Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

Simon counted his coins on the battered table, lining up the silver and copper in stacks of ten. The neatness of the ranks only made the unpleasant truth more obvious: there wasn’t much money left. He had to pay rent, and buy food, and Sam needed new clothes — Light knew what the boy did with them.

The week was nearly up, and he still hadn’t found a job. In truth, he hardly knew where to look. House Oryche had a near monopoly on mining and smelting, and his tentative inquiries elsewhere had met with suspicion and confusion. Earth Adepts didn’t usually seek employment in the city. Nearly all were noble-born and had no need to work.

On the other side of the table, Lorie turned a page in the Prime Grammar. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, frowning while she read. Nana clattered pans on the stove. The old woman hadn’t complained, hadn’t said a word about his obvious failures. She just stretched the food a little further every day, conjuring up soup from bones and vegetable scraps. Only the soup got thinner while Simon’s guilt grew.

What should he do? According to Grace, Numisma were still debating whether to release any of his mother’s money. They might decide in his favour, and they might be lenient with the rent in the meantime — but he could depend on neither.

The door slammed open and Sam burst in, out of breath from charging up the stairs.

Simon frowned at his son. ‘Where have you been all morning?’

‘Out.’

‘Where? Doing what?’

Sam shrugged and turned away.

Simon grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t turn your back on me. I asked you a question. Sam, you can’t just wander off half the day without telling anyone where you’re going or what you’re doing. This is Athanor, not Sark. There are people out there who’d kill you for a penny. For all we know, you could be dead in an alley somewhere.’

‘I’m not a child, Dad. I can look after myself.’

‘You are a child, and you’re my responsibility. Answer me.’

Simon saw himself in the boy’s eyes, in the boy’s sullen defiance that met his own guilty anger and turned it to fear. The fear that his son was slipping away from him, and there was nothing he could do to keep him.

‘You want to know where I’ve been?’ Sam said. ’I’ve been looking for work.’

Nana dropped a pan, which clanged off the stove and thumped on the floorboards. ‘Oh, Sam. Bless you for a good boy,’ she exclaimed, and swept round the table to envelop Sam in a hug.

Simon stared. He hadn’t thought Sam was concerned at all about the family finances, let alone that he’d try to help.

Today’s thin soup boiled over on to the gas burner with a sharp hiss. Blotting tears from her eyes, Nana released Sam and scurried back to her cooking.

Simon swallowed. ‘And have you found a job?’

Sam dropped his gaze. ‘Well, no. Not exactly. Grumman lets me sweep the workshop sometimes. He gave me a penny yesterday.’ He took the coin from his pocket and carefully added it to Simon’s pile.

Simon had to look away. His eyes felt hot. He blinked rapidly. ‘You should keep that. You earned it.’

‘But I want to help.’

Simon squeezed Sam’s shoulder. ‘And I thank you for it, and I’m proud of you. But I still don’t want you wandering the streets on your own.’ He pulled his son to him and embraced him. ‘You shouldn’t have to work. It’s not your responsibility to provide for the family. It’s mine.’

The House weapons-yard hadn’t changed. The scuffed sand was the same, and the boys sparring with wooden shields and swords, and the grizzled instructor. Not the same man who had taught Simon, of course — Ellis must have retired long ago — but made in the same mould.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Eranon leaned on the fence, watching the sparring boys with mild interest.

Simon strolled around the yard toward him. The thumps of wood on wood, and the instructor’s shouts of ‘Shield up,’ and ‘Move your feet, you damned cretin,’ brought a flood of memories. He’d been one of those boys once, his face set in a serious scowl, sweating and nervous under the instructor’s eye. Though he’d enjoyed the sessions, really. After a morning’s dry study of history and geography with his tutor, the physical exercise was as welcome as the easy camaraderie with boys his own age.

Strange to think Eranon had been one of them. Though Eranon was older and taller than Simon, he was clumsy and Simon was one of the few boys who didn’t bully him, so they’d often been paired for practice.

As if his thoughts had been audible across the yard, Eranon looked up and nodded a greeting. Simon joined him.

‘Happy memories?’ Eranon said.

Simon leaned on the top rail of the fence. Feet away, a pair of boys hacked at each other with their blunt swords. ‘Mostly.’

They sparring pair were younger than Sam. He wondered if anyone had told them why they must learn to fight, and who they might have to defend themselves against. When he was their age, he’d never asked. He’d simply accepted the training as yet another House tradition; no other reason was needed.

‘About the job offer,’ he began. ‘It’s difficult for me. I can’t leave my family for so long. Unless…’

Eranon raised an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t expecting a negotiation.’

‘Nevertheless. I’d like some of my pay upfront, as well as a guarantee of a payment to my family if I don’t return, or am delayed for any reason.’

‘That’s not unreasonable. I think we can agree to that.’

‘And I must ask for a better offer for the miners. I can’t ask them to accept so little, when we both know the tomb inscription is worth a great deal more.’

‘You drive a hard bargain.’ Eranon smiled. ‘For someone in no position to bargain.’

Simon met his gaze. ‘Still. I must insist.’

The weapons-master ushered the boys off the sand. Adults took their place, young men and women pairing off to spar with daggers or short swords.

‘Your daughter certainly made an impression at the Arcanum,’ Eranon said.

Simon gripped the fence rail. The steel fingers bit deep into the timber, and he felt nothing. ‘Have you been spying on me?’

The fighters circled like dancers, their boots shushing through the sand.

‘Simon, my dear cousin, I don’t need to spy on you. The city is full of eyes who are all too happy to repeat the latest gossip, without the bother of my telling them what to look for. Do you really think you can wander in after twenty years in Sark, and no one will be interested in what you’re doing?’

Full of eyes. Like the eyes of the young man who had followed Simon into the Great Market. The eyes of a dead boy, staring back at the man who killed him. Did Eranon send him? Did Eranon know he was dead? What would he say, if Simon told him — but no, he’d simply deny it.

In the middle of the yard, a tall woman wearing Phylaxes red was matched with an Oryche youth. Like her, he was a redhead. Their swords chimed against each other, feint and strike and parry at blistering speed. The combatants dripped with sweat. Others were breaking off their fights to watch them.

The woman was Eranon’s bodyguard, Simon recalled. He’d seen her at the artificer’s workshop. ‘Lorie has talent,’ he said. ‘Laugh at me if you want. I only wanted her to be taught.’

‘Laugh at you? Not at all. I discussed her case with the Head Master. It took some effort, but for a consideration, he’s prepared to admit her on a trial basis.’

The Phylaxes woman slashed at her opponent’s chest, forcing him to step back. He was tiring; his responses slower, his attacks wilder.

‘A consideration? You mean, you paid them to accept her?’

‘A gift toward the new library extension. House Oryche are generous patrons.’

Simon swallowed. ‘Why? Why would you do that?’

‘The experiment intrigues me. After all, why shouldn’t girls be taught? The world changes, Simon. Yesterday’s traditions may not serve us well in the future. Even old men like us cannot cling to the past forever.’

Simon didn’t know what to say or think. For Lorie to be admitted to the Arcanum was incredible. But what did ‘trial basis’ mean? That they could eject her after a month? A week? And then, it was Eranon who had arranged it, and he’d paid — probably a large sum. Even if he had his own reasons for doing so, Simon still owed him a debt he could never repay. ‘And what do you expect from me in return?’

Swords locked together, the two fighters swayed, muscles straining as each strove for the advantage.

‘Nothing at all. You know, you were always my favourite cousin, Simon. My father’s treatment of you was harsh, to say the least. I didn’t like it at the time, but what could I do?’

‘You didn’t exactly rush to send for me, when you became Lord.’

With a convulsive effort, the Phylaxes woman broke the bind. She hammered her sword hilt into her opponent’s face. Blood spattered. He staggered back, clutching his nose.

‘And I regret it.’ Eranon shrugged. ‘Out of sight, out of mind, I’m afraid. But you’re here now, and I want to make amends. This year I’m hoping Oryche will head the city council. I will need men then. Intelligent, reliable men who know something of the world beyond Athanor. Men like you. Prove yourself capable and I’ll have you reinstated in the House. You and your family.’

Simon revolved that in his mind. ‘You’re giving me the job?’

‘I am. We have a deal.’

Out on the sand, the bloodied Oryche youth was being ministered to by his friends. The woman fighter turned her back and stalked away.

Eranon extended his hand for Simon to shake.

Simon reached out without thinking. His gloved hand closed around Eranon’s. The metal fingers bent naturally, and miraculously, the ghosts of his missing fingers aligned with the prosthetics and became one. He shook Eranon’s hand in numb disbelief. Light, what have I agreed to? What have I done?