Page 10 of Hawk & Sparrow

Left, left, right. Left, right, right.

The longer she walked, the more anxious she became. She had no way of tracking time here, but she guessed that approximately ten minutes had gone by since she’d left Mr. Gladwell in the center of the maze. She thought of the brilliant inventor, lying alone, and tried to think of what had led him there. Perhaps he’d simply drunk too much, and wandered into it by mistake. She certainly hoped she was able to find someone soon. She was still thinking about him when she rounded a corner and slammed into something—or rather, someone.

“Oh!” Vesper jumped back. “Apologies, I didn’t…” She stiffened. Maximilian Kite was staring down at her, looking only mildly surprised. This close, Vesper could smell his cologne. She detected vetiver, a woodsy scent that reminded her of a library. It was almost … nice. Before she let herself dwell on that, she stepped back and crossed her arms.

“Mr. Kite.”

“Miss Evans.” Maximilian offered a mocking bow. “We really should stop meeting like this. People will talk.”

Vesper’s face warmed, but she didn’t avert her gaze. Maximilian Kite was studying her with an inexplicable intensity. Under the moonlight, his eyes seemed to have darkened to a deep-sea blue. She floundered, searching for something to say.

“Why are you still in the maze?”

The sorcerer shrugged. “I was on my way out.”

Vesper pursed her lips. It had been at least twenty minutes since she’d finished interviewing him. If Maximilian had truly been looking for an exit, he would have found it by now. An internal warning bell sounded.

He’s lying.

“In any case, I could ask you the same,” Maximilian went on. “Why are you still here?”

“I was trying to find help,” said Vesper. “There’s been an incident.”

Maximilian’s expression grew serious. “What’s happened?”

Vesper pointed in the direction she’d come. “It’s Mr. Gladwell. He’s fainted.”

“Fainted?”

Vesper fumbled, looking for more tactful words. “I saw a bottle of champagne near him. I think he may have overindulged.”

“Good grief.” Maximilian rolled his eyes.

“He needs help,” said Vesper. “He was unconscious when I left him, and I don’t think he should stay outside in his current condition.”

“Right.” Maximilian’s tone was terse. “Take me to him.”

Vesper turned and placed her left hand on the wall, trying to remember the way from which she’d come. She focused on that instead of thinking about the sorcerer following close behind. Eventually, a spot of light beaconed up ahead.

“Just here,” she said as they reached it. “He’s—”

In so many ways, the courtyard looked just as it had before. Moonlight still illuminated the stone fountain in its center, and Francis Gladwell was still lying prone exactly where Vesper had left him, his head turned to the side. But something was wrong. Her eyes ran the length of the inventor’s body, then snagged on a dark spot near his temple: blood. It had trickled across the bridge of his nose, past his blank open eyes, and pooled in the grass beneath him. He was too still. Vesper’s mouth went dry.

“I … I don’t understand. He wasn’t injured before.”

Maximilian shouldered past and headed straight for Mr. Gladwell. He knelt and placed a finger below the inventor’s nose. Then he looked up at Vesper.

“He’s not breathing.”

Vesper swallowed. “What do we do?”

Maximilian looked around, then murmured something and held his hand out. As though summoned, the maze’s tiny lights flew to him, gathering until they’d clustered into a glittering orb the size of a large pumpkin. He tilted his head, and the orb soared up to hover above them.

“It’s a distress signal,” he explained. “Someone will see it and come to us with help.”

“Right.”

The sorcerer looked down at Mr. Gladwell again. “You’re sure he wasn’t like this before?”