Chapter Thirteen: The Governor

The lifeboat drifted ashore. Both Finneas and Lochen had given up steering the boat. Instead, they allowed the waves to move the board towards the shoreline. Darkness made it difficult to tell where they were going, anyway. The moment it reached land; the boat jolted upwards making Finneas’s body leap forward. Although half-asleep, the sudden impact caused Finneas to fully awaken. Lochen was still asleep. Finneas decided to nudge the Native boy. At first, he groaned. Realising they had reached land, Lochen stretched his arm and yawned.

Lochen climbed out of the raft; Finneas followed. The two took a glance at their surroundings. Scattered down the beach were a dozen or so shipwrecks. While the cladding of at least one or two of the wreckages had rotten away showing only the boat's beams, the other shipwrecks were still mainly intact. Poor fishermen, who had nowhere else to live, had salvaged the wrecks turning them into makeshift homes. The occupant of one such boathouse was a young family; the parents sitting near the boat watching their children play in the sand. Finneas approached them. He hoped they would give him information on his friend’s whereabouts, and perhaps give Finneas some direction to the nearest town.

As he drew closer, the adults took notice. Panicking somewhat, they ushered their children inside. The wife fretfully stood back, while the husband went forth to confront the two approaching boys. The man had picked up a shovel. Finneas was unsure what to make of this. He stopped, not wanting to get closer. Lochen, however, continued to move towards the boathouse.

“Guards!” the husband suddenly yelled. At that very moment, Finneas heard a flock of birds fluster up above. "Guards!" the man yelled again; this time louder.

Finneas had barely a moment to react. He quickly grabbed hold of Lochen, dragging him away from the makeshift house. Lochen seemed annoyed at first. But realising their dire situation, Lochen followed Finneas as they fled.

The two made a quick dash to get away. Unfortunately, they weren’t fast enough. As Finneas sprinted, something caught hold of his foot. A string-like contraction that wrapped around his feet. This caused him to pummel headfirst into the ground. Before he could react, Finneas was dragged back onto his feet. He spat the sand out of his mouth. However, he couldn’t rub the silted gravel from his face. Whoever had grabbed hold Finneas began to pull the boy’s hand behind his back. Finneas was barely able to take a glimpse of his capturer when the man threw a cotton bag over the boy's head.

The man said nothing, besides notifying Finneas whenever there were steps ahead, as he guided him. Finneas was only able to see faint outlines of the buildings; not enough to get a good grasp of where he was. Pushing Finneas forward, the man warned him of the doorsill in front. Finneas carefully over the threshold, making sure not to trip over. It would've been easier if they'd not blindfolded him, Finneas thought to himself.

Once inside, the guard pulled the bag off Finneas’s head. Within his head Finneas made a note of the room; firstly, trying to work out where he was, and secondly, if and how he could escape. It became quickly apparent Finneas had been taken to a guardhouse. It was like the one back in Angleum – some things never change, it appears. On a few occasions, whenever Finneas and his friend Kistoph got in trouble, they were usually taken to one of the guard towers placed at each corner of the city. Finneas had become familiar with these types of buildings. He was also quite aware of how secure they could be. Even if he was the greatest escape artist in the world, there was no way he could escape.

The man directed Finneas to one of the interrogation rooms. Finneas was then instructed to sit down in a chair. He did so, somewhat obediently. He did, however, pulled a frowning face, in an attempt to show he was unsatisfied with the situation. The man ignored him. Instead, he left the room, leaving Finneas to himself. After about a minute or two, the head guard entered the room. Another guard, probably an underling, followed behind. The younger guard closed the door softly, so as not to rattle the room, he then sat down at his desk. He rumbled through the files, before moving his direction toward Finneas.

“Five mission orphans from the city of Angluem,” he said, reading from the piece of paper. “Four boys, one girl. Two brothers, both curly dark hair. One boy, scruffy blond hair. One boy, short brown hair. And one girl, long red hair." The man placed the piece of paper on his desk. He stared intensely at Finneas. "We've come a long way, haven't we, sonny?" Finneas didn’t respond. “Where are your friends?”

“So, you didn’t catch them?”

Finneas quickly realised just foolish he was just mentioning that.

“So, your friends are here?” the man smirked, seemingly satisfied he gain some information from him, no matter how small it was.

“I didn’t say that!” Finneas exclaimed.

“I assume that a confirmation.”

“I’m not telling you nothing!” Finneas continued. The guard, however, remained calm. It seemed no matter what Finneas yelled at the man; he wasn’t going to budge an inch.

“Double negatives… typical of free folk,” the man laughed. “Your friend… the Native… he certainly told us a lot.”

“Lochen?” Finneas asked, although intentionally aloud. “He blabbered?”

“Friends rat on other friends all the time,” the guard stated. “Just tell us where your friends are, and maybe you’ll get off.”

“Lochen isn’t a friend!” Finneas spat. “And I’m not telling you anything!”

The guard stared at his colleague. The other man nodded, before opening the door. The older gentlemen quickly march out, leaving the boy alone. Finneas waited for another five minutes before the same guard returned. He ordered Finneas to stand up and follow him. Again, Finneas did as he was instructed. Returning to the waiting room, the guard poked Finneas forward, leading him down a long corridor. They made their way to a holding room, where the guard directed him towards a cell. Finneas followed the man’s instruction, wandering into the prison cell. As soon as Finneas entered, the man slammed the cell’s door shut. The sudden bang made the room shake somewhat. Being satisfied Finneas wouldn’t escape, the guard left, leaving the boy alone. He laid down on the hardened mattress. He watched as the dim lightbulb swirled back and forth. Finneas tapped on the wall, hoping Lochen was on the other side. There was no reply. He thought about saying something, at least allowing whoever was on the other side to know he was there. Finneas decided against it; the guards were probably listening. He didn’t want to give them further ammunition.

Finneas closed his eyes. He didn’t exactly sleep. With the loud blasting of a nearby generator, it was difficult to do so. Since he knew, he probably wasn’t going to sleep, Finneas decided to take the time to think. He thought about escaping – perhaps there was a way out he'd not thought of yet – but decided it was best to stay put. He barely had a grasp of the city, let alone know where his friends were anyway. He simply had to hope the guards would eventually free them soon.

The door being open awoke Finneas from his light slumber. Darting up, he noticed two figures waiting, Lucien and another Sensor’s apprentice – an older boy, he was perhaps in his late teens.

“Long way from home?” Lucien remarked.

“Well, you’re persistent,” Finneas replied.

“Shut up!” older boy snapped. “We’re under strict order to take you to the governor.”

The governor, Finneas thought? Why would the governor have any interest in him? Although Finneas was the seer, the only people privy to this information were his brother and friends, and of course Cymon. None of them would have blabbered about it, not even Lochen.

“Up you get!” the older Sensor ordered. “Try anything funny and we’ll be on to you!”

Placing another sack over his head, stopping him from being able to see where he was going, the two marched Finneas out of the building. Along the way, Finneas quickly learnt the older boy was Meros. Unlike the younger apprentice, he had done his second rite, and therefore the superior person – the one in charge, as it seems. And the Meros made it quite clear, being both snide to Finneas and Lucien alike. It was clear Meros didn’t think too much about Lucien, probably seeing the younger boy as a usurper of some sort. Finneas was amazed at how Lucien could ignore Meros jibes.

It soon came apparent Meros was the person who interrogated his brother, not long after Finneas and Kistoph had sneaked out of Angluem. Finneas thought his brother was exaggerating when he described the Sensor's apprentice. After spending a few minutes with the Meros, Finneas could tell Kenelm wasn’t making stuff up.

They soon came to a stop. Lucien removed the sack covering Finneas’s head, giving him the first glimpse of the cathedral-like structure. Teller had been yapping about this place for years. Built around three hundred years ago, during the height of the Riverland’s power, the Palace of Kings towered above almost every other building in Rivet City, besides the Grand Temple – the ancient pyramid structure situated in the centre of the temple district. The building seemed both majestic and intimidating - a sense of grandeur, not even the mayor's house back in Angluem had. The Palace of Kings' main structure was its great hall which kept the Sapphire Throne. The building towered far into the sky, built in an oval shape. The roof curved slightly. Buttress on both sides kept the structure stable. Unlike the many temples Finneas had seen on his journey, which were usually rather bland on the outside, the Palace had intricate façades. The fancy designs of flowers made the building stand out like a sore thumb. The pillars marking the entrance were crafted in a way that looked like giant tall trees.

Lucien led Finneas inside. They entered a large foyer area. Meros briefly left to talk to the guards, while Lucien kept an eye on Finneas. Although a fair distance, Finneas got a good glimpse of the guards. Wearing gold-plated armour, the templars stood fiercely tall. On their breastplate was the image of a She-Bear, the official sigil of the Republic. Simply by their gold-plated armour, Finneas could tell who they were. Whispered in fear, these guards were known as templars, the elite guard for the Order of Sensors. Intensely trained, these few men were known to take on an entire army. No one in their right mind would willingly take them on in a fight.

Having finished talking to the guards, Meros returned, the smug smirk still on his face. Unlike Lucien, who Finneas felt was doing what he’d been instructed to do, the older apprentice seemed to relish in other people’s misery.

“Governor says he ready to see the boy anytime,” Meros explained.

Finneas was ordered to follow Meros, who lead him towards the other door, facing opposite the large entrance. Meros lead first, while Finneas cautiously followed. Lucien stayed slightly behind – Finnesa could hear the younger apprentice breathing heavily.

They wandered down a long hallway. On either side were large statues of men standing proudly on their pedestals. Many of them had long intricate beards, designed to look like waves. A few were beardless, but they were few and far between. Each statue held in its hand a hammer, the sigil of the River Kings. Finneas quickly realised these were real hammers, smithed by actual craftsmen. While the older hammers, nearer to the entrance were rusted – as if an orange flame had blasted the steel – the further they travelled down the hallway the hammers started to become less rusted – light reflected off them. The only statue that appeared to stand out amongst the rest was that of Queen Aleshi – the only woman to ever sit on the River Throne. Like the other statues’ beards, her hair was braided in a way which made it look as if a waterfall. Unlike her fellow kings, the Queen held a harp in her hand. Someone had clearly disliked the woman since the statue had been violently attacked. Finneas could see where a hammer or a sword had smashed into the figure, causing half of her marble hand to be chipped off. The harp appeared to be broken in half as well. The same person had also struck the woman's face, causing it to scar. Queen Aleshi stood defiantly, however. The last third of the pedestals remained empty, their spots waiting for future kings. Finneas wondered what Cymon would have thought, seeing his ancestors. One day, hopefully, those empty pedestals would be filled.

It took them less than a minute to walk down the hallway, but for Finneas it felt like an eternity. He was still nervous at the uncertainty. What did the Governor want from him? With one firm nudge, Meros opened the door, revealing a large marble chamber. It was certainly the biggest room Finneas had ever been in – not even the Angluem’s town hall was this big. Six large columns kept the roof from caving in – three on either side. The room was almost empty, besides the two templars waiting at the entranceway. On the other side was a large throne made of pure sapphire. There was a fire behind the throne, which light shined through the sapphire causing the room to be engulfed in a blueish haze.

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“The honourable Malakos,” Meros seemingly said humbly. It felt out of character for the older apprentice.

The man sitting on the throne did not respond – not at first.

Finneas was expecting the governor to be some grotesque figure; a man so disfigured it would be difficult to discern whether he was truly human. The way all the grownups talked about the man; he assumed the governor was a monster. Instead, Finneas faced an elderly gentleman. The sun's glaze reflected off the man's baldness; only a sliver of grey hair covered his head's back, clutching the skull ever so gently. How could someone so handsome be able to pull off such cruelty? Surely everyone must be mistaken.

Malakos, at first, didn't move. He remained on his throne still as a stone. His crystal blue eyes stared intensely at the boy as if trying to size him up. He spoke no word. No muttered anything. The room remained in silence as Finneas stood there anxiously.

“So, this is the boy,” the governor finally spoke. “Sebastos thinks he has a sense of humour, sending my brother’s son to dethrone me.”

“Son?” Finneas asked. He didn’t plan to speak aloud but was starting to regret doing so. What was the man talking about?

“What? Sebastos didn’t tell you?” the man continued.

“He only said-”

“You were the seer,” the governor cut Finneas mid-sentence. “Your Native friend already told us who and what you are.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was in front of possibly the most powerful and dangerous man in the region, Finneas would have been fuming mad. He thought he could trust Lochen. To betray him like that? The next time they crossed paths, Finneas wasn’t too sure whether he’ll punch Lochen or not. Finneas wasn’t too keen on violence, but this was one exception.

“I am unsure whether to believe these Native vermin,” Malakos scoffed. “But the thought is intriguing. If you are who you say you are, I need you to prove it. Draw a symbol.”

“A symbol?”

“If you are a seer, you must have seen one of the symbols,” the governor explained. “Draw it.”

The man pointed to the floor. The Palace's floor needed sweeping; a layer of dust covered it. Finneas crouched and drew as many symbols as he could remember. Standing back up, the governor inspected it. Finneas noticed a scholar was standing to the side. He was wearing brown robes, the common clothes of a scholar. The man’s hair, which was cut like a bowl shape, was starting to grey. He too inspected the symbols.

“Either the boy has sneaked into the Imperial Archives,” the scholar remarked, “or he’s what he says he is… impossible.”

“He’s the Seer?” the Governor asked for clarification.

“There’s no doubt about it,” the man confirmed.

The governor seemed to have got the answer he wanted. He turned his attention back to Finneas Finneas stared at the man’s face. He seemed familiar. Malakos looked like an older version of his younger brother. The remembrance was uncanny.

“What do you mean ‘my brother’s son’. You’re not referring-”

Again, the governor cut Finneas off again midsentence.

“We are kin,” the man explained. “My brother, the great General Felix disappeared thirteen years ago. I know my brother; you look like a splinted image of him."

“My father?”

Before Finneas could ask any more questions, the governor ordered the boy to be taken back to his cell. Two guards, these wearing only chain-mail armour, suddenly approached him. Throwing another sack over his head, they lead Finneas out of the palace, through the streets, and back to the same prison cell.

Conflicted feelings overcame Finneas. He still had many questions. What did the man mean by Finneas being the son of General Felix? This was the first time he’d heard his father’s name. More importantly, Finneas wondered what the governor planned to do with him. Malakos decision to order him back to the prison cell seemed sudden. Did Finneas pull a nerve or something?

Finneas thought about tapping the wall. Perhaps Lochen was in the cell next to him. He decided against that. Even if Lochen was in the next cell, what would Finneas say to him? He was also certain he was being watched. Feeling there was nothing else to do, Finneas laid back down on the cell's bed.

Finneas was awakened by the sound of something tapping at the bars of the jail cell's door. Opening his eyes to see the source of the tapping, on the other side of the cell was a girl. While Finneas was unsure, he guessed she was about the same as him. Due to the room’s darkness, he was unable to get a good look at her. Wearing a shirt and jeans, the girl had tied her hair back. Her skin was fair, with a few freckles on her nose.

Finneas leapt to his feet as she unlocked the cell door. The turning of the keys caused a clanking noise. Hopefully, no one else heard the locked door open, he thought.

“I’m Brienne… Bree for short,” she whispered. “Sebastos sent me.”

“Sebastos? He’s here.”

“Shush…” Brienne said. “They’ll hear you. And yes, he’s here. I’m here to take you to him.”

By now Brienne had successfully unlocked the door, which she then began to open. A high pitch screech bellowed as the hinges crush against each other. Luckily, this didn’t draw the attention of any of the guards. Brienne threw some clothes to Finneas.

“Quickly,” she remarked. “You should change.”

Although Finneas felt rather embarrassed at having to change in front of the girl – his face turning somewhat reddish – he knew they were in deep trouble. He hastily removed his jumper, shirt, and trousers; until he was only in his underwear. He wasn't sure how Brienne reacted to seeing the bruising scars that covered his body. The years of living in the orphanage had, after all, paid a huge toll on him. The prison was quite cold, which made him shiver a bit. He hurriedly put on the clothes she had given him, which were some guard's uniform. It was a tad bit too big for him, but Finneas guess it would do the job of fooling those patrolling the prison.

“Put this on,” Brienne instructed, handing him a guard’s helmet.

Finneas pulled his hair back before putting the helmet on. It didn’t exactly fit, but once he placed the helmet’s strap around his head, it remained in place.

Quietly and quickly, Finneas followed Brienne. Reaching the prison's entrance, Finneas expected to find the room full of soldiers and guards. Instead, it was being monitored by a lone guardsman. The man was reading a newspaper. On close inspection, the man was indeed asleep. He snored gently; his breathing occasionally lifting the newspaper. The two moved slowly across the room. Neither of them wanted to wake the guardsman up. Finneas’s disguise would only take them so far.

It was great to be outside again. The prison was stifling and unsanitary. Finneas was unsure what occurred in the prison to cause the entire place to smell as if a thousand men had vomited, but he was glad to get away from it.

A few people were wandering about. It was late evening, and the sun was beginning to set. Finneas was surprised, especially since they were wandering down a side street. Not even Angluem was like this; most people preferred conducting business on the main street. Back streets were always used by the black market and people who wanted to hide things, Finneas was always taught. He'd never seen a bustling narrow street before, the shops being of all different colours. The shopkeepers were only beginning to open. The men and women eager to sell their wares were bringing all sorts of goods to the front of their stores. As the two wandered down the side street, Finneas took a glance at each shop. He noticed one store was selling jewellery, gold-chained necklaces and rings with all sorts of gems encased within. Although Mollie wasn't the girlish of girls, Finneas knew his friend was into shiny things. She probably would want to come here later once everything had blown over.

Another store sold recently caught fish, types of which Finneas was unfamiliar. This was the furthest north he had ever been, so it didn't come as a surprise for fishermen to catch different types of fish and whatnot. Unlike back at home, the fish smelt fresh. Finneas used to get tired of having to walk path stalls peddling rotten shark carcasses. Obviously, the Riverlands had better standards, he thought. He only wished people back home would be the same. He heard some people complaining, arguing there needed to be laws to stop stuff like that. But nothing ever happened. Perhaps the Riverlands had the guts to demand better, Finneas wondered.

There were a few other stores that took his notice. A bookstore sold pristine tomes, not a single second-hand book could be seen. Teller could spend hours in here, Finneas thought. A carpet store sold exotic rugs from the Sandlands – each having an intricate design. The Matron would've killed to own one. And finally, a store that sold all kinds of spices from around the world. Back home, these flavourings could make even the dollish of foods taste delicious. Finneas was disappointed there weren't any stores selling fishing ware. He was in desperate need of new a fishing line since his old one was becoming rather tired. Finneas worried the string would eventually snap. Although he hadn’t needed to fish for anything yet, he was certain the occasion would eventually come up. Finneas speculated whether there was a store that sold that stuff somewhere else in the city. He had, after all, only glanced at one of the backstreets.

They reached the end of the street, making their way into a large opening, a reasonably sized circular field of grass. In the centre was a single oak tree. Garden spaces were rare back at home, with only one in the centre of Angluem where the Bell Tree stood. But here they seemed plentiful. Using a stone pathway, they made their way across the opening.

Finneas soon found himself wandering down another alleyway, this one wider than the last. On both sides of the street were small boutique cafés. Finneas had heard about these places before. The rich folk would go here to drink a dark brownish liquid beverage. Sailors called it coffee, or something along that line. Someone tried to open a café back in Angluem. The establishment quickly closed. People back home thought cafés were an Imperial fad, so stores like that never caught on down south. Finneas barely had the chance to look. He was too scared to stop, in case he got separated from Brienne. She was the only person he knew he could trust so far in this city. She knew Sebastos; that was at least something.

Finneas could smell the ocean. They must be near the city’s harbour.

“This place is safe,” Brienne explained. “They sympathise with the exiled king’s cause.”

“You’re a rebel?” Finneas asked her.

“Not exactly.”

Built with old wooden planks, the pub looked rather shabby. Places like these were common back in Angluem, taverns commonly visited by sailors. Finneas was discouraged to go this place back home. They were known to be rough. Outside, two sailors were competing in an arm-wrestling competition. The two entered the establishment. The innkeeper quickly approached them.

“He’s in the back,” the man explained.

“Who’s in the back?” Finneas asked.

“Sebastos,” Brienne stated simply.

“He’s here.”

“Arrived yesterday, if you wouldn’t believe,” the innkeeper remarked.

The innkeeper, who Finneas soon discovered was called Marcus, lead the two down a corridor, and into a courtyard outside the back of the pub. A few chairs and tables were scattered around the place. Sitting at one of the tables was Sebastos. The Sensor quickly stood up, to greet the two.

“It’s been some time,” the man said.

In reality, it had only been a few weeks, but Finneas agreed that it felt a long time since the two had met back in the cave.

“Sit down,” Sebastos instructed. Brienne and Finneas sat down at the table. “My apologies for not being able to journey with you. I hope Prince Neco kept you good company.”

“Cymon?” Finneas remarked. “He was good company.”

“That’s good to hear,” the man smiled. We were going to travel in a group, but there was something I needed to do.”

“Cymon did explain,” Finneas continued. "Sadly, he was captured. But we managed to get here in the end."

“We?”

“Well, my friend came along with me,” Finneas explained. “And my brother and his friends tagged along – but that’s a long story.”

“And where are they now?”

Finneas shrugged.

“We were on a boat.”

“The ship attacked by Dark Tapers?” the man asked. Finneas nodded. “I heard the rebels found a bunch of survivors. Perhaps they’re with the Exiled King.”

Although Finneas didn’t want to get his hope up, perhaps the Sensor was right, and his brother and friends were safe with the rebels. Finneas hoped so.

"I've some questions myself," Finneas finally had the courage to ask. "When we first met, why didn't you tell me you knew my father."

“Know your father would be an exaggeration,” Sebastos answered. “I met him once, many years ago, before he disappeared. I’m more familiar with your uncle.”

“And father,” Brienne added.

“Father?”

“It’s complicated,” Brienne explained. “I love my father dearly. But I also know the people of Revitea deserve independence. My father’s reign must end.”

“Then we’re cousins?”

“I guess so,” Brienne said.

“As for your lineage,” Sebastos continued to explain. “I had a hunch when we first met, back in the cave. I wasn’t too sure. But it seems like Malakos has confirmed it.”

“What happened to my father?”

“Biggest mystery of the ages,” the Sensor said. “He disappeared. What was it… fifteen years ago? Gone without a trace. The height of his fame. At least we know one thing – the man started a family.”

Finneas sat there in silence, not knowing what to say.

“Your father was a person of… great renown. Your uncle is only a mere shadow compared to him,” the Sensor explained. “The man is still seen as a hero, among us Imperials. In his first mission as a general, he singlehandedly defended a fort from an invading force. His tactics are still taught today.”

“So, no one knows where he disappeared?”

“There have been sightings… rumours more than sightings… the Sanlands, the Far North, the Free Cities… even the Capital itself. None of these claims has been proven."

“A Dark Taper we met… he said he knew my father too.”

“I know the man you talk of,” Sebastos said calmly. “Nadir… his name was Nadir.”

Finneas nodded his head. The Taper had briefly mentioned his name. He was sure it was Nadir, or something similar.

“The man’s a proven liar,” the Sensor explained. “Wanted in all corners of the known world; piracy, thief, murder… every crime on the books, and more some. The man cannot be trusted. He must have been jesting.”

“He seemed honest,” Finneas said, defending a person he barely knew. “He saved us from that ship.”

“Interesting, but surprising,” Sebastos continued. “The man never does anything without a catch. I have had first-hand experience.”

“First-hand?”

"Long story," the man said. "Too long to explain now. All you need to know is the man was most likely lying, nothing more. Don't put your hopes in proven liars."

Finneas was more confused than ever. He wanted to believe the Dark Taper knew the whereabouts of his father. But perhaps the Sensor was right, it was all a red herring.

“We’ll be meeting the Exiled King tomorrow,” Brienne explained. “Marcus has set a room aside for us. Till tomorrow, we should stay low.”

“Agreed,” Sebastos replied. “I will leave you too here. I have some errands to do.”

“Stay safe,” Brienne said.

“You too.”

With the Sensor gone, Brienne and Finneas went back inside the pub. For dinner, they ate a quick stew. Finneas quickly realised he was still wearing the guard uniform they used to sneak out of the guard tower. Marcus was all too pleased to give the boy some clothes – apparently, the man had a son who had grown out of the clothes. Finneas was glad to get out of the guard’s uniform – it was incredibly stiff and difficult to move in.

While Brienne went to her room first, Finneas decided to stay in the common room for a little bit longer. He heard one of the sailors discuss one of his many adventures. Seeing it was about time to return to his room, he quickly asked Marcus, who was more than welcoming to show him to his room. The innkeeper led him upstairs. The room was rather small, large enough to fit a single bed and a side table. The bed had been neatly laid, underneath a fine linen sheet with a woolly blanket on top. A large stack of books, about five or six, was placed on the side table. Unlike the dormitories, which Finneas was used to, or the many inns his friend and him had to stay at, he didn’t have to share. He somewhat missed the company of the other people. But he knew he couldn’t scoff at a place to rest his head.

A ginger cat quickly rushed and pushed its head against the boy’s legs. Finneas knelt to pat the cat. His eyes were beginning to tire, and his feet were aching from all the walking. Knowing he was going to be waking early the next morning, Finneas went to sleep.