Early morning and Declan left House Ariloch and headed up to eat breakfast. He was just another person in the throng, but he lacked the excitement that they carried. For most of them last night had been ideal. Low risk blazed-beasts and easy hunting. While he ate, he penned a letter to his parents.

  Offered a position as a house arcanist to House Ariloch at the academy. It’s workman under another name. Fifty rin a week, and so much work I could use an army and still need help. But it’s good work and I’ve already been paid, and I promised six months. Love, D.

  The note went in the postal collection with the Foundry address and Pop’s name. The sunswa device devoured the golden paper and then turned green, saying it had been sent. Then he set off into the city, pack and toolbox, in search, not of wares, but of furniture. He found what he was looking for five rings out and on the opposite side of Ariloch, a furniture and fineries store with black polished oak beds and cherry chest of drawers, tables and chairs. When he stepped in, the salesmen appraised him and rightfully concluded he wasn’t their target.

  The manager was more direct. “Looking to get out of the rain?”

  “I was wondering,” Declan said, “If you have a warehouse. Pop was a workman in Foundrytown.”

  The manger nodded. “We do, two rings out and east, but we only hire from Perth approved. Go see the shipment man, he’ll tell you the same but you’ll know it’s true when he says it.”

  Declan did. He knew his way through crowded streets and busy ones, and better than to step in front of wagons when he finally found the warehouse and gathered the shipping chief’s attention. “Sir, it’s cold where I am.”

  “It’s cold everywhere,” the chief answered. “What’s that to do with me? You’ve got no Perth oath-stone, and we’re sworn to work with them.”

  “Fine stores, the good ones, they don’t ship their wares bare. I was hoping you’d have a few crate-pieces I could earn?” Declan glanced to the rear of the warehouse. Nothing came to the Foundry without protection from the elements.

  “Workman. Perth’s got no workmen, which is why we’ve got no shitter,” the chief answered. “Can you clear soil pipes?”

  It was hardly the worst thing he’d done. Declan set himself up to work and spent three hours running the metal coils through the pipe and another hour scrubbing himself in the bathroom. But when he was done, he could look the chief in the eye. “About that scrap pile?”

  “We close at nightfall. Officially, I can’t give you anything. But I talked to our watchman. If Bert sees you, he didn’t see you and he won’t. Come back then. We burn this trash anyway.”

  Not if Declan had a say in it. “Thank you sir. If you need me, I’m house arcanist for House Ariloch.”

  “No shit?” The chief thought his joke funny.

  Declan laughed as though it was, but now he had a different task, one that started at second class and lasted well until lunch. Every bucket, every pot, every pan piled with rotten food had to go. There weren’t enough hours in the day to clean it all, but there were plenty to throw it out.

  At lunch, the other housies kept glancing his way. “What, I got a piece of shit on my chin?”

  “No,” Eden said. “I’m just used to Wormie looking dazed and lost. You look angry. But you survived and that’s what matters. Hey, I heard Hawkins was banned from Rush, good riddance.”

  Declan shuddered. “How long until the next swarm?”

  “Days or weeks, hard to say,” Roll answered. “My arcsoul’s just about open, but I’d rather someone who’s sensitive do things like predict swarms. The point is, you got time. Take a fucking break, you look like you’ve been up since dawn.”

  Harris gave a warning glance. “Don’t listen to him. I mean, do listen about getting some sleep but you’re not here to be a house’s slave and even if you were, there’s no Arilochs left. You picked up the two-yellow hand. It’s shit and you know it. So don’t play the game.”

  Flancards was a game his pop loved to play, though Declan hated the way the men bragged and worried more about what he might lose than what he might gain if he won. But yellow was the worst color, and it didn’t go lower than two to start.

  They were right. “I swear they blended up the carpet to make this,” he said, taking another bite. “The mana’s like honey here. Last night, damn near impossible to breathe.”

  “If your arcsoul were open it would feel good,” Eden said. “They do that here, you know. The dome building at the center of the world wound, it’s the actual focus, the thickest mana in the world. Pay enough and they’ll hold you there during an overswarm and keep you from dying.”

  “You had me up until ‘pay,’” Declan said. “It’s been a great lunch, but I have a goal. I want to be able to walk in and not smell death.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I’ve got a rin for you if you do that!” Harris said. “Go with the gods, go with everything holy and get it done!”

  Declan did not get it done. The waste bins were empty, this was true, but dumping them had left thick sludge, the result of months of neglect, and cleaning those had revealed the pantries, which were bad in a different way.

  But when evening came, he was standing at a distance outside the warehouse, carring a short roll of twine and his work gloves. The night watchmen circled the warehouse, and Declan moved to the rear outside, where the shipping crate planks lay piled on the remains of another bonfire.

  He began by laying a base of planks on top of two twine-lengths, then added layer after layer, stopping to wrap it from time to time. When the twine felt strained, he removed a few and bundled it up, then hefted the stack and staggered away.

  The moon was already high when he finally made it back to House Ariloch. His back ached, his arms burned, and yet, he wanted—needed—more. Every step was grudging as he returned, making a smaller bundle, a concession to reality. This time, he chose planks more carefully. This time, he selected the longest. One last trip, and Declan could barely carry a bundle, more like a collection of planks, but every one counted. This time, when he made it home, it was to his apartment. His intent had been to work on his mana bearing.

  Reality was that sleep claimed him, dragging him down into a blissful silence. He woke long after sunrise. Judging the bleak winter sun, Declan assumed second-class. But what brought strength to his step was the bundles of planks and the goal he had. Bit by bit, he worked, sawing and hammering, stopping to straighten bent nails from the crates. By noon, one window had been planked in and the other had four across it like bars.

  At lunch, Harris and Eden were missing, which gave Declan time to learn Roland Farwin’s actual personality. The man wasn’t lazy, he was terminally efficient. If someone else were already going somewhere, easier to ask him to pick up another desert. And his network of connections was stunning.

  “That door of yours, that’s going to be a problem, isn’t it? You need one made. I know a guy,” Roland said.

  “It’s just the hinge. I’d say it looks worse than it is but it’s as bad as it looks. It’ll take a few days to hammer the hinge back into shape.”

  Roland nodded. “Lot of work.”

  “You have the rin for a new one?” Declan waited and then gestured. “Me either. I do have a hammer.”

  “I mean, it’s a lot of work,” Roland added helpfully. Then when Declan glared, added. “How many people four feet wide do you got? You need two doors?”

  “Damnit!” Declan was on his feet in an instant. “I could kiss you. Won’t because it would be gross but I could.” He could close one side and make the other lock. It could be done tonight. But he stopped and waited “What do you need?”

  “It’s a favor, one housie to another,” Roland said. “You don’t have connections to get me a overseer position. You can’t make me a researcher, so if I have a leaking sink, I’ll call you. I mean, we have actual rin for actual plumbers but if I can’t get one of them? I’ll call.”

  “Deal.” Declan ran all the way to House Ariloch. He could barely smell the house from outside, which would no doubt make Harris a happy man. It would also make Declan a happy man. He set to work immediately, first twisting the broken door as close as possible and then hammering it until it was back in the frame. Each brace was measured and cut, every nail straighted and driven clean, until he could step back and swing the remaining door open or latch it shut. The final step was a brace holder so he could bar the door. For now, he left it shut but not locked.

  A sign would have helped but the next best thing to a sign was ramming into the door, cursing, and then opening the other. Each curse was the sound of a mind being enlightened. By evening Declan was sure someone would ascend from being so goddamned enlightened. He’d returned to working on the other window and faced a new problem: He was out of wood.

  While he waited for evening to fall, Declan meditated, attempting to push mana into his bearing. He might as well have been trying to pound grape jam into it. Without the thick mana of the overswarm, the bearing didn’t react. At last it was dark, and he set off again. From a ring away, he smelled the smoke, and a block away, saw the fire leaping as warehouse workers gathered by the fire, warming themselves and sharing ale from a barrel.

  The ArCore patrolled at night, looking for the occasional blaze-spawn that wouldn’t show as a swarm, and hoping for the treasures a beast might carry. Which brought Declan’s attention back to the shard. Like the runes he’d been tested with, it resisted his attempts to claim it. Then again, a shard was just that, a piece of one. With five more, he could probably have the entire rune, but how would that work?

  Declan knew who would know.

  The next day, he noted the morning stampede ended with a closed front door. To pass the time, he wound a rag over his face and worked in the pantry until lunch, when he finally emerged, mold covered and coughing, to seek out lunch.

  But Harris wasn’t there. Eden waved as he sat. “You’ve made it two days longer than anyone expected. That makes you practically part of House Ariloch. Are you ok?”

  “Fine,” Declan lied. “I wanted to talk to Harris about rune shards.”

  “He’s at his inscriber’s class, but there’s not much to explain. The most common shards, it takes six of the same tier. If they’re all from the same class of blazed beast, they’ll almost always form the same rune. If they’re not, the result can be unstable or just strange.” Her gaze dropped to the table. “It’s not unheard of to find them after a swarm. If I did, I’d keep my mouth shut.”

  “Got it.” Declan knew the house to one side was Harding, the other Drevond. “What happened to Ariloch’s defenses in the side yard?”

  “I knew this would come up,” she said under her breath. “You can blame some of it on us. But you can blame more of it on House Sullivan. They’re the ones directly behind and between us. The more blazed beasts that go straight to their house, the more their arcanists make. It’s not like this is new. It’s been decades.”

  “I noticed the windows on your side aren’t barred. I’d guess your arcanists launch spells from inside and claim the shards. For now, that’s acceptable.” Declan had made up his mind. Now was not forever. “Thanks for the help.”

  “I’ve barely done anything. Come back to me when you’ve fixed the house and you want to fix your people. That I can help with.” Eden gave him a smile as he stood and headed back to work. When he arrived, a tube near the front door glowed. Declan approached and put his hand on it, taking out an envelope. He’d seen Crown post before but never received one. Now he read the letter. Pop demanded to know everything. Every problem. Every solution. Every detail.

  There was work to be done, but this was family, and for a time, Declan set it aside to write back.