The Index of Alkeme

By R. David King

When thieves attempt to steal a mysterious package from Forthwick University, Addison does the unthinkable—he takes it himself and is propelled on an adventure of a lifetime across a world of steam and diesel on the brink of war. With a self-made scientist, an ace fighter pilot, an expert codebreaker, and a renowned author at his side, Addison must solve the clues and decipher the codes that lead to an object said to unearth ancient technology far beyond their own. Now, the intrepid group of adventurers must race against time to uncover the fabled Index of Alkeme before fanatics can use its secrets to subjugate humankind. If you enjoy dogfights with air pirates, encounters with mystical monks and daemons, and experiencing the dangers of a high-stakes adventure first-hand, you will love this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. David King
• Release date: Nov 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215272879

R. David King

R. David King lives near Seattle where he works for an international tech company by day and thinks up stories to tell at night. Somehow, in between, he helps raise smart and creative kids and the best aussiedoodle alive. When the occasion permits, you might find him enjoying the beautiful nature of the Pacific Northwest, curled up with a new and exciting book, or binging the latest science fiction or fantasy show. Feel Free to Contact me at [e-mail].

Book preview

Prologue

Professor Emil Endajwi plunged through the trees. Multicolored birds squawked at him and took flight from the canopy. Monkeys skittered along the branches to either side and chattered at him. Pitook warriors yelled in a language full of tones and clicks in the distance, still following him. He ran faster.

What in the world did I do? He rolled his eyes heavenward between gulps of air, looking for a divine power to intervene. He knew that if the Board of Trustees ever found out what he’d done, they’d expel him from the College of Anthropology—and the university!

A branch whipped him in the face as if to say it agreed. He swiped the next one aside, and the next, and still more after that, until he churned like a human windmill. When he had fought his way out of the trees, he stood at the head of a rickety, old bridge, spanning a chasm a hundred feet deep.

He hesitated as he imagined his feet breaking through the weathered slats. The ravine was a gaping maw ready to swallow him whole. High-pitched shouts stabbed him from the trees and sent him scuttling across the bridge. He had all but forgotten his fears.

He raced across the worn-out contraption. His heartbeat thrummed at his temples; nevertheless, an idea came to him. He skidded to a halt at the end of the bridge and pulled his machete from its sheath across his back. The blade was his only means of defense. He’d had to abandon his old service revolver in his haste to flee his pursuers. He swung at the ropes holding the bridge on one side. The sharp edge sliced halfway through the cords. Another swing severed them.

He readied the machete to hack through the other side but faltered when a dart whistled through the air inches from his head. Howling men broke out of the jungle on the far side of the chasm. Grass skirts, patchwork skins, and colorful feathers adorned them. The warriors pressed blowguns to pursed lips, ready to let more darts fly.

The professor abandoned the idea of dropping his end of the bridge into the chasm and fled onward. Would the contorted bridge be enough to slow down his pursuers and allow him to reach his means of escape? Had the boat even waited for him? He needed time to get to the river but wasn’t sure how much farther the tributary was. His foot caught on an exposed root that sent him sprawling to the ground.

As he lay with his face in the dirt, he heard the salvation of bubbling water ahead, but the barks of the men closing in behind him erased his excitement. His stumble had lost him any advantage he might have gained from the half-fallen bridge. He picked himself up and ran faster than he’d ever run before.

A good fifty feet of trees remained before he emerged into a field of tall grass and golden flowers waving in the tropical breeze. He spied his goal across the expanse. A gunboat bobbed in the rough water of the river. A man snoozed in a lounger on the deck. His feet were propped up on the railing, and he held a big slug thrower in the crook of his arm.

The professor was exhausted, sore, and cut from his mad flight through the trees, but he had to smile. He would reach the boat. Pitook warriors exploded from the trees behind him. His feet flung him on a collision course with the gunboat. Remembering his days as a foot soldier in the West Membewian Bush War, he zigzagged as he ran. The maneuver worked. Not one dart found its mark.

Hello, my man! In the name of the King, I beg you to help me!

The sailor woke up startled. His feet slipped from the railing, and his chair toppled over, throwing him to the deck. He scrambled up, grasping the situation in an instant. He drew a bead on the Pitook warriors with his gun and pulled the trigger. The loud report stopped the men short. One went down with a metal slug buried in his leg. The others hesitated long enough for the sailor to drop the gangplank.

Get aboard, Professor!

Dr. Endajwi scrambled onto the boat. A dart zipped through the air. The tip struck him in the neck. The poisonous tip paralyzed his legs in seconds. He dropped to the deck.

The professor’s rescuer popped off bullets at the warriors. They cowered back. Someone in the belly of the boat had heard gunfire and had stoked the boiler. The smokestack belched as the ship chugged away down the river, leaving the screaming Pitook behind.

Professor Endajwi looked up into the face of the sailor. His arms had gone numb, but he had made it! Would the research—cut short by his amorous faux pas—suffice? He struggled to speak before the poison froze his tongue. Get the package in my bag to Admiral Gregory in care of Dean Malory at the College of Anthropology at Forthwick University. It’s a matter of utmost importance!

Chapter 1

Dean Malory’s secretary , Miss Sandy, was the woman who made me say stupid and embarrassing things before my brain could slap me. She was tall and had curly blond hair. A pair of smart-looking glasses rested on her petite nose. She would be near perfect if she weren’t my senior by ten years.

Morning, Miss Sandy. Did you hear the news about Vetzland and Ravenny this morning?

Addison! Miss Sandy looked up from the morning paper. She shot me a big, toothy grin. What news would that be?

My brain wound up. I took my chances and moved closer to her desk. Vetzian privateers knocked a Ravennian airship out of the sky over the Eastern Sea. They used a strange ray gun.

A what?

I pointed to an article on the front page of the newspaper she had been reading. She picked the paper up and scanned the story.

Everything has to be so sensational these days, doesn’t it? I’m sure such a fantastic tale is only a rumor.

Maybe, but if war breaks out on the Continent, the paper will be packed full of real adventures, not rumors. Had that sounded too enthusiastic? My brain gave me a good whack. I was that fat, slow fly on a sizzling summer day who had no idea the swatter came for him.

Let’s hope not. War is such a dreadful affair. The Tessnian Civil War was enough. More fighting will just bring more hurt to the world. She swatted me into a greasy smear.

I shifted my old haversack from one shoulder to the other. My books suddenly weighed a ton.

Why are you in the office so early in the morning anyway, Addison?

I’m working on a paper, and the book I need for research is in the library. I want to get it before classes start. Is Dean Malory in?

No, I’m sorry, he’s not in his office at the moment. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. If I remember correctly, he gave you a key weeks ago.

Yeah, he did. I pulled the frayed canvas bag off my shoulder and set it on the edge of her desk. Then I produced a tarnished copper key from the bag’s depths. Dean Malory had entrusted me with one of two copies, the other of which he always carried with him. I had promised to keep the key with me and not lose it. His library was his pride and joy. I rubbed the key between my fingers. The teeth were old and worn but looked like they should still work. I haven’t used it yet. I usually wait until the dean comes in. Old habits die hard.

Go ahead, and I’ll let him know you were in there when he arrives. Don’t miss class, though, or he’ll have us both on his discipline bench.

I snapped my back straight and saluted her. Dean Malory’s previous service as a captain in the military was an inside joke between us. Don’t worry, ma’am. I won’t miss a second of my precious education.

She squinted at me as if to say, Ah, fat, slow fly, come back this way. Finally, she winked and lifted her newspaper between us. Good, see that you don’t.

A smile and a wink on the same day. It didn’t matter that I was a man, according to the law; I knew she still saw me as a kid.

When I first came to Forthwick University, I could already read and write in three languages. My father served as a diplomat and had hauled me from one country to the next for a decade. I could thank my tutor for my brilliance. She would beat me with a stack of books when I rebelled against her. I learned before long that it hurt less if she imprinted the words on my memory instead of my backside. My circumstances hadn’t allowed me to develop good social skills, so at the university, I kept to myself.

Dean Malory saw me for who I was right away. He introduced me to his personal library and let me peruse the books under his supervision. He never came at my backside with any of the volumes in his collection, so I settled in fine. I visited the library every day for the better part of my education. With my own key, I could open the treasury of printed works to my voracious appetite any time I wished—if I never skipped class to feed my desires, that is.

The library had two separate entrances. The first was an adjoining door in Dean Malory’s office. The second was a locked door in a hallway leading from Miss Sandy’s reception area. That was my way in.

I had to wiggle the timeworn key before it caught. The door swung open. I flipped the electrical switch mounted on the wall. It buzzed for a second or two before the lights came on. The bright white glow had startled me the first time I had come to the library. Gas lamps had still lit up 90 percent of the university and the surrounding town at the time. Electricity hadn’t conquered Forthwick until the past three or four years.

The library was circular, about twenty-five feet in diameter and two stories tall. A variety of paperback and leatherbound books filled the shelves ringing the walls. All manner of geography, science, culture, history, and language facts from every corner of the world stuffed the volumes. Two gleaming brass banisters—one a third of the way to the ceiling, one at two-thirds—ran around the circumference of the room. A well-used wooden ladder slid along the metal rails and provided access to the topmost shelves.

Between the tracks, at each compass point, recessed nooks held a variety of souvenirs and trinkets from Dean Malory’s days as an airship captain. He had obtained the exotic collection of artifacts from various foreign lands. North held deadly spears, vibrant shields, and baked mud masks from Membewi. West held well-polished antique firearms from Vetzland. South held exuberant silk paintings and ornamental fans from Haikkan. East held leather swatches of calligraphy and silver bells from the Kirteissian steppes.

A small reading desk and chair, made from the same dark wood, stood in the center of the room. A replica of a streamlined airship sat on the desktop. The name Cirrus stretched across its flank.

I plunked my haversack on the desk, careful not to crush the model ship, and headed for the ladder. My foot hit something with a soft thud as I rounded the desk. I stumbled over the obstruction but was able to catch myself on the edge of the desk in time. I looked down and saw a large, pepper-gray head. The cloudy eyes of an ancient dog stared up at me. He lay on the floor, drooling. I had come face-to-face with the living dead.

Luther! Does the dean know you’re locked in the library, boy? I bent down and scratched him behind the ears. Dog scent emerged like a bad scratch-and-sniff. How did you even get inside?

Luther blinked and angled his head. I attacked a new spot.

Nothing to say, huh? I wouldn’t have understood you anyway. I’ve gone through every language book in here. Sorry to say, no one has written one on dog yet.

Luther laid his head on his paws. I patted the old lump of dog and took to the ladder. The book I wanted was on the top shelf past the door to Dean Malory’s office.

Cast off, Mr. West! I set the ladder in motion, but I hadn’t applied enough force. Friction brought me to a halt in front of the dean’s office, short of the book’s position. I knew this location well. Facing me, on a shelf above the door, was a favorite book. I pulled the tome out. A glance down told me Luther hadn’t left. I read the title to him.

"The Journey of Admiral T. Halland Generias: From Pole to Pole. This is the good stuff, Luther. I shook the book at the dog, but he didn’t care. Six more months and I’ll have my degree. I can apply for a position on an airship and set off on my own adventures. I’ll explore the exotic western islands or the frozen tundra of Empica. I won’t have to rely on words in books or someone else’s adventures anymore. I’ll see real people, taste real food, smell real aromas, and hear real languages again. No more watching the world go by from a classroom!"

Luther dragged himself under the table. He flopped down with his back to me. He wasn’t interested in my boasting. He had no sense of adventure and all the communication skills of a dog.

I thumbed through the book, reading different snippets of text. Hand-written coordinates and notations describing the course the admiral’s airship had taken decorated each page. Daily logs gave details of the geography he had flown over and the weather he had braved to complete his journeys. The pencil drawings of the native peoples and places he had encountered along the way interested me the most.

The library overflowed with similar logbooks and journals. Merchants, explorers, and soldiers had authored them over the past century. I had no idea how Dean Malory had amassed such an impressive collection, but I was grateful he had.

I’d better get the book I came for if I want to finish that paper. I looked towards my audience, but he snored under the desk.

I shut the logbook and placed it back between its fellows. I reached over to push off again, but something caught my eye. A seam of light outlined the door to the dean’s office. He hadn’t shut the barrier between the two rooms all the way. Was that how Luther had had gotten in? I kept a tight grip on the rungs of the ladder, closed one eye, and pressed the other up against the small gap.

I spied part of the adjoining office where the dean’s massive oak desk sat. The dean meted out praises to lucky students—or punishments to unlucky ones—from behind this behemoth. A package sheathed in brown paper and tied with string lay on top of the desk. Large, ornate letters decorated the wrapping. I had never seen such beautiful writing before.

At the beginning of the school year, Dean Malory had been toying with the idea of retiring from the university and going to work for an international company or a government agency. He had reached tenure some years ago but was now looking for a new challenge in his later years. He had former Air Corp colleagues in both sectors that could help him make the transition. Recently, however, he had become tight-lipped about leaving. Did this mysterious package from a far-off land have anything to do with his plans?

I wrestled with my conscience and won. I descended the ladder and did something I’d never dare do under normal circumstances; I pushed open the door to the dean’s office and crept inside. The mysterious package drew me in against my will. My ears rang in my head as a warning, but I pressed forward anyway. For certain, Dean Malory would demand I give him the library key back if he caught me in his office.

I tip-toed over to the desk to get a closer look at the package. It was the size of a compact book and sat on top of a disorganized pile of letters and magazines. The sender had addressed the package to Admiral Gregory in care of Captain Malory and had affixed to it a postage stamp with a colorful bird on it. I had met the admiral once when Dean Malory had given the man a tour of his library. The sender had also decorated the package with the beautiful script that had attracted my attention in the first place.

I circled the desk like a cat cornering its prey. I evaluated the parcel from all angles. I didn’t dare touch it. I was concentrating so hard I jumped when I heard muffled voices coming from the opposite side of the office door leading to the reception. One voice was Miss Sandy’s. The other voices belonged to two men. Neither was the right timbre to belong to the dean. I crept across the room and pressed my ear against the door.

I already told you, sir, Dean Malory is not in. You’ll have to come back later when he is. I can make an appointment for you if you’d like.

Listen, honey, did you get a package for him today or not? The man’s voice was high and nasally. His accent placed him from the Lower Hill district, along the Lisse’s east bank. The docks were a prime location for finding thugs-for-hire. Rough men not wanting factory work congregated at the waterfront for that purpose.

I’m sorry, but it’s not my business to talk about the dean’s mail. Miss Sandy cleared her throat. As I said, you’ll need to come back when he’s available.

We don’t like waiting, lady, so make discussing his mail your business. The second man’s voice was low and coarse. He slurred his words as if he tried to talk with a tongue that was too large for his mouth. Your dean has something that belongs to us, and we—

—If you’ll let us into his office, we’ll get what’s ours. The first man interrupted the second. We’ll be on our way without any trouble after that.

The man had spoken with such polite precision, I knew at once he was the leader.

I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that. Miss Sandy’s voice trembled. Please leave, both of you, before I send for the authorities.

The underling’s voice dropped an octave. You might want to rethink that.

Miss Sandy gasped.

Asking nicely didn’t work. Let’s do it the hard way. You sit nice and quiet while we look around the office ourselves. We don’t want any accidents to happen, do we?

The buzzing in my ears grew worse hearing these two thugs threaten Miss Sandy. I had to act. The office’s doorknob rattled. I froze.

It’s locked, the head thug said from the other side of the door. Would you be so kind as to give us the key, miss?

H-hold on a m-moment...

Desk drawers opened and closed until I heard the jingling of keys. A second set of footsteps approached the door. I told my legs they’d better move. They listened. I bolted for the library. As I passed the dean’s desk, I scooped up the package and tucked it under my arm. I couldn’t say how, but I knew the parcel was what the men were looking for, and I had to keep it safe from them. I hurried back into the library, closed the adjoining door, and switched off the lights. I hoped I had been quick and quiet enough.

Chapter 2

At any moment, the men would discover what they were looking for wasn’t in the dean’s office. They would notice the door to the library not long after that. I had to act fast.

I swiped my bag from the table and looped the strap over my shoulder. Luther didn’t even stir. I sidled up to the door leading into the hallway. I pressed my ear against the smooth wood. I didn’t hear anything. I carefully turned the knob and pulled the door open. I prayed the old hinges wouldn’t creak and alert the men.

I opened the door wide enough to slip through sideways. I didn’t dare open it any further than that. I knew in my gut the hinges would cry out if I did. Spending more time in the library and less time in the cafeteria had been the right choice. I hugged the wall and tiptoed down the hallway. I stopped short of the reception area and peeked around the corner.

A man sporting a herringbone jacket, dark slacks, and a black fedora sat on the edge of Miss Sandy’s desk. His back was towards me. Only one of his hands was visible as his stubby fingers flipped through the pages of a magazine on her desk. His body obstructed the other hand, but I knew he held something pointed at Miss Sandy. His attention drifted back and forth between her and the magazine.

I wasn’t sure what to do once I saw the actual situation. I had been in more than one fist fight in my life—against a larger opponent even—but if he had a gun, jumping him would be a mistake for me and for Miss Sandy. I couldn’t forget he had a partner rummaging around in the dean’s office either. I had to assume that both men were armed and the one in the office would come running at the first sign of trouble. My only recourse was to get help.

Miss Sandy’s eyes darted around the room like she looked for something she couldn’t find. The man scoffed at something he’d seen in the magazine. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Her body tensed. She made eye contact with me. My finger went to my lips. I motioned that I would go for help. I didn’t know if she had understood me, but she made the right decision by not acknowledging my presence in the slightest.

I crept across the floor. I tried to be as light on my feet as possible, so I wouldn’t alert the man. I vectored towards the backdoor. Miss Sandy had propped it open to allow the spring air in. A sudden breeze carried the scent of the garden into the reception. The man turned towards the door, but Miss Sandy distracted him with a cough before he saw me.

Better get that looked at. His mouth was full of tongue. A pretty lady shouldn’t be getting sick. Could kill you.

I’ll take that under advisement.

Do that.

I seized the opportunity. I was out the door as fast as a frog dropped in a pot of boiling water. I sprinted down the path that led through the college’s garden. I would have to skirt the hedge maze and cross the back lawn to get to the guard shack at the back gate. No one manned the station during the day, but it had a telephone I could use to call the police. I rounded the first hedge and ran straight into Mr. Torv, the head groundskeeper.

Hold on, son. He halted me with a meaty hand on my arm. What’s the rush?

Two men are breaking into the dean’s office. They’re armed.

Slow down and tell me what you’re talking about.

Two men forced Miss Sandy to give them the keys to Dean Malory’s office. I saw everything from the hallway. I slipped out the backdoor to get help.

Did they see you?

I shook my head.

Go to your dorm at once, Mr. West. Stay in your room until someone comes for you. The gardener spun me around and shoved me towards the path that led to student housing. I’ll call the police. Go!

I set back into motion, but my brain rebelled. I forked onto a trail that twisted deep into the hedge maze instead. Unconsciously, I spiraled inward. At the center of the maze, I found a fountain that was a large statue of a fish spewing water into the air from its mouth. The liquid rained down onto flesh-and-blood fish swimming carefree in the pool below. I plopped onto an old, warped bench someone had installed long ago for people to sit on and contemplate the upheaval of water.

I still had the package clutched under my arm. I ran my finger along its edge. The indentation of the pages and the overlap of the cover gave the book away. I slid my finger beneath a glued fold but rethought my actions before I pried the paper open. The package didn’t belong to me. I wasn’t sure I should know what the book inside was. I put it aside. I stared at the fish. I stood up and paced. I sat down. I tossed pebbles into the fountain. What would happen to Miss Sandy? Would she think I was a coward and had abandoned her?

Finally, I couldn’t endure the waiting any longer. I had to act. Admiral Generias would agree with me, even if Mr. Torv didn’t. I tucked the package into my haversack and hurried back down the winding path leading to the dean’s office. I got there as Mr. Torv emerged from the backdoor. My brain screamed at me to leap off the path and hide in the bushes, but my legs refused to obey. I was like a weed waiting for the expert gardener to yank me out.

I told you to go to your room and stay put, Mr. West. The man’s face grew hard.

Yes, sir, you did, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t run away like a scared dog. The image of Luther snoozing under the library’s desk came to mind, but it would be too much effort for him to get scared, let alone run off.

Commendable, but not smart.

I ignored his rebuke. What happened after I left? Is Miss Sandy okay?

Everything is fine. I was able to get the police before those men hurt anyone. In fact, the officer left only a moment ago. Mr. Torv jerked his head towards the door. Go ahead and see her. I told her what you did. She’ll want to know you’re safe, too. The gardener picked up the tools he had left by the door. He clapped me on the back and disappeared into the hedge maze to search for more weeds.

I rushed through the open door. Miss Sandy sat behind her desk as usual. She wiped her eyes with a white handkerchief and jumped up to embrace me.

Thank you, Addison! I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t gone for help.

I didn’t do anything. Mr. Torv got the authorities.

She squeezed me once more before she let me go. My ears burned, but I acted as if I didn’t notice.

No, no, you helped enormously. The man with the gun heard you and Mr. Torv talking outside. He grabbed his friend from the dean’s office, and they ran off.

But the police came, right?

Yes, Mr. Torv ran to the back gate to call them. Fortunately, there was a constable on patrol outside the college grounds already. The men were gone by the time he got here. She got a look on her face, like she remembered something odd. Her eyebrows drew together. It was strange, but after I described the two men to the officer, he closed his notebook and said he’d handle the situation. He didn’t care about the rest of the story.

Did they take anything from Dean Malory’s office?

They were going on about a package they said belonged to them that the dean had. As far as I could tell, the one in the office didn’t have anything with him when he came out. Either the package wasn’t inside, or he didn’t have time to find it.

That’s good to know.

She squinted at me. You know, I wasn’t even at my desk this morning when the mail came. Dean Malory must have gotten the post himself before leaving for the doctor.

A sudden jolt of realization hit me. The rising heat in my cheeks forced me to look away from Miss Sandy. If Dean Malory had already picked up the post, he would know the book was missing. When he returned, Miss Sandy would confirm that the two men hadn’t taken the package from his office. He would have questions for me next. He would discover I had been in his office. After everything the dean had done for me as a friend and mentor, I had repaid him by stealing from him.

I could give Miss Sandy the package and explain to her what had happened. Surely, she would understand. We could slip the book back on the dean’s desk. I could convince her not to tell him I had taken it. I couldn’t bring myself to pull the book out of my bag, however. Was I afraid to admit to her what I had done? No, that wasn’t the reason, I told myself. I didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was.

Thank you so much for your help again, but you should be going. You’ve already missed the start of your second class. You don’t want to have to turn in your key to the dean, right?

Yes, ma’am. I hesitated. Was I going to give her the book or not? Wouldn’t it be better to think about my actions first before I did anything stupid? You’re right.

I’ll see you later?

I’ll be back this afternoon. I saluted her as usual, but the gesture was automatic. My heart wasn’t into the inside joke. I still have several more books to get through before I can be done with that paper.

She let out a hollow laugh and winked at me. My ears burned like they were going to crisp and fall off the side of my head. The burning precipitated my quick departure.

A monumental event occurred later that day after classes. I didn’t go to the library. I didn’t want to face Dean Malory. In my mind, he had returned to find the package missing. He had discovered I had taken the book and had devised a suitable punishment. I didn’t want to see Miss Sandy again so soon either. Facing a girl my own age was scary enough. Facing an older woman who had hugged me was more in the realm of terrifying.

The sun was still out, and the weather was mild. I was content to wander the wide, lush lawn of the college instead. I smelled the newly cut grass and manicured flowerbeds in the air. Mr. Torv had earned his pay today. I wasn’t the only student outside enjoying my free time in the light and warmth. Others had hit upon the same idea before getting to their homework for the evening. They were kicking and throwing balls of assorted sizes back and forth to each other, or they clumped together in groups and chatted about the latest fads and relationships, or they sat on the grass and read. I found an empty bench and dropped onto the wood slats.

I extracted the package from my haversack and turned it over. The smooth texture of the plain, brown paper was cool in my hands. On the back was a return address for the university in South Kingsland, a Vestrian colony in the Southwestern Sea. The sender hadn’t put a name on the parcel. I pried open the fold at one end and let a book bound in red leather slide onto my lap. The cover was devoid of title. I opened the publication and read the first page. It was a linguistic field guide.

A Study of the Pitook and their Language, Vocabulary, and Grammar

by Doctor Emil Endajwi

I hadn’t ever heard of Pitook. I assumed they spoke the language in Thon Vok, the island archipelago in the Southwestern Sea where South Kingsland was located. I leafed through the pages of the field guide. The paper was coarse and easy to turn. The entries were in a format that attempted to teach the reader the language. The book proceeded step by step from basic vocabulary to more complex constructions. At first, the author had transcribed the words using the Vestrian alphabet, but as the field guide progressed, he introduced a different writing system—the native script, likely. The letters were the same flowing symbols written on the book’s wrapper. I flipped back and forth between the pages. I tried to sound out the transcribed words, while scrutinizing the Pitook writing to see if I could recognize a pattern or similarity between the two.

Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. A man I had never seen before leaned against the wall of Mr. Torv’s tool shed. He was about fifty paces away and covered in shadow. He wore a dark tweed suit and a black bowler. He chewed on a long stem of grass and glanced away when he saw me looking at him.

A breeze fluttered the man’s unbuttoned jacket. The handle of a strange gun peeked out of a holster. It was bright silver and didn’t have a hammer or visible cocking mechanism. Instead, the weapon tapered into a rounded point at the back.

I closed the field guide and slipped the book back into its package. I got up from the bench and walked towards the main classroom building at a normal pace. I wouldn’t tip the man off that I knew he was interested in the field guide by rushing away. Birds twittered in the trees, giving me the excuse to glance back over my shoulder in their direction. The look was enough to confirm the man was following me. He was close enough to overtake me if I ran, and he was faster.

Without thinking through my options, I changed course towards the hedge maze. I had studied aerial photographs of the botanical tangle in a library book about the history of the college grounds. I had the design memorized. I knew every twist and turn. I knew how to get in and out of the labyrinth. I knew all the good nooks and crannies to hide in from someone.

I ran when I got to the entrance of the maze. After a combination of lefts and rights, I arrived at the statue of the lady with the angel babies sitting on her shoulders. All three figures stood guard over a mossy pool swarming with tiny black and white fish.

I grabbed a tree branch broken off by the wind and slid behind the statue. I held my makeshift weapon ready to take off the man’s head if he rounded the stone lady and her angelic companions. I didn’t dare move. I waited for a long time. He never came. When the sun got close to the horizon, I snuck out of the maze a separate way than I had come in. I sprinted to the dorms without looking back.

Chapter 3

Istayed in my dorm room for the rest of the evening. I wasn’t going to risk another encounter. I would return the field guide to the dean in the morning. That way, people would be around in the day’s light to witness if anything happened. I would explain to Dean Malory why I had gone into his office and why I had taken the field guide. He could deal with whatever mystery surrounded the book, not me. Until then, I couldn’t resist opening the field guide to read one more page of the exotic language. I couldn’t stop at one, however. I read into the night. I tried to absorb as much as I could, but the later it got, the harder it was to keep my eyes open and concentrate. Finally, I slipped the field guide under my pillow and let sleep pound my consciousness into oblivion.

I watched as the man with the tweed jacket and black