Read Online Scholar's Plot by Hilari Bell - Free Book Online Page A

told takes some skill in the turning of the heel.
    “Good morning, sir, may I ask your…” His gaze went past me and found Fisk. “You!”
    He leapt to his feet, started to turn for the sword that leaned against the wall behind him, and then realized he shouldn’t take his eyes off us. I sympathized with his dilemma. My sword was currently where it usually is, rolled into the bedroll in my pack. This is by far 
the most practical place to carry it, but means I never have it to hand.
    “What are you doing here?” the guard asked Fisk.
    “I’m with him,” Fisk said, unhelpfully.
    “The guard released him this morning,” I said. “And I’m here to talk to someone about the project. Perhaps you could bring a professor to speak with us?”
    “Access to the project is restricted.” But the guard’s hand stopped twitching toward his sword.
    “I know that,” I said. “Which is why my friend and I will wait here, while you go fetch someone.”
    His hand went instead to his copper whistle, but as I made no move except to stand patiently, and Fisk did the same, he finally released it.
    “I’ll see if someone will come,” he said. “Stay here.”
    Even then he backed into the tower without taking his eyes off us, and I heard the lock click after the door closed behind him.
    “They should have put the lady professor on guard,” Fisk said critically. “She had twice his nerve.”
    “I heard a woman screaming last night. Wasn’t that her?”
    “Yes, but it was deliberate . In fact, it was the smartest weapon she could have chosen.”
    People whose brains and nerve impress Fisk are rare, and I hoped someone less formidable would come to meet us. So of course the guard returned with a straight-spined dame in a professor’s long gown.
    There aren’t many lady professors. The odds of two being assigned to this project were vanishing small, and I swiftly decided that trying to lie my way in would be ill-advised, as well as unworthy.
    “Madam Professor, I’m Benton Sevenson’s brother. I believe he didn’t forge his thesis, that he’s being framed because of something to do with your project. I’d like to discuss it with you and your colleagues.”
    “Access to the project is restricted.” Her gaze drifted past me. “As your friend here could tell you.”
    “I know,” I said. I didn’t have to look back — I could feel Fisk exuding harmlessness and innocence. ’Tis an act he performs well, having had so much practice. “But doesn’t it trouble you that someone went to such lengths to frame one of your colleagues? Aren’t you curious as to why?”
    “ If someone framed him.” Her gaze returned to me. “You haven’t tested the foundation of your argument, young man. Can you prove he was framed?”
    “’Tis why I’m here,” I pointed out. “To find proof, and we’ll be taking a hard look at that forged thesis shortly. But if my theory is right, don’t you want to know the truth?”
    “Sevenson’s brother…” A frown gathered on her brow as she took in my rough, sturdy clothing, hard worn by miles in the saddle. “ Michael Sevenson? The one who thinks he’s…”
    “I’m a knight errant,” I said calmly. “In search of adventure and good deeds.”
    I’ve had almost as much practice saying that calmly as Fisk has at pretending innocence, and the guard’s guffaw didn’t ruffle me.
    The professor snorted, as one accustomed to student follies. But her gaze lingered on my face and the frown deepened.
    “I’m sorry for Professor Sevenson,” she said. “But the evidence is clear. He forged his thesis. In any case, access to this project is restricted.”
    “Benton already knows all about it,” I pointed out.
    “Then you should talk to him.” She turned toward the door.
    “Wait,” said Fisk. “I was here last night on another matter. I want to see the madman who used to work for Atherton Roseman. I know the Liege Guard brought him here.”
    “That poor crazy man? Whatever