Title: The Tower: Chapter Four, Part One
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Chapter Four, Part
One
It was not that Anton couldn’t see that Camille’s determination
was logical. When working a crime that involved thaumaturges, especially ones
capable of killing each other, it made sense to steer the investigation toward
the highest density of magic users. In this case, though…
“You do realize there are over four hundred students,
graduate students and professors at the university, don’t you?” Anton
questioned over tea and tortes in a little café not far from his dormitory. Camille
had insisted on buying him breakfast after their early morning, and Anton soon
recovered enough of his appetite to make the idea of eating appealing. He added
a bit of jam to his pastry and bit in, doing his best not to moan at the taste
of it. He hadn’t eaten out in…well, perhaps since arriving and having a welcome
dinner with Doctor Grable. The food provided in the dormitory cafeteria was
simple and filling and, best of all, cheap, but it rarely came with jam.
“I realize that, yes.” Camille sipped at his cup of coffee,
which Anton had to admit smelled good even if it tasted vile, then shrugged. “But
the vast majority of them are easy to exclude.”
“How do you figure that?” Anton asked after a hasty swallow.
Camille waved a hand at him. “Consider what we know, and
then tell me who we’re looking for.”
Anton frowned. “Are you trying to turn me into an
investigator?”
“Simply trying to expand your already-impressive powers of
deduction. You are a man of logic. Approach the problem logically, and you’ll
soon see why a near-hopeless task becomes quite doable.”
“Fine.” Anton set his pastry down and thought about what
they’d seen that morning. “It must be someone powerful. But, power is difficult to quantify, and in fact there are rules
against trying to categorize ourselves, in order to keep down abuses of
authority.”
“And yet, you are
ranked as students,” Camille pointed out. “Thaumaturgy has never been about simple
raw power. It is a combination of finesse, attention to detail, willpower and,
only lastly, the inherent strength of one’s ability. Given what we know of our
murderer, I believe that no one in less than the top tenth percentile of
practitioners could do what has been done.”
“That still leaves you with forty people to consider, and
that’s if it’s a student at all. It could be a local, or someone working here—after
all, the men killed were workers, not students.”
“True, but one must start somewhere.” Camille dabbed at his
lips with a linen napkin. “And I believe we can narrow it down even further.”
He didn’t continue, just looked at Anton patiently.
“Because…you believe the killer is…” What had he insinuated
before? “A fellow Englishman?”
“I think it entirely possible.”
“But the Devoué are not as well-established in
England as they are on the continent. Doesn’t it make more sense for the killer
to be one of them?”
“The Devoué are merely one branch of a larger movement,
one that encompasses the British Isles as well as all of the mainland. And, as
you say, they may not be well-established in England, but they’re not unheard
of.”
It still seemed like an awful lot of guesswork to Anton. “So you
think we’re looking for an English thaumaturge who is ranked in the top ten
percent of students at the university?”
“It’s merely one possibility,” Camille said. “But a strong one,
strong enough to begin with. The timing works, if we assume that it’s the
palimpsest the killer is after. And that assumption isn’t one we can easily
dismiss.”
“The Universität Zürich has a very large population of
foreign students.” But among the best in his classes… “I think there are
perhaps eleven or twelve of my fellows whom I would categorize both as adept enough
to do this and of my own nationality.”
“Excellent. I shall confirm this with your Doctor Grable and
begin my enquiries this afternoon.”
“I can meet you at his office by—”
“No.” Camille’s brisk headshake put an end to Anton’s brief hopes.
“I don’t want to throw any more of a spotlight on you than I already have. We
still don’t know the entirety of the killer’s criteria when it comes to
choosing his victims, and I don’t want to make it any worse for you by singling
you out.”
Was Camille going to push him away, now that he had utilized
Anton’s particular expertise? “I can still help you.”
“You have already done so, most admirably.” Anton opened his
mouth to object, and Camille raised a hand. “And you shall continue to do so
after I’ve met with Doctor Grable and procured the information I need. But I
will not be careless with your safety, Anton. Your disguises are no doubt
excellent, but remember—there are no guarantees. What one can do, another can
see through. Let me do this on my own, and we shall meet again this evening to
begin narrowing down our search.”
Well, damnation. It was hard to argue with the man when he
based his entire argument on protecting Anton’s life and livelihood. “You swear
you will not cut me out?” he pressed.
“Absolutely.” Camille gave him a half-smile. “Anton, I came
to you this time, not the other way
around. I’m not planning on relinquishing your assistance before the murderer
is caught, or before I am made to for some unavoidable reason. I promise.”
There was more to the heft of his words and the heat of Camille’s
gaze than Anton was entirely comfortable staring down, but he didn’t look away.
He had never been so infatuated with another human being in his life, and the
very idea that his interest was still reciprocated, perhaps strongly enough to
act on this time… “Where should we meet this evening, then?”
“My rooms are private enough, I believe, and I don’t want to
give away my presence to the general populace at the university too soon.” He gave
Anton the address. “Meet me there, discreetly, at half past seven. I’ll provide
food and drink, you can provide me with your opinion on the people who make the
cut.”
Anton swallowed. “I’ll be there.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Camille paid the bill, then pressed
to his feet. “Until this evening, then.”
“Mmhmm.”
He smiled and left the café, and Anton reached for his tea
and swallowed the remnants down in one enormous gulp. Good lord, could he be
any more awkward?
Then again, if awkwardness hadn’t put Camille off of him so
far, it wasn’t likely to at this point. Feeling cheered, he finished his torte
and stood up, heading out into the street. He carefully dismantled the spell
obfuscating his appearance as he went, so that by the time he reached the
university, he once again looked like himself. He had ten minutes left before
his first class began.
Anton already knew that the day would drag, but at least he
had something—someone—to look forward
to at the end of it.
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