Kristofferson and Walter walked side by side, and crossed the Chalice Quarter. The firstborn of the Steiner couple had deposited in the temple of Shallya the letter he had written to Sister Carolina. On the way, he had crossed his best friend, and the two ratmen were making their way together towards the Libra Quarter.
After a few minutes, Kristofferson smelled the scent of worry that enveloped Walter, carried by a gentle draft.
- You seem rather worried, my friend?
- I am, Kit. Over the past few weeks, I have had to deal with several incidents in the field, nothing too serious each time, but I feel like there are more and more? The citizens appear to be more anger-prone than before Iapoch's attack.
- You think so?
- In any case, there are more people who end up the night in the dungeon for trifles, and I'm sure of that.
- Hmm...
Walter was silent for a few moments, then continued:
- There's something else, Kit.
- I'm listening to you.
- That's a little tricky to say. Well... I have a feeling that Humans are less kind to us over time.
This statement genuinely surprised the brown Skaven.
- I don't understand… Can you be more specific?
- We two have known the first days of Vereinbarung. Do you remember when you were a child? I, anyway, remember that all the Humans around me always saw me as a wonderful person. Everyone was nice to me, insisted on the fact I was cute, or fascinating. When I became an adult, people appreciated my diligent work, they always found qualities in me, I felt like I was truly someone who was fully part of society.
- That's what Vereinbarung was founded for, my friend. Do you think there is a change?
Walter's face grew heavy with bitterness.
- Humans see us more and more as individuals apart. Now that there is a sizable portion of Skaven in the Rat Kingdom's population, looks like Humans are no longer being kind and fascinated by us. They used to see us as little pets to be raised, but now that we're assertive, I can sense a difference in their behaviour: mistrust, fear, contempt are now in.
- Hmm… are you sure what you're talking about?
- Not sure and certain, but I have suspicions. As I told you earlier, I have had to provide more interventions in recent weeks, and I have perceived in Human citizens small, insignificant things taken separately, but which, end to end, end up becoming disturbing. Sideways looks, half words, uninspired wits of humour as they speak... I've even seen people who don't hesitate to call us "rats".
- What kind of people?
- Thugs we arrest, drunkards...
- Yeah, in other words, people who are not very civic-minded anyway. They don't deserve our attention.
- Hmm...
- And then, your point of view is perhaps distorted? I told you about Miranda Schmidt, didn't I?
- The luxury clothes tailor's daughter?
- Herself. Well, know her point of view was not far from yours: she believed her mother had adopted her only for social interest, and not by love. I managed to prove to her she was wrong. No, I rather think that your impression is due to something else.
- What could that "something else" be?
- For example, the fact that the Rat Kingdom is more populated. The more inhabitants there are, the more the sources of problems flow.
The two friends were no longer far from the portal to the Libra Quarter. They had to cross a large, busy square. Day and night, a motley crowd made up of jugglers, preachers tirelessly announcing the end of time, and beggars could be seen. In the darker corners, the two Skaven knew it, were hiding of the receivers, bandits ready to swindle the naive people with rigged bets or often illegal goods, sometimes counterfeit, always at exorbitant prices.
It always hurt Kristofferson's heart a bit, and he couldn't hold back a sigh.
- Well, Kit, are you the one worried now?
- All this saddens me, Wally. Steinerburg is a very young city, and yet some places are already occupied by banditry, and that causes misery.
- That's the lot of every big city, Kit. The contents of a jar of honey are delicious, but they will inevitably attract flies. This country was created six years ago, which is long enough to make all kinds of people come, including scoundrels. All the more readily in the Renegade Crowns. And as you just told me, there are more and more of them.
The citizens crowded around the gate, and the two had to stop to wait their turn. Suddenly, an old Human woman dressed in filthy-black clothes sprang up in front of them, her hand outstretched:
- Sirs, have mercy on a poor commoner! Alms! Give alms!
Kristofferson hesitated. He thought about it, and tried to remember how much money he had in his pocket? Maybe a small coin to donate? Walter, on the other hand, was more direct.
- No, we have nothing. Go your way, please.
The crowd had progressed, the way to the door had become accessible. But the old woman didn't give up. She grabbed Walter by his arm and insisted:
- Come on, a handsome young man well dressed like you! You must have a shilling to give me, haven't you?
Kristofferson's whiskers twitched. He had just noticed particular hormones that indicated annoyance. Walter shoved the beggar's hand away.
- Please leave us now. If you want money, get yourself a decent job.
The two Skaven resumed their way towards the door, but the voice of the old Human woman echoed above the general rumour.
- Go die like the filthy rat you are!
At these words, Walter's ears swivelled. Kristofferson felt the smell grow stronger, turning to the acidity of anger. The spotted Skaven slowly spun around towards the old woman who froze when she saw his green eyes flashing in rage.
- What did you just say?
He took a slow step towards the beggar, until he was right in front of her. Petrified, she was shaking, her eyes wide open, her mouth agape. Walter pulled out an engraved plaque attached to a chain from under his closed jacket.
- Do you know what this is? This is what makes me the Captain of the Steinerburg Guard. You've just insulted Walter Klingmann, the authority of all the guards who patrol the city, day and night.
Kristofferson felt his eyes narrow. He didn't like the turn of the situation so much.
- My guys do the best in order to make the city is as safe as possible. Thanks to them, you haven't been cut into little pieces yet, even if that's what you deserve. I protect you, even if you are just a parasite. And am I the "filthy rat"?
The hairs of the spotted Skaven stood on end.
- So what do we do? Shall I tell my soldiers to stop patrolling the hutch where you live? Let an accident happen to you?
- Wally, Kristofferson whispered.
As the old woman didn't answer, Walter grabbed her by her neck with one hand, and raised his fist.
- Or shall I demolish you? Right here, right now?
The woman moaned in terror. There were surprised cries. Instinctively, some of the locals quickly moved away, others circled around the two Skaven and the woman. Kristofferson heard mixed encouragement and supplication cries, and decided to act. He put his hand on Walter's shoulder.
- My friend, stop! What the Hell are you doing here?
The woman cried out, burst into terrified sobs, and stammered out an apology as best she could. The young spotted Skaven's features relaxed, and he released his grip. The old beggar fell to the ground, and bowed, was confused in thanks, while continuing to cry.
His voice loaded with all the contempt he could express, Walter declared:
- You're lucky I'm off duty, old crone. But be careful, the "filthy rat" may not be so accommodating another time!
Then he walked towards the door with a determined step, followed by Kristofferson. Onlookers quickly moved aside in their path.
After entering the Libra Quarter, on a quieter, less busy street, Kristofferson stormed back.
- What happened to you, Wally? Are you becoming crazy?
- It happened to me I'm sick of it, Kit. She publicly insulted me, she had to be reminded of good manners!
- Do you realize you've threatened a desperate old beggar? Are you sure she doesn't have enough problems already?
- It's not about being a beggar or not! See, that's what I was telling you about earlier. We are "rats" to these people, Kit! Not all have the open-mindedness of Humans who adopted the Freed ones, like my parents or your grandfather! And I wonder how much longer they will let us be their equals?
- What are you talking about, Wally?
- One day, they will end up remembering what their own ancestors transmitted to them: they will then see us as Feral Skaven who are soft paws while waiting for the best moment to get the upper hand on them! And I bet you that, in the years to come, as a preventive measure, our rights will be gradually reduced, until the day when we are no more than slaves!
Young Steiner shook his head.
- Do you really believe that the Humans would have gone to all this trouble to make us slaves? The Harvests, the permanent risk of being confronted with neighbouring Kingdoms less tolerant, even the Empire itself, and the Feral Skaven who will undoubtedly make us their privileged target, now that they know us and know a White Skaven traitor to their people is the Master Mage of this Kingdom? All this just to have slaves to let off steam and to whom to entrust the worst jobs? You really imagine aberrant things!
- Not that much, Kit. Have you read the Johannes Schmetterling's trial report?
- No.
- I did. And I saw something that made my blood run cold: the last statement he made in his defence. He warned your grandfather that one day the Skaven would rise up against the Humans, and that he felt a responsibility to prevent that.
- Ah, he said that?
- I invite you to check it out by yourself. And remember Captain Kreutzer! A racist who despised the Skaven set up by Schmetterling himself!
- The military may have a few rotten elements, but that doesn't mean all Humans want us crawling at their feet.
- Not all of them, but in my opinion, there are more of them than you might think. All are likely to see us as potential dangers, especially among those who have not adopted Skaven.
- I think you're getting the wrong idea.
- And I think you don't see what I saw. Kristofferson, you have always lived in the Prince's estate! I have spent a lot of time among the people, the real people, with their beliefs, their small and big miseries, and their fears. You have never been immersed in the daily life of Steinerburg.
This remark certainly annoyed Kristofferson.
- Wally, do you think you're much closer to the people I am? You were adopted by Master Bäsenhau, a merchant who often traded with my grandfather. Your family is the second richest in the country after mine. We spent our younger years together, in the same rich neighbourhoods, following the same lessons with the same teachers. The difference is, since you joined the military, you go to the slums more often than I do. You cannot say that you have always lived among the common people, and that you can understand them better than I can.
- Well... It's true, I misspoke. But my job pushes me to frequent it more often than you. And I can tell you that these citizens are starting to look down on us. And if a Human as intelligent and educated as Commander Schmetterling could be convinced that we are a danger, do you think the peasants and uneducated workers will think differently? Here, we can go even further: imagine that one day, politicians and agitators make people fear us Skaven. What will happen, in your opinion?
Kristofferson did not know what to answer. Could he do it serenely? Would he agree with his best friend and confirm his negative views on the people? Or should he defend the little people, at the risk of falling out with Walter, or worse, making a mistake?
Fortunately, the sight of the building dedicated to Verena allowed him to cut tight to the chase.
- Look, I… I will read the report, and I will think. Now I have to go see my sister.
- Say hello to her for me!
- I will. Have a good day my friend.
- Have a nice day, Kit.
The two Skaven parted with these words.
When the brown Skaven walked through the temple gates, he hissed in bitterness. He had just recognized his little sister's voice echoing in the nave.
- And don't call me "ma'am", initiate Klara! My title is "High Archivist Steiner", don't forget that! Try to call members of the Order correctly if you want to have a career in it. Now, go! The reclassification of Julius room won't be done by itself!
The young woman sped towards one of the back doors. Bianka smirked. It was not, however, the delight of someone who had publicly humiliated another person. No, she rather enjoyed seeing initiate Klara reacting quickly and rightly.
The High Priestess of Verena, Desdemona Rebmann, didn't share this satisfaction, however. She was a tall Human, with tanned skin, dark eyes and a piercing gaze. She used to wear a long, very wide robe, embroidered with many symbols and runes related to Verena. It recalled her devotion, while hiding her leg. Indeed, ten years earlier, the High Priestess had been part of the Order of the Knights of the Everlasting Light, deemed cursed. During a battle, her leg was seriously injured, and only amputation could have guaranteed her survival. Since then, she used a wooden leg, and did everything to keep it out, hence the long dresses, or other little details that fooled people who didn't know her; she didn't use a cane, was careful as much as possible not to step on too hard surfaces that could make the wood of her prosthesis resonate, and never moved quickly.
She was already within earshot when she decided to express her thoughts to Bianka.
- High Archivist?
Bianka swivelled in her direction.
- Yes, High Priestess?
- Maybe you should be careful how you talk to other people.
- So, what's wrong with the way I talk to other people? the ratgirl asked, with an irritated hint in her voice.
The High Priestess sighed.
- You are the daughter of the Master Mage, who is himself the son of the Prince, that is a fact. But that doesn't give you the right to treat people who are hierarchically inferior to you like slaves.
- How can you think I "treat them like slaves"? I just called an initiate to order. It is in her best interests: the moment she rectifies her shortcomings at the earliest, her rise to higher functions will only be facilitated. I'm doing her a favour.
- It's not just this initiate only, it's a whole, my child.
- I am not "your child", I am the High Archivist!
Mother Rebmann slapped her forehead.
- There! Here we are! This is what I wanted to tell you about! This arrogance, this lack of humility... is that how your parents raised you?
- Leave my parents alone, Mother Rebmann. I do my job, I honour Verena every day when I accomplish her will, I worked a lot to get to this place, and I like it. And I have no intention of leaving or changing my way!
The High Priestess then spotted the approaching brown Skaven.
- Oh, Master Kristofferson, hello!
- Hello, High Priestess Rebmann. Hello, High Archivist.
- Oh, come on, don't be foolish, the blonde Skaven replied with an embarrassed smile.
With a slightly teasing smile, Kristofferson asked:
- Can we go to your quarters? I have to talk to you in private.
- Yes, of course.
The two siblings were about to leave the room together, but the High Priestess held back Bianka again:
- Please, understand, High Archivist, you have responsibilities, you have well deserved this position, but you'll see that by showing more kindness, people will be more comfortable with you, and you will be more relaxed. And your life will seem more pleasant to you.
- We are Vereneans, High Priestess, we have a status to respect and an image of seriousness and devotion to maintain.
- It is true, but you can be serious and devoted without becoming a block of ice or a tyrant. I beseech you, High Archivist, think about it.
Bianka replied with a small nod.
A few moments later the two Steiner were in a small, austere cabinet. Other than the desk and two chairs, there was no furniture. On the wall was a wooden icon which represented Verena. The wood on the floor creaked under the footsteps of the two Skaven who sat down.
- This place is rather sad.
- Nothing distracts my attention when I'm working in it, replied the ratgirl, pushing back a stack of papers.
- At least you have a window, and a beautiful view.
- Less beautiful than at home. But I wonder if I won't settle here soon? Well, when I can.
- Hasn't the High Archivist already her own bedroom?
- Not yet, but it should be done. Unfortunately, some rooms have to be rearranged first. In fact, the Girotti fund is what is blocking everything.
- The Girotti fund?
- Yes. For the moment, it is scattered in a large storage room, the Marston room. We could free up a room with a window and make of a bedroom for me, but the only room that would be suitable is itself very encumbered. When the Girotti fund is catalogued and put away, by my estimates, the Marston room should be able to contain the junk from the small room. Only then a bed and furniture can be installed in. I will be as close as possible to my work, while remaining close to the Domain if I am needed or if I want to see you. But I guess you haven't come to talk about moving?
- No, I haven't.
The young ratman repositioned himself in his chair.
- I shall need to consult books not particularly very... authorized, if you understand what I mean.
The image of Brisingr Steadyhand perusing a book with an unidentified title came back to the blonde Skaven girl's memory.
- Uh… Yes, I see, but… why?
Kristofferson leaned forward and spoke more quietly.
- I know I can trust you, I'll talk to our parents and Opa Ludwig about it when I leave this temple, but right now you don't have to repeat anything I'm going to tell you.
The High Archivist wavered between anxiety and excitement. She pursed her lips between thumb and forefinger. Kristofferson breathed in and began:
- I come from the temple of Shallya, where I left a mail for Wüstengrenze. I've been talking to the priestesses a bit lately. Sister Judy, in particular, explained to me that she had heard rumours. More precisely, she received letters from other priestesses of Shallya who officiate in small, isolated villages, the kind of village where there are no more than one temple and a couple of priests.
- So what?
- So it seems that some villagers have been attacked by marauders. Usually, they were isolated people, gone hunting, or chopping wood, or working in a field far from their village. Fortunately for them, each time there was more fear than casualty, although some took a few blows. At the moment, they are just a small band of marauders. But they're led by a guy who looks more dangerous than the ordinary footman.
- And... where do these attacks come from?
- From the east. I don't know if Marjan and Jochen will cross the road of these marauders, but I hope they won't.
- Do you think they've been beyond the border yet? Maybe we should make them go back here?
- I'll talk to Opa about it. But in the meantime, I would like your consent to consult books on Chaos.
- You have.
The Great Archivist hastened to write a formal authorization in a few lines.
- Perfect. I'll have a peek now, we'll see you at supper.
- Be discreet, really! Don't forget to fill out the register to follow the instructions, with my permission, no one should ask you any questions, but try not to shout from the rooftops you're studying this subject!
- Don't worry.
Kristofferson was about to get up, but Bianka put her hand on his wrist.
- Something more: pay attention to those around you, too. I have the feeling that someone else is already interested in this kind of subject. Someone I don't particularly trust.
- Who?
- I can't tell you yet, I need more concrete information. In the meantime, if you see someone watching you, following you, or whatever else, stay alert.
- Right. We'll meet again at supper tonight.
Kristofferson left the office for the reading room. Bianka didn't stay there much longer, she decided to return to the family house.
When she reached the park, she made out two people talking as they walked along a thicket. Her coat stood on end when she recognized Brisingr Steadyhand. The Bright Mage was conversing with a rather peculiar Human woman: she was relatively tall, and also very fat. Her curves, however, were softened by the intricate patterns drawn on her long gray dress. Two brown braids framed her round face, and her large, clear eyes twinkled.
As the two walkers approached, Bianka could hear:
- And that's why, dear colleague, life is so good around here. We remain in contact with the Empire, but the laws of Vereinbarung are more flexible on matters of knowledge.
- Obviously, with inhabitants so… particular, answered the woman, chuckling.
The young ratgirl couldn't determine what had annoyed her the most: the words used by this stranger, the way of pronouncing them, the tone of her ironic voice, or that small laugh?
- Well, I see we are received by one of the Steiner family members, and not the least!
- Oh, I haven't had a chance to meet you yet, miss...?
Bianka was about to answer, but the flaming Elf took the leads.
- My dear, allow me to introduce you Bianka Steiner, third-born of Master Mage Prospero and Lady Heike, my goddaughter. The first daughter of this extraordinary couple, a delightful person with remarkable intelligence.
In other circumstances, such a compliment would no doubt have touched Bianka, but the opinion she had of her interlocutor spoiled everything. Suspiciously, she asked:
- And you are…?
- Of course, let's continue the introductions: this is Mistress Pulcheria Brukenthal, a Mage member of the Grey College, arriving directly from Altdorf.
- Grey College? The ratgirl repeated.
- Indeed, this is the College whose Mages specialize in harnessing the Wind of Ulgu, the woman explained. The Wind of Shadows, which creates illusions.
- Ah... Very well.
- We are here to speak with the Prince, and in the meantime, I didn't want to miss the opportunity to show my colleague around his estate, so that she can see what the people of Steinerburg have done with the desert of rock and dust that made up this country. This is impressive, isn't it?
- You're right, the living environment is very pleasant indeed.
Bianka felt her face crumple in suspicion.
- Hum… I suppose my parents encouraged you to wait for the Prince by enjoying the park, Master Steadyhand?
- They haven't, but I think I am familiar enough with His Highness to take this initiative. And then, it allows me to discover some little corners I didn't know yet.
- Really? I think you are a little too accustomed to tread on other people's toes, Master Steadyhand.
- How then, little mouse?
The blonde Skaven's reaction was immediate.
- Not with me! You can call my mother whatever you want as long as she allows you, but I am not my mother, I am the High Archivist of Vereinbarung, so please call me by that title, and not otherwise. I am not your friend, nor a member of your family. I don't know you, and I don't miss it that much, unless it could help me decode your intentions!
- What intentions? the magician innocently asked.
The ratgirl looked at the two Wizards one after the other, then sighed.
- I have no time to waste.
She was about to leave the two Mages, but Mistress Brukenthal's sweet voice stopped her dead.
- You'll lose less when you stop chasing chimeras, young lady. As a Shadow Mage, I know what I'm talking about.
She saw the Grey Mage was smirking with the kind of smile a caring adult gives when he sees an awkward child stumble.
- Say, I don't remember asking you to utter that kind of sarcasm?
- I don't need your permission, young lady, replied the Wizard, whose smile had instantly faded.
- Permission or not, mind your own business!
Mistress Brukenthal pouted, then turned to Master Steadyhand.
- Well, dear friend, it seems we don't have the same definition of "delicious".
- Oh, don't judge her too hastily, I assure you this young lady is a good person.
- Maybe, but not in the art of polite conversation, anyway.
- No one is safe from a little mood swings, especially when the idealistic blood of youth runs through your veins. Were you young, Pulcheria?
- Still, I didn't forget the rules of...
- Ho! Both of you! Let me know if I'm disturbing you!
Bianka had suddenly raised her voice. The Grey Mage jumped.
- You are becoming very insolent, miss! Who do you think you are?
- I am the daughter of Master Mage Prospero Steiner, himself son of Prince Ludwig Steiner the First. I am Bianka Steiner, High Archivist at the Temple of Verena, here you are at my home, and you are overriding your guest rights!
- I could tell your grandfather that you welcomed me so badly.
- So do, and I shall answer you insulted me, then threatened me. We'll see who of us will be kicked out without warning.
- As I am about to propose to the Prince a partnership with the Grey College? Would he be willing to lose our support for you?
- The partnership will be achieved, the Grey College will only have to send another representative less brazen!
- What if all the members of the Grey College are as "brazen" as I am?
- Then we'll have nothing to do with such people. But you don't represent the Empire's greatest enchanters on your own, do you?
The two women faced each other, each waiting for the other's next word. Behind, Brisingr Steadyhand watched the scene with a smirk. Prince Steiner then arrived.
- Well, what's going on here?
- Everything is fine, Your Highness, replied the Bright Mage. The High Archivist was just getting acquainted with Mistress Pulcheria Brukenthal, of the Grey Order. But I think we disturbed her enough like that.
- Right… I see. Well, if necessary, we'll deal with that later. You are right, Steadyhand, there is work ahead.
Bianka felt stuck. She desperately searched for an escape. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the silhouette of her mother entering the greenhouse. Without delay, she turned on her heel and hurried over to the large glass building.
Once inside, she vigorously closed the door behind her. Then she leaned on the reinforced glass surface, slid down to the floor, buried her face in her hands, and shed a few salty tears.
- All damn ignoramuses! she whimpered.
Her mother's voice brought her back to reality.
- Darling! What's happening to you?
Bianka got up painfully and told the ratmother her misfortunes in a few words. The initiate Klara, the High Priestess, and the two Mages paid the price for her anger with not very complimentary words.
Used to her daughter's personality, Heike didn't lose an ounce of patience. She thought for a few moments, and whispered:
- Indeed, it's a bad day ending.
- I'm tired of being seen like a child by all these morons! Is it so difficult to say "High Archivist" and consider me as a High Archivist, and not just a "little mouse"?
- That's right, it's annoying at the end. But I invite you anyway to be a little more careful, sweetheart. We are members of the princely family, that's a fact. You have very big responsibilities, and I am very proud of you. But we still have to stay humble.
The cream-furred Skaven gestured for her daughter to follow her. While continuing her argument, Heike observed different plants, sniffing some leaves before pulling them out to put them in her pocket.
- The best leaders are those who treat the people they lead as their equals. Your grandfather had noble families in his clientele in the past. And some who saw their servants as less than nothing ended up being abandoned, or even betrayed. He told me there was a revolt among academics in Altdorf when he was a student himself. Some noble houses were ransacked and their owners slaughtered by the mob. Unsurprisingly, the first heads to fall were the ones with the worst reputation. We can, and we must be above it. This is the price to pay for our condition, Bianka.
- Hmm… You are probably right, Mother. But that does not excuse the behaviour of this hothead scamp! What kind of crap is he going to tell Opa?
- I recognize Brisingr Steadyhand can behave in extravagant, even inappropriately ways. That's his character, he's like that, and you don't have to put up with everything. I'll have a discussion with your grandfather about it when they're done with their work. In the meantime, my daughter, I implore you: relax. Trust a little more those around you. It is true there are a lot of malicious people in this world, but we are fortunate to live in a place where we are relatively safe from these people.
She collected a last handful of leaves.
- Here, your father and I are having tea with visitors. So come with us.
- What visitors?
When Heike answered this question, Bianka felt horribly embarrassed. But her mother insisted. The two women left the greenhouse together and returned to the house.
A few minutes later, Bianka herself served Gustavus Finston hot tea.
- Here you are. Tea from Cathay, I hope you like it.
- Thank you, M's… uh, ah mean "High Archivist".
- It's up to me to thank you for your indulgence, Master Finston.
- What?
- Well, our first meeting was not under the best of auspices, I admit, and yet you're happy and smiling at me, I don't know if I deserve it?
- Bah, forget that, High Arch'vist! Lahfe's pretty compl'cated without having to make things worst!
- But... what prompted you to come from Hemsbach?
The ratmother explained to her daughter:
- The Finstons have a Human cousin who got married, they took the opportunity to come and give us some news.
- Ah w'ld have sent you a l'tter if only ah could write, Master Mage, the farmer woman whispered, a little embarrassed. It's not ev'ry day we get to go to Steinerburg, so we allowed ourselv's to knock on ya door.
- And you did well, assured Heike. Thus, it also allows us to see how your little boy is doing really well!
Sitting on an armchair, Erika Finston tasted the infusion in small sips. She was holding Emil in her lap. The small White Skaven was now just over two feet tall. He had large, yellow eyes that gazed curiously at everything around him.
- You were right-right to come, that makes us happy. And he seems to me to be in great shape.
Psody was crouched down in front of Erika, and was having fun making faces and repeating the syllables the little White Skaven stammered. The latter burst out laughing.
- So, Erika, you don't have any concerns about the neighbours?
- Rhya no, Lady Heike.
- No fear of bad luck, or curse?
- Nothin'. We're lucky, our neighbours are good people. And they're not gossiping about mah paternity, no! Gustavus clarified.
- And having a child who could wield magic doesn't frighten anyone?
- Ya're right, Lady Bianka, people of the countryside us'lly don't lahke sorcerers. But for the moment, the little son is seen as a funny little bird. Everyone lahkes him in Hemsbach, he's a real c'lebr'ty there!
- Who knows, maibe h'll become a powerful Mage and then open his school in the village! her mother exclaimed.
- If that was the case, ev'ryone's fate is assured!
The White Skaven leaned towards the little child again.
- What do you say, Emil? How would you like to create-manage a College of Jade?
A small popping sound then caught everyone's attention. The living room door had just closed a little abruptly. There was a few moments of silence, then Psody shrugged his shoulders.
- Probably an air flow.
And the five adults resumed the conversation around the small one, as if nothing had happened.
The door to the lab opened slowly. Gabriel passed the threshold mechanically, like a Dwarf-crafted automaton. He was holding a plan coiled under his arm, the plan of the umpteenth war machine the Prince had ordered from him. He laid it gently on the table, unrolled it, and sat down on a stool.
He closed his eyes, and under his eyelids, the last few minutes of his life repeated themselves over and over again. All he wanted was to show his plan to his father, who could have passed it on to the Prince. Indeed, he had done his job wisely. He had obeyed the instructions, with no more risk of being molested for it by the friend of his two brothers. And while he was going to praise his production to his father, prove to him its certain effectiveness...
...
The voice of the White Skaven echoed in his ears. A sentence, a simple sentence charged with admiration and tenderness. A phrase Gabriel began to whisper in a monotonous voice:
- Create-manage a College of Jade… Create-manage a College of Jade… Create-manage a College of Jade…
His eyes opened slowly, very slowly, and his pupils focused on the plan that was still lying on his work plan.
In an instant, his bubbling brain made the association between his father's pride and the brilliant invention detailed on the paper.
But, curiously, there was a contradiction. As if the cogs of his organism had just been brutally stopped by a pebble.
A red veil suddenly obscured his field of vision.
So he jumped up from his stool, and gave a high-pitched screech that inflamed his throat.
He threw himself on his desk, grabbed the plan, rolled the sheet of paper into a ball before tearing it into a thousand pieces. He gasped so hard he swallowed fragments of the plan. Without noticing, he rolled over on the carpet, and laid on his stomach, his arms crossed over his head, moaning and crying.