Skinner blocked Declan with his cane. “Put your hand on the fence arch, and repeat after me. ‘I swear I will serve House Ariloch as House Arcanist until my duty is done, or my death.”

  The words were simple, the railing bitter cold, but as Declan repeated them, mana grew thicker and popped like static eletricity. “What was that?”

  “Just the Academy recognizing you. I am a busy man, as are you.” Skinner pointed with his cane. “Your work awaits.”

  The stairs to the house were at least stable, though as Declan stepped through, the smell grew stronger. Rotting food. Just inside lay a great room with a grand fireplace. On either side, stairs led up to the second floor and then third, with rows of doors spaced wide between each other. The furniture in the great room wasn’t precisely wrecked, but it was worn and covered in bird droppings from the fixtures high above. The shouting was coming from the third floor, but since it was still shouting and not screaming, he dealt with first things first. Two halls opened on either side of the staircase, and that was where Declan headed.

  The first ground floor room had no door. It wasn’t what Foreman Scythe would have called luxurious, but it was larger than Declan’s house. A full bedroom with a separate study area and bath. The bedroom windows were broken and not even boarded, the bathroom fixtures rusted and dribbling water.

  Not far past he found a dining room and kitchen, the source of the smell. It wasn’t just that all the food was rotten, it was that no one had disposed of anything in forever. Declan couldn’t cook and wouldn’t cook,not in that kitchen. Past the kitchen was a library that more mold than book, and beyond that what was charitably called an armory except it was empty, and a bath with tubs and showers. The wallpaper in the halls was exquisite where it wasn’t molded, the doors once beautiful carved oak that wouldn’t shut right, the brass green and knobs rusted so they didn’t twist, the mana locks dark.

  The second floors had no kitchen or library but did feature large communal baths at each end. Cracked tile laid out in the shape of the primary rune shapes, and the baths were set deep into the floor. Red-brown water streamed from the spigots for the first moments and then ran clear and at least lukewarm if not hot. The third floor had the fewest occupied rooms and the fewest functioning lights. The shouting had finally stopped and Declan saw no reason to borrow trouble. The water stains and fallen plaster said he had plenty of that.

  What he didn’t have was a room.

  “Hello?” someone called.

  Declan ran back to the stairs.

  Down in the center of the commons room stood a black man with close cut hair. He didn’t wear an arcanist’s cloak or even armor, but his green outfit was covered in pockets. “Skinner said there’s a new housie for Ariloch. I’m Harris Harding, House Harding, though if I need to say that, you’re going to burn out faster than Worlson did.”

  Declan trotted down the stairs and dropped his tool box and pack, shaking Harris’s hand. “Declan Thorn. Just Thorn, no house, and if I’m being honest, there’s only four house names I know.”

  “Ouch.” Harris dropped his hand and glanced about. “Double ouch. This is just awful. I knew it was bad, and the smell told me something was wrong, but this is worse than the last time I was here. I didn’t think it could get worse.”

  This was shits-sickness at longdark celebration time levels of bad, if Declan was being honest. “Can I ask you some questions? I took the job for the rin and the opportunity, after I failed the arcanist’s exam. What the hell am I actually supposed to do? This place is one step from falling in. I can’t even find my room. Do we just take one?”

  Harris’s broad smile was infectious. “You’re already doing better than Worlson. He was sobbing, and it didn’t look like this. I don’t have long before the first group gets back from morning classes but I know where Worlson was sleeping because I helped drag him out.” Harris pointed to a door right beside the massive fireplace. “That’s yours. Should be locked to anyone but you. I saw you with Skinner. If he administered the oath, all the locks should respond to you.”

  Declan walked to the door and took it. The slightest tug at his hand and the door clicked. He swung it open, prepared for a disaster.

  Completely unprepared for the pale, emaciated woman who crawled from it, weeping. “Fucking ashes. I thought I’d die in there,” she whispered, her voice a croak. Her fingertips were ruined from scraping at the door, her breathing not just ragged but gasping.

  “There’s an emergency comm sphere in your apartment. I’m going to summon Medical,” Harris said, as Declan caught her and carried her to one of the disgusting couches.

  The woman’s eyes were sunken. Her ribs showed, the skin on her arms was sunken so far each bone showed and her skin wasn’t just pale it was white, her lips barely pink. She spoke between gasps. “They left it open when the Worm got dragged out. He stole a rune set from me, I just wanted my runes back. Door locked behind me.”

  “Rest. Help is on the way,” Declan propably lied.

  Moments later came the shout, “Medical response entering!” A pair of arcanists rushed through, an older man with a wide beard and a short woman with olive skin who rushed to the patient. A trio of runes burst into existence behind her as mana swirled. Each was the brilliant green of fresh grass. The first was clearly an eye, though the array of crossing lines behind it wasn’t clear. The second resembled the healing rune used during Declan’s test, a circle with multiple squares rotated so the points jutted out, the last was a jagged line that dashed back and forth like a fine-toothed lightning bolt.

  Diagnosis: Reveals the natural state of the body in terms relative to caster’s knowledge. Mana cost, Moderate, Continual. Tier Three. The words came with a headache so sharp it made the world fade for a moment. When he could hear again, the arcanist was speaking.

  “Extreme malnutrition. Nothing broken, I can’t fix the finger bones but we can together,” she said. “Is the water in here as poisonous as it smells?”

  That was to Declan, who pulled his attention from the fading words and the glowing runes. “I’ve been House Arcanist for half an hour, you know as much as I do right now.”

  “Domine! You’re up! Get in here and show me you can do it.” The woman glanced back.

  “It smells like death. Probably is death.” Tegan Domine stepped in, hand over her mouth. “Ash and shit, this is disgusting.” Her gaze dropped to the patient as she rushed over. “Lake, what happened? No, don’t speak. Just let me work.”

  The woman produced a rough stone orb the size of her fist and handed it to Tegan. “You’re approved to use this only when we’re observing. I’m taking a risk even supporting this. Let that blood-rune manifest and it’ll be over before it begins.”

  The rune-stone rose smoothly from her hand, locking into orbit around Tegan. A rune flickered, then grew stronger. A single circle with a square rotated forty-five degrees over it, producing four points. It glowed a weak green with black at the edges as it orbited, then locked into place.

  Healing: Repair specific elements of damage based on caster’s knowledge and guidance. Mana Cost: Extreme, Continual. Tier Four Rune

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  A wave of healing energy burst out from Tegan, sinking into the woman laying on the couch. She stirred, opening her eyes. “Thisty.”

  From her side-pack Tegan produced a metal pouch with a straw. “Sip, don’t gulp. We need to rehydrate. I thought you dropped out after the last swarm and went mercenary. We all thought that.”

  “Locked in Wormy’s place.” She looked over to Declan. “Don’t let the door close.”

  That was the first moment Tegan noticed Declan at all. “Holy shit, you qualified? How the hell did you qualify? You were missing…everything. Wait a minute—”

  “House Arcanist Declan Thorn,” he said.

  “You are fucked in all the wrong ways,” Tegan declared. Then she looked back to the woman. “Let’s get her to Medical. I want second year guards, don’t manifest a gods-damned rune at all, Lake. You should have died in there. Wormy’s been gone nearly two months.”

  “Water from bath. Chewed fabric. Meditated,” Lake answered. “Can I go back to House Domine? Please?”

  Teagan’s hesitation was the answer, even before she spoke. “Maybe soon. You’re going to have a nice bed in medical for the next few weeks at least and I’ll try to strong-arm Blake to intercede on your behalf. Let’s get moving before second change.”

  “Rune,” said the older woman.

  Tegan handed it over. “I didn’t let it slip this time.”

  “Restraining your blood-rune takes practice. This time was good. Now we work on any time.” The man cradled Lake and carried her out the door. “Guards, form up!”

  Harris watched them go and then nodded. “I have students to work with from first classes. I’ll come back at lunch to show you the cafeteria. I’d really appreciate it if we didn’t have to shut the windows next door to keep the smell out.”

  “I’d like that too.” Declan walked them out and shut the door that would shut, then swung the other as close to closed as it would go. The hinge was bent and that would take time. But first problems first—he had work to do. It started with scouting the outside of the house. The common side had been stripped of everything and even the grass wouldn’t grow, which, given that winter was close, wasn’t surprising. The other side was well populated but the windows on House Ariloch’s side were barred and suprisingly intact. That made sense.

  Arcanists treated swarms as opportunities. No doubt House Harding didn’t want to share. House Ariloch was supposed to have their own maze, their own traps, but that wasn’t going to happen. The most important discovery came at the the rear of the house, which had a wide bay with trash bins. Empty trash bins, deep bins.

  Movement at the front of the house brought his attention, and Declan caught a stream of students fleeing through the common room in a stream. They ignored him, moving in distinct groups and as quickly as possible inward, upward, and away. Doors slammed, and the few students who paid him attention at all did so in a way that said they wanted him to move.

  Not the greatest greeting he could have asked for.

  “Hey! The worm’s door is open!” one man said. “That son of a bitch had better not be back. Shard tax is bad enough without him adding on.” The three arcanists with him quickly fell into formation surrounding him.

  “No worries,” Declan said, putting himself between them. “ArCore was here. There was a woman who’d been trapped in there since the old house arcanist left. She’s at medical now.”

  “And you’re here to shovel out his garbage? That ash-pile was so deep in vapor he didn’t care beyond getting a fresh bottle and a few hours to float.” The man shuddered. “Fuck him. I’m going to be late, and my suspension is almost over. I can get out of here.”

  Vapor addicts were less common at the foundry, primarily because they’d be caught long before the addiction reached deep stages. The foundry crews relied on each other for safety, and would take violent action to protect themselves and each other. From his toolbox, Declan took heavy gloves and a mask, and waded in.

  The house apartment would have been glorious if it hadn’t been disgusting. The bathroom sink was stuck on and had overflowed, making the mound of clothing soggy, and because the clothing reached the bed, the bedding too. But the house arcanist lived well, or would have. The single apartment was made of twice the space of any other room, though a mound of junk made entering the second half impossible.

  First problems first—he took out the wrench and turned off the sink’s water, letting the drain gurgle as it slipped away. A wet sheet became a carry-sled for him to drag a mound of clothing out and down the hall all the way to the end. The large double doors that led to the bins had been barricaded and locked, and now he had to unblock them. By the time he’d made two trips, the next class change occured, feet stampeding through the halls and down the halls, bashing the front door open and not bothering to close it, which was a problem with the shift in weather. It felt like a mana storm coming in. Declan had always known when they were coming.

  Harris stood in the front door as Declan completed his last haul. “It’s time for lunch and learn. I told the other housies you’re new. We’re going to the the commons kitchen. You can always eat there, but it isn’t always—often—or ever—goood.”

  “Want to head out this way?” Declan asked.

  Harris shook his head, eyes bright with laughter. “No. No. I understand it’s a tall order, but I have standards. My boyfriend won’t cuddle if I smell like House Ariloch. Hurry!”

  They passed through the barren side of the house and into the outer part of the Academy. Just past the inner ring stood an outer ring of smaller houses, maybe a third of the size of Declan’s, but newer. Prettier. Better built, in worlds better condition. “Those are the secondary houses. Not the big seven, the alsos. As in, ‘We’re also nobles.’” Harris nodded to another man and woman passing. “Past here we hit the actual instruction halls. Classes here are small and tailored to where the individual is. That’s why the ArCore is pushed so hard. The only way you can teach forty arcanists at the same time is to push them all to the exact same level.”

  They passed a second ring of shops. Declan didn’t have enough rin to even think about shopping. “Where is the food?”

  “Man after my own heart, but mind you almost anything is ‘food.’” Declan stopped as they passed the last shop. “Ash and shit, look at that.”

  In the window was a display of what were probably screwdrivers. Sharp screwdrivers, with short shafts and tips that glowed with arcane energy. Harris put a hand to the glass. “These are the good ones. This is how you transfer a rune without losing the properties. If I had one of these, I’d barely lose any. I might even succeed.”

  Declan appreciated the way the man loved a good tool. “What exactly does it do?”

  “Rune Inscribers, called inscriptionists, use them. Most Blazed Beasts give runes on raw arcite ore. If you transfer the rune onto better material, it works better, lasts longer, and it’s the best way to strengthen a rune without forging lower tiers into higher ones. That’s what I want to do.” Harris gestured to the entire shop. “Every year I serve, they pay for another class in Inscribing. When I’m done, I can work for the house as an inscriptionist or strike out on my own. And the mana here makes it possible to learn.” Harris pulled himself away. “What about you?”

  “I will be an arcanist.”

  “I like the determination. Common Kitchen’s there.” Harris pointed to a two-story glass structure. The second floor overhung the top, creating sheltered areas where people milled about eating and relaxing, and the second floor could watch the chaos below.

  The food was definitely not up to Foundrytown standards. The Sullivans might have been stingy but they also understood a fed workforce worked harder. Still, Declan heaped a plate with meat and followed Harris up the stairs to a small table in the far corner where two others waited.

  “This is Declan Thorn, who’s going to be an arcanist, currently House Arcanist for Ariloch.” Harris pointed. “Meet Eden Proctor of House Drevond. The best off-market alchemist you’ll find, probably the best house arcanist.”

  Eden was short with pitch black hair cut close to her head and stylish black clothes that made her pale skin look more cream colored. She stood, bowed, and offered him a hand. “You say arcanist but you look like a workman, and I can respect that. There’s more work in this job than anything else.”

  “What’s an off-market alchemist?” Declan asked.

  “Not certified by the guild. My training is good, my potions are mostly side-effect free and my house is clean and calm. Exactly the way you want it. Do well enough and the parents will reward you.” Her gaze shifted downward to the heavy, straw-brown haired man with a button nose and round chin. “Introduce yourself, Roland. This lazy lump somehow lucked his way into House Perth’s arcanist position. He’s also somehow survived while getting others to do his job.”

  Roland shrugged and then offered Declan a hand. “That’s how the world works. You find two people with a need, you connect them, everyone gets what they want. I want a position as an overseer. Eventually, there’s going to be someone who can get it for me. And I’ll get what they need.”

  Declan tore into his food, eating as he listened to the other housies speak. “I got no warning. No instruction manual. No nothing. My house smells like death, my room was flooded, and the people in it literally run to their rooms.”

  Eden stared at him. “Nothing? Old Man Skinner didn’t tell you anything?”

  “See?” Harris said, pointing to Declan. “He’s better than Wormy. Not a vapor addict at least. But he has no idea. We gotta help him or he’s going to get killed.”

  Roland sat up. “I hate to say it but Harris is right. You’re going to get killed. I don’t mean eventually. I don’t mean figuratively. I mean tonight and I mean ‘torn to pieces.’ Unless you’re ready? You’ll die tonight.”