A multitude of feet thundered down the old wooden stairs and the front door slammed open, letting the heat escape. Vidar shuddered as he waited for everyone to leave. Not a single one of the others as much as peeked into Embla’s room. The last one out did not close the door behind them.

  “Do you mind?” Embla asked, gesturing toward it.

  Vidar closed the door and returned.

  “That was Guard Captain Anderson,” Embla began, not inviting Vidar to sit. “The guardsmen keep a close eye on this operation and others like it. Poverty breeds crime, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “I am,” Vidar said carefully.

  “Some petty theft is to be expected, but Anderson now reports a worrying trend with far more frequent pickpocketing and even assaults where the victim’s valuables are stolen.”

  Vidar raised an eyebrow at that last bit. “You don’t say?”

  Embla chuckled, then let out a resigned sigh. “Torbjorn will soon age out of my care and will undoubtedly join that disreputable guild. He’ll be someone else’s problem then. Keeping him mostly out of trouble has left my hair prematurely gray.”

  Vidar couldn’t see a single gray strand in her hair, but he understood what she was saying.

  “And the captain came over here to… what? Warn you?”

  “Keeping you children from illicit activities is part of why this operation exists. The stipend we receive from the Crown is one of their ways of keeping poverty-stricken children away from those sorts of activities. Anderson wanted to personally warn me that any further increase might see that stipend revoked.”

  “What would that mean for everyone?”

  “This little group of ours would disband, and I’d probably have to work as a tavern wench or something equally appalling. You lot would be on your own, I’m afraid, and the small amount of coin set aside for each child for when you age out would be confiscated by the Crown’s administrators.”

  “There is money set aside?”

  “That’s what interested you, out of everything I just said? I’ll give the children a stern talking to tomorrow morning, but I would appreciate it if you reported any illegal activities you hear them talk about, if any.”

  Vidar opened his mouth, but Embla held up a hand to stop him. “Besides Torbjorn.”

  “Then I don’t know. We don’t spend much time together outside of eating and sleeping.”

  “I’m sure,” Embla said, holding out her hand. “The key and the rune.”

  Vidar’s mind raced. He’d hoped she wouldn’t even mention them. “I don’t have them.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have them?”

  “The third blockage was out of reach and it was getting late, so I left the hatch unlocked and the key hidden down there. The rune too. Figured you could give me yesterday’s map now so I don’t have to come here tomorrow. Instead, I’ll finish up today’s work first thing, then continue on to the new ones.”

  Embla narrowed her eyes but let her hand fall to the desk, resting it there. “Fine,” she uttered, opening a drawer to her left to withdraw another map. She handed it to Vidar. “Don’t do that again. If you can’t handle everything in a day, just leave it. Sometimes they clear on their own, or so I’m told. If not, they’ll just appear again on a future map. Understand?”

  He nodded, suppressing a sigh of relief. “I understand. Who makes these maps, anyway? How are they able to pinpoint the locations of these blockages? That, I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Embla pulled a loose strand of hair behind her eyes, sighing again. She looked tired. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

  “No,” Vidar said. “But I would like to know.”

  “Why? You are given a task, just perform it to the best of your ability.”

  He unfurled the rolled-up map and placed it sideways on the desk between them, pointing at one of the marked locations. Him getting closer made her nose twitch, but he ignored it. “See here? It’s a wide area spanning multiple walkways. Finding the right place is difficult and takes a lot of time. If I knew more about the system, I’d be more effective and I wouldn’t have to leave without finishing the assignment. That has to be worth something to whoever is making these maps, no?”

  Embla stared at him for a long moment. “You want to improve at your assigned task. The task you are not even compensated for?”

  He grinned. “I’m not compensated now, but once I age out of your care, perhaps there is a proper profession for me in doing this. Perhaps I might even find employment with whoever is making these maps.”

  “Clever boy.”

  She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Go here and ask to see Illia. Tell her I sent you and be on your best behavior.”

  “Thank you,” Vidar said, turning to leave.

  “And Vidar?”

  He turned back. “Yes?”

  “Before you go there, roll around in the snow or something. You reek.”

  * * *

  The short note was a location in the northwestern part of town. It took a short while to decipher the dancing letters of Embla’s note, but he eventually managed it, just before stepping into the relative warmth of the sparse dining hall.

  “There you are,” Ida said as he sat down next to her and Siv on a bench by the wall, far from the flame where most of the others huddled. “How were your stinky adventures today?”

  “I don’t know. Not so bad, I think,” Vidar answered. “Did you hear Embla talk with that guard captain?”

  She nodded while peering down into her bowl of porridge. “I did. We all did.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, looking up at him. Her face was set in anger.

  He blinked, unsure what he’d done to set her off like that. “If you break into more houses, everyone here”—he looked out across the room—“could lose what little they have.”

  “I’ll bring the girls with me. They can join my guild,” Ida said.

  “Embla said this whole operation is to keep everyone out of crime.”

  “You didn’t object so much when you were rummaging through that family’s home.”

  Her cheeks were reddening and the volume of her voice kept increasing. Many of the others were already throwing uncomfortable glances their way.

  “Calm yourself. I’m just saying.”

  “What are you saying, exactly?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. Perhaps you might want to wait a little before doing it again? If you have a way to get some materials for me, I could pay you for your trouble.”

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  That idea seemed to resonate with Siv, who grabbed Ida’s sleeve to get her attention. She nodded in an exaggerated manner and showed her teeth in a wide grin.

  Ida looked at her sister and then the anger drained from her face and her shoulders sagged. “What kind of materials are you looking for? And how do you have silver?”

  “Found some coins on a dead man in the sewers. What I need are discs like these,” he said, showing the inactive kenaz rune. Or something else I can carve runes into. Once I’ve sold a few, I can teach you how to make them too. We can go into business together, if you like.”

  Siv’s response to that was written all over her face and posture. She was leaning in close to peer at the rune in Vidar’s hand, her eyes glittering with excitement.

  “I’m going to make my own thieves’ guild. I’ll get you the materials, but that’s it. Don’t want no part of your witcherings.”

  “This isn’t like that. Anyone can do it, Alvarn said so. Us doing it is not strictly legal either, but it’s better than robbing people’s houses, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ida said.

  She stood and walked off, depositing her bowl and spoon before leaving the building. Siv, who’d followed, peered back at him. No, not at him. At the rune in his hand.

  There wasn’t much else for Vidar to do. Those two girls saved his hide, but if they would not listen to reason, he saw no way of returning the favor.

  With his belly somewhat full, he hurried across town to the rune scribes’ guild hall, where he was supposed to meet Alvarn. The boy did not show. Vidar waited for a good long while before ascending the stone stairs to try the heavy wooden doors. They opened.

  The air inside was warm and light runes were expertly crafted into glinting metal plates affixed to the walls.

  “Who are you?” a shrill female voice called.

  Vidar turned to see a tall woman in her middle years with steely gray in her otherwise dark brown hair. With a face and body full of hard angles, she appeared stern. The way her brows pulled together and her mouth formed into a tight line did nothing to make her less severe.

  “I’m looking for Alvarn,” Vidar said, uncomfortable in his unkempt state. Her well-cut lilac dress was sown to fit her narrow frame and looked immaculate with its swirling patterns. In contrast, he must’ve looked no better than a vagabond with his rumpled coat and too-often-worn tunic and ragged trousers. Judging by the way she sniffed the air, the stink lingering about him had not passed without notice either.

  “I do not recall the name of each of our students. You must leave this place now before I call upon the guards!” Her shrill voice was loud enough to hurt his ears.

  Vidar’s face warmed, but he couldn’t back down just yet. “He’s a little shorter than you, with a wide face and curly brown hair. Alvarn wears glasses and you could consider him… fat. He’s a merchant’s son.”

  “His reputation is not lifted from his acquaintance with you, urchin. Leave this place at once!” she practically shouted at him, pointing her finger at the door with such fervor the tip of her finger shook as she held it in the air.

  Vidar tried to summon his own anger, but it would not come. All he felt was small. Dirty. The sound of footsteps hurrying in their direction reached his ears, and he turned and opened the door, throwing it open. Before stepping back outside into the dark cold of winter, Vidar turned to address the woman.

  “You’re a real bitch, but you probably already knew that.”

  Without the proper force behind his words, he sounded sullen. Like a scolded child. Vidar closed the doors behind him before she could reply. With the plan for the rest of his day crumbling, he descended the stairs to spot a familiar figure sitting in the snow down the street.

  “Lytir,” he said, coming up on his old friend, the vagrant.

  Lytir nodded in greeting. “Little scribe. We meet again. What works have you read since last we happened upon each other?”

  Sometimes, Lytir needed reminders. “We met yesterday, Lytir. Remember? Also, you know I don’t like to read anymore.”

  The vagrant blinked, but the smile did not leave his face. “Time is such a fleeting concept for those of us who dwell where you tread. Tell me, little scribe. Why does the fine art of reading elude your interest?”

  Vidar found no reason to lie to the harmless vagrant. “The letters sway and shake when I try to read. They drift together and over each other.”

  “Vexing malady!” Lytir shouted, getting to his feet. People walked in a wide circle around them, probably thinking Vidar was just as demented as his friend.

  “It is what it is,” Vidar said.

  “Do not despair, little scribe. I shall find a remedy for the curse bestowed upon you.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Vidar said, but Lytir just shook his head.

  “How am I meant to bring you, the paragon of humanity, in front of the chair if you are tarnished such? To stand is to be on your knees.”

  Lytir was entering into one of his mad rants again. Vidar put a hand on the vagrant’s arm. “Like I said, don’t trouble yourself. I have found a way to survive without reaching for crumbs out of my father’s hand.”

  Vidar cleared his throat, annoyed at his own words. Lytir’s way of speaking always found its way to Vidar’s tongue when they talked for more than a few moments. The only way to stop the shift was to choose his words carefully.

  “I’m learning the art of rune crafting,” Vidar said, holding up the kenaz rune. “I haven’t made one myself yet, but I will. As soon as I find a sowilo rune to use as reference. Some warmth will do me good in this cold.”

  Lytir stepped forward so he was standing far too close for comfort. He looked down at the rune in Vidar’s hand, his face obscured by dark hair hanging from his head. “A simple tool,” he muttered. “But a powerful one in the right hands.”

  The vagrant was worse than usual today, and in a rare mood by the sound of him. Perhaps the years on the streets of Halmstadt had finally gotten to him. Vidar stepped back to create some room.

  “You don’t approve, Lytir?”

  When Vidar moved out of the way, Lytir tentatively reached for the rune before stopping himself and pulling back. He looked up, his regular smile once again plastered over his face. “The crafting of runes. A trade as fine as any other, little scribe. A mere shadow of itself, but”—he looked up at the dark, cloud-filled sky—“you will need all the tools at your disposal for what is to come.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Oh, not at all, little scribe. It will be glorious. Won’t be long now. Scurry beneath the earth, like a little worm, and unravel the crumbs. Just stay out of harm’s way. The future holds much for us all.”

  Vidar stared at Lytir for a long moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, he just said, “I will. Well, I better be going now. Stay safe, Lytir.”

  “And you, little scribe.”

  Lytir sat back down, the snow crunching under his weight. How he stayed dry and unaffected by the cold, Vidar would never understand. People were looking at them even more now, so he took his leave.

  Alvarn forgot about their meeting or was unable to come. That meant it was time for the next item on Vidar’s agenda. He needed to find a warmth rune.

  With the usage of such runes being widespread throughout most of Halmstadt, getting his hands on one shouldn’t prove too much of a challenge. Heating one’s home was high up on the list of necessary expenses for most people and establishments, with only the least fortunate using wood-burning stoves instead.

  Vidar’s former friends, the few he actually made throughout the years, were out of the question. Turning up at one of their doors in this state, after being thrown out of his father’s house, was not a humiliation he would suffer. All his father’s clients would surely have heard about Vidar’s unfortunate fate at this point, so he couldn’t bluff his way into one of their homes either, not looking and smelling the way he did. That left establishments, the upscale sorts where warmth and light were provided by runes.

  After being denied entry to an inn near the rune scribes’ guild, he attempted to gain entrance to a different inn with finely dressed patrons. They tossed him out into the snow. Vidar briefly considered robbing one of the students coming and going from the guild, but decided against it. Embla’s words of caution were firmly imprinted in his mind and any act against the students might make its way back to Alvarn. Vidar and he weren’t close by any means, only having met the once, but it was not a bridge he wanted to burn.

  Even going back to his stash and withdrawing the silver coins to flash in front of a bouncer’s face, a thick-set woman, at the entrance to an upscale alehouse wasn’t enough. She refused him entry, her whole face scrunched together, like she was talking to a drowned rat.

  Vidar kicked a pile of snow in frustration, then cupped his hands to blow warm air into them. The cold was getting to him. It really was.

  The idea of recruiting Ida to break in somewhere ran through his mind, but he suppressed it. After trying to pull her away from break-ins, he couldn’t ask her to perform one with him.

  So, the initial thought of having plenty of opportunities ended up being dead wrong. Alvarn could probably get him one, but there was no telling when he’d find him again, and Vidar couldn’t stand another second of this horrific cold. He woke up cold and went to sleep cold, shivering through the night despite packing far too many bodies into that tiny shack. The only time he wasn’t cold was when he was down in the sewers, the brief periods between getting soaked by the chilled water. It couldn’t stand. Not anymore.

  Working himself up into anger at the cold forced upon him, his situation, and finally his father, Vidar made a decision. He knew where there’d be sowilo runes. Several of them, in fact. Entry and access weren’t problems either. All he had to do was to break into his father’s house. The old, condescending bastard owed him that, and much more besides. He’d never give one to him, even if Vidar asked, and he’d never again ask something of his father. No, he’d take instead. This night, when they all slept, he’d take a small piece of what was rightfully his.

  To that end, he headed back to the house he grew up in.

  By now, it was late enough that they’d all be asleep. A scribe’s day starts early, with deliveries and the receiving of supplies. This means going to sleep early as well, and the few servants in his father’s employ never stayed the night.

  When Vidar finally arrived at his old street, he saw only darkness in the windows. His father was a respected scribe, with clients lining up to take advantage of his services. This meant he could afford a house large enough to house the entire family, along with the scribe’s workshop in that very same building.

  Being the oldest, Vidar should have inherited the whole thing one day. Now, that was ancient history. The mere idea of having been thrown out of his own home was difficult to even believe, and he would have scoffed at the idea if he hadn’t lived it. Sure, Vidar hadn’t been the greatest at his job, or perhaps the most pleasant to be around, but he had done his best to please his father. Mostly.

  Anger rose again in his chest and it helped push the sense of nostalgia and loss from his heart as Vidar made his way to the dark windows of the brick building.

  The street was empty except for a stray dog digging into a pile of snow a few houses down. Some other houses were dark, but light shone through most windows. People were still awake, so he’d need to be careful.