The next two days went by much more quickly than I would have liked, barely sketching out the preamble to a universe I suspected was fascinating. Looking back, if Master Narsilap had been a philosopher, historian or even a simple scribe, I would certainly have embraced his sermons with the same fervor. My mind at the age of eight was like a young wolf in search of sustenance, and that hunger had become overwhelming over the past year, an elusive but deep appetite. That door that was opening, that thin slit that the master surgeon had made me glimpse, I had stuck my nose in there, drinking with passion the tempting humors that foreshadowed the feast to come.

So it was tangled in a whirlwind of fluctuating emotions that I began the second half of my week. Between the impatience to meet Narsilap and the knowledge that he promised me, the fear of the dirty work and the blows that might await me in the service of the Lemis family, and the irremediable excitement that seized me when I remembered the real role I was going to play in the lair of my enemies, I was a bit confused. In the face of the unknown, my imagination worked furiously, sometimes spinning stories in which I triumphantly laid bare the murky secrets of the old families, sometimes darker phantasmagorias that sent me back to my stay on the boat of Ganav Estu, to the ties that had twice hurt my flesh and to the brilliance of the broad blade of the executory legate.

Sesh came to pick me up in my room a little after dawn on the fourth day, recommending that I take my cloak with me. We went down together to the kitchen where he took some food from the leftovers of the day before, and, without slowing down or paying attention to the intendant's admonitions, he took me outside. The wind was blowing from the north, a real blizzard from the mountains, which drowned the courtyard in a deluge of flakes. The icy layer was so thick that I was almost knee-deep in it.

I struggled so hard to move forward that Sesh finally seized me and carried me like a sack to the shelter of the barracks, in spite of my ranting that the wind was hiding.

Without showing any manners or paying attention to my protests, Sesh put me down in front of the fire in the common room. He took the leftovers, then he served us two bowls of the warm soup that was struggling to warm up on the embers of the hearth. The barracks at Castle-Horn were huge, single-storey and long, to fit the shape of the walls, but they were built from a riveting of hard-pine logs, in the manner of the buildings of Cover-Pass. On these thick walls lay a thatched, slate-covered roof, and so, despite the early hour and the dying fire, it was warmer than in my own room.

I ate all the soup in the relative silence of the refectory, sitting on a large bench near the fireplace. A group of soldiers passed by, bristling with furs, and the militiamen paused at the entrance, exchanging loud laughter, before being swallowed up by the storm. I was almost finished with my bowl when a short but thick veteran with a bull's neck and bushy beard came and sat down in front of Sesh. He immediately handed me a gloved hand with worn hems. He presented himself in a voice that seemed to me surprisingly reedy for a man of his stature, "First-blade Natime," he said. Natime looked at me for a few more moments before turning his attention to his breakfast, which he punctuated with a friendly chat with his colleague. According to him, the night before, knives had been drawn in front of a tavern in Bell street, and a stonemason had been mortally wounded. Sesh shook his head, then excused us by standing up and beckoned me to follow him again. We left the warmth of the barracks for the icy streets of the upper town.

I was just starting to wake up, my face stung from all sides by the sharp bite of the flakes. The whole city was slumped under the assault of the snow, and the avenues were almost deserted. I walked alongside Sesh, following in the footsteps of the few passers-by. We were heading towards the west of the upper city, along the boulevard called the Chain, because it encircled Horn-Hill, to which the neighborhoods that housed the residences of the old families were adjacent. The merchants of Brown-Horn lived mostly in spacious villas, whose architecture was akin to that of the fortified houses of the lower Brownian aristocracy. During the rare visits of nobles from other primacies, the presence of such buildings in the heart of the city was the subject of recurring discussions.

To the south of Brown-Horn, the strongholds of the brownian hereditary nobility, the lords and their villas served as government centers and garrisons. The role of these small lords was to assert the authority of their primate over the cantons and manses that were far from the regional capital. As the old families of Horn-Hill did not have the same rights as their predecessors, and the primate had not entrusted them with any population to administer or defend, the existence of these fortified villas among the gardens and fountains of the upper part of the city was often seen as absurd in itself. Of course, at the time of their construction - at the time of the hordes - there had certainly been a defensive advantage to the multiplication of these forts. If the walls were breached, they would fill the city with pockets of resistance that were difficult to capture. As in Brown-Horn there had never been a shortage of stones or men to break their backs carrying them, the old families had been able to build their own small forts, and today they encircled the walls of Castle-Horn from one end of the Chain to the other.

In a stronger gust of wind, Sesh paused and leaned back under the spacious canopy of the city's only glassmaker. I followed his example. The soldier turned to me, knelt on the ground and dusted off my shoulders to rid my cloak of the snow that had piled up. I shivered, victim of both cold and apprehension.

Sesh must have noticed, because he patted my head vigorously to make sure he got my full attention:

"Remember, Fyss, don't make any waves."

We hadn't taken the time to talk again about how I should conduct my spy business at the Lemis estate, and the fact that Sesh brought up the subject, even late, gave me some reassurance. I was relieved to find the serious tone that usually accompanied his instructions, which I liked. These tirades seemed to me to ignore my age and condition, and at times I even thought I saw confidence in them, confidence that Sesh had finally been the only one to place in me. The soldier continued, in a voice so low that the wind blew away half of his words:

"It's like before, like in the Stream. You are discreet, you don't ask questions and you don't take risks. I don't know what they have in store for you, but you can be sure that it will be unpleasant, and far away from their business. You don't go poking around where you're not allowed, and you put up with all the crap they're going to do to you. Check your stuff before you go to sleep too, in case someone tries to slip in a purse or silverware to accuse you again. Do you understand?"

I nodded, so cold that I didn't add anything, not even a thought, which was that no, it wouldn't be like in the Stream, because at least in the Stream I had fun. Sesh sniffed, wiped his nose on the sleeve of his gambison, and then stood up again.

"Come on," he said, "it's not far now. Second street on the right. Go now." I must have shown some distress, for Sesh's voice softened, and a glimpse of compassion passed over his face:

"I'm not walking you to their door, Fyss. Just think about it. Come on, be brave. It's only three days."

Resigned, with a knot in my stomach, I turned back. It wasn't three days. It was three years, and for me three years might as well have been three centuries. Somehow I blamed myself for finding it unfair. I still had my hand, I had even gained a room and new clothes that hardly itched anymore. I took a few more steps in the snow.

"Fyss, wait!"

Sesh caught up with me and slipped a cold object into my hand. It was the knife he had given me. I wondered how he had found it when I had hidden it behind the shaky stone in the barn, but the soldier didn't give me time to ask him:

"I stopped by the Ronna Orphanage last night to pick up your things, but the widow told me you didn't have any. So I remembered the knife and I asked the two children, Brindy and the other one..."

My heart skipped a beat, the resentment I had accumulated over the previous weeks vanished at the mere mention of Brindy. I looked up with hopeful eyes at Sesh, and my question probably had more of a prayerful tone:

"Did they say anything?"

I saw Sesh hesitating, then in a voice a little too loud he said: "Your friends say hello." It was a lie, of course, and I didn't believe it for a moment. With a heavy heart, I turned away from Sesh and his apologetic look, and went on my way alone. Wrapped up in my cloak and knee-deep in snow, my apprehension had just been drowned in an ocean of pain.

Sniffing, head down, I made my way to the imposing walls of the Lemis estate, in front of which I stood pacing back and forth without daring to announce my presence. The guard at the gate finally took an interest in me and went out, pestering, armed with a short stick, as he was supposed to do to chase away the beggars. I managed to explain to him the reason for my presence before he gave me a scolding, and the man grimaced before letting me in reluctantly. I crossed the threshold and walked into the main courtyard of the domain, in the center of which was an ornamental well buried under the snow. The place looked like a small castle. The imposing carved stone mansion facing me was three storeys high with sharp corners. Along the outside walls were utilitarian buildings with thatched roofs that smoked in the cold like cut peat paving stones.

The courtyard was deserted, but as I ventured toward the well, a hound began to bark and I saw a short silhouette stand out from the buildings on the left wall. The man must have been in his fifties, with a red and unsightly face, a bald and peeling skull, he waved a dirty arm in my direction:

"Over here piss-boy! No one wants to see you hanging around the house."

I bit my lip to swallow my shame and set off in the indicated direction, determined to follow Sesh's advice in spite of everything.

When I reached his level, the old man grabbed me by the neck with a steel grip and almost threw me out the door from which he had come out. I found myself on all fours on a dirt floor, soaked in the warm smell of horses. The man grumbled past me, and as I stood up, he grabbed a stained wooden shovel and shoved it into my hands. "My name is Holen. I am the master of the stables here," he said in a greasy voice.

"I hope you know how to use a shovel, because you're going to carry shit! But not today. Today it will be snow. And if you're late again, I'll give you the beating of your life."

So we spent the morning moving the snow, piling it into small, clean snowdrifts along the driveway leading to the manor. After an hour I was exhausted and cold, but every time I slowed down, Holen would kick my legs with a stick and I would continue my work. In addition to the bruises, I had to endure the incessant admonitions of the master of the stables, who complained that he had to take care of a good-for-nothing little savage and expressed his deep regret at the time when the justice of the primate was less charitable towards vagrants of my kind. Around noon, I was given a piece of bread, brought by a skinny and mute little girl. I ate while shivering on a straw mat in the stables, while Holen, after locking the door behind him, went to take his meal in the kitchens. There were six horses in the Lemis' stable, and their friendly presence diverted my attention a little from the bruises on my calves and buttocks. I barely had time to rest when Holen returned, and the afternoon was similar in every way to the morning. In the evening, I was given another piece of bread, brought by the same girl, and I was locked inside the stables for the night. I rolled up on the straw heap, exhausted, bruised and miserable. Still, sleep found me much quicker than I had thought.