The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

passageways and hidden staircases here. But each square room abutted the next neatly without unwarranted thickness of walls to accommodate secrets. Four staircases ascended to the recently added second and third stories; one at the end of each of the side wings and one on either end of the central and longest arm of the U. All seemed to have been built on straight lines with quarried stones, neatly squared to fit together. He’d investigate the outbuildings later—all very neat and square as well. Presumably, they housed storage and cooking facilities and nothing more.
    Thick stone walls made him feel protected, almost as if he was back in civilization. Almost. These bushies, noble and peasant alike, had not yet discovered climate control, even inside their buildings. A few rooms made use of inefficient fireplaces or even, shudder, central hearths that lost more heat than they added. No wonder they wore so many clothes! Nearly a meter of stone between himself and the outside world offered some insulation. But he doubted he’d ever be warm on Kardia Hodos, not even in high summer.
    He wouldn’t think about the primitive—meaning nonexistent—plumbing. So far he had managed to trek back to his shuttle at regular intervals to take care of his own personal hygiene, though he’d rather have parked the vessel farther away from the city where it was less likely to be found.
    Every room he encountered in the residential and classroom wings of the University seemed to have an overt purpose and no hidden ones. Only the library—which occupied the entire central section of the building—offered the suggestion of places to secrete a prisoner.
    Where would they hide the woman the bushie lord insisted must be rescued to prove Kinnsell’s technology stronger than the magicians’ magic?
    He’d watched the comings and goings of this place all day. Other than the cook, there didn’t seem to be any women in the University complex. No serving women. No mistresses or wives. And certainly no prostitutes. Where?
    In desperation he slid into the library, empty of students at this late hour, although a few lights still glowed. All of the masters had retreated to the tower room—the third story of the classroom wing. Presumably, the apprentices slept. Therefore, there should be no one to hinder his search.
    A maze of old-fashioned books tantalized him. The musty smell of learning invaded his nose and spread into his veins like warm insulation gel. Books had been obsolete for storing and dispensing knowledge for almost one thousand Terran years. Yet, still, books persisted as a favored hobby and status symbol among a large majority of the population. Something sensuous about holding a book in your hands, caressing the cover, gazing at the permanence of the printed words upon paper (synthetic since the loss of pulp trees after the first doming of Terra).
    These books looked to be the genuine thing. Some printed on real paper. Others on parchment. They were bound in embossed leather, carved wood, or etched bronze—the latter richly jeweled and engraved.
    Kinnsell couldn’t help himself. He had to touch the incredible artifacts of a bygone era. He had to open one, read from it, cherish it. Maybe he could steal one and take it home. He could sell it for the price of a bush world. But he’d keep it. He’d honor it. Read from it every day. And when he became emperor, he would return to this library and confiscate as many books as he wanted.
    His hand rested comfortably by his side, easy with his control of the situation and his life.
    “May I help you, King Kinnsell?” the face of a wizened old man appeared in the gap made by Kinnsell’s removal of the tome he held protectively against his chest.
    “Who are you?” Kinnsell asked, startled to find anyone hiding in this treasure trove. His right hand edged forward a bit, seeking control. “And how do you know my name?”
    Quickly he checked his mental barriers to make sure no one could delve into his mind without his knowing. They seemed intact. But who knew what could happen on this bizarre planet that treasured books but disdained climate control and plumbing?
    “Everyone knows the queen’s father,” the old man replied.
    “But not everyone knows you. Who are you?” Kinnsell hated having to repeat himself. He should be able to pluck the man’s entire life history from his mind with no effort.
    Instead, he found only images of viewing Kardia Hodos from a great height,