Page 18 of The Deadliest Candidate

Fern hurried to catch up with the two men as they followed Housemistress Sarlet, slowing down as she reached them to keep several paces behind them.

She observed them sharply. Neither man gave the impression he knew the other. They walked side by side in polite silence, their movements easy and relaxed.

Had there been another person in the corridor earlier? More candidates were coming out of their rooms now. Any of them could have been the owner of the retreating footsteps Fern had heard.

As for the speaker of the threat… it could be either of the men.

Ten candidates, including Fern,filed into the banquet hall under Housemistress Sarlet’s watchful eye. She did not follow them inside but instead pulled the doors closed after them.

Inside, the hall retained the magnificence of the rest of Carthane: a darkly polished floor, towering pillars and ornate chandeliers falling amongst drapery of onyx silk.

Four lines of tables stood in the centre of the room, laden with food, sweetmeats and crystal carafes of wine. The staff of Carthane archivists, wearing blue sashes, sat in small groups, waiting silently.

Finally, a long table on a raised dais overlooked all. There sat the Grand Archivists of Carthane, each sporting the black sash indicating their rank. Fern suppressed a small shiver of excitement.

One by one, the Grand Archivists stood upon the entrance of the candidates, and the rest of their staff followed suit.

Somewhat awed by the pomp and formality of this welcome, Fern followed the other candidates in a file to the empty table, where they all sat. The pale young man was right in front of her, and Fern hastily rounded the table so that she could sit across from him rather than by his side.

It would give her a better chance of observing him throughout the night and perhaps find out what part, if any, he’d had to play in what she had overheard.

Once they were sitting down, the Grand Archivists took their own seats, and the oldest of them spoke up, his voice surprisingly deep and melodic.

“On behalf of us all, I wish to welcome you to Carthane, as well as congratulate you all on your successful applications. Each and every single one of you has been carefully selected amongst hundreds of applicants because we believeyouare the very best possible candidate for the role of Grand Archivist. Carthane Athenaeum is without peer amongst the arcane libraries of the world, and it is only right that we should pick the world’s best candidates to become part of its noble purpose. By becoming a Grand Archivist, you will become part of Carthane, its history, its legacy.

“We wish to appoint two Grand Archivists this year, which is why we have invited so many of you here. Your candidacy at Carthane is an opportunity you will only receive once in your lifetime. If you should fail, there will be no returning here. I do not need to ask you all to work hard—I am confident in the knowledge that all of you are willing to do what you must.”

Here, the Grand Archivist paused, sweeping the candidates with a heavy gaze. Fern was reminded, unpleasantly,of Addie’s words.This job is worth dying for it, it would seem.

Without meaning to, her eyes drifted down the table to the two faces she recognised from the East Hemwick pier. The red-headed siblings, now in matching white, sat side by side, her shoulder pressed into his. Their eyes were fastened upon the Grand Archivist, and Fern remembered their words, too.

And what do we do?

What we must.

The Grand Archivist continued his speech, and Fern hastily brought her focus back to him.

“For the purpose of selecting the best amongst the best, your candidacy will be split into two parts: first, you will be given three assignments, and the aggregated scores for these assignments will determine whether or not your candidacy will continue.

“If you should be selected as a finalist, you will enter the last stage of your candidacy: your thesis, which you will prepare and present. Our final judgement will be based on how thorough, ingenious and groundbreaking your research is. Tomorrow, you will each be assigned one of us as a mentor, but for tonight, the candidacy can wait. For tonight, we wish only to get to know you a little. And to that purpose, I will now ask you all to formally introduce yourselves.”

The Grand Archivist indicated the order in which the candidates should introduce themselves, and one by one they stood to do so. Fern disliked this sort of thing intensely—she was not social by nature—but in this instance, she appreciated the opportunity to finally know who she would be competing with.

She observed each of the candidates closely as they spoke, wishing she had been able to bring a notebook in which to scribble names, facts, observed details. Mental notes would have to do for now.

First to stand was a young woman, close to Fern’s age, with dark hair cut bluntly at the jaw. She wore a dark dress, rather plain, but her beauty was all the adornment she needed.

“My name is Josefa Novak. I have come from the Moscow Imperial University, where I was Professor of Alchemical History.”

There was a sort of fragility to her, like a flower made of glass—but of course, the Moscow Imperial University only hired the very best. Alchemy was the first of the great Schools of Magic, and here was a woman who would know much about it.

When she introduced herself, Fern noticed that the red-headed woman, who had been sitting back against her chair sipping her wine, leaned suddenly forward to whisper something in her brother’s ear.

At her words, his eyes shot from Josefa Novak to the table of the Grand Archivists. Then he turned back to his sister and gave her a strange smile—half-smirk, half-grimace. She raised her eyebrows in response, and the two fell back into silence.

Fern, upon watching their exchange, became suddenly and acutely aware of how little she knew of the candidates. She would have to remedy that. Sooner rather than later.

Next to stand wasthe man in the pine-green velvet. He had smoothed his blond hair and now appeared quite at ease, smiling to reveal sharp white teeth beneath a meticulously manicured moustache. An Abyssal cross adorned in gold filigree hung on his neck.

---