“Old enough,” Rexei replied, still sounding a little distressed over the absence of those belongings.
Alonnen wondered what was in the lad’s bag that should distress him so much. Maybe a crankman? They were originally made for women, but there are plenty of us lads who enjoy the clever little things, too. Maybe if he learns we’re not prudes here in the safety of the Vortex, he’ll relax a bit? I can tell the poor boy’s far too tense by habit, given how hunched his shoulders are even when calm.
Out loud, Alonnen said, “Yes, but what specific age are you? There are a few rules in the Vortex about how to behave around the ladies and such. And if you’re a mage, then you get rationed on anything fermented. So how many years have you lived?”
His pestering earned him a hard sigh from the lad. “I’m twenty-one, alright? Almost twenty-two.”
That made Alonnen blink and almost miss a step. Thankfully they had reached one of the landings, or he would have stumbled badly. Nearly twenty-two? And hardly a sign of a whisker on the boy . . . er, young man? How odd . . . unless he knows one of those cantrip things for plucking whiskers and not just shaving them? He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His own beard grew slowly, but it did grow, which left him with a slightly sandstone-rough chin at the end of each day.
“How do you keep your chin whisker free?” he finally asked.
“Spells.”
“So, you’ll teach me, then?” he pressed.
“I’m a lousy spell teacher, remember?” Longshanks shot back.
Caught in his own honest, unflattering trap, Alonnen chuckled and clapped a hand over the younger man’s shoulder. “I can tell we’ll get along fine—wait, why are you flinching?”
Rexei pushed his fingers off her shoulder. “Because some bully-man tried to crack my collarbone when I was trying to stop the town from rioting on the temple steps, with me between them and the doors. He dragged me off to your brother and tried to get me arrested.”
“Oh. Sorry. I apologize for the other hugs, too,” Alonnen offered, hoping he hadn’t hurt the lad earlier. “I can call in an Apothecary mage if you like, have them look at your shoulder and all.”
“No! No, thank you,” Rexei added politely on the heels of the quick denial. “It’s just . . . the top of my left shoulder is bruised, not the side or the right one or anything. I’ll live.”
He’s got a ways to go before he trusts us, I see, Alonnen realized. And I’m glad I mostly touched the near shoulder or the side of his arm, before. Gently clasping the right shoulder, he patted the youth with his fingertips. “I’m sure you will live, too. But you’re now a guest of the inner circle . . . and something of an involuntary guest, since until we can figure out how safe it is for you to go outside, you’ll probably be stuck here for a while. So you might as well take advantage of all the amenities, eh?”
Rexei shrugged, arms folding defensively across her chest. As they reached the ground floor, the noise of dozens of people engaged in multiple conversations drifted back to them. A few turns this way and that, and they wound up in a large hall a few steps down from the rest of the ground floor, but one with a grand view of the fishbowl in the night through another quartet of floor-to-ceiling windows. It was also crowded with several tables, chairs, and benches, enough that the sea of people surprised Longshanks, making her lift her head and slow her steps.
“Come on, it’s not so bad. A bit crowded, but not so bad,” Alonnen murmured. Raising his voice, he lifted his right hand. “Oy! Everyone, this is Rexei Longshanks, a journeyman Gearman and my personal guest. Rexei, this is . . . everyone. You’ll have a chance to learn names and faces, don’t worry. The rest of you, treat him right, or I’ll have your ears boxed up for Midwinter Moon! Come on, budge over; make room for two hungry lads!”
He nudged Rexei forward—almost having to push—and maneuvered the two of them over to a spot that opened up on a bench seat. Clean plates and silverware were passed down, thankfully faster than the platters of food, and two mugs of mulled apple cider. One of the women in the hall rose and made her way over to the two of them.
“Oh hey—Rexei, this is my mum, Alsei. Alsei, Rexei,” he introduced.
They shook hands, then Alsei rested her palm on her hip. Like many of the women in Mekhana, she no doubt wore baggy knits and trews to work in, but skirts when she wanted to relax. At the moment, she wore a warm skirt in the same dark gray and black wool favored by the locals, though a bit of reddish wool had been knitted into a rolling wave pattern down by the hem of skirt and tunic alike. Or rather, a crocheted tunic and skirt, since that particular pattern required a hook to create, in Rexei’s experience.
Alsei eyed Rexei’s worn linen shirts and felted dark gray pants, then shook her head. “Al, where are you going to put this lad? Sure, he’s skinny, but we’ve got every bed and couch crammed with bodies right now. Every quarter hour that passes, we’re getting a new mage or two shipped to us from the other guilds—at least this one is cognizant and not crying all the time, but where are you going to put the lad? In a drawer somewhere?”
“He’ll be staying with me,” Alonnen dismissed, reaching for the roast beef platter passing their way. He snagged a slice for himself, and an extra one for Rexei, who hadn’t grabbed a great deal of food. Even at almost-twenty-two, the lad should have hollow legs. Alonnen had certainly had hollow ones at that age.
“Staying with you?” his mother repeated, brows lifting. “How long have you known the boy? Is he trustworthy? What kind of family does he come from, and where are they? Why can’t he stay with them?”
“I haven’t got a family.” The unhappy words came from the target of her doubts. Rexei shrugged, shoulders hunching inward a bit. Then she lifted her chin a little. “And I’m a Sub-Consul. If you don’t think that’s trustworthy enough, take it up with your Consulate.”
Alonnen suspected there was a whole history behind those few short words. He didn’t press, though. “Mind your manners, mum. This young man is the second-most important person in the Guild right at this moment.”
“What, are you finally taking up an apprentice?” Alsei asked, brow lifting toward her strawberry and silver curls.
“He’s not strong enough for that, from what I’ve heard. But he was spying in the temple when Mekha vanished. As soon as we’ve fed, I’m taking him back up to my office to write out everything he can remember from his time in there—and he knows enough, the priests would happily grab and torture him, if they don’t just kill him outright the moment they find him. So stop pestering him. Frankly, the safest place he can sleep is in my suite, under the circumstances. Now sit down, and enjoy your meal.”
With a last, doubtful look at her son, Alsei complied. Alonnen sighed. He leaned in close to Rexei, murmuring in the younger man’s ear.
“Don’t mind her. She doesn’t know I’ve had you under surveillance ever since they told me we had a Gearman with sixteen guild coins show up, only to turn out to be a mage.” Picking up knife and fork, he cut into his beef. “She doesn’t know much about the prophecy my contemporaries mentioned earlier, but I do. Since it just might be talking about you, I’ll get you a copy of it when we’re back up top. Go on, eat up. Food’s free here . . . though I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last, if we keep packing in more people like this,” he muttered, eyeing the others crowding around the five long tables.