image [https://i.imgur.com/jpOYNWV.png]

Late in the afternoon, we were standing in the courtyard outside. Hagen had helped me pack a couple of suitcases and a duffel bag. Ten years of wardrobe didn't amount to much when the school provided bedding and uniforms.

We’d packed down what clothes I called my own: some regular clothes, formalwear, practical wear, and various outdoor implements.

Standing there, I could just imagine my father on the threshold, his usually stoic face wearing an annoyed expression at being forced to wait. I huffed out a breath of annoyed amusement at the imagery.

Instead, it was Dean Summers who checked his watch as we waited for my father's associate to arrive.

I thought back on all the times I'd fantasised about running away as a kid—just pack a bag and follow the road. Of course, it had never come that far, false pride and stubbornness keeping me locked in place, and when I got older I realised how silly the notion had been. I'd have been picked up by the police, or perhaps worse, in short order.

Hagen and I both turned when we heard the sound of wheels on gravel.

A moment later we spotted an older model pickup truck–a Ute–driving down the dirt road at a leisurely pace. The old car had that classical 90s square design but looked well cared for. It was a metallic blue body, the service body covered by a blue tarp, with tinted windows, aluminium rims, and high beams on top. It was clear that this car was someone’s baby.

It came to a stop in front of Hagen and me, billowing a dust cloud in its wake. Hagen coughed politely.

The engine turned off, the front door opened, and out stepped the largest man I'd ever seen.

He must’ve been at least seven feet tall and wide as a barn door. His head poked out first, hair a flaming red. The rest of him followed quickly, a pair of aviators covering his eyes and a big beard to match his hair, reaching his chest. In the right corner of his mouth, a lit cigarette hung limply.

Wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and various band patches filling almost every inch of the thing, he had large tree trunk muscular arms that ended in a couple of giant hands sporting a variety of rings. Oh, and he wore a pair of matching jeans. He looked like a biker. A big biker.

Closing the car door, he stood for a second and took a deep breath. Then he coughed.

“Wassat SMELL,” he drawled in an accented baritone I couldn’t quite place as he spat out the cigarette and squashed it beneath a size seventeen boot.

“Fresh air, I expect,” Hagen replied dryly. “The inside of that thing must smell horrible.”

I looked at him in shock, it wasn’t like him to talk to guests like that.

“LITTLE BROTHER!” the large man grinned and ran around the car to pick up Hagen in a bear hug as if he weighed nothing.

To him, he probably didn’t. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.

Little brother?

“You were born three minutes before me, Colson,” Hagen replied indignantly as he hung limply in Colson’s embrace, not returning the hug.

“Still counts dunnit,” was Colson’s only reply as he set him back down, still grinning.

“I see that basic courtesy still eludes you.”

“Bah, what’s courtesy 'tween family.”

“I was not talking about me,” Hagen said, his eyes flickering my way briefly.

Colson looked my way, hands on his hips, and addressed me, “T’is the runt issit? Pleased ta meetcha kid. Name’s Colson, but ye can just call me Colson.”

My mind still somewhat foggy from what I’d just witnessed I belatedly realized he was holding out one of those giant hands for me to shake.

“What? Right. Sorry. Ethan Margrave, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Grabbing his hand, I tried to give it a firm shake as I’d been taught and was astounded when nothing about his grasp changed. Not an inch. It was like shaking hands with a block of concrete.

Holding my hand firmly in place, Colson leaned over and spoke to his brother in a stage whisper, “Why’s he talk like you, Hagen? Didja secretly raise a copy of yerself?”

“Hardly. Young master Ethan has been schooled extensively by various tutors over the years. I have had little to do with that,” was the response.

“Oh, well thas’ good then, just as well really.”

“How so?” Hagen asked.

“Well, what ye have cannae be taught can it?”

“Thank you, Colson, that is kind of you to say,” Hagen looked surprised but pleased.

“Yeah,” Colson continued, “ma told me tha’ when ye came out a lil’ after me, she noticed there was a stick lodged firmly up yer ass. I see you still haven’t managed to pull it out,” he finished with a completely straight face.

I snorted a laugh, despite my best efforts to contain it. Alright, maybe I didn't try very hard.

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“AHA, so he has a sense ‘o humour, eh? Now tha’ I can work with,” Colson exclaimed, beaming at me.

"Ahem", dean Summers cleared his throat politely.

“Ah, ye must be Dean Summers” Colson yelled pulling off his aviators as he started running towards the dean at a light jog.

That was probably the most disturbing and hilarious thing I have ever seen, the sheer look of horror on the dean's face as this mountain of a man came bearing down on him. I don't know if he intended to hug him as well, but that's what Dean Summers was fearing by the looks of it.

Before Colson could get closer than five feet to him, his expression changed from dread to resolve as he smoothly pulled his hand out for a shake.

“Close your mouth, sir,” Hagen supplied.

I realized I hadn’t closed it since Colson stepped out of the car. I did so.

Speaking in a calm but clipped voice, the dean spoke to Colson, "Dean Summers, nice to meet you."

“Ah, not a hugger are ye Summers?” Colson’s back was turned towards us, but I could hear his smile as he confronted the dean. “Fine. Have it yer way. Put ‘er there, then.”

They shook hands–normally–and lowered their voices. I saw Dean Summers pass a package along to Colson.

“Is that really your brother?” I asked, turning to Hagen, “You look nothing alike.”

He nodded.

“That he is, loath as I am to admit it. I have five siblings, actually, though Colson is probably the strangest of the litter,” he sighed before continuing, “we are all multizygotic sextuplets with monozygotic traits.”

Frowning in confusion I opened my mouth only to be cut off.

“You will understand in a moment,” Hagen added.

Sextuplets? Wow.

Done talking or whatever they were doing, Colson and Dean Summers walked over to us. Without his aviators on, I immediately noticed that Colson had the same eye condition as his brother.

Ah, so that’s what he meant by sharing some traits.

“Seeing as you've already been introduced, I will keep it brief,” Dean Summers began. “Ethan,” he looked at me. “You'll be in Colson’s care from now on, as per your father's instructions. As his charge, it will be your duty to follow his directions to the best of your ability. You're to drive to New Orleans to deliver a package for your father first, but Colson has been given leeway to plan the rest of your time together as he sees fit.”

He turned to Colson who stood with his arms crossed, his playful smile from earlier gone.

“Colson, Ethan's father is putting you in charge of Ethan’s care,” he said, “He wrote that he would trust you with his life and is now entrusting you with his. You must guide and nurture him to the best of your ability and protect him if such a situation occurs where he cannot protect himself.”

“Whatever happens in the future, you've done well for yourself here, Ethan,” the dean turned and complimented me, “I know it hasn't been easy for you, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to do more, but my hands have been tied. Before you go, your father wants you to have this. He wrote that it's a keepsake that's been passed down in your family for generations. It was passed to him when he turned fifteen and now he's passing it onto you,” he said as he produced a jewellery box from his coat pocket and handed it to me.

Surprised, I accepted the box and opened it tentatively. Inside was a necklace, silver, it looked like. The chain was thin, and long enough that I could put it on over my head – which was good since there was no clasp to open it. The ornament was a flat circle a bit larger than a quarter, with an intricate pattern and some text inscribed around the edge.

“He wrote that you are to wear it against your skin and that you keep it hidden from prying eyes. The ornament is made of platinum. People have been hurt for less than what it's worth,” he continued.

“Why give it to me now?” I asked, puzzled, “Wouldn’t it be better to keep it safe in a bank or something?”

“It is Tradition,” came the dean's reply. I thought he was done and was about the protest that I couldn’t possibly walk around with an heirloom like that when he elaborated.

“It's Tradition for a child of the Margrave line to receive the necklace when they come of age or are accomplished enough to be considered an adult. While you aren't eighteen yet, he considers you to be accomplished enough to receive it now,” the dean finished.

Damn Dad, way to deliver a punch to the gut.

Another sort of compliment from my father? I was completely baffled. This had been such a weird day. Maybe I was being easy, but the dean's positive wording made me feel slightly warm inside.

“Alright fine, if it means that much to him,” I muttered, touched by his words despite myself. I pulled the necklace over my head and tucked it under my shirt.

Looking up I noticed that Colson was staring very intently at where the necklace was currently hidden. His eyes were seriously intense, all his previous cheerfulness gone.

Hagen, following my gaze, addressed his brother. “Colson, Ethan is your charge now. Remember?”

Colson seemed to shake himself awake and responded, “Right-o, sorry bou’ tha’. I forgot myself for a ‘mo.”

“Thanks, Hagen,” Dean Summers intoned, “we won't keep you any longer, you two have a long drive ahead of you. Hagen, if you will follow me, Mr Margrave had some instructions for you as well. Ethan, be well. Colson.” He shook hands with Colson and me and started up the path to the school.

“Goodbye master Ethan,” Hagen bowed hand over his heart. “It has been a pleasure knowing you and a pleasure watching you grow. While my brother may be a ridiculous buffoon– “

Colson made an outraged noise, but Hagen barrelled over him,

“– he is very, very good at what he does. You would do well to listen to him.”

Colson harrumphed affirmatively.

Feeling slightly awkward I tried to put on a stoic expression as I bowed to him in turn.

“Not ‘young master’ anymore, huh? Guess I really am moving up in the world. Thanks, Hagen. And likewise. I hope I get to see you again in the future. What’re you gonna do now?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll figure something out. My indenture to you and your father may be over, but there are always jobs to find. Contracts to fulfil. Goodbye, Ethan. Goodbye, Colson.”

“Bye, Hagen.”

“Farewell, brother,” Colson said, “may the world see you safe and the paths you tread blest.”

“We will keep the wheels turning until we are all that is left,” Hagen responded.

They shared a knowing look and Hagen departed. I swear this day just kept on getting weirder and weirder. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked Colson what it was about.

“Hm? Oh, just an old rhyme our folks taught us. Nothing to worry about.”

“What happened to your accent?” I noticed immediately that his strange drawl was gone.

Colson chuckled.

“Noticed that did you? I play it up a bunch when I talk to my brother, I know it annoys him. I don’t actually talk like that. I’m way more relaxed and informal. No uptightness here, no siree. That means no “sir’ing”, “teacher” or “master” when you talk to me alright? If you feel the need to call me something other than my name, call me boss. And don’t talk like a friggin’ robot. Relax,” he gave me a piercing look.

“Uh, sure, I’ll do my best. Might take a while to get used to.”

“No worries, kid. How’re you feeling?”

Unused to actually being asked about my feelings I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, “Fine? I think?”

“Really?” Colson sounded skeptically and snorted. “You just got uprooted and thrown a massive curveball. It’s okay to have conflicting emotions about it you know.”

Shrugging, I walked to the service tray and loosened some of the tarp. I threw in both my suitcases and my duffel, then walked to the passenger’s side of the car and pulled the door open—giving him a pointed look. Maybe Colson had my best interest at heart, or maybe he was looking for a way to manipulate me, but either way, I’d just met the guy.

No way was I going to open up that particular can of worms right now.

Colson nodded once and slapped the roof of his car, talking to himself, “You don’t wanna talk about it right now. Got it. Well, you’ve got the gist of it kid. Let’s get going.”

He put on his aviators, opened the driver’s door and climbed in.