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Marius' Story chapter 4

Note: There is a short addendum to the previous chapter that you should read before continuing. It got posted around the time I posted chapter 3 of Riah's story, so if you read it after that you're fine.

A/n: Hello everybody!! Here's Marius chapter 4!! Hope y'all like it!!

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Harlot wasn't in the kitchen or the common room, but a quick question to Bighana provided the information that she was probably still in the basement, packing up raw materials to bring upstairs for the next day's meals. The entrance to the basement was off the common room, he remembered: he'd seen it when he'd first gotten there that morning. The common room was moderately full, despite it being between meals, and Marius found himself wishing he'd kept his shirt on, or just put it back on wet. But people here seemed to go shirtless pretty frequently, even the women, and at any rate nobody stared as he headed for the narrow staircase that led down to the basement.

At the bottom, he was relieved to find Harlot where Bighana had told him, hauling a heavy burlap sack to the base of the stairs.

The room wasn't small, but it was packed, largely with crates and sacks the like of the one Harlot was moving. It smelled of beer and dust, but was surprisingly well-lit. Looking for the source of the light, he found a bright light that looked like it floated freely in the air, though it was probably attached by a wire he couldn't see. A wire that small, strong enough to hang things from, and it provides power? That was more advanced tech than he'd expect to see in his world. Weird. There was also a small creature crawling around on the ceiling – a bat, he realized a moment later. And it's awake in the day? That was a seriously bad sign, where he came from, but Harlot didn't seem concerned. He'd never heard of bats actually crawling around on the ceiling before, either. It was definitely a bat, though – wings and all.

“What do you need, Lad?” Harlot asked him, leaning over to pick up another heavy-looking burlap sack.

He stopped staring at the 'bat' to look at her, steeling himself. “Cash,” he said bluntly to her back, before realizing what it sounded like. “I mean, a job that pays cash. And paperwork, unless somebody'd hire me without it.”

“You leavin' us already?” Harlot asked him, reaching the steps with her burden and putting it down.

“No,” Marius said quickly. “Or I hope not. But I need real money or I'm not going to be able to feed Mo.”

Harlot straightened up to face him and talk. “Mo's the child?” she said.

Oh yeah. He'd told Bighana her name, but not Harlot. “Yeah,” he said. “Moriyana, really.”

Harlot raised an eyebrow. “And you took her lovely, feminine name, and shortened it to Mo.”

“Isn't your name Rosalind?” he asked her. Realizing what he'd said, and to whom, he blushed and almost apologized, but Harlot grinned.

“Touché,” she told him. “Mo it is. And you need a job that'll pay for her necessaries.”

“Yeah,” Marius said.

“Alright,” Harlot said, speaking slowly as she thought it over. “I don't know of anybody who'd hire illegally, but nobody'd probably report you for asking. Papers is harder – usually they'd ask you for your birth papers or at least some sort of immigration documents, and you don't have those.”

“They'd deport me?” Marius asked hopefully. That would be a way home.

“Nah,” Harlot said, shaking her head. “Not that. They'd make you pay a fine, just like if you'd lost them. Thing is, you ain't got the money and won't for quite a while, way you're going. I'm not sure what they'd do, to be honest. They might even put you in the debtor's prison, make you work off the fine.”

Woah, Marius thought. He'd better not get caught, then. “So you're suggesting I just go for the job, then?” Marius asked.

“Yeah,” Harlot said, still thinking it over. “I guess I am. Though you won't get paid as much without papers. Anyone who's hiring you is taking the risk of a substantial fine, and most'll take that out of your wages. Though you won't be paying taxes on it, of course, so that'll help some.”

“Fantastic,” Marius told her. “Any suggestions for where I should try, though?”

Harlot winced. “The nightclubs,” she said hesitantly. “It's how I got my start. And you're a pretty kid. You'd have to tell them you were eighteen, though.” She grinned cynically. “You don't look eighteen, but they'd believe you anyway. You just need to give them plausible deniability.”

“Plausible-” Marius asked, not understanding.

“They need to be able to claim that they didn't know you were underage,” Harlot said. “They don't actually need to make you prove you aren't. Quite the useful little loophole, for those of us in the business. I got started when I was younger than you.” She frowned. “Not the best period of my life, but I survived it. You can, too.”

Marius swallowed. “Anywhere else?” he asked her.

Harlot frowned further. “Don't dismiss it offhand, lad,” she said. “You sound like you're in pretty desperate straits, and if dancing's your problem, the nightclubs need waiters, too. Otherwise...” she trailed off. “Maybe other bars or restaurants? Waiting tables for dinner wouldn't interfere with your work here, probably.”

Waiter, Marius thought, relieved. That, I can do.

But Harlot was still frowning. “The babe's going to be a real problem, though, anywhere you go. I only hired you 'cause Bighana already had Ran, and wouldn't mind watching an extra now and again.”

Great, he thought. So nobody'll hire me. Maybe a different goal would be better. “What would it take to get me deported?” he asked Harlot.

Harlot furrowed her eyebrows, but seemed to think about it. “A lot,” she said finally. “Mostly, they'd just jail you, 'specially if they couldn't prove where you came in from. Gates are expensive, and they'd need to set them up where you wouldn't be noticed coming in the other side. Far as I know, the only permanent two-ways are in the gate hubs, and a ticket'd cost you your first-born.”

Marius took a breath. I am starting to hate being poor, he thought. “Gate hubs?” he asked her. Hadn't the satyr he'd met mentioned the same thing? He couldn't remember.

“Lots and lots of gates to and from various parts of the world and even some to yours,” she told him, “all put together in a building with far too many people and far too much bureaucracy.”

An airport, Marius realized. Or close. But he was getting distracted. Getting a job was not going to work, and neither was getting deported. I have got to find this kid's family. “Who do I talk to about having found a missing child?” he asked.

“Found?” Harlot repeated, sounding genuinely surprised. I guess Bighana didn't talk to her. “This anything to do with why you didn't know if you had a carrier or not? An' why she's fae and you at least look human?”

“I am human,” Marius said. “And yes.”

“Tell,” Harlot ordered him.

He took a deep breath, and told her.

“And so you're hoping that if you report her found, somebody else'll have reported her missing?” Harlot clarified at the end.

“Yeah,” Marius said. “I mean, she's got to have family somewhere, right?”

“Likely,” Harlot said, once again sounding thoughtful.

“She told me to go to the 'Elite',” Marius told her. “Does that mean anything?”

“Only that the babe's family has some money,” Harlot said absently. “The Elite refers to the uptown guard, especially those that work at the palace.” She stopped for a bit, considering, before continuing. “It does lead to another problem, too, though. Has it occurred to you that if somebody's looking for her, they're likely looking for the mother, too?”

Marius blanched. He hadn't thought of that, at all, actually. Her body. I walked away from a body carrying her baby and her possessions. He fought to keep his voice steady against his sudden terror. He could be charged with murder, and in a country he knew nothing about. Jesus. “I'll just tell them the truth,” he said. “Lliannan gave her to me.”

“And just keeled over and died,” Harlot stated.

“Yeah,” Marius said decisively. “I don't know why.”

“And so you took her baby and everything of value from her body,” Harlot said, following the logic. “And took off through the nearest gate.”

Marius swallowed. “She gave them to me,” he said.

“Just before dying,” Harlot said.

“Yeah,” Marius said weakly.

Harlot just gave him a look.

“Okay,” Marius said, regrouping. “So I don't tell them the mother's dead,” he said. “I just found the baby...on my doorstep, or something.”

“Oh,” Harlot said sarcastically. “So you just kidnapped the baby, and you have no idea what happened to the very wealthy mother.”

“I didn't kill her,” he protested. “And she shoved Mo at me. Why would I kidnap her? I don't even know who to ask ransom from!”

“Easy, lad,” Harlot said, holding up a hand. “I believe you. If you had killed the mother, your story'd be better, and you wouldn't be so frantic tryin' to take care of the kid. But you've got to realize, the city guard are good men. They do their best. But they are not miracle workers, and they have all the evidence in the world that you killed that woman, 'less they get a witch on retainer to tell them different. Which would be expensive.”

Marius rolled his head back on his neck, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling. The bat thing had gone off somewhere. “Someone up there hates me,” he said.

“Nah, the Maker's not got it in for you just yet,” Harlot said. “But he does have his opinions. Perhaps he wishes for you to keep the child.”

“Oh, hell no,” Marius told her. “No, no. There is no way your God wants a sixteen-year-old human boy to take care of a five-month-old fae baby. And if he did, he'd damned well better provide some damned money. I am finding Mo's family.”

Harlot raised both hands, as if to fend him off, or show herself unarmed. “Relax, lad. It was just a theory, and one that some, at least, would find comforting. But how are you planning on finding her family, barring turning yourself in to the guard?”

Marius closed his eyes, nearly in tears with frustration. “I don't know,” he told her. “Maybe they'll put up fliers? Missing child? Maybe I can explain what happened after I return her?”

Harlot shrugged. “Maybe. You better hope they don't report you, though. Whoever you find, they're going to want to know why Lliannan died.” She frowned. “If I were you, I'd plan for the long haul, kid. If they're looking, and you're watching for fliers or the like, they'll find you. But if they ain't looking for you, I don't see that you're going to find them.”

The long haul. “How long?” he asked desperately.

Harlot just gave him a look.

He closed his eyes. “I know,” he said. “Stupid question. You couldn't just tell me they'll find me sometime next week?”

When he opened his eyes, Harlot was frowning at him. “You said her mother gave her to you. How exactly did she word that?”

Was that important? “Umm...” Marius said, closing his eyes again to think. “She was looking specifically for me, somehow,” he remembered. “She handed me the baby. I objected, tried to hand her back. She said, 'she's yours, now.' I objected again. She gave me the diaper bag and a book. She said Mo had to be with me. That she'd die, otherwise. She seemed to believe it, but I didn't. I was still arguing when she died. Voilá me in an alley with a dead woman, carrying her daughter and her possessions.”

“She said that specifically, 'she's yours, now,'? She handed you the baby intentionally, and said you were to keep her?” Harlot clarified.

“Yeah,” Marius said. “Why is that important?”

“Because adoption law is not complicated, here,” Harlot said, shrugging. “She gave her to you, said the right words, the baby was in your possession when the mother died. By every law we have, she's your daughter. If they believe your story, anyway. If you were a citizen, you'd be able to collect welfare.”

“Papers,” Marius said again.

“Papers,” Harlot agreed.

It wasn't until after that that the true import of Harlot's words hit him. “I've adopted her, by your laws?”

“Yeah, if you wanted to claim it,” Harlot said. “And unless you in turn drop her in an orphanage or the like, that holds regardless. You have her, the mother wanted you to have her, she's yours. No matter your reluctance at the time. It's a good thing, lad,” she said, seeing his expression. “It means she can't be taken from you, even if you do find her family, unless you want to give her away. Once you get your citizenship, it'll be a really good thing. We have some serious protections for orphans and single parents, societal stigma aside.”

“Stigma?” Marius asked.

“Child out of wedlock?” Harlot returned. “Does your society not have a stigma?”

Marius felt himself color, more aware than ever that his chest was bare. “I did not-!”

“I realize that, lad, but you won't get a chance to explain, with most people, and that's the assumption they'll make, after awhile. If you can, your best bet is to claim you're a widower. That's preferable, and not less true, than the story that you were messing around and Lliannan abandoned her child, is it not?”

“I can tell you which sounds more likely,” Marius said. “I'm sixteen.”

“Not that unusual that you'd be married, here,” Harlot said. “And nobody's going to believe that you willingly adopted a child not your own.”

“I didn't,” Marius insisted.

“You're going to drop her off at the Grover's Street Children's Home?” Harlot asked, meeting his eyes challengingly. “I can tell you where it is. Problem solved, and the child's chances to find her family are about as good, at least if she survives.”

“If-?” Marius asked reluctantly. Bighana had already told him that Lliannan had probably been correct, but he'd still hoped Harlot might tell him differently.

“If,” Harlot said, eyes still challenging. “The likelihood the child'd die is pretty good, if that's what Lliannan said. Stranger things have happened, and I don't know why she'd've been looking for you specifically, otherwise. You willing to take that risk?”

“You're asking me if I'll just drop her off and let her die?” Marius asked her incredulously.

“You'd never have to know if she did,” Harlot pointed out. “Not if you didn't ask. You could assume she survived. And there's at least some chance she'd live.”

Marius swallowed. That sounded horrible. “Yeah, clearly the solution is to expose her on a hill somewhere,” he said bitterly. “Maybe she'll learn to survive on her own.”

Harlot watched him seriously. “That's what most would do, lad. It's not your fault you got into this situation.”

“I can't do that,” Marius told her, shaking his head frantically. “I can't. I couldn't stand not knowing. She's a little person.”

Harlot raised her eyebrows. “Well, then, she's your little person,” she said matter-of-factly. “Congratulations, you're a Dada.”

Marius shut his eyes once again, trying to process. In the end, all he came up with was something stupid. “I hate this country,” he said finally.

Harlot snorted. “Widows and orphans have lived on charity or the lack of it for time immemorial,” she said. “No government is going to be able to fix that entirely. Ours does try, but they have to know you exist, first.”

Marius snorted, hearing it come out as cynically as Harlot's. “And the meek shall inherit the earth,” he told her.

“These you will always have with you,” Harlot countered.

“Don't know that bit,” Marius told her. They have the same bible, here?

Harlot just shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

“What sort of connection do our worlds have?” he asked her, curious.

“A complicated one,” Harlot said slowly. “Mostly we just exist in parallel, but there've been some major crossovers.”

“Crossovers?” Marius asked.

“Migrations,” she clarified. “Or just simple moves. We get refugees and other immigrants from your world once in awhile, and occasionally people here will visit your world just as tourists. But we've both been around for a long time, with this going on, so you'll find a lot of legends in your world are simple truth, here, and most of us know at least some things about your world. Some of the witches here were originally from your world. Our government brings them over, when it can. Witches are valuable.”

“They bring them over on purpose?”

“Yup. They send an official over to wherever the witch is, and bring them over. Not against the witch's will, of course, but they're generally pretty willing. Like I said before, witching's damned profitable, here. In your world, it's pretty typical for a witch to end up some sort of outcast. Witches tend to be a little-” she wiggled a hand. “-odd. Even in our world. At any rate, that, and the schools, mean that we have more witches in this country than anywhere else in the world.”

“Schools?” Marius asked.

“We have the wealthiest and most famous witching schools anywhere,” Harlot said. “Ritten Academy, here in the north, Darlinger way off in the East, and Karana down South.”

“Ah,” Marius said. But he had other things he needed to be thinking about. A job, for instance. It was roughly four o'clock in the afternoon. He could get paid that evening, if he figured something out quickly enough.

“I have to get back upstairs, now, Lad,” Harlot said. “Take a load on your way up?”

“Sure,” Marius said automatically. Fortunately, whatever was in the bulky bag she handed him wasn't dense, and he had no trouble taking it up the stairs and into the noisy common room. Harlot was just behind him, and he got out of her way at the top so she'd show him where he could put the bag down. When she got to the top, though, she stopped and surveyed the room, a thoughtful expression on her face, and spoke.

“Put the bag down here, Lad, I think I may be able to help you out after all,” she said before turning back to the room. “Hey, Kahrn!” she called. Halfway across the room, a tall, proud-looking man looked up, saw Harlot, and got up to approach them. Marius put the bag down as Harlot had told him to, and watched the man approach.

“Mistress Harlot,” Kahrn greeted formally. He barely gave Marius a second glance.

“I'm calling in that favor,” she said directly, indicating Marius. “Boy here needs a job, preferably not on stage. No working papers, and he's got an infant needs to come with him. You can take him?”

Preferably not on stage? Shit, she was talking about a nightclub. I need a job, he reminded himself. Any job. His little person. Jesus.

Finally the man deigned to look at him, looking him over from head to toe, and lingering on his face and still-hairless chest, a speculative look on his haughty face. “Will he work?” he asked doubtfully.

“Bighana says yes,” Harlot said.

She checked up on my work, Marius realized. Apparently he'd passed.

“Far be it from me to doubt Missus Bighana,” Kahrn said, still looking at Marius like he was a dubious side of meat. And looking at his chest as much as his face. Marius swallowed, but finally the man looked back to Harlot. “No papers, and an infant?” he asked, tone politely incredulous.

“All the more reason for him to do well by you,” Harlot countered.

“No need to convince me, Harlot,” he said, like something was sour. “He can come with me tonight at eight. Do not be late, boy.”

“Thank you,” Harlot said.

“Paid in full,” Kahrn countered.

Harlot just smiled. “Understood.”

He returned to his chair, and Marius stared at Harlot. Just like that, he had a job. Hot damn. “Thank you,” he told her. “I owe you one.” Proportional to whatever she'd been able to hold over Kahrn, come to think of it. That sounded like quite the favor.

“How old are you?” the woman asked him, ignoring that.

“Six-” he cut off when she frowned, abruptly understanding. He swallowed. “Eighteen,” he told her. “I'm eighteen.”

“Good boy,” Harlot said. “Don't forget it. I ain't getting you another job.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, watching as she picked up the sack she'd been carrying and brought it to the kitchen.

Shit. Nightclub?

His little person, he reminded himself again. He was responsible for her, now, as long as she needed him. If that meant missing his meals to get her hers, then he had to do it. A job waiting tables at a nightclub was the least of it. His gut tightened. Oh, God. I can't do this. Yes, yes, he could. Because if he didn't care for her, nobody would. He was not going to just let her die.

So the baby lives. That's what I'm doing. That is all. In a way, that was reassuring. It simplified everything. Mission: Impossible 10^8: Keep the baby alive. That might involve getting home soon, or it might not. That could not be the priority.

But he did not have to go for the 'long haul' at this job, he realized. He could keep it just long enough to find another one, if it was miserable. And until eight – he was done. He didn't have to do anything at all. Well, other than take care of Mo. And eat dinner, if Bighana would give it to him before the scheduled time. So pretty much he had only the time while Moriyana was sleeping.

Now that he had the job he needed, though, he found himself anxious about leaving her alone. He went upstairs and let himself quietly into the room, once again holding his breath in fear of waking her. But she was still sound asleep.

Once again the sight of his bed called him, and this time he could afford to listen. Not bothering to even get under the blankets, he fell onto the bed. The quilt felt a little strange against his bare skin, but it felt like the mattress was leaching the strength from his limbs, so that he'd never get out again and never want to. His brain shut down almost as quickly, and he fell asleep.

He woke up in confusion, feeling like he hadn't slept at all. Something was making noise – a high-pitched, anxious, unhappy sound- oh. I was really hoping that was a dream.

But no, he really was in some strange world where he had to take a job at a strip club in order to feed someone else's baby. Someone else's baby who was currently screaming at the top of her lungs. Growling, he rolled to a sit, twisting to put his feet on the floor at the same time and almost hitting his head on the sloping ceiling as he moved from the sit into a swaying stand.

Too groggy to really think, he picked the baby up from her basket and grabbed the diaper bag from beside it before heading down the stairs to the kitchen to feed her.

As it turned out, he'd only slept for an hour or so, and had plenty of time to change and feed Mo and get his own dinner before meeting Kahrn.

To his pleasure, he discovered that the dinner included meat, a thin slice of something he didn't recognize but that tasted like some sort of poultry. He ate it hungrily and got seconds on the sides, learning from Bighana that he was welcome to seconds on anything except meat. Good to know, he thought.

By the time the bell rang seven he and Mo were both fed and he was feeling slightly better about the world. He returned to his room by default, laying back on the bed with Mo still in his arms. She was quiet, for once, chewing contentedly on a lock of his hair and her own fist.

“Hi baby,” he told her tiredly. To his surprise, she lifted her head to look at him. Purple eyes, he noticed. Strange. And she was drooling all over her own face and his chest. He'd left the diaper bag next to the bed he was lying on, so with a little straining he could get to a washcloth.

“Here, grossness,” he told her, drying her face gently. He came upon the earrings in her upper ear again, and put a hand to his own. They were still there, of course – two hoops to Mo's stud and a hoop. He'd almost forgotten about them. It must have been some sort of magic to put them in, he realized belatedly. They really had no clasp, and Lliannan had given them to him with one hand.

But why had she even given them to him? Jewelry seemed like it should have been very low on the priority list, given the circumstances. “You'll need this, and these,” she'd said. She'd been frantic, and she'd claimed that he'd need a book and a set of earrings. It was like the gold, frankincense, and myrrh of the Nativity story – could she've given him some more formula and diapers, instead?

“Go to the Elite,” she'd said. Just like they wouldn't accuse him of murder. The woman was an idiot. Or had been. She'd left him with so few options that he was taking a job at a strip joint, and she'd given him earrings.

The thought of his job sent a new stab of anxiety through him. He'd never stepped foot in a nightclub, even in his world. What would be expected of him at this one? Sure he was supposed to wait tables, but... would he have a uniform? If so, what sort of costume would he be expected to wear? His imagination was not his friend at this point, and he fought off images of being asked to wear nothing but a bow tie and thong. Surely they wouldn't ask that of him. Surely. But he would have no other options, if they did. This man Kahrn could treat him as badly as he wanted to...and he already resented him.

A squeel interrupted his thoughts, and he willingly turned his attention back to the infant on his chest. She'd lifted herself off his chest on little arms and was staring into his face.

“What?” he asked her. “Bored already?”

She grinned widely and gurgled, and he couldn't help but smile back.

“Oh I see,” he told her, grinning. “I'm just the best thing since sliced bread, that's all. Glad you noticed.”

She squeeled again, and collapsed back onto his chest, reaching out for his face with one hand. He picked up his head to capture her hand in his mouth, shielding his teeth carefully with his lips. She pulled back, and he held on for a moment before letting go. She squealed again and reached for his mouth, and he did it again. This time when he let go she reached up to pat his cheek, and he grabbed her hand in one of his, almost covering her fist in a hand that suddenly felt monstrously large. She gripped his fingers and pulled them clumsily towards her mouth, and he freed himself gently, not wanting her drool on his fingers.

He sat up, hand behind her head and supporting her neck. He set her lying on his lap, and she grabbed one of her own feet with both hands and brought it to her mouth.

“I have got to find you something else to chew on,” he told her, before frowning. Yeah, because you have so much money to buy it with, genius.

But she was still happy, and released her foot to reach both chubby hands up to him, kicking him in the stomach with both feet and gurgling at the same time. Unsure, he lifter her under the arms and stood her on his lap. Her legs held for a couple of seconds before her knees buckled, and he stood her back up, and they buckled again. She seemed to like it, though, and so he stood her up again. This time she bounced up and down a couple of times before falling onto her bum. He let her, studying her big bright eyes as she stuffed her fingers in her mouth.

“All for you, baby,” he told her. It didn't seem quite so strange, looking at her trusting face. My little person, he remembered again. He'd keep her safe.

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A/n: That's it!! Hope you liked!! Riah's next chapter should be out soon, too.

Update

Hey everybody! I just wanted to let you know that I just started a WordPress version of this same blog. It has all the Marius and Riah story chapters on it, and is a lot prettier. WordPress is just wayyyyy better than Blogger. If I can get people to transfer over, I'll be switching, but in the meantime I'll maintain both blogs. Here's the link:

http://trainsofthoughtstories.wordpress.com/

Thanks!! RhiannanT

Riah's Story Chapter 4

A/n: Hey everybody!! Thanks for being patient!! The last couple of chapters have gone through some major edits again - we not get a fair amount more of Mathias Greuster's point of view, which I think is important. Hopefully that'll be the last major back-edit on these stories, though I can't promise - this early in a story, seemingly minor changes can be really important.

Anyway, hope you like it!!

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Riah felt his mood lift a little as he walked to the Base Magic building. The school was really beautiful, in places. Though in autumn there wasn't much in the way of flowers, gardens alongside the larger pathways were arranged to have some fall color. His mother had talked about that, with her garden – disparaging gardeners who could only claim two season's worth of beauty from their gardens. He could see what she meant, though couldn't imagine how she made “fall interest” a moral imperative. Personally, he wasn't much interested in growing anything he couldn't eat. Still, the gardens were nice, and something in them smelled very pleasant – spicy and lightly sweet at the same time, and he finally realized that there were flowers he hadn't seen, tiny little yellow ones almost hidden by their own extravagant foliage.

The building wasn't difficult to find, either. For one thing, the map he'd been given was quite helpful, and for another the paths were marked with signs at each crossroads, pointing to the Beginner Complex in one direction, and the Intermediate Complex, Base Magic building, and mess hall in the other. He'd already been to the mess hall before, but hadn't noticed the other building across from it. It was a good deal smaller, roughly the same size as the classroom buildings he'd already seen but without the upper floors. His hopes for finding a place to hang before his class drooped a little as he saw that this was the Base Magic building.

When he got inside, though, he realized that he was mostly wrong – instead of a lounge inside, this building surrounded a partially covered courtyard, with wooden benches and tables set up much the same way as in the other. This one was also less crowded than the one in the Rituals building, and he found a spot easily, sharing a table with an older man who studied some papers with absolute concentration.

Two copies of Rituals homework, coming right up, he thought, pulling the papers he'd been given out of his textbook and opening it to the requisite pages. Having now read the introduction helped him understand better than the last time, but this time he was supposed to take notes. I could just do the one for Taller, he realized. He had no more real reason to do his homework than he did to go to class. But then, what else did he have to do? And it wouldn't be hard, to do two sets of the notes instead of one, when he had to read the stuff anyway.

The reading was the same as he'd tried to start before – elements of the next ritual they were doing and the theory behind them. In this case the next ritual was one to produce a small flame. The cautions on it were strongly worded enough to sound like the ritual could cause a firestorm if done incorrectly. Riah smiled a little. They probably just don't want us setting our own clothing on fire.

The elements for the ritual were more interesting than the last one, or at least they sounded it in the description. The witch was supposed to rub fine sawdust quickly between his hands while singing “heat and light – flame!” to a simple rhythm, indicated by two bars of standard musical notation. Good thing I can read music, he thought, thinking briefly of his cello before dismissing it. That wasn't him anymore.

He was to take notes, but he needed to make his and Jaden's look different. He never did give me his pen. That was okay. Most pens were pretty much the same, anyway. As long as Jaden didn't usually take notes in some sort of colorful ink, it'd be hard to tell.

In the end, he set out both scrolls, weighing them down with rocks provided on the table, and took notes on both at once, in script on the one, and print on the other. He also worked to make the organization different, doing Jaden's in an outline format with underlined headings and vocabulary words, and his as an annotated list of definitions and concepts. Realizing that while certain definitions were new to him, they wouldn't be to Jaden, he integrated as much as he could of what he'd learned from the textbook's introduction – the definitions of 'incantation', 'materials', and 'arrangement', among other things – into his, but left them out of the other boy's. He also copied some of the diagrams into his that he didn't put into his classmate's, figuring that they'd be too easy to recognize as the same and that Jaden probably didn't do that for himself. It would benefit Jaden to leave his notes as generic-looking as possible, so there were fewer things that might look odd. If Jaden got caught, even if by some miracle Riah didn't, then he'd've lost his tutor.

Working thus, he'd only managed to get through two of the six pages he needed to read before it was time for him to get up and go to his lesson.

But he didn't want to go. He was relaxed, he was comfortable, no one was staring at him or asking him questions. If he went, it would be the same damned routine as his last two lessons: “Who are you?” “I'm a murderer.” “Oh, you don't belong here.” “Well no, I don't. Nice to meet you, too.” And worse, this was M'Lord Greuster's class. No doubt the man would be even worse than his previous teachers.

So, I won't go, he told himself. M'Lord Greuster probably doesn't care, anyway. He'd said he didn't, after all.

Oh, do stop deluding yourself, Riah. The man had given him the papers. He'd showed up to tell him where to go and to tell him not to be late. And he had just decided not to mess with the man. Soo...I won't mess with him. I'll just avoid him, he thought stubbornly. How important could his presence be to the man, when he'd explicitly said that Riah's academics didn't interest him?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mathias watched as his first students came into the room. There should be only four of them, and so far he had two – a girl and a boy, both roughly seventeen years old. The girl was a big, curvy blond whose eyes were a strange, almost orange shade. Some sort of were? She avoided his gaze and sat down, picking at her painted nails. The boy was a pretty redhead, and entered the room without seeming to notice Mathias' presence at all, but chose a chair and sat back in it, as if to dismiss the whole class before it started. Since he was clearly not Zachariah, he had to be Rudy Babinsack, the only other boy he was expecting. The girl was either Cedri Puller or Malla Eben, but he had no way of knowing which until he asked.

The other girl came shortly after those two, a rail-thin brunette, who gave him a harried glance before she sat, and promptly pulled out what he guessed was homework for another class.

Zachariah Mordelle had yet to show. That the boy would simply not come had not occurred to him. He'd gone to his other classes. Perhaps I intimidated the poor lad, he thought ironically. He doubted it. The boy's body language screamed defiance even when it didn't come from his mouth.

“Where is Zachariah Mordelle?” he asked the class. Babinsack was startled, and the two front legs of his chair hit the floor with a bang.

“I don't know who that is,” the blond girl told him nervously.

“Me, either,” the other girl said.

He turned his gaze to the boy, but Babinsack just shrugged and shook his head, looking unconcerned.

“There are only going to be four of you,” he told them, knowing they heard his annoyance and not caring. “If there are three, I notice. Do not skip my class.” He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes.

There was a reason he could do things like live in a house on campus and still monitor the boy in the dorm. The same reason, probably, that the Consort had chosen him for this rather than another of his contingent of witches. And the primary reason I should be at the palace, he thought, frustrated. But he would do as the Consort had commanded him. If that meant using his abilities to track down a rebellious fifteen-year-old boy, so be it. He sank quietly into his head, finding the soft buzzing that was always there, and listened for witches.

The most immediate, of course, were the three in his classroom, and then the twelve in the classroom beyond. He let his awareness spread out into the whole community. He could only 'hear' witches this way, but the school had a lot of them, little flecks of something halfway between light and sound, that grouped in classroom buildings and the mess hall and lined the pathways. He'd 'listened' to Riah like this before, and memorized what he sounded like, so he knew what to look for. Riah was a particularly bright/loud, messy tone, reddish, and like a low note on a cello, or high on an upright base...there. He was just downstairs, in the lobby. Maybe the boy had simply lost track of time? That seemed unlikely, when he'd told the boy not half an hour ago to get here. And the boy was just as clearly not lost. He should've known that a juvenile delinquent wouldn't voluntarily show up for class. But he showed up for Charms, he remembered. Perhaps it was just his class the boy was avoiding.

When he looked up, the students were staring at him, probably wondering what he was doing. He couldn't see himself doing it, but a friend had described it for him once – he sat with his eyes closed, yet looked around himself like he could see for miles. He couldn't. He couldn't even hear the entirety of the school campus, but he could hear all of the palace, and that was one of the reasons he'd found himself a Lord of the Court at the age of twenty.

“I'll be back,” he told his class. “Do something productive.” He left the room.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Riah pulled his textbook closer, tracing a finger over a paragraph as he tried to understand. The author was trying to explain the properties that the incantation gave to the ritual, but it didn't make any sense.

Music is frequently used in ritual to infuse it with the will of the caster. If the ritual requires song, then it is very important that the caster want the outcome of the ritual to happen, and that he put that will into the incantation.

“Put his will” into the incantation? How was he supposed to do that?

Abruptly Riah became aware of someone behind him. He turned, and looked up to lock gazes with Lord Greuster. The man was angry, and Riah stood quickly and turned to meet him on equal footing.

“M'Lord Greuster,” he greeted, lifting his chin. What was the man doing there? The class should've started minutes before. Had he sought him out specifically? Weird.

The man didn't say anything, but grabbed Riah's textbook, snapping it shut with one hand, and piled the rest of his papers on top of it with the other.

“Come,” the man said, turning away to walk off with all of Riah's supplies.

Riah watched him for a moment, startled, before hurrying to follow. What the hell? “Those are mine,” he told the man.

“I will give them back as soon as we are back in my classroom,” his jailor answered implacably.

And short of ripping them from the man's arms, or leaving the stuff behind, there was nothing Riah could do but follow him.

Damnit, he thought, following the man down a corridor and up a flight of steps.

They got to the classroom, and his jailor stopped to turn to him.

“In the future,” he said. “You will come here on your own, on time, without giving me trouble. Is that clear?”

Riah bared his teeth in a smile. “Crystal.” What are you going to do about it?

Whether the man believed him or not, he nodded, and turned back to the classroom door. He walked right in, leaving the door opened for Riah, who still had no choice but to follow. He found himself in a room with four seats. Three were taken, and Lord Greuster put his book and papers at the one empty one, in front of two girls and to the left of the only other boy. Giving the man a last glare and ignoring the curious gazes of his classmates, Riah sat.

The classroom seemed larger than it needed to be, with four seats towards the front and a large space in the back. Lord Greuster gave no indication that he knew Riah or even that he'd retrieved him. He simply walked to the front of the class and looked at them for a moment before speaking.

“Welcome class,” he said brusquely. “My name is Lord Mathias Greuster-” There was a gasp, and Greuster paused. “My reputation proceeds me,” he said, not sounding happy about it. “Yes, normally I work at the palace. I have been asked to work here for the time being.”

He works at the palace? Works? Once again, Riah wondered who the guy was, but Greuster just kept talking. “You may call me Lord Greuster, or Master Greuster, as you are comfortable, but at any rate you should approach me as your classroom master and not as a Lord of the Court.”

Lord of the Court? He considered asking, but Greuster still just kept talking. “This class is basic Base Magic. As Base Magic is somewhat unpredictable, especially when it first develops, each of you will no doubt progress differently. As such, I will not be holding each of you to the same standards. That said,” he continued sharply, “if you do not work in this class, you will not progress. It is my responsibility to see that you leave this class with your Base magic under a certain minimal control, and you will not leave this class until you have obtained my approval. As my summer holiday does not start until that happens, you will work.” He paused, then continued again. “This class can be as pleasant, or as miserable, as you wish to make it. I am not accustomed to teaching, and while I will attempt to be patient, I will become less so rapidly if you do not make some minimal effort. Any questions?”

Well that was welcoming, Riah thought. Apparently M'Lord Greuster wasn't any more friendly to his actual students as the other teachers were to Riah. Unsurprisingly, nobody had any questions.

“Good,” the man said. “Then introduce yourselves. Name, age, how long you've been here, and why you're in this class.” He looked at one of the girls, a skinny brunette. “You first, please.”

For all he said 'please', it was a command, and the girl responded quickly and nervously.

“I'm Cedri Puller,” she said. “I'm eighteen, and I've been here since I was twelve. I'm here because - ” she frowned and shrugged, seeming unsure. “I guess just because I can do base magic and my adviser said I needed to learn it.”

“How did you learn you were capable of base magic?” Lord Greuster asked impatiently. “Did you do something - unexpected?”

“Oh,” the girl said, blushing. “My little sister fell from a tree this summer while I was watching her, only she fell real slow, and didn't get hurt. Mama was real pleased.”

“I pushed my younger brother off the porch,” the boy next to him cut in, grinning. “He didn't get hurt either, but Da still wasn't exactly thrilled. And I used to pull down mangoes, using it.”

“Mangoes from your trees, or somebody else's?” Cendri asked him. He grinned at her, and winked. Riah watched them, vaguely disgusted.

“I'm Rudy Babinsack,” the other boy said belatedly. “I'm sixteen, and I've been here a year.”

M'Lord Greuster nodded, and looked to the other girl, a curvy blond. Her eyes were strange, Riah noticed when he turned to look at her. Sort of orange. “I'm Malla Eben,” she said. “I'm seventeen, and I've only been here three years.”

Only? Riah wondered. Three years was a long time! Well, some kids start as young as twelve, and clearly some are still here at eighteen. Maybe three years was short, here. But then, Rudy had only been there a year, too.

But Malla was still speaking. “I'm not really sure why I'm here,” she said. “My dorm mother told me to sign up for this class because I see so well in the dark. She says I make light, but I don't see it. I just thought I was normal, for a feline were.”

Were, Riah thought. That explains the eyes.

“Not if you make light that others can see, Miss Puller,” Lord Greuster answered her.

She nodded. “Okay.”

And then everybody turned to Riah, expecting him to speak. Hi everybody, I'm murdering kid. How are you? “I'm Zachariah Mordelle,” he told them. “Riah. I'm fifteen, just got here today.” He hesitated. Nobody -yet – knew why he was there, or that their teacher was also assigned to keep him in line. That could change in an eye blink. Telling them that he was a murderer – he could handle that. But having this – keeper- was humiliating.

Too fucking bad. He straightened his spine, glaring at the man. He was not going to make any excuses, damn it. And Lord Greuster could go to hell.

“I'm here because I wanted a man to die, and he did,” he said sharply, “and because M'Lord Greuster here is supposed to be powerful enough to keep me from killing anyone else.”

There was a moment of absolute silence, before one of the girls- the one who'd said she was some sort of cat-were – spoke up. “You – you're saying you killed someone?”

Malla, he remembered finally. Her name was Malla. “Yup,” Riah answered, forcing it to come out relaxed.

“On purpose?” she asked incredulously.

“Yup,” Riah said again.

“His wrists,” he heard Rudy say.

Everybody looked, and everybody stared. “Murder,” one of the girls – Cedri, that time – said softly.

“Yup,” he answered a third time, staring at her. She looked away fast.

“Zachariah is on loan from Barlin City Correctional,” Lord Greuster said in the silence. “He is here for the purpose of getting his magic under control. You are perfectly safe.”

There was another silence, and finally the man spoke up again. “So,” he said. “Base magic. Older terms for it are 'natural' or 'instinctual' magic. Each of the terms is an attempt to capture the idea that Base magic is the most inherent, basic form that humanoid magic takes. It requires little concrete knowledge, only a certain will and power, though experience is helpful, and that is part of what you will be acquiring here. Base magic is the only type of magic that one can do truly accidentally. It can, however, be controlled, and that is a large part of what you will learn here. Unlike other classes you will take at Ritten, this will be largely about how not to do magic. Any questions?”

“So what you're saying is, Jailbird here needs to learn how not to kill people when he wants them dead?” the red-headed boy Rudy asked promptly.

“Yes and no,” Lord Greuster said, apparently ignoring the sarcasm. “Magic follows the will. If he had not genuinely wanted the man to die, then he wouldn't have died the way he did. What I will teach you, more, is how to be specific about what you want.”

“Wanting a man dead isn't specific enough?” Rudy pursued.

Riah stared at him, but the boy just stared back.

“One could want to hurt a man, and kill them by accident, or want them dead without wanting to kill them,” M'Lord Greuster lectured, clearly still pretending like it was just part of the lesson. “More often, a witch will attempt to pick something up, and break it. That is what we are here to prevent. If something happens exactly as you want it to, then I cannot help you further.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mathias watched the class as they reacted to the exchange. The two girls clearly had no idea how to react, staring, then looking away, then meeting each other's eyes as if looking for an answer there. Rudy was staring unflinchingly, a calculating look on his face, but Riah promptly returned his stare, but Rudy just gave him a cocky smile, utterly unimpressed.

If Zachariah – Riah, he remembered – was bothered by the scrutiny, it didn't show. He just stared back at Rudy with the same cold pride, and refused to back down. And the class was thoroughly distracted – staring at the standoff between the two boys.

“And once again I will attempt to return to the lesson at hand,” he said finally, managing to get both boys to at least glance at him. “Each of you will attempt, at your desk, to do something small. You know better than I what you are capable of, so I will leave it to you what direction that something small might take. Do not worry about it going wrong - I am more than capable of shutting your magic down if I have to. Pick something to do, and will it to happen. It may help to picture it in your head.”

He waited for them to move, to ask a question, to do something, but they didn't. The girls stared at him like a couple of cows, and the two boys still clearly had their attention on each other.

Those two will be trouble, he realized.

“For the record,” he told the four, “when I say to do something, I mean it. You should be more than capable of getting something small to happen, if not of doing exactly what you intend. Begin.”

They all stared at him a moment more, but finally Malla Eben frowned, and he 'listened' as her magic flared. As it did so, the room's light charm flared brightly and suddenly died, leaving them in the dark.

“Oh, well done,” the boy Rudy said.

“I'm sorry!” the girl said instantly, sounding mortified.

“You are the only one of the four to follow a basic instruction,” he told her, irritated. “Do not apologize for it.”

Remembering where the light had been, he found the charm, a now-dark polished crystal still fixed in space. As he'd suspected, she'd fried it completely.

By the time he'd examined it, though, there was another light in the room – Malla trying to see in the dark. Mathias almost smiled. It was immediately evident why Malla couldn't see the light she produced - the girl made herself glow, mostly her eyes. But it was enough light that he could navigate easily to open the shutters and let light into the room. As soon as he did so, Malla's light disappeared.

“Can you do that when there is already enough light for you to see by?” he asked her.

“I can try,” the girl offered.

“Do,” he told her. “That's your assignment for the afternoon.”

“Yes sir,” she told him.

Rudy Babinsack and Cedri Puller had seemingly figured out what he wanted of them. Puller frowned, and pulled a piece of chalk off the blackboard towards her. It started flying fast, then dropped abruptly to the floor as she panicked and threw out a hand to stop it from hitting her.

Babinsack picked it up for her, floating it over his own shoulder to her with a triumphant smile. He'd been the only one other than Riah to mention intentional magic, Mathias realized. But he and Cedri seemed to use their magic on physical objects, where Malla seemed to work with light. That might change, but it was some indication of where their power might go. He set Cedri to working on lifting the chalk slowly, and gave Rudy a roll of paper to work with.

“Work on not crinkling the paper,” he told the boy. “This is about precision, not power.”

Riah just watched the others without doing anything, and finally he stopped to look at his ward.

“Well?” he said.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Riah watched the others, interested. Cedri and Rudy could make things fly. Malla broke magical lamps. And Lord Greuster clearly wanted him to do something now. What could he do? He'd killed someone, so he knew that was a possibility, but somehow he didn't think that was what the man was looking for. Well, the others made light and threw shit. Maybe I can, too.

Not feeling like further trashing the classroom, Riah tried for light, picking the glass window as the most likely option.

Glow, he told it silently, picturing what he wanted. Glow.

He felt something stir within him, a warm, vibrating, roiling mess taking over his chest. He knew the feeling, from using it before. He'd built up a ball of it, a chaotic mass of anger and fear, hate and despair, and threw it across the room with perfect accuracy. Die, he'd told the man. Die.

He'd felt the magic leave him, heard and saw the evil red-black ball of will barrel into Kervin's chest. Die, he'd thought again. God damnit, just die.

And the man had stared for a moment, mouth open, and finally made a wet gurgling noise as he fell to the floor, blood showing at his eyes and nose and flecking his lips, and fresh coffee spilling all over as Mom's favorite mug broke on the floor.

Should've waited for him to put his coffee down, he remembered thinking, before his mind had caught up. Jesus, he's dead, he'd realized, mind fuzzy with it. Just like that, and it was over. The man just...died. It had been easy.

“Not so big, now, are you?” he'd told the man, suddenly angry. “You're nothing. You fucked with me, and I'm still alive.”

Shaking off the memory, he looked up and found Lord Greuster staring at him.

“You shut it down,” the man said. “Why?”

For a moment Riah just watched him impassively. “All I can do is kill people,” he told the man. “It's good enough for me.”

“But not for me,” the man told him, apparently unimpressed by Riah's statement. “Try again.”

“No,” Riah told him.

“No,” Lord Greuster repeated. “Why not?”

“Because I don't want to,” Riah told him.

The man's eyebrows snapped together. “This is my class, Mr. Mordelle. I told you to try again.”

“And I said no,” Riah told him, raising his eyebrows.

Lord Greuster stared at him for a bit. Riah met his eyes aggressively, and finally the man nodded. “I see,” he said. “Stay after class.”

Riah watched him for a bit, then stood, grabbing his textbook. But the book wouldn't budge, and Riah met eyes with Lord Greuster again. The man wasn't even touching the book, but it was clear Riah would not be able to bring it with him.

“Sit.” The man said.

He needed to hold up his end of the bargain with Jaden. He sat, ignoring his classmates' stares.

The man ignored him, helping the other three with the assignments he'd given them, and finally Riah pulled out the homework he'd been working on, until Lord Greuster came by and took it, and the textbook, back to his desk. Riah flexed his hands, resisting a sudden urge to scream. He couldn't do what the man wanted, he couldn't just sit and do his homework. What the hell could he do?

And so he sat impassively and did nothing, watching as the others worked on their respective assignments. Only the obnoxious Rudy managed any real progress, picking up his piece of paper and bringing it to himself without doing it too much damage. Eventually, the class ended and the other students left, and Lord Greuster met his eyes.

“Come here,” he said simply.

Riah swallowed. They were alone. “Why?” he asked.

Once again, the man stared at him. “Because I am the only reason that you are here instead of prison, and I said so,” he answered bluntly.

And it had only been yesterday that the man had informed him of the sort of 'accommodations' that would be provided if he went back to prison. I could equally have been asked to build appropriate accommodations for you, accommodations which would prevent you from escaping or hurting your fellows, but that option would confine you to a six by eight foot cell with neither yard time nor companionship, and it was decided that that would be inhumane. I'm sure that it can still be arranged.

Shit. The man could do whatever the hell he wanted. Taking his textbook was the least of it.

“Come here,” the man repeated.

This time, Riah gritted his teeth and obeyed.

He reached the desk and stood straight in front of it, meeting the man's eyes angrily. The man didn't say anything, and Riah's stomach churned. Still he stared, daring the man to try something.

Finally, he spoke. “You are here in order to learn to control your magic. That means this class. If you do not learn, you will not stay.”

Riah still just stared at him, and the man continued.

“Therefore,” he said. “You will come to class, and obey me while you are here, or you will leave. Is that clear?” He was obviously waiting for a response.

“Crystal,” Riah bit out.

“This decision is entirely up to me. I can make your life here as miserable as I choose. Is that clear?”

Riah glared. I probably understand that better than you do, asshole. “Yes,” he answered again.

“Yes-?” the man said.

Riah closed his eyes for a minute, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“And this means-?” the man pursued.

“You say jump, I fucking jump, Sir,” Riah told him.

The man gave an aggressive smile. “Smart boy,” he said. “You will come half an hour early for tomorrow's class to make up for your effective absence today. Do not make me come find you again. In the meantime, you are dismissed. Do not forget your belongings.”

Bowing ironically, Riah grabbed his books off the desk and left.

Once out of the classroom, he took a deep breath, fighting down the adrenaline that was suddenly rushing through his system. He'd gotten out okay that time. There was no need for him to wig out. But what the hell was he supposed to do tomorrow?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

Mathias watched the boy leave, shaking his head. He hoped that that had been sufficient. If it wasn't - his orders were to keep the boy here, keep him from hurting anyone, while he got his magic under conscious control. If the boy did not get his magic under control, then Mathias had to report to the Consort that he'd failed. He may not like the orders, but he would not fail the Consort. How far he had to go to achieve that was up to the boy.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Immediately after leaving Lord Greuster's class, Riah headed back for his dormitory and got settled in finishing his and Jaden's homework. It took him almost two hours, working on both versions, and when he finished he found himself hungry. He didn't have access to a clock, but the bell had just rung the half hour, and his class had gotten out at three-thirty, so it was probably roughly five-thirty. According to the guide book, dinner was served five-thirty to seven.

He could just go, he realized. He didn't have to wait for a specific time, or even for Bat to show him. He could just go. God, that was nice.

Just as nice, he could go alone. He had his map, and the mess hall was likely to be pretty likely to be much less crowded now, at early dinner, then it had been at lunch. He'd be able to eat without worrying about any interference. Feeling a load come off his shoulders, Riah headed out alone.

As predicted, the mess hall was nearly empty when he got there. It meant that he could see the food and make his choice as slowly as he wanted, and not have to deal with anyone staring at him. There was a wide variety of choices – a chicken pie, some sort of broth-based soup, several salads and plenty of bread. He asked for and received a serving of the pie and some salad. He sat alone, and this time nobody joined him. He pulled out his schedule and 'Welcome Newcomer!' booklet.

Tomorrow he had history and first-year Modern Lesser Fae in the morning, and Brews and Base Magic in the afternoon. He'd already taken Lesser Fae for two years, but nobody apparently cared. He'd done some brewing, too, just messing around at home, but he hadn't gotten much beyond herbed broth for his brother when the kid got a cold. He'd liked it then, if only because it made Jamie less miserable for a couple of hours. He'd mostly just wanted the kid to stop snuffling and complaining, but Jamie had worshiped him for it.

Doesn't speak for his taste, he thought bitterly. The poor kid had worshiped Kervin, too. He probably hated Riah, now, if he was right and his mother had told him why both his big brother and stepfather were gone. His chest tightened up at the thought. Let it go, damnit, he thought fiercely. Just let it go. That wasn't his life anymore. He'd never see Jamie again, just like he'd never play his cello and he'd never eat his mother's food. Who cared if the kid hated him for what he'd done? He didn't know shit, and that was as it should be. Let him worship Kervin and hate Riah. He'd never see either of them again.

Shaking off the grim thoughts, Riah folded his papers away and got up. He gave his tray to the dishwashers and returned to his dormitory. Curfew was nine o'clock for his age group, but that was irrelevant. For one thing, it wasn't yet seven, and for another he just didn't care. He left everything but his map in the dormitory and headed out to wander the grounds.

God, he was so fucking free here. He was still in prison. He knew that. But the fact that he could wander at all- God. It made him nervous, that freedom, like someone was going to come up and make him go back. But he wasn't doing anything wrong.

He knew where the beginner complex was, and the intermediate complex beyond it, but he hadn't really explored the latter, or tried to go beyond it. Now he did, following the path past the Base Magic building and into the intermediate complex. Mostly he found buildings in a setup much like that of the beginner complex, just with older students on the pathways, but there was another path out, and after a couple of forks he ended up in another area of the school, one with only a small, one-story building surrounded by gardens, and a grander building further away. They seemed to be purely practical gardens, but as he walked down one side towards the larger building, he found that they turned nicer, with a path winding between ornamental plants. To one side was was a low wall, surrounding a pond.

Looking down into the water, he found to his delight that it was full of colorful fish, and that they swam towards him, rather than away, as he approached. It was the biggest goldfish pond he'd seen in his life. He stuck a finger in, then withdrew it as they came up. They'd bite if he let them.

“Don't you be hurting my fish, boy!”

Riah looked up to see an old woman approaching angrily from the direction of the big building. She was mad at him for hurting her fish?

He just watched her come, and finally she was right in front of him, scowling into his face. “I wasn't going to hurt your fish,” he said finally, confused.

“My garden is not a playground!” she told him.

“Well no...it's a garden,” he told her, eyebrows raised. “For people to walk in. And look at. If that's forbidden then it ought to have a sign, and a fence.”

She scowled at him, then spoke again. “It's not forbidden,” she admitted finally.

“Well good, then,” Riah said. “Leave me alone.”

She just kept scowling at him. “You are rude.”

“Generally,” Riah agreed.

She scowled further. Apparently he was supposed to apologize, and it didn't look like she was going to leave him alone. He shook his head. “I'll leave,” he told her finally. Turning away, he headed back on the path towards the smaller building and the area he'd already explored. He turned back to find her still staring at him. She hadn't moved. He just turned back and kept walking. Weird old lady.

He didn't discover anything else interesting on his walk, though, and eventually returned to the dormitory. Not feeling like talking to anybody, even if he could have found a friendly face, he went to bed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A/n: And that's it for chapter four! (Jeez, four chapters to progress one day. I need to speed up!)