Among Wolves Read online

  “It has nothing to do with you,” Devin protested.

  “It has everything to do with me,” his father continued. “If Marcus goes with you, it extends my sanction to your undertaking. You can’t be censored if I have given you my approval.”

  “Surely, your approval could come without attaching Marcus to it,” Devin grumbled.

  “It’s a fine line, son, perhaps you can’t see it. Marcus’s inclusion implies you will be reporting to me.”

  Devin felt the first shadow of misgiving. “And will I be?”

  His father avoided his eyes. “I think it would be best, Dev. This isn’t a pleasure trip, and you know it.”

  “But I’m not going as your representative,” he objected. “This trip was my idea from the first.”

  “And after you gather the Chronicles, what do you intend to do with them? These stories require retelling to keep them fresh in your memory. You cannot set yourself up as a bard, not in your position.”

  Devin winced at the disapproval in his tone. His prejudice was evident. “I simply want to see them preserved,” he answered. “Can’t you see that oral records have value just as written ones do?”

  His father lowered his voice as a servant passed, a tray of canapés in hand. “The law states that oral records have no validity, Devin. You are in no position to question or change it.”

  “But you are,” Devin pointed out.

  His father shook his head. “Oddly enough, at the moment, I am not, and I ask you to leave it at that. It is my job to uphold the law, and yours to obey it. Even in my position, I cannot save you if you choose to disregard it.”

  Devin sighed. “I know.”

  His father laid a hand on his arm. “Have you considered that, by learning the Chronicles and not passing them on, you will only preserve them for your lifetime? How will that help the situation?”

  Devin’s eyes sought the floor. “Gaspard’s thinking of becoming a folklorist.”

  His father’s astonishment was obvious. “That’s not an Académie-level position! As a folklorist, he’ll be barred from the Archives for life. Is he out of his mind?”

  Devin sighed. “He can’t keep up with his studies. He barely scraped by last term, even with my help. He doesn’t expect to pass his exams.”

  His father shook his head. “What a disappointment for his father. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I hope this trip will give him another focus.”

  His father grunted as the connection became apparent. “I guess I understand this better now. You’re planning to pass the songs and ballads on to him and he’ll record them. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Because none of you credit Gaspard with having a brain in his head,” Devin replied.

  “Devin, the music is one thing, if that’s truly what you have in mind. There are already a few existing pamphlets of provincial songs. But you mustn’t ever ask Gaspard to compile any of the Chronicles in written form,” his father said. “They’ve hanged men for less. Be very, very careful what you are doing here. This is dangerous.”

  Devin clenched his hands. “I would never put Gaspard’s life in danger,” he protested.

  “God,” his father murmured, “I’m thinking of your own life, Devin.” His face softened. “I know how obsessed you can become with a project. From the time you were a child you have been fascinated by the bards’ brown cloaks. Where would you wear one, Dev? They’re barred from the Archives!”

  “Why would you care what I do with the cloak?” Devin protested. “If I earn an embroidered symbol for all fifteen provinces, I’ll be the first man to have a complete set!”

  “It’s a formidable task, son,” his father said quietly. “Don’t set yourself up for defeat.”

  “Can’t you understand?” Devin pleaded. “The cloak represents an accomplishment; something no one else has ever done! It would be no different than the trophies you still display from your Académie days!”

  His father’s face sobered. “Perhaps, you’re right. But my trophies didn’t put me in any physical danger.”

  “So, broken bones don’t count, then?” Devin asked. His father still walked with a slight limp from a leg that had been broken during a polo match.

  “Touché,” his father replied, stepping back. The distance between them indicated that he’d allowed Devin to score a point, but he considered the argument had already been won. “Look here, I’m sure dinner is getting cold and your mother is fretting. Let’s finish this, son, and agree not to discuss it again. Either you abide by my wishes or the trip is canceled. Which will it be?”

  “You know which,” Devin replied sulkily. He’d planned too long to allow this dream to end on the night of its inception.

  “Good,” his father said, relief evident in his voice. “You’ve made the right decision. As of tomorrow morning, you’ll be included on the Council’s payroll, under my direct authority. I’ll expect a full report from each province – I’m not interested in the number of tales you’ve gathered, of course – but your reflections on them, and observations of the provinces themselves. Marcus will arrange to have them delivered to me. Besides, your mother will want to know where you are and how you are faring. And as always, my resources are available if you need them, Devin, wherever you are. You have only to ask.”

  “I know that,” Devin replied, allowing his father to direct him toward the dining room.

  “And, don’t be concerned that Marcus will interfere with your plans. I assure you, he will be very discreet. You and Gaspard can feel free to enjoy yourselves. That’s what the Third Year has always been about.”

  Not my Third Year, Devin thought miserably, I’ll be tracked, followed, and reported on, make no mistake about it.

  His father detained him, a hand still on his arm. “And Devin, I appreciate your being reasonable after receiving my message. I expected you to overreact and yet, when I walked in tonight, I found you calmly stating your case to your brothers. It shows maturity.” He smiled. “And courage, too. I’m proud of you and glad we’ve worked this out.”

  Devin’s hand dropped automatically to the message in his pocket. He’d never even read it. “Thank you,” he murmured, inclining his head. He stood for a moment, uncertain what to do. “Could you excuse me, please? I’d like to wash my hands before dinner.”

  “Of course,” his father replied.

  He walked quickly down the hall to the gentlemen’s lavatory. Wall sconces lighted the huge room designed to handle the needs of the Chancellor’s constant entertaining. A bank of porcelain sinks, their brass taps gleaming, covered one wall. He’d come so very close to revealing his entire plan tonight and then he would never have been permitted to leave. Devin retrieved his father’s message and broke the seal, spreading it out on the sink in front of him. The note was brief and to the point:

  Devin,

  Under no circumstances are you to leave the city without speaking to me first. There is strong opposition to your trip and I think it would be wise to cancel it. I hate to disappoint you but you’ll have to trust my judgment in this. Come to the house after exams, we’ll discuss it then.

  Affectionately,

  Your Father

  He read the message twice. Had his father truly intended to call off his trip? And if so, at what point had he reconsidered? Obviously, the decision had been made before Devin arrived: he’d had Marcus waiting in the hall. He stood a moment wondering whether to admit he hadn’t read the message before he came, and decided against it. His hands shaking, he folded the parchment and jammed it back into his pocket. After one quick look in the mirror, he walked back down the hall to the dining room.

  CHAPTER 2

  Leaving Viénne

  Devin turned down his father’s offer of a carriage to take him back to the dormitory. The cool moonlit walk offered a quiet end to a hectic day. He strolled beneath the budding trees, marking his progress by the luminous pools the gas lights left on the sidewalk. The Académie buildings
looked formidable against the dark sky. Only the Archive’s windows were still illuminated as first year apprentices labored to shelve the massive quantity of materials which had been used to study for final exams. The examination hall had closed at ten and it was now well past midnight.

  The dormitory lobby reeked of pipe tobacco, its table and chairs littered with crumpled study notes, crumbs, and empty glasses. Devin mounted the stairs without seeing another student. An eerie quiet marked the darkened halls. Some students had already departed for the three month summer holiday. Others were celebrating or drowning their sorrows down at Antoine’s. Final exams sparked either high spirits or despair. The essays were excruciatingly specific with little room for fabrication. Rarely did a student leave the Examination Hall without knowing for certain he had secured a place in next year’s class, or that he would have to return home in disgrace.

  Gaspard was not in his room. None of his clothes had been packed and his bed remained rumpled and unmade. Devin packed the contents of his own closet in the large trunk at the foot of his bed, reserving only a few items to put into his knapsack. He intended to take only what he could conveniently carry. He folded his itinerary and placed it flat on the bottom, and then a few shirts and trousers, a warm jacket and blanket, thick socks, and a pocket knife. Only because his father required him to make reports did he include paper and ink. Either item might be misconstrued by the Council members who disapproved of his journey. Whatever else he needed could be purchased along the way. The larger job was to strip the room of his belongings. Next year he would be assigned an apartment in the Archives. He would never return to this dormitory again.

  It was after three when he finished marking the boxes of books and the trunk with instructions to be taken to his parents’ house. There was still no sign of Gaspard, and their ship sailed at five. He threw his roommate’s clothes into another knapsack and started to pack his other belongings.

  He was so tired; even the thin, bare, mattress tempted him. The past two weeks he’d had little sleep, spending half the night studying for his own exams and the other half tutoring Gaspard. He gave into temptation, slumping down on the bed and closing his eyes.

  A moment later, he heard running feet on the stairs.

  “Devin?” Henri Ferrare, a first year student, hung on the doorframe, his breath coming in gasps. “It’s Gaspard. Can you come?”

  Devin dragged himself up off the bed. “What’s the matter? Is he hurt?”

  Henri shook his head. “No, just drunk…and Antoine needs to close up.”

  Devin quelled his annoyance. It was typical of Gaspard to go on a binge when he needed to concentrate his energy elsewhere. He clattered down the stairs and out the front door after Henri, feeling a chill as the night closed in around them. The sky was as clear and starry as midwinter, and Devin wished he’d brought his jacket. A spring peeper piped his bell-like solo from the edge of the fountain. Behind them a cabbie shouted anxiously for a fare, but they kept on going.

  “Antoine sent for Gaspard’s father,” Henri confided as they hurried along.

  “God,” Devin murmured. “I hope we get there before he does!”

  At Antoine’s, candles burned on every table, though the sign by the front door said “closed.” Devin stopped just inside, realizing he’d never seen this room empty before. Its cozy warmth faded without the camaraderie of dozens of students and scholars clustered around the bar and sitting at the tables. The silence seemed jarring, bereft of the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.

  They found Gaspard on the floor under a corner table, a cut oozing blood across his right cheekbone. Antoine knelt beside him, a wet cloth in hand.

  “How badly is he hurt?” Devin demanded.

  The barman shrugged and stood up. “It’s nothing. The cut will heal without a scar.”

  Devin leaned down to see for himself. Gaspard’s breathing was smooth and regular, his parted lips emitting an occasional snore.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I sent for his father,” Antoine replied. “I thought you’d gone home.”

  “I went home for dinner but I had to come back to pack,” Devin answered. He had barely a month to spend in each province. He needed every moment of his summer holiday plus his entire Third Year to complete his project. He couldn’t have lingered a few days with his parents even if he had wanted to.

  “Monsieur Forneaux came himself,” Antoine continued, “and Gaspard was not glad to see him.”

  Gaspard’s father was René Forneaux, a high ranking Council member. He must have been very angry or very worried to have come himself to drag his son out of a bar in the middle of the night.

  “Monsieur Forneaux tried to take him home,” Antoine continued. “Gaspard told him he hadn’t finished his exams. He said, when he turned them in, Isaac La Salle told him he need not return to the Académie next fall.”

  Devin’s breath wheezed out in exasperation. The least Gaspard could have done was to finish his exam and not leave it half completed. The implication was that he didn’t care if he was ruining his chances at the Académie.

  “This is not true?” Antoine asked.

  “True enough, unfortunately,” Devin murmured. “And then, what happened?”

  “Monsieur Forneaux said he would hire tutors for the summer so that Gaspard could be reinstated. Gaspard told him that all the tutors in the world wouldn’t help him graduate. He said if his father couldn’t accept that, he could go to hell. Then Monsieur Forneaux hit him.”

  Devin winced, glancing at his friend on the floor. “He knocked him out cold?”

  “No, no!” Antoine explained. “Gaspard passed out. He drank a whole bottle of wine after his father left.”

  Devin rolled his eyes. “Can you help me carry him back to the dormitory, Henri?”

  Antoine grabbed his sleeve and pointed. “That won’t be necessary. I think your father sent his carriage.”

  “What?” Devin said in disbelief. He turned to see Marcus’s formidable bulk standing in the doorway.

  “I’ll take care of this,” his bodyguard said, bending to pull Gaspard from under the table. “Go back and get your things and his. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the dormitory steps.”

  “How did you hear about this?” Devin asked.

  “Your father had me follow you. I called to you from outside the dormitory when you ran down the steps. You must not have heard me.”

  So the protection his father had assigned him had started immediately, even before he’d left the city of Coreé. Devin found it odd.

  Marcus paused, Gaspard slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “You’re certain Gaspard still wants to go?”

  “We haven’t spoken since this morning…” Devin said, suddenly unsure he was doing the right thing.

  Marcus made the decision for him. “We’ll take him with us. If he decides to return, your father will pay his passage back. Go now. You’ll be late.”

  “What time is it?” Devin asked.

  “Nearly five,” Marcus told him.

  “The ship…”

  “Will wait,” Marcus replied “You father’s seen to that.”

  Devin smiled. This morning there seemed to be some advantages to being the Chancellor’s son.

  Even though the sun had yet to rise, the docks in the harbor swarmed with activity. The Marie Lisette sat low in the water, her hold filled with Sorrento wine bound for the Northern Provinces. Marcus carried Gaspard aboard while Devin gathered their belongings from the carriage. He turned to see his father ride up on his dappled gray gelding.

  “I decided to see you off,” Vincent Roché said, drawing his coat closer around him. “It’s a cold morning to be heading north, son. You’ll keep an eye on the weather?”

  “Of course. But we have to visit the Northern Provinces first; they’ll be snowbound again by the first of September,” Devin said, even though he’d left his father their proposed itinerary.

  “Just be careful an
d listen to Marcus. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

  “I will,” Devin replied. “I hadn’t expected to see you this morning.”

  “I have a small gift,” his father said, extending a package.

  Devin laughed, pleased that he’d come. “I thought you’d already given me Marcus.”

  “Marcus is going with you to ease my concerns.” He held the package out again. “Open it.”

  Devin tore the brown paper away to reveal a cloak of russet suede.

  “A storyteller’s cloak?” he gasped in surprise.

  “You’ve always wanted one,” his father said, guiding his horse in closer as a wagon pulled by to unload. “You’ll need it if you’re going to collect all fifteen symbols.”

  “Thank you,” Devin murmured. “I’d planned to purchase one in Arcadia but this will mean so much more.”

  His father smiled. “It’s a peace offering. I didn’t want you to think that I agreed with the Council members who would have prevented this trip.” He glanced around them. “Where’s Gaspard?”

  Devin sighed. “In his cabin. Marcus has already proven invaluable.” He told him briefly what had happened.

  “I’d better let René know, Dev. You can’t go, and let him think his son has disappeared. I won’t mention that he didn’t leave under his own power. That’s between the two of you.”

  They both glanced up at the same time and saw the Captain waiting at the top of the gangplank. “You’d better go, son, we’ve held your ship up long enough.”

  Devin nodded, suddenly reluctant to leave. “Give Mother my love.”

  “I didn’t tell her I was coming to see you off. She’s feeling quite fragile this morning. She would have begged you to stay.”

  “It’s difficult to say ‘no’ to her.”

  “I’m well aware of that!” his father said with a laugh, backing his horse away. “Have a good trip, Devin. Stay safe.”