Karigan opened her mouth to ask Lorine if she’d heard anything but stopped herself in time realizing she’d never before asked such a question of her, and it would be too obvious if something had, in fact, happened. She did not believe Lorine an operative of the empire, but a wrong word to the wrong person could prove disastrous.

So while Lorine stroked the brush through her hair, Karigan sat in quiet suspense, hoping Lorine would mention any unusual news without prompting. She did not.

It was not until Karigan presented herself at breakfast that she began to get some inkling. The professor and his students rose to greet her, Cade barely looking her way. When all were seated once again and served breakfast, it was as though she’d ceased to exist. It wasn’t just the food that claimed the attention of the young men but an undercurrent of excitement, their voices a little too loud requesting the pepper to be passed, their movements sharp, and they appeared to wolf down the food without even tasting it. Then there was the conversation, seemingly picked up midstream by Mr. Stockwell.

“I say it’s some kind of drill.”

“That much is obvious,” Mr. Card replied. “That structure up on the summit looks like a drillhouse, and I hear there is an engine to power it.”

The professor hid behind his paper of news. Karigan wondered if it reported whatever the opposition was supposed to have done.

“Not your usual archeological tool, a big drill like that. A bit heavy-handed.”

“Figured that out by yourself, did you?”

Mr. Stockwell ignored the jibe. “If it’s not for an archeological dig, what is it for? Why, it could damage all kinds of relics.”

The question was met with gravid silence.

The usually quiet Mr. Philips looked up from a book he was studying and asked, “Why did the rebels blast the road? If they wanted to do real damage, they should have blown up the drillhouse or engine.”

Karigan waited, transfixed, for an answer.

Mr. Card deliberately stabbed a piece of ham with his fork and examined it. “How angry would you want to make Dr. Silk?”

Silence fell once again as the students considered.

The professor had indicated that the opposition could slow down Dr. Silk’s excavation by attacking the worksite, which it sounded like they had done by putting holes in the road. The drill itself, he and Cade had said, would have been too well protected. These other things, the drillhouse and engine, sounded like they would have been excellent targets, but not destroyed because the opposition feared reprisal. Extreme reprisal. Despite the professor’s chilling words about “sacrifice” and “collateral damage” last night, it appeared he did not wish to spark the annihilation of innocents.

The professor still held his paper taut before him. Cade’s gaze was fixed on his breakfast.

“I heard the Inspectors have rounded up just about every blastman in the city for questioning,” Mr. Ribbs said.

The others nodded as if they’d heard the same thing.

“Professor,” Mr. Stockwell said, “do you have any idea why the rebels would try to ruin Dr. Silk’s road? And what’s he after with a drill that big?”

The professor slowly lowered his paper, his eyes shadowed by his bushy brows. “Of the latter, it is no doubt the emperor’s business Dr. Silk is about. I’m sure all will be revealed in time and in proper scholarly fashion, or not, as the emperor wishes. As for the former, I haven’t the faintest.”

After a pause, he added, “It is best for all of you boys to keep your thoughts and speculations to yourselves, and to remember that Dr. Silk is an esteemed leader in our chosen field of archeology. Gossiping about his intentions is not becoming of young gentlemen like yourselves. Especially for those of you who wish to make your names in the field. Never forget that Dr. Silk can make or break you.”

Karigan shuddered at the double warning in that last sentence.

“Do I make myself clear?” the professor asked.

There were muttered, “Yes, sirs” around the table and the professor hid himself once again behind his paper.

Mr. Stockwell moved his food around on his plate with his fork until finally venturing, “Professor, aren’t you the least bit curious about it all?”

“Of course I am, but I am also patient and have my own business to attend to, as you have your studies. And if I’m not mistaken, exams are in two weeks, and I think preparing for them ought to be your primary concern, especially considering everyone’s marks to date.”

At this response, all the students looked glum, and breakfast became a subdued affair with the earlier agitation of the students now worn off. Karigan shook herself when she realized she’d been so engrossed by the conversation that she hadn’t touched her breakfast. She rectified the matter before anyone noticed.

As each student finished his meal, he excused himself and left the table, giving her a quiet, “Good day, Miss Goodgrave.” When Cade stood to leave, he did not meet her gaze and barely gave her a nod.

What was that about? she wondered. Did he suddenly decide she was nothing to him? Was he embarrassed? Or, she thought more hopefully, was he trying to make sure none of the servants became suspicious of the two of them behaving in too familiar a way? Whatever Cade’s reasons, she found herself vexed. There was no invitation for her to meet him for an evening in the mill. When would she be able to be with him again, and alone?

“My dear,” the professor said from his end of the table, startling her. He gazed at her with intent eyes, and she wondered if he guessed at where her thoughts traveled.