Griffin awoke early, as before. It was not easy to break the habits of a lifetime, even if that lifetime had only spanned nineteen years thus far. His eyes opened with a disturbing feeling; he had dreamed of sitting hidden away in one of the shadowed recesses of the summer garden, laughing quietly with Ilona and shushing one another in case someone heard and came to investigate. The sun was sending golden rays to highlight small particles of dust hanging in the air, and there was a sweet smell on the wind. He looked around and through a window that sat behind them, with the shutters closed – and at that moment the shutters opened, and it was Lord Carridon staring down at them with a disapproving look.

He awoke with his heart pounding, and a glance at the shutters on the real window in the room told him that it was not yet dawn. Nonetheless, he was not about to fall asleep again, so he got up and started to dress ready for whatever the day may face. He remembered Jackdaw’s words from the night before, and grimaced to himself. He was resolved, however: he would bear as much as he had to, going no further, so long as there was a way out of this that did not involve death or being thrown to the slums for whatever practices might be meted out on his body.

He paced in front of his dresser in the dark for a short while, but he soon began to realise that it was perhaps a little further from dawn than he had first thought, and he wondered what he ought to do to pass the time. He realised that he had not really seen much of the house, other than his own room and the study downstairs; and, thinking to acquaint himself a little with the layout of things, he quietly opened his door and stepped out into the corridor.

He looked down in the direction away from the main part of the house first, and saw nothing; aside from a lamp that burned at the far end of the hall – another indulgence of someone who was as rich as Lord Carridon and had no fear of wasting money on a light that no one was using – the row of doors was featureless, and it ended at a blank wall with nothing beyond it. Looking in the other direction, however, back towards the main wing of the house, he saw one door with light spilling from underneath it. There was a shadow moving around inside the room, and the flickering of the glow suggested a single solitary candle; he looked at the number of doors in between that one and his own, and felt almost certain that it was Jackdaw’s room which the light was coming from.

He was not sure why he crept along towards it as though he was a burglar trying to avoid detection, or why he paused outside with his ear craned towards the door in order to try and hear any noise that was coming from within; but when he heard nothing, he surprised himself yet further by reaching out and rapping, very gently and quietly, on the door.

There was a brief pause; footsteps approached the door from the other side, and Jackdaw opened it, looking out with no inconsiderable amount of surprise at who it was that had knocked. He stepped aside wordlessly to gesture Griffin inside; he was half-dressed himself already, though he stood in his shirtsleeves rather than having put on his jacket and vest.

“I woke up early,” Griffin explained, keeping his voice low in case there were other servants sleeping around them. “Force of habit.”

“I’m glad,” Jackdaw said as he closed the door behind them, and there was something in his manner which suggested that he was being utterly frank. “I couldn’t sleep well, so I gave up. I wanted to talk to you about... what I alluded to earlier.”

“The plan?” Griffin asked immediately, looking at him almost fiercely with his need to know what was going on.

“Yes – but look,” Jackdaw said, making calming motions with his hands. “We can’t be too excited just yet. And I can’t tell you everything. You understand, of course?”

“I suppose,” Griffin replied, grudgingly. “But you have some sort of plan, at least?”

“I do,” Jackdaw told him.

Griffin nodded, and then followed Jackdaw’s gestures to take a seat on one of two simply designed chairs near to the window. “Will it get us out of here?”

Jackdaw inclined his head slightly as he took the second seat. “Perhaps. More importantly, it will get him out of here.”

Griffin paused for a second, his hands on his knees as he leaned slightly forward, trying his best to not only stay calm and quiet but also to understand exactly what the idea was. “So, your plan is to remove him from the estate, not to leave yourself?” he asked.

Jackdaw glanced towards the door nervously, as if expecting that there should be someone listening even as they spoke. “I cannot say any more than that,” he replied. “The more people who know what to expect, the more danger there is. I can only tell you that it begins tonight. If I need your help later on, then I shall tell you everything – but only then.”

Griffin looked up and out of the window, and his attention was momentarily caught by the fact that Jackdaw’s window looked in a different direction to his. On that side of the house was an open courtyard, beyond which an iron fence separated Lord Carridon’s property from that of another. For someone who was used to seeing open fields, it reminded him once more that he was in the city now, where everything was different. “What of today, then?” he asked.

Jackdaw sighed. “The guest who arrived last night is still here,” he replied, sounding tired. “Today we must make sure that he has everything he desires. He is a very important client of Lord Carridon when it comes to trade, and so whenever he arrives there is a sudden call for feasting and festivities. That means more work for me, since I have not had time to train you just yet.”

“And what am I to do?” Griffin asked, somewhat apprehensively.

“You heard his threats last night,” Jackdaw replied, looking at him directly, though with a certain sense of pity. “Though I hate to say it, you cannot avoid him any longer. I suggest we treat today as though it were yesterday; you will go down to see him in his study, as before.”

Griffin sat still for a moment, staring down at his own hands and trying to face up to the situation in which he now found himself. No amount of preparation could make him ready for it; even after last night’s hours of thought, even after yesterday’s violence, he still found it unbearably difficult to reconcile that which he had to do with his own intentions. Jackdaw must have sensed it, or at least expected it, for he leaned forward suddenly again and placed his hands on Griffin’s shoulders as he had done before.

“I know it is difficult,” he said, speaking very clearly and carefully. “I know it is repugnant. But you are a servant, and what is more you are a servant without an identity until he chooses to give you one. Those like you and I have no place to quarrel with their lot unless they can do something about it. We have no choice. You have no choice. If you would rather die, then die – but do not expect it to be a quick or easy death, and expect that you will be used just in the way that you try to avoid before you die no matter what you do. At least if you go willingly, you will be alive, and if you are alive there is still a chance of escape.”

“How many like me has he… sent away, since you have been his servant?” Griffin asked, both afraid of and needing the answer.

“Five,” Jackdaw replied, with a troubled look that seemed to haunt some faraway place in his eyes. “Three were runaways that we found in the city. One he bought. One was given as a gift by another Lord. He ordered me to take them all, forced me to walk them down to whichever flesh or medicine merchant he had sold them to. They begged me all the way. But I had to preserve myself, and believe me when I say that I will do the same for you if the question arises. I may not wish to, but when it is a case of taking you there or condemning myself along with you, I know what I always must do.”

Griffin looked at him, as hard as he could, trying to determine what sort of soul lurked behind the eyes of the man who had led others to their torturous deaths. “You make it very difficult to like you,” he said.

“I do not wish to do anything foolish,” Jackdaw replied, looking at the floor now. “Such as get to know and admire you enough to want to risk my life for you.”

They both looked up then as a beam of light hit the window, starting to brighten the room and eliminate the long shadows around the candle. The sun had broken the rim of the horizon, and no matter how much they might have wished to stay and talk about these important matters which faced them, there was work to be done. If they want to live, Griffin knew, they had to perform.

Jackdaw stood up, with a shrug of his shoulders that seemed apologetic, and he began to head towards the door of his room. Griffin stood and followed him, going out into the corridor ahead of him so that Jackdaw could close the door whilst shrugging on his jacket. They walked together to the end of the corridor, and then parted without a word, Jackdaw going towards the other side of the house and whatever rooms might lay there while Griffin headed downstairs towards the door that he knew was waiting for him.

He tapped lightly on the door of the study when he arrived, hearing the summons from within and swallowing down a vicious fear that threaten to tighten his throat and stop his limbs from moving. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, pushing his mind and all stubborn thoughts that came with it as far away as he could, and then opened the door and went in.

Lord Carridon was sitting behind his ebony desk as before, sorting through a pile of papers that lay on it and tossing them aside one by one as if they were of little importance. He looked up with a small amount of surprise when Griffin entered, though he did not remark upon it or indeed acknowledge his presence for a few moments. When he was done with whatever those papers were, he sat back in his chair, and looked directly at Griffin as if to appraise him. He took a small wooden box from one side of his desk, and opened the catch with slow and practised movements; turning it around so that Griffin could see the contents, he tapped the clean new identity band that was in it with one long index finger.

“Do you want to know who you are?” he asked authoritatively, in a quiet tone that nonetheless demanded respect and demonstrated power.

Griffin realised that he was supposed to respond, and inclined his head, looking at the floor. “Yes, sir,” he replied, silently grasping onto the sight of that band and holding it as the aim that would push him forwards.

“Then show me that you are worthy,” Lord Carridon replied, closing the box with a snap and laying it back down on the desk. He stood, his movements as elegant and unhurried as they ever were, and walked around to stand in front of him, placing his hands on his hips and then waiting.

Griffin understood that he would have to be the one to initiate this, that he would have to grovel like a dog if he wanted to get that identity band. He had already earned himself the hard road instead of the easy one, by his behaviour the day before, and Lord Carridon would now push him further than he would have thought to in order to ensure that he was utterly shamed and defeated. Griffin knew that he was letting him win, even as he sank to his knees in front of him, even as he put his hands up to the buckle that held fine dark trousers up around his waist, but he was powerless now to stop it. Death or this, he told himself. Death or this. He tried desperately not to gag at the mere thought.

Then he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, and in his mind’s eye he saw only the identity band, thought only of it, clutched hard at that one shred of hope so that he would not have to think about anything else. For the rest, he only tried to breathe, to draw in air through his nose and remind himself that above all, he was still alive.

When they were done, Lord Carridon gripped his face in one hand’s tight grasp, fingers and thumb hooked around his chin like the claws of an eagle. He reached over to take the identity band out of the box, and fastened it around Griffin’s neck, all the while without letting him stand. Finally, he drew the belt back around his waist and started to fasten it, turning away and back to the desk. “Leave,” he said, and refused to pay him any more attention than that.

Griffin scrambled to his feet and almost ran for the door, needing to get out and away as soon as he could. He stumbled back upstairs, went along to the bathroom which he and Jackdaw had returned the bath to, and threw up the contents of his stomach into the sink there. Wiping his mouth, he turned unsteadily to see Jackdaw watching him from the doorway; he nodded, as if to say that the deed was done, and Jackdaw offered him what he thought was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile.

“It gets easier,” he said. “From here, it gets easier. Come follow me; I’ve to set the table for the luncheon, and you can learn how I do it.”