I awoke with a start.

The sudden and loud bang, bang, bang rattling from my front door was worse than anything My Handler had ever done to wake me.

I blinked a few times and groaned. Light was just starting to come through the windows at the front of my apartment. I pulled my blankets over my head and snuggled into the absolutely luxurious bed.

Bang, bang, bang pounded on my door again, harder this time.

I threw my covers back and groaned and complained softly, “Why?”

With an effort of will, I rolled out of the bed and found my trousers on the floor. I pulled them on as more banging came from my front door. I stumbled a little as I moved toward the door. When I got there, I took a moment to stand straighter and remind myself of who I was. I was Burion Belov. I was a Rychanian youth. I was proud of my family and of my people. I was here to represent my nation. More importantly, I was here to ensure the Hero did not end up in the hands of Rychania.

The pounding came again, and I opened the door swiftly. It was the cattleman from the day before.

In Blokena, and with a lot of attitude, I demanded, “May I help you?”

“Evaluation, meet me downstairs in ten minutes,” the cattleman ordered, then turned and began back down the stairs, his booted feet thudding heavily with each step. He clearly wasn’t happy to be here.

I grunted in irritation then slammed my door shut, fulfilling my role of an overly proud youth. Meanwhile, my mind was running a kilometre a minute. What evaluation? I had heard nothing from either my Handler or the orders from the Agency about an evaluation. Were they going to test my skills? In what way?

Still, I rushed through my apartment, shedding my dirty trousers, and digging into the armoire for a set of clean clothes. Then I was into the bathroom, slicking my hair back with copious amounts of pomade. I took a minute to preen and make sure I looked perfect before I gave a nod of satisfaction and headed for the door, grabbing my magic satchel from the hook next to the door and putting it over my shoulder as I went. The last thing I did was put on my beast fur lined hat and long coat. Fully ready, I opened my door and stepped into the hall, nearly running Al over in the process.

“Ah, comrade Alphonse, you too?”

Al scoffed, “Apparently.” He looked utterly displeased to see me, which made me smile internally.

“Well, we should not keep the rude cattleman waiting, agreed?” I asked, snapping my clothes straighter and turning to go down the stairs first. I heard Al practically stomping behind me.

Outside, the soft morning air was chilling, but the city was already alive with activity in the early morning gloom. I could smell the baked breads and breakfast porridges as they cooked in people's homes. Crowds of people filled the wide cobblestone streets and spilled out of the taverns and shops, laughing and talking loudly. As I stepped off the stone stairs I could hear several conversations at once: a man in a dark leather jerkin selling wool from his cart to a woman in a skirt as long as her legs; two men arguing over the superiority of one breed of cattle over another; an old man showing a six-year-old how to juggle wooden balls.

On the sidewalk, the armed cowman shifted impatiently as he stood next to a wooden carriage, a figure beside him had his back to me but the hunch of the shoulders was a short, squat build that was familiar somehow.

As I saw the figure turn towards me, my stomach twisted up in knots. It was Esteban. The young squish faced dogman I had met on the ship, the Concepción. My first real friend. What was he doing here? Was this some kind of Agency test? Were they trying to see if I could stay undercover? What was going on here? My mind raced with questions and suspicions.

“Steward, you’re alive! When Chef Alma and First Mate Sanz never returned to the ship I feared the worst, but now, here you are,” he rattled off excitedly in Aulidoan upon seeing me.

I tilted my head side to side in feigned confusion, with a thick Rychanian accent and in Blokena, I asked, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying, do I know you?”

Esteban looked more confused, and it appeared to be genuine. In a rough Blokena, he replied, “I . . . you . . . I’m sorry, I must have confused you with someone I once knew.” Unfortunately, he still didn’t look convinced, but thankfully didn’t press the issue. I felt bad about that. Esteban was my friend, and it really was good to see him, but I couldn’t break cover even for a moment, especially not when the Hero was so close.

“In,” the cattleman ordered, opening the carriage door, and motioning for us to get in.

I did as ordered, sitting on one side of the bench. Al took the other side which left Esteban to sit between us, looking very uncomfortable.

The carriage began to move and I kept an eye out the window, not that I could see much with my poor vision. It was a few minutes before Esteban broke the silence. “So, I’m Esteban Perrodino,” the dogboy said with a slight reminiscent wheeze. Esteban carried the curse of breed known as Pug. It made him short, often short of breath, and generally weak. However, in his own words, it also made him adorable.

“Burion Belov,” I introduced myself. “Pleased to meet you, comrade Esteban. Tell me, have you ever visited Rychania?”

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Esteban shook his head.

“It is a beautiful country. The architecture would certainly impress you. Also, the dogwomen there . . . they would certainly love to meet you,” I said, repeating a similar line as I had the day before when it was just me and Al.

Unlike Al, Esteban seemed really interested, “Really?”

I nodded. “Are you or are you not attending the Royal Mancer Academy? My country honours and lifts up those skilled as we are. You would do well there indeed.”

Esteban blushed slightly.

“Don’t listen to him,” Al stepped in. “He tried giving me the same pitch yesterday. I’m sure it’s just something his government ordered him to say to as many of the students as possible.”

Esteban furrowed his eyebrows, but I instantly defended the honour of my country. “A proud Rychanian would never say such things because he was asked. I am honoured by my nation. Proud of our accomplishments. Just because you are shortsighted does not mean you are in any way correct about what I feel about my nation.”

Al snorted. “I’m sure. I’m also sure you weren’t told to try to get close to me. Not going to try to lure me in with all kinds of promises for power because of who I am?”

I quirked an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “You are a student at the Royal Mancer Academy. Are you saying you are . . . somehow more important than that?”

Al flinched. “No, I’m not all that important. Just a student like you said. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong about you and whatever orders your country may have given you.”

I frowned and was going to retort when Esteban interjected, “Please don’t fight, guys. We should be trying to get along. We’re at Mancer. This is the second most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Second?” Al asked, showing interest in Esteban, and ignoring me. I thought that was good. I had driven him to disliking me and it seemed like he already had a level of distrust for Rychania. Maybe this mission wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

Esteban grinned and nodded. “So, just after my Job Day, I was hired to work on a pleasure galleon, the Concepción. We were sailing along the coast of the Aulido Empire, ” he started. Then he talked about meeting a badgerboy, me, and working in the galley, and then how the Imperial Whispers were after me. How I hid on the ship and my eventual escape. “And I never saw him, or Chef Alma again. When I saw Burion, I thought it was my friend, but I guess not.”

It was good that he thought I was someone else. Unfortunately, I really needed to drive it home that I was not the same person. “Sounds like a fool to me. He was probably caught.”

Esteban looked offended then sad. “He’s still alive, I know it. My boon tells me as much.”

“Then he’s rotting away in prison. You are better off without such despicable kin in your life. Anyone chased by government agents is a traitor. Traitors deserve no quarter or compromise. In Rychania, we learn young how vital our government is. It is only through good and strong leadership that a nation may thrive.”

I saw I was upsetting Esteban and I hated myself for it. But it would hopefully disassociate me from the boy he knew as Steward. Thankfully, Al interrupted, “Leave it be. I’m sure his friend had a good reason. Not all governments are good to their people.”

I frowned and folded my arms, turning away slightly to stare out the window.

Al continued his conversation with Esteban. “Sounds like an exciting story and your friend sounds like someone I could be friends with. But where are my manners? I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself before, I’m Al, Al Romano.”

“Nice to meet you, Al” Esteban said excitedly.

I may have been frowning externally, but inside I was happy. My first friend might have made a new friend, someone truly worthy of his loyalty and visa versa.

The two continued chatting amicably as the carriage trundled higher and higher up the mountain. While they talked, I listened for any pertinent information.

“Oh, Wheaten, I’ve never met someone with the Wheaten curse of breed,” Esteban exclaimed, getting a wide grin from Al.

“Yeah, I’m a little too smart for my own good. Clever, stubborn, and mischievous,” Al explained. That was probably the most valuable information that came from the two of them talking.

I was happy when I heard Esteban’s reason for being at the academy. “I unlocked Magical Cooking not too long ago. Got invited straight away.”

“I’ve heard that’s really hard to learn,” Al commented.

Esteban smiled a little sadly. “My instructor, err, Chef Alma, she believed that the key to learning Magical Cooking was a skill called Synesthesia,” he paused and looked at me before looking back to Al. “My friend, the badgerboy I told you about. He knew the skill. I actually helped him improve it to Intermediate Rank. I learned enough about it, that I was able to learn it on my own. Not much later I understood why she thought it was so important. And not long after I figured that out, I figured out Magical Cooking.”

“I’ve always wanted to try Magical Cooking, but Chefs with that skill are super rare. It’s no wonder the academy snatched you up,” Al said. “You’ll have to make me something sometime.”

Esteban smiled, “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

“So, you will be taking the Cooking skill class?” I asked, finally rejoining the conversation.

Esteban nodded and added, “Intermediate Rank and the Magical Cooking skill class.”

That made me frown. I hadn’t realised the classes were separated by Rank. “I am also something of a cook, though my skill is only Beginner Rank. I thought we might have the class together, but apparently not.”

Esteban gave me an odd look and for a moment I worried I’d said too much and he was starting to think I was his friend after all. I was caught off-guard when he commented, “You look more like the fighting sort than the cooking sort.”

“And what does the cooking sort look like?” I asked, feeling slightly hurt. “I’ll have you know my mother was an excellent cook. I take my cooking very seriously to honor her.”

Esteban looked abashed by my statement. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you or her. You just . . . you look strong, much stronger than me or even Al. So, I thought . . . I thought you were focusing more on the fighting stuff.”

While I appreciated the compliment to my physique, I knew I needed to continue pushing Esteban away. I grunted and waspishly stated, “I am more than just a fighter, thank you very much.”

“Of course, you are,” Al teased, finally showing a bit of that mischievous side of himself. I would have liked to laugh, instead I huffed and acted petulantly. Showing him that it bothered me, even if it really didn’t. After all, I had a role to play.

Thankfully, the carriage stopped, and the cattleman put an end to any further teasing when he commanded, “Out.” I thought he sounded more annoyed than he had previously.