today, tired as you undoubtedly are. Captain Wensa will probably be watching, to catch you doing anything out of the ordinary. Your best defense there is to keep living your life normally.”
Tor nodded and walked back to his room, stiff and drained, like he'd been beaten and accused of some unspecified crime for some obscure reason. The beating part wasn't true at least, even the one blow from the Count wasn't a beating. Not yet. No matter what else that Captain Wensa was, the woman wasn't his friend, that much was clear. He'd have to make sure she didn't get a chance to blame him for… everything.
The trudge to his room seemed to take a lot longer than normal. Probably because he wasn't walking very fast. How was he supposed to just go about things as normal now? Who's normal? Could he live his regular life with Wensa watching him? Tor didn't think so. It felt like anything that could be done would look fishy to the woman. There were still projects to work on and some of them weren't exactly regular studies, right? The food dryer he'd promised Rolph for instance. Well, he hadn't promised it, but it was a good idea and Tor wouldn't let it go just because of some woman that hated him on sight.
The shield had to be done too, or else Kolb would probably kill him in ten days. Even with a practice sword the man could to it. The feeling of those mighty blows against the pell seemed to reverberate beneath his feet as he trudged up the stairs. How hard did you have to hit something to make it felt four days later? He shook his head. Harder than Tor ever wanted to feel personally. He definitely had to work on that shield.
Inside the room Rolph sat nervously, shiftily looking at him as Tor flopped down on the bed, knowing that even trying to sleep would be impossible. For one thing he needed to get to class in an hour and should get at least a little food if he could before then.
His friend kept looking at him, then, after about half a minute looked away and spoke softly.
“So… What's going on? No one told me anything except that Count Thomson had been attacked? Is everything alright? Is he… alive?”
Not knowing what else to say, Tor started at the beginning, and tried to be clear about everything, knowing that it all sounded more than a little strange. If it weren't for the Proctor coming to get him Rolph probably wouldn't have believed him at all. Who'd blame him? He jumped a combat crazy Count and not only survived it, but didn't even get in trouble for doing it? He mentioned this to Rolph, hoping he could shed some light on the situation.
Sitting quietly for a moment the big man finally spoke.
“Well… I know Tovey well enough to say that he isn't setting you up or anything. If he accepted that you were just trying to help Patricia, then that's that. So at least that won't come back on you. Not that it really would have, even if it hadn't been her. Tove hates the combat rage, feels it steals away his free will. Handy in battle though. I mean the natural shield and the disorientation aura make him pretty much unbeatable in a battlefield situation. Probably why he wasn't hurt at all, his shield. Works for us at least, it would be hard for him to explain away a bad wound. He'd have tried to though, I guarantee you. Even if you'd crippled him to protect someone else. Thank goodness that wasn't needed. Trice doesn't have a shield, or even combat rage at all really, she's different… which is why she's spent years at the special academy. You… know what they do there right?”
The question made Tor blink. Rubbing his tired and sticky eyes he shook his head.
“Not… not really. I always assumed it was where assassins and spies were trained. I mean the kids there are always tough, right? And they don't exactly advertise who they are…” It made sense in a way, someone had to fill those jobs and they needed to get the training somewhere.
Rolph shook his head and laughed. It wasn't a mean laugh, just a gentle chuckle. Standing he stretched his arms high and then bent at the waist, his lower back popping. Even as young as he was, being that big wore on his body. Rolph never complained, but it made some things harder for him. Worse, he was probably going to get another half foot taller, maybe more. His family, like the royals, often grew into their mid-twenties he'd said, a high merchant thing. At five-four Tor had about finished his own growth. He might make another inch if he was lucky. Everyone in his family was short like that and he wasn't the tallest at all.
Looking down towards where Tor sat on his bed, Rolph kept going. “OK… I have this from, well, let's just say sources. Friends of friends and that kind of thing. Patricia backed it up, so it's probably correct. The special school is basically an intense survival course for kids of the rich and famous that might be targets of assassination or kidnapping attempts. About half of them are of royal blood and the other half might as well be.” Pointing at the sack on Tor's table, the one that held the clothes drying field devices, he nodded. “Sara Debri? The one you're in business with? Her mother is the head of Debri House. The largest merchant and manufacturing concern in the kingdom. If her mother likes your work you could end up with these going kingdom wide. But…”
The news shocked Torrence more than a bit. The girl had seemed so nice, unassuming. To be a good person with something like that hanging over her head… Sure Rolph was OK, but weren't most rich people snobs? He'd met plenty of them at the school that treated him like trash for being poor. Maybe she didn't realize how low his station was. Well, she'd probably find out now. He laughed darkly, which got a questioning look from his roommate. Shrugging, feeling a little sullen after the hard night of work and then the events of the early morning, he explained, or tried to at least. Rolph shook his head.
“Nope. She knows exactly who you are. Due diligence. She came around to check you out the morning after your first drying test. I told her, and Tricia all about you. Your work habits, how smart you are and how many brothers and sisters you have. Even that you could probably open your own bakery if you wanted to, so you aren't going to be easily trapped into a single financial agreement. Kind of impressed the hell out of them both you know. How many kids our age already have a fallback career?”
Not, he told Rolph, that baking was hard. He'd had to help out in the shop since he was six or so, working at actually making the bread, rolls and specialty confections the whole time. There was no one to watch the kids when they weren't in school, so they all worked as soon as they could. Not a huge deal really.
The big man shook his head.
“Not a big thing to you, but I can't even make toast, much less bread. If I ever become poor I'm going to have to move in with you just to make sure I have food. Well, that or marry some rich girl. That might work. Sara's kind of cute, don't you think?”
Tor shrugged. Of course she was cute. Rich too. All that just meant that she was just another girl that was too good for the likes of him. Just as well, she was too tall for him anyway. He tried not to let the thought become bitter. It didn't work, but he tried. That had to count for something.
They talked for a while longer, on the third use of the name Tricia, Tor had to ask who that was. Rolph snorted, this time a little derisively.
“The Ducherina Patricia Alyson Morgan. Known to you as Trice. Sometimes called Tricia in polite circles. Really only her close friends call her Trice. It's kind of a name from her childhood. Some royal brat of a Prince couldn't pronounce her real name right when he was a baby, so the name stuck. She seems OK with it.”
Getting up, feeling stiff and sore as well as tired now, Tor moved to the beige burlap bag on his desk and pulled out ten of the copper plates, handing them over to Rolph. Tor smiled when he did it and mentioned that if he hurried and got them in the post that day, his mother would have them on her birthday. At least if he paid for rush delivery. the Capital was a few thousand miles away, so that could take a few days. Longer than that really, normally, but it was doable if you paid enough gold for it.
“You should get some wrapping paper or some nice cloth to go around the ones going to her. Maybe with some pressed flowers or something like that? I know my mom always responds well to gifts like that. For that matter… I should probably send one home to my family as well. Wash for twelve people adds up, and in the rain or cold weather it's a pain in the rear to take care of. With this everyone should be able to wear clean clothes most of the time.” The words rambled and Tor knew it. Instead of commenting on that his friend stood up and took out a small chest from his foot locker.
It was nice, dark wood of some kind with metal hinges and flowers carved into the top of it. The stain darkened the wood more in the cuts of the carving and it had that expensive shine that only things owned by rich people ever really had. When it was opened the inside was lined in red velvet. Nice. Tor probably couldn't have afforded work of that kind at all. When Rolph took four of the drying plates out and put them in the box, Tor got that this wasn't for Rolph, or even the present itself, but rather that it was the wrapping paper.
Tor's breath caught at the luxury of it. At least she could reuse the box, Tor considered.
“That… should impress her.” He said quietly, trying not to show what a bumpkin he really was. The cost of that box alone could have probably fed his whole family for a month. Maybe two.
“I hope so. She… has friends that will see it, and not all of them are nice about such things. If I present it to her in any way less than perfectly, they'll talk. Bitches. Anyway, at least the gift itself is nice, and I know that no
