The ratling had seemed only barely surprised to see him the next day but said nothing. Clarke matched the stony face. It was only business.

“Paper please. A quill. Some ink.”

“I'm not a store.”

He put a few coins on the counter and the ratling took them, looked them over for no real reason other than habit. He'd never seen any counterfeit money this far out but habit was hard to break.

“Will you sell me those things?”

“Did you steal these?”

“No.”

“Good. You don't seem like the type who can keep their mouth shut if they're caught. I know I'd somehow end up in trouble for taking your stolen goods.”

He handed over the items and ignored the boy, their transaction done.

Clarke had a seat in the corner, the wisp of his mother still haunting the place in his imagination, and wrote. Every detail he could manage, everything that had happened and anything that would be of use.

He could feel it welling up in him as he wrote but he tamped it down, pushing it way down inside. It wouldn't help if he broke again.

Done.

It didn't reveal anything now that he looked it over but it was down, fresh in his memory.

A new sheet of paper.

1. Recall events of kidnapping.

2. Find the people who took mother.

Writing it down like that really made him realize how ridiculous it was. Just like the ratling said, he didn't have any real fighting abilities or experience. They'd probably kill him.

He chose to glare at the paper, making it shrivel up in fright in his mind at daring question him.

So what? So what, I'll do it anyway.

His stomach loudly let him know it was time for lunch and he cleaned his spot, leaving the tools all together. He wasn't going to buy food from the ratling so he headed outside and towards the market.

His nerves ran electric as he neared, a stumbling worry overtaking his new resolve. The last time he'd been there the shock of the whole world changing had driven him a little bit crazy.

A deep breath, push everything down. He was a human at least, they wouldn't run him off. He'd act normal.

People did look as he entered the market but he crept around through the back ways behind buildings, only appearing long enough to cross a road.

There's the bakery.

He'd come this way without any real intent. It was just where he always went for food but he didn't think he could go in. He'd made a big enough scene the last time, the epicenter of his biographical madness of the town's inhabitants.

His musings were interrupted by a thick arm clasping around his neck, held in place by the other hand.

“I knew it!”

Wade's familiar voice.

“You're a spy!”

“'m not a spach!”

He tried to say but his new necklace mangled his speech.

“Exactly what a spy would say!”

General rumblings of agreement revealed a few of the other kids were somewhere back there though Clarke was not in a position to turn his head to see them, proving Wade's false logic correct.

“Give me one good reason not to break your neck, peeping tom!”

Clarke pulled at the arm, tried to get himself some air but there was a reason Wade was so well respected in a small town where all entertainment centered on strength.

“Weee...wrrrr...freeenz...”

Everything came out in a rolling growl and he pounded on Wade's arm, jerking his elbow back to hit him in the ribs. It was like jabbing a side of beef.

The next part Wade hissed into Clarke's ear, spitting on his face.

“I don't like elves, got that! You keep your mouth shut, leave town and I'll only have to beat you up this once.”

Wade made very good on that promise the moment his message was delivered.

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

In the end he hadn't gotten anything to eat but he had sat at the feasting table of pain for about five whole minutes of being punched anywhere a fist could reach and not a single punch was anything less than a haymaker.

He'd limped out of the alley with rocks hailing after him from the others until he was safe on the edges of town.

Just...gotta...

He did not make it past figuring out what he had to gotta before he fell on his knees, once more in front of the library. It was quickly becoming his favorite patch of dirt as he considered throwing up from being hit in the stomach so many times but there was nothing in his stomach to empty. He crawled to the wall beside the library door and had a seat.

I should just leave...couldn't be worse than this...

His eyes rolling around in his head had hidden the large coach a little up the road, the giant horses and the reins in the hand of a gruff looking man in a tight little black coat.

The door swung open, nearly crushing him but he managed to get a leg up and keep it from turning him into a new smudge on the wall. About the most fancifully dressed woman came out, plumes and feathers and bright colors pulled out of a rainbow.

“I do not CARE what the other nobles say about your potions. If you can't prove they don't do as people claim then I want no part of it. My Ellsworth is not going to simply drink anything some snake oil salesman gives me, no matter how highly recommended.”

The ratling walked out after her, a small ceramic bottle in one hand that hid the contents.

“It's not like I just keep injured animals or people lying around! That's unreasonable! But if you want your dog's leg to go gangrene and fall off that's on your head.”

She turned, her face puffing up in anger when she saw Clarke half hidden by the door.

“There's one right there! Use that one!”

The ratling looked confused and turned to see the boy there. Clarke looked back and forth between them with no clue what was going on.

“Fine! But don't expect a demonstration every time, I'm not always going to have broken children or syphilitic philanderers lying around. My word and reputation are good enough for everyone else but no, not the great Lady Fullwall.”

He pulled Clarke out from the door, Clarke whimpering as his fresh bruises smarted. He would have protested but the tip of the bottle was shoved in his mouth and the foulest mouthful of liquid grass clippings poured down his throat.

Clarke sputtered and coughed, fingers grasping in the dirt when a surge of dullness passed over him, his body loosening like he wasn't a part of it any more.

“See? Black eyes disappearing, bruises clearing up and faster than most of those other potion pushers. Are you satisfied or do I need to bring an orphan back from the dead for you too?”

The woman smiled, holding her hand out.

“No, that's good enough. That wasn't so hard, now was it?”

She waved her coachman over who handed over a small bag of coins and the rat ducked inside to come back with a few bottles. A small dog poked its head out of one of the windows on the carriage, one paw wrapped in bandage.

“Don't let it drink more than half a bottle. If you drink more than you need it can cause upset stomach.”

“You gave the boy a whole bottle.”

Clarke looked up, eyes wide that he really was just going to start puking his guts out. The rat shook his head, waving the boy to stay down.

“He's much larger than a dog.”

She seemed content and rode away, the clank of the carriage fading. The ratling stood over him but Clarke was still a little wobbly going from pained to perfect.

“Aren't you supposed to be fast? How did they catch you?”

Clarke managed to stand, dusting himself off. He was starting to get filthy with no bath after a few days.

“Wade snuck up behind me and grabbed me. How did you know I was fast?”

“Been reading my logs of the town. It's worrying but also interesting to have written something and not have any recollection of it so I've been reading about you and your mother. You're very boring people.”

“So you're the spy and I get beat up for it.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He shrugged.

“I don't have any problem with that.”

Clarke's stomach rumbled so loudly this time that both heard it. He was starving by that point, whatever had been in the potion had also ramped up his hunger.

“Can I buy some food from you?”

The ratling sighed, rolling his eyes.

“What did I say about not being a store?”

Clarke didn't wither under that gaze any more, glaring back as hard as he could. He felt like he was getting better at it, sharpening up his eyes. The ratling turned and waved him after.

“You have money, right?”

“What about helping you with that lady?”

The rat looked back at Clarke as they went inside, this time a look that was less glare and more...indeterminate. Less irritated than normal.

“You learned something good. Everything is currency. Come on.”

They sat down to a meal at the counter and ate, cheeses and jerky and a few fruits. Not having to worry about starving to death gave Clarke enough time to think on what he'd seen.

“So you're not a wizard? You're a potion maker?”

The ratling didn't speak for a few seconds, measuring the worth of what he might be giving up. It wasn't worth much to hide it from the boy.

“An alchemist, yes. I make potions and poisons.”

“Is it good for fighting?”

The ratling shook his head.

“I'm not teaching you a thing. My life is fine just the way it is without having some clueless idiot pupil using up all my reagents. Plus using them in combat is a whole other thing. Just go to some other town, start over and forget the past. There's a lot to be said for being nobody and being able to start over.”

He picked up the dishes, signaling the end of the meal.

“Now take what money you have, sell anything left in your house and go. There's nothing for you here and revenge is such a long road that you'll be a man before you get there. Do something else.”

The dishes were gone and the rat disappeared off into whatever back rooms he kept. Clarke didn't bother to wait for him, calling out a weak thank you as he left for home.

Sell everything. Go somewhere. Start new. But it's my mother! I can't just leave and I can't even go to the scribe job she'd set me on if everyone has-

Clarke's mouth fell open. There was a second way, a path he'd thought closed to him but since he didn't have to leave now...

A wizard!

He jumped to his feet and immediately sat back down. His freshly disappeared bruises were still tender.

I'll be a wizard tomorrow.

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

The problem with doing anything, and that included becoming a wizard, was that you needed money. There was ink and quills, though he could write in the dirt if he needed to. A spellbook for his notes, and, the most important thing, money for enrollment in the new school opening.

The only thing he didn't have to buy was the hat, the same one that had been the inspiration for their many playtime adventures through town now sat perched on his head.

He loaded a sack with the small things he could carry, nothing especially valuable but in good condition, and walked to town. Clinks and clanks of pots and pans followed him the whole way even as he tried to be stealthy, stopping and peering around every corner in case Wade were waiting to beat him up again. The general store would be the best place to unload the items.

It's a school day so-

Clarke growled when he saw Wade loitering there alone, skipping school for whatever reason and sucking on a mint stick. He flattened himself against the wall, his heart pounding just thinking of how hard Wade hit.

Wait, what's he got to complain about? I'm leaving town.

He took a deep breath and pounded his chest with the free hand. He turned the corner and walked toward the shop. Wade spotted him as he approached.

“Hey, what did I say, stranger?”

Clarke glared back but kept his distance this time. He didn't need a repeat of that yesterday.

“I'm going. Just selling some things to get the money.”

“Yeah? What things do you have to sell?”

He eyed the bag and took a step closer. Clarke darted back.

“You look pretty nervous.”

“I didn't particularly like how our last meeting went.”

Wade didn't let up, kept looking at the bag and coming closer.

“I know you don't own anything in that bag. Anything you found in that house doesn't belong to you. And since my dad asked me to look out for you that makes me a lawman and you're breaking the law.”

“What about adventurers? They find stuff all the time.”

“That house is part of the town. Anything in it belongs to the town. Now hand it over.”

He held his hand out, grubby fingers curling him over like he'd caught a child stealing and just wanted the stuff back.

“How about I tell your mother you were skipping school? She's always on you about learning to read and write.”

Wade curled his hand into a fist.

“I think I'm sick of seeing your face around town you creepy little peeper.”

What he said next was not, by any definition, a good idea but Wade was getting to him with every word. Has he always been such a gigantic jerk? How had he ever gotten along with someone without an ounce of compassion or slack.

“That's why I'm trying to get some money together, you elf lover.”

Wade looked around to see if anyone had heard. His nostrils flared and his eyes darted. There had been people nearby but no telling what they'd heard.

“I'm gonna kill you.”

He took after Clarke who ran, the pots rattling in his pack with every bounding leap. This time he put his all into the steps and was pulling ahead, heading away from the homes and watching eyes, out into the country. The heavy thumps started to fade but did not lessen as Wade chased in anger, screaming what he'd do to Clarke, how he'd see him out of the town that very instant no matter how far he had to run.

Clarke grit his teeth and kept on, his lungs burning from sucking wind at going so fast for so long. Rocks began to hit the dirt around him, some dinging off of the sack as they rang the pans inside. Whether it was one of the rocks hitting his leg or tripping out of sheer tiredness, Clarke stumbled and his knees hit the ground, skinning over the dirt and grass.

Wade grabbed the sack and jerked him up with it, pounding Clarke across the face with his right fist. The hat flew off, pots and pans clattering through the dirt.

“We don't want you homeless trash cluttering our town! Go be abandoned somewhere else!”

“I wasn't aban-!”

The next blow shut him up and the third and fourth kept him from even trying. He reached out, pawing at Wade's face, fingers looking for eyes when the air filled with an electric sizzle and Wade screamed, hopping back and dropping Clarke on the ground like he'd caught fire.

“Wade! What are you doing!?”

It was Alouella. Somehow in their running they'd come to the edge of her new home, sitting in the distance with all the walls erected and the grounds set with boxes full of their things.

Wade could only half sit up, his body twitching from even a light dose of being electrocuted.

“Th-that punk there is a peeping tom! He's been sc-scaring everyone in town and now he's trying to sell stolen goods! I'm driving him off to put everyone at ease!”

Alouella knelt by Clarke, hands moving but unsure of what to do to help.

“Well beating him bloody isn't a very good solution. Are you okay? What's your name?”

She didn't know him. He looked up at her, then to Wade and the rift his impossible knowledge had caused between them. It was easier with her since he'd only known her a day at most.

“It's Clarke.”

Blood dripped down his chin from a split in his lip.

“And I...”

What could he say? She might believe him about magic erasing all memory of him from town but Wade would refute every word.

Hell, what does it matter...

He told her anyway, the shortest version he could but left out any mention of having met her before. That was the part that seemed to freak people out.

The best part was Wade would start to say something and Alouella would shh him and he'd go red and immediately silent. Clarke resisted the urge to smirk at him.

“That's a pretty unusual story. Anything having to do with the mind is very complex magic, especially the erasing of specific memories.”

“See? Why would anyone go to all that trouble for someone that might have lived in a small town like this?”

Wade seemed satisfied that this ended any argument and was finally able to shake off the electrical paralysis. He still twitched but he could walk and snatched up the bag.

“Don't let him fill your head with lies.”

“He needs help if it is true, Wade. That's what a knight would do.”

He turned beet red, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away.

“Well...yeah, maybe, but...”

“I'm gonna help myself.”

Clarke picked up the hat and pulled it down tight on his head. Blood smeared where he tried to wipe it away.

“I want to join your school. I don't have any money but I'll do anything. May I please talk to your mother or father or whoever is in charge?”

“WHAT?”

Both Alouella and Wade shouted, though for completely different emotions. Alouella seemed joyous at the idea of expanding enrollment. Wade simply looked pissed.

“My father had to leave on business a couple of days ago but my mother is here. It's more her thing anyway. My father just gets 'roped into them' as he says. She can give you the entrance exam!”

Wait a second...

Clarke was pulled along towards the school but his thoughts had been wholly derailed.

Left a couple of days ago? Moves into town around the same time my mother is kidnapped and leaves the same night she disappears?

Wade followed after, not wanting to miss any opportunity to be involved with the elf girl but he kept an angry glare firmly locked on Clarke.

So, was it Mr. Lawfer? It has to be, right?

Clarke was woken from his thoughts by suddenly being in front of Mrs. Lawfer in Alouella's home.

“This is Clarke from the local village. He wants to become a wizard and avenge his kidnapped mother!”

Her mother gasped and grabbed his shoulders, far too excited for his misfortune.

“You were made to be a wizard then! Many wizards are pushed into the business of magic due to a familial kidnapping.”

“Allegedly.”

Wade added. She took hold of his arm, pinching the lean muscle and pushing the hat back on his head.

“The spitting image of a beginner.”

Though still rattled by what he was thinking Clarke managed the spiel he'd been working on.

“I don't have any money but I'll-”

She pulled his hat back where it had started and tapped the rim.

“Don't you worry about that, I'm a sucker for charity cases. We will have to check your suitability for the wizarding arts first but it's a very easy little examination.”

He'd never heard of a test for entering a wizardry school but then again, he'd never heard anything about wizards except stories by traveling bards.

“What is the test?”

Wade went rigid as Alouella grabbed his hand, the back of his hand in her palm, and drew invisible symbols into his hand. A tiny flicker of flame popped out and Wade practically leaped out of his skin, shaking his hand like he'd been lit aflame completely.

Mrs. Lawfer gestured.

“That. A wizard draws the symbol for you but it's channeled through your body to test your starting magical ability.”

She took his hand, carefully cradling it with such joy in her eyes as she looked at the raw clay before her who could be the next great legend (after her daughter of course). She slowly began to draw in his palm.

“Now let's see...”

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

The ratling did not regret his hearing. His ears were sharp and always had been just a cut above even other ratlings. It had saved his life a number of times by picking out the breathing of an ambush, the creak of new boots, the pounding hearts of those out to do him harm.

But lying in bed at night, no matter the country or the city, sometimes he could not block out a single, constant noise. Sometimes birds, sometimes people talking outside his home.

Sometimes a constant thunk thunk thunk on the front door of his library.

He lurched out of bed without a sound, sliding through the dark and out of the basement of the library, a single potion in hand that he felt would do the trick.

Not loud enough to be a noble in 'desperate need', not quiet enough to be a burglar.

He knelt and looked under the door. Two shoes spaced shoulder width apart, a small shoe size. It had to be the Clarke boy. No one else had bothered him as much in ten years as that boy had in a couple of days.

He jerked the door open.

“What the hell do you...”

Clarke fell to his knees, his face red and puffy, soaked with tears and eyes red from crying so much there was nothing left. His whole body shook as he tried to contain everything he felt. The ratling spied a dark shadow on the ground, an old hat that lay crumpled in the dirt behind the boy.

His eyes were hard despite the tears and stared directly at him, nearly through him as though he had only the vaguest notion the ratling were there.

“I...”

His words shook.

“I can't be a wizard.”

The ratling waited.

“The test...do you know about-”

“I do.”

He answered quickly.

“There was...nothing.”

He'd seen a few tests administered in his life, heard a little about it. Having no talent for magic was one thing and being a dwarf who had very little mana was another but having no mana or ability to channel mana was the end all. Some people were just empty and no amount of practice or learning would change that.

“I see.”

Was all he said to the boy. He scowled at him and Clarke barely noticed.

“Well what? What do you want from me? If you don't say anything I'm gonna slam this doo-”

“Take me in!”

“No!”

“I can't go to another town! I have no money! And I get beaten up every time I go into this town!”

“I still don't care!”

They stood and stared at one another, Clarke waiting this time for the door to slam but the ratling held it, his claws digging swirls of wood out with his claws. His teeth clenched. Clarke yelled into the shadowed building.

“Then why don't you leave me!? Why are you still here?”

He balled his furry fists but was fighting something inside himself, trying to beat it down.

“Take me in! Teach me, I don't have anything else, anywhere else, anyone else!”

The ratling looked at the door. A single fingernail lay embedded in the frame which he flicked away. He had thrown the boy out before but the more he'd read from his books the more he hated facing it.

“GOD, you annoying little prick! FINE. Come in, ruin my life why don't you! But you had better make yourself really god damn useful or it's back out there! And I mean the best apprentice anyone has ever seen or I swear-”

“I swear.”

The ratling stepped aside, whipping his hand inside as an invitation and Clarke passed him by.

“What am I supposed to call you?”

“Twinty Sevin.”

Twinty slammed the door.