"And that's when the kid took off his shirt to show his Guild ID," Phil said, carefully watching his father's reaction.

"Guild ID? How old did you say he was?"

"Looks fifteen. Sure enough, it was legit. Had the Molton Guildmaster's mark under it and all. I stopped by the office and read his file." Phil took a sip of his drink.

The City Guard Captain shifted uneasily in his seat. "And?" He wasn't amused by Phil's frequent pauses. He liked his reports to be succinct and to the point. He'd never enjoyed drawn-out stories.

"He's equal parts insane, lucky, and skilled." Phil shook his head. "I wouldn't believe it if it weren't in the official reports." He rubbed his forehead. His father was already fully bald in his sixties, and Phil was already mostly there. He'd given up and started shaving to save himself the embarrassment.

"Insane, skilled, and lucky describes the whole Guild. Or have you forgotten some of the men you used to work with? This city's made you soft if that's the case," the old man complained.

"Dad." Phil leaned forward to emphasize. "He and Ox killed an ogre by themselves. The kid was eleven."

Captain Raccoon blinked in disbelief at his son.

"I'm just telling you about him because he's also known for starting brawls because he's bored," Phil said, sitting back. "Vice Captain Davis is supposed to be holding his leash, but the kid's a charmer and Davis... well... He's kind of a pushover. I expect him to cause trouble."

The old man nodded, sucking his teeth in thought. "Thank you. I'll take a look at his report tomorrow."

A knock on the door interrupted.

"What is it?" Raccoon called.

"Rimmer was caught pissing in the well again," a guard outside the door called.

"Don't you have enough against him to do something?" Phil asked.

Raccoon sighed and called, "Throw him in jail. His Mom will send someone to come get him soon." To his son, he said, "That's the most I can do. Every time I try to do worse, his mom gets involved. Then it's a whole sob story about how he's such a sweet boy, and he's not harming anyone, and it's because his father died. As if that makes a difference. My father was torn to shreds by a direwolf, but you don't see me pissin' in wells."

Phil set his empty glass down. "Who is his mother?"

"Matron Tundra of the City Temple," Raccoon answered in disgust. "Honestly, I don't think she gives a shit that he's in trouble all the time except that it looks bad on her. But she won't do a damn thing about it."

Phil had heard a few things about Matron Tundra. She was always out trying to convert the Hannish to worship Nyltia and kill off their soulless instead of keeping them. She was never successful at either task.

"I bet you it's an act she's putting on every year. That whole trying to convert the Hannish on the riverbank," Raccoon said, apparently thinking along the same lines as his son's wandering thoughts. "Draws herself a huge crowd for it then gathers donations from people who think it's gonna go to helping those poor sons of bitches. Instead, they just keep it all for themselves."

"Wonder how they feel about Reed Owen being in the Western Barracks?" Phil asked.

"Probably nothing. There are several higher-ranking Hannish in town. Baron Greene is at least half," Raccoon gestured vaguely. "He's talked me into hiring a few of them. They're hard workers, I'll give them that. I give them fair pay, but considering how many mouths they've got to feed over there... May as well be throwing shang in the river."

Phil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And Resident Tax keeps getting higher every year," he added.

"Lots of people getting forced out of their homes because of it," Raccoon agreed. "Then crime goes up, and the nobles come breathing down my neck about it. Did I make the problem? No. But I'm on the hook to fix it." He sighed gustily and waved a hand. "Ah. I'm sorry, son. You came over here on your time off, and I'm filling your ear with complaints."

"I don't mind," Phil assured. "Wish there was more either of us could do about it."

***

"Wanna see something neat?" Avery asked.

Reed cracked an eye open. He'd been lying under the tree on the hill after morning practice. Like every day, the squires had morning workout, then some chores, followed by the rest of the day to do whatever they wanted. Reed had wanted to nap in the sun.

Avery had brought Timmons with him, so this must be some weird bet between them again.

Reed looked at him, raising a brow. He really didn't know how he'd become the object of their rivalry, but Timmons and Avery were determined to outdo each other. Even though Reed was fine with hanging out with both of them.

"Aite," Reed said, sitting up. "What'cha got?"

"There's a mystery to the northern wing." Avery grinned. "The western junction has no echoes."

Thinking on that for a long moment, Reed finally grunted, "Huh." Getting to his feet, he brushed the grass off and gestured for Avery to lead the way.

Avery grinned triumphantly at Timmons, jogged down the hill toward the western patio door. The two knights standing at the doors were slouched against the wall, looking bored as hell as the boys passed. Reed was beginning to reconsider his decision to go for the title of knight. Being a door ornament wasn't what he wanted to do with his time, even if the pay was good. Heading down the hall to the junction where the western, northern, and main buildings intersected, Avery stopped in the middle with a grin.

The area did have a sort of dead feel to it, Reed noticed.

Avery cupped his mouth and called, "Echo?" Despite his volume, there was no reverb. As if the walls were covered in special fabric that ate sound.

"Hello?!" Timmons bellowed.

Reed remained silent, watching the boys in amusement until he heard a footstep as if it were behind him. He turned to look, then saw movement at the top of the stairs. Slapping Timmons' shoulder before the boy could yell again, he got them to face Barracks Captain Bass and salute.

"Having a bit of fun, are you?" Bass asked as he descended the stairs.

"Yes, Sir," Avery said quickly, swallowing nervously.

Reed noticed the old man was favoring his left leg, leaning heavily on the railing. He looked unnaturally pale. "Weather gettin to you, Sir?" Reed asked.

Bass smiled a bit. "You boys should be careful about where you speak in the palace. Especially the places without echoes."

"What do you mean, Sir?" Timmons asked, eyes wide.

At the foot of the stairs, Bass pointed at him. "Go up to the top and stand on the first step down."

Timmons saluted and sprinted to the top. As he ascended, Reed could hear the clatter of his boots on the hardwood. Bass pushed off the railing and came to stand close to Reed and Avery, pulling them in close to speak softly. "The walls have ears in this Palace. Be careful who you cross. Especially you, Owen."

Timmons gasped. It sounded like it was right next to them. "I heard that!" he said. His voice carried full volume down to them, but not from the direction of the stairs, but from the corner opposite.

Reed turned to study the walls, noting the arches and angles. It looked like an accident of design. His gaze slid to the northern hall as Timmons clattered down the stairs. Where the western hall was home to one occupant and a bunch of rooms being used for storage, the northern wing was administrative offices. That meant that a lot of nobles came through to file paperwork. "Bet y'all hear a lot of interesting conversations around here," he said to Bass.

"You could say it's one of the perks of being Western Barracks," Bass said in amusement. "Now, do be mindful of yelling, though? It carries right down to my office." He chuckled at Avery and Timmons' stricken looks.

"We'll keep that in mind, Sir," Reed said. He saluted, since Bass seemed like he intended to leave.

The other two hastily snapped their fists to their chests.

Bass returned it and limped toward the western garden. Reed watched. He was definitely favoring his left leg and his arm was cocked slightly. The Palace Guard wasn't a combat position. Especially not Barracks Captain.

The three waited until the old man was well out of earshot before speaking. "Guess they got him good this time," Timmons whispered.

"What?" Reed asked.

"Knight-Commander Kelvin. He likes to call us all out for parade, then pick someone at random to beat," Timmons said. He'd been there longer than Reed or Avery. He grimly folded his arms. "Just because they're all sons of High Nobles."

Injustice abounds, apparently, Reed thought.

"So what do you think?" Avery asked, looking at Reed, then Timmons.

"Okay, this was interesting," Timmons admitted. Then he grinned. "Alright, but what about the second-floor windows on the northern hall?"

So this was one of their little competitions. However, this was a competition of impressing Reed with mysteries, so he didn't mind it so much. "Alright, let's go look at it."

"This way!" Timmons paused to check that the captain had cleared the hall first before jogging back toward the garden door. He then took them down a hidden path, back along the length of the western wing, and pointed at the mysterious windows on the northern wing. They were shut and dusty.

Reed looked around, calculating. The second story of the western wing had a narrow edge of bricks just under the windows all the way to the corner. It wasn't enough to safely scoot along, though. Reed moved closer to the wall to check. Yeah. Barely an inch.

There was a gutter spout just to the left of the third window. If Reed had rope, he could probably loop it and climb to the roof, then get over from that direction. However, he wanted to try something a little simpler first.

Going to the corner between the northern and western wings, Reed inspected the bricks. It was a typical ninety-degree corner. The bricks weren't particularly flat, but they weren't protruding, either.

"What're you going to do?" Timmons asked eagerly. "You going to climb it?"

"Yeah. It'll work," Reed said, bracing one hand on one wall and his foot on the other.

"Oh shit!" Avery gasped as Reed spidered up the corner. The first dormer window was too far for him to reach from the corner. Reed could get to the roof, though. Continuing to the top, he scrambled over the gutter and walked across the pitch to peer into the dusty window.

The window was a double-hinged affair with a latch in the middle. Pulling his knife out, he slipped it into the crack. His knife was a little too thick to go in far enough, though. He frowned in thought and looked around.

Nothing useful was immediately at hand. He would need to find some kind of shiv and come back.

Carefully walking back to the corner, Reed lizard-crawled back to the ground.

"You didn't go in!" Timmons accused.

"I need something thinner than my knife to pop the lock," Reed said.

Avery grinned. "Pop the lock? Like a thief? Or assassin? What don't you know how to do?"

Reed snorted, knowing damn well he was cheating. But these kids didn't need to know they were hanging out with a forty-year-old who was pretending to be fourteen.

"Let's go to the market! You'll find something there," Timmons suggested.

Not that Reed had anything else to do.