How dare he.

Siduri stalked down the steps of the building where he had just ended his work day, his narrow shoulders rigid with anger. A single-page letter was clenched tightly in the white-knucked fist of his left hand; the envelope in which it had arrived was in his shoulder bag, where he had unceremoniously ripped it open and subsequently stuffed it.

That poxy, clocking scrap-lover. All these years I thought he was on my side, when he's merely been waiting for the worst moment to betray me, to turn on me when I can least afford it.

How dare he.

If one had happened to read the envelope, one would have seen that it was addressed to Siduri from one Ardashir Sasan, a banker of moderate notoriety. It had been years since the two of them had spoken, not since Siduri was a student at Brunnhold. Of course, he wouldn't have been there at all had not this man, Ardashir, his uncle, been willing to pay for his education. Occasionally, he would still send some funds in his nephew's direction, a modest supplement to Siduri's small income, one which he had always assumed was a substitute for the time his busy uncle could never seem to make for him.

But oh how wrong he had been.

It was a bribe. . . a dirty, backhanded means of keeping Siduri under his thumb, all the while lulling him into a false sense of security.

He had received the letter earlier that day, delivered straight to his office by a servant. That had been a bit surprising, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, resolving to stay focused on his work for the present and save the letter for later. And so he had. Packing up when his workday ended, he had noticed it for a second time, having almost completely forgotten its presence. Ripping it open, curiosity renewed, he had scanned the letter, his green eyes intent on its contents. As he read, his expression metamorphosed from puzzled and inquisitive to wary and suspicious to shocked and dismayed. Now, however, he was downright furious.

Ardashir Sasan was blackmailing Siduri into visiting his father.

Since when did my uncle care so much about his worthless scrap of a brother? he thought viciously. He hadn't even known he'd had an uncle until shortly before his tenth birthday when, at the last minute, Ardashir had stepped in and attempted to talked Siduri's father into letting his son be tested for admission into Brunnhold. This was certainly an abrupt change of heart, to say the least.

As he replayed the words of the letter over in his mind, a fresh wave of anger came rolling over him. To my esteemed nephew. Sarcasm, it had to be. Gritting his teeth angrily, he grabbed the crumpled letter in both hands, stretching it open to read over the whole thing again; doing so, he noticed in passing that some of the ink had smudged darkly onto the palm in which he had been attempting to crush the letter into oblivion. He still couldn't quite believe it. . .

To my esteemed nephew: In a recent exchange with my brother Zemai, your father, I was both saddened and perturbed to learn that there has been no contact between the two of you over the past ten years. While I myself am not above reproach in this regard, having been regrettably lax in my own attempts to maintain family ties, I was at first unable (or unwilling) to believe that in the ten years since I first extended considerable charity to you in the form of a Brunnhold education, you have made not a single attempt to reach out to the man who single-handedly raised you. This ingratitude is, frankly, unbecoming of a Sasan. Therefore, I urge you to reconsider or face the consequences. You have two months in which to call upon your father in person. This should be suitable time with which to extricate yourself from your work for a few days. If, after two months, you have not followed through, I will be obliged to ask for the loan with which I funded your education to be repaid in full.
Regards, Ardashir Sasan.

As he read, glaring down at the paper as though he could set it--and possibly his uncle--on fire with his eyes, he made no effort to watch where he was going. Frankly, he could have mowed down any number of small children or helpless, frail old women and cared even less than usual.

Hadrian Siordanti casually walked down the steps of the rather archaic-style building he had come to call his second home over the years, if not his true one. He was meeting a few other stuffy political fellows for a drink and what would most likely become rather heated and entertaining conversation. The new law against wicks had only tripled the paperwork and complaints that piled their way into his office; the slightly jaded galdor thoroughly hoped a few rounds would finally take the edge off of all the madness he had managed to escape for the rest of the evening.

Pausing on the stairs to dig out the pipe from his vest and fill it, he noticed his young clerk, looking rather perturbed, if not entirely distressed. Striding towards the man after sparking the fire and a few much-needed puffs, he cleared his throat,

"Say, Mr. Sasan, I'm surely not working you hard enough these days if you're capable of looking so angry this early in the evening." The older man's well-aged, aquiline features were almost amused at his clerk's obvious condition; it must've been a family trait, "All that paperwork's got you, too, hmm?"

At the sound of his employer's voice, Siduri started like a caged animal. His immediate reaction was to fold the letter in two and shove it into his bag, wiping his facial expression clean as he turned to face the man. Really, this was the last thing he needed. . . However, he smoothed down the front of his coat, bowing slightly in acknowledgment of his employer. Not only did he feel the need to conceal his own state of distress at the letter, but, he realized with an icy stab of guilt, he was quite possibly the only galdor outside Alstair Murdoh's rebellion who knew that the man's life could be in imminent danger.

"Sir," he replied smoothly as he straightened up, his emotions now thoroughly masked. "Forgive me, I didn't see you there."

The older galdor shrugged, a well-practiced ring of smoke delicately escaping his thin lips before he spoke, "It's not my intention to always be noticed, regardless of my station. Subterfuge is still a good policy, even in these difficult times." His smile was hard and cold with a savvy sort of honesty, even with the pipe between his teeth, "I hate to interrupt – mostly – but is everything alright? I know it's been a rough week, boy, but surely it's nothing a few drinks won't assuage."

He hesitated a moment, then sighed slightly and ran a hand through his long bangs, pushing them back out of his eyes. This being done, he decided it wouldn't hurt to show Hadrian Siordanti that he was capable of expressing emotions besides anger, and subsequently forced a strained attempt at a casual smile. "Really sir, it's nothing of great importance. It merely pertains to my family, and will in no way affect the quality of my work," he rushed to assure his employer. In truth alcohol sounded highly agreeable, but given his experience with a most irritating barmaid the evening before, he thought it prudent to steer clear of the Paper Tiger for a while at least. And he had barely recovered from the atrociously pungent liquor he'd imbibed then anyways. . .

Hadrian gestured a bit down the road with his pipe with a cold chuckle, implying the clerk walk with him a ways. He was unfortunately not willing to invite him for a drink, for he was sure the younger man's presence would not necessarily be welcome among his own peers. The older galdor didn't mind humoring his employee's ills along the way, however, "Well, boy, you know well enough that I would certainly hope your family situation won't affect your work." He paused, slim, graying eyebrows coming together in a sharp v-shape above his rather hawkish nose, "You also know well enough that even I can agree that family is ..."

He coughed, further deepening his scowl, "Complicated." The politician didn't go further with his words, for he was confident the dark-haired clerk would pick up on the entirety of his reference. Hadrian glanced sideways, narrowing his dark eyes, "So, what are you going to do about your problem?"

Siduri fell into step almost reluctantly beside his employer, now regretting his decision to be open with the man. He folded his hands behind his back as they walked, a habit he had picked up subconsciously from watching some of the more important officials to whose status he so desperately aspired, and he tilted his head slightly in Hadrian's direction, listening intently. When the man mention his own family, he took particular care not to respond in any manner. In his opinion, Nauleth Siordanti had begun to disgrace himself years before the brailing incident even occurred, and saw his own involvement in his former schoolmate's fate as minimal. Complicated was certainly one word for these sorts of family problems. . .

"First and foremost, sir," began Siduri seriously as he made brief eye contact with the older galdor, "allow me to assure you that my work will in no means be compromised. The only foreseeable difficulty in this situation is the fact that I will, at some point within the next two months, be obliged to make the journey to Brunnhold. However, I do not plan on staying more than a day, perhaps two at the most. . . "

The older galdor's face slowly became a bemused smirk - was Siduri so paranoid about his quality of work? The politician appreciated an attitude of service and a willingness to work hard, and he had finally settled on hiring the clerk for more than just his grade point average. Hadrian glanced at the younger man as he spoke, watching him from over his pipe and a bit of smoke, "Since I've hired you, you've proven yourself willing to burn the midnight oil many a night, Mr. Sasan. There's no need to assure me of your working attitude - if I thought for a moment you were compromising anything, you surely would have heard it from me personally by now."

The politician briefly wondered why his clerk felt such a need to remind him of his usefulness so many times in one short conversation, but he was not in the mood to press the agitated younger man too hard quite yet, "Whatever you feel required to do about your situation, I am confident you'll be capable of handling it swiftly ... If it's truly pressing, however, shouldn't you make plans to go sooner than later?"

Siduri accepted the older man's compliment with a graceful nod of both acknowledgment and gratitude. Then, as Hadrian Siordanti continued to speak, he froze in a split-second flash of horror as he racked his brains for a plausible excuse. Perhaps it was his overwhelmingly pessimistic nature, but somehow he had instinctively known that this particular question--or something very much like it--was going to arise. To him, the matter was anything but pressing, something to be put off at all costs since avoiding it outright did not seem to be a plausible alternative. Once again, he sent a mental curse in the direction of his scheming busybody of an uncle, then turned his attention back to finding an answer for his employer. He knew that his current employment, while not particularly glorious, was better than what he ordinarily could have hoped for, given his family's lack of status, and he was very much indebted to Hadrian Siordanti for being willing to hire him. Even so, he couldn't rid himself of the constant paranoia that without some sort of vast fortune to secure his current position, he would lose his job at any moment, fired at the drop of a hat for no reason in particular. Or maybe, he thought bitterly to himself, because he finds out my own father is a scrap living in the clocking Stacks.

Siduri responded at first with a very controlled shrug, the movement a quick up-and-down of his narrow, tense shoulders. "Two months," he began, "seems like enough time so that some of the current turmoil ought to die down a bit. I don't believe I could justify taking time off in the midst of such a busy time as this in order to see to something that really isn't all that pressing."

Hadrian had not kept his position in the political arena without a certain skill at reading between the lines and looking past the delicate masks people constructed for themselves. It was all the older man could do to keep himself from glaring at the clerk in a bit of undignified shock. He sputtered instead, smoke escaping his nostrils without the previous flair, "You seem to assume that things are going to get better for us before they get worse."

There was a jaded sort of bitterness in the politician's dark eyes, "They won't. This is the tip of the iceberg, my good clerk. Whatever our Judge Azmus has started is going to be growing into a monstrosity from here."

Letting his words sink in a little as they walked, he scowled, "I'm used to my colleagues lying to me, Mr. Sasan, as par for the course of our station, but I do not appreciate it when my own employees do. Especially my hand-picked ones. If this matter was not pressing somehow, I doubt you would find yourself so disturbed."

He added distantly, as if he did not want to reveal that he had his own emotions to deal with, "If or when you decide to become a family man, perhaps you will understand how to better arrange your priorities. Until then, however, it's not my place to dabble in your personal life."

He let another delicate ring of smoke escape his lips, turning to look at the young clerk carefully, "You do as you see fit, Mr. Sasan. Just give me fair warning so I can prepare myself for the extra work in your absence."

Siduri nearly winced at the older man's sharp words, his green eyes snapping wide open with shock. This lasted for only a moment before his regained at least a measure of control over his expression, but even then it was wholly apparent that he was shaken by the harshness of Hadrian Siordanti's retort. Immediately afterwards, he averted his eyes, nodding slightly as shame twisted in his gut.

What now? What can I possibly do now? he wondering somewhat despairingly to himself. Was it really better for his employer to consider him untrustworthy than to know the parentage which was his deepest shame, one which he had spent years taking great pains to conceal? Could he risk being seen as a liar when he had so much else to hide? There was no way to retract what had been said, of course, so the only solution was to take the situation as it stood and do his best not to make things worse.

He sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly through his teeth, still without establishing eye contact. "Yes, sir," he responded deferentially. "My apologies. It won't happen again."

It already has.

The older galdor chuckled, showing his teeth in a crooked smile, pipe perched precariously in between. The politician may not have known that Siduri was hiding anything more than his family struggles, but he would have been foolish indeed to believe that his young clerk would never tell another untruth in his presence.

Hadrian shrugged nonchalantly, continuing to weave his way casually through the streets towards his destination. Satisfied with the course of their conversation, he decided that a little pleasant change of subject might actually do his clerk some good, lest the politician be tempted to press his employee too hard. Misdirection was always an entertaining tactic, anyway.

"So, my young clerk, are you going to see the Circus?"

Siduri blinked in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up once again as he glanced over at Hadrian. He had sworn that he was not going to let the older galdor catch him off-guard again, yet not five minutes had passed and here he was again, struggling not to let his surprise show through. Trying to keep up to the speed at which the politician changed tracks was like trying to count grains of sand as they drained from the top globe of an hourglass to the bottom; Siduri was not as speedy a counter as he would have liked to believe.

"No, sir," he replied, as smoothly as he could manage, even as he regained his composure and the standard, impassive facial expression which tended to accompany it. "To be perfectly frank, it had not occurred to me to do so." After all, they had just been discussing about how much work there was to be done, and now. . .the Circus? Really?


-----


Hadrian gave his young clerk a sly smile, his dark eyes full of a kind of mischief that could not be placed, "Not considered it? Tsk. I would almost recommend it, given how tight your clock's been wound, apparently."

He paused to puff on his pipe a few times, exhaling another well-practiced ring of smoke, "You obviously should find some way to relax."

Looking at the younger galdor from over his nose and his pipe, the politician let his sly grin broaden a little, "If it wasn't on a school night, I'd have considered taking the family. You should go enjoy it for me instead, Mr. Sasan."

What's that supposed to mean? Obviously, the man's mention of school had not been an accident. . .and always Siduri's mind was racing as he tried to analyze the man's every word. Was this some sort of reference to his duel with Nauleth? What on earth was it supposed to mean? It wasn't as though they had ever spoken of it, although he assumed his employer knew. . . But was that disapproval in his tone? Or worse, the young galdor wondered with dread, was he being made fun of?

Siduri exhaled slowly, forcing his mind back to the present once again. "Well," he replied, as conversationally as he could manage, "I will have to take it into consideration, won't I?" And although it looked almost as painful as it felt, he forced a smile, already wondering whether this counted as a commitment and, if so, how he could get out of it.