Scholar's Plot Read Free Page A

side.
    There was a slight breeze, enough to disguise some of the sounds I’d make, but I’d still have to keep as quiet as I could. And climbing a fully leafed tree wasn’t going to be quiet.
    I couldn’t see the guard at his post by the front door — which was the point, because he couldn’t see me, either — but if he decided to make a round of the property he was supposed to be guarding, he’d probably catch me. However, the security didn’t seem to be all that tight. If they really cared about someone breaking in, they’d have cut down a tree that abutted the yard’s wall. I could go in, chat with the jeweler … and then get out of town before Michael ever learned I’d been here.
    I reached the courtyard’s wall without incident, and there was now enough moonlight to inspect it as I walked toward the tree. Like the buildings, the wall was made of smooth river stones mortared into place. Because the stones were rounder, the mortared crevices between them were larger but, being round, all the stones sloped down and were completely smooth. River stone is worse to climb than stucco or brick, in my experience, which was considerable, as burglar had been my second criminal career. After picking pockets and before con artist, if you’re curious.
    But if the wall was unclimbable, that tree might have been grown with burglars in mind. Either Pendarian’s groundskeepers didn’t know much about security, or the university didn’t really care. The tree had even been pruned so that, unlike wild elms, only the big branches remained. One was low enough that I only needed to put my hands on it and leap to be able to straddle it.
    The branches’ slender tips shook like rattles, no matter how carefully I climbed, but you can’t have everything. And it grew so close to the wall that the branch I crawled out on only dipped a bit before it came to rest on the stone, creating a reasonable bridge.
    I took a moment to examine my landing place, sitting on top of that high wall — and if you don’t think ten feet is high, you’ve never contemplated jumping down from it. The Green Moon had risen enough to illuminate the interior of the yard and shone clearly on the door in the tower wall. There were four steps leading up to a small stoop, and only two windows. Even in the bright moonlight, I couldn’t tell from this distance — about thirty yards — whether or not there was a keyhole in that door.
    If there wasn’t, I could still get out of the courtyard. Stacked against the taller, outer wall was a rack of woven wicker boxes, like chicken cages in a livestock market, and much of the rest of the yard was taken up with a mazelike series of pens and runs made of plank fencing or stretched canvas on stakes. A table with some benches sat near the door, and there was a privy tucked discretely into one corner. So even if my lock picks failed to get me in, a bench piled onto the table should get me back to the top of the wall.
    Of course the plan was still to go in and chat with my mad friend, go out one of the windows on the far side of the tower, and then depart with the crowd leaving the lecture. But I’ve learned, over the years, that plans are usually overrated.
    I rolled over and squirmed down till I hung from my hands, then pushed off the wall and dropped. The nearly silent landing jarred me from head to heels.
    I walked briskly across the yard, and had just reached the bottom of the steps when the door at the top swung open. A middle-aged woman in a dark gown took two steps onto the stoop and then froze, staring at me. She drew in a deep breath.
    “Please, don’t scream.” I offered her my most disarming smile — which is pretty disarming, if I say so myself. “I mean you no harm. I don’t mean anyone harm. I just want to talk with the crazy man who’s kept here. It’s … it’s a dare. And then you can let me out and I’ll leave. Please, Professor.” It was a guess, but she was too old to be a scholar, and