Bloody hell!

This was not what Nathaniel expected to see when he was told that there was a couple who were were interested in adopting him. The situation was even beyond the range of his wildest fantasies, which were actually remarkably tame for a boy his age. Disappointment did not discriminate between whom it humbled, after all, but even he was pretty sure nobody would have anticipated this.

The difference between what he had expected and what he saw was so jarring that it almost hurt. Instead of coming into a familiar office to meet his potentially new family, the matron and him had apparently walked into some sort of an ambush. Each one of their ambushers were clad uniformly in black, the colour turning matte as a result of long use and sun bleach. Two of them were holding obvious wands in a half-crouch, while a man was clad in an eclectic mix of leathers and armour behind them. He was posed in a similar position, his bow drawn with an arrow at the ready.

But the one who caught the most of Nathaniel’s attention was the one closest to the doors.

Dressed in a similar fashion to the archer, he wore the addition of an double-breasted admiral’s coat, albeit one that had pauldrons instead of the epaulettes usually seen on the shoulders on similar garments. Standing relaxed in a fighter’s stance with twin cutlasses at the ready, the wind from a nearby window stirred his neatly cropped brown hair to expose a jagged pink scar. Running vertically downwards, the scar drew a line from the middle of his left eyebrow to just a little under the eye, painting him with a callous, hard-bitten look.

Everything about him promised violence, and he seemed just like the type of man to enjoy it.

Grasping the situation in a heartbeat, Nathaniel let out a huge yell, pulling Matron Abby backwards as she froze. Spying a tarnished letter opener on top of a low cupboard, he then snatched it up with his other hand, pointing it at the man with the scarred eye. Stop trembling, hand!

Saintly blinked twice before he understood what he was looking at.

“Oh, shit. Stand down, guys. It’s just the sister and the kid.”

Grinning sheepishly, the marauder quickly sheathed his weapons with a flourish. “Sorry about that, Sister. We’re a bit jumpy when we’re surprised.”

Placing a hand on her chest, Matron Abby took in quick breaths to calm herself down. Her gaze roved all over those in the process of self-consciously holstering their weapons, sharpening when she noticed the playing cards lying scattered on a stool. “You were gambling in my orphanage?” she hissed, taking a step forward. Her tone made it plain that she saw gambling as an activity on the same level as kicking puppies. “There are children present!”

Saintly promptly snapped up his own money bag off the ground, smoothly stepping into the matron’s point of view with a hand flapping behind him. “Just passing the time with a little arithmetic game, that’s all! Nothing that would corrupt the younglings, I swear!”

Those idiots better be keeping the cards now, damn it.

A large hand, fully enclosed in a gauntlet, wrapped itself over the fist that Nathaniel was using to hold the letter opener. “You can put it down now, kid. We’re friendly, and this toothpick wouldn’t hurt nobody wearing black here.” His voice was strong , a baritone deep and rich.

The boy jerked to the side, surprised. Turning around, his eyes widened as he saw that the hand belonged to a previously unseen man dressed in full plate. He didn’t even hear him move! Yanking his hand out, Nathaniel dropped the knife like a hot potato before rushing to hide behind the matron’s skirt, angling his body so that he could keep all of the strangers in view.

“Shit, Dice.” Weaver slapped the man on the arm. “I think you spooked him.”

Wearing a mellow smile, Weaver slowly went down on a knee in front of the child, showing him that her hands were empty. “Hey,” the priest said softly, holding out a hand. “I’m Weaver. What’s your name?”

Robin snorted. “Kid’s not that short, Weaver.”

“Shut up, Robin. I’m trying to make friends with him here.” Weaver shot back at him, though without any heat.

“Alright, everyone stop!” snapped Matron Abby. She then brought a hand up to her temples, rubbing them while she closed her eyes. “Look, can anybody give me an explanation?”

----------------------------------------

“Care to explain as to what the five of you are doing here?” The matron sank down on her chair, which she dragged out from behind her desk. Finally, a chance to sit after a hectic half a day. The five very well-armed strangers were left standing as there were not enough stools for all of them. Nathaniel was standing on her left, peering curious at them now that the fear he experienced earlier was gone. Their armour was fascinating!

That’s a really sweet looking coat. Must have cost him loads, maybe he stole it?

Saintly chuckled at the boy’s blatant interest. “Wanna try it, kid?”

“Absolutely not—” Nathaniel let out a squeal of delight before Matron Abby could refuse his offer, squeezing out from behind the desk.

Shrugging it off, the marauder held his coat out by the back of the shoulders, letting the child slip his hands into his sleeves. Nathaniel was practically swimming in it, the sleeves extending way past his hands. Taking care not to scratch the boy with his gauntlets, Saintly released his coat fully, laughing as the kid stumbled at the weight of it.

“It’s so heavy!”

“Has to be, kid. It’s rip-proof, stab-proof, fire-proof and as many things you can think of. But do you know something that makes it worth being that heavy?” Saintly was aware that he had the full attention of both the boy and the matron, though for very different reasons.

Weaver had to bite the inside of her cheek as Nathania finally got his hands past the cuffs. That pout was adorable! “Why?”

Saintly leant in closer. “Because all the ladies love it.” he confided in a stage whisper, winking conspiratorially before his head jerked forward abruptly. “Ow!”

“Ignore the idiot.” Rum intoned, eyeballing Saintly before crossing his arms again. “Firstly, Sister, we’ll like to apologise for just now. Like Saintly explained, we get a bit jumpy when we get surprised. Let me introduce—,”

Matron Abby held up a hand. “Matron, not Sister. This is an imperial orphanage, not one sponsored by any of the churches.”

“Ah, yes, of course. I apologise,” Rum dipped his head a little. “As I was saying before, I’m Rum. The archer is Robin.”

Robin flopped his hand up and down.

“This big lump here with all the armour is Dice.” Dice smiled cheerfully at the matron.

“The lady is Weaver, she’s our team leader.” The priest waved distractedly, her attention on Nathaniel.

“And lastly, this buffoon is called Saintly.” The marauder didn’t even notice his name being called, engrossed as he was in showing the boy what was in the various compartments of his coat. Taking a long breath, Rum gestured circularly to the rest of his teammates. “And we’re the Blacks, actually. We’re the ones that requested to see the kid.”

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That perked Nathaniel’s attention. “What? Really?”

Robin nodded. “Yup. That’s right, kid. We’re here for you, but only if you want to come with us.”

“This is ridiculous! Is this some sort of elaborate prank? I thank you to not waste both the boy’s time and mine!” The matron flared her nostrils, her infamous temper starting to show.

“No games, Madam,” Dice shook his head, glancing at Nathaniel before looking back at her. “We’re really here to adopt him.”

“All of you? Are you all even related to each other?” Matron Abby glared.

Weaver hummed, her brow furrowed in thought. “You can say… that we’re siblings, I guess.”

“Sibling? All of you look nothing alike!” Nathaniel tilted his head to the side, perplexed.

“Look, Matron…” Robin looked at Matron Abby questioningly.

The matron sighed, turning her head towards Robin. “Abby. Matron Abby. I’m the senior matron of the orphanage.”

Robin nodded once in acknowledgement. “Matron Abby, let me explain. All of us here,” —He waved his hand at the rest— “Are part of an organisation looking to adopt children. Our purpose is to train and educate them into… adventurers, so as to speak, which they then work for us when they grow into their majority.”

“Really? Adventurers? That’s so cool!” Nathaniel gushed. Eyes sparkling, he looked at the senior matron. “They’re adventurers!”

“What? I’ve never heard of something like this,” Matron Abby glared accusingly. “If what you say is true, then why are you only looking for children that are specifically twelve year old?

“That’s because our organisation wants them to have at least four years of ‘school’”—Saintly had both his hands up in finger quotes— “Before they start going out to earn their keep. Age of majority and all that. Nothing dangerous, just small quests around where we’re located.”

“And, pray tell, the name of your ‘organisation’?” The matron finger-quoted back.

“Why, can’t you tell? Debonair men” —Saintly paused as Weaver gave him a pointed look—“And gorgeous lady all armoured in black,” puffing his chest out, the marauder gestured expansively at himself and then the rest of his team. “We’re the Bad Company!”

There was a moment of frozen silence before Nathaniel heard the sound of leather smacking on flesh. Turning around, the boy saw that Weaver had her face in one of her hands, muttering darkly.

“WHAT?” Matron Abby shot to her feet, outraged. “YOU PEOPLE BELONG TO A MERCENARY COMPANY!?”

Said mercenaries winced collectively.

“Um… Well, that’s a yes, Madam. We won’t lie to you. We’re from the Bad Company, and we’re recruiting fresh blood, in a sense,” Rum rubbed at the five o’clock shadow on his chin and jaw slowly. “Most of the people who want to join us are just not up to snuff, and a lot of them are pretty much set in their ways. The Commander’s looking to expand the Company. She wants us wants to train up our own adventurers, and we’ve got to start them young if we want them to be great and long-lived at what they do. Now, most parents would never want their children to become adventurers. That’s just common sense, as the job can be very dangerous. Not to mention that adventurers are typically stereotyped as callous, rowdy men that are quick to drink and quick to anger. That’s why the Company is looking to adopt children of that specific age.”

“You say adventurers, but Matron Abby said that you’re merse… merce-rys?” Nathaniel stumbled on his words, unsure of the proper pronunciation.

“Mercenaries, love. Now hold still and let me take a look at you.” Weaver tipped his chin up, looking at the cut on his lower lip.

“What’s the difference then?” Nathaniel asked, pouting. Why was she unwrapping his bandages?

There was an awkward silence as all of the Bad Company members looked at each other, each of them not wanting to be the one explaining.

Weaver sighed. “Before explaining that, would you like me to heal you?”

“You would?” The boy’s eyes widened.

“Of course, love. Now hold still again.” Nathaniel stiffened as visible green magic washed over him in a wave starting from his feet to the top of his head, startling him. Gasping, he both saw and felt the scrapes on his knuckles turn into flawless pink skin, green sparks lingering over them for a moment before fading. Even the split on his lip was gone, replaced by smooth flesh. “Oh wow.”

“Bit of a scrapper, aren’t you?” Dice had an expression of mild approval on his face as Nathaniel flexed his hands and mouth. “What happened to the other guy?”

The boy grinned cheekily. “Gave him two black eyes and broke his nose.”

Matron Abby’s face went pale. “Nathaniel Foundling!”

“It wasn’t my fault! Robby started it! He and his gang were waiting for me when I left the bakery.” Nathaniel argued, frowning. “I already told you when we were in the backyard!”

Robin snorted. “He’s Company material, alright. He escalates as well as any of us.”

Laughing, Saintly grabbed the boy around the shoulders in a one-armed hug. “Good lad!” He ruffled his hair with the other arm. “Now, the difference between an adventurer and a mercenary, Weaver.”

Weaver shot him a dirty look.

Sighing, she smiled softly at Nathaniel. “Now, love, a mercenary isn’t that much different from an adventurer. In fact, mercenaries do everything an adventurer does. Monster culling, guarding caravans, exploring frontiers… But what adventurers don’t do is to accept requests that involve fighting other people.”

“Don’t adventurers fight each other often?” Nathaniel frowned. “I see it happen at the taverns

“What she’s saying is that the Company doesn’t mind getting paid specifically to fight or kill people,” Dice shrugged nonchalantly. Noticing the boy’s widening eyes, he snapped his fingers. “Pretty sure public schools teach about the last civil war. Do you know it?”

Nathaniel scratched his head, trying to pull together fragments of past history lessons. It wasn’t his fault history was boring! “Ummm… that it was the Tyrant of Mornesse who started it?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” the knight nodded. “Do you remember how it ended?”

Nathaniel tapped a finger under his now unblemished lower lip. “Something about the western allied armies managing to sneak into his camp?”

“Except that’s where your teachers and textbooks are wrong, kid. It wasn’t the western allied amy,” Saintly bopped the boy on the nose. “It was the Bad Company who sacked his camp. For all his creative use of explosives, he sure wasn’t ready for his own command tent to explode.” Cackling, the marauder mimed an explosion with his fingers, mouthing boom as he did so.

His eyes wide, Nathaniel stared at Saintly with his mouth slightly ajar. “Re—, really?”

Weaver nodded in affirmation. “The state paid the Company for it. The western allies were already struggling to hold the border of the plains due to thousands of soldiers deserting in the middle of the night. That’s the problem with the conscription of peasants, I guess. They would either rout or run when they sense that the battle isn’t going well.”

“That wasn’t what the news said when the war was over.” Matron Abby frowned.

Shrugging her shoulders, Weaver looked at the matron in the eye. “Because the truth’s not as pretty, Matron. The king does not want his people to lose faith in them.”

The chair creaked as Matron Abby leaned into it heavily. “That’s… a lot to take it.”

Robin’s smile was entirely sardonic. “It is what it is.”

“So, what happens now?” The matron asked resignedly, steepling her fingers with her hands in her lap.

There was a moment’s hesitation as the mercenaries glanced at each other before Weaver spoke up. “We’ll like to adopt Nathaniel as a ward of the Company,” the priest smiling at the boy as she mentioned his name. “But only if he is willing to come with us, that is.”

What? Nathaniel was thrown for a loop. Of course he wanted to be adopted. But on the other hand, it wasn’t a loving family he was joining, but a mercenary guild. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth.

Rum shifted where he stood, frowning. His feet were going numb. “Does it help if we say that the Company can provide a lot better than if he stays here? We wouldn’t know about other prospective people looking to adopt the kid, of course.”

Matron Abby raised her eyebrows in challenge. “And how exactly would you know?”

“Well, Matron,” Saintly gave a wry grin. “We were once orphans too.”

Nathaniel gaped. They were once like me too?

“The Company only accepts people who want to join out of their own free will, kid. It’s one of our rules. And besides, we can’t take you out of here without your consent anyway. I mean, we can kidnap you but—”

“I’ll do it.”

“—that kind of defeats the—Wait, what?”

Nathaniel nodded determinedly. “I do it. I want to join your company.”

Saintly tapped him on the nose, causing him to blink. “The Company, kid.”

“What? Nathaniel! Do you understand what you’re saying?” Matron Abby’s head shot up, her voice cracking in distress. “What if you get hurt? If you go with them, you learn—You’ll learn to kill people, and that’s wrong!”

Swallowing, Nathaniel turned towards the matron.

“I’ve—I’ve been doing some thinking. I’ll never be an accountant. I’ll never be a merchant, a tutor or a shopkeeper,” The boy wringed his hands. “I… was actually going to enroll in the legions when I’m sixteen. Remember that story you used to read to me when I was younger? The one where a girl falls down through a rabbit hole into Wonderland?”

Matron Abby let out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, Nathaniel…”

Nathaniel’s voice took on the cadence of a person reciting from memory. “Actually, the best gift you could have given her was—”

“—the lifetime of adventures.”

Everyone turned to look at Saintly.

“What? Children books are fun to read too!”

Rum snorted while Weaver looked at him, smiling exasperatedly. “I’m more surprised that you can read, actually.”

“Hey!”

Giggling, Nathaniel walked towards the matron to put a hand on her knee, squatting down as he did so. He looked up at her, grinning broadly. “What’s life without adventure?”

Matron Abby didn’t reply. Turning around in her seat, she took a sheet of paper from her desk. “Whichever amongst you that is Mister and Missus Black, sign here. Nathaniel, sign here on this corner please.”

There was a rustling of pen on paper.

“Oh, Nathaniel… “ Matron Abby ruffled his hair as she wiped at her eyes with a hand surreptitiously. Drawing in a quick breath, her voice became stronger. “From today onwards, your name will be known as Nathaniel Black.”

Leaning forward, the boy wrapped his arms around the matron, burying his face into her waist. He wasn’t crying, dammit! Releasing the matron, Nathaniel scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeves. Sniffling, he turned to see all five mercenaries smiling at him. “Are we going to go get my things now?”

Chuckling, Saintly pulled him closer by his shoulder and ruffled his already tousled hair. “That’s right. But first things first, Nathaniel…”

“Welcome to the family, little brother.”