“This one’s even easier,” I say. “I just need you to drive a boat.”
“What boat?” Ares says, frowning.
“One to get off this island.”
Now his expression is past a frown—it’s all the way to absolute negation.
“No,” Ares says. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? I know you know how.”
“I’m not leaving. We could get expelled.”
“What do you care? You’re not even going into criminal enterprise.”
“I don’t care. I want to graduate. It matters to my family.”
“You won’t get expelled. Because we aren’t getting caught. We’ll be out and back one night, no one will miss us.”
“You can’t possibly guarantee that. And besides, what boat are you going to use that . . .“ he breaks off, realizing. “No,” he shakes his head even harder, “Absolutely not. How do you even know about that?”
“How do YOU know?” I demand, even more curious. Ares does not seem the type to have discovered the Chancellor’s secret ultra-fast, ultra-fuckin-fancy speedboat.
“One of the teachers told me,” Ares mutters.
“Well, the Chancellor won’t like that. But he’ll like a big old scratch down the side of his boat even less, so you better drive me. I already know where he keeps the keys. I just need my chauffeur . . .”
I know Ares doesn’t want to do it. Not at all.
In fact, he’s terrified. Because Ares is a good boy who follows the rules. Like Zoe used to be.
Unfortunately for Ares, I’m a very corrupting influence.
I rest my hand on his shoulder again, squeezing tight. I lean forward to look Ares dead in the eye.
“I’m on a very tight schedule, and I don’t have time to barter. So here is an unprecedented opportunity for generosity. A level of largess I may never match again in my life. Tell me what it is, Ares. Name your price.”
Ares looks at me steadily, making some silent calculation I can only begin to guess.
I wait and wait, knowing better than to stomp on a blossoming answer.
Finally he replies.
“A favor,” he says.
“What favor?”
“That’s the rub. A favor of my choosing, to be determined at a time of my choosing. In the future. But the promise comes now.”
“Is there any limit on this favor? You’re not gonna ask for my firstborn with Zoe?”
Ares allows a very small smile.
“No,” he says. “Nothing that would upset Zoe.”
“Then I agree. Any fucking favor at any time, I promise you.”
“Alright then,” he holds out his hands to shake, to seal the deal now and forever. “I’ll do it.”
It’s so hard not to release the sigh of relief locked up in my chest.
“Great,” I say. “Perfect. Let’s make that call to your dad.”
Ares and I will have to steal the Chancellor’s boat.
He keeps it locked up in a private berth in the caves directly below Kingmakers. You can’t access it from the land side—you have to go down under the school itself.
Kingmakers extends for several levels underground.
Everybody knows about the Undercroft and the swimming pool beneath the Armory. They know about the archives below the library, though only Miss Robin and her aides are allowed access.
But that’s less than half the space under the school.
I discovered the tunnels in my Freshman year. It took months for me to get access to one of the skeleton keys, and months more to make a copy. Apart from the Chancellor, only two professors and one of the grounds crew have access. Now me as well.
I break into the Chancellor’s office to get the keys to his boat. Picking the lock on his door is easy—it’s having the balls to enter his personal space that’s difficult. The second I set foot over the threshold, I’m hit with the scent of his cigar smoke and expensive aftershave, the smell of metal and leather, and I’ll admit, I want to turn and run.
For all the rule breaking I do at school, Luther Hugo is not somebody I want to fuck with. I’ve always steered clear of him, intentionally. Wade Dyer’s death was the first occasion that forced us to speak face to face.
On that particular day, I had already been dragged up the steps of the prison tower and chucked in a cell, so I’ve never actually visited this office before.
I’m on the top floor of the Keep. Rich, dark wood with inlaid panels cover the walls and ceiling. A bank of windows on the far wall overlooks the castle grounds. I’m discomfited to see how wide the view is, how much the Chancellor can observe from up here. The opposite windows look directly over the cliffs to the sea below.
Waves smash against the rocks. You would think there would be no exit on that side—after all, the barquentine has to come around to the lee side of the island to enter the sheltered harbor. But the Chancellor’s vessel is no sailing ship—it’s a sport yacht, shaped like a bullet, that can cut through almost any swell.
I’m quite sure he keeps his keys in here because the one time I observed him leaving the island late at night, he made a quick stop at his office first.
I should have been in the Spy division, like Cat. I’ve watched the Chancellor from afar plenty of times. He’s a curious figure to me. Fabulously wealthy, as all the Hugos are. And yet he chooses to stay at the school the majority of the time, never marrying, never fathering children, running his business interests from afar.
Maybe he likes the power of controlling the school, shaping the minds of the next generation of mafia. Still, it’s an unusual vocation for a man once known as the Widowmaker.
He might fear retribution from all those widows. The island is a good place for semi-retirement—quiet, and difficult to attack.
He still has all his luxuries around him. The office is stuffed with books, newspapers, cigars, cognac, a bearskin throw, and a box of unopened truffles. The Chancellor’s acquaintances likewise keep him company in the form of framed photographs on every wall.
I look them over in a glance, curious but knowing I don’t have time to snoop around as I’d like to. I recognize politicians and celebrities, as well as famous mafiosi. In the civilian world, the Hugos are known for their philanthropy and patronage of the arts. Most of these photographs were taken at charity events.
Other locales I recognize from the island. The photograph hanging to the left of the Chancellor’s desk shows Luther himself standing next to four students—three boys and one girl. Luther shakes the hand of the girl, who looks flushed and pleased, while the three boys, all significantly taller than her, range in expression from disappointed to bitter.
I’m guessing these are the Captains of some round of the Quartum Bellum. In which case the girl likely captained the winning team. She’s pretty, dark-haired, blue-eyed. Too young to be a Senior. I could probably find her name on the wall of winners down in the Armory.
Luther himself looks much younger—his hair is fully black, thick and wild-looking. His face is still lined, but only around his eyes and forehead. His cheeks are smooth and beardless. Usually that makes a man look shorn or weakened, but in his case, it shows that he was handsome once, in an aggressive, wicked sort of way.