Seryl 23rd, 1513 – Dead Man’s Alley, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

A much younger Reggie would have thought by the time that he was this age, this level of success, he would have been finished having to drink in disreputable taverns in bad parts of town. That Reggie had thought that when you got old enough and successful enough, you could pay people to do it for you. And he could’ve, but if he wanted it done right, he’d have to do it himself.

Besides as his old mentor, a bent old man who could out run, out drink, out swear, out fight and out duel any man of any age, used to say “The first rule ye gotta know, Reggie me lad, ye ain’t never gonna be finished doin’ thin’s ye don’t wanna. If ye’re breathin’, ye’re gonna have something ye’re doin’ that ye don’t wanna.” And as always, the old man was right.

He shook his head and picked at the bread on the plate in front of him. It was good bread, actually every thing about the tavern was pretty good, except the location. Mistress Ollerton kept the place clean, the food was good, the ale was excellent. And if–or hopefully when–he didn’t need to spend certain long afternoons sitting in Dead Man’s Alley watching things, he’d definitely be helping her find a better locale.

It was probably a good thing that the bread was so good, as was the ale. Otherwise he’d never be able to keep it down.

As any plantsim would tell you, the earth remembered. Sometimes there was too much horror in any one place for it to forget. It called out–sometimes–to anyone with the power to hear it. Reggie could hear it. He just couldn’t help it. How did you ease the pain of all of the things that had happened here?

And the horror wasn’t helped by the reason that Reggie was here, though she certainly wasn’t the cause. Blood-soaked land tended to call to people whose stock in trade was blood in some form. Dark wizards were often drawn to make their homes in places where bad things had happened. If something was already corrupted, you didn’t have to go through all of the effort to corrupt it.

Places like this tended to be just that much more receptive to dark magic. In the case of this “Madame Bones” he was watching, she would have been drawn to the place because the easy store of magic found there would add to her power. She wasn’t that strong of a witch.

His eyes flicked over the tavern patrons. Mistress Ollerton’s teenage daughter waited for the drink order from the two people sat on the “drinking benches” by the fireplace. They were arguing about something, when the woman’s eyes flickered to Reggie, he nodded as if in agreement with her and her attention went back to her drinking companion with the smug knowledge that she was right.

Behind him were two couples sharing either a late luncheon or an early supper. Mistress Ollerton herself at the bar taking stock of the contents of the shelf. Probably preparing to send someone to the bakery to pick up more of whatever was needed for the dinner rush.

Then his eyes turned back toward the window. Now, if Reggie had been just an ordinary man, he’d have seen nothing more than the opaque window glass. But Reggie had never been what one might have termed ordinary.

With just a little bit of applied power–used very sparingly–he could see the street as if nothing, not even the walls, were in the way. He could have seen all the way into the shop he was watching if he had put a little more power into it, however the witch probably would have sensed it and Reggie had no intention of tipping his hand this early.

On his way to the tavern he had stopped and sensed where her wards covered and his probing ended about half a foot from where her protections began. However it did mean that he saw little more than a small courtyard with a well. On one side sat an herbalist’s shop, sharing the building with it was a pawnshop. Sharing with building with the bookseller was a shop that specialized in imported cheese and seemed to be doing pretty brisk business.

He’d been there for a while already and no one had gone in or out of the witch’s bookshop. She might have been open more in the evening, he supposed. And he might have been wasting his time. But it was a tiny hint of something–nothing so strong as a glimpse of the future, just the vaguest feeling, that told him that he was not wasting time, that if he stayed, he’d find something out. He trusted those feelings.

And if it seemed silly, sitting here in this tavern, making himself queasy and watching people come in and out of the courtyard carrying cheese, well–as the old man had told him “If ye ain’t asking yerself on a daily basis ‘why the fuck am I doin’ this’–ye’re probably not doin’ it right.”

Still, there was no one at home, Eve was still at school, Colby at work, and he would know if anything went so massively wrong that it wouldn’t do without him for a couple of hours.

The couple behind him had left, the man heading toward the front exit, the woman, he was too well trained to sit up and look attentive, especially as he shouldn’t have been able to see anything. But she was headed straight toward the courtyard he was watching. Then she turned and headed into the cheese shop–seriously–how good could the cheese be?

Reggie kept from sighing and shaking his head mostly by will. It was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous. There were three other shops in that square and at least two of them would probably be doing decent business for most of the afternoon.

And even if someone did come out of the bookstore that didn’t–Reggie froze in the middle of reaching for his mug of ale. Then realizing how it must look, he continued to reach for the glass and picked it up. Hoping that no one would have noticed the stop motion jerkiness of the movement.

Because someone had just come out of the bookshop–and it was someone that Reggie knew. Even across the square, blurred slightly by being at the edge of his spell, he knew them.

It was only the presence of others in the tavern that kept Reggie from snarling aloud and had nothing to do with the absolutely ridiculous outfit that his nephew was wearing–seriously–those shoes and trousers would have looked more at home on Goldie than on any little boy.

Mentally snarling and flailing, Reggie watched as Romi made her way through the sudden throng of people in the streets. He saw the faint aura of dark magic clinging to his niece and nephew.

Her attention seemed to be more on the people around her than on little Ruben toddling along as fast as his not-quite three year old legs would take him. Once out of the courtyard, Goldie seemed to shake herself and began wailing. He couldn’t quite make out what she was crying about, she wasn’t old enough to really be talking, mostly it seemed to be “No!” and “Bad!” but he had a feeling it had something to do with that magic that wreathed around her.

Ruben didn’t seem to even notice it was there–though he had his suspicions about Ruben–and about Bronx, even if he’d never have said to his brother that he doubted the boys were his.

Goldie was the most sensitive of the kids to magic–noticing when he had been working it, even if the boys didn’t. And at Goldie’s age, almost no one reacted well to black magic, even those who would go on to practice it.

Reggie tossed a few coppers on the table and headed out into the street. The smell of dark magic–coppery and blood-like seemed to linger in the air even above the smells of sim and sweat and old that his nose detected. Romi was walking faster now, probably wanting to get Goldie out of the alley before someone noticed who she was.

In her haste, however, she had forgotten something. In a practiced motion he swept his nephew up into his arms, the little boy looked startled for about half a minute, then grinned at his uncle. Reggie had to restrain a shudder at the thought of how easily someone else could have picked up the little boy. How easily he could have disappeared and no one would know what had happened to him.

Reggie wondered how long it would be, where it would be, that Romi would notice that Ruben wasn’t behind her, every step she took Reggie’s disdain grew more. He might not have had children of his own–other than with Sara-Beth he couldn’t have imagined having them with any of the women he’d been with–but he had taken care of his sister for most of her life and had been old enough to watch his brother when his brother had been no older than little Ruben.

He could not have ever imagined leaving either of them to walk after him in a busy street–especially not one as dubious as Dead Man’s Alley.

Yes, think about the leaving Ruben behind and not about the black magic that was crawling against the edge of Reggie’s protections. He’d have to figure out some way to get the kids away from Romi–to find out just what the magic was and what it was doing–and if it were something that were actually trying to hurt the kids or just something lingering from being in the witch’s shop.

He caught up to his sister in law when they were back on the sunny riverside main street. Her eyes flew wide as she saw Ruben–then even wider when she saw who was carrying him.

“R-Reggie–w-what are you doing here?” If he had the smallest hope that Romi had just been buying a book in the witch’s shop, her guilt at seeing him killed it.

“I was just getting a bite to eat in the tavern. Mistress Ollerton has a great stew on Mondays.”

“Oh–I never stop in there.” Romi told him with a faint sneer.

“Yeah, well.” Reggie shrugged. “I was just coming out of the tavern when I noticed this little guy trailing behind. I thought you might miss him.”

“Are you trying to imply I don’t pay attention to my kids?” Romi’s sneer went up several notches.

“Considering I picked him up just outside the tavern and we were all the way here before you even noticed he wasn’t still behind you, do you have any reason why I shouldn’t imply that?” Reggie asked quietly. Romi started to say something then humphed and tossed her head.

“It–it was only because Goldie was fussing. If she had been being quiet then I would have paid more attention to Ruben.” Of course shift the blame off onto the baby because Wright forbid you ever own up to doing something wrong yourself. Reggie thought at his sister in law.

“Well, as I’m headed your way anyway. There’s someone I need to talk to, why don’t I carry Ruben back to your house for you. Just in case Goldie starts fussing again.”

“Thank you, Reggie.” What could possibly have been so important that Romi, who granted has about as much brains as a dog in heat, would have come out–during the day–with her kids to go to a bookstore–when I’m not even sure she can read–owned by a dark witch?

Part of him wished he could just wash his hands of the whole thing. But they were his nieces and nephews–despite what blood they might or might not have–and there was also the words of the old man ringing in his head. “If yer gonna be a wizard, Reggie me lad, ye got three choices. Ye’ll either be cleaning up shit, walking through shit, or causing shit. And the more ye want to be able to look at yerself in the mirror when shaving, the more likely ye’ll be the one cleaning it up.” What else could he really do?

Tyves 16th, 1513 – River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

The big iron gate squealed as Anna-Marie pushed against it, sending up a tortured sounding shriek. And of course with the dusk had come a summer storm, which was building up fog like some giant blowing smoke rings. She bit her lip and tried to orient herself. She didn’t come here very often. She didn’t have any reason to.

She knew–at least in daylight–how to get to where Cookie and Ayla were, Darry had brought her a couple of times. And once, just once, Elias had brought her to see his mama. Anna-Marie shivered as a cool breeze made it’s way up her back, or maybe it was the way that same breeze stirred the fog.

There was a lantern at every crossroads. And there was a statue of some sort, with lanterns by Elias’ mama, so, hopefully she wouldn’t lose her way. Oh, why couldn’t she have just told Mama or Papa where she thought Elias was and let them go try and find him. Because this was her fault and it was too like what Romeo’d do to just drop fixing it into someone else’s lap.

She sucked in a deep breath, her head twisting around. She wasn’t scared–or at least until an owl hooted, somewhere out there in the dark, and she jumped. Maybe a little scared. And grass rattled behind her and she was lost.

“Yer alright, sweetie.” A voice seemed to say from somewhere out there in the mist. But she didn’t see anything. “Just head up th’ rise there an ye’ll see the lanterns.” It was a strange voice, sorta like someone whispering in her ear, sorta like someone speaking in her head.

It couldn’t be anything too bad. This was a churchyard and the Lord Wright wouldn’t let anything bad happen to anyone in a churchyard. So, maybe–well, if the lady was right, there’d be light ahead and she could see, and if she wasn’t then Anna-Marie could just turn right around and walk back down the rise and find the path again.

Easy, right? Again there was a feeling of something out there in the mist, like an arm settling around her shoulder, a smell like warm baking bread and cinnamon and–floor wax? But she still couldn’t see anything. But she squared her shoulders and marched up the rise that voice had wanted her to climb and yes, right there, ahead was some sort of statue. A big crescent moon with lanterns hanging off it under a big old weeping willow tree. And just off in the mist she could see the statue of St. Vivian.

Anna-Marie thought she knew where she was now and the feeling, the smell started to float away into the mist, with one last ghostly sensation of someone smoothing her hair back. “Thank you.” She whispered to whatever it had been with her.

She walked a little closer to the moon-statue-thing. “Who’s there?” A suspicious voice called out, sharp and much more sim than what had been with her in the dark and the mist. And it was a familiar one.

“Elias?” She asked, peering around the moon statue.

“What do y’want?” He sounded near as sullen as Romeo. To make this right. She thought. Because nobody should be out here in the mist. Not when they could be home with their family snug in their house.

“I wanted to ‘pologize.” She told him, though he didn’t move.

“How’d you know I’d be here.” He asked, staring up at the sky.

“Cause your mama’s here?” Anna-Marie bit her lip. “I wanted my mama and papa tonight too an’ Romeo was a lot meaner to you.”

“My papa doesn’t care.” Elias said.

“Elias Butcher, don’t be a stupid-head. I knewed you were missin’ cause your papa came to our house looking for you, an’ your step-mama too.” Anna-Marie planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“My papa came to your house?” Elias said, his voice cracking a little. “I don’t believe you!” He added a moment later, loud, it seemed to bounce off the mist and the trees. Anna-Marie took a deep breath, getting ready to shout him down. Maybe she was dumb and this was her fault, but Elias was being dumb too.

“Anna-Marie!” Her mama called from somewhere in the mist behind us.

“Elias, oh, Wright you scared me.” Elias’ papa said, pounding up out of the fog, Mrs. Butcher hard on his heels. “What were you thinking?” If he still thought that his papa didn’t care about him, Anna-Marie would give him such a piece of her mind.

“‘M sorry, papa.” He said, face crumpling. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. Y’shouldn’t haveta worry ’bout me.”

“‘Course I’m gonna worry about ye, Elias.” Mr. Butcher knelt next to Elias who buried his face in his hands. Maybe this was what Romeo didn’t understand, maybe the Lord Wright had made it so people could cry for a reason. Because sometimes you were hurt and the hurt needed to get out somehow. “Ye’re my son.”

“But you have Kian now.” Elias whimpered.

“That doesn’t change what I have with ye, Elias. You will always be my son, even when I’m old and totterin’ around on a cane and ye are too.” Mr. Butcher pulled Elias against him as the sky started to cry too. “Ye’re stuck with me worrin’ ’bout you.”

“Papa,” He shook his head and started to try and pull away from his papa, but Elias’ papa was smarter than that, or maybe he’d just figured out he’d forgotten one too many hugs because he just pulled Elias closer.

“Why would you run off, Elias?” Mr. Butcher asked as Elias sniffled and sobbed into his hands.

“Cause Romeo said you don’t love me no more cause you’ve got the twins.” Elias sobbed out and that seemed all he could sob out because he became incoherent after that. Anna-Marie swallowed hard.

“Romeo? Romeo Rose from next door? Why would he tell you that?” Mr. Butcher asked.

“Cause I told his papa that he’d been teasing Elias an’ callin’ him a crybaby.” Anna-Marie said, dinner and guilt swirling together and trying to climb up her throat from her tummy. “An’ Guardsman Rose told Romeo he had to do double chores til Hybel cause he’d been being a bully an’ so Romeo come out and told us that of course we’d tattle cause you don’t love Elias no more with Kian and Violet ’round.”

“And he didn’t say anything to you?” Mr. Butcher asked.

“He didn’t get the chance, Anna-Marie punched him in the face ‘fore he could.” Elias muttered to his hands. Elias’ papa stared hard at Anna-Marie for a moment, before stroking Elias’ hair.

“Well, Romeo is wrong, Elias. I love ye so much and I wouldn’t never fergive m’self if anything happened to ye. Never.” Mr. Butcher said. “An’ I suppose I deserve ye thinkin’ ye couldn’t tell me ’bout Romeo.” He shook his head “But why didn’t ye tell Star. I thought–,” He trailed off looking at his wife.

“She isn’t my mama.” Elias reminded him.

“Well, no, she’s not. But.” Mr. Butcher sighed.

“An’ if I start thinkin’ about her like a mama, won’t I forget my mama?” Elias asked.

“Oh, Elias. No, ye won’t forget yer mama. She’s in here.” He put his hand over Elias’ heart. “An’ she’ll always be there. She’s there in ye an’ in Marina an’ she’ll be there whenever you need her. But sometimes…” He trailed off again.

“Sometimes you need a friend, eh?” Mrs. Butcher said, speaking for the first time. “An’ if you need a friend, you can come to me anytime, okay?” Elias nodded. Mrs. Butcher leaned down and gave him a quick hug. “Now, at the risk of sounding like a mama, it’s raining and this mist is getting mistier by the moment an’ we should all get home before we’re soaked to the bone.”

Mr. Butcher put an arm around Elias’ shoulder and lead him off into the gloom, Mrs. Butcher close by the other side. “Papa Bear is right.” Anna-Marie’s mama said. “We can’t fault your heart. But sometimes, me lass, I wonder ’bout your brains.” She ruffled Anna-Marie’s hair before they too walked off into the mist.

—

Tyves 18th, 1513

“Colby!” Eve gave him an enthusiastic, just shy of bone crushing hug. “I was beginning to think you were a figment of my imagination. Reggie says you come by, but it’s always when I’m at lessons.”

“Sorry, Eve. When you’re at lessons is when I can get away.” Colby told his baby sister.

“You could bring the kids with you. I can play with them while you talk with Reggie.” Eve told him with a light poke in the torso. While Eve was a ball of energy, a comet of laughter and warmth that could light up any room, attention pretty much always settled on the man on the other side of the desk.

Even just sitting casually, white shirt stretched taut over broad cafe au lait shoulders, energy seemed to pulse and swirl around him. There really was no question as to how Reggie could hold an empire the size he did, five minutes in his company would tell you that even if Miguel, Captain of the idiots as well as the Guard of River Sulis always wondered it.

Colby could have told him, of course, but he chose to not remind people that he and Reggie were related. Miguel would either question Colby’s loyalty–or he’d come up with some moronic plan for how to use Colby against his brother.

“So what does bring you here?” Eve flounced into one of the ornate chairs on this side of the desk.

“Well… I need advice.” Colby admitted to his hands. And he might be a man grown with four children, but he still came to his elder brother when he needed it.

“Divorce your wife and set your eldest son up as a cabin boy under a captain with a hard reputation, I know a few, if you’d like some recommendations.” Reggie said with a smirk.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Colby snorted sarcastically.

“Well, I think it’s good advice.” Reggie sending a wink to Eve.

“Romi would never forgive me if I sent Romeo away.” Colby said.

“He’d come back–hopefully with some sort of better perspective and a work ethic. And maybe not be such a little brat.” Reggie told him, thoughtfully. “But what did you need advice on?”

“Well, Romeo–actually. The Osmonts little girl, Anna?” Colby frowned that didn’t sound quite right.

“Anna-Marie.” He should have known that Reggie would know. He probably knew the name of every chicken in River Sulis, let alone ever child.

“Aye. Anna-Marie dragged the Butcher boy over to my house on Saturday. Romeo’s apparently been bullying the kid something fierce. And don’t say you told me so. I know you did.”

“When do I ever say I told you so?” Reggie asked with a quirked eyebrow. Okay, well, he didn’t say he told you so, even when he had. With Colby he didn’t have to. Colby was so used to hearing it from his wife that even if no one else said it, he still knew it.

“I made him apologize to the boy and gave him extra chores for a couple months in hopes that that might straighten him out–just a little.” Colby sighed. “But right after I gave him the punishment, he went outside and picked another fight with Elias.” Reggie shook his head. “But he might have bit off more than he could chew, because he did come back in the house with a bloody nose.”

“Elias Butcher gave Romeo a bloody nose?” Eve asked, sounding startled. How would–oh, yeah, Marina, Elias’s older sister was old enough to run in the same crowd that Eve did. She probably knew the kid enough to know that it was highly unlikely. Colby couldn’t claim to know either kid well, he didn’t have any children Marina’s age and quite obviously Elias wasn’t one of Romeo’s regular cronies.

“No. I’m pretty sure the bloody nose probably came from Anna-Marie.” Reggie said with a wry chuckle. “The Osmont girl is a spit-fire if nothing else.”

“Oh.” Eve said with a nod.

“So obviously taking the trash out every night isn’t going to solve the problem.” Colby sighed. “But hell if I know what to do with him that might make him see the error of his ways.”

“You could send him over here.” Reggie told him.

“Even if Romi wouldn’t flip, I’m not sure that Romeo would see that as a punishment.” Colby told him. Thinking back to all the times he had heard Romeo lording it over other children that his uncle was Reginald Rose.

“He’d probably get it soon enough if I have him helping old Ed spread manure in the flowerbeds and he gets stuck polishing the marble.” Reggie said.

“I dunno, Reg. Romeo seems to think that he’s gonna grow up to be just like you some day. Not me, slaving away at the city guard with nothing to show for it.”

“Because your wife doesn’t understand the concept of a budget.” It was Eve who said that, but still Colby winced.

“Still, he thinks being–what you are is–flashy.” Colby said with a sigh.

“He’ll never be what I am, unless he changes his personality entirely. And quite honestly I wouldn’t hire him, even as a grunt, with any personality I see him growing. But you’re right that we need to do something because I can think of a few people who would love to put one in your eye and mine by hiring him on.” Reggie folded his hands before standing up and heading over to pour himself some wine.

“I know what we do.” Eve said with a grin. “We do like Reggie suggested and have him come over to sweep floors and polish the marble and spread the manure and what not. And then we don’t bother hiding all the disreputable characters that Reggie has to deal with on a day to day basis from him like usual.”

“It’s partially our fault that he thinks it’s so glamorous to be–whatever Reggie is.” Eve sighed. “We have tried our best to hide the bad parts from the kids, you just still try and hide the worst parts from me when you can.” Colby and Reggie shared a shrug. “But if he sees some of the absolutely creepy guys who waltz in and out of this office, maybe he’ll see it’s not all sunshine and roses.”

“Maybe.” Colby said dubiously. “Romi won’t like it though.”

“Well, tell her if she’d discipline your kid then you wouldn’t have to send him to me.” Reggie told Colby flatly. Colby sighed. “It’s part of being a parent–or at least acting in a parental capacity.”

“Speaking of things parents have to do that aren’t fun, Reggie, you still haven’t told me if I can go to Lady Elizabet’s birthday party with Darin yet.”

“Darin–Sara-Beth’s Darin?”

“Aye.” Reggie and Eve nodded. “Darin seems to have gotten some sort of in with the baron’s son.” Reggie shrugged.

“Aye, I figured as much when Darin got caught on a pub crawl with Lord Joshua. But–still–Darin?”

“What’s wrong with Darin?” Eve asked planting her hands on her hips.

“Well, you’ve gotta admit, Eve, this family hasn’t had the best of luck, romantically speaking, with that family.  And Darin is Sara-Beth’s brother through and through.” Colby sighed.

“It’s an invitation to a fancy dress party not a marriage proposal.” Eve tossed her head.

“I don’t know why you’re waiting for me to say yes, even if I said no, you’d just poke me til I said yes, so aye, you can go with Darin to the party.”

“Goody. Tell Romeo to be over after school tomorrow.” Eve said skipping toward the painting that hid a door between Reggie’s office and the private family portion of the house.

“That girl.” Colby sighed.

“Meh, she keeps me on my toes.” Reggie said. “And she’s a good kid.” Colby nodded and wished, just for a moment, whatever magic Reggie possessed, that it would be enough to make his son into what anyone would call a good kid.

Clatan 18th, 1513 – Outskirts of River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

Of all of the things that Darin had expected to be doing on St. Skip’s day, introducing the son and heir of the local baron to a crime lord was not one of them. However, as Darin watched Reggie and Joshua shake hands, that seemed to be exactly what he was doing. Of course if you’d asked him six weeks ago what he planned on doing on St. Skip’s day, he would have had to pause for a second to remember what day it even was, and told you that he expected to spend it either at home studying or at one of his friends’ with maybe a jaunt over to the Boar.

What he wouldn’t have told you was that he was going to be going out for a night on town with several of the wealthiest, most influential boys under the age of eighteen in the entire town.

When he’d seen Joshua off that morning just a month ago, confused, bewildered, and–just generally wondering if maybe someone had gone a few rounds on him, he had expected to see Joshua in class on Monday morning. Then he hadn’t, he didn’t see him again until the following Saturday. And it involved another rescue, though from nothing more serious than Darin’s friends and the catcalls that they gave the “pretty boy” who had rode down their street on a white horse. And that rescue was admittedly safe enough for Darin, all he had to do was point out that the young man on the white horse was the son and heir of the local baron and even Neal’s trap had slammed shut.

After he’d gotten Joshua away from Neal and them, Joshua had offered Darin the most peculiar not-an-explanation explanation that Darin had ever gotten for what had happened the previous weekend. From that had come an inquiry about tutoring and if Darin would be willing to take on another student for tutoring.

And as if some sort of magical portal had opened up with that conversation, Darin had gone from being an outsider on the outside looking in to being an outsider on the inside looking forlornly out. Instead of going from his tutoring sessions home to the empty cottage where he would spend his evening studying, he was now fielding invitations to go out drinking in some of the best taverns in the city, to go riding or hawking or hunting or attend entertainment.

Except, of course, that Darin didn’t have a horse or a hawk, he didn’t know how to hunt, he could barely afford a cup of the cheapest beer in those taverns and the masques and entertainment was all high brow, classical stuff. And whenever Darin offered one of those protests, Joshua just shrugged it off. Darin could ride his other horse. That one didn’t actually need a hawk to go out hawking. That they weren’t really “hunting” anything, it was the wrong season for it, mostly it was just an excuse to get out of the city and out from under the eyes of their parents. Joshua always picked up Darin’s drink at the tavern.

As for the masques–well, all Joshua would say on that subject was that it was culture and good for him. (That one rather sounded like Raven trying to coax peas into Johnny, in all honesty.)

Darin sort of wondered why Joshua was bothering, he could spend the next two years being Joshua’s shadow and what would it prove? But you couldn’t say that to Joshua, he was incredibly good at somehow not hearing any protest that Darin could offer.

“So that’s Reginald Rose?” Joshua asked after they had shaken hands and politely mouthed formulas of things they didn’t really mean at each other. “I thought he’d be–um.”

“Oh, he can be. That’s Reggie on his day off.” Darin smiled.

“And he makes my father cry himself to sleep.” Joshua said wonderingly but with a laugh. Darin shot him a look. “Joke. It’s a joke.” A strange one. But then again, Darin had never met the baron and if he had his way, he wouldn’t, ever. Maybe it was one of those jokes that made more sense if you knew the person involved.

“Are you ready to go?” Joshua asked. Darin shrugged but followed as Joshua lead the way back up the street.

—

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is the sixth tavern we’ve been kicked out of tonight.” Darin pointed out to Josh after the disgruntled tavern keeper took his broom and turned to head back inside.

“And the night is still young.” Someone from the front of the group declared drunkenly.

“What’s wrong, Princess,” Constantin slurred. “You turn into a turnip or somethin’ at midnight?”

“You moron, it was a cabbage.” Edouard protested.

“I’m pretty sure it was a pum’kin.” Charlie countered.

“If you think it was a pum’kin, you need another drink.” Edouard told him.

“Now all we need is a tavern that lessus in.” Constantin thrust his fist into the air and pointed vaguely forward. “For-red marsh!”

“So when’s this end?” Darin asked, glancing up at the narrow sliver of moon in the sky.

“It’s a pub crawl. It ends when we pass out, run out of taverns, or the guard gets called.” Joshua told him cheerfully. What in Wright’s name have I gotten myself into.

“And it looks like it’s the third option.” A completely sober voice that caused Darin’s stomach to sink somewhere down in the vicinity of his shoes. He didn’t even have to turn to see the black and red guard uniform to know who it was walking out of the shadows behind the tavern.

Of all the bad stinkin’ luck…

“Let’s go, you two. Looks like your friends will have to catch up.” Colby told them gesturing toward the front gate of the square.

—

Joshua slumped in the wooden chair in a nicely appointed office in the guard’s station. A frozen expression of vague pleasantness was plastered on his face. He hadn’t said anything since the guardsman had opened the door to the building, any genuine good humor long since vanished.

“What’s the matter?” Darin asked.

“We know most of the guards, there are ones that you can negotiate with–there are ones you can’t. He’s firmly in the ones you can’t.” Joshua told him. “We’ll have to stay here until our parents come get us.”

“That may be a while.” Darin muttered. Joshua looked up at him. “My parents are dead. I hope Sara-Beth’ll work as substitute.”

“I wish my sister would work.” Joshua crossed his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately I don’t think they let eleven year olds come bail you out of gaol.” Darin looked at him for a moment before Joshua sighed and slumped further. “You–don’t know my father.”

Darin flashed back to what Josh had said in the alley behind the Boar. “They’ll tell my father.” memory whispered.

“Well, isn’t there anyone else you can ask? A servant, your father’s steward?” Darin asked.

“Cox would be worse.” Joshua whispered, before Darin could ask why, the door to the office opened and a man not dressed in a uniform came through and made his way around the desk. Passing close enough to Darin for him to easily smell the miasma of wine lingering around him.

“M’lord,” He bowed his head to Joshua. The captain ignored Darin entirely. “I understand the urge to get rowdy sometimes but must you boys leave a swath of destruction behind you every time you do?”

Joshua said nothing.  “What would your lord grandfather think?”

“The same Lord-grandfather who helped burn down a tavern at Camford?” Joshua sneered coldly. The guard captain blinked slowly, apparently being saved from wringing another soggy thought from his obviously underused brain, by a tap on the door.

“Captain, sir, the boys’ sisters are here.” Colby told him.

“I asked for parents, Guardsman Rose!” He thundered, the wine smell around him seeming to billow out with the word.

“Mr. Capshaw is an orphan, sir, if you insist upon making him wait until his parents arrive, you may never use your office again. As for Lord Joshua, well, perhaps you should talk to her yourself.” The captain grumbled and got to his feet.

“Not you!” He exclaimed from the doorway.

“Why not me?” A strange female voice inquired cheerfully. “Whoa, boy, what’d you do, drink a wineshop outta business, Miguel?”

“You are not Lord Joshua’s parents.”

“Obviously.” Though Darin couldn’t see the speaker’s face, a smirk was obvious in her voice.

“Cousin Miguel, mother and father are at the Finessas for their Saint Skip’s day dinner, I thought it would be just as easy, when the boy arrived, just bring Madame Cox and come myself.” A younger female voice interjected. “And I know that father has on record his permission for my brother and I to be released into the custody of any of our upper servants.” That must be Elizabet, Joshua’s sister, Darin decided.

“But she isn’t a servant.” The captain said triumphantly.

“Please don’t lean toward me when you yell, Miguel, I’m getting tipsy off the fumes.” The woman, Madame Cox? said.

“This evening, Madame Cox is serving as my companion, that makes her technically a servant.” Elizabet told him sunnily.

“She’s got you, old boy. You couldn’t think your way outta this one sober, and it’s painfully obvious you’re not that. Just release the kid, then you can go back to drinking yourself flat.” Madame Cox told him.

“Fine! Rose! Get the Wright-be-damned papers and get these–women–out of my guard station.”

“See you on Sunday for brunch, Miguel.” Madame Cox called after him as he stormed off.