Rat the Enforcer

If Broks architecture was all bamboo and rice fibre embankments and screens, Aquilian architecture was rougher, and vaster, lacking the studied clarity of Brokn design.

If Alitaeran architecture was all granite and pine, Aquilian architecture was minor problematic, lacking the willful stability of Alitaeran configurations.

If Osseini architecture was delicate spires and looming arches, Aquilian architecture just loomed above one tale in a few nobles' manses on the east aspect. Aquilian edifices were everything pudgy and humid and ordinary and low, particularly in the Lowdys. A material that cost twice as much was never utilized, even if it lasted four times as long.

Aquilians didn't reckon long term because they didn't live long term. Their edifices often incorporated bamboo and rice grain, both of which evolved nearby, and pine and granite, which were not yet distant away, but there was no Aquilian technique.

The country had been conquered too many times over the centuries to flatter itself on anything but survival. In the Lowdys, there wasn't even dignity.

Flynn absently shredded the loaf into thirds, then grimaced. He'd made two about the same magnitude, and one-third less. He plop one of the huger pieces on his leg and gave the other huge piece to Toy girl, who pursued him like a shadow.

He was about to pass the small piece to Nathan when he saw Toy girl's countenance furrow in protest.

Flynn sought and held the little piece for himself. Nathan didn't even notice.

"Better one of his girls than dead," Nathan mumbled.

"I won't end up like Bim."

" Flynn, once Marlian buys review, Rat'll be our union head. You're eleven. Five years till you obtain a review. You'll never make it. Rat'll make Bim gape fortunate compared to you."

"So what do I do, Nathan?" Ordinarily, this was Flynn's special period. He was with the two people he didn't have to be scared of, and he was hushing the insistent

vocalist of hunger. Now, the bread tasted like dust. He gaped into the market, not even catching a glimpse of the fishmonger whacking her husband.

Nathan smirked, his teeth brilliant against his black Ladeshian membrane. "If I confide you a secret can you hide it?"

Flynn peeked from flank to flank and leaned in. The audible crunching of bread and smacking of lips beside him halted him.

"Well, I can. I'm not so certain about Toy girl."

They both swivelled toward where she crouched, munching on the heel of the loaf. The mixture of the grains clasped to her face and her grimace out made them wail with laughter.

Flynn brushed her blonde head and, when she kept pouting, yanked her close. She struggled against him, but when he allowed his arm to plunge, she didn't scoot away. She glanced at Nathan expectantly.

Nathan lifted his tunic and removed a rag he'd had fastened around his torso as a strap.

"I won't be like the others, Flynn. I'm not simply getting on to let life happen to me. I'm gonna get out."

He unwrapped the strap.

Tucked within its crumples were a dozen coppers, four silvers, and impossibly, two gold gunders.

"Four years. Four years I've been saving." He plunged two extra coppers into the strap.

"You mean all the times' Rat's whacked you around for not making your dues, you've had this?"

Nathan grinned and, gradually, Flynn understood. The beatings were a minor price to reimburse for expectations. After a period, most guild rats deteriorated and allow life to whack them.

They came to be animals. Or they drove crazy like Flynn had today and got themselves killed.

Looking at that jewel, part of Flynn wished to beat Nathan, grab the strap, and flee. With that fortune, he could get out, obtain clothes to replace his rags, and pay novice fees someplace, anywhere.

Perhaps even with Ryan Smith, as he'd confided Nathan and Toy girl several times.

Then he saw Toy girl. He comprehended how she'd look at him if he ransack that sample of life. "If any of us make it out of the Lowdys, it'll be you, Nathan. You merit it. You beget a plan?"

" Always," Nathan mumbled.

He perked up, his brown sights were bright.

"I need you to take it, Flynn. As soon as we discover where Ryan Smith resides, we're going to get you out. All right? "

Flynn peeked at the heap of coins. Four years. Dozens of whippings. Not just did he not realize if he would offer that much for Nathan, but he'd likewise thought of extorting it from him. He couldn't grasp back hot tears. He was so humiliated.

He was so afraid. Scared of Rat. Scared of Ryan Smith. Often scared. But if he got out, he could assist Nathan. And Smith would teach him to slay.

Flynn bucked up at Nathan, not daring to stare at Toy girl for suspicion of what might subsist in her large brown eyes.

"I'll take it."

He realized who he'd slay first.

Ryan Smith yanked himself on the lid of the minor estate's embankment and gawked the sentry pass. The perfect security, Ryan thought: a little sluggish, lacking intuition, and devoted.

He grabbed his thirty-nine steps, halted at the intersection, planted his halberd, scraped his stomach under his gambeson, surveyed in all directions, and then walked on.

Thirty-five.

Thirty-six.

Ryan slid out of the man's shadow and relieved himself over the horizon of the walkway. He held on by his fingertips.

Now. He fell and slam the grass just as the guard throbbed the butt of his halberd on the wood walkway. He disputed the sentry would have heeded him anyway, but paranoia begets perfection in the Rudeboy's barter.

The yard was minor, and the cottage was not much huger. It was erected in the Brokian format, with translucent rice sheet embankments.

Bald cypress and white cedar shaped the doors and curves and cheaper local pine had been employed for the rack and the floors.

It was spartan like all Brokian cottages, and that fit General Spencer's military background and his ascetic disposition. More than that, many achievements, King Davin had not rewarded him well—which was part of why the Rudeboy had arrived.