‘Come,’ Lord Carridon’s voice ordered from within. Griffin opened the door and stepped forward, finding himself in the study of his master.

It was a big room, and well furnished. The paper on the walls was a pale grey, bringing into sharp contrast the presence of chairs, desk, bookcases, and other furniture all crafted from the same dark wood that characterised the rest of the house. The desk itself was huge and heavy looking, littered with papers of all kinds and opened books and ink, and towering over it with the same presence as he had commanded at their previous encounter was Lord Carridon.

‘You are late,’ he said sharply, without looking up from the page he was scrawling on, only pausing to look up when Griffin did not reply at once.

‘I’m sorry, Master,’ Griffin replied quickly, throwing in a short and clumsy bow, unaware of exactly how a house servant was supposed to act in light of his previous career.

‘It will not happen again,’ Lord Carridon announced, finishing off whatever he had been doing with a flourish and standing up. ‘Straighten your back, for goodness’ sake. A farm hand ought to have straight spine, at least, to commend him to this kind of work.’

Griffin pulled himself upright as much as he could, keeping his gaze straight as the Lord came around from behind the desk to lean against it for a moment instead.

‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment’s consideration. ‘I think this room is a little stuffy for our first meeting. Come, follow me. We shall go elsewhere.’

Without waiting for Griffin’s approval or acquiescence, Carridon pushed himself from the desk and brushed past him to go through the door, and there was no choice but to follow him as he marched quickly through the hall and up the stairs. At the opposite end of the hallway to the one that Griffin had come in through, a large set of double doors beckoned, through which Lord Carridon pushed immediately without a second’s pause. Griffin rushed in after him, and it was only then with a sinking feeling that he realised he had been led to the master bedroom.

He steeled himself, drawing all of his willpower together to not think the worst, to not turn and run there and then, thinking that he could still be mistaken. After all, as a servant, he was not to be taken into the reception rooms, was he? And it was true that this room was more comfortable – beside the luxuriously sized bed were two low chairs and a table, where it was conceivable that a discussion might be had between master and servant.

‘I trust Jackdaw has briefed you fully on your duties?’ Lord Carridon asked, pausing in the middle of the room with one hand leaning against a bed post in order to pose the question.

‘Yes, Master,’ Griffin replied, and hesitated. ‘But... ’

‘Good,’ Lord Carridon cut in, smiling wolfishly. ‘Then take off your jacket, and get down on your knees.’

Griffin stared at him, his cheeks burning. He managed to stay still for a moment, then began to retreat towards the door. ‘No.’

The pleasant face of the Lord twisted immediately into a snarl, and with a smooth swiftness that belied both his age and his demeanour he was between Griffin and the door, gripping the youth’s arms painfully tightly and trying to force him down through sheer strength. ‘You will obey me,’ he snapped, even as Griffin called on the force of years of physical labour to break free of his grasp and attempt to throw a punch in the general direction of his face.

His inexpert aim was easily avoided, and Lord Carridon pushed him away so forcefully that he was unable to do anything but stumble backwards, tripping as his feet caught in the deep furs of the rug. He fell back, crashing into a vase that smashed as it hit the floor, the shards flying all around him as his back connected with the dry stems of desiccated plants that until now had formed a dark decoration to the room. For a moment the wind was knocked out of him by the impact, and he could make no effort to move or get up again despite the thorns digging uncomfortably through his jacket and the threat of what was still to come.

Jackdaw appeared from nowhere – he must have been waiting outside – and with a deftness that surely indicated professional training he flipped Griffin over and pinned his arms behind his back, holding them tightly and placing his knee on a tender spot at the back of his legs, forcing him to stay still. The fury of the last few moments was over, and Griffin realised that he was overpowered already, completely at the mercy of the other two men.

‘If you would like, I can take back the collar I have ordered for your neck and toss you back onto the streets,’ Lord Carridon snarled, his face an unpleasantly twisted mask. ‘I know a gentleman who runs a house full of boys like you, where someone like me might pay to spend the night with no repercussions. They do not bother to feed you or repair your wounds when you have no identity, boy. They throw the bodies out onto a compost heap, and the police don’t care a thing for bodies without collars. Remember your place. I’ve given you the gift of life; you owe me, boy.’

Griffin struggled again for a moment longer, the fight dying out of him a little as he realised the awful truth behind those words.

‘It’s better if you just give in,’ Jackdaw murmured in his ear, and despite his actions Griffin was almost sure that he heard a well-concealed note of sympathy and regret. ‘At least you’ll be alive.’

‘Consider this a fair warning,’ Lord Carridon snapped, drawing back now that he could see he had won. ‘Next time I will not be fair. If you struggle and make this unpleasant for me, I will send you to the brothels. And if you refuse me again... well. I will simply sell you to the medical researchers in the slums, and see what a finely cut up carcass they can make of you while you are still alive.’

The Lord gathered his cloak from the bed in an angry motion, fastening it around his shoulders with a fluidity born of practice. He turned and strode from the room, barking Jackdaw’s name over his shoulder as he left.

The other servant released Griffin after a moment, when he was sure that he really had given up fighting and would not try to go after their Lord. Jackdaw stood up and went to follow his master, but in a moment’s hesitation he turned and looked back. The ruffles at his collar were slightly askew, and his face reddened by a small degree, but the only other sign of what had happened was the fact that he could not now meet Griffin’s eyes.

‘I’m just trying to keep you alive,’ he muttered, something that almost sounded like it wanted to be an apology, and then he was gone, leaving Griffin alone in the wreckage of the vase.