The table could easily hold four dozen people. Probably more.

So, it easily filled Luxley’s family.

He and father.

No other family lived in the castle. Not anymore.

After Luxley’s mother died, his world ended. His sister moved to another castle, marrying a suiter who suddenly came into royal status. And the aunts and uncles? Fled, knowing the lord’s temper.

Through it all, no one asked Luxley if he wanted to leave. Or even if he would be fine living with his father. Alone.

Luxley thought of taking the seat furthest from his father. The idea of his father needing to speak up to tell him whatever inane horseshit livened his attitude. Much like during the hallway moment where he escorted Zan out, he thought better of it; he wanted to end this dinner quickly. Not drag it out with pointless theatrics.

He instead took a seat several seats away from his father, on his father’s lefthand. Looking at his father to the right, his seating choice reflected a social reverence for the head of the table. Not as though such notions were anywhere near his consideration, Luxley would reason.

Luxley sat straight, his back to the chair, hands in his lap. He would dine tonight as his father always wanted him to dine. Overly formally and with nary a hint of selfhood.

Philipe entered the room through little trumpets, announcing him. “Dinner is on the way from the kitchen now,” he said, before slinking into the shadows.

Music from a small band played while they waited. His father hummed while another butler affixed his bib.

In Luxley’s family’s social circles, to speak while dinner was on the way was rude, even apish. This moment before feasting was for quiet contemplation of both the self and of dinner conversation. A certain class of people widely thought softly strung music useful to stimulating such intellectual endeavors.

When the meal arrived, Luxley had hardly an iota of an appetite. Too much stress destroyed his nerves. He would eat, though. He would finish the entire plate and then some. For his father had a dim view of little boys who did not eat their vegetables…

Luxley did not register what the actual meal was… some kind of animal meat over-sauced with a dry wine. Crunchy vegetables. A dessert of flan.

“Now, what is this bullish behavior about, son?” his father asked, ripping into a choice leg of lamb.

“I’m experiencing growing pains, father… I—” Luxley said. Or was about to say. His father cut him off, interrupted by saying, “Is this why Gatson tells me you are anti-war? Forgetting the fact that war is our primary export?! It is why you have this life?”

Luxley froze. “Regardless, father. I do not agree with it.” He held his ground.

“You don’t agree with asserting your genetics and your self?! Worthless shit, aren’t you? Fairy kissing queen of a runt is all your are, you stain of lad.” Luxley’s father went on, describing him in many colorfully hateful ways.

Almost as a ghost, Luxley then saw something he had not expected to see again. The Cursive.

Words, as though carved with and into the very surface on which they materialized, whatever that surface might be appeared; an outsider looking in might see the words etched into the room by some higher power, curled around everyday objects like a tilted force of nature. ‘Outsider,’ was what came to Luxley’s mind whenever he thought of how The Cursive manifested, because Luxley knew for a fact only he could see the special words of The Cursive.

What were they? He did not know. All he knew was for a time, when he was little, he had trusted the words of The Cursive with his life. Yet they — it? — betrayed him. Since that horrible night, nothing had ever been the same.

After that treacherous night, The Cursive left him to bear the world by his lonesome. He managed, but barely.

Now, it seemed, The Cursive returned to him. It’s manifesting shocked Luxley to the core and made an already scarring meal more horrid yet. did he dare look at the words?

What was Reality trying to communicate to him?

His father still ranting against him, only taking the slightest diversions away from his hate to praise family members long since buried, Luxley nodded at his father while he pretended to listen. His eyes glanced over to the magical-like words carved into the layer of reality just beneath the common reality anyone could see, that ‘extra’ dimension where the Words in the World manifested. Through one of the drooping chandeliers, across the table and dishes, through even the waving, moving hands of his father, Luxley slowly identified words coming into being. Words only he could see.

“Tell… him… mag… board…?” the special, magical words read.

‘Feck!’ Luxley cursed internally.

‘The Cursive wants me to tell my father about my techy-mag board? Why? He is only going to use it to berate me more. Maybe it will betray me again and I will get… no, snap out of it, Luxley! Snap the feck out of it!’

Clearing his throat, Luxley decided.

‘Fine! You want me to tell him, whatever you are, Cursive?! FINE! But if you stab me in the back again, I will… I can’t. Not again.’

“Father? If I may speak?” Luxley said. Examining him, wholly unexpecting his son to speak, the father did, in fact, close his mouth, and motion for Luxley to speak.

“I know you don’t approve of my opinions or studies, generally speaking. I am sorry for that, sorry for being a disappointment. I must say one thing, though. I have been studying the peasant way of thinking because it is a nice distraction from my primary studies.” Luxley said, building momentum. “I am taking up techy-mag board development again.”

His father stopped eating. Luxley was unsure he had ever seen him stop eating once a meal had started. A man prone to strange moods, Luxley’s father often eats only a single meal a day, thus, his moods were all over the place. One dinner started, only a might stop his gnawing.

Putting his leg of lamb down and cleaning his face on the bib, Luxley’s father looked right at him and said, “Oh? You are now? Interesting, son. Why?”

What had gotten into his father? He never, ever spoke that way to him. In that tone, almost of respect. Nearly like he didn’t hate his guts. Where he had otherwise told him he was a failure of an abortion.

“I want to be useful. I would like a career someday. One day, maybe even own a business. I cannot be a child forever. I have to plan for my adulthood,” Luxley said, the sick which nearly came from his mouth, almost betraying his words.

The Cursive had vanished. Like it always did whenever Luxley had followed its command.

“So, you do…” his father continued, his tone still the same nearly respectful voice he could not remember since he was very young. “And it is about time, too. You’ve spent long enough on the bumbling and stupid parts of academe. If this gruel study is only entertainment, then fine. From now on, however, I expect results from your actual study. Am I understood?”

“I understand. Father. I will re-summon the tutors I banished when I decided against the techy-mag course.”

“Excellent. You have a knack for this, son. Don’t waste your brain on the irrelevant.”

“I will not. Not anymore…”

Then something happened Luxley had fully expected to only to happen in his dreams in an alternate dimension: dinner passed peacefully.

Once the tense opening salvos passed, and once Luxley overturned his distaste for continuing a line of study he felt was toxic, he felt more at ease than he had in a long time.

The future held who knows what, yes, but for now, his father did not seem to mind him or what he would do. In fact, using the prod of techy-mag to his advantage, Luxley thought there was a lot of could now get away with for his real purposes — Zan and his own beliefs. He just had to pretend. How hard could that be?

Dinner finished. Luxley returned to his room well-fed. He even had a little glass of wine, an indulgence he typically rejected as it reminded him of worse times.

He closed his chamber door and slumped against it. ‘What a freaking day,’ he said.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Before Luxley could escape his room and find Zan, he made a curt ‘To Do’ list. It related to what he would need to do for his upcoming study renewal. Re-summon the tutors, check out the techy-mag books from the library, create new research binders using his old as the basis, review his old notes… and so on.

Although Luxley disliked the study of techy-mage technology, it was not because he found it difficult or because he found it tedious. His problem with the study was how his society used it outside the academic. War.

Frankly, he enjoyed the subject and the study of it. He liked the challenge of building a better board, what went into improving existing boards — the process of research, that is — and simply the philosophy underpinning everything. Advancing the field was something Luxley knew he could do — with proper study, of course.

So… if he liked it, ‘how,’ he thought, could he use it to his advantage despite its lowly use outside of the ivory halls?

Pushing his ink well and writing utensil away, Luxley nearly lost track of the time; thinking as much as he had after the dinner about his future, he quickly faded out as his mind became inundated with possibilities and career paths. Warm it would be outside, so Luxley skipped the jacket.

The fire ran low. Which meant, as he knew it meant from many experimentations, that the workers of the whole castle over had either left or were now, as demanded by his father, not to leave their chambers. Rules which applied to everyone except the guards and the royal family. Luxley knew his dad did not care what he did. So as he had done many times before, Luxley walked out the front gates.

Before he left his chambers, Luxley took a few coins from his personal stash on top of his horn-thing Zan had given him for communication. Before he spoke into it, Luxley made sure he was out of eyesight. Then he said, “Zan? Do you read me? Where are you?”

No response.

Crap!

Luxley composed himself. Zan not responding did not mean something bad had happened. Heck, maybe the horn did not work when the two elements — the sender and the receiver — were so close together? Knowing Luxley’s luck, that was exactly what it meant. It was not as if Zan could have known such a thing, but Luxley found the idea repellent. Long distance only communicators? They had their limitations…

Busted or not, Luxley would go to the tavern. His friend was surely there.

Entering the tavern, Luxley saw right away his new buddy.

Sitting on a table recently cleared of dishes — Luxley could see the sheen of the table glistening in the aftermath of a busboy’s wash — Zan sat, happy at receiving some refreshments. Luxley knew that was the case as he understood the local hospitality customs.

Luxley sat down at Zan’s table. He was about to apologize. Touching his friend’s shoulder, Luxley said, “I am beyond sorry for how things turned out tonight, Zan. Please forgive me. I did not know I was missing so much of the plan to make you invisible… I thought your disguise would be enough. Things just snowballed. I dunno.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like you intended for any of that to happen. I know you would have liked it to go much smoother than all that. I’m just happy you’re here now. I was worried for a moment you wouldn’t be able to come and get me. But the busboy here is extremely nice. He offered his family’s spare cot,” Zan said, relating to Luxley an unremarkable story of a socially formal interaction.

“I am not surprised. People in this princeling hamlet are extremely nice. It is how it’s always been,” Luxley said.

“Prince… hamlet?” Zan asked. “W-what?”

“Sorry. It is just the name given to an area where a member of a royal family lives. Nothing more. An actual prince need not live here. Or anywhere with the designation,” Luxley explained.

“I get it. Does that mean it is a better town than other towns?” Zan asked.

“Maybe not ‘better,’ per se, but a touch on the well behaved side.”

“Okay. Cool. I will keep that in mind if I am ever traveling through the place. What now?” Zan asked, perhaps feeling the tiredness from the situation.

“Now? We get you back home.”

“I won’t say no that getting back where I belong. But what about the translation?”

Luxley didn’t know what he should say. Considering the notions he had contested lately, he had forgotten about his favor to Zan, his offer of translating the paper.

“Okay. Let’s get back to my chamber. I will try quickly to make sense of the paper. If I can’t, you’ll just have to go home empty-handed until I can sort it out.”

Luxley left a couple of coins on the table and waved himself out of the tavern. Though he was much better today at socializing than he had been earlier in his life, he still didn’t like it. He preferred avoiding the lights and noise if he could help it. Luxley heard the busboy chirp a goodbye their way, though. So that was nice, even if he knew it was mostly a formality.

Halfway up the hill leading to the drawbridge, Zan asked, “Is it going to be another whole thing getting into your room?”

Luxley politely laughed at the idea. “No. We can just go straight there. No one is up or working. Not at this time of night. We have the whole castle to ourselves! Well, us and the core security team who prowls the night. They won’t bother us, though. We would only be in shit if my father was up and about. And he wouldn’t be up for anything. He swill spend the night as he spends every night: watching the bard make up silly stories, then drinking himself into a stupor with his whores.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Zan said, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s fine. I hate the bastard anyway.”

Luxley wanted to say something more, but there wasn’t anything ‘more’ to say.

That was the truth. Simple and pure. He despised his father.

Passing the hill in silence, Zan stood facing him before they crossed the bridge. Zan faced him and said, “You can talk to me about anything. I won’t judge.”

Not knowing what to say at such a sensitive thing, Luxley smiled. “I know,” he said.

“Good. And I do mean it. Really.”

Crossing the bridge, they entered the castle proper. Though Luxley locked the door, he saw out the corner of his eye a member of the core security rush over and double-check his locking abilities, his fine arts fingers and their skill at sliding the bolt into place. Luxley knew they were only doing their job. They should have some faith in him, at least wait until he went up the first flight of stairs before they get all paranoid.

“It’s so quiet…” Zan said. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah. It is my favorite time of the day. I practically used to live during the night.”

“That’s so cool.” Zan wanted to ask why he stopped living at night, but the answer was clear: his father, who else, stopped him?

Walking back, Luxley felt less stressed. No servants were out, Gatson and Maggie were back in their respective homes. Luxley liked this point of night because it gave him peace of mind. He wasn’t expecting a new enemy at every corner.

The two silently entered Luxley’s chambers. “Excuse the mess,” Luxley said. “I haven’t the time yet to clean up after Gatson’s rampage through my belongings.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s a thing you do a lot, you know. Worry,” Zan said.

“Well, there is a lot to worry about,” Luxley said, moving to his desk and searching for the books on translation.

Luxley found his translation books quickly. Though the room was messy, the desk area was at least neat. He had tidied it after dinner while waiting for the castle to empty. It was always good to have at least one sector of your room neat and ordered.

“Alright. Lie down on my bed or pull up a seat next to me while I work. What I am going to do is this: right now, I am only going to make a quick stab at the translation process. If we are lucky, this will be written in an easy-to-understand form of the Old Tongue Script, and I might translate the whole list for you right here and now. That’s a BIG ‘if,’ though…” Luxley explained.

“Not a problem. Take your time. We’ve come this far, so we ought to finish it right.”

Nodding, Luxley opened his books and went about his work.

The act of translating was not an easy process. One had to think of literal meanings between two language sets, but also the context for the words, and what word (or words!) could replace a convoluted phrase in the original. Include different dialects, which could wholly transform meanings, and thus contextual clues for the translation process, and the difficulty skyrocketed.

Twice, Zan moaned, “Are you done yet?” But Luxley ignored him.

For the course of two hours, Luxley remained fully intended on translation.

“Crap…” Luxley said.

Zan perked up. “Yeah? What happened?”

Sliding away from his desk in his inventive seat with wheels, Luxley turned toward his friend and said, “We did not strike gold…”

“What do you mean?” Zan asked.

“Sorry. I mean, is whoever wrote this list wrote it in a difficult, antiquated, even for the time, dialect. I should’ve noticed the accent marks earlier. Only the hardest dialect of this language has such accent marks. It has been a while since I’ve done this.”

Zan did not make an issue out of it like Luxley had feared. He said, “Not your fault… it’s been a full day. I can’t even read.”

“Seriously? You can’t read? Not even basic?” Luxley asked.

“Nope. Nothing. ‘Low-Born,’ remember?” Zan said, using his fingers for emphasis.

“That is surprising. In my country, even Low-Born are educated to the point of basic reading comprehension. Are you sure your country doesn’t suck?”

Zan broke out laughing. “I have no idea, bro. I honestly don’t know… it sucks. I know nothing and everyone always seems too busy to teach me.”

Feeling bad for Zan, Luxley did something he shouldn’t have done, considering his situation, and all, but did anyway. He said, “I could teach you.”

Refusing to meet his gaze, Luxley wondered if he said something wrong.

“I’ll think about it…” was all Zan said.

“Sure…” Luxley replied.

Moments passed in awkward silence. Luxley didn’t know what made them awkward. Zan not taking him up on private tutoring right away, maybe? The fight earlier? The tavern encounter? There was a lot to dwell upon. Luxley threw it from his head. Zan was tired. He wanted to get home. Rest in his own bed.

Placing a bookmark in one of the translation books, Luxley stretched. “I’m beat, dude. I really need to turn in for the night.”

“I need to go home.” Zan sighed. “You will contact me the moment the list is done? Not a second later?”

“I promise, Zan. The very second I am finished with the list, I will speak into the horn you gave me and summon you forth! Promise!”

“Okay. Good. Good… how long do you think? Vague estimate.”

“A week. Minimum. If so much personal crap didn’t happen tonight, then sooner, but with my hands tied, I can only do a little each day. My father expects me to resume my techy-mag study, so that will take up a lot of my time.”

“I get it. Do what you can. This is a favor to me. Don’t run yourself ragged trying to get it done as fast as possible. I will have my plate full, one way or another myself. There is always something to do on my end, too.”

“Our lives, huh?” Luxley stated, morose.

“Yeah. Our lives…”

Embracing his friend, Luxley sent him off with a clatter through the portal, the bed squeaking an awful lot as Zan lumbered on top of it and passed through some portal only he could see.

Alone once more, Luxley felt low on energy. Sad, even.

He was alone. Totally alone.

Luxley tried to return to his translation work but accomplished nothing. He familiarized himself with some translating basics, but that was it. A bedrock for future re engagements.

Shutting the book, Luxley turned to tidying up his room. Getting everything back into order after his father’s associates wrecked it up. Another couple of hours passed, and Luxley righted the wrongs. He was tired, beat by the end, though. He prepared to sleep himself.

Lying in his bed, Luxley lazily turned his head to where Zan’s portal let out into his room. He let his arm lay lazily in that area, wondering if one day he would wake up to find Zan’s boots squishing his fingers. What a way to wake up, Luxley laughed.

Gradually falling asleep, the first techy-mag board he had ever made hanging on a plaque behind his bed’s frame, Luxley fell asleep. He would need his energy. The future was coming toward him at full speed. If he was to survive — and thrive — he would need every advantage he could get. Even if it was as simple as sleep.