Samuel sat bolt upright at once and heard two shouts of surprise. He was back in the carriage again, and he saw Arthur and Rebecca sitting next to him, their faces changing from worried to shocked before his very eyes. Only Grimr, who was sitting curled up on a cushion at his feet, showed no sign of surprise.

“Young master! You're awake.” Arthur gasped, clutching Samuel's shoulder tightly. “Thank the gods!”

Rebecca too reached out to touch him, though her grip was not as tight as her father's. She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. “You scared us pretty bad there, Samuel.”

“Why?” He was aware of saying. “W-what happened?”

“Well,” said Rebecca slowly, not sure if Samuel was recovered yet. “You cast a spell. A really powerful one by the looks of it. Obviously it cost you too much, and you passed out right after.”

So it had really happened then, Samuel thought. He looked back to Grimr, whose violet eyes were open and staring at him unblinkingly.

It appears that I was not careful enough when using you. His voice had a slight tinge of regret. I cannot cast spells in this form, and so must rely on others as a medium.

“I cast a spell?” Samuel spluttered, as shocked as they were. “But I didn't mean to. What did the spell do?”

“You mean you didn't decide to cast the spell?” Arthur asked incredulously.

Samuel shook his head, and immediately regretted it. He realized that his head was throbbing, and his body was sore all over, like he'd been running all day. “I've never cast a spell before. I've never even tried.”

Arthur's face was blank shock and confusion. “Well, as Rebecca said, it was powerful. It killed three of the bandits instantly, knocked out another five, and stunned the rest.”

Samuel felt as if a lead weight had slipped into his stomach. “I k-killed them?” he stuttered, horrified at what he’d heard.

Arthur nodded solemnly. He'd never been forced to take a life before, but he could understand the young man's quandary. There was a large gulf between having clean hands and having spilled blood. “You have no reason to be ashamed, young master. If not for you, we could have lost lives.”

“So none of ours were killed?” Samuel asked. As Arthur confirmed with a nod, he heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, that's good I suppose.”

Rebecca patted his shoulder gently. “You saved my life, Samuel. Those bandits were stunned long enough for Shigeru to take care of them.”

Samuel looked down at his hands as if checking to see if they were covered in blood. They were surprisingly clean compared to his robe, which was coated in dust from when he'd hit the ground. “How long was I out?”

Arthur and Rebecca looked at each other uneasily, which did nothing to lower his anxiety. The steward's face was grave as he answered.

“You were unconscious for nearly a week.” He said it softly as if hoping that would make it less hard to hear.

“A whole week!” Samuel exclaimed. How could this be possible?

“We're almost back to Milagre now,” Rebecca said. “We were going to rush you to the temple as soon as we got to the city, but Shigeru insisted that you would be fine. He wouldn't give us any explanation, but he convinced us to just lay you down in the carriage.”

Samuel noticed the use of Shigeru's true name. Seeking for a change of subject, he asked, “I take it you know who Shigeru really is now?”

Arthur nodded. “He told us his true identity after he dealt with the bandits, as well as what you discussed when you went off for water.”

Samuel decided to ignore the look of faint outrage on Arthur's face as he thought of the foolhardy plan, but the steward wasn't willing to let the matter drop.

“You're lucky Shigeru is a good man. A less honorable man would have killed you while you were separated from us..” the steward stated angrily.

Samuel chuckled lightly, then grimaced in pain as his head throbbed again. “He wasn't going to kill me. I mean, I thought he might at first, but as you said, he's a good man.”

Arthur opened his mouth to complain further, but the sound of their carriage’s driver calling the caravan to a halt outside interrupted him. Then, they could hear a guard’s voice through the open window bark an order.

“Halt! Declare your cargo!”

Arthur moved to the door of the carriage, motioning for Samuel to stay put. Samuel was grateful for that because his head was still pounding incessantly. He laid back down across the pillows, smiling slightly at Rebecca as he heard Arthur call to the guard outside. She kept her eyes fixed on his face as if fearing he might suddenly burst into flames.

“Good evening, Sergeant. We are the delegation of Lord Bragg, returning home after a long journey.” Arthur’s tone was polite but crisp. It left Samuel in no doubt that he did not appreciate the holdup at the gate.

“Lord Bragg?” The guard sounded more than a little skeptical. “I heard he was dead. Isn’t he buried out back behind his manor house?”

Judging by Arthur’s tone, his annoyance was more than a little obvious. “Of course he’s dead. That’s why we went out on a journey. We went to fetch his son, and bring him to Milagre.”

“Did you now?” The guard said, his voice stubborn, with an annoyance that matched Arthur’s. “Where is his son, then?”

“Young Lord Bragg has been taken ill,” Arthur snapped, assuming a superior air. “He is resting inside the carriage. We’ve already informed the Seneschal of our journey, and you’ll not be disturbing my lord with your rudeness.”

“I’ll be disturbing who I wish, steward.” The guard sneered, spitting out the last word as if it were an insult. “I haven’t seen this new lord, so you can’t go in.”

“What’s your name?” Arthur demanded. Before the guard could reply, he continued. “I’ve been a steward to the Bragg estate longer than you’ve been employed, young man. Shall I speak to o’Healy about the fantastic job you’re doing keeping enemies out of the city, then?”

Based on the context of Arthur’s angry delivery and the sudden stammer from the guard, Samuel guessed that o’Healy was the man’s commanding officer. Or perhaps the Captain of the Watch.

“No, that won’t be necessary. You can carry on.” The guard said, suddenly more polite and even more fearful.

Samuel was vaguely aware of Arthur scoffing, then, a few moments later, the carriage door opened again, and the steward climbed back in. He wore a look that was equal parts exasperation and annoyance. When he caught Samuel studying him with a raised eyebrow, he shook his head slightly and took a deep breath.

“I did not wish for you to witness that side of Milagre on your first day, young master,” Arthur said apologetically. “As of late, the guards seem to think that they can get away with harassing the residents of the city.”

Samuel shrugged, not the least bit interested in getting mixed up in political matters. “Not to worry, Arthur. You did what you had to do. Some people can’t be reasoned with.”

Arthur took another deep breath, making a visible effort to calm himself. As a steward, he probably disliked having his emotions bared for others to see. He undoubtedly preferred to stay calm and collected, so as to not have his actions reflect badly upon the Bragg estate.

“So how far is my father’s estate now?” Samuel asked interestedly, seeking to take Arthur’s mind off the rude guard behind them.

“Your estate, young master,” Arthur corrected him with a warm smile, recognizing Samuel’s ploy for what it was. “And we’re taking the High Road now, so it shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.

Samuel nodded his pleasure at the news, suddenly eager to end this journey. Granted, he had been unconscious for most of it, but he still felt as though he’d been laying in that carriage for weeks. He was eager for rest too, he thought. Judging by the faint light coming through the window of the carriage, it was getting dark, and he was looking forward to a full night’s rest on that soft bed that Arthur had promised.

It wasn’t long in coming, as the steward had said. They spent just over ten minutes trundling along a cobbled road, and Samuel passed the time by staring out the small window at the buildings and people they passed. In Harlest, there had only been one building higher than a single story, and that had been the inn. But here in Milagre, he noticed that there were a great number of buildings that had multiple floors.

The number of floors on a building seemed to generally increase the deeper they went into town, but they were all of a similar design. One building, bearing the universal sign for a smithy, was made mostly of stone on the ground floor, where the blacksmith would do his work and conduct his business. But the second floor was made of sturdy wood and had a much more homely feel. Samuel assumed that was where the blacksmith and his family retired to at the end of the day.

There were many lights on throughout the city, which was a new sight for Samuel. He was used to Harlest going almost completely dark at night when everyone was asleep. Here, however, many restaurants and taverns were just getting business started for the night. The most obvious sign of this was the voices of the people. They called to one another, argued with one another, or laughed with one another, and there were even a few tongues present that Samuel couldn’t understand.

Samuel couldn’t help but smile at the sight Milagre presented. In their short ride to the estate, Samuel saw four times the number of people that lived in Harlest, and they all seemed to know each other to some degree. From inside a packed and noisy tavern, Samuel could hear the rippling sound of an instrument, overlaid by a pleasant voice raised in song.

“It is a very lively city, to be sure,” Arthur commented, pulling Samuel’s attention for a moment. “They say that Milagre never truly sleeps. At any hour, you can expect to see people about.”

Samuel marveled silently at the thought that the city never truly went silent. It was hard to believe that there wasn’t a single moment where one could find solitude. Though he reasoned that there were probably some hours where things quieted down a little, allowing others to sleep.

The carriage came to a stop for the second time, tearing Samuel away from his thoughts. The view outside his window now showed a simple but elegant fountain carved from white marble. The fountain was running, adding the gentle tinkling of running water to the other soft sounds of the night. The water sparkled with reflected light from whatever stood on the other side of the carriage, and Samuel realized that they must have reached their destination.

“Step out if you please, young master.” Arthur had already clambered out of the carriage and stood waiting for Samuel to step out as well.

Samuel moved carefully, thankful that the drumming inside his head had died down a little. The carriage had pulled up to a circular path of some sort, paved with great white flagstones, and, as Samuel had noticed upon arrival, housing a large fountain. But as he set his feet upon the flagstones, he realized that he was standing in a courtyard of sorts, and turned around to view what was behind him.

A large building, three floors tall, stood before him. It loomed over him, the white-washed walls catching the faint light of the evening sun. There were more windows than Samuel could count, and some lights were beginning to show in a few of them. The first floor of the building was made of stone, while the second and third floors a sturdy wood. A balcony ran around the majority of the second floor, held up by sturdy carved pillars that reached to the ground.

A welcome curl of smoke was curling out of an unseen chimney on the far side of the building, carried away by the light evening breeze. Samuel was reminded strongly of home-cooked meals at the Nook Inn, or of spending hours in front of a warm fireplace, listening sleepily as his mother read him a story. This wash of nostalgia and the exhaustion of his long trip all seemed to hit him at once, and he swayed.

Arthur, who was watching him closely to see his reaction, saw the movement and a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Turning, Samuel saw that the older man’s eyes were crinkled in a patient and understanding smile. Arthur knew that Samuel needed a few moments to absorb everything that was happening. The steward may have been raised in noble houses, but he still understood the gulf that existed between nobility and those who lived simple lives.

“It’s even bigger than The Nook Inn,” Samuel muttered, his eyes tracing the outlines of the massive building before him.

Arthur let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, indeed. Your father worked hard for this home, young master. It is quite a grand estate.”

Almost as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on him, Samuel’s state of dazed wonder vanished. He reminded himself that this was, or rather had been, another’s house. This estate, as Arthur put it, was owned by the man who had abandoned him and his mother, leaving her to a short life of hard work and stress.

Samuel’s voice was cold as he replied to Arthur. “I expect he did work hard on it. He’d been at it for nearly twenty-three years, I’d be surprised if he hadn’t made some progress.”

Arthur heard the icy tone and withdrew his hand sadly. He mentally berated himself for bringing up Samuel’s father. He guessed, correctly, that the subject was what had spoiled the young man’s mood. Heaving a sigh that Samuel failed to notice, he forced a patient smile onto his face and gestured to the large front doors.

“Quite so, young master. Shall we go indoors? There is still time for an evening meal before you turn in.”

“Yes, that sounds nice,” Samuel said, more interested in the prospect of food than anymore irritatingly patient acts from Arthur.

Not waiting for the steward to lead the way, Samuel walked briskly across the abandoned courtyard and pulled the door open. It was heavier than he’d expected, but his suppressed anger allowed him to jerk it open with absolute ease. Since Arthur had mentioned his father, Samuel suddenly found himself hating the grand decorations on the heavy wooden doors.

Predictably, the first thing that Samuel noticed upon entering the house was a large, open entry space. The floor seemed to be made of white marble like the fountain outside, though there were black diamonds spaced evenly across it, to add a bit of variety. The floor split off to either side, down hallways into the rest of the first floor, and the other side of the room was dominated by a large staircase that led up to the second floor.

As Samuel took in the entry, he heard footsteps entering behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Arthur and Seamus enter, watching him rather than the decorations. Arthur resolutely maintained a somber, consoling expression that annoyed him, while Seamus merely looked tired and more than happy to finally be home. The round cook smiled expectantly at Samuel as he set his own bag down for a moment, stretching his stiff muscles.

“I’ll get started on dinner straight away, young master. Would you like some coffee in the meantime?” In spite of himself, Samuel felt his prospects lift at the mention of coffee. He nodded eagerly and gave Seamus a word of thanks. The cook grinned at Samuel’s obvious anticipation.

“I’ll get right on that, then,” Seamus said as he strolled down the hallway on the right. The two junior cooks slipped inside and followed him, carrying what was left of the provisions with them.

“Shigeru!” Samuel called through the open door. There was a short pause, then the lean foreigner came in the door. Perched on his shoulder was the small furry black cat. Both of them stared around the fancy entry hall, neither impressed nor unimpressed.

“Young master,” Arthur interjected quietly, “Normally the guards eat in their own barracks or elsewhere in town.”

Samuel turned to the steward, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Is that how it works in noble houses?” He kept his tone deceptively light, sounding mildly interested as if he were double-checking the policy.

Arthur nodded gravely, determinedly avoiding glancing at Shigeru. “It is the way things are always done, young master. Nobles must be kept apart from their staff, except when they are needed for security.”

Samuel rubbed his chin, considering what the steward had said. Then he shrugged, holding up a hand to stop Arthur from protesting again. “That’s not how I intend to do things, Arthur. They risked their lives to bring us here safely, I’ll not have them eating and sleeping outside like dogs.”

Moving back to the doorway before Arthur could object further, he leaned out and called to the guards who were lingering outside, unpacking the carriage and unhitching the horses that had pulled it. “When you men are finished with that, come inside for dinner.”

They all looked up in surprise at the words, not sure they’d heard him correctly. Then the senior guard, who seemed less surprised than the others at his announcement, stepped forward. “Are you sure, Lord Bragg? We’re comfortable enough in the guardhouse.”

Samuel made a negative gesture with his hand. “I’m sure it’s comfortable, but if I’m to rest with a full belly tonight, so will you. Come in and enjoy some of Seamus’ cooking.”

He saw smiles split the toughened faces of the guards, and received several nods of agreement. The senior guard smiled in his own turn and bobbed his head in gratitude. Then he turned to the others with new energy.

“Right then, men. Let’s get everything packed away, then take the young lord up on his generous offer. Get a move on!”

His energy seemed to spread to the others, who hastened to obey. They moved much quicker, hauling crates and sacks off the wagon and carrying them out of sight around the house. Smiling to himself and feeling that he’d at last done something right for the day, Samuel turned back into the entry hall. He caught a brief glimpse of Arthur’s face, showing disapproval before the steward hastily modified his features.

“I do not intend to behave like other nobles,” Samuel told him firmly. “Especially if it means that I cause inconveniences for others. I was raised to always think of others as equals, not beneath me.”

Arthur forced a smile onto his face, resigned to Samuel’s lack of knowledge on how things were done. He hoped that he could bring the young man around to his point of view in the coming weeks, though he sensed that it would not be an easy task. Samuel seemed much stronger of spirit than his father, and just now there was a faint hint of steel in his eyes that told the steward it was best not to argue the point. He bowed slightly and gestured up the large staircase.

“Most admirable, my lord. Shall I show you to your rooms, or perhaps your father’s study?” Arthur kept his voice polite, though Samuel could hear a slight icy undertone. The man was upset at being talked to in such a way in front of people he considered to be below him in rank. “Or perhaps you would like a chance to bathe and change?”

Samuel continued to stare at him in silence for several long seconds, then relaxed his posture, sure that his silent message had been acknowledged. “I will bathe now. Then I’ll see the study before dinner.”