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for any details that might aid him in his project for the Crown Challenge. But this evening his mind wasn't occupied with steam pressure or cooling chambers. Instead he kept remembering Fedeles' tortured expression and Nestor's offhand explanation of his condition. He thought of the white flickers that played between Javier's fingers and his gaze fell upon the gilded spine of a book titled On the Nature of Hells and the Damned. What did it mean to be one of them? What kind of force was hellfire and how could it hunt a particular family? How could a script be legible only to the eyes of the damned?
    Kiram took the book from the shelf and, feeling almost ashamed of his interest in Cadleonian superstition, he scurried up to the privacy of his room with the text tucked between two history books.
    He cracked open the book and turned its ornate pages carefully, enjoying the leathery scent of the vellum as it wafted over him. Reading through the pompous language and gilded letters he soon discovered that many of the people described as possessed by the Cadeleonian priests would have been diagnosed with 'dancing nerves' by a Haldiim physician, like his uncle Rafie.
    Again the image of Fedeles' terrified grimace came to him. It hadn't been nerves nor mimicry that Kiram had seen in his expression but terror and pain, and Kiram was now positive that Fedeles had been genuine in his appeal for help.
    After considering the matter for a moment, Kiram decided that Javier would be the person to tell about Fedeles' troubling plea. After all, Javier took responsibility for Fedeles. He would want to know this and only the pettiest of men would withhold something so important.
    It would be a relief to put his pride aside and just talk to the man, and he couldn't have asked for a better reason to do so.
    Now if only Javier would make an appearance. Kiram glanced out one of the high windows. He knew from Nestor that several of the upperclassmen routinely went off academy grounds and rode down to Zancoda city to solicit the prostitutes at the Goldenrod Inn.
    Kiram found it difficult to imagine Javier waiting in some dank tavern for his turn to dally with a worn-out barmaid. But there weren't many other places he could be spending his evenings. Kiram had wandered the grounds on many previous nights and while he refused to admit that he had been looking for Javier, he certainly hadn't stumbled upon him during any of his rambling walks.
    Outside, the summer sun sank into the shadows of the surrounding orchards. Clouds glowed like beaten gold against the darkening blue of the sky. Maybe another half hour of light was left. Then the night warden would call for lights out, and the last roll would be taken to assure that all students were in their beds.
    Kiram stood and paced the length of the room. Now that he wanted to talk to Javier, where was he? Probably having a big-breasted Cadeleonian woman scrub his back in just the way he liked.
    "Kihvash," Kiram spat the Haldiim insult as crudely as a salt merchant. He glowered down at the stables. Then he noticed a tall figure in the shadows. His hair was black enough and his skin pale enough to be Javier. Even the man's height was close enough to have passed, but the way he moved was completely wrong. The figure shied back into the cover of ornamental hedges and then bolted wildly to a water trough. His arms flailed out, waving a piece of paper and then clutching it back to his chest.
    It had to be Fedeles. He was already at the stable doors. An instant later he disappeared inside. Even Kiram knew that it would only take a few wild movements for Fedeles to spook one of the horses and get himself killed.
    Kiram didn't pause to think about what he should do. His common sense would make a coward of him and he knew it. Of all Master Ignacio's lectures, it was the one Kiram hated to hear the most, and yet it fueled his sprinting legs and pounding heart as he raced out of the dormitory.

Chapter Four
    T he interior