The Tower: Chapter Ten, Part One

Notes: We're almost to the end! Poor guys, I'm giving them all hell right now. But there will be time to mend things. I doubt we're seeing the last of Anton and Camille in this story.

Title: The Tower: Chapter Ten, Part One

***

The Tower: Chapter Ten, Part One

Anton couldn’t take the tenderness of Camille’s embrace for long, not with the truth battering just behind his teeth, threatening to grind them to dust if he didn’t reveal it. Better to get it over with and see if there was anything left of himself to salvage once Camille was gone. “He took it.”

Camille pulled back a little way. “Who took what?”

“Montgomery, he took the p-pal-palimpsest.” It was hard to force the word past his lips, but once he had Anton found it easier to get the rest of the sordid tale out. “He knew about it, somehow, he knew and he did something to me when he touched me. He—I couldn’t fight him, I tried, but he asked me to get it for him and I did.” Anton shuddered at the memory of Montgomery’s lips against the back of his neck, and the way Anton’s mind had rebelled even while his body had been in complete thrall. “I gave it away, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to but I did it anyway, I—”

Camille cupped Anton’s face in his hands. “Take a deep breath,” he said, and Anton gamely tried. “Another. One more time…good. Anton.” He sighed and leaned forward. Anton expected a slap on the cheek, but he got a gentle kiss to the forehead instead. “You haven’t been trained to even identify that kind of dark magic, much less to resist it. Of course you complied, it was all you could do. And then he pushed you out the window.”

“He told me to fall, and I did.” Anton recalled the hollow feeling in his stomach as he tipped forward, the distant sight of the ground making his nerves quiver with fear. “I managed to catch myself on the arch. But the window…I couldn’t grab it. I thought I would fall again.” He looked up at Camille. “How did you get it open?”

Camille shook his head. “I merely flipped the latch. There was probably a spell on the window to make people avoid it, but of course that wouldn’t work on me. Are you well enough to move? We need to get your head seen to, and I need to speak to Dr. Grable.”

Anton gripped the edge of Camille’s cloak with desperate hands. “Have you even heard me? I lost the palimpsest, Camille! You trusted me with it, with something that could be absolutely deadly in the wrong hands, and I lost it! How can you want to have anything to do with me?”

“Anton.” Camille covered his shaking hands and squeezed them reassuringly. “You didn’t lose it, it was forcibly taken from you—there’s a difference. And you didn’t keep your notes in the same place as the palimpsest itself, presumably, so Montgomery still doesn’t know what it says. Not to mention, you still have the notes, don’t you? Somewhere?”

“I…yes, I do.” In one of the drawers of his desk, actually, with a simple concealment charm on them.

“Then we aren’t left with nothing. And lastly, if anyone should be held responsible for this mess, it’s me. I gave you the palimpsest in the first place and then sent you into the lion’s den. I should have known you would be a figure of interest after what happened on the train. We’re lucky that it took Montgomery so long to bring his focus to bear on you, otherwise you would likely have been targeted far sooner.” He looked grim now, his lips pressed tight together beneath his moustache. “The deaths of those four men are on me, if they can be blamed on anyone other than their killers. And even then, I think we’ll find that Beaufort and MacPherson might be less culpable than we first thought.”

“You…you think that Montgomery—” Anton suddenly remembered Percival’s plight. “Oh God, did you find Percy in time? Did he reach the river?”

“I found him,” Camille assured him. “He was in a state of deep conflict, clearly fighting with himself over whether or not to throw himself in the river. When I touched him, it was like breaking a trance.” Camille frowned again. “A deeply Catholic man would never commit suicide. And Harry Beaufort, while by all accounts rather reckless, would never throw away his future and all the wealth he hoped to accumulate by openly attacking his fellow students. I think we need to speak to Dr. Grable.”

Anton closed his eyes. “He will be so ashamed of me.”

“No.” Camille stroked warm fingertips down Anton’s cheek. “He would do better to be ashamed of himself. Come, let me help you up.”

Once he was shakily on his feet, Anton let Camille lead him down the long stairs to Dr. Grable’s office. It would have done more for his pride if Anton had stood on his own, but truthfully, he needed the support right now. His body still ached, his head throbbed where it had been split open on the slate, and he hadn’t quite shaken off the shock that gripped him. Montgomery a killer, a murderer. Able to do thaumaturgy that Anton couldn’t even identify, and the only reason that Anton was still alive was because of the luck of Camille’s timing and nature.

By the time they got to Grable’s office, Harry was mostly free of the stone, and spitting mad over it. “—dare you attack me this way, I will inform my father and he will—”

“Keep up that tone with me, boy, and I will put another rock in your mouth to gag it,” Dr. Grable told him. “Your father won’t be doing anything once he learns his son attempted to murder two of his fellow students.”

“I didn’t, though! I’m telling you, I—that—something is wrong here!”

In contrast to Harry’s raging, Percival sat quietly in a chair against the wall, his eyes distant and face dull. When he saw Anton enter the room, a tiny spark of life reentered his expression. “Anton, you survived!”

“I—yes, I’m all right.”

“Survived what?” Harry demanded, clawing at the granite still clinging to his leg.

“Survived Gerald, of course.”

Dr. Grable looked from Anton to Percival, then back to Camille. “Are we dealing with dark magic, then?”

“Pure force of will, in its most elemental form,” Camille agreed. “He had no need to employ the trappings of thaumaturgy to make it work either, although he did have to be in physical contact with Anton. I presume his tricks worked better on these two gentlemen because of longer exposure to them.”

“I killed a priest.” Percival sounded calm, but he wouldn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m sure of it. I knew him a bit, socially, and I mentioned him to Gerald. I don’t know why he wanted him dead, but I remember…I remember waking up in bed with my hands aching, and a rosary I’d never seen before on my dresser.” He sighed deeply. “God will punish me for this sin, and I will deserve it, but I will not kill myself for it.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Harry demanded. “You haven’t killed anyone, and neither have I!”

“Yes,” Dr. Grable said. “I’m afraid you have. Let me clear your mind and show you.”

“Don’t touch me,” Harry spat, trying to step backward. The stone still held his lower leg, though, and he only succeeded in falling to the ground. “Don’t touch me, I will tell my father about this and he’ll—” Dr. Grable forced Harry to meet his eyes, pulled out his silver wand, and drew a complex circular insignia on his forehead.

“Will to fight will,” he muttered. “Now see.”

A moment later, Harry’s eyes went wide. “No.” His protest turned into a moan, and he shook his head hard, like an animal. “No, no! I didn’t—I would never—oh god, the blood, I—I—” He buried his face in his hands and began to keen.

It was Percival who went to him, took him into his arms and held him tight against the horror he was forced to relive. “It will be all right,” Percival said quietly. “It will be all right, Harry.”

Harry only wept in reply.

The Tower: Chapter Eight, Part One

Notes: Not too long, but action-packed! The case is definitely progressing, but nothing is perfectly linear with this story.

Title: The Tower: Chapter Eight, Part One

***

Chapter Eight, Part One

The halls were fairly quiet when they arrived back at the dormitory. Somehow it was already suppertime, the day flying by so quickly that it seemed as though Anton had barely had a chance to note its passage. He was familiar with becoming so absorbed in his work that he forgot to eat, much less glance out at the sunshine, but he hadn’t expected something similar to happen as a result of an investigation. Perhaps he was enjoying himself a little more than he thought he would.

It was several minutes since Anton’s spell had alerted them to Montgomery’s return, but hopefully he would still be in his room. The door was closed when they arrived, so Camille knocked briskly. “Mister Montgomery? This is Lord Lumière, here on the emperor’s business. Open the door, if you please.” There was no reply, but a faint sound from inside was just barely audible. It sounded like—like someone choking on something?

“Damnation.” Camille tried the door, but it was locked. “Stand back,” he instructed Anton, then leaned away, lifted his leg, and slammed his foot into the innermost edge of the door. The wood cracked under the force of his blow, sending shards flying. The door slammed open, but before either of them could enter the room, a spark seemed to appear out of nowhere in the middle of the darkness.

“Get down!” Anton threw himself at Camille, knocking both of them to the floor just in time to dodge the massive gout of flame that erupted over their heads. The heat was intense, enough to make Anton wince, but it died out just as quickly as it began. He moved onto his knees, but was immediately knocked over again by a man in a long cloak, its hood pulled over to disguise his face, who came running out of the room.

The few students remaining in the hall watched in shock, not realizing the danger they were in as the man sprinted toward the exit. Anton surged back to his feet just in time to watch another jet of flame disperse the few who were idling inside the door, setting one of them on fire. “Get out of the way!” he yelled, pulling his silver wand and a round steel ball from his holdall. Camille was already running down the hall after the attacker, and Anton dropped his bag and hastened after him.

The exit led into the center courtyard of the university. It was getting late, and cool enough that not many students normally chose to linger there, but a special lecture must have just let out, for the cobblestoned space was filled with people. The man in the cloak tried to push his way through them, but after a moment seemed to give it up for lost and pulled out another familiar-looking wooden dowel.

“Oh, hell,” Anton muttered. Neither he nor Camille would make it in time to stop the man, but he wasn’t a neophyte himself when it came to imbuing objects with powerful spells. He hadn’t tested this one before, but now was as good a time as any. He whispered the incantation, gathered his will and tapped the ball with the silver wand to energize it, then threw it at the attacker’s feet.

The tiny steel ball rolled unerringly at Anton’s target, gathering both speed and size as it went. Molecules expanded, forcing something formerly small but solid into a hollow sphere the size of a globe, and that globe took the hooded thaumaturge out at the knees just as he fired the wand. The flames went up instead of into the startled crowd as the man was knocked flat onto his back. His hood fell away, and to Anton’s surprise—although why he was surprised he wasn’t sure—Harry Beaufort’s glaring face was revealed.

“Idiot!” he snarled, his hand already vanishing into his robe for another wand. Anton’s ball had rolled to a stop somewhere in the distance, and that was the only offensive capability he had on hand. Camille was going for his gun, but could he fire fast enough to take Harry out before Harry worked his vile magic?

In the end, it was neither the one nor the other man who came out first. In the blink of an eye, Harry’s wand hand was slammed down onto the ground, the stones themselves reaching out to grip and hold him. Granite shuddered and rose like water, rolling over him in a wave and binding him to the earth. Harry screamed in fury, but after a moment the stone covered his mouth as well. It coated everything but his nose, eyes, and ears.

“What…” Anton looked around in confusion, only to see Dr. Grable striding forward, one hand extended and holding a dull gray wand.

“So,” he said grimly. “I see your hunt has turned up our fox.”

“A suspect, at least,” Camille amended. He looked completely unperturbed by what had just happened. Anton didn’t know why he was surprised—the man had weathered flying bullets with little more than a tilt of his head before, but a tremendous gout of flame was rather less commonplace. His own heart was still beating rapidly, in a not-quite regular tempo, and his hands shook so bad he could barely hold onto his silver wand.

“Let me,” Camille murmured, taking the wand from him and putting it neatly in Anton’s inner pocket. “An interesting spell, Doctor,” he said.

Dr. Grable looked up from where he was kneeling next to Harry. “I’ve taught here a long time now, ever since my services were no longer required by the emperor after the last war. One of the first thing I did was put safeguards into place against this eventuality. I cannot effect great change within the dormitory itself, but on this common ground?” His lips tightened to a grimace. “Responsibility is mine, and therefore so is protection. So, Beaufort is your man after all.”

“Perhaps,” Camille allowed.

“Perhaps nothing! What clearer evidence do you need that the man is a murderer?”

“A murderer…oh hell!” Anton turned and ran back the way they’d come, pushing past gawking students and racing down the hall to Montgomery’s room. The door was open, and Montgomery himself was—

Bent over on his knees, coughing and soot-stained but alive. Anton let out a sigh of relief.

“Seiber?” Montgomery looked up at him and coughed again. His expression was one of pure confusion. “What the hell just happened?”

“Harry tried to kill you. Doctor Grable stopped him,” Anton added.

“I know he tried to kill me, but…why?”

That, Anton thought, was the real question.