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?

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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

Riah's Story Chapter 3

Hey everybody!! Thanks so much for your comments on the last chapter!! (Lol I check for comments at least as often as y'all check for chapters.) Here's the next!!

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“You wished to speak with me. Was there something in our original meeting or in the Consort's orders that was unclear to you?” He said it neutrally, but nonetheless the school officials seemed shaken. The'd given him the boy's school materials, which was helpful, but that was unlikely to be what the meeting was actually about.

The school president and his assistant looked at each other uncomfortably. “We received a report that you would not be living in the dormitory,” the president started hesitantly.

“That is correct,” he answered neutrally. He knew where this was going.

“And that you did not escort your ward to his first class this morning,” the assistant added.

He gave the two of them a cold stare, then let his gaze sweep the rest of the room. “You question me,” he said.

The room took a collective breath, but nobody seemed to want to say anything.

“I take it this meeting is over?” he asked them.

The president nodded rapidly. Giving the man a final cold smile, Mathias got up and left.

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The first person to show up for Charms after Riah was Jaden Taller, the average-looking blond-haired boy who'd been so rude in Rituals. The other boy ignored him, sitting down against the opposite wall and pulling out a thick book, and Riah was happy to return the favor, pulling out his borrowed Rituals text and finding the reading on the ritual they'd just studied.

It proved to be more interesting than he'd expected, explaining the theory behind the use of sand and the circle and the incantation. It also used a lot of vocabulary that he didn't have. Confused, he flipped back in the book to the introduction.

Rituals have three different essential elements, it said. The first is the arrangement of the caster, his position, orientation, and movement, all of which can be very specific and important. These things set up the circumstances and bounds of the ritual. The second is the incantation, the spoken element of the ritual. The words, intonation, and emotion of the incantation may each be different for each ritual. The final element is the material, or the objects and substances used in ritual. It is the most simple of the three elements, and typically requires the least of the witch, but may be expensive, difficult, or unpleasant to obtain. The material typically contributes to the power of a ritual or adds another dimension of meaning to it. Salt, for example, is typically used for cleansing, white sand for binding, and blood to add a symbolic element of life or sacrifice.

As a side note, bodily fluids of any sort can add great power to a ritual, but it is a chaotic power, and can be difficult to control. Such materials are not recommended for use by a novice witch. Witches are also advised to remain aware of the regional legalities of their materials. Federal law also applies. Improper use of bodily fluids, either improper use of an animal's bodily fluids, or improper or non consensual use of the bodily fluids of a human being, is a federal crime, punishable by imprisonment and in some cases death.

Good to know, Riah thought, startled. 'Improper use of bodily fluids' carried the death penalty, when cold blooded murder did not? Unless they're talking about murder and use of the blood? That was possible. Why would the fact that the motive included blood sacrifice matter to the courts, though? Giving the issue a mental shrug, Riah returned to his reading.

Every ritual must involve at least two of the three elements, but an element may be very simple, or much more complicated. An incantation, for example, may be a single word spoken in monotone, or an entire song, complete with full intonation and the emotion of the caster. It may even be silent. Similarly, the arrangement of the caster may have him simply standing in place, or may require him to perform a very elaborate dance. A material may be obtainable at a vegetable stand or may require a trip abroad. Typically, if one element is very complicated, the others are simpler. Few rituals require the witch to sing and dance at the same time, for example. That said, many of the most specific or most powerful rituals get quite complicated indeed, requiring many casters to complete many different parts. Others may be simpler, but require strength of mind, body, or voice that must be trained. It is for this reason that ritualistic witches at the highest levels typically specialize. A witch may choose to train his voice or body specifically, to better take part in a group ritual, or to study rituals more generally, such that he is capable of doing many rituals entirely on his own. Part of the purpose of this introductory course is give you a generalized view of rituals that may or may not lead you to a more specific interest.

Ritualistic magic is the most concrete of the four main branches of witchcraft, followed by brewcraft, charms, and finally base magic. Some find this tedious, but others find the rule-bound nature of rituals, charms, and brews freeing. For most of these, one can be sure to get the same result upon completion of the same procedure, and can therefore create something lasting and shareable in writing a ritual in a way that one cannot with base magic. Additionally, the power of a ritual is in its precision and focus, and not in the power of the caster. If you have any magic at all, you can cast a ritual with a little study, and get as good results as a more powerful caster with the same level of skill. There is a certain elegance and rightness to a perfectly cast ritual that is difficult to describe. That said, while a miscast ritual is likely to simply fizzle, it can also have unexpected and powerful results. It is for this reason that a license is required to cast a ritual without explicit supervision by an experienced licensed witch. It is highly recommended that you obey this law. If you choose to flaunt it, and the ritual goes badly, you may be liable for damages in addition to any penalties incurred by your disobedience.

Riah looked up from the reading, frowning. Were rituals really that dangerous? Master Tirdan had seemed to think so, too, from the way he'd explicitly prevented them from actually casting even the very basic ritual they were learning, but how much could really go wrong?

While he'd been reading, the corridor had filled with other students, leaning and sitting against the walls and chatting quietly. He'd been aware of them, but nobody bothered him so he'd ignored them. Now, though, he realized that there were nearly fifteen other students in the corridor. Where was the Master?

The class was much more varied than Rituals had been, he noticed. In Rituals, the students had all been around his age. Here, the youngest student was probably only about ten years old, and the oldest a little older than Riah – maybe sixteen. Most were in the middle, twelve to fourteen.

Finally, a woman arrived, bustling in red-faced and out-of-breath. She was short and round, with patently fake red hair and too-bright lipstick. She moved like a flustered bird, smiling briefly at the class before pulling out the key to the classroom from a pocket of her skirt and unlocking the door with twitchy, rushed movements.

“Sorry I'm late, guys, I've just been so busy today,” she gushed.

“She's always late,” Riah heard a student mutter nearby as Master Dalten pushed into the room ahead of them.

“Maybe she's always busy,” another whispered, sounding skeptical.

“It's bloody rude, that's what it is,” a third said. Riah was inclined to agree, but didn't say anything.

The classroom was much larger than Master Tirdan's had been, and smelled noticeably of dried herbs and dust. It was set up with tables in rows, two students to a table. The walls were painted a pale green, and lamps like in the corridors floated at even intervals along the wall between windows that showed out to the side of the building and towards some sort of sports field in the distance.

“Can we choose our own seats today?” one of the younger students asked hopefully before they sat down.

“Normal places, please,” the Master answered firmly.

The kid sighed. “Okay.”

Gathering that the seats were assigned, Riah waited for everyone to get to their seats, and found that there was an open space near Jaden that was easy for him to get to.

Good enough, he thought. The boy didn't seem to like him much, but was apparently capable of simply ignoring him, which worked just fine for Riah. He took the available seat, and Jaden didn't say anything.

“Who's missing?” Master Dalter asked once everyone was seated.

Everyone looked around at their neighbors briefly before their attention was drawn to Riah's neighbor as he spoke up. “From here or from Barlin City?” Jaden asked insolently.

Okay, so maybe he won't just ignore me, Riah thought. Jaden's comment drew a lot of confused glances from the students, and the Master frowned at Jaden before looking at Riah.

“You're...” she looked down at a paper on her desk. “Zachariah Mordelle?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded sharply, then looked away from him and back at the rest of the class, seeming flustered. “Yes, well...class, does everyone have their homework?”

“He's from Barlin City?” one of the youngest students asked loudly.

“Does everyone have their homework?” Master Dalter repeated, voice too loud and a little shrill.

Woah, Riah thought. Panic much?

“Yes, Ma'am,” the students answered in a rough chorus.

“Bring it up, then,” she said, seeming to regain some of her composure. “I'll check everyone's, and then we can try them on Friday.”

Riah, of course, did not have the homework, and just sat in place as the rest of the class brought theirs up. Whatever the other students had done, it wasn't on paper – they all seemed to be bringing up bundles of sticks and other objects to the front of the room and putting them together in a sack to the side.

When everybody had sat back down, Master Dalter again got their attention and said, “Today we will be making basic water purification charms. Does everyone know what that means?”

Nods around the room, and Master Dalter continued. “Good. The procedure is on page thirty of your book. It shouldn't require anything that I didn't already ask you to bring to your lesson today. If you forgot to bring materials, come see me and I'll provide it, but expect that I will take that into account in my grading.”

Riah didn't have a book, let alone the materials, but Master Dalter either truly didn't realize that, or was faking it. At any rate she wasn't giving him any help. Riah got up, drawing every eye in the room except the master's, and walked to the front of the room, head high. He stopped in front of the master's desk, but still she didn't look up.

Biting back his annoyance, Riah spoke levelly. “Excuse me, Master Dalter.” She didn't look up, but the rest of the class was still staring at him. He ignored it. “I see,” he said, swallowing. Bitch. “I won't waste more of your time.” He turned away to return to his desk, and found the entire class staring at him.

God, I'm getting tired of that. He stopped and lifted his chin, speaking loudly enough for the room to hear. “I'm a convicted murderer,” he announced, holding up his wrists for all to stare at. “Master Dalter is refusing to teach me because I don't belong here. Does that satisfy you?” Not waiting for a response, he walked the rest of the way back to his desk and sat, leaning back to think and to avoid the still confused and curious gazes of the rest of the class.

What now? He might as well leave, if he wasn't going to be provided any materials. And leave permanently, he realized suddenly. He was damned lucky that the school fed them for free, or he wouldn't have anything. As it was, he still couldn't pay for more clothing or new materials. Unless the Masters provided it as Master Tirdan had, he wouldn't have it. And that includes paper, he realized. For the first time in his life, he was truly broke. No, poor, he told himself, refusing to flinch from it. Broke implies some minimal chance of changing the situation.

Jaden was staring at him, too. He didn't know how he could tell, but he knew it was true. Maybe he'd just seen it before sitting down. Riah ignored him, but finally the boy spoke up.

“Hey Jailbird,” he said. “Need help?”

That was unexpected. But Jaden had said he liked this class, Riah remembered. He'd said he liked to carve. “What's in it for you?” Riah asked, looking at him skeptically.

Jaden smiled. “I share my book and materials with you here, and help you if you get stuck. You do my Rituals homework.”

Riah stared at him, thinking it over. He'd been a good student, once. Never cheated in his life. He snorted softly. People change. “You provide paper,” he answered. “Mine and yours.”

Jaden raised an eyebrow. “Paper?”

Paper was the cheapest of the school materials that Riah would need, and Jaden had to know that. Riah let his stare turn icy, and Jaden nodded. “Pen, too?” he asked.

Riah shook his head. He had a pen, at least. It had been in the clothes he'd worn into Barlin City.

“Good,” Jaden said, shoving his textbook over so Riah could see it. “Charms are a bit like Rituals, in that you've got to be careful about following the procedure right and using the right materials, but it requires just a bit more explicit magic, and the outcome's less certain.” He pointed with a finger. “This one requires barley straw, dried nettle flowers, and cedar. That's these three.”

He pulled out a box and two bags and opened all three. The box held a whole mess of dried-out, star shaped flowers, while the bags held straw wrapped up into a loop and tied, and a chunk of sweet-sharp smelling wood. “For future reference, Dalter has us bring them in just 'cause she's lazy. You get them from the basement of this building for dry stuff, and the Herblore and Brewing gardens or the greenhouses if they have to be fresh.”

So those he would be able to get, then. “Okay,” Riah said, watching as Jaden put all three materials on the table.

“Now, the barley wants to be in rings,” Jaden said. “That means you cut it real thin, crosswise, so that you get little circles. The cedar's supposed to be in curls. That requires carving. Which job you want?”

“Half and half,” Riah answered. If he was 'paying' for Jaden's time, he'd better learn how to do everything. “But I'll do the straw first, so I can watch you do the cedar.”

Jaden gave him a strange look. “Alright. Whichever of us gets done first can grind the thistle. That's easy.”

The class was kind of fun, actually, if he ignored the instructor. It was very physical, and not as repetitive or carefully-controlled as Rituals had been. Just sit at a desk, carefully slicing and carving and grinding and measuring, throw all the ingredients together in the proper proportions in a rough cloth sachet, and you were done until it was time to trigger it. The two of them were done with half an hour left in the two-hour class, and tagged their sachets with their names and brought them up to the desk.

“Fresh burdock leaves, dried burdock burrs, chia seeds, and a roll of linen bandaging for next time,” Dalter told Jaden. And just Jaden, he realized. The woman had carefully not addressed him.

“Think she'll grade mine?” he asked Jaden on their way back to the desk to clean up.

“Probably,” Jaden said. “If she didn't, somebody would notice. Even odds she finds invisible faults that mine somehow doesn't have, though. 'Specially since you called her out.”

“Great,” Riah said, before changing the subject as they got to the desk. “If you give me your pen, I'll use it on your homework. Do you usually write script or print?”

“Print,” Jaden said, jotting down something quickly in a notebook before shoving it in his bag.

“I'll do mine in script, then,” Riah told him, starting to clear up the materials they'd used.

Jaden raised an eyebrow, a slight smile on this lips. “Done this before?” he asked.

“Nope,” Riah said, putting the remainder of the cedar and barley straw back in their bags. “Just not an idiot. There are only four of us in the class. You might want to copy it in your own handwriting when I'm done anyway.”

“That would take time,” Jaden said cheerfully. “I am a fundamentally lazy person.”

Riah shook his head. “Your choice, I suppose. I'll do what I can to make them look different.”

“Paper,” Jaden said suddenly. “Just a second.” Digging in his bag, he pulled out two long scrolls and handed them to Riah.

“Thanks,” Riah said. He only needed one, but Jaden probably knew that better than he did.

“Education is the key to turning today's ax murderers into tomorrow's kindergarten teachers,” Jaden told him ironically.

Riah stared at him, then found himself starting to smile. “Indeed,” he said sarcastically. “I'm going to be a big fucking hero someday. Just ask the queen.”

Jaden stopped what he was doing and looked at him, suddenly frowning. “What on earth happened, man?”

“What do you mean?” Riah asked cautiously.

“I mean – you're fifteen,” Jaden said. “You really killed someone?”

I thought that's what you meant. And things had been going so well until then. Riah met Jaden's eyes and spoke bluntly. “He needed killing,” he said.

Jaden stared at him, mouth slightly open, seemingly at a loss for words. “Shit,” he said finally. “You really did.”

Idiot. “No, I made it up,” Riah said acidly. “They're temporary tattoos, and the manacles I was wearing this morning were the kind with the safety release.”

Once again, Jaden just stared for a second, but finally he snapped back, “Forget I asked.”

Riah just watched him as he grabbed his bag and left.

Asshole, Riah thought. Then the anger died, and he was left staring after the other boy. No, he thought. Normal human being with normal response to fucked up human being.

Grabbing his Rituals textbook and rolls of paper, he stood up to leave and walked out of the classroom. Once out in the corridor, though, he stopped by the door, realizing that he didn't know where to go.

“Zachariah,” a man's voice said suddenly.

Riah looked over, startled, and realized that the voice belonged to his new “Guardian”. “M'lord Greuster,” he greeted ironically.

The man ignored the disrespect and simply walked to him, holding out a packet of papers.

“Take these,” he said. “Your next class is in the Base Magic building, between this complex and the intermediate complex, in room number twenty-three. It starts in half an hour. Don't be late.”

The man turned and left, and Riah shook his head. Helpful. Looking at the pile of papers in his hands, he found that one of them was a map, and another a class schedule. The third was a thin bound packet labeled, “Welcome, Newcomer!” and appeared to be a list of guidelines regarding life at the school – things like meal hours, curfew, and where to go if you were sick. Finally a thicker bound packet was labeled “Community Guide,” and appeared to be mostly a list of rules and the consequences for breaking them.

Looking back at his class schedule, he found, indeed, that on Wednesdays he had Basic Rituals with Master Tirdan, lunch, Basic Charms with Master Dalter, a half-hour break, and then something called Base Magic 1, with Master – with Lord Greuster. He felt his stomach churn, a little. Lord Greuster was teaching one of his courses? That'd explain why it was him giving him the papers, but he had just started hoping that he'd be able to avoid the man.

Nothing that I haven't already survived, he reminded himself.

He had half an hour. There was that lounge on the first floor of the Rituals building – and Bat had said that each building had one. If that meant the “Base Magic” building, too, then he could find his classroom before settling down and thus ensure he wasn't late.

Why did he care if he was late, though? he realized suddenly. It wasn't like his grades would ever even go anywhere. Where could they go? He almost smiled. Riah, we're very disappointed with your performance this quarter. You're- what? What could they do to him? Put him in Solitary? That would hardly be square.

Maybe they'd try sending them to his mother? He snorted lightly, this time without any sense of amusement. Oh yeah. She'd care.

Nobody fucking did. M'Lord Greuster had made that damned clear, and Mr. Jogden the “dorm father” had only been concerned with 'controlling' him. Thereby showing me that they can't, he realized. He truly had nothing to lose. He had no parents to report to, no prospects for a career that hadn't already been ruined by his record, no anything beyond forty years in prison and his eventual release. Nothing he did here meant anything beyond being something to do. There really was nothing anybody could do to control him other than Greuster, and the man didn't seem interested in doing it. In that sense, he was freer than he'd ever been. Nobody to please, nobody to displease, no way to bungle his life further than had already been done. Unless I kill somebody else, at least.

What was he doing here? Sure, it was better than prison, for now, but what then? How long was he even going to stay? They couldn't have him serve his whole sentence here. He'd be too old, and anyway twenty years of schooling was expensive. And surely he'd be even harder to control, with training? Unless they were planning on assigning M'lord Greuster to him for the whole time?

He'd go to class, he decided. For curiosity's sake, if nothing else. He needed something to do. And he might as well be on time, if he was going to go. Especially given it's his Lordship, he admitted to himself. Just because the man claimed not to care about Riah's academics didn't mean he wouldn't resent him interrupting his class, and unlike anybody else who might care, he could actually do something about it.

I would not make my life difficult, if I were you, the man had said. It was probably good advice. You don't mess with me, your Lordship, and I won't mess with you. Shoving all the papers but the map into his Rituals textbook, he set out for the Base Magic building.

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That's it!! Hope you liked it! 

Marius' Story chapter 3

A/n: Hi everybody!! Thanks again for your lovely comments on chapter 2!! Hope you like chapter 3!! It's a bit short.

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It was not enough, Marius realized only half an hour later, staring at the smiling, utterly helpless child on the table in front of him. He'd changed Mo's diaper again and this time it was filthy, full of a uniquely foul-smelling olive green mess. He'd dug into his diaper bag to put her in a clean one and realized that he only had ten diapers total, and fewer washcloths – he'd have to wash the soiled ones today if he was going to have enough dry for tomorrow. The thought had sparked another, and he dug again in the diaper bag, this time looking for the little paper packets that contained Mo's formula.

One,two, three, four, five, six, seven...eight. Eight. And Mo had gone through two already, and he was going to have to feed her again quite soon. At this rate he'd be through six of the ten by the time the day was out. And don't babies eat at night, too?

He stilled, horrified. He needed cash, now, or the child would go hungry in less than a day.

Shit. He'd found the first job too easily, he thought, frustrated. Of course it couldn't work out perfectly. Nevermind that it's already the hardest job I've had in my life, and for the least pay.

Okay, think, he told himself. Think, think, think. Don't panic. He needed another job. By tomorrow. One that would pay him without the proper papers, and that either didn't interfere with this one, offered a bed, too, or paid enough that he could afford to pay rent and still buy food and baby formula. Oh, and that would either let him bring a baby along with him every day, or also paid enough that he could afford a babysitter.

In other words, I'm fucked. He couldn't find a job like that if he was looking in his world, and had a month.

Don't panic. Panic doesn't help. Funny how thinking 'don't panic' didn't do a lick of good.

Harlot, he realized next. Maybe she'll know where to start. But if he didn't clean out the diapers now, they'd still be wet the next morning.

Okay, so I wash the diapers, first. By hand. Using well-water. You have got to be kidding me. He'd been able to sit down for a total of about half an hour since he'd left for school that morning. It was strange to think that that was just that morning. His problems were so different that it seemed like a different lifetime. Different world, he reminded himself. In this one, they had wells. Ones with a bucket at the end of a rope, probably.

“Bighana?” he asked, hearing his voice shake. “Where's the well? And can you lend me a bucket? One you don't mind getting gross?... And maybe soap?”

“Don' use soap,” she said. “Stuff we have'll hurt'er worse than somewha' dirty clothes will. As for the bucket-” She pointed, and he saw a large, wooden basin tucked under the table. “I use it anytime I get ahol' of any unprepared meat and am throwing out the inedibles,” she told him. “But it'll work for you, too. The well's out this door and at the end of the alley to the left. Bring the chil' with you - I can' be distracted from my cooking if she cries. An' clean the basin out before you bring it back - I won' have my kitchen smelling like that diaper does. If you manage to get a bit o' coin, I'll throw your things in with those that the laundress does so you don' have to wash'em.”

Yeah, great. Cash always is the question. “Yes ma'am,” he told her. “...thank you.”

Lifting the more-or-less clean and content baby, he placed her in a basket before throwing both dirty diapers and the washcloths he'd used into the basin.

Damn it, I really do need a carrier, too, he realized. There was no way he could carry the basket and basin at the same time – the basin itself required two hands.

Breathing a heavy sigh, he picked up the baby in her basket and carried her to the door outside, then pushed the door open with his shoulder and set her just outside the door. Returning to the basin, he grabbed it and did the same thing. The alley was gross, he realized then. No shit running down the street, but piles of garbage outside each door, only some of them in bins, provided their own smell. Resolving to ignore it, he picked up Mo's basket again and carried it down the alley towards the well, then set her down on a patch of earth that looked dry and returned for the basin, carrying it past Mo aways before going back for the baby.

Putting Mo down next to the basin after the second relay, he paused for a moment to breathe and heard a dry laugh. Looking up, he saw an old, tattered woman grinning at him from a chair where she sat, making some sort of fabric with a hook and yarn. For a moment, he just stared, taking in her wizened appearance before looking around her. She was surrounded by cats of all kinds, from a basket of tiny kittens and their mother to a skinny tomcat almost as gray and wizened as his mistress. Bizarrely, though the cats clambered on every surface, and her clothing was full of their hair, none of them interfered with her work as she pulled yarn from the balls and hooked it into her work.

And she was laughing at him. He scowled at her, but she just grinned.

“Need a couple extra limbs, don't you lad?” she asked him.

He stared at her. Extra limbs? “What I need are a carrier, and cash,” he told her irritably.

“Ah, but you wouldn't need a carrier if you had a couple more arms, would you?”

She's crazy, he decided. And he didn't have the time. Picking up the baby basket, again, he resumed his last relay to the well.

“Such temper young people have these days,” he heard the woman say behind him, perhaps to one of the cats. “No sense of humor.”

Telling himself to ignore her, he kept going, and finally made it to the well. And now to draw up the water. Which he knew, in theory, how to do. In practice – did one just drop the bucket in? Studying the thing for a moment, he found as expected that the rope had a hook on the end that attached it to the bucket, and wrapped around a thick plank attached to a crank, such that when one turned the crank one could raise and lower the bucket. He also found that the well was not nearly as deep as he'd expected, which would make his hauling easier. But if he just dropped the bucket in, he ran the risk of it falling off the hook and being lost.

Instead, then, he pushed the crank to lift the bucket over the well, then slowly let go of the rope. The bucket didn't budge. Huh. He'd expected it to fall. He snorted lightly. Wooden well. Right. He was an idiot. Because a world that actually hauls water from wells and stores it in wooden barrels clearly ought to have metal ball bearings. Taking hold of the crank in both hands, he pushed and pulled, fighting the friction, and managed to lower the bucket down until it sank into the water. The movement irritated his already-sore back, but it was doable, and eventually he managed to pull the full bucket back up to the surface. Remembering a scene from a movie in his childhood, in which a weird old wizard had released the crank before grabbing the bucket and promptly and comically lost his hard-won water, he reached out for the bucket with one hand and pulled it onto the stone lip of the well.

There, he thought, panting a little. Yey for fresh water. It was even clean. Or well, as clean as one could expect from unfiltered well water. Unhooking the bucket, he started to pour its contents on top of the diapers and washcloths in his basin before realizing that if he did so, the filthy diaper would contaminate the merely wet and make his job that much harder. Setting the bucket down, he pulled the dirtier items out of the basin and set them aside before once again picking up the bucket and pouring it over the wet diapers in the basin. It was enough to fill the basin roughly one-third of the way.

Two more, then. Actually, one should be enough. He wasn't going to want the carry a full basin all the way to the trench afterward. And he was going to have to do it twice, since he'd probably want to rinse, too.

Putting the bucket back on the hook, he repeated the process, once again pouring water into his basin.

And now for washing, he thought, staring down at the diapers floating in the basin. Oh, this is going to be fun. Steeling himself, he plunged both hands into the freezing water and started work on the cleaner items, swishing one of the diapers around in the water until it was soaked, then wringing it out again, before dropping it back in and grabbing a washcloth to do the same. Soon enough, the few items were as clean as they were going to get that way, and he wrung them out a final time before draping them over the handle of the baby's basket and reluctantly starting on the dirtier items.

A moment later a happy squeal drew his attention, and he looked over at the baby to see that she'd pulled down one of the washcloths, and was chewing and drooling on it, clearly very pleased with her acquisition. He sighed, remembering that the cloth had just been cleaned, but in reality he couldn't help but smile. She was just so happy.

“You realize that's just a washcloth, right?” he told her.

Naturally, she didn't respond, and abruptly his anxiety from before returned, threatening to turn his thoughts to a mindless panic. He had literally zero money. How in God's name was he supposed to keep her alive? Shaking off the thought, he threw himself into the washing as he had with the dishes before, using the smell of feces and the painful cold and the tiredness of his hands and arms to drive out the unpleasant thoughts.

By the time he was done, the water was thoroughly gross. He really would have to rinse everything. Dump the dirty in the trench, he remembered. And he had to carry both basin and baby between houses to the street to do so.

“Me'n my cats'll watch the lil'un for a minute or two, lad,” the weird old lady from before called. “You go dump that.”

Hearing the offer, he stood up to look at her. Her cats and she? And yet he was grateful enough for the offer that he couldn't really care. Thank goodness. Picking up Mo's basket, he carried her back to where the woman was still working with her hook, noticing as he did so that she'd changed colors from the drab brown she'd been using to a slightly more interesting reddish color.

“Just set her here,” she said, indicating the area next to her chair.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the basket down where she said. She smelled like cats and old clothing.

She grinned. “So you're capable of being polite after all.”

He flushed, annoyed. She's offered to watch the kid. Don't tick her off.

She just grinned further. “You go on, lad. Granny's got the lil'un.”

“Thanks,” he said, trying not to sound short. Granny?

But already he was focused on the next part of his task. The basin was heavy– almost too heavy for him to carry all the way at once. Worse, the water in it was filthy, and was going to end up all over him. His tee-shirt was already soaked with dish water, and splashed some with the laundry water, and no doubt full of his sweat, but at least he could try to keep it clean, if this was what it took to wash it. Removing it, he found that in addition to the water and everything else, the shirt smelled like him. Unsurprisingly, so did he. But the water was too filthy at that point to wash anything in. Laying the shirt over the lip of the well, he once again set about carrying the basin to the street.

Having emptied the basin, Marius brought it back, reclaimed Mo from the weird lady, and set about refilling it and rinsing everything. It didn't take long, and soon he was ready to dump it again. As he was lifting it, though, he realized that this time the water, somewhat cloudy from rinsing, was still probably cleaner than his shirt. And he'd have to haul again to do another set of laundry, since he couldn't pay for it. Hesitating a moment, he finally threw his shirt in, rinsing it out as best he could. Pausing for a moment before ringing it out, he shrugged and instead used the shirt to wash his face and upper body before rinsing it out once more, ringing it out carefully, and draping it over Mo's basket with the rest. She's getting wet, he realized suddenly, seeing some of the water drip.

But now he really did have to go dump the water. Once again, he brought Mo to Granny.

“Will you take her again, please?” he asked her.

She smiled again. “Yes of course,” she said. “Granny's still useful, despite her age. I'm eighty-three, you know.”

Am I supposed to be impressed by that, or would that be insulting? Awkward, he smiled. “Cool,” he said. “I'm sixteen.”

“And a daddy already, I see,” she answered.

Oh, don't call me that. “Uh...sorta,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks....I've got to dump the water.”

She nodded, an amused understanding in her smile, and he left Mo and headed off again to pick up the heavy basin and head for the street.

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

When he got back from dumping the water, Marius found Granny cooing at a very fussy baby Mo. Groaning, he approached the two and picked the baby up under the arms to hold her up in front of his face.

“What now?” he asked her, frustrated. She seemed startled, and stared at him.

Granny frowned and spoke up sharply. “She's hungry and needs a diaper change,” she said. “Would you want to be lyin' in your own piss?”

Oh, and she blames me, Marius thought. “I'm just-” he snapped, before cutting off. Closing his eyes, he rolled his head back on his neck and took a deep breath, doing his best to release the frustration. It wasn't Granny's fault, and he certainly couldn't blame a five-month-old infant, tempting as it may be. The poor kid hadn't eaten in something like three hours. “Point to you,” he admitted tiredly, pulling the baby into his chest to cradle her more carefully in his arms.

“You're just exhausted,” Granny said more sympathetically. “Go on, Lad. You've a lot to do, I expect.”

“True,” Marius said, putting Mo back in her basket gently and transferring the wet laundry off of the handle and into the relatively clean basin where it wouldn't drip on anything. “Thank you,” he said to Granny, realizing as he did so that it was too short to sound sincere. Whatever. He couldn't do better. Picking up Mo's basket, he started his relays back to the inn.

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

“The basin can jus' go back where it was, Lad,” Bighana said when he came back in. “And there's a rack in the closet upstairs if you want to hang yer clothes up to dry.” She was at the table this time, kneading some sort of dough. Another batch was apparently baking – the whole kitchen was hot as a furnace, and smelled like bread. Ran had apparently gone off somewhere. Hopefully she was playing.

“Thanks,” Marius said, shoving the basin back under the table and heading back out the door to pull Mo inside. The diaper bag was where he'd left it in the corner by the door. He threw it over his shoulder and grabbed his laundry and Mo's basket again before heading out of the stifling kitchen and dragging himself up the stairs.

As he got to the top, he realized that she hadn't told him which room was the closet he was looking for. It proved easy to find, though, as the corridor was a straight shot and only two doors were not labeled with a number. The first was the privy – he could smell it before he even opened the door. The second he guessed was the closet, and he was right – it was full of clean linens and cleaning supplies, and had a rack that had to be the one Bighana had mentioned. He hung up his laundry and headed the rest of the way to his room.

The sight of his bed was almost painful. No, no sleep. Change and feed baby. Then talk to Harlot, hopefully obtain job number two, change and feed baby, eat dinner, change and feed baby, then maybe sleep. And you don't get that job, you better hope begging is effective.

But once again, panicking wasn't going to be helpful, either. Right now, he had to feed the baby. That was all. Feed the baby.

And he was upstairs, and he'd forgotten to get water for her formula. Groaning, he grabbed one of her bottles and a packet of formula and headed back downstairs, leaving Mo in her basket in his room.

The rice water by this point was cold, but Bighana already had some more on the stove for him. He made up Mo's formula carefully before heading back up again.

Apparently his departure was the last straw, as far as the baby was concerned. He could hear her wailing before he got up the stairs.

“I'm sorry!” he called back to her. “I'm coming!” It felt idiotic, to be yelling at her from all the way down the corridor, but it was all he could do to cope with the wailing. God, I'm so not ready for this, he thought. And yet he had no options. There has got to be a way to find her family, he thought.

Finally, he got to the room and put the bottle down on the tiny table next to his bed before picking the squalling baby in both arms, settling her on his lap, and taking up the bottle again to push it into her mouth.

This time, she found the nipple of the bottle and quieted instantly, sucking down the warm mixture as fast as she could. He breathed a sigh of relief and readjusted her so that one of his hands supported her head and another held the bottle.

Both of her tiny arms had been curled to her chest, but as he watched she reached out and patted the side of the bottle with one tiny hand. Lifting a finger from his grip on the bottle, he stroked the hand gently. The fingers closed on his in a strong grip, and once again, she looked like an angelic being, completely innocent and utterly incapable of causing mayhem.

“Yeah, right,” he told her, smiling just a bit at the grip on his finger. “You and I both know the truth, don't we?”

She just kept eating.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Totally innocent.”

Jesus, I've gotta keep this kid alive, he realized suddenly. I have to.

She was a burden. Lliannan had shoved her at him without so much as a by-your-leave or even a warning. Without her, he could have gotten by with the food and housing he'd already earned for long enough to find his way back out of wherever he was. He wouldn't have to look for jobs based on the requirement that he brought a child on board.

She's a real darling l'il thing, Bighana had said. But cute didn't cut it. Puppies and kittens were cute, probably cuter, actually – they could play with you, and didn't drool. But nevertheless if Mo had been a puppy or a kitten, he'd've left her on somebody else's doorstep in a heartbeat, destined to die or not. Things die, and it wasn't his fault if they did. But Mo was not a puppy or a kitten. Mo had little hands and feet, a little face. Two arms, two legs, opposable thumbs, facial expressions. Smiles and tears. She was a person. Someday, if he could keep her alive, she'd walk, talk. It didn't matter that he didn't want the responsibility, or that it wasn't his fault. He had to keep her alive.

Focus. Don't panic. For now, she was fed. Now he'd burp and change her, and then he'd ask Harlot about other job ideas. Pulling the empty bottle out of her mouth, he wondered for a moment if she was actually getting enough before dismissing the worry. There wasn't anything he could do about it if she wasn't. Well, other than run out of her food even faster. But he wasn't going to run out of her food. He was going to get a job. And first, he had to burp her and change her diaper. Picking her up, he pulled a washcloth out of the diaper bag and threw it over his shoulder with one hand before positioning the baby on his shoulder and patting her firmly. This time, she didn't spit up much, and he was able to just fold up the washcloth for later use and get started on changing her.

He'd shoved her changing pad in the diaper bag, and it was easy to find again. He laid it out on his bed before putting her down on top of it and removing her diaper. It was just wet, and he just rolled it up and put it on his bedside table.

Shoot. He was supposed to clean her off before putting the next diaper on, and he hadn't gotten a wet washcloth when he'd gotten the formula. Just when I thought I was approaching competence. But he'd just cleaned some washcloths, and they'd still be wet. Leaving the old diaper where it was, he carried the half-naked baby back to the closet and fetched one of them back to his room.

Soon enough, Mo was clean and dry and fed, and he was ready to go talk to Harlot. Except that clean, dry, and fed apparently meant that it was time for Mo to fall asleep on him.

“You realize that that's annoying?” he told her, shifting her a little in his arms. “You could show a little gratitude before deciding I make a good sofa.”

Sighing, he picked her up carefully and started to put her in her basket. At first it seemed to work, but as soon as his hands left her, her eyes popped open and she started to cry. He picked her up again quickly, but it appeared the damage was done, and she cried pathetically as he held her to his chest, bouncing a little like he'd seen women do with other unhappy children. Jesus, what's wrong now? She was fed. She was clean. Two minutes ago she'd been ready to fall asleep. What did it matter if he put her down?

Fine. Whatever. If he had to carry her for her to sleep, he'd carry her. At least then she'd be quiet. Eventually.

Hearing the tone of his own thoughts, he sighed again, feeling guilty. He really didn't want to be the type of person that would resent a child's need for care. And he was all the kid had right now. If he resented her – there were other ways than poverty to make a child's life hell. Adjusting her gently, he pushed her up on his shoulder and stroked her hair with a hand, rocking back and forth.

“Okay, baby,” he said. “Okay.”

I'm not keeping her, he reminded himself. I just have to keep her alive until I can find her family. In a foreign city that didn't even have plumbing. Oh yeah, sure, he thought. I'll just have them put her in the computer system. Maybe they'll connect her with her parents in another district. What was he going to do, go door-to-door?

Go to the Elite, he remembered. What were the Elite? Maybe Harlot would know? Lliannan had said the word as if he should understand it, so maybe it was common knowledge, here?

As usual, thinking of the city he'd come in from was strange. I'm not hallucinating, he thought, finally. It had just been too damn long. The things he was seeing should've at least changed. Maybe, maybe, he'd still be able to find his way out of this place, get back to Malcolm- I can't take a baby to Malcolm! Am I crazy? - take the baby to a police station, get back to Malcolm, and resume his own life, but he'd have to find his way out. He wasn't going to just 'wake up'.

Funny how this morning, he'd actually thought that he had problems; that his life was difficult. Oh poor, pitiful me. My mother abandoned me and her husband's a drunk. Certainly it sounded awful, but it had nothing on his situation now. He stopped short, realizing. It had all sorts of connections to his situation now, actually. Mo's mother was gone, leaving her with him – a man not her father, with no real desire to keep her. You owe me everything, you hear? I didn't have to keep you! Your bitch of a mother-” He forced himself to smile. Clearly, the solution is to get drunk and blame the baby for the rest of my life. Unless his mother had left because Malcolm was a drunk? He'd always wondered which direction that went.

Focusing back on the baby on his shoulder, he realized she'd quieted. “Good girl,” he told her softly. “That's a good girl. You sleep.” Sitting back down on the bed, he lay back himself, resigned to stay put for just a moment with her. Once again, he found himself messing with her hair, pulling the little curls out one at a time and watching them spring back into place. Purple hair, he thought irrelevantly. That's different. Maybe I should dye mine.

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

A short time later, lying on his back with Mo sleeping on his chest, Marius realized that he was falling asleep himself. And he really couldn't afford the time. Job, he remembered. Gotta get a job.

Careful not to jostle the sleeping baby, he hauled himself to a sit, nearly hitting his head of the sloped ceiling above his bed.

Try again, on the sleeping maybe? It was loud and hot downstairs in the kitchen. She'd probably sleep better here, if he could get her to do it. She was pretty thoroughly asleep, now. Maybe he'd get away with it? Tentatively, he leaned down, not pulling Mo from his chest until the last minute, and tucked her into the basket, finding himself holding his breath as he released her and stood up.

One second...three seconds...five seconds...Finally Marius let his breath out. He'd succeeded. Feeling like he'd jinx it if he stayed too long, he left the room quickly, careful to close the door quietly on his way out. Just outside, he realized that leaving the door unlocked with the child and all of his current worldly possessions inside might not be smart. The key was in the pocket of his jeans, and he locked the door before heading downstairs.

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

A/N: That's it for now!! Hope you like!!