"You ever been out of the city, Linn?" Petrik folded his feet under him and shifted against the dewy ground. Linn saw his breath shimmering gray in the air.
It was autumn, and though Sirantil Valley was warm in the sun, it had turned cold tonight, maybe even colder than the Skin District in Reajh. Linn and Petrik had second watch. They had no lantern, but the moon was almost full. Linn could see all right.
"Nope," Linn said, turning his carving-wood over in one palm and digging at it with his knife. "Skins born and bred." Saying so meant admitting he was a whore's son, and an orphan besides, but everyone knew that already. He hadn't had a proper surname until the Sergeant named him Blue, for his eyes. Then he'd got some teasing and been called 'pretty eyes' and 'girl'; and then he'd broken some teeth and the teasing had stopped.
"I knew that," Petrik said. Linn couldn't see his face, but thought he might have his wounded-puppy look on. "I knew that already."
"Yeah, but I figgered I'd tell you." Linn shrugged, and worked his knife through soft wood again.
"Well, I don't mind you're a whoreson. I don't see why anyone would."
Linn bit at the inside of his lip and sighed, long-suffering in his explanatory patience. "'Cause so many are mages, woodhead--I guess." He rapped Petrik on the temple with his half-done carving. "I see it. You don't know your parents, it's s'picious, innit."
"Your mom's suspicious." Petrik giggled.
"My mom's dead."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I knew that too. I just forgot--"
"Never mind," Linn said, giving him a smile with teeth, so it'd be visible through the dark. "You ever been out of the city?"
Petrik nodded, eager to change the subject. "My aunt has a vineyard south of the city. With green grapes and red and figs and pears and... dad always cursed her for not sharing the wealth, but I loved it there. I'll take you someday, when we're both Guards."
Linn snorted. "What're you, sniffin' up my skirt?" But he liked the idea. "Cause I don't wear one."
Petrik shoved his shoulder and Linn laughed softly. Sometimes he couldn't believe the boy was a year older than him.
"I'll tell you whose skirt..." Petrik leaned in, mouth round with earnestness. "The girl back at the farmhouse. She gave me a cheese."
"Oho," Linn said, thinking back. Her name began with an L, she had curly brown hair, and she might've given Petrik cheese, but she'd been looking at him. He almost decided to be polite and not say it, but that would be stupid. "She gave you a cheese, but she'd give me her cunt if I asked--" Petrik shoved him and his knife slipped. The point dug into his thumb. "Hey!" He kept his voice to a whisper and shoved back, just enough to get Petrik off him. "Keep still. Keep watch."
"I was just kidding," Petrik said, but Linn knew that if it were light the tips of his ears would be red, the way they got when he got upset or lied or both.
"Be careful, then. There are plenty I can think of who might want to slit a few guardsmen's throats."
Petrik was looking at him funny. "You..."
Linn went back to his carving and shook his head. He was a whoreson, a streetrunner, in charge of the Pigeons and then the Cheeses-and-Pigeons... and Petrik Biancarius had a name. Petrik had a family.
Linn couldn't forget what the Sergeant had told him when he joined up. "There's a reason we don't trust people who don't come to us with names," he had said, matter-of-factly, while he made marks on a piece of paper that he said meant Linn would be Linn Blue of Cratic Street, Reajh. "If you don't have a name, you don't stand for anything," he had said, pointing his quill at Linn. "A name is your earth, it holds you. I'm giving you a name, Linn Blue, so you can grow some pride. And a title, trainee, so you can grow some honor and some courage..." He had looked strange and faraway, and Linn had wondered if he was thinking about himself. Most times when people tried to give advice they were, but then his eyes had bored straight into his, with a sting like nails dug into his skin. "It's hard to be brave when you've got nothing but your body," he had said at last. "Name. Family. Rank. A place in the world. It's easier to be brave when you know you've got something to leave behind when you die, even if it's just marks on paper," he'd said. "Without that we're worse than animals, or mages. That's why they don't trust you, Linn. Only brave people can love and only people who can love can serve. That's why we don't trust people with no names." He looked tired.
They probably shouldn't was what he had wanted to say, remembering how he'd kept kicking Big Dennet until blood had come out of his eyes and mouth. He hadn't had a choice. But now I do. He had honor and courage now. He was a Connlaothian dog, he was a trainee, and one day he was going to be Lefteanant Linn Blue. He'd figured it all out. Sergeant Marcani wasn't a father to him and didn't even talk to him that much, but he was part of it too, just by being. Just by being someone who thought any man with a name could have honor.
"I'm sorry, Petrik," Linn said, cutting a thin spiral of wood from his carving. It curled around his thumb. He was making a mouse, after the one that lived in his wall in the Academy. He thought the noises some of them took for ghosts were probably his mouse, and that was funny to him. He'd asked an older trainee about carving when he'd seen him doing it and his fingers had started to twitch. He'd just wanted to make something so badly. It was like his fingers wanted the wood the way his prick wanted girls, not that he'd ever say something like that to anyone. He didn't really want a nickname like treefucker or mousefucker.
It felt good to carve, though.
Linn looked back up at Petrik finally, one lip caught awkwardly between his teeth. He should probably be nice.
Petrik was squinting out toward the trees, frowning, making a big show of vigilance. Stupid boy. He wasn't going to say it though.
"See anythin'?" Linn whispered.
"No."
He'd hurt his feelings. Well, bugger him if he couldn't take it. Linn went back to his carving. Almost done, though one leg had come out funny. It could be Clubfoot Mouse. He brought it close to his face to sketch in whiskers in the moonlight, and his knife slipped, pricking the pad of his thumb. He didn't make a noise but went to suck at it. And... and...
For a second he thought he'd accidentally brushed against the moon. His fingers were glowing, holding light, and it spread up his arms... in his veins... into the little mouse, over its nose. The whiskers he'd carved into its cheeks, nothing but hollows, stood out in shimmering, wire-fine strands of light.
Linn couldn't move.
Past the light, he saw Petrik gaping at him.
The mouse wiggled. There was a sound and a smell like lightning, and the glow vanished.
"Mage," Petrik mouthed, eyes huge.
No no no no no Linn thought. He couldn't breath. No no no. I'm Linn Blue, trainee, dog of Connlaoth, named Linn Blue of Cratic Street by Sergeant Marcani. Linn Blue, trainee, Linn Blue, Linn, Pigeon Linn, I'm not a mage--
The wooden mouse twitched in his palm and ran up his shoulder and burrowed under his collar, just like the mouse back in his barracks. But it felt like wood. It wasn't warm. But it was moving. Petrik stared at him. Mage, mage, mage. Mousefucker. Mage. He had his knife out by the time Petrik had opened his mouth to shout, and the mage slid it across his throat. Blood sprayed at him and he tasted it. Mage, mage, mage.
The mage he wasn't wiped his knife clean on the grass, got up, and ran.
