> It is easy now to reflect on the past centuries’ practice of debt bondage of the ‘found children’ of this city as the unpleasant holdover of a barbaric practice from an unenlightened time. As if this practice was itself not a progressive evolution of the practice of children claimed from debtor parents as collateral, itself the progressive evolution of explicit enslavement. The latter of which can at least be credited with greater honesty in its purpose.

>

> Indeed, let us congratulate ourselves on our forward-thinking embrace of a kinder model and ignore the concurrent trends that have made the previous practice economically unviable, as the demand for skilled labour has blossomed with Calamut’s industry and made untrained hands sinful waste.

>

> Let us ignore these things and so leave open a door for a descent back into barbarity when it suits. For that is what we invite when we praise our own enlightened ways and fail to grapple with the dark reality of our past—and how close we really are to returning to it.

>

> “Children Found, Youth Lost”, A column by Jawn Grey, polemicist.

The three of them stood in the depths of the dark alleyway. Jack had been flung from a steady course into the unknown. But as the possibilities of this new future opened in his mind, he was surprised to find not fear, but anticipation.

Gravel gave him a steady look. “It seems you’ve found your mettle. That’s good, but you should know lad, this isn’t a load you need to bear alone.” The rumble of his voice filled the small space around them.

“You fell on our watch. On my spot. Failure tonight rests on us.” Slip spoke with a quiet intensity, raising her hand when Jack tried to object. “No, listen here. It was our duty to protect you, and we failed in that. It was only with the help of Dart that you’re well right now. I don’t know what kind of life she’s had to have a card that can temporarily roll back an injury, and to know how to deal with a broken carding, but I can’t thank her enough. We were helpless when you needed us, there’s a debt. So we’ll do right by you.”

Jack recognized that this was a matter of honour for them, and rather than dismissing it, merely nodded.

“Will your family keep to their blood? Do you have an apprenticeship contract that’s been broken?” Gravel queried.

For many in the petty merchant class, a third or fourth child might be ousted from their household if they carded unfavourably. Similarly, if he was contracted to a trade, half his potential utility would have been lost that night. It would be a rare tradesman that would take the years to help him build a deck that could be practical again, not when other talent would provide greater returns.

“My family won’t abandon me for this. We own our enterprise, and I’m the only one in any position to take it on. But they wouldn’t toss me aside anyway, we’re not of that disposition.” Jack answered.

“I didn’t really doubt it lad, you had to have gotten that good nature from somewhere, but I needed to make sure. Now for the formalities.” Gravel removed his mask, revealing a man in his late forties with a grizzled beard. “Harmon Found, journeyman clockwork intricist with the Good Gears Fraternity. My debt has been paid. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Jack integrated the new depth of understanding he’d just been given of Gravel—no, Harmon. ‘Found’ was the name given to children raised by the public creches of the city, institutions financed with the understanding that they shape their wards to the needs of the industry of the city. Rarely did those of his generation achieve the level of technical skill that Harmon had reached.

It must have been how he’d managed to pay off the ‘debt’ of his upbringing—a feat rarely pursued and even more rarely achieved by foundlings. In previous years those who hadn’t yet paid off this debt were denied many of the rights of other castes, but in the last couple of decades reforms had lifted many of these restrictions in Calamut.

Slip followed his example. “Cassandra Quixtep. Call me Cass. Courier First Class.”

Jack was not surprised to learn that Slip was a Quixtep. They were a well recognized clan of courier professionals, passing down training and expertise generation by generation. They had branches in most major cities, and specialized in rapid transport of valuable goods. On a few occasions, Jack’s father had made use of their services to contact clients on expeditions with critical information and they had always managed to complete these contracts.

Jack was taken aback. He’d seen their faces before, it had been inevitable through the years they’d spent in each other's company. But names were not shared casually among the night-runners, an egalitarian impulse that had grown out of the community’s collective love of their sport; the hangups of class and connections were left behind whenever possible.

Sharing their names and backgrounds was a gesture of trust and obligation, and Jack responded in kind. “Jack Lonquil, of Lonquil Insurers and Insights.”

Cass and Harmon exchanged glances. Jack knew what they must be thinking. He was the son of an expedition insurer and financier, one they may have heard of, but recognizably not one of the major players—not nobility.

They also would not be ignorant of the state of his trade. The expeditions into the wilds had been increasingly unsuccessful for years and, in response to the reduced returns investors, had shifted their capital to the industry of the Springworks, which had grown tremendously in response.

Jack’s father had inherited and grown the business during boom years when the dangers of the wilds seemed to be at an all time low. There are few so blessed as insurers who need never pay out claims and in such an environment social connections and affability were winning traits. After all, what use is a capacity for rigorous risk assessment when it all approximates to zero?

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Cass and Harmon would know that his house was relying on him developing a card of some analytical focus. A card to see them through the challenges of this era, and help them recoup the losses that had undoubtedly been bleeding them for years. And he had just lost one of his major chances for such a card.

“Well, the offer of an apprenticeship I intended to make seems insufficient now.” Harmon said.

“Ha!” Cass laughed. “And mine as well. I doubt you could keep your family in their accustomed lifestyle as a junior to the clan.”

“You’d be surprised.” Jack answered wryly. “We made quite a few sacrifices to stay afloat. Or at least, my parents did. The time of plenty didn’t extend far into my childhood. I appreciate your offers, I know what they must mean, and truly I am grateful. In any other life I’d be happy with either trade.”

“I regret it a touch to be honest—you would have made a fine intricist. Well, to practicalities. We won’t leave you with nothing. I don’t know what form the aid will take, but it will come.” Gravel said.

“And I don’t doubt it. For now, I need some time to think. I have the kernel of an idea, and if it grows as I suspect, I’ll need some help bringing it to fruition.”

“Are you a gardener now?” Cass asked dryly. She smirked contentedly as if anticipating a great response.

“What?” Jack answered, tilting his head in confusion.

“A kernel can be a seed, and then you said fruition... Ugh never mind.” Cass turned away, seemingly embarrassed by the flat reception to her pun.

“Maybe an arborist, looking to get my trees to bear fruit.” Jack, ever merciful, threw her a bone.

Cass blinked a few times before hunching over in guffaws, only controlling herself with tearful effort. “An arborist! I wish I’d thought of that!”

Jack and Harmon exchanged careful glances.

An eyebrow quirked, “Do you understand?”

A tentative shoulder shrug in reply. “Nope.”

Cass’ frankly baffling humour settled a tension that Jack didn’t realize he was holding. He understood that she was trying to put him at ease. That gesture, even knowing its intent, was deeply touching.

Harmon placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Anything you need Jack. We’ll do what we can.” Harmon spoke in his rough rumble, eyes locked to Jack’s own.

That was all that needed to be said. They parted then, and while they raised their masks to once again obscure themselves, Jack knew that he had steadfast allies for the challenges to come.

Atop the skywalks, Jack oriented himself for the journey home when a strange but distinctive shiver went down his spine. After a minute of running, it happened again and Jack realized what it was. He was feeling his ‘held’ cards be discarded, and then drawing a new set from his deck. He hadn’t realized at first what had happened, as with only five cards, each cycle gave him the same hand.

‘That’s going to get so annoying.’ But he was smiling while he thought it. He had cards. Broken, mostly useless, and fewer than expected, but cards nonetheless. For a moment all he could feel was anticipation for what he’d card next.

Standing alone on a rooftop in the middle of the night, future uncertain, he decided to experiment a little. It was just who he was.

First, he focused on the protection card which had saved him earlier. He immediately felt gratitude—it was still active even after a half-hour had passed. He wouldn’t need to trigger it before every use of his other, more troublesome card. He dubbed it ‘Vital Flow’, a functional enough description for his taste.

The other card was almost too silly—reorienting his body in space was... a card, alright. The facet that interested him was how it seemed to ‘fit’ in as a broken piece of his primary card. ‘Dash that can’t be aimed, meet your missing targeting.’ After a moment’s thought he knew what to call it.

‘Pivot.’ He activated it.

Instantly, he could sense his centre of gravity as a spot towards his core, just below his navel. He leaned forward experimentally and felt the spot shift in response. In addition there was a feeling like a new muscle, one that could ‘flex’ in any direction from that location in his core.

‘There might be possibilities there.’ He thought. But before he could continue his dabbling, the feeling faded. The effect had lasted only a handful of seconds, and now he could feel the gap in his cards where Pivot had previously sat.

He waited impatiently for his held cards to cycle over again, and was pleased to see Pivot return on cue with the tingle down his spine. He deliberated for a moment, musing about what to try in the few moments he would have after activation. With a plan in mind he activated it again.

‘Pivot’.

He jumped in the air and pushed, rotating himself clockwise, parallel to the transverse plane of his body. His vision blurred as he began to rapidly spin, managing a full rotation before bringing himself to an instantaneous halt in his original position.

Before the effect wore off he jumped again, this time neglecting use of the card and instead throwing his weight into a back-flip. But midway through the flip he pushed on the card, flipping himself forward into a crouched landing.

‘I’m not even dizzy.’ He laughed aloud, utterly delighted. The card was fast. The duration was short, but while active he’d felt total control of his orientation in space. His feelings of regret around losing his tester status with the night-runners faded some as the card opened up possibilities for acrobatics that would otherwise have been unimaginable.

‘I wonder if...’ He waited for his cards to cycle again, but then rather than trigger it immediately, settled in to wait another minute to trigger Pivot again. If he could just get the timing right, he would be able to functionally double the duration—at the expense of a longer cooldown. But just around when he thought the timing could be right, he felt the telltale tingle of another cycle.

‘Damn, missed the timing. I’ll need a timepiece for this.’

The setback didn't weigh much on him, after all he’d just discovered more utility than he’d ever expected to come of a broken card.

Spirits lifted, he resumed his journey home.