Chapter Seven:
How An Apprenticeship Is Made

The snow of the bitter winter had finally melted, leaving a carpet of sad, brown grass in its wake. Nathaniel's stomach knotted uncomfortably as the Orington coach pulled up to the front gate of Spade Preparatory Academy. The students were standing in clusters on the wet, patchy lawn and were sprawled up the long staircase to the front door, nibbling on breakfast pastries and chattering incessantly about their own petulant lives. The Orington son, on the dawn of his last semester of schooling, could feel his eyes rolling of their own accord at the obnoxiousness of the situation. Several students' eyes fixed upon his carriage as Elk opened the door, letting in the bright half spring sunlight and the gaze of watchful eyes. Nathaniel took a breath, straightened the heirloom top hat he had recently taken to wearing, and stepped gracefully down the small set of stairs.

It seemed at once that everyone was staring at him. The crowd of students quieted as the long limbed boy in front of them tightened his tie and stepped forward, his light brown hair fluttering softly in the slight wind. Several whispers broke out behind hands, into the ears of others. Though slightly more dramatic than the typical fare, Nathaniel did not find this behavior much more odd than normal. He shrugged it off, stepped forward, and let his feet carry him up the stairs. Advanced Social Law IV was his first course of the day, and he was glad to reach the room and sit. He nibbled lightly on the crescent pastry Hare had packed for him and picked up a copy of the local paper that had been left open on a neighboring desk.

The pastry slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor as surprise overtook him. Someone had very purposefully underlined a headline on the third page.

PROMINENT DIAMOND FIGURE ARRESTED — PETCEST CHARGES PENDING

On the fourth, a similar story — CLUB HOUSE SUNK BY OWN GOSSIP IN SERVITEUR SEXUAL ABUSE SCANDAL

Nathaniel drank in the news with white gloved fingers against his pale lips, his brow furrowing as he read the two tales of indecency. In the first, a son of Diamond House had taken a female Pet as a lover. He claimed that the contact was entirely consensual and mutually beneficial; that he had built a trusting, loving relationship with the mouse Serviteur after months of getting to know one another; and that they both found deep meaning in being together. He claimed that, without a doubt, Mouse had human emotions. Her own statements mirrored her master's, but photos of the incident had surfaced and an investigation was pending.

In the second article, a very wealthy Club citizen had purchased a multitude of Housepets. He subsequently left them under horrid conditions in a small shed on his property, shackled to the wall with legs spread, and took what he wanted from them with no regard for their consent. It was a sickening tale, and Nathaniel dropped the paper back on the desk from which he had taken it, his chest tight with unease.

He stooped down to pick up the pastry he had dropped and secured it back in the strip of satin it had come wrapped in. Just as he righted himself in his desk, the door clicked quietly open and two figures entered—an olive skinned male student who Nathaniel recognized from his year, though he couldn't recall his name, and an aged professor with a large walrus moustache.

"This ought to be a pleasant morning course," said the professor in a deep but jovial voice as the other student took his seat. "I am Professor Braeburn, distant cousin to Her Majesty the Queen. You two are the only students on the roster. Introduce yourselves to one another so that we may start."

The boy stared at Nathaniel for a moment, taking in the wealthy air about him and the quiet, calculated intelligence shining in his eyes.

"Nathaniel Orington," said the boy. "You need no introduction."

There was something strange in the black haired boy's words, some tone lingering below the surface that increased the uneasiness clenching Nathaniel's stomach. It brought to mind how the gossip in front of the school seemed much more focused on him than normal.

The Orington heir held out a slender white gloved hand and the boy carefully shook it.

"Call me Nathaniel. And you are…"

"Raphael Fitzsimmons."

The room was silent for a moment as each student sized up the other. Raphael was of stocky build and appeared strong. From his features, Nathaniel could divine that his lineage was certainly mixed—part of his family came from Italiana and part from Eirland. In fact, as Nathaniel took a better look at him, he recognized him as the President of the Academy's Corps of Students.

"Well, gentlemen, I have set out a discussion with which we will start. This allows me to examine your legal rhetoric and critical thinking skills. I have set out a newspaper, which undoubtedly Mr. Orington has already read, if I understand him correctly. Mr. Fitzsimmons, take a few moments to catch up."

The Orington son couldn't help but smirk a tiny bit. Professor Braeburn was a new professor—or, at least, one he had never had before. Word of Nathaniel's scholarly intellect and academic focus had obviously spread among the staff if this man claimed to know his character so well.

Raphael quickly scanned the circled articles, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration and then outrage. When he had set the newspaper back on the desk, the professor nodded and waived his hand dismissively.

"Your task now, gentlemen, is to discuss the cases as they have been presented to you. Together, you must come to an agreement about a sentence, if any, these owners should serve. You have ten minutes to prepare your arguments."

Nathaniel watched as Raphael withdrew a sheet of parchment from his bag and set to furiously scribbling notes in an attempt to organize his thoughts. The Orington boy leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms across his chest, and stared into space. He needed no time to organize his thoughts, for they had fallen into a strong framework the moment he read the stories.

"Who would like to make an opening statement?" asked Professor Braeburn. After a cursory glance at Raphael, he turned his old blue eyes on Nathaniel. "Mr. Orington, would you be so kind?"

"Yes, Sir," replied Nathaniel, standing and taking the customary bow. "These two cases represent different extremes of a taboo activity that occurs infrequently in our Queendom. This activity—engaging in sexual activities with a Serviteur, owned or not—is illegal. Many citizens find this behavior reprehensible. They argue that Housepets are an inferior genus of creature, a man made mix of human and animal. As such, they argue these creatures do not deserve human rights but they do deserve some legal protection from unnecessary pain, torture, and sexual abuse. Both cases presented to us by the Black House Times indicate that sexual abuse has occurred. Both men could be sentenced to death for their infractions. However, these cases are different.

"In the first case, a man claims that he deeply loves the Serviteur with whom he has been sexually engaged. There are several claims that can be made to counter this argument, the strongest of which is that Serviteurs are not human and therefore do not carry human emotions or a human understanding of the world. The majority of Wonderland citizens assume this to be true, meaning that Housepets have no right to provide legal consent. However, I argue something that departs from the typical Wonderland narrative of ownership. I believe that even though humans created Serviteurs as a bizarre mix of human and animal, these creatures were created with human minds capable of making decisions, providing consent, and falling in love. I know of several scientists who concur, most notably Dr. Richard Jenkins of Diamond House, and they could provide expert testimony if required. That being said, I believe the human in the first case should be allowed to retain his Serviteur and should be free of criminal charges.

"The second case is much different, however. The perpetrator in this case shows malicious intent toward his Serviteurs. This is not a mutually beneficial arrangement, as in the first case. This is true sexual abuse. The Housepets involved were given no opportunity to provide or deny consent. They were kept in horrid conditions and denied proper access to food and water. This man should be charged criminally for the mistreatment of his Serviteurs and should receive the maximum penalty."

Nathaniel bowed once more before sitting, running the address in his mind once more and looking for holes in his own arguments. Both Raphael and Professor Braeburn stared at the boy with astounded and slightly repulsed looks.

"Mr. Orington, with all due respect" said Raphael curtly, his knitted eyebrows betraying his contempt for the answer, "Serviteurs do not have the ability to give legal consent. Therefore, both men are equally guilty of petcest charges and both should be sentenced to the fullest extent of the law."

"I admit that is the dominant position," said Nathaniel just as curtly, offended at the level of disrespect shown for what was a well reasoned argument. "However, I prefer to see the laws as they should be in a fair world, and work toward making them a reality. The laws governing Serviteurs as they stand now are unfair to our dedicated Housepets. If you were to give them intelligence tests, you would see that they possess an intellect on par or even superior to that of humans. With this reasoning power, they have more than enough knowledge to provide or deny legal consent. I—"

"But they're property!" interrupted Raphael in an outraged tone. "They are not free individuals. They are owned by their masters and must do as told. As citizens of Wonderland, we must obey the laws as they stand. If everyone were to go around acting as they thought the laws ought to be, everyone would be acting according to his or her own moral code. These ideals vary widely from individual to individual—from good, chaste citizens to the darkest, most sinister criminals. It would be pandemonium. Chaos. There would be no purpose in having laws in Wonderland if those who chose not to abide by them were not punished. That is why we must rule to punish the men in both cases, whether the activities were consensual or not."

Professor Braeburn had settled into his regal leather armchair, arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently to the discourse. The tiny smirk touching the corner of his mouth painted him amused.

"You misrepresent my point," said Nathaniel calmly. "I do not argue that individual citizens should have the right to determine for themselves what is law and what is not without fear of punishment or reprise; I only argue that the laws of our queendom should be fair and just. I believe much about Serviteur law is flawed and unjust, and the entire institution should be researched, analyzed, and altered. I also believe the two of us were considering the assignment from different standpoints. I was speaking as a lawyer might speak in his closing arguments—a summary of points and evidence to convince a jury of Wonderland citizens to cast their votes one way or another. Lawyers, after all, have the power to change the minds of the court with their arguments and logic. If that court were the High Court of Wonderland, the lawyer may well sway the minds of the Noble Justices and thereby affect changes in the very laws of our queendom. You, Raphael, were speaking from the point of view of a Wonderland judge working within the laws as they stand now—working within a rigid, changeless system that demands equal punishment for equal crimes."

The room was silent for a moment as the two young Spade citizens looked at one another.

"I see why they say what they say about you," said Raphael flatly. Then the bell rang, and he was gone.

oooooooooo

Hare drifted gracefully up the staircase behind his master, a silver plate balanced neatly on one hand. Nathaniel said nothing of his day as they ascended together, and the air between them was wrought with unspoken and delicious tension. Many steps lay between the pair of them and the double doors into Nathaniel's quarters, and they covered them at a brisk and purposeful pace, striding as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion. Hare opened the tall doors to the anteroom moments later, holding them apart to allow the slender Orington son entrance. The twist of a knob, the click of a lock, the haphazard toss of the plate onto an end table, and they were at once in each other's arms, Nathaniel's nose nestling into the short, soft fur of Hare's neck. He pulled back only slightly to find the Serviteur's lips, turned up and waiting.

Hare issued a soft sound of pleasure at the gentle first touch and found himself pleasantly pressed to the anteroom wall, Nathaniel's body warm against his own as they shared an eager kiss.

"How was your day?" Hare managed to gasp between the small maelstrom of kisses.

Nathaniel stopped then, a smirk on his face as he lifted the small silver plate from the table and took a bite of the quadruple chocolate cupcake Hare had baked for him.

"It was excellent. We had a debate in my legal ethics course about the recent Serviteur-related news in Diamond and Club Houses. I made a compelling argument, if I do say so myself. You should have seen the look on my opponent's face."

Hare's mouth worried itself into a tiny slash as Nathaniel continued his assault of the cupcake.

"Don't you think it's dangerous to be so…outspoken about it?" he asked. "People already suspect. You're going to convince them with your words—not that you're right, but that you're up to something…that we're up to something."

"I intend to become an expert on Serviteur law, Hare. I intend to dedicate my professional life to it. All aspects of human and Serviteur relationships need redefining, not just the scandalous ones," Nathaniel replied. Then he paused, setting the empty plate down and tapping his lips in thought. He had never verbalized that career desire to anyone before—not even himself, in his own mind—but it was suddenly the only thing that made sense. "We should all be able to live side by side without ownership, as equals."

Hare could feel a tiny bubble of panic forming within him as the Orington son wrapped him in a hug. It was not that he didn't share Nathaniel's sentiments about living as equals—after all, how wonderful would it be for Serviteurs to be able to marry and have families, pursue dreams and choose their employment, all due to their own motivations and talents? What bothered him was that Nathaniel's idealism was often remarkably, painfully general in their personal conversations as of late, and he wanted to push him toward more specific thinking, but…he didn't feel like he should. When it came down to it, even behind closed doors the two of them weren't equals. But instead of voicing it, Hare pushed away the uncomfortable feeling clenching at his insides, took a bite of the offered cupcake, and sprawled in a chair to read while Nathaniel did his homework, vowing that someday he would understand enough of Wonderland's lofty ideals and rhetoric to be able to speak up.

oooooooooo

The cramped back room was hazy with rich cigar smoke. Professor Bartholomew Braeburn sat atop a pretentiously tall velour armchair patterned in hearts, the light from the room's low yellow lamps making him appear extraordinarily jaundiced. The light was attractive on no one, but no one spoke up about it. Better for card games if you could barely make out your own cards. After all, if you could barely see them, your neighbor surely could not peek into your hand. A little added security never hurt anyone. Braeburn cast his eyes around the priceless Betwindian velvet card table, fingertips delicately massaging the silky surface as he read the faces of his friends and opponents. To his right was Archon Seville III, a mid-ranking judge from Club House who sported a fantastic tawny beard and was a full two decades younger than anyone else at the table. Seated across from Braeburn was Leah Hirmont—a fellow lawyer, but from Diamond House. He kept his silver hair short but sideswept and wore round spectacles. They had been apprentices to the same law firm all those years ago, but their careers had taken very different routes. Braeburn was a rich prosecutor and now a guest lecturer at the best preparatory academy in Spade House—nay, in all of Wonderland. Hirmont, on the other hand, made a small living in social advocacy law and was considered somewhat of a pansy. Perhaps it was the feminine name he sported. "Lee!" he would always exclaim. "It's pronounced Lee. Not Lee-ah." Quite often he would get pink in the face with rage, and that just egged them on.

With Braeburn in the Heart chair, Seville in the Club chair, and Hirmont in the Diamond chair, there was just one unclaimed space at the table. The Spade chair sat empty.

"Barty, you remembered to invite William, did you not?" Hirmont asked, withdrawing a small golden pocketwatch and flicking it open to check the time. "It's nearly half past, and he's not yet arrived."

"He'll be here," Braeburn shrugged, beginning to shuffle the playing cards, bridging them expertly as they collapsed into a pile in his palms. He could feel the nervous excitement boiling in his stomach. It seemed funny to him that a game could be illegal, but playing it gave him such a rush. In a way, it was like standing in front of the Queen and making an indignant hand gesture directly in her face.

The pound of a single fist rang out against the door and a booming voice called out, "Vivat regina."

Seville, being closest to the door, stood to open it, ushering William Orington Sr. in without a word. The man kicked his chair out and fell heavily into it, his presence commanding.

"We're all here," he said, holding a match to the end of his fine Indoninjan cigar and puffing to light it. "Deal, Braeburn."

"You look like you've had a shit day," said Seville with a slight grin. "You know, for the richest bastard here, you sure do have a lot of bad days, now, Will."

"The work doesn't stop when you're rich. It only triples," Mr. Orington grinned back politely, thrilling at the competitive edge he could already see in the clench of Seville's jaw. "You wouldn't know anything about that, though, I suppose."

"Spade House is falling down tonight," Seville said matter-of-factly, sweeping his hand of cards off the black velvet tabletop. It was all in jest, but it made Braeburn recall why the game had been banned by the queen in the first place. The objective of the game was to build your suit's fortress before the others' were complete. You could then remove cards from other fortresses, destroying them little by little until they were completely eradicated. That meant in this game, Heart House could be beaten; it could fall. That image was unacceptable, hence the illegality of the game.

Diamond House was off to a strong start after the first few hands, but the game became more relaxed as liquor and tobacco flowed freely between the four acquaintances that didn't want to admit they were friends.

"So, Leah," said Seville, purposely mispronouncing the name. "Can you tell us about the case you're currently working? Those stories are always such...fun."

"I'm not going to dignify the first part with a response, Archon, because you know better. However, I can inform you all that I have a new defense client seeking to avoid the death penalty."

"Oh, Lord, if this is what I think it is," said Braeburn, adding a card to his fortress. "If this is that pet love case in Diamond house, well, that prosecutor is going to take your own arse off and hand it to you!"

"Everyone deserves a defense, Barty, regardless of what they've done. And anyhow, I can think of some compelling arguments to help the young man."

"We discussed that case in class today at Spade Preparatory, as well as the Club House case. One student argued very clearly and logically that the two cases were inherently unlike one another. He has a strange mind, that's certain, but it works in such an organized and methodical way. Seems fairly destined for your line of work."

Braeburn had meant it insultingly, adding to the common onslaught of playful jabs at Hirmont, but he had forgotten who was sitting to his left. Orington Sr. lowered his hand of cards to the table, placing them gently but firmly face down on the expensive black velvet and setting his cigar in the thick crystal ashtray at his elbow.

"You're talking about my son," he said firmly, "are you not?"

"Orington," Braeburn said defensively, raising his palms up in surrender, "I didn't mean anything bad by the comment. The boy is a genius when it comes to legal rhetoric. We all know he'll grow to be successful in the world."

Orington Sr. relaxed into his chair, picking up his cards again. He sighed, his eyes betraying a long held struggle.

"I know he's different. He sees the world in a strange way, through a lens with a hue no one has seen before. To be honest, I think I've just about given up on insisting his life progress in the typical way."

Everyone was looking at the aging Orington Sr. politely, listening to his words, even as they became tinged with emotion. They respected him, even though he was breaking character as their stoic, sometimes callous ally. They knew that these were words he could speak nowhere else, and they listened.

"It's a very strange thing when your child grows up to be someone you didn't expect. He won't take a steady girlfriend, though lord knows we've tried. Other things are more important to him. Ideas. Knowledge. Rhetoric. He cares about the rights and freedoms of Serviteurs more than anyone I've ever met. In fact, he is so good at identifying pitfalls in our Serviteur scheduling and systems at the Manor that his suggestions alone have increased productivity nearly 200 percent. But he's so tender hearted that I worry what the real world will do to him. All any father wants is for his child to be secure and happy in their adulthood. It's all I've strived for. I just don't know how to steer him anymore."

The group was silent for a moment as Orington Sr. refilled his glass of Brintwin brandy from the decanter in the middle of the table.

"He could work with me," Leah Hirmont said suddenly. "I could take him on as an apprentice."

"What, and be the butt of all the jokes like you?" Seville asked, chuckling to himself as he set two club cards down in his fortress. It put him ahead of Diamond House, and Hirmont scowled at him, for it was his turn, but he could do nothing.

Orington Sr. considered his cards—and the offer—carefully as he sipped at his drink. Placing a spade card down slowly, he looked up at Hirmont.

"You know," he said, "everyone gives you a lot of grief for choosing the career you did. You're not a rich man, by your own choice. But are you content?"

"More than content. I'm helping citizens no one else will help. It gives my life and my work an immense meaning that I doubt our suited gorilla over here could ever understand," said Hirmont, gesturing with a tilt of his head to Seville. "If that's what you want for your son, I'd be happy to interview him and hear his thoughts."

"I'll schedule it," said Orington Sr. firmly. "But if he asks, this recommendation came from you, Braeburn. I can't have my son knowing I'm part of this illegal, back alley card troupe of misfits. Understood?"

"Understood," Braeburn muttered. They turned back to the game. Before long, Spade House's fortress was complete while the others' laid in shambles. William Orington Sr. collected his winnings—800 tabs of Doradian gold—in his satchel. Though the game was over, the four of them continued to drink together until the pink hues of morning touched the horizon.

oooooooooo

Nathaniel stood atop the garden staircase, admiring the neatly set Mongolian tea table arranged below him in the yard. He took a moment to analyze the sunny springtime scene laid before him, for it was incredibly odd for his father to interrupt his school day for something as unimportant as tea time in the flower filled garden. It wasn't just his father seated there, however, poised elegantly in the blue velvet armchair at the head of the table. Seated to his right was a man with a solid head of elegant gray hair and spectacles that glinted in the sun. Hare stood between the two of them, deftly and attentively pouring a pastel colored tea into each of their cups. He looked up, catching Nathaniel square in the eyes for a moment, then looked away with a little smile. It was evident that Hare knew more than Nathaniel did about the mysterious man at the table.

The Orington son took a second to straighten the aged but pristine tophat he wore and descended then, bouncing quickly down the stairs on the balls of his feet, his pristinely waxed school shoes tapping lightly on each step. He walked into the clearing, surrounded by walls of intensely landscaped flowering bushes, and stopped beside the place that had clearly been set for him to his father's left.

"Ah," said Oringtion Sr., standing to make introductions. "Nathaniel, this is Attorney Leah Hirmont of Diamond House. Mr. Hirmont, this is my son Nathaniel."

The gray haired stranger stood, smiling kindly as he and Nathaniel shook hands.

"Hello, Mr. Oringtion. You come highly recommended by an associate of mine, Professor Braeburn, and I was hoping you would allow me a short apprenticeship interview this afternoon. I know it is fairly unorthodox to request such a thing without notice, but I hear you're a rather unorthodox fellow."

Nathaniel raised a quizzical brow at this remark as they shook hands. As they were seated, Hare delicately poured tea for his master and stirred in a dollop of honey, just as he liked.

"I'd be happy to have a conversation with you this afternoon, Mr. Hirmont. Please, tell me about yourself," said Nathaniel politely. For once, it seemed that his father was pleased, for he carried on his face the tiniest smirk.

"Your professor and I—Braeburn—we apprenticed for Barrow & Elmes long ago. He and I came to different conclusions about the validity of their profession. I thought it reprehensible that they could use the power of the law to crush the citizens who are working hard to keep what little they have. I took...a different route."

Leah cast his eyes upon the Orington father, tilting his head a bit quizzically. Nathaniel didn't see the hard look that passed between the two of them.

Hirmont cleared his throat as he flipped open a pocketwatch and said, "You'll miss your meeting if you stay around and listen to this, Monsieur Orington. I appreciate your hospitality this afternoon. However, I would not want it to interfere with your scheduled work. I know how important your business is to you, and Nathaniel and I will be quite alright on our own."

Nathaniel's father took the hint.

"Yes, of course," he said, glancing at his own golden pocketwatch, so daintily chained to his hip. He took another sip of his tea, which was so bold and delicious he half regretted having to leave it at the table, and stood. He gave Hirmont's hand a firm shake and walked off into the garden.

"That's better," Mr. Hirmont said with a single firm nod at Nathaniel. "Hard to truly be oneself with a parent standing over. It's best, in an interview like this, that neither of us feel the need to wear a mask."

Leah polished his round spectacles with a clean white handkerchief he fished from his pocket as Hare placed fresh fruit tarts on their shimmering gold plates. Nathaniel's interest was piqued by the character seated across from him. He seemed so different from the stuffy bureaucrats that frequented meetings at the manor.

"I agree," Nathaniel said. "I consider my apprenticeship decision among the most important decisions of my life. Please, tell me more about the path you took after leaving Barrow & Elmes."

The Orington son leaned backed politely, grasping his plate in one hand and the fruit tart in the other. He raised it to his lips and took a bite, entranced at once by the contrast between the creamy filling and the flavorful berries atop it. Leah Hirmont took a sip of his tea and Nathaniel caught the nearly imperceptible raise of his brow in surprise and delight at its rich flavor.

"I couldn't justify using the legal system to earn money for all the big, established superpowers of Wonderland while, when the other shoe dropped, families were torn asunder and men who had been contributing members of society were so destroyed they were reduced to begging—let alone all the citizens who were jailed or executed for infractions that, today, would merit a lesser punishment, or no punishment at all. I believe in the justness of our justice system—or rather, I believe in its ability to be just—but there was no one to fight for all those people who strolled into Her Majesty's High Court, defending themselves because they had no money for a lawyer...all those people who ended up…" Hirmont drew his finger across his throat in a slitting motion. "It wasn't right. One morning a young mother was put to death for kissing the hands of a Serviteur who had given her and her starving child a bit of bread. That afternoon, I went to the court and I defended every person—27 of them—who were facing consequences that far outweighed their 'crimes' and in 22 cases, I was able to convince the judge to lighten the sentence or dismiss the case. I had found my calling. But I also found myself expelled from apprenticeship. So I agree with you, absolutely, that your apprenticeship decision is among the most important decisions of your young life, Nathaniel. It is critical that you find the right fit. I was lucky to find one like-minded individual back then. Fortunately enough, I found Clarence Bulzwik, and he was a lawyer. He provided me with a new apprenticeship. Together, we founded a law firm and fought a long, hard battle and—"

"The Bulzwik Clause!" exclaimed Nathaniel, slapping his hand on the table excitedly as all the pieces clicked together. "Protected Representation! Together, you secured the right for every person, regardless of demographics or life factors, to be provided an attorney in their defense at trial. That was a monumental shift, sir. It lead to so many other reforms of the Heart Court System. It's an honor to be seated at this table with you."

Mr. Hirmont leaned back in his chair, pleased.

"Nathaniel, if I may...I've heard from your professor you've found a passion as well, just like my passion for ensuring the defense of all people in Wonderland. Can you tell me what that might be?"

As if to give him away, his eyes darted to Hare, who was currently standing at attention, ready to cater to any need and trying his very best to be proper.

"I believe…" Nathaniel started, but he faltered. The entire conversation seemed so perfect, so monumentally in his favor, that he began to worry. What if this was just his father setting him up to say something foolish? Or worse, what if Mr. Hirmont was so socially minded when it came to the human residents of Wonderland but then, like everyone else, considered Serviteurs to be subhuman? As he gazed across the table, trying to put his words together, he saw Hirmont patiently waiting, nibbling on the delicious fruit tart. Nathaniel took a sip of tea to calm his nerves. "I believe Serviteurs deserve all the rights and freedoms that citizens like you and I enjoy. I believe they are of human intelligence and should not be born into slavery. I believe they are not a commodity to be bought or sold. I believe their abuse should not be tolerated. I believe they deserve education and representation within Wonderland systems. I also believe…" and this part was riskier, "that they are filled with human emotion and that, as such, they should be able to create a family with anyone they so choose."

Hirmont's face was impossible for him to read. He desperately wanted an immediate reaction, but Leah simply sipped at his tea for a moment, considering the boy across from him. His fervor was even more intense than expected.

"And what do you intend to do about those beliefs?" he asked plainly, setting his tea down and folding his hands in front of him.

Nathaniel thought for a moment. He swore he could feel the weight of Hirmont's gaze, and Hare's too, boring into him.

"Here in Orington Manor, I've carefully observed the duties, performance, and treatment of our Serviteurs. I knew I lacked the power to overhaul the entire system, even though I found it distasteful, so I watched and I waited. I knew my father cared most about efficiency and limiting spending, so I proposed small changes he would be likely to overlook." Nathaniel noticed the way Hare's ears had turned toward him, eager to hear his words. "Those changes added up over several years, until our Serviteur systems were much more humane. In being humane, our workers also became more efficient. We both got what we wanted, and that's why it worked. There will be a day when this manor no longer feels the need for slave labor, mark my words."

Mr. Hirmont nodded in understanding, but simply responded, "I admire what you've expressed, but I'm afraid you didn't answer the question."

"What I intend to do? The same thing, just on a larger scale. Observe. Wait. Implement small changes that pass by unnoticed. Build power. Then, on a large scale, someday, dismantle the whole rotten thing."

Nathaniel didn't notice it because of the way his nervousness made him lose focus on the small details, but Hare saw Hirmont's lips twitch up in the quickest, shortest grin there ever was.

"Nathaniel, I believe you would be an excellent addition to our apprenticeship team. Do you have any reservations about coming to work for me in a few months, once you've graduated from Spade Preparatory Academy?"

There was one thing lingering on the Orington son's mind, and it wasn't something petty like what his father would think of all this. He took a second to absorb all the details he could about Hirmont—from his slightly unkempt hair to his brown suit that was rather worn at the elbows. And in that moment of hesitation, Leah was able to see straight to the boy's soul.

"Does it worry you that I don't seem powerful? Trust me, Nathaniel, the people who are actually in power don't need to act it. Nine times in ten, if you see a man throwing the weight of his power around to win petty favors or prove his valor, his power is permeable and temporary. Let's schedule a...more private meeting at the law firm. We'll invite Bulzwik. I think we will assuage every one of your worries."

After all, Leah Hirmont had some dismantling of his own to do, and he needed someone like Nathaniel to help him do it.