It was a brilliant escape, almost every detail had been planned for months, and Pendleson couldn't help but admire the incredible amount of work that his students put into avoiding work. Yet, despite what they tried, they were only apprentices, and the impenetrable student-blocking gate kept them from running too far. He rounded them up, bringing the leader to the drawing room to drill in him one more time the lines this boy had pushed from his memory.

“I thought we've been over this!” Pendleson groaned, glaring down at the boy behind his tortoiseshell reading glasses. The kid slumped further down the fat chair that accompanied their fireplace.

The boy was officially named Geordie Harrison, but he quickly changed it to 'Gordy' the moment he started to talk. He didn't have any useful talents, but Gordy could whine longer than any other human Pendleson ever met. It was a talent that Gordy never ceased to explore; even when the tall boy was quiet, his eyes from beneath his hood retained a hypnotizing pout.

“I can't change fate for you, and you can't change it either by running away. Especially by running away.”

“You can't make me do anything!” Gordy yelled in a low voice that had oscillated to match his large Adams apple only recently, to the horror of Miss Pickett. Gordy had also stopped cutting his hair as part of his teenage rebellion and it draped dangerously past his shoulders to accompany the sad scruff near his chin.

“I know that.” Pendleson sighed, “But you know what you are meant to be. You know that you must keep yourself safe until the right time comes.”

“I hate you.” Gordy hissed petulantly. He shifted in his chair and turned to the side.

The fire sputtered in an awkward silence.

As Miss Pickett often reminded him, there were a few instances in Gordy's youth, full of macaroni chains and piggy rides that warmed Pendleson's heart. But now he was a rude little weasel that appreciated nothing of his upbringing in Fairfield. He had almost enough of Gordy Harrison.

“I am already quite familiar with that, Harrison. But how could I change it without putting your life in jeopardy?” The old man asked, his patience thin and tired.

“Like I could keep anything bad from happening. I'm not even a Knight.” Gordy sighed bitterly. The boy leaned into the chair, as if to try and merge with the cushions.

He had a convincing profile to the boys and girls his own age, but to older people like Pendleson, Gordy's naiveté read in the way his eyes sat under his brow; the way Gordy looked forward instead of reflecting back.

The old Master Knight cleared his throat and scratched some things into a notebook he kept in his pocket. Writing notes was a therapeutic thing he did without thinking about it; What he wrote in his special code looked impressive but it never had anything to do with what he was talking about, and this time he wrote 'what color is an octopus, really?' before turning his attention back to Gordy.

“So you want to be a Knight?” Pendleson asked rhetorically. Even though it was so early that it wasn't even time to think about breakfast, Gordy wanted to talk about dangerous jobs he could never achieve. Gordy and his bad timing; It would kill them all.