The Thorn of Dentonhill Read Free

cutting off the drug at the source, no longer just hitting street dealers. Then he could really make a difference.
    It was too dark to read in the stairwell. Annoyed, he shoved the papers back in his pocket.
    He let his eyes close, just for a moment.
    Church bells rang in the distance. Was it seven bells? How long had he been sitting in the stairwell? Slivers of sunlight came under the door. Had he fallen asleep and not realized it? Panic fueled his body, and he forced himself to move. He couldn’t waste any more time.
    He left the building and headed west on Necker. It was a major road, with tightly packed dirty gray stone buildings, looming six or seven stories high. Windows were covered with black iron grates. The street bustled with early morning activity. Shopkeepers opened up their iron-grated doors. Horsecarts slowly rolled along. Snuffers put out the streetlamps that hadn’t burned out during the night.
    Veranix slipped in with a group dressed for work in heavy, brown smocks, headed toward the Dentonhill Slaughterhouse. The scent of blood and the squawking of hundreds of doomed birds filled the air. Veranix was pleased to have a small crowd to blend into. Even if Fenmere’s thugs spotted him and recognized him, they probably wouldn’t try to grab him where there would be witnesses.
    Maybe not.
    This was Dentonhill, after all. Fenmere’s neighborhood. Any possible witnesses would be people Fenmere could buy or intimidate to keep quiet. Any constables in the neighborhood were likely to be deep in his pocket.
    Veranix just had to make it three blocks to Waterpath, and he’d be out of Dentonhill and somewhat safer. At least he’d be out of Fenmere’s direct influence.

    By the time Veranix reached Waterpath, the sun was peeking over the buildings, casting long shadows across the road. Waterpath was a major roadway, wide enough for four carriages side-by-side, and at this hour plenty of drovers were taking full advantage of that. The street crawled with merchant wagons and horse carriages, while three-wheeled pedalcarts darted through the gaps. Veranix crossed out from the Dentonhill side, sitting like a great gray cliff behind him, and wove between the carts and wagons until he reached the bright green tree line of the University of Maradaine.
    There were plenty of people about on the street, but no one seemed to notice as he went behind a wide-leafed tree and climbed up a few branches. His strength had returned for the most part, though he still felt drained. From this vantage point, he could jump onto the back wall of the University. The low wall was there to mark the border of the campus, rather than actually keep people out. He scrambled onto the rough stone and dropped onto the soft grass.
    He relaxed a little after entering the campus. It was a stark change from Dentonhill: the green of the campus lawn, the bright white buildings, the paved walkways all lined with banners, statues, and fresh-scented blooming trees, and the open view of the sky.
    No one was in sight, and no one cried out that they saw him. Veranix said a quick prayer of thanks to Saint Senea. Now he just had to get back to quarters. That was going to be a challenge. The back doors to Almers Hall were locked, and prefects watched the front doors. If they caught him out of quarters now, carrying a pack and a staff, there would be a lot of questions about what he was up to, possibly an official inquiry. That would mean demerits and reprimands, if not outright expulsion. He didn’t need that any more than he needed to be caught by the thugs. He had left a window open on the third floor, but it was too light out now to climb to it. He’d be easily seen. He’d probably be spotted shortly anyway. He made a quick dash for the carriage house.
    Veranix went up to one window near the back end of it, and tapped on the glass.
    â€œKai!” he whispered. “Kai!” After a moment, the window