Child's Play story

[maderr]

This is something I've wanted to do for awhile, but never could get it together enough to do. I'm not typically big on charities and stuff, for various and sundry reasons I'm not discussing--but I have long loved the PA guys, and I do like their Child's Play charity. My plan is to donate half of what I make to it (and, knowing me, I'll wind up donating all of it). I don't if this flies with everyone, but as I said, it's something I've long wanted to do.

The story, however, wound up being two stories. So, I am posting the first one here, and the two together can be purchased here

The Search for Secret

Tolan passed the time by alternating between tidying up the shop, catching up the paperwork, and plotting his master's demise.

He really shouldn't be resentful—it was standard practice to make the apprentice work while the master caroused with the rest of the city during the three day Winter Solstice festival. Still, he was a third year apprentice. Just two years away from making journeyman. He was a bit past being made to babysit the shop, especially when everyone was too busy getting drunk and having fun to bother visiting the shop.

Scowling at a group of revelers who stumbled past the front window, he returned to the ledger he'd been working on, adding in the last of the receipts that his master had failed—as usual—to add when he should have. Instead, the bastard just let the work pile up and pile up, then skipped off to have fun, sticking Tolan with all of it.

It might be his master's name on the shop sign, but pretty much everyone knew who really did all the work.

Tolan sighed and closed the ledger, then replaced it in its proper drawer in the desk.

Even on an ordinary day, their shop was quiet. Oh, people needed their services—but as often as not, they didn't want to speak too loudly of that which they had lost. If only he did not have his damnable ethics, he could retire on blackmail money and never work another day.

Rolling his eyes, Tolan pulled out another book and began with disinterest to study it. He didn't particularly need to; he was well ahead of his training. If only his master was not a lazy bastard, he could give Tolan more of his tests, and speed him right on through to journeyman. But no, his master never did anything before he absolutely had to—except run off to carouse.

Sighing, Tolan focused on his book. Left to do the bulk of the work, he had learned hard and fast all the things he should have not have had to learn for another year or two. By the time he was allowed to move to journeyman, he would probably be at a master level himself.

All he lacked was the license to practice most of the magic he used every day—the other reason he could not retire on blackmail money. All his customers had his dirty secret too; an unlicensed apprentice practicing high level magic. Even with master permission, that wasn't legal.

But, there was no point in being a Finder without the high level spells. Apprentice spells were for finding lost combs and other nonsense people preferred not to have to pay others to find. No, people only came to Finders to figure at which house they had left their jewels, or where their spouse was hiding incriminating letters from a lover.

Sometimes, they cut to the chase, and simply asked where the cheating spouse had gone. Things of that nature. It was intriguing work, if not always pleasant—especially since, barring very particular circumstances, it was illegal to search for people. Invasion of privacy and all that, not that anyone believed Finders respected privacy.

He wondered, occasionally, just what he had been thinking when he'd decided to pursue Finder magic. It could be such interesting work, though—and he did like it when someone simply wanted to locate a missing cat, or a wedding band that had gotten lost while doing laundry, or a stolen purse.

Tolan sighed and daydreamed about finding a missing purse, and the grateful customer giving him the abundant contents of it in gratitude. He was just about to doze off from sheer boredom when the bell above the door tinkled, and he jerked upright in his seat.

Straightening his clothes, he stood up and strode to the counter that kept people from the backrooms. The main area was composed of simple tables, chairs, sofas—various ways of sitting, to offer customers whatever made them most comfortable. An oversized parlor, really, suitable for figuring out where Fluffy had gone off to this time, damned cat.

For those requiring more privacy, there were the backrooms.

He frowned as he spotted his customer, and drew to an uncertain halt as the visitor saw him.

The child began to wail, and clearly it had been crying something fierce for the past while. Tears and snot and dirt covered the little boy's face, his hair was badly mussed, and his clothes were beyond saving.

"Secret! Secret!" The boy wailed, and reached out with tiny, grubby hands to cling as best he could to Tolan's breeches. "Secret! Find secret!"

Tolan knelt, and took the dirty hands in his own, frowning. "Where is your mother?"

The little boy began to cry in earnest. "Secret," he choked out miserably. "Find secret."

Oh, bother it. Scooping the boy up, utterly confounded when he clung for dear life, Tolan moved to one of the small sofas and settled the boy in his lap. Honestly, shouldn't the child know better than to be so easy with strangers? What sort of idiot parent had let the boy from his sight? "Now, then, we will find secret," he said briskly, wishing suddenly he'd paid a bit more attention to how his mother talked to his siblings when they were babies.

"Find secret?" the boy asked. What the devil did that mean?

"Where is your mother?" Tolan asked again. "Your father? Guardian?"

"Secret!" the boy said, lighting up.

Tolan felt a headache coming on. "Secret?"

"Find secret! Find secret!" The boy reached out and grabbed at the gold broach pinned to Tolan's jacket—they Eye of the Finders, though his was marked with runes denoting his apprentice status. The boy looked up at him, and any thought of saying no fled forever as the plaintive green eyes stared up at him full of misery and confusion and need. Argh, what the hell was he supposed to do with a child? And what did 'find secret' mean?

"What is secret?" Tolan asked, stifling a sigh. Honestly, he had no idea what to do with a child. Was he more than five? Less than five? How did one tell? Less than five, he decided. Surely much, much younger, but he had no idea, really.

"Secret mine," the boy said firmly. "Gardy. Secret mine gardy."

"Secret…mine…oh! Secret is your guardian?"

The boy nodded and resumed his litany of 'Find Secret'.

"What is your name?" Tolan asked.

"Goz," the boy said. "Find Secret?"

Tolan stifled a sigh. "Yes, I will help you find Secret."

He had no idea how he was going to find 'Secret' and what kind of name was that? "Did you get lost in the crowd?"

The boy nodded, and began to sniffle again.

Tolan awkwardly patted his back, and ruffled his hair, grimacing when his hand came away covered in muck. "I think, Master Goz, that you will first need a bit of a cleaning. Then we shall find Secret, or try anyway. What does he look like?"

Goz frowned at him, looking so helplessly confused and frustrated that Tolan almost laughed.

"Secret big? Small?"

"Big!" Goz replied eagerly.

Tolan suddenly realized that to a small child who was still struggling with sentences, everyone was probably big. "Hair?" he asked. "Like mine? Like yours?" His own hair was a fairly common brown, to go with his equally common brown eyes.

Goz frowned, then shook his head, and tugged at Tolan's jacket, which was a severe black.

So, big and had black hair.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Tolan said, and stood up, still cradling Goz in his arms. Moving to the front door, he flipped the sign to guilt with only a faint niggling of guilt, then strode toward the backrooms to see what could be done about an impromptu bath.

Nearly an hour later, both he and Goz were dry and dressed in clean clothes—well, Goz was dressed in what Tolan had managed to make fit him while his clothes dried. His own had suffered while getting Goz cleaned, and he stifled another sigh at the thought of the laundry he would now have to do two days early.

Why, he wondered, did people seek to have children? He'd only had this one an hour or so, and it was already driving him mad. Plopping Goz down in one of the overstuffed chairs, admonishing him not to fall out of it, he went to fetch his tools.

Finding people was illegal—people had a right to their privacy, after all. If a man wanted to cheat on his spouse, well, that was his decision. The wife had a right to know, naturally, that she was being dishonored, but that did not mean she had the right to invade his privacy, however illicitly he spent it.

There were, however, exceptions. Missing children was one of those exceptions. Tolan hoped the missing Secret had sought out a Finder of his own, and that shortly this entire mess would be cleared right up.

On the chance no one had hired a Finder, however…surely finding the missing Guardian of a lost child was sufficient grounds for breaking the rules?

Anyway, if he was caught for it—as an apprentice, his master would get the brunt of it for leaving him unsupervised and the necessary equipment easily accessible.

"Find Secret?" Goz asked, looking so hopeful that Tolan could not stay irritated.

"Try to find," he corrected. Throughout the bath, he had worked painstakingly to compile the best description he could of the missing Secret. Big, black hair, gray eyes—he thought—had a sword, wearing green and black. He had worked with less.

Writing out the proper runes on the scry board, he then pulled out the crystal he kept on a silver chain around his neck.

Goz' eyes went wide, and he promptly pulled his fingers from his mouth to reach out toward the sparkling, sharp-pointed crystal.

"No," Tolan said firmly, then continued more gently when Goz flinched, "I need it to find Secret. You can play with it later, okay?"

Sniffling a little bit, Goz nodded. "Find Secret," he said.

Tolan nodded, and ruffled his hair, then looked over his work. The description, as well as Goz', to connect seeker and sought. Their names, the city marks written in, hopefully he would not have to expand the search area…

That should do it. He hoped.

Holding the silver chain, he let the crystal hover over the scry board and closed his eyes. "Be quiet, okay, Goz? Finding Secret."

Goz said nothing, and Tolan nodded, then mentally recited the necessary incantations.

Several long, frustrating minutes later, he gave up with a sigh and rubbed his aching forehead. It was no good. The crystal could not find Secret. Something in the information he had was flawed—the crystal was confused, and could not find what was sought. Best guess, the names weren't right. What did he expect, really, from a child who could barely talk?

"Find Secret?" Goz asked, lower lip trembling, eyes watering.

"Not yet," Tolan said, trying to sound soothing. "We'll go look for him." It would just have to be the hard way, and wasn't that going to make for a fun day? Surely someone was looking for Goz—why wouldn't they? Didn't someone want his son back? His nephew? His whatever? What sort of Guardian lost a child, anyway?

Tolan sighed. "Want a snack, Goz? Food?"

"Snack!" Goz said, tears forgotten in the joys of food. Then he said, "Secret?"

"Soon," Tolan said, sighing again, and picked Goz up before ambling back to his own bedroom to fetch his coin purse and suitable gear for the elements. Goz' clothes weren't dry, but there was no real help for it—they would be in the city likely all day, and winter was no time of year to be walking around in wet clothes. Never mind the festival.

It occurred to him suddenly that it was likely being dragged around through the festival that had gotten Goz lost in the first place. Well, he'd simply have to be more careful than Secret. Settling his purse, throwing a few basic Finder tools into a satchel, he locked up the shop and tucked away the key, then settled Goz more comfortably in his arms and headed out to the one place he would hopefully be able to find information in addition to food.

The Fat Rabbit was a small but prosperous inn and tavern at the end of his street, Rabbit Lane. Back when he had first moved here, and had nowhere else to stay, they had let him stay on for little more than chores until he'd finally gotten his odious master to accept him as an apprentice.

He still wished he could simply pack up and head to the larger cities to find a master, but that required more coin than he had, and an explanation as to why he had left a perfectly good apprenticeship—not that he would ever describe it that way.

Anyway, Saltmore was as large a city as he wanted to go. He didn't like the grander cities, even if the pay and opportunity would be better for a Finder. He didn't want to be good enough to find criminals and such for the King—he just wanted to keep finding lost jewels and naughty letters.

He also wanted to find Secret, before he and Goz froze to death.

The Fat Rabbit was a crowded mess when he reached it, so full that more than a few well-marinated patrons had taken over the space in front of the inn. Normally, this would annoy the shop keeps in the area, but tonight he saw all of them in the crowd. Shoving his way through them, holding tightly to Goz, who had begun to cry, he threw himself into the inn and muscled his way to the bar.

"Layla," he gasped out to the woman tending bar like a general would his battlefield. "Help."

She shoved some drinks at a handful of woodsmen, then quirked a brow at him. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she muscled aside some other workers and came up to him. "What have we here now? Do you even know what that is, young Master Lakeith?"

He glared at her. "It's a baby. A child. It's a bloody nuisance, is what it is. Can't we sit down somewhere?"

"Oh, aye," she said. "If only so I can hear the whole of this tale, it looks a right good one. Come on, then." She scowled as someone crashed into her, and gave the man a shove. "Here, now, you lummox, watch it!"

"Sorry, Layla!" the man said, and fled.

Snorting at him, Layla motioned for Tolan to follow her, laying into people here and there where they got in her way and somehow in the middle of the chaos managing to lead him to a quiet table and set down a full tray of food and drink as they sat.

"What a cute little thing," she cooed, smiling in a way that would have the whole of the inn gawking at her in disbelief. Layla didn't smile or coo at anything. She might have been a beautiful woman, in a softer life, but the hard life of running the inn after her husband died had left her simply pretty, in a rough, untamed sort of way. "Master Lakeith, what in the name of the gods, be they praised, are you doing with a baby?"

Goz stopped sucking and gnawing on the soft, mushy fruit she'd given him. "Find Secret."

Tolan smiled, then caught himself and scowled.

Layla laughed. "He's hired you to find something? Gods bless!"

"Not something," Tolan said, "someone. I think he got separated from his guardian in this damnable mess. He wandered into the shop and demanded I 'find Secret'."

"Strange name," Layla said idly, and began to feed Goz more food, small bits and pieces that Goz took eagerly. "Friendly tyke," she said. "Not at all afraid of people. I swear, my children shrieked if I let them go too long, at this age."

Tolan shrugged, and drank his ale. "I just hope I can find the man soon. I tried a spell, but it didn't work. So, the hard way it will have to be. I don't suppose you'd keep an ear to the wind for me?"

"Of course," Layla said, then frowned. "Did you spell him? What's this one mean?'

"Huh?" Tolan asked, then stared as she pushed back Goz's hair to reveal a small rune, inked in blue, just behind Goz's ear. "Well, I'll be damned."

"You will if you keep using that sort of language around a child," Layla said disapprovingly. "You didn't put that there."

"No," Tolan said. "That's diamond ink—most Finders don't need such fancy stuff, and I couldn't afford it even if I did. But the mark…" He started to swear, caught Layla's glare, and bit it back. "That's a Block rune. It renders him essentially invisible to all magic—which means he can't be Found." He silently rattled off every curse he knew. How had he not noticed the mark?

What the hell sort of child had a Block rune marked in diamond ink on his skin? That was at least a 500 gold spell. It took a highly competent mage to successfully write such a mark on skin. If Tolan tried such a thing, he'd just wind up with a poor tattoo and wasted time and money. Such powerful magic was the stuff of his dreams, and likely to stay that way.

But, it did tell him something interesting—whoever Secret was, he was a powerful mage, and likely a Finder, or frequently dealt with Finders. No one else would think of or bother to Block a Finder. Which led him right back to wondering who the hell Goz was, to warrant such a spell. It made his head throb, and his blood run cold. Ultimately, however, it didn't matter, because his duty remained unchanged. Reunite Goz with Secret.

"So where are you going next, Tolan?" Layla asked, dropping the playful 'Master Lakeith' as she grew serious.

Tolan sighed. "I don't know. Ask around, I guess. Hit a few more inns, see if I can find a sober City Guard, maybe." They both grimaced at that—the City Guard was about as disciplined and useful as his master. No one bothered them unless there was no other choice. Right now, he had other choices.

Layla nodded. "I'll spread word about, tell them to call at your shop…?"

"Yeah, after dark, cause I'll keep looking myself until then," Tolan replied. "Thank you, Layla."

"Of course, of course. We can't let this little thing go without his Secret, now can we?" She pinched Goz's cheek lightly, laughing when Goz pulled away and burrowed into Tolan's side. "He likes you."

"He likes everyone," Tolan said. "You said yourself he's awfully friendly for a baby."

Layla laughed. "Yes, but he is particularly attached to you, I think." She patted Goz's hair. "Tolan find Secret."

"Torn find Secret," Goz repeated, then looked up at Tolan. "Torn find Secret?"

"Yes," Tolan said, stifling another crazy urge to smile. "Tolan find Secret."

"Torn find Secret! Torn find Secret!" Matter settled to his satisfaction, Goz returned to decimating the little bits of food Layla had given him, wearing most of it by the end.

After he was cleaned up, Tolan picked him up and made certain his clothes were settled properly—after all this trouble, he refused to let the troublemaker freeze to death.

"It's started snowing," Layla said, looking out a window. "Best be careful, and stop frequently to warm up."

Tolan nodded, and said irritably, "I know, I know." He sighed and said more patiently. "Thanks again, Layla."

"No trouble," she said easily. "I'm certain his Secret will turn up in due time. Now get on with you, daylight is wasting."

"See you later," Tolan said, and departed.

Outside, the streets were still packed with drunken morons, the smell of ale and cider and less legal substances clogging the air, underscored by the scent of all manner of food, and other odors far less pleasant. It was no place for him, let alone a baby. When he found Secret he was going to give the bastard a good solid knock upside the head.

He trudged through the city, carrying along an increasingly heavy, and increasingly cranky, Goz. Minutes seemed like hours, and hours seemed like a living hell. No one knew 'Secret'. No one knew Goz. No one had heard of anyone searching for a lost baby.

When he finally broke down and spoke to the various City Guards he was able to find, he got a whole lot of nothing but an overwhelming urge to commit a public disturbance.

After he beat Secret half to death, he was going to charge the bastard a bloody fortune for all of this. Two bloody fortunes.

With Goz crying and fussing, himself three quarters numb and eight quarters exhausted, Tolan made his way back home as quickly as he could manage.

He fumbled with the key, dropping it three times before he finally managed to get the damned door open and them inside. Throwing his things on the floor, he stumbled his way to the nearest sofa, stripped off their sodden gear, and made certain Goz was settled, warm, and secure before he dragged himself to the fireplace.

When at last a fire was going, he swung the kettle over it to heat water for tea, then went to his master's desk and pulled out the bottle of brandy he wasn't supposed to know about. Fetching a teacup, he filled it half full with brandy, then finally returned to Goz.

Sniffling and repeating 'Torn find Secret' over and over, Goz clambered into his lap and clung to Tolan for dear life.

Tolan held him, petted and caressed in what he hoped was a soothing manner, and wished miserably he actually knew what to do with the poor thing. He took a sip of brandy, then made himself stand again, taking Goz into the back to at least get him cleaned and changed, and into his proper clothes. Then he fetched a blanket, and wrapped Goz in it, and returned to the main room.

By then, the water was ready and he made a cup of tea. Letting it steep, he made certain Goz wouldn't tumble off the couch, then went into the back again, down into the cellar where a jug of milk was kept. How exactly did one feed a baby? He should have paid more attention to what Layla was doing—except she hadn't really seemed to do more than let Goz have at it.

That probably wouldn't work as well with milk. Hmm. Well, he'd figure something out. He was pretty certain babies shouldn't have tea, and there was nothing else that would work. Except the brandy, but he knew that was an even worse idea than the tea.

Except, when he got back upstairs, Goz was fast asleep, burrowed into the blanket like it was some sort of nest, still muttering 'Torn' and 'Secret' in his sleep when he wasn't busy trying to suck on his little fingers.

Tolan set the jug of milk aside, and moved to the couch, gently scooping Goz up and stretching out on the couch himself. Then he settled Goz on his chest, and the blanket over both of them. He should probably move them to the bed…but it was warm and comfy here…what he should really be doing was trying to Find someone or something that would help him locate Secret, but…it really was nice and warm and soft and Goz was holding so still, and he actually looked harmless when he was asleep, and a short nap wouldn't hurt…

He jerked awake to the sound of his door slamming open—then everything went crazy.

People were talking, shouting, grabbing, throwing. Goz was crying, and Tolan roared in outrage as someone yanked the baby away, but then he hit the floor and clutched at his jaw, where someone had punched him hard.

"You, boy," said a man in dark clothes, with a heavy beard and eyes too dark to determine their color, "are in a great deal of trouble for kidnapping the Seabolt heir. Take him," he said curtly.

"I didn't kidnap him!" Tolan bellowed. "He found m—"

Pain flashed in the back of his head, and the last thing he heard was Goz shrieking for Torn and Secret.

*~*~*

"Steady now," said a voice that instantly made Tolan think of brandy and velvet and satin and all the things his clients did that they didn't want their spouses to know they were doing with other people. How the hell he could think of such things when he hurt in a way he did not ever want to experience again, he didn't know. But that voice reached past the pain and pulled the impressions right out of him. It was the sort of voice an Enchanter would kill to have, he though inanely, then finally managed to get his eyes open.

The room was dark, and it smelled like an alleyway after three dozen drunks had made use of it for a variety of purposes.

Then everything came flooding back. "Goz!" he said, and shoved sexy-voice away in a blind panic. "Where is Goz? Is he all right—"

"Shhh," the voice soothed, and firm hands grasped his arms. "Steady now, or you'll be sick. I've healed most of the damage done, but too much sudden movement and you'll regret it."

"Urgh," Tolan replied, already regretting it. "What the hell is going on? Where am I? Where's Goz?" He scowled as something else occurred to him. "I didn't kidnap him—oh shit, they said he was the Seabolt heir, gods damn it all to hell and back—"

Laughter cut him off, and Tolan glared at the man he could not really see in the gloom of what he now realized was probably a prison cell. He was amazed they simply had not killed him. "Are you always this chatty and scattered when you're frightened, little Finder?"

"Shut up," Tolan snapped. He pushed away from the aggravating voice and reached out to steady himself, then slowly stood up. "I have to find Goz, and you can bugger off."

The man laughed again. "It's Goss, actually. Goss Ralien Seabolt, only son of Lord and Lady Seabolt, and their proclaimed heir."

Tolan drew up short, abandoning his feeble attempts at the damned locked cell door to turn and peer at the indistinct shadow at the other end.

He heard the man murmur a few words, felt the whisper of magic against his skin, and then light flooded the cell from a ball of white-blue light. Tolan stared.

The man before him was tall and broad-shouldered, not overly-muscled but not exactly skinny either. He had short black hair framing a face that was beautiful in a cold, sharp way—like snow, or maybe ice would be more apropos. He was dressed in light leather armor over a dark green tunic and black breeches, with boots that came to knees.

Tolan bet his eyes were gray. "You're Secret!"

Laughing, the man swept him a bow. "Shaw Seacrist, at your service, apprentice."

Seacrist? Tolan made a sound that was equal parts curse and cry. "Seacrist? As in Master Finder Seacrist?"

"Guilty, I’m afraid."

Tolan was not typically given to losing his temper. In his line of work, one needed patience. Finding an object could take five minutes, or five weeks—even months. However, the past several hours of his life had been utterly wretched, even if Goz was maybe cute, and it was all this bastard's fault—Master or no Master.

"You're a bloody Master Finder," he howled, all but throwing himself across the room to start swinging and hitting at random like he did the brats who were always throwing or stealing things. "You're a gods damned Master Finder and you lost a baby? What sort of idiot—and now they've arrested me and I’m going to be hanged and it's all your fault you bloody stupid—"

He scowled as a leather-encased hand clapped over his mouth, and stupid Secret—Seacrist—laughed. "Temper, temper, little Finder," Seacrist said, the continued more seriously. "I am sorry for the trouble you've been caused. I won't let anyone hang you, especially since…" He sighed. "No, you've been dragged into this far enough. Come on, I'll take you somewhere safe."

Tolan pulled away. "You'll tell me what's going on, and I want to see Goz—Goss—to make certain for myself that he's all right. Obviously you're too stupid to take care of him, if you lost him."

Seacrist laughed again. "You're awfully fiery for a Finder."

"No," Tolan said, "I'm not. Something about being arrested for kidnapping a child I was only trying to help just brings out the angry in me—especially since I was trying to help him find you and now here you are, laughing at me and wholly unconcerned that Goss is still missing."

The levity vanished from Seacrist's demeanor in the blink of an eye, and his voice was cold when he spoke. "No, I am deeply concerned. I need to get him back, because I assure you that the last place he needs to be is back in the arms of his family. I was trying to get him away when everything went to hell."

Tolan frowned. "I’m horribly confused right now. What's going on? Where are we? What in the hells are you talking about—and what are you doing here?"

Seacrist laughed. "You really are a bit of a spark, aren't you, little Finder?"

"Stop calling me that," Tolan snapped.

"And so respectful," Seacrist murmured, obviously amused. "Let us get out of here, and I will explain if you like—after all you have been through, you are owed that much." He held out one hand. "Come on."

Tolan frowned at him, but reluctantly placed his hand in Seacrist's.

Seacrist tugged him sharply forward, until Tolan had to place a hand on Seacrist's chest to avoid his face winding up pressed against it. The hand holding his let go, then wrapped around Tolan's waist—then Seacrist spoke several low words, and a cold far worse than anything winter could muster washed over him.

Then they were standing in his shop, which was dark and messy and—" How the hell did you do that?" Tolan demanded. "You're a bloody Finder, how are you capable of Shifting? Never mind, I don't care." He sat down on the nearest piece of relatively whole furniture and buried his face in his hands. "How did you even Find me?" Because that much was obvious—Seacrist had Found him in the prison cell, and obviously Shifted there to get him. Why, he didn't know, but it seemed clear that's what he'd done.

"Never mind my tricks," Seacrist said, righting a knocked over chair and carefully inspecting it. Satisfied with whatever he found, he sat down and braced the ankle of one leg over the knee of the other, settling his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers together. "Now—I have been trolling this city all day, attempting to find Goss. I hid him when it seemed as though I was about to be caught, and fled to lose the bastards. When I came back, Goss of course had gone off somewhere. It was only about an hour ago that I learned of you—too late. I found the mess here, and tracked down people who knew you. From their descriptions, and the books here which belonged to you, I was able to Find you where they had locked you up."

Tolan shook his head. "Why is it bad for Goss to be with his family?"

"What do you know of the Seabolts?"

"The same things everyone knows," Tolan said with a shrug. "The King may wear the crown, but it is the Four Families which really rule the country. Seabolt rules the north, Seacrist the west, Seamont the south, and Sealore the east. The Seabolts have been struggling to bear a son for the past several years—so to say he is in danger from them is absurd."

"Not," Seacrist said softly, "if their power was waning."

Tolan opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to think of anything to say to that.

It was…it couldn't be. "That's just myth and legend," he finally managed.

Seacrist's silence was not reassuring.

The Four Families were nigh on legendary. The Seacrist before him now was one of the best Finders in the whole country—some said the world. Such power was always attached to wild stories—some good, some bad.

Of the bad, the most popular stories were those of the sacrifices. Once upon a time, the old stories went, the kingdom had been a land of chaos—factions, clans, war, blood, and magic that went unchecked. Magic without limits was a terrible, frightening thing.

Power could be lost or gained, it was said, through various means. Sacrifice, back in those dark days, had been the most popular choice. Animals known to be strongly bound to one element or another…other mages…

The oldest stories said those that had eventually become the Four Families sacrificed their own blood to help their power grow. Untapped power was the most potent, for it had not yet been shaped and molded. A block of wood, waiting to be carved. While still a block, unshaped, untouched, it held all the potential of the world. Only when the path was chosen, a particular magic selected, was the block whittled down to a particular shape—magic lost, magic gained.

Untapped power was the most potent, and according to old myths, a proper sacrifice would give that untapped power to the sacrifice. All the better, the stories went, if sacrifice and sacrificed were of the same blood. Oak to oak, ash to ash, maple to maple.

A child still little more than a babe…

"It can't be true—who would be that sick?" He demanded.

"The Seabolts," Seacrist said flatly. "I learned of what they intended, and attempted to get the child well away. So far, I have failed. I must save Goss before it is too late."

Tolan felt sick. "There is still time?"

"Yes," Seacrist said softly, "though only just. Three days from now, they will make the sacrifice."

"Isn't anyone else going to stop them? They can't just do that to a gods damned child!" Tolan bellowed. "Can't the King? Why are you—" He shut his mouth with an audible click, too furious to even know what to say. "They can't do that."

"No, they can't," Seacrist agreed. "As to others interfering—that would send the Seabolts fleeing. We are attempting to collect enough information against them; we nearly have all we need to see them strung up in the palace square. This is not the first time they've done something beyond the pale—it's merely the first time we've stood a good chance at catching them at it." He was quiet a moment, then said, "I am sorry you were unwittingly dragged into this affair. You will be compensated—"

"You can take your compensation and choke on it," Tolan snarled. "I want to help save Goss, and then I'm taking him away from all you bloody incompetent morons so no one else can sacrifice him or lose him."

Seacrist stared at him, then laughed loud and long. "You are a spark, little Finder. I think perhaps you are wasted in this little hovel studying under a master who is only interested in finding the next barrel of ale to be drained."

Tolan glared at him. "Are you eyeing me up for a sacrifice?" he asked, just because he was angry and wanted to make someone else mad too.

It didn't work. Something flashed, hot and bright, in Seacrist's eyes, but it wasn't anger. Whatever it was, it made the room suddenly insufferably warm, and Tolan wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Seacrist has its traditions, little spark, but such bloodthirsty sacrifice is not one of them."

"My name," Tolan said scathingly, "is Tolan Lakeith. Not little Finder, not Apprentice, not spark or anything else you come up with. Tolan."

"At your service, little spark," Seacrist said with a smirk. "You may call me Shaw, if you like, or Seacrist. I think you've made it clear that 'my lord' will not be forthcoming, and I do not prefer to stand on ceremony anyway."

Tolan abruptly recalled that it should be 'my lord' and that if Seacrist felt like it, he could have Tolan punished for the intolerable rudeness he had been displaying for the past hour or so. If the worst he was going to get was that aggravating 'little spark' then he should just quit while he was ahead and suffer in silence.

Instead, he pushed on, "I want to help save Goss."

"No," Seacrist said. "I understand why you care, and it speaks well of you that you do—but this is no adventure for apprentices. It is far too dangerous."

"Yes," Tolan said acidly, "and if I don't go along it might be Goss who suffers. You already lost him once. Gods only know what you'll do next time. I'm coming."

Seacrist stared at him, then shook his head and laughed softly. "All right, little spark. But do as I say, without question."

Tolan opened his mouth to say not likely, then shut it again, and nodded stiffly instead.

He could see from the smirk on Seacrist's face that he hadn't fooled anyone.

"I'm serious," Seacrist said more seriously. "Do you think a family which would kill its own child would hesitate to kill you? Stay close to me, and do what I say."

"All right," Tolan said quietly. "What are you going to do with Goss once you've saved him?"

Seacrist shrugged. "I do not know, yet," he said. "That is likely a matter for the King to decide."

Tolan kept his opinions to himself. "So, are we going now?"

"Shouldn't you get cleaned up and ready for the journey, little spark?"

"I’m not little," Tolan groused, but realized that he was being rather hasty. Standing up, he trudged across the wreckage to the backrooms to prepare for only the gods knew what.

Half an hour later, absently wondering where his idiot master had fallen down drunk that he was still oblivious to the fact his shop had been trashed by child-sacrificing bastards, he settled a pack on his back and rejoined Seacrist in the main room.

Seacrist was facing the fire, his back to Tolan. His shoulders were even broader than Tolan had remembered, narrowing to trim waist and hips. He wore a sword casually at his hip, something Tolan had not really noticed before. His hair was pitch black, seeming to absorb the firelight.

Being called 'little' annoyed Tolan to no end, but there was no denying standing even this close to Seacrist made him feel small. He'd never been more than just barely average in height, and Seacrist was taller than anyone else he knew or had even seen in passing.

He turned, and Tolan tried to pretend he hadn't been staring. "Ready?"

Tolan nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Why, to Castle Seabolt, of course," Seacrist said with a smile. "Hold on tight."

"How in the hell does a Finder use Shift?" Tolan asked, and tried not to notice how Seacrist's arm felt curled around his waist, pulling him up against that broad chest. Now was so not the time to start lusting after someone completely out of his league. Seriously. They were going to save a child from becoming a blood sacrifice—there was no way lust was appropriate.

Of course, Seacrist could at least have the decency to be ugly and coarse and rude and wholly unappealing as most nobles, in Tolan's limited experience, tended to be. This good looking and nice laugh and sexy voice was completely inappropriate and downright despicable.

Seacrist only laughed in reply to the question, and holding Tolan tight, quietly spoke the necessary spell.

Tolan shivered as they reappeared wherever the hells on Seabolt territory they were. "That's r-really cold."

"You get used to it," Seacrist replied.

"I still want to know how you can do it," Tolan muttered. He pushed away and made certain his pack was still in place, stamped his feet to warm up a bit, and tilted his head up—and up—to ask, "So what now?"

Seacrist looked around with a frown. "Now we have to find them, which is much easier said than done."

"Do they all have Blocks?" Tolan asked.

"Yes," Seacrist replied, absently reaching with one hand to his own head, briefly touching the space behind his ear. "It's dangerous, of course, to keep yourself from being Found, but safer, too."

"Yes, I can see it's working so well right now," Tolan retorted. He ignored the amusement on Seacrist's face and pulled out his scry crystal. There was no time for nonsense, they had to find Goss before it was too late. But how? What could he Find that would take him to Goss?

He held all the necessary images in his head, setting them mentally as he would physically on a scry board. All he lacked was the object of the Find…there had to be something…

"You can do mental scrying?" Seacrist asked.

Tolan's concentration slipped, and he scowled. "Yes," he said. "It's sort of necessary, at times." And other times he was simply too lazy to go to all the fuss and bother of setting up the board. Learning it had been hard, but the kids on the street were always willing to help him by 'losing' things for him to try and find.

"You're only a third year apprentice," Seacrist said. "There's no way you should have the mental strength for that yet—scrying without tools is something even the best Finders can't learn until the fifth year."

"Most Finders," Tolan snapped, "don't have to do all the bloody work while their masters get drunk or sleep off hangovers, or try to get their own hands under the skirts or tunics of the cheating bastards we're helping. Most Finders get lessons and tests and encouragement. I get to struggle alone to keep the business afloat and learn my lessons from books and whatever I can beat out of my master."

He jerked back around and raised his crystal again. A Finder of Seacrist's capabilities would not need even that, but Tolan never had the time or energy to learn how to scry without a crystal. Pulling the spell together again, stubbornly ignoring the warm, solid weight he could feel at his back—what was Seacrist up to?—he focused again on Goss.

Goss…

"How old is Goss?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh, he is a few months from being two. Why?"

Prickles trailed across Tolan's neck, though if it was from the rush of realization or the way Seacrist's breath brushed along it, he couldn't say for certain. Damn it, why was the man standing so close? Scowling, he focused on his one tiny chance.

Less than two years old. Then, in Goss' mind, he wasn't Goss. The Block had been made to protect Goss Ralien Seabolt—but when asked his name, Goss had told Tolan his name was 'Goz'. That's who he was, in his child's mind.

A name was the most important part of finding something. It was all well and good to search for a misplaced pearl necklace—but was it Katrin's pearl necklace, or Rudi's pearl necklace? Who really owned them? Who had paid for them? With a person, the name became extremely crucial, because it had to be the right name. The one the person in question thought of himself to be. If a man was called Bill his entire life, the he probably did not regard himself to be William, even if that was his given name.

It was only one of many complications involved with names and Finding.

He hoped that it was something everyone in this great debacle had overlooked. Goss did not think of himself as Goss—he thought of himself as Goz.

Tolan closed his eyes. Firmly holding the spell in his mind, crystal at the ready, he added Goz's name to it and silently cast the spell.

"Don't let go of the spell," Seacrist murmured in his ear, and Tolan shivered despite himself, but obediently managed not to let go of the spell.

He left a leather-encased hand wrap around his wrist. "Keep the spell, let go of the crystal."

Tolan glared, or tried, but it was hard to glare at someone when his eyes were closed and the object of the glare was behind him. He started to argue, but was immediately prevented. "Do as you're told, apprentice," Seacrist said firmly, but with a thread of amusement.

Reluctantly, Tolan let go of the crystal. The hand around his wrist moved to rest over his own hand, the leather warm and soft, Seacrist's hand completely overwhelming his own.

"Now," Seacrist said, "hold the crystal in your mind as you would the rest of the spell. It's simply one more element, and if you've managed the rest, this should come easily."

Tolan attempted to obey, holding the image of his crystal there with all the rest, fingers twitching with a need to hold it, to have that visible, solid focus to direct the Finding.

"Good," Seacrist said, and Tolan really wished he'd stop using that soft, low voice in his damned ear and stop standing so close and touching him while he was at it, damn it. "Focus harder, so far I can feel your spell holding fine—now just push it."

Setting aside his questions as to feeling spells for later, Tolan tried to obey. It…wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be, though he still did not like being without his crystal.

Then the spell abruptly took, racing through him with the hot rush of success—focusing in his mind, then his hand, as it almost seemed to move of its own volition.

When he opened his eyes, he was pointing toward the western end of the territory, and he could see clearly in his mind the room in which Goz lay hidden, and how to get there. "It worked," he breathed.

"Beautifully," Seacrist murmured, and slowly let go of him, and only then did Tolan realize Seacrist's hand was still covering his own. "Some get overwhelmed by it the first time, and need steadying. You needed no such thing; you're an excellent Finder, little spark."

Tolan tried to be annoyed by the stupid epithet, but he was too busy flushing with such high praise given by a master Finder—and the Seacrist Finder at that. "We need to go to Goss," he said, and pointed. "That way, there are some steps hidden in the cliffs, leading down to a cavern."

Seacrist looked at him in surprise. "Goss? How did you Find Goss? I placed that spell myself, and I know it works."

"You placed it, and tested it, on Goss—I looked for Goz."

Seacrist looked at him, then smiled and laughed ruefully. "Well done, my little spark, well done indeed."

Tolan scowled, but said nothing, merely bent to retrieve his dropped crystal. Tucking it away, he then turned sharply and began to walk toward the cliffs. He got three steps, and then was snatched back, colliding awkwardly with Seacrist, whose hands landed on his shoulders to steady him.

"Let me go first," Seacrist said. "You seem to have forgotten we're in as much danger as anyone—it is by good luck alone we have not already been seen. Stay behind me, keep close, and do whatever I tell you."

Nodding, Tolan fell back and let Seacrist take the lead, following him quickly but carefully to the cliffs.

"Ah," Seacrist said softly in satisfaction. "I see the steps you mentioned. Clever, clever. A pity we couldn't share the vision, though, for that would make the going faster." Then he was going to down the steps roughly carved into the cliff in such a way that, if you did not know they were there, you would not see them.

Share the vision? That was complex magic, and Finder magic was complicated enough to begin with. He shoved the question away as one more Seacrist probably wouldn't answer, and settled for asking one that might get answered. "Why does Goss call you his guardian?"

"It's a tradition to appoint a member of one of the other family's as guardian to a child. My own guardian, as a boy, came from the Sealore family. Strengthens ties and all that rot," Seacrist replied. "I knew something was strange when they rarely let me see the boy, combined with everything else we knew or suspected about them. Now, silence."

Tolan obediently fell silent, as they left the stairs behind and vanished into the dark cool of a cavern that, once well away from the entrance, offered no light. He could smell the trace of torches, and wondered why they would use torches instead of magic to light their way.

It would be nice to have some light, but the need for caution took precedence. Anyway, he knew where to go, and as smoothly as Seacrist was moving he obviously was not impeded by the dark. That just figured. Was there anything the damned man couldn't do?

He suddenly remembered how it had felt to stand with Seacrist pressed up against his back, the feel of that large hand wrapped over his own, and the cave abruptly seemed hot and stifling. Argh, now was not the time to realize he hadn't played with the pretty bits at the Rabbit in too long. Of course, now all he could think was that none of them had shoulders quite like that…

Scowling, he focused on Goss. He hoped they were in time. How could anyone slaughter a child just for magic? How could anyone stand to kill, period. Did the other families do the same thing? Surely not—if Seacrist was this mad about it, that must mean he didn't do it. And he had said that Seacrist had its traditions, but blood sacrifice wasn't one of them.

What were their traditions, then? Something about it had sparked… He oomphed softly as in front of him, Seacrist came to an abrupt halt.

"You'll have to lead the way for the time being, little spark, for it's a dead end now to me. But have a care."

Tolan nodded, then realized Seacrist couldn't see the nod in the dark, and muttered a stiff yes. Then he moved past, probably imagining the steadying hand that lingered overlong on his hip, and realized they had reached the door he'd seen in his Finding.

"It's locked," he said quietly. "Unless you want to try and Find the key, I'm not certain…"

Seacrist laughed softly, and Tolan jumped, because he hadn't realized he was quite that close. "There are other ways," he said. "If it's a basic lock, which I'm willing to bet it is, then a simple wind-based spell should work fine."

"How do you know all this?" Tolan groused, still quietly. "You're a Finder."

"That's only what I'm registered as being," Seacrist said. "The King prefers to keep certain truths off record."

Tolan had no reply to that, except maybe to roll his eyes because really he'd had enough of poor masters and idiot Secrets and baby-killing bastards.

He startled when a hand wrapped around his own, and pressed it to the lock. "Pay attention," Seacrist said in his ear. "I'll expect you to know how to do it at the end of the month."

Before Tolan could summon a retort, Seacrist was speaking the words of a spell that made Tolan's head spin with its complexity. It was, as Seacrist had said, wind-based—but confined to a small space, and a very strict set of movements. He felt it as the spell was released, where his hand was wrapped in Seacrist's and pressed against the lock.

A lock-picking spell. He had not even known such things existed. He devoutly hoped his customers never learned of it.

The door gave a faint creak as it opened, and only as Seacrist stepped away and gave him space did Tolan realize how much difficultly he'd had breathing normally around the damned man. Honestly, he was never helping a child again. He didn't care how pitiful and forlorn it looked.

Stifling a sigh, he followed him through the door and into another hallway—but this one was lit with torches, and carried dozens of smells. Smoke, ash, some sort of perfume, incense…and blood.

Disregarding the way Seacrist had told him to stay back, Tolan bolted forward, throwing himself through the velvet drapes covering a wide archway—into a room that said far too plainly that all the legends were true.

It was a terrible room, mostly because there was nothing overtly wrong with it. It looked like almost any temple room would. Small marble statues of the various gods lined two walls, with the primary Ocean Mother in niches at the farthest wall, behind the main altar. Soft prayers rugs were rolled up and stacked neatly at the back wall, just a few steps from where he stood. Incense braziers were scattered about, and a shelf below the altar held various prayer books and scrolls.

The only wrongness to the room was the altar itself—rather, the baby wrapped in blankets and left upon it. Just as he had seen in his Finding, Goss was fast asleep. Drugged or spelled, he didn't know, but he was still alive.

Crossing the room, he strode up the few short steps to the altar and scooped Goss up, blankets and all.

Goss didn't stir, but he didn't look to be anything more than deeply asleep. Turning away from the nasty altar, and the stains upon it that could only be one thing, he faced Seacrist. "Were they just going to leave him down here, cold and starving?" he demanded. "Just let him rot here until they killed him?"

"It would have made him too tired to put up much of a fuss," Seacrist said quietly. "Contrary to the popular myths, sacrifices were not well treated before they died. What is the point in wasting so much effort on something that is going to die, anyway?"

Tolan's lip curled. "Disgusting and pathetic. Are all the families like this? If power starts to fade from Seacrist, to what lengths will they go to restore it?"

"Do you know the Seacrist family motto?" Seacrist asked, gray eyes sharp and clear even in the dimly lit chamber.

"No," Tolan said.

"Those who take gain nothing. Those who give gain everything. Perhaps in our darkest, earliest days, Seacrist was as guilty of sacrifice as anyone else—but we soon found another way. We tried to share it; some took up that method, others did not. Seabolt, obviously, prefers the oldest of ways."

Tolan grunted, somewhat mollified but not really. He wanted to know what that other method was, except he really shouldn't care because none of this was any of his business past ensuring that Goss would be safe and not killed or lost again.

He glared at Seacrist. "Take us home."

Seacrist's mouth curved in an amused smirk. "Gladly." Reaching out, he grasped Tolan's arms and tugged him close. "Hold tight to Goss."

"Well, I'm certainly not giving him to you," Tolan said witheringly, ignoring the niggling voice that tried to remind him that this man was of noble blood, and would probably stop finding Tolan's rudeness amusing very soon.

Laughing, Seacrist looped an arm around his shoulders, held tight to his arm with his other hand, and spoke the words of the Shift spell.

Tolan expected to see his master's shop when he opened his eyes, and probably a furious, still-drunk master to go with it. Instead, he saw a beautiful room done all in cream, blue and green. It was circular, with windows spanning the whole, overlooking a breathtaking landscape that had mountains out one window and the sea out another, and a hint of a beautiful castle below.

"This is not home," he said flatly, even though the deep, soft-looking sofas were vastly appealing and something smelled like cream and honey. Before he could finish demanding an explanation, the bundle in his arms began to stir, and Goss woke abruptly with a shriek.

"Goss!" Tolan said, clutching him close. "It's okay."

Goss sniffled and went still. "Torn?"

"Yes, Torn," Tolan said, and smiled as Goss looked at him wide-eyed. "Torn found Goz." He nodded at Seacrist. "Torn found Secret."

Goss stared, then turned—and shrieked in delight as he saw Seacrist. "Secret! Secret! Torn found Secret!" He all but threw himself out of Tolan's arms in his eagerness to get to Seacrist.

Chuckling, Seacrist took him, holding Goss close and kissing his cheek. "There, there, little Goss. All is well."

"Torn found Secret," Goss said, sounding almost awed. Then he wrapped his arms as best he could around Seacrist, and attempted to burrow into him.

Smiling, Seacrist moved to one of the sofas and settled into it. He motioned for Tolan to join him.

"This isn't home," Tolan said again, reaching out to stroke Goss' hair, smiling back when Goss beamed at him and mumbled about 'Torn' and 'Secret'. Whatever had caused him to wake up screaming had already faded into a distant nightmare. He hoped, anyway.

He wondered how, when Goss was older, anyone would be able to explain how he'd come to live with the Seacrist rather than the Seabolt.

Seacrist smiled. "You said take you home—you didn't whose home. Obviously Goss' was out, and I saw no good reason to return to yours. So I brought you to mine. I'm certain you'll like it, and we'll get all your things in the next couple of days and settle you right in. I was thinking the sand room. It's close to mine, and plenty spacious, and—"

"And what in the hell is going on here?" Tolan demanded. "Why would I live with you?"

"Because you are going to be my apprentice," Seacrist said, still smiling. "One moment." In his arms, Goss was already drifting back to sleep—if he had been spelled or drugged, then his body now would want to sleep off the effects of that. Seacrist rose and moved to settle him in a deep chair, adjusting the blankets so that he could not fall out by accident.

Then he strode back to the couch. "You're too brilliant to waste on that little shop and the idiot master you were shouting about," he said, settling in much closer than they had been before.

"Don't I get a choice here?" Tolan demanded. "I know being bossy comes naturally to your sort, but I was never very good at just following orders."

Seacrist grinned. "Obviously, since you're practicing magic without a license and not even pretending to be cautious about it."

Tolan opened his mouth, then closed it again. Seacrist was right—almost everything he'd done today, he shouldn't have been doing. Not without a license. He was just an apprentice. If Seacrist wanted to turn him for it, he could, and that would be that.

"If you want to go back to your shop, I'll take you," Seacrist said more seriously. "But, you're a brilliant Finder. In a few more years, I think you'll surpass me."

"What—that—impossible!" Tolan said.

"No, it's quite true," Seacrist said. "I could teach you a great deal more, besides. You have the potential, the talent, and the discipline. You taught yourself to Find without tools—even I had to have someone else teach me. You should stay here and finish your apprenticeship with me."

Tolan opened and closed his mouth three times, then shook his head. "Don't you think you're being rash?"

"Not at all, my little spark," Seacrist said with a grin. "Anyway, who will take care of Goss if you're not around, since you've stated I am too incompetent by half to manage it?"

"That is cheating," Tolan said with a glare. "I've only known Goss for a day, and you for a few hours, and now you want me to move in with you and give up my life in the city and—what? Are all your type this crazy?"

Seacrist laughed. "I am often called crazy, yes. Of course I do not expect you to agree immediately, though I think you should. I will take you home, and in a few days, you can tell me? But, Goss will miss you, I think. If he has bothered to learn your name, then he likes you."

"Stop using the child!" Tolan snapped. "That is not playing fair."

This time, Seacrist smirked. "Well, I can go back to my first plan if you like, but I figured using Goss was slightly more honorable."

Tolan stared at him witheringly. "What, pray tell, is less honorable than using a child to manipulate me?"

Seacrist leaned in close, until they were little more than a breath apart. "Seducing you."

Then he was gone, striding from the room muttering about food and laughing gently.

Tolan gaped after him, and it felt as though his face were on fire. Seduce—surely not. He had misheard. The Seacrist Finder, seducing him? Into being his apprentice? And saying that Tolan would someday be a better Finder?

Shaking his head, shoving the thoughts aside because they were entirely too much to deal with, he moved to the chair and checked on the sleeping Goss. He hoped the bastards who had wanted to kill a helpless child were strung up and left to die slowly. Boiled in the sun, or something.

He tensed as the door opened, stomach growling at the scent of food but the rest of him too tense to even move as he dared a glance at Seacrist and those damned words played over and over again in his head. Seducing you.

Swallowing, he stroked Goss' hair, then moved stiffly to the table.

"I meant it," Seacrist said as he approached. "I don't know how such a talented and pretty Finder managed to slip beneath everyone's notice, but I don't intend to let you disappear again without a fight. I would like you to stay."

Tolan shrugged, not certain what he was trying to convey. "What will happen to the damned Seabolts?"

Seacrist pushed a full plate toward him, looking vaguely amused. "They will go to trial—that's another reason for you to stay close. You saw that room. You can testify to that and what happened to you. Rather, your testimony would be appreciated. If the trial goes accordingly, they will be sentenced to exile or execution. "

"Of course I'll testify," Tolan snapped. "I think the whole lot of you need strung up or heavily beaten. Anyone who would do that to a child—" He broke off and picked at a piece of bread.

There was silence for several minutes, then Seacrist said quietly, "All jesting and provocation aside, I would like to extend an offer to you. Stay here, with me, for a brief trial period. I can present you with all the necessary certification to say I am not one of those who needs to be strung up. Some would probably say I do need beaten, so I will not argue that. Stay with me, say for a month, and if at that time you would still like to return home, it will be done. But I would like to take you on, and see you reach your full potential. I think your current situation is a waste of your talent."

Tolan frowned. "Why would you do that? There's hardly anything in it for you. As busy as you must be, you can't have time for an apprentice."

"One, you will not be an apprentice long. I think we can have you passing your tests by the end of the trial period. Then you will be free to do as you like, regardless of your decision to stay or go. I am busy, which is why it would be nice to have someone competent to help me. I've considered apprentices before, but they never pass muster. And I think there is plenty more in it for me."

His eyes flashed in that way that made the room too hot and breathing extremely difficult, and Tolan was thinking about seduction again and wondered if he would ever really consider being that stupid.

Still…apprenticing under the Seacrist Finder. That was something mages everywhere would kill to have a chance at. He could take his journeyman tests…and there was Goss, of whom he was fond even if it was probably stupid to be so fond of someone after only a day.

If he didn't like it, well, he could leave. Couldn't be any worse than his stupid drunken oaf of a master, anyway.

"One month," he said tersely, and ignored Seacrist's pleased, more than a little smug expression in favor of finally eating.