It took Kint longer than usual to reach his home in the government quarter. The sun glowed a deep orange behind the lingering fog of The Shroud. Shadows reached across cracked stone streets, reclaiming territory from the day. Kint’s thoughts were a jumble, as he made his way down the darkening road, moving by rote to avoid passers by or an unlucky crack in the sidewalk.

So much had happened, so much revealed, so much he had to worry about.

His mood darkened as the ember of a sun settled behind the roofline of an endless row of single story houses. The Government housing was as Standardized as it got in Kaden City. Warm light came through the street-facing windows of houses he passed, fighting back the darkness, fending off the settling motes of mist that drifted down cobbled streets.

Kint’s lip twitched at the thought of the Mayor's last words to him and Elsha. While it had been said as a joke, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were going to get worse. HQ’s resources would further want, thrusting he and Elsha to the fore.

The aged Inspector sighed as he turned onto the walkway leading to his Mage grown wooden house, feeling a long forgotten weight settle on his shoulders. He did not like the idea of having so many responsibilities. He preferred to focus on one at a time. Actually, he preferred to have none at all.

But things were going to get worse, he knew it. It was obvious from the stacks of Yellow and Red Orders on Fezelin’s desk that more was afoot than just rising crime rates or some overzealous Crier. The Quarter Commander had admitted as much. People were on edge. Lord Crecius’ Acolytes were clamping down. Combine that with what Kint had seen from Mr. Syfeeli…

He shook his head, resigned, reaching for the silver handle of his dark lacquered door. Trying to rid himself of the fowl winds that were blowing through District 13. He turned the handle, slumping against the door to push himself inside.

Upon entering, he was embraced by a sense of warmth and comfort. A fire was burning in the fireplace, the low glow of a lit stove beside it. In front of the fire were two cushioned leather chairs, and behind that a circular dining table with two wooden seats.

Kint removed his rumpled black coat placing it on the standing rack to his left. He paused for a moment as his hand brushed against a flakey crust of blood that had dried to the material. Red eyes overtook his mind at the sight. The words “I’ve found you.” Echoed in his ears.

“You’re Late…” Came an airy but authoritative voice from the other side of the room, startling him from his reverie.

The grizzled inspectors' worries were dragged away like a receding tide at the sound of that girlish voice. The warmth of familiarity and comfort rising to overtake his foul mood. He finished hanging his coat, a soft smile cracking the facade of his stone face.

Loosening his tie, he raised a quizzical eyebrow, saying “Oh…? Maybe I decided to skip dinner when I found someone had squirreled two delicious plums into my pockets.”

His smile grew as he watched a sheepish expression sprout on the freckled cheeks of his daughter. She leaned around the cushioned back of the chair she was sitting in, her shining dark hair whipped around her upturned nose as she turned, trying to hide the expression.

“I wouldn’t know who put those there.” She stated, reopening the book she’d been reading. “But whoever it was probably had your best interests at heart.”

“You sound more like your mother every day.” Kint replied, shaking his head as he made his way toward the dining table.

“Someone has to feed you, or else you’ll start looking older than you already do.” Came the response.

“I’m older than I’ve ever been, Nessa.” Kint quipped, as he ran a hand through his graying black hair.

“You’re 45!” Chirped the girl, giving him an offended glare.

“That’s pretty old for me.” He croaked, his own sheepish grin spreading on unshaven cheeks.

Nessa gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes, swiveling to sit forward in her chair.

Kint looked down at the table in front of him. There were two candles lighting the surface, which had been covered in a purple table cloth. All the ingredients for a delicious stew were laid out across it. The potatoes, onions, carrots, and celery had been peeled, cleaned, and placed into neat piles. Nessa had even dressed a chicken, removing the feathers, and getting rid of all the innards. A large cast iron stock pot sat at the edge of the table with the dark lid set to the side.

“You’ve got dinner all figured out don’t you.” Kint commented.

“I’m half done with my School work too.” The girl bragged.

“But it looks like you’ve forgotten to chop the vegetables, and carve the chicken.” Kint said in a rye tone.

“Do I have to do everything, Papa?” Nessa turned to give him a reproving look.

“A little too much like her mother.” Kint grumbled as he moved to grab a knife from the drawer behind him.

“What do they have you studying today?” The Old man asked, beginning to cut the potatoes into smaller chuncks.

“This week we’ve been studying the Apostles, and their Great Deeds.” She responded in a clipped tone.

“Shouldn’t you already know all that?” Kint asked, surprised. “Isn’t that 1st year history?”

“I mean… they taught us the Apostles in Rhymes and songs, but not really the history.” Nessa replied, scratching her head in thought. “And before this we mostly focused on the 2nd and 3rd ages. This is the first time we’ve read about The Founding.”

“Well I guess the broad strokes of it are pretty common knowledge anyway.” Kint murmured to himself, shaking his head.

“You know…” Nessa began, tentatively. “A lot of this is new stuff… I’m kind of having a hard time with it.”

“Do you want me to quiz you on it?” Kint asked, as he finished cutting the potatoes.

“Yes!” Came the quick answer, swirls of dark hair flailing around her face as she turned his way. Kint chuckled at the intensity of her anticipation, her freckled cheeks and bright blue eyes half covered by a curtain of raven hair. How could he say no to that face?

“Alright.” He stated, watching a smile bloom on his daughter's face. “But I have to get this food on the stove first, and you have to finish your other school work.”

“Ok!” She replied, spinning around again to attack the book in her lap.

Five minutes later, Kint had the pot on the stove, and was contentedly puffing on his well worn pipe, the anxieties of earlier forgotten. The old Inspector sat comfortable, one leg crossed over the other, in his cushioned leather chair, enjoying the soothing sights and sounds of the slow burning fire. Ness worked diligently beside him, reading textbooks and filling out worksheets with a pencil. The zealous intensity of her gaze as she worked to complete her tasks, reminding him so much of her Mother.

Kint released a sigh of contentment… which almost turned into a snore. An hour passed before Nessa finally said, “Done!” Rousing Kint from his near slumber.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Kint grunted and cleared his throat at the surprise, putting his pipe to his mouth to take a puff, only to realize it had gone out. He did away with the device, resting it on the table beside him.

“Alright.” He grunted, gathering himself as she gazed expectantly into his eyes. “So… The founding deeds of the Apostles, was it?” Kint asked. Nessa confirmed with a sharp nod. “I guess… we should begin at the beginning.” The grizzled inspector continued, finding his way as he spoke. He’d done this a hundred times before, but it never seemed to get easier. “Who… was the first Apostle. And how did he and the Prophet meet?” Kint asked.

“Clarette Syphone was the first Apostle. She…” His daughter emphasized, “...was the Noblewoman who saved Halvash from some mean children who hurt him when he was an orphan… I think.” She finished, trailing off at the end.

“You think?” Kint prodded.

“Clarette Syphone took in the Prophet when he had no home, even though she was a noblewoman and he was a beggar, which was not done at the time.” She finished, with more confidence, as if quoting from the book itself.

“Good.” Kint said, “Now, what was the Lesson that Halvash Ignus took from his first encounter with the Allmother?” Kint asked.

“He learned that help can come from anywhere.” Nessa said, again reciting from memory.

Kint grunted in approval, but followed up saying “Can you think of any other lessons one might take from this encounter?” Nessa thought for a moment, they probably didn’t cover any other lessons in the book. “Why do you think those children were hurting the Prophet?” Kint assisted.

Nessa put a finger to her chin again, glancing at the history book on the floor longingly.

“Umm… they didn’t like the way he looked?” She guessed.

“Close.” Kint grumbled. Before reaching over to his pipe and beginning to repack it. “The Prophet had a birthmark over his left eye as a child, and the other children made fun of him for it.” Kint continued as he grabbed a stick from a basket beside the fire and began to roast the tip in the flames.

“But the statues of him around the city don’t have anything like that?” Nessa commented, confused.

“It’s said that the mark grew less prominent as he got older, probably as he got more tan.” Kint pontificated. “But the point is, that he had the mark, and he was hated for it. And the lesson we take from that, is that we shouldn’t judge people for things they cannot control. Whether it be a birthmark, or the class they were born into.”

Nessa nodded thoughtfully, asking “But why isn’t that in the book?”

Kint thought for a moment before responding, choosing his words carefully. “It is.” The girl gave him a skeptical eyebrow. “But meaning is more valuable the harder it is to find.” The lack of understanding was evident in his daughter's face. “Shall we continue.” Kint said, as he grabbed the glowing stick and lit his pipe with it, taking a few small puffs to make sure the tobacco was fully charred. He felt a bit guilty for not telling her the truest answer to her question, but he wanted to keep his daughter free of cynicism for as long as he could.

“Let’s skip around a bit.” King started again, “How about the Fourth Apostle… Who was it, and what was their first great deed?”

“The Fourth Apostle was Jocinder Doene, The Politician.” Nessa said, without hesitation. “His first great deed was to negotiate the release of Kalavan Korth, the third Apostle, from the Galvan Empire. He did it…” She paused for dramatic effect, “... Using only his political acumen, his cunning, and a well placed lie.” She finished the line with a flourish and a mischievous grin.

“Mhmm.” Kint grunted in ascent, releasing a smooth jet of smoke from his lips. “You like the Fourth Apostle don’t you?” He asked.

She looked at him with those earnest blue eyes and said, “I think he’s amazing.” She said with reverence, “To go to the Galvan empire, free your friend, and get away with it only using words… Incredible.”

“But he lied.” Kint countered with a serious expression.

“Yeah, but he did it to save his friend.” She replied, voice laced with innocence.

“So you’re saying it’s okay to lie as long as it’s for a friend?” Kint questioned, his face not giving anything away.

“Yes…?” She said slowly, knowing he was testing her but choosing to stick with her instincts.

“And what if I told you…” Kint began, taking another puff from his pipe, “That the lie Jocinder Doene told that day, caused a civil war to break out in the Govan Empire. A war that hurt a lot of people.” Nessa looked perplexed at Kint’s words. He continued after another healthy drag from his pipe, “And after The Fourth Apostle returned, how do you think the Prophet greeted him? With open arms like a hero?” The graying man asked.

This time Nessa shook her head slowly, taking a queue from the tone of her father’s words.

“No…” He affirmed. “The Prophet had him Flogged 20 times in front of a whole city of people.” Kint finished. He took another puff of his pipe as the meaningful silence spread, before asking. “Can you think of why the Prophet would do that?”

“Because lying is bad.” She said, a look of dejection on her freckled face.

“Exactly.” Kint nodded, continuing “He wanted to show his people that no lie goes unpunished. Even if it is for a friend.”

“Ok…” Nessa said slowly, making a genuine effort to digest her fathers words. “But Papa…” She hesitated. “... I don’t think any of the stuff you said is in the book…”

“Well the Apostles write the books Sweetheart.” Kint replied offhandedly with a stream of pipe smoke. It was only after he caught a glimpse of his daughter's concerned expression that he realized the mistake he’d made. He turned his shoulders to look directly into her eyes. “Think about it this way. If you were going to write a book about your mother to give to everyone at school, you wouldn’t put all the things you didn’t like about her in it, would you?” Kint asked. She shook her head and Kint continued, “Right, so that’s what the Apostles do, they’re proud of their Ancestors, they want people to like them, so they put all the good things they did in these books.” He pointed to the book, trying to put as positive a spin on things as he could.

She followed his finger to the book, her mind obviously turning over his explanation. Finally she spoke, “Ok… But I don’t think they’re going to ask me about what you’re talking about. So…” She started, giving him a consoling look, “Can you just test me on what's in the book?”

Kint let out a hearty chuckle at her response, wheezing a bit as smoke from his pipe caught in his lungs. Catching his breath, he responded “Sure.”

After that, things proceeded quickly, with Nessa reciting the Apostles and their deeds like she was reading from the book. She spoke easily of Alshash Vorva, the Prophet’s Teacher, who’s descendent ruled over their district. Continuing smoothly into, The General, Kalavan Korth, who saved the Prophet’s people from the Dorvine Raiders of the Sea. Following up with Seevert Inkhold, The Magistrate, who tracked down a Killer she’d set free from lack of Evidence, and apprehended him by herself, pushed on by her sense of Justice alone. Nessa seemed to enjoy the story of the 5th Apostle almost as that of Jocinder Doene.

The time passed quickly, and before they knew it, the room smelled of delicious stew. Kint stood, and grabbed a rag from the table and lifted the lid from their boiling brew.

“Dinner’s ready.” He stated, as he lifted the pot from the stove and moved it over to the Kitchen table. He retrieved the bowls and spoons from the cupboards behind the table, setting them in front of the two chairs. Kint noticed that Nessa was reorganizing her books and papers, about to put them away.

“Hold on a second.” Kint Admonished. “We’re not done yet, are we?”

“Aren’t we?” She responded, confused. “But that was the last one?”

“What about this Sixth?” Kint asked, a hint of haughtiness in his voice.

“The Sixth?” She asked, face completely blank of understanding.

It was Kint’s turn to be confused. Were they really not teaching the Sixth anymore…

“What’s the Sixth, Papa?” Nessa asked.

“It’s nothing.” Kint said, mind growing distant as the implications of what he’d learned began to settle for him.

The Sixth was an important figure to the Kadenites. Perhaps the most important. To simply erase him from history…

“Papa, please can you tell me…” Nessa asked, drawing out the ‘please’ for extra emphasis.

“I’m sorry Sweetheart… but I don’t think I can do that…” He said, hesitantly.

“Papa.” A stern voice cut in. And the room seemed to grow a little bit colder. Do I have to keep this from her? He thought, guilt washing over him. She’s not so young anymore… He couldn’t think of why the story was dangerous in the first place… Why wouldn’t they tell this story… Why couldn’t he tell it?

“Of course.” He responded after a long pause, “But some other time, okay Nessa?” The girl looked at him with an evaluating eye, which really reminded him of her Mother.

“Okay.” She relented, and the warmth returned, the uncomfortable moment passed.

Kint wiped sweat from his brow, rubbing his temples a bit as a small headache pressed behind his forehead. He did not like arguing with his daughter.

They ate dinner in silence after that, but it was not an anxious silence. The serenity of his home returned quickly after their little confrontation.

Once dinner was done, Kint sent Elsha to get ready for bed as he cleaned up the table. Finishing that, he sat down in his leather chair, and once again began to puff at his pipe. Sitting in contented silence, he playfully thought of what story he’d tell his jewel before bed.