When Lance arrived in the furnaces for his first real shift, it was to the sight of clustered workers engaged in animated conversations, some dripping sweat as they bored to inject renewed heat into the massive ovens that supplied the castle, while others watched on and chattered excitedly among themselves. Some migrated from one furnace to another, picking up the threads of what was being discussed where they had left off, delivering their thoughts to new ears.

  He caught snippets of their conversations as he passed on his way to check in with Master Gregor.

  “They found him on the floor in his office.”

  “I bet it was alcohol poisoning.”

  “His chamber was a mess.”

  “I’d hate to be the servant who had to clean that up.”

  “Do you think they’d leave it to one of us? I bet the military got called in.”

  He navigated the pit on his way to the metal staircase, and climbed to the second level. Behind the bank of ducts, he found Emma and Duardo standing just outside the open door to Master Gregor’s office, and the man himself could be seen lounging in his swivel chair with his boots resting on his desk, through the bay window.

  He joined them at the entrance.

  “Yer early.” Duardo said, smiling at him.

  “Thought I’d make a good impression.” Lance replied. “Is it alright if I….”

  He gestured toward the door, but Duardo was shaking his head.

  “We know yer here. Jus’ go down ‘a way an’ join one o’ the crews. I’ll be down in a second.”

  “Nah, no.” Master Gregor waved him off. “You two give me a second. I ought business to attend to wit’ ‘im.”

  “Yeah?” Emma said. “What business is that?”

  “None ‘o yers. That’s what.”

  She gred at the Master of the Furnaces, and shuffled off. “Come on Duardo. He doesn’t need us anymore.”

  “Oh, don’t be like ‘at. S’not like he’s threatenin’ yer post.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Gregor!” she called.

  His remaining teeth cracked around a sly grin.

  “Come in ‘ere.” He gestured for Lance to enter. “We ought business.”

  Duardo lingered in the doorway as he passed him, and remained until Emma called after him again.

  “Come the fuck on, you dumb fuck!”

  “HEY! DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!” he shouted, but he followed her away.

  “What do you want to talk about?” Lance asked as he took the seat opposite his new master.

  “Well, you mos’ly.” Master Gregor said. “But put a pin in it for a sec. Lord Haman Bran turned up dead s’morning. Murdered, so ‘ey say.”

  Lance’s breath caught.

  “Now, now, nothin’ fer ya to worry ‘bout.” Master Gregor waved it away. “Jus’ a fact o’ life. Nobody liked the guy. Was only a matter o’ time ‘fore someone got nasty wit’ ‘im.

  “Mainly, it presents an opportunity to talk ‘bout somethin’ a little complicated. So…how do ya feel ‘bout the nobility?”

  “Given what you told me about Lord Aren—“

  “Leave ‘at out o’ yer mind fer now. How do you feel ‘bout ‘em. Are you happy wit’ the way yer treated by ‘em.”

  “If I was, I wouldn’t be here.” He said. “Lord Aren asked me to take up work here because I was having trouble being around shadow walkers, but that isn’t a problem now.”

  “Ol’ Lothor’s pyin’ nice, then.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So, what’s yer take on ‘em.”

  “This conversation isn’t going to get to anyone else?”

  “Can’t promise ‘at.”

  “Who do you pn on telling?”

  He shrugged. “Relevant parties an’at. No one dangerous to ya.”

  “So….”

  “We’re friends, buddy. I’m no fan o’ the Thorns, whatever my thoughts on Lord Aren.”

  Lance nodded. “I find them hostile. Most of them anyway. Lord Bran was a monster. Lady Jain and Lady Therien are, too. I have no ill will toward Lady

  Tamalsen, even if we don’t agree on everything. Is that sufficient.”

  “Sufficient for my purposes, I s’pose.” He said. “Sets my mind at ease. I’m gonna teach ya some more advanced stuff. Want to test ya like I did wit’ Duardo and Emma…few other people here. Most of ‘em, actually.”

  “Test me how?” Lance asked, suddenly nervous.

  Master Gregor chuckled. “I’m givin’ you a night off. Three nights from now. Camp out wit’ a friend. Take someone up ta the tower past curfew.

  Someone ya trust. Need ya to have a pusible out if things get tricky.”

  “What is this about, M—“ he hesitated. “Gregor?”

  “’S More like it. We’re friends. S’how we talk to each other.” A queer look crossed Master Gregor’s face. “Now what this is about’ll be made more pin ter. We’ll talk at length somewhere away from pryin’ eyes. If ya trust me, you’ll be ’ere. Wit’ a friend. Someone you trust. No one ya think’d rat ya out.”

  “You’re not giving me confidence.”

  “Tha’s good.” He said. “Jus’ be there, and be quiet about it. ‘On’t want ya gettin’ caught up in somethin’ ya can’t handle.”

  “You realize I should take this to Lady Tamalsen. Or someone else.”

  “But ya won’t.”

  “You’re confident in that?”

  “Yer askin’ questions. Framin’ hypotheticals.” Master Gregor gestured airily. “Not the kind o’ stuff ya’d be doin’ if ya intended to go ‘ere.”

  “What would I be doing?”

  “Keepin’ quiet. Observin’.” He said, raising his eyebrows. “Goin’ along wit’ what I say wit’out restistin’. If ya weren’t askin’ the right questions, I’d think ya meant to go to someone, but I ‘on’t. Yer too curious. And tha’s…well tha’s good fer me.”

  “O-okay.” He said.

  “Three nights from now, tenth bell. Come by way of the shadows, and tell Lothor to keep you out o’ sight. He ‘an do ‘at in his domain. Has control ‘at way. Jus’ don’t be seen, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now get on wit’ ya. Got work to do.” He wagged his wrist toward the door.

  Lance climbed out of the chair, and exited.