavl talent is unusual. Of all my students, you have the most potential. It would be a loss to kaavl if you couldn’t play.”
Methusal stood. “Thank you, Kitran.”
He nodded toward the parchment in her hand. “Modify those exercises, since you’ll have to practice indoors. You still could win.”
“Thank you. I intend to win, if I can.”
He smiled. “Good luck.”
* * * * *
After speaking to Kitran, Methusal returned to the supply room.
“I checked the supply room downstairs,” Sims greeted her. “The meat wasn’t there.”
“Maybe Matron checked it out, and forgot to write it down.” Or maybe the thief had stolen it. But Methusal didn’t mention this possibility, for fear of unnecessarily upsetting Sims. Of course, he had probably thought of that himself.
“Maybe,” he muttered. “I’ll ask later. When the Kaavl Games are done, my girl, we’ll do a full inventory of both supply rooms.”
“Okay. What should I do today?”
With a rueful smile, Sims gestured toward the three large bags of seed grain. “One and a half bags will be planted soon. The remaining grain needs to be sorted, and any molding seeds thrown out. I don’t want moldy seeds rotting in the bags, waiting for the next planting. I’d like you to sort two full bags now. After that, those two bags of wildberries.”
“That should keep me busy.”
“For a few days,” Sims agreed. “I promise, things will improve after that, my girl.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” She smiled.
Sorting out molding seeds was an easy, if mindless task. The peace and quiet was welcome. In fact, as Methusal sat and worked, the unhurried pace of Sims’ quiet shuffling soothed her. Tension relaxed from her tight neck and shoulder muscles. It felt nice to have a moment’s peace, especially since she intended to create more drama after lunch.
Methusal carefully plotted how to break into the ore mine. First, she’d get Aali’s map and infiltrate the ore mine. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get caught. Or maybe she should hope she would. Because that would cut all kaavl players and eighty percent of Rolbanis from the suspect list. Then she’d know only authorized people could access the ore.
* * * * *
Since she couldn’t go outside to practice kaavl, Methusal decided to get as close as she could, and practice for a few minutes to warm up for her ore mine adventure. At the moment, she perched on a wooden recliner at the edge of the open gates. On the opposite side of the hall, a young guard leaned against the gate. He glanced at her, and then outside. Methusal chafed to go out, but didn’t dare.
Breathing quietly, she concentrated into kaavl. It was still an effort. True masters of the art, like Kitran, remained in a constant state of kaavl, always intensely aware of everything happening around them. A few aspects of kaavl were becoming a part of her, too. Like unconsciously increasing her concentration to listen in on conversations—although as a rule, she tried not to dishonorably eavesdrop.
Kaavl had improved her physical coordination, too. Now she easily won games involving hand-eye coordination and balance.
But discipline was the true key. Discipline of mind, body and spirit. Learning to concentrate on the important and ignore distractions was still a struggle for her. Thankfully, the full complexities of those skills weren’t necessary until the Bi and Primary levels.
Methusal sharpened each of her senses. The plateau, a minute run away, sharpened into focus. Every tiny detail became crisp and clear.
Her hearing fanned out like a net. The guard’s breaths blasted as loud as the north wind into her ears, and overhead swooshed the precise, powerful strokes of flying beast wings. Other sounds infiltrated, too; the slither of a whip beast twenty lengths south, and to the east, tagma leaves rustled in the strengthening breeze.
It was difficult to track so many noises at one time. Methusal couldn’t possibly keep track of them all. Her goal was to follow three systems at once. Two was a challenge, and three a stretch—but the skill was a needed advantage if she wanted to win the Tri-Level Game.
As usual, she found it easier to track noises originating equal distances away. Tracking near and far sounds at the same time seemed impossibly difficult. She focused, and tried again and again.
After long moments of concentration, she managed to hear the guard’s breathing and follow the movements of an apte forty lengths west at the same time. Other sounds intruded, but she struggled to keep her concentration.
The guard wandered outside, and the apte scampered closer. Methusal struggled to pick up a third sound—a flying beast overhead. It seemed utterly impossible, but she tried harder, again and again. And then, for one split second, she did it. Unfortunately, the success faded before she could remember how she’d done it.
Her frustration grew the longer she sat on the chair. She needed to run. Not just for speed and endurance, but also to integrate her long and short distance kaavl skills. She’d need that edge to win the Tri-level. How could she possibly win against Behran otherwise?
She had to get outside.
Her kaavl concentration broke, and Methusal drew a calming breath. She needed to clear her name first. Time to find the ore mine.
When Methusal stood, the paper Kitran had given her crinkled in her pocket. Great. She’d forgotten to practice his suggestions. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Right now, she needed to find Aali.
* * * * *
Methusal examined the rough squiggles that Aali had drawn on the parchment, and clutched the worn key in her hand. Few keys were used in Rolban, since few locks had been made, so this would only be the third time in her life that she’d use a key. Apparently, she needed to go north and then east, past her living compartment, and then deeper into the mountain. She counted the forks in the halls to reach the ore passage, and then committed the directions to memory and pushed the paper into her pocket.
She’d explored all of the main passageways multiple times as a child, of course. But she’d never been down any of the locked passageways. Quick steps brought her to the door. She concentrated into kaavl, and listened for movement on the other side.
Nothing. The key inserted silently, and she pushed down the polished lever and slipped into the secret passageway. Ahead, the hall curved right.
Footsteps whispered thirty lengths down the hall. Her heart beat faster, but she pressed on. What should she say, if questioned? Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier? And then she remembered Aali and the guards, and quickly came up with a thin explanation for being in the hall. In other words, a twisting of the truth. She hated lying, and felt sick at the thought of doing so now. But she had to get to the ore mine.
The twisting passageway grew narrower, and the footsteps louder.
A council member approached. His bald head gleamed in the light of the fire sconces. He blocked her path. “Why are you here, Methusal?”
“My father has a message. Have you seen Timaeus?”
“Can’t say. You could ask Pogul, though.” The man seemed satisfied with her response. “He’s a little further on.”
“Thank you.” Sharpening her hearing, Methusal moved on, but she heard no one else. From the man’s words, however, it appeared that Pogul was the first guard in the ore passageway. Pogul would know Timaeus wasn’t there. And she guessed the unpleasant young man would take great delight in escorting her out of the area. On the other hand, he wasn’t the brightest star in the sky. Could she fool him with a simple trick?
Pogul’s whistling breaths assaulted her ears long before she reached him. Was he snoring? She heard a snort, and then a rustle of movement. No.
She paused.
Ahead, the passageway curved right, and she pinpointed Pogul’s location by the sound of his heavy breaths, and an odd whumping noise. He was two lengths ahead. She listened carefully for footsteps.
None.
She tiptoed to the curve and peered around the corner. Pogul sat slumped against the wall near the mouth of another passageway. The ore hall. Over and over again, he banged his head against the rock wall.
