FROM THE JOURNAL OF RUBY

The early spring morning was crisp but pleasant, promising another lovely day. I had forgotten how pretty Meridea became in springtime. A few gray clouds drifted along above, taking their time. Then came the rain, soft and pleasant, the smell cleansing the air.

“Late morning delivery tomorrow,” Leonis called out to me as I directed the horses along with a cart that now contained fifty thousand in gold. “I will have lunch prepared for you, beautiful!”

I shuddered and pretended not to hear as we turned onto Front Street.

Elias and Marco were talking about the upcoming Tournament. Everyone in the city was talking about it. It was the most anticipated day of the year. The entire week was a festival really.

In Sanctuary, it was scarcely mentioned.

We grew ever closer to the stark gray walls of Sanctuary, and the familiar dread in my belly grew.

The rest of the day, I would enchant one item after another, eat a tasteless lunch and supper, retire to my dark cell before I was even sleepy, and lie awake in the dark with my mind twisting and turning, trying to avoid the dark paths.

I had not heard from Bastile in five days. I had hoped his anger would abate and he would send for me. I would promise to cease my research on Moroso. Perhaps I would even mean it. We could continue the outlander project as if nothing ugly had ever happened. Or perhaps, even if our friendship was forever changed, he would find my work as his assistant had been indispensable to the project, and he would put all personal grievances aside for the benefit of the work.

I had many conversations with him in my mind as I lay in my bed each night.

Yet so far, I had heard not a word from him, and it was beginning to become clear that I never would. He was being true to his word.

This also meant the progress on my mission had come to a halt. In three days I would meet my contact again, and I had nothing new to report.

We made our way to the stables, where Applicants waited to see to the horses, and Servants waited to count the gold. Elias and Marco jovially bade me a good day and I watched them depart. I envied whatever tasks lied ahead for them, some training outdoors perhaps, more guard duty maybe. Whatever it was, it was better than the grim halls of Sanctuary. I had no idea that in moments, my day would turn much worse.

A Servant was waiting for me, impatient and harried.

“Apprentice Ruby,” she said. “Cleric Ray has sent for you. You must come at once. He has been waiting more than an hour.”

“What about?” I asked. My mind reeled. I had scarcely laid eyes on any of the Clerics in all my weeks in Sanctuary, and had never spoken to one.

“That is not your place to ask. Come with me!”

Cleric Ray’s chambers were stark and sparse.

In the sitting room, the Servant ordered me to sit while she went into the Cleric’s study.

“Send her in,” a gruff voice said from within.

My stomach flipped and my heart pounded. I forced my face into a mask of calm.

“You may enter,” the Servant told me imperiously.

Cleric Ray sat behind a plain desk, pen and paper neatly arranged, the rest of the desk’s surface bare. He had no paintings or art on the walls, no plants, nothing at all. There was, however, a large window affording a magnificent view of river and the city rooftops beyond.

“Sit,” he ordered. He wore the black robes of a Cleric. He had half a head of white hair, neat and trim.

I sat in a hard wooden chair facing him.

“Apprentice Ruby. Do you know why you are here?”

“No, Cleric.”

“You did some work with Scholar Bastile, did you not?”

“I did.” Out the window, I could see boats passing lazily on the Dorne.

“What work did he have you doing?”

“I was assisting him in research for a book he was writing.”

“What was the book about?”

“About the outlanders.”

Cleric Ray peered at me, waiting for me to say more.

I did not.

He asked, “Were you still working for him at the time of his death?”

“What? His death? What are you talking about—“

He held up a pink hand. “I will ask the questions, Apprentice. You are not aware that Scholar Bastile was found dead two days ago?”

“No! What happened?”

“Did Bastile ever mention any enemies that he might have had? Do you know of anyone who would wish harm on him?”

“No. I do not.”

“When did you last see Bastile?”

“Five days ago.”

“What was the nature of your last conversation with him?”

“He informed me that he would not require any further assistance from me on his project.”

“Did he give a reason?”

“No.”

He stared, again waiting for me to say more.

Again, I did not oblige him.

“You are a pretty girl,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“It is an observation, not a compliment.”

He stared at me. I waited for him to ask his next question.

“Were you close to Bastile?”

“No.”

“How much time did you spend alone with him?”

“I was in his chambers every afternoon for three weeks. He had no other assistants.”

“Was there a sexual relationship between the two of you?”

“No.”

“Did he ever suggest a desire to have one?”

“No.”

“Did you harbor or express such desires?”

“No.”

“Did he ever convey any feelings at all toward you, such as romantic love or infatuation?”

“No.”

“Did you have any such feelings for him?”

“No.”

“What were your feelings for him?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“How did you feel about him as a man? Did you like him, hate him, respect him, think poorly of him? What did you think of the man?”

“I liked him. I respected him.”

“Was there a friendship?”

“No. He was the Scholar, I the Apprentice.”

“Did you work well together?”

“I thought so, for a time.”

“Did he express dissatisfaction with your work?”

“No.”

He took some notes down.

“I will be reviewing Bastile’s work on this outlander project,” the Cleric’s gray lips twisted in distaste at the word. “If necessary, I may summon you again to question you further about it. Do not keep me waiting if I do. You are dismissed.”

The remainder of the day passed in a haze. Everyone around me acted as if everything were exactly the same as before. For them, it was.

There was no mention of Bastile at all, no mention of any murder in Sanctuary. I knew better than to ask any questions. The only person I had ever trusted in Sanctuary was now dead. More than once, the thought crossed my mind that I should seek Bastile for guidance. Then I reminded myself that I never could again.

I considered fleeing Sanctuary, fleeing Meridea. But I had yet to complete my mission. The mission seemed more impossible than ever, but I could not abandon it.

In the pitch black darkness of my cell, I lied in bed, waiting. My thoughts reeled and pitched and I tried to breathe deeply and steel my nerve, wondering just how foolish my next plan was.

Finally I rose and put on my robe and slippers in the dark. I took a candle but did not light it.

My progress was very slow in the dark. I made my way blindly through the winding corridors of Sanctuary, remaining as silent as I could. The halls were empty, Sanctuary quiet as a tomb. No candles or sconces were lit. I could see only by what little moonlight came through the windows high above.

I thought I might freeze to death in the cold of night. I cursed myself for not bringing my blanket.

At last I reached Bastile’s chambers. I tried opening the door. Of course it was locked. I tried magic. I had learned a simple spell, in my training with Trang, that could defeat most locks.

This was not an easy lock. I tried and tried, using up nearly all of my energy and exhausting myself. I was ready to lie down and sleep right there on the stone floor. I did not think I could even make it back to my cell.

Not knowing what else to do, I made a final attempt. The lock clicked. I opened the door. I staggered inside, physically and mentally depleted.

It was very dark. The coppery odor of blood and death remained in the room. I lit my candle. I was alone in Bastile’s chambers.

They looked exactly as they had when I had last been there. I nearly expected Bastile to come out at any moment.

Utterly exhausted, I began my search, not daring to rest. My legs felt like iron weights, but I made my feet move, one step at a time.

For an hour or longer I searched, finding nothing, not certain what I was even looking for.

I stood still in the room, near the couch where I had lounged so many times as I read. I tried to think. I nearly fell asleep on my feet, standing there. Perhaps I did for a short time. I shook myself and moved on.

The door to Bastile’s living quarters, thankfully, was not locked.

His bedroom was sparse and small, though not as tiny as my cell. I wondered idly why he would have left spots and stains on his stone floor, before the realization of what those stains were stopped me dead. He had been murdered, right here in this room. The stains were everywhere. One of them was quite large. Where he had died. I shivered, not from the cold this time. I was not superstitious, did not believe in ghosts, but a strange fear gripped me as I stood alone in the dark, in the room where my mentor, my friend, had been murdered. Perhaps, I thought, I should welcome an encounter with his ghost. He could tell me who had murdered him, tell me what to look for. My tired mind was not functioning properly.

I willed myself to move, searching. I focused my attention on the books in his room, scattered about. Someone had been through them, leaving them in disorder.

On a small table by his bed was a small leather bound book I had not seen before. I sat on the bed and picked it up, peering at the pages with the light of my candle. The writing inside was Bastile’s. It was his private journal.

I skipped ahead to the final pages, my heart pounding in my chest.

The final entry was mundane and brief, chronicling the events of his last day, with no indication at all that he knew it was his last.

I went back further, reading as quickly as I could in the flickering candlelight.

I saw my name and my heart skipped. He wrote about how bright I was, how much potential I had. I found the entry from the awful day when he had been angry with me.

Ruby works for me no longer. Did not heed my warning. Need to watch her and ensure she makes no more progress in her endeavor. If only I can put a stop to her meetings with the merchant. If she discovers the Black Hand, I will not be able to help her.

That was all he had written for that day. Could he not have been a bit clearer?

I perused the journal some more, but found nothing else of interest.

I replaced the journal in the exact position I had found it and left the room.

Should anyone ever question my dedication to the cause, they will never know how difficult the next phase of my assignment was.

I began to act friendly toward Leonis.

I laughed at his awful jokes. I expressed interest in his idiotic comments and crude observations.

Two days later, I accepted his invitation for lunch.

“I really should not, Leonis,” I protested, half-heartedly. “I have to see that the gold you paid makes it back to Sanctuary.”

“The guards can do that,” Leonis said. “Right, gentlemen?”

Marco and Elias looked at each other and then at me, somewhat perplexed by my change in attitude toward the fat man. But they shrugged.

Marco said, “We will be happy to, Ruby. If that is what you want. Will you not be expected back with the gold though?” Marco gave me a meaningful look, offering me a way out of the invitation.

“It will be fine!” Leonis said. “I will see to it! Sanctuary listens to me – I am quite valuable to them. They could scarcely continue to exist without my steady stream of gold!”

I watched the men leave, my heart sinking a bit.

The meal was indeed fantastic. I had not had real food in a very long time. The roasted pheasant was juicy and seasoned with spices I had never tasted before. My plate was loaded with seasoned potatoes, cooked carrots, fresh hot bread with butter. There was wine, a deep red and with a taste better than any wine I had ever had. Leonis spared no expense. We had a dessert of chocolate pie, creamy, cold and delicious. I ate every bite. I drank two goblets of wine and my head swam pleasantly.

Leonis did his utmost to ruin the feast for me, eating almost literally like a pig at the trough. He chewed with his mouth open, breathing heavily and making disgusting noises. He talked endlessly, usually with his mouth full, shifting topics from mundane gossip to boasts about his wealth to occasional sexual innuendo, not subtle at all. He did not quite say that he wanted to take me to bed but stopped just short of it.

My dedication should never be called to question.

But if I needed to sleep with Leonis to find the location of Moroso…the world just might have to burn.

“I have never in my life eaten so well!” I smiled at the merchant. “I am sure I never will again.”

“Nonsense,” he waved a fat hand, bejeweled with sparkling rings. “I eat like this every day! You should see what I am having tomorrow. You are welcome of course. You can dine with me any day.” He grinned lewdly, bits of food stuck in his awful teeth.

I waited until the third meal with Leonis before I began to pry, carefully, for information.

“Do you know many people in Sanctuary?” I asked him. He had been boasting about his connections all over the city.

“Of course I do, dear,” he laughed. “The place would not run without me!”

“Did you know a Scholar named Bastile?”

“Bastile? Sure, I know Bastile. Good man.”

“You use the present tense. Are you not aware that he is dead?”

“Dead? Bastile? That I did not know. How interesting. And terrible of course. Are you crying my dear?”

“He was my friend,” I sniffed. “Almost like a father to me.”

“Oh, dear. I am sorry, truly. What happened to him?”

“He was killed. Murdered.”

“What? No! When was this?”

“Last week.”

“How did I not hear of this? Gods, but Sanctuary is secretive. Don’t want the negative attention, I reckon. Gods. Do they know who killed him at least?”

“No. But there are rumors. There have been whispers of this ‘Black Hand.’”

The merchant’s face instantly darkened. I feared I had gone too far.

He stopped eating and stared at me. “Who mentioned the Black Hand?”

“I do not know,” I said. “I heard some Servants talk of it. What is it?”

“Can you find out their names?”

I wiped my eyes. “I am sorry. I have no idea, truly.”

“If you ever hear that name mentioned again, darling, you pay close attention, you hear me?”

“Of course.”

He resumed eating, silent for once.

I dared to push a bit further.

“Do you know who they are, Leonis? Do you think they might bear responsibility for the death of Bastile?”

For the first time since I had met him, Leonis appeared to ponder his words before he spoke.

“They did not kill Bastile,” he said. “If they did, I would know it. And yes, I know who they are.”

Four days passed before I was sent back to make another delivery.

Leonis was more serious than usual, suddenly seeming less like an utter fool than he had before.

“No time for lunch today, dear Ruby,” he told me with a tinge of regret.

I began to believe I had fouled things up somehow.

The next day, however, he was his old self again, and he invited me to eat with him.

Finishing my exquisite meal of beef, cooked mushrooms and truffles, I decided to risk pressing the merchant further. I sensed my window of opportunity closing, time running out. It was indeed quite odd that I was still alive, I had begun to realize, but certainly that could not last. My contacts shared this belief and the last message indicated I would be pulled out soon. I would welcome leaving, of course, but I did not want to leave in failure.

“Leonis,” I said. “Did I cause offense the other day?”

“What? Do not be silly, girl. You could never offend me.”

“You seemed not to like it when I mentioned the Black Hand.”

His response this time was not so severe, but he did put thought into his response.

“That is because the Black Hand is not a subject a pretty girl like you should be raising.”

“What is the Black Hand?”

He pondered again, chewing slowly. “Can I trust you, Ruby?”

“Of course.”

“What I say cannot leave this room. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“It will be our secret. Are you good at keeping secrets?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Good. The Black Hand is a secret group. Few have even heard of its existence. Those who have even heard the name tend to believe it is a thing of rumor or myth. It is a group that follows Moroso. Do you know who Moroso is?”

“I have heard of him. He is supposed to be an evil wizard. But I do not believe in him. Do you?”

Leonis laughed. “Oh yes, I do. I know Moroso exists. I have met him.”