The rich do not shout because they are angry. They shout because they have never once been ignored.”

  luke head butler for house ymir

  I stepped out into the midday sun, squinting so hard my eyes were practically seams in my face. The Upper City didn't just have light; it had light that bounced off every white marble surface like it was trying to personally blind me. I followed the map Lirra had drawn, clutching it like a holy relic while my heart did a nervous tap-dance against my ribs.

  This was it. My first ever attempt at "honest work." Honestly, it felt more terrifying than jumping across a three-story gap in a blackout. With jumping, you just might die; with a job, you have to actually .

  I navigated through a neighborhood that looked entirely too clean to be real. No sewage leaks, no steam-pipe hisses, and the people didn't look like they were five seconds away from stabbing you for your boots. Finally, I found it: . It was a small, fancy-looking shop tucked between a jeweler and what smelled like a very expensive bakery.

  I took a breath, adjusted my stolen tunic—the one I’d lifted from that manor veranda—and pushed the door open. A little bell chimed. I hated that bell immediately. It was like an alarm telling everyone a rat had just walked into the pantry.

  Inside, the air smelled like cedar and expensive dust. An old man was hunched over a counter, poking at a piece of sapphire-blue fabric with a needle. He didn't even look up at first.

  "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he grunted, his voice sounding like two bricks rubbing together. He finally looked up, his eyes narrowing behind thick spectacles. "You sure as hell aren't one of my customers. Plus, what the hell are you wearing? Stolen clothes?"

  My stomach did a somersault. I’d spent twenty minutes smoothing the wrinkles out.

  "I... no, sir," I stammered, trying to find my 'reliable citizen' voice. "my name is eymire I’m actually here for work. Lirra sent me".

  He froze at the mention of her name, then looked me up and down again, lingering on my boots. "Lirra, eh? She always did have a soft spot for strays. But we don't hire thieves here, boy. Find somewhere else to haunt."

  "I’m a really good worker," I insisted, leaning over the counter. "Hardest worker you'll find in this whole sun-bleached district."

  "Oh, really?" Oren scoffed, setting his needle down. "And what can you do here in my shop? Can you tailor clothes? Can you hold the money case without stealing it?"

  "I'm really good at transporting goods," I said, thinking of my years as a Courier in the Warrens. "I can get anything from point A to point B faster than anyone you've got. Guaranteed."

  Oren stared at me for a long time. I tried to look honest, which mostly just made my face itch. He sighed, reaching under the counter and pulling out a small, rectangular bundle wrapped in heavy oilcloth. It wasn't large, but he handled it like it was made of thin glass.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Fine. I’ll give you one chance," he said, sliding the bundle toward me. "This needs to go to a manor on the North Ridge its one hour walk from here . It's a silk bodice for a Lady who has the patience of a starving wolf. This is a silk bodice with a hand-stitched lace collar. If you snag a single thread of that lace, I’ll have your head., or I’ll have the City Watch peeling you off the pavement."

  I took the bundle. It was light, almost nothing compared to the black boxes I used to haul for Don Cinder.

  "Consider it done," I said, already turning for the door.

  "And Eymire?" he called out. I stopped, my hand on the handle. "Fix your collar. You look like a noble who got mugged by his own wardrobe."

  I stepped back out into the street, clutching the silk bundle to my chest. Great. My first job was being a delivery boy for a man who hated my clothes. I started walking, my eyes scanning the rooftops out of habit.

  I told myself.

  I headed toward the North Ridge, feeling the weight of Lirra’s map in my pocket and the strange, terrifying pressure of being an "honest" citizen. If only the guys back in the Warrens could see me now—hauling fancy laundry under a sun that was trying to cook me alive.

  The walk to the North Ridge was a special kind of misery. The sun was still trying to cook me alive, and the higher I went, the more the houses looked like they were made of gold and arrogance. By the time I reached the Belrose manor, I was sweating through my "gifted" clothes.

  A servant led me to a backyard garden where an old lady sat under a massive parasol. She looked like a raisin that had been dressed in expensive lace and left to dry out for a century.

  "It’s about time!" she shrieked the moment she saw me. "Did Oren hire a snail to do his deliveries?"

  I thought, bowing low. "My apologies, milady. The hill is quite steep."

  "Steep? It’s a gentle slope, you lazy boy! And look at your hair! Do they not have combs in whatever gutter you crawled out of?" She snatched the box and tore it open. "Look at this! The lace is practically shivering from your common touch! Does Oren think I’ll pay for second-hand rubbish?"

  I mused, keeping my face as blank as a stone wall. "I can assure you, milady, it is the finest lace in the district."

  "Don't tell me about lace! I was wearing lace while your father was still figuring out how to tie his boots!" She held the collar up to the light, squinting at it. "And you smell of... is that roasted sausage? How dare you bring the scent of a common tavern into my garden!"

  I thought, my jaw aching from how hard I was clenching it. "I’ll be sure to stand downwind next time, milady."

  "There won't be a next time if you don't learn some manners! Now begone! Tell Oren I expect a discount for the emotional trauma of having to look at your boots!"

  I thought, giving another fake bow. "A wonderful day to you, milady."

  By the time I got back to the shop, the sun was finally starting to dip. I felt like I’d been dragged through the Warrens' sewage pipes and back. I tossed the delivery receipt on the counter.

  Oren looked at it, then at my exhausted face. "She complained about the boots, didn't she?"

  "She’s a joy. A real ray of light in a dark world," I muttered.

  The old man actually let out a short, dry chuckle. He reached into a small tin and tossed a single Copper Mark onto the wood. It made a pathetic, lonely .

  "Your pay for the day. Don't spend it all on one sausage," he said.

  I picked up the coin. It was the hardest I’d ever worked for a single copper in my life. In the Warrens, I could have made a Gold Aureus in ten minutes. But as I walked out of the shop, I felt the map Lirra had drawn still tucked in my pocket.

  One day of honest work down. My heart was still pumping, and for some reason, the Copper Mark felt heavier than it should have.

  "Six days to go," I whispered to the fading sun. "I’m definitely going to end up murdering a noble before the week is out."