The Will of the Many

he retrieves my pay from the Will-secured box on the far wall. Copper triangles, each one etched with eight parallel lines. I get six for my work today. The other nine that Hrolf tucks away were meant to pay for my time tonight, but instead go toward his tolerance of my absence.

The metal jingles, a comforting weight in my pocket, as I move to the heavy stone door. I don’t offer any words of thanks for his concern. Part of me wants to.

“Offer’s still there, Vis,” says Hrolf, watching me. His eyes are suddenly sad, though he tries to hide it. “I don’t mind changing our terms if you want to stay, help awhile longer.”

“You don’t need me here.” I collect my threadbare cloak, shrug it on.

“The proconsul doesn’t know that. Your matron doesn’t know that. And it’s not as if the coin isn’t already paid.”

“Thanks, but no. It’s yours.” Better his than the matron’s, anyway. I assess the Septimus, looking for any sign that he’s thinking of backing out of our deal. That’s not what this is about, though. The worried crinkle around Hrolf’s eyes gives him away.

“Less bruises if you stay here,” he observes, confirming it.

“Better conversation, too.”

There’s the burn of bile in the back of my throat as I think of Nateo’s terror, his begging. His fight. But I don’t let it show.

“Thank you, Septimus. Stronger together,” says Hospius, his voice more muffled now.

“Stronger together, Sextus,” replies Hrolf formally. The wind-induced quivering of the door in front of me stops.

I wait two minutes before knocking, using the time to decide what to tell Hrolf. He’ll be curious about what transpired.

“So what was that all about?” is his greeting as I admit myself back into the guardroom.

“Not sure. They were talking in some other language.” I deposit the fetched supplies onto their shelf, then flop into my seat.

Hrolf emits an intrigued grunt, but realises there are no further conclusions to be drawn from the information. “Any trouble?”

“Just what you’d expect. Prisoner wasn’t exactly happy when he realised his time wasn’t up. Bit of kicking and screaming.”

Well, if a more appropriate position for someone his age should come up in Letens, I’ll mention him.” There’s a vague, dispassionate note that signals it’s a conclusion to the conversation. I puff out my cheeks in silent relief.

There’s silence, and I wish I could see Hospius’s expression.

“Your young assistant seems to know his work.” Casual. Conversational. My heart still clenches.

“Should do. He’s been here longer than me.”

“How much longer?”

“Months,” says Hrolf vaguely. I can almost hear his shrug.

“You know him well?”

“He’s quiet. A bit aloof, really. Doesn’t like to talk about himself. Why?” There’s no suspicion, just curiosity.

“He impressed me. I’m wondering whether he’s being wasted down here.”

Hrolf chuckles. “Oh, no doubt about that. The boy plays Foundation like a demon. And he’s smarter than he lets on. Quoted gods-damned Fulguris at me the other day, even if he pretended he hadn’t read it afterward.”

I berate myself again for that lazy conceit, then debate interrupting before Hrolf makes more of a mess—he thinks he’s helping me by embellishing my merit to the Sextus, never imagining that the attention could get me killed—but if Hospius is after information, my presence isn’t going to change anything. Better to wait and find out what, if anything, he’s fishing for.

My candle is threatening to gutter out and Hospius took the only spare, so I hurry to the storeroom, sweep up the food and cleaning supplies needed for the next shift, and haul them back upstairs. To my surprise, voices seep under the guardroom door

Setting my lantern on the shelf, I splay my fingers out, palms up, peering through the dim light at every line, every pore. The skin’s a little red from where I’ve been rubbing my fingers nervously, but I don’t see any damage. I roll up my sleeves, just to be sure, but there’s nothing wrong with my arms, either. And the discomforting sensation in them is completely gone.

I’m alright.

Those penetrating eyes of his study me. Then he digs into a pocket and flips me something that glitters; I catch it neatly, surprised to find a silver, triangular coin in my hand. It’s worth more than I’m going to earn from my shift tonight.

“For your trouble. And your discretion.”

He resumes his climb. The light of his candle drifts away.

Hospius pauses as he starts up the stairs, turning back. “Vis. It may be best not to mention what just happened.” His voice is abrupt against the quiet. “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with the Septimus, or the proconsul.”

“Of course, Sextus. Thank you.” A threat? I can’t tell. It’s true enough that I’d be blamed for the incident, no matter what was said. But it seems neither of us want the attention.