Toren glanced out of the corner of his eye at his illusion of a starving child. The thing was tailor made to be as pitiable as possible, there were whip marks, burn scars, and its ribs were visible. It couldn’t be too poorly off, Toren had found. If his lure was too pitiable, people would often sigh and move on, unwilling to part with money for a lost cause. So his illusion had a spark of determination beneath the matted, lousy hair, a burning desire to survive and take revenge on his mother’s killer.

Toren had found that the combination of a pitiable body and noble spirit drew out the most money per capita. He’d even had Todd, one of the orphan beggars keep score between different variations of the illusion, and Number Fifty Three was the current champion.

“Okay, so today, we’re going to start learning to read. It’s one of the most important, basic skills you’ll ever learn.” Toren said, looking back to the group of beggars huddled in the alleyway with him. The first thing necessary to learn was leisure time, and these beggars had none, but Number Fifty-Three could earn enough for the lot of them, since he didn’t eat.

Toren conjured the illusion of the alphabet painted onto the wall of the building in front of them. “This is the first letter of the alphabet, A,” Toren said, pointing to it. “It makes an ah sound, it’s the first letter used in apple, or arraignment, allowance-“

“What’s the use of this nonsense?” Thom, an older, sandy haired man with hints of gray said. “I’ll be dead before we learn, and I never needed it before.” scattered muttering ran through the crowd.

Toren sighed and rubbed his temples, catching another person toss Fifty Three a coin from the corner of his eye. “ Mark that one, Todd.” Todd dragged a piece of charcoal across the alley wall beside number Fifty Three’s talley.

“Okay, look,” Toren said, waving his hands and summoning a sentence onto the wall. Oliver, a merchant who ruined himself, started giggling. “What’s this say?”

Thom glanced at Oliver and back at Toren with furrowed brows. “I don’t know.” He said testily. Toren leaned forward and slapped Thom, who fell backward into the recently cleaned alleyway they were using as a classroom.

“It says,” Toren said slowly. “That anyone who says ‘I don’t know’, gets a slapping.”

“Oh,” Thom said. “Okay.”

Oliver broke into a guffaw. “It says ‘Thom is a gullible simpleton, and I can tell him anything I want about what this says, because he can’t read’,” he said, chortling.

Thom began to glower, but Toren seized the moment. “That, is exactly why you need to read. So you cannot be taken advantage of,” Toren said, returning the wall to the alphabet. “Why do you think nobles read and you don’t? Because it’s a rich man’s hobby? Wrong! Reading is the most fundamental weapon in any educated man’s arsenal.”

Thom scoffed.

“Let’s play make believe. Did you know that it is illegal for the city watch to receive any sort of remuneration from private citizens while they are on duty?” Toren asked. “And yet they are constantly being payed to guard specific, richer districts. How?” Toren lifted an illusory book with LAW printed on the cover in gold. “This would tell you how, and what you could do to change it, but the rich can read, and you can’t. Are you starting to understand?”

Todd, sitting in the front raised his hand, and Toren pointed at him. “Aye, what’s remunation?” he asked, fiddling with a loose tooth.

“It’s remuneration, and it means payment,” Toren said.

Thom raised his hand, catching Toren off guard. Toren had half expected Thom to just speak whatever he thought. Toren signaled for him to speak. “If readin’s such an important thing for getting rich, how come Oliver’s here instead of off in a castle, reading high class women’s clothes off?” he asked, cocking his head to the side in faux confusion.

“Because Oliver’s an idiot,” Toren said, glaring at Thom. “Like any tool, It’s all about what you do with it. Oliver here ran his family company, three generations old, into the ground with women, wine, and gambling.”

“Fun while it lasted,” Oliver said with a sniff.

“I’ll bet,” Toren said, rolling his eyes. “Now, this letter is B...” The lesson continued relatively peacefully, and at the end, Toren divided up Fifty-three’s earnings between himself and the rest of the beggars. Toren saw them all out, wondering how long it would take for his plans to bear fruit, when he spotted Todd approaching him.

“Wizard Toren sir, just wanted to give thanks,” The boy said, pulling three small pieces of copper. “Merchant tried to cheat me out of these three coins, tells me my change is five. Ten minus two is five, he says.” Todd broke into a wide grin. “No, I said, It’s eight. Don’t try to short me, or I’ll burn your house down!” Todd looked down at the three coins in his hand. “Just wanted to tell you, your lessons have already done sommat for me. Here’s proof.”

Toren laughed and tousled the brat’s hair. It was something, perhaps a long way away from a Beggar’s guild like Toren had envisioned, but it was a start. “Maybe buy yourself something good. You earned those coins,” Toren said. “But don’t threaten arson in front of the law, or you’ll spend the night in a cell, possibly longer. Next time threaten to tell a bad rumor about his business, whatever it was, should cost him a lot more than three small.”

“Arson?” the boy asked, his head cocked.

“Means starting fires,” Toren said.

Todd nodded and ran out of the alley with the typical flailing gait of a child. Toren watched him go, wondering how his youngest brother was faring in the den of snakes that was home. Lyle was far more concerned with reading about heroic adventures than protecting himself from his treacherous family, and that concerned Toren to no end.

After it was announced that Toren had died in his escape attempt, thwarted by the honorable High Inquisitor Franco, there had been no searches for him. Since he had been disowned, his family hadn’t even held a funeral. It was a little disappointing, but on the other hand, Toren was completely free. Only Franco knew he was still alive, and possibly the guards who helped him escape.

Franco had probably taken extreme measures to make sure the two stuck to his script, paying them exorbitant amounts of money to make sure their story matched his, where Toren had attempted to attack them with a ball of fire, and Franco had sent it back, reflecting it with sheer willpower, before it exploded in Toren’s face, immolating his corpse.

Toren wondered where Franco had gotten the corpse sometimes, hoping that someone hadn’t been forced to take his place. Obviously the academy knew it was a sham. They knew Toren couldn’t immolate a fly, much less himself, but they kept their mouths shut. Maybe after the nine year hiatus, Toren could return to the Academy under a pseudonym?

Toren fished around in the pocket of his homespun shirt. His first order of business had been to find some clothes that looked poor, but were actually comfortable, and he had found a woman who sold the warmest wool clothes. His shirt was incredibly itchy a first, but his skin had toughened up.

Toren retrieved two silver coins from his pocket and rubbed them together, looking forward to the highlight of his week. Toren ran a hand through his hair and changed his appearance, darkening his skin, lightening his hair to brown, changing the color of his eyes, and sharpening the features of his face.

He set off out of the alley and turned west, toward the red light district. On either side of the street, voluptuous women blew him kisses and smiled at him, leaning forward to reveal more of what lay beneath their dresses. Toren smiled and waved, paying them little mind. They dismissed him with a smile and turned to their next prospective clients as Toren passed them by.

Toren continued on, and the buildings gradually grew finer, covered in well-groomed ivy tresses. Toren left the lascivious women behind, ducking into an alley for a moment to change his clothes before he entered the noble quarter. The guard at the gate took one glance at his finery and waved him through. Toren nodded to the gatekeeper, walking beneath the iron bars with confidence. Ten minutes later, he turned and entered a small library. The cramped store was lined with shelves upon shelves of books, nearly spilling onto the floor. Toren carefully navigated through the clutter, and made it to the desk, where the shopkeeper sat with his boots up, reading a book.

Toren caught the man’s eye and paid for two hours, his silver letting out two ringing notes as they hit the bottom of his chest that was bolted to the desk. The shopkeeper gave him a nod and went back to his book. Toren, his interest piqued during the walk over, decided to retrieve one of the more explicit titles to read while he waited.

After a while, Toren heard the sound of childish steps enter the shop. He heard the sound of two coins enter the box, and a moment later, Lyle flopped into the lush padded chair in front of him.

“Gross,” Lyle said, his face scrunched up as he looked at the lovers entwined on the cover of Toren’s book.

“Oh?” Toren said, deepening his voice and forcing his tongue closer to his palate, changing the intonation of his words. He glanced at the cover in an exaggerated manner, while Lyle laughed. “Don’t knock it, kid. I’ll wager even your mom and dad do stuff like this.”

“Well, of course, how do you think I was born?” Lyle asked, rolling his eyes. “Still gross.”

“You’ll come around in six months to six years,” Toren told his eight year old brother. Depending on how precocious the kid was. Toren was an early bloomer, and noticed girls at a very young age. He didn’t expect Lyle to fall short either. Lyle, for his part, wrinkled his nose like he smelled something bad.

“So what’s on the menu today?” Toren asked, and Lyle hefted a tome up, straining under its weight.

“The Odyssey,” Lyle said. “I’ve only a third of the book to go, so if you don’t mind…” Lyle settled the book on his knees and flipped to the last third, finding his place.

“By all means, m’lord.” Toren said with a deep nod. Toren returned to his book, and Lyle began reading his adventure. Toren spent the rest of his two hours in the shop reading silently across from his brother, the only sound between them the turning of pages and the occasional stifled giggle.

At the end of his two hours, Toren silently stood, took one last glance at his brother devouring the story, and left, showing the shopkeeper his empty hands before he left. Outside the door stood George, one of the Reinbahm family knights, standing guard at the doorway. Toren cocked his eyebrow, wondering why Lyle needed a guard in the middle of the Noble Quarter.

I wonder if Father is upping the security because of my untimely death. Toren thought with a smirk as he passed George, unrecognized. Even with Toren gone, there were still three successors to the Reinbahm name. It didn’t make sense. Toren’s brows furrowed as he walked on, his thoughts turning darker. What could have given rise to the need for a guard?

Toren settled that question into the back of his mind to think about later as he walked back to his home in the alleyways. Toren had only a few copper left from Fifty-Three’s earnings for the day, and so he bought a loaf of bread on the way home, chewing it with vigor as he tried to ease the hunger in his belly. The silver would have fed him for a week, but Toren took great comfort in his brief interactions with his brother, small moments of peace in an otherwise hectic and stressful life.

Toren walked with the reddening light of sunset in his eyes, aiming for his newly acquired lodging. Toren had found an abandoned house in the shadow of a massive warehouse that catered to fishermen. Needless to say, the land and everything around it smelled like rotten fish.

The previous squatters were a group of hardened criminals, but once they were convinced the place was haunted, it was free for Toren and his new friends to move in. Now that they had a roof over their heads and a base of operation, Toren could expand his new enterprise. Toren felt like rubbing his hands together in glee. They would recruit beggars off the street, and teach them skills and a trade, eventually these former beggars would donate a small portion of their profits to fund the Beggars Guild.

All of it was totally legal, aside from the squatting, the fact that a journeyman of a trade requires certification, and that they hadn’t officially applied for Guild status, which carried a fee and taxes which they couldn’t afford.

Toren shrugged, popping another bite of bread into his mouth. Everything would get sorted out sooner or later, and right now Toren was just glad to have a roof over his head at night. After the first two nights watching his breath puff between chattering teeth, he’d had enough.

Toren turned the corner and found himself staring at his home tucked in the shadow of the warehouse, surrounded by the bright lights of Inquisitor’s lamps. A small army surrounded his new dwelling.

Toren resisted his first impulse to turn on his heel and walk away, attempting to appear a casual as possible. His warm, fishy home was besieged in front of him, and at his back lay another night freezing in an alleyway. Toren’s stomach burned at the thought of surrendering his fortress to another.

Rolling his shoulders and stretching his cheeks to loosen up before he unleashed an avalanche of bullshit, Toren approached the house. At the center of the semicircle around the house was a familiar back with a well-groomed coif addressing Toren’s frightened people.

Well, Todd looks pissed. Toren thought to himself, judging by the glare in the boy’s eyes. Were it not for Thom’s hand pressed firmly over the child’s mouth, they might have been in significantly more trouble. Oliver addressed the Inquisitors for the group, his face pale as he kept his head lowered.

“Dammit, look at me,” Franco snarled, hauling Oliver’s chin up so that Franco could study the man’s expression. “I’ve heard of a wizard living in the slums. There can’t be many of those.” Franco’s gaze bore into Oliver’s twitching eyes. “Do you know who I’m speaking of?”

Oliver glanced to the side, avoiding Franco’s eye. “A wizard wouldn’t be caught dead with the like of us, your holy-, eh, highness?” he said, his expression plain to read.

Toren sighed and made a mental note that Oliver was not a good liar.

“Oh, he will be.” Franco said, looming over Oliver. “Caught. Dead. Do you know the penalty for practicing magic without a license?”

“Four pounds of gold and a month of house arrest!” Toren shouted, drawing their attention to him as he approached, wearing the appearance of a noble fop. If a wizard couldn’t pay that amount he would be imprisoned for a good deal longer, perhaps indefinitely. It was a slap on the wrist for most noble families, who would cough up the money and move on, the house arrest wasn’t even really enforced.

Essentially, the law was in place to prevent commoners from learning or practicing magic. When they couldn’t pay the fine that amounted to pocket change for the wealthy noble’s sons, they were stripped of their powers and imprisoned.

Franco turned with a dark look on his face. “Who are you?” he asked, his eyes taking in Toren’s rich clothing, the gears in his head turning.

“A lawyer,” Toren said, reveling in the apprehension that crossed Franco’s face. “Michael McNonestas, and the administrator of a social experiment involving the good men behind you.”

Toren watched Franco wrack his brain for the name for a moment before he grunted. “Never heard of you,” he said, his eye narrowing.

“It’s a very minor family, recently come into wealth,” Toren said, “I myself am the second of four brothers, and with the future of our house assured, I decided to study law at the Royal University.” Toren placed an arched hand on his breast and thrust his chest out arrogantly.

“What do you have to do with this trash?” Franco said as he nodded his head toward the surrounded beggars. “And what do you know about the wizard that’s been reported in the slums?”

Toren leaned and looked past Franco. “Right, the social experiment,” he said.

“And?” Franco asked, his fingers rapping the polished handle of his mace.

“What’s the difference between them,” Toren asked pointing to the beggars behind Franco. “And the people who offer them succor in these trying times?”

“Get to the point,” Franco said impatiently.

“Jobs!” Toren said, spreading his hands apart, splaying his fingers as he did. “I’ve invested a modest amount of money into gathering people who have retired from skilled trades due to injury, and am going to employ them to teach able-bodied workers who might not otherwise be able to afford apprenticeship.” Toren pointed at Thom, the one-armed carpenter, who still held Todd firmly.

Franco glanced back at beggars, then relaxed his posture. “Obviously you’re an idiot,” he said with a sneer. “The Guilds would never allow you to certify any of your beggars, and if they failed to pressure you out, they would simply adopt your methods and steal your workforce out from under you.

That stung, hearing it from Franco. To be fair, the man had a mind for politics, and little else.

“Now,” Franco said, taking a step closer. “I asked about a wizard. About sixteen, black hair, grey eyes.”

“That description does sound familiar…” Toren said, rubbing his chin.

Franco leaned closer, practically slavering. Toren could see a bead of sweat glisten on his brow in the light of his flunky’s torches.

“Isn’t that the wizard apprentice that was on trial for treason?” Toren asked, cocking his head to the side. “Didn’t he get killed trying to escape?”

Franco’s face went pale, and Toren watched his gaze flicker back to the men behind him. “Toren Reinbahm is dead, the traitor’s foul magic blew up in his face, leaving nothing but a smouldering corpse.

“Indeed,” Toren said, pitching his voice to be heard by the men behind Franco. “So if you aren’t looking for Toren Reinbahm, who are you looking for? Seems to match his description. Not many sixteen year old wizards of any consequence out there.” Neil could probably cause a great deal of trouble, and there was an Evocationist girl by the name of Hanna who could theoretically vaporize a person, but the Headmaster kept them out of the public eye.

“It’s confidential.” Franco said, his voice low.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Toren said with a sigh. “I can tell you for a fact that nobody’s seen the boy you’re looking for. If he’s a wizard, he must be a noble, why not try searching his House?”

“Reinbahm’s doors are shut tight,” One of Franco’s men chimed in.

Franco’s head swiveled to face his subordinate, and Toren could feel heat rolling off the inquisitor, even with his gaze directed away.

Toren coughed, bringing Franco’s attention back to himself. “I understand,” he said, his voice not travelling beyond the two of them. “You’re not searching for the traitor, since he’s dead, and certainly didn’t escape from under your nose, but the boy you are chasing seems awfully familiar. It might be costly sorting out fact from fiction with people who don’t know better.”

Franco growled and slid a gaudy ring from his finger and jammed it into Toren’s waiting palm. It was far more polite to blackmail someone immediately and accept whatever they had on hand rather than hang it over their head for years to come.

Toren felt comfortable fleecing Franco. Not just because the man was a boor, he was also actively trying to find and kill Toren, which was inexcusable. As Franco stormed off, Toren turned golden ring over in his fingers, watching it glow softly in the fading light of Franco’s torches.

Why would Toren’s father prevent Franco from entering their home and search for him? Firelle wasn’t actually harboring Toren, so it made no difference. Toren’s parents had been adamant that all the brothers receive an exhaustive education in law, so that the family could continue bending it to the breaking point.

It was a result of that effort that his father would have confidently invited an Inquisitor into their home, sure that absolutely nothing in their home violated the letter of the law, if not the spirit.

Toren was sure that even if they had been hiding Toren, his father would have Toren dressed as a butler and serve Franco wine. Franco would never have seen through the disguise, to be sure. The guard on Toren’s brother, and Firelle’s refusal to allow a search of his property mean that his father was hiding something.

Something more important to them than me. Toren mused to himself as he dropped the illusion. Todd rushed forward, shouting.

“Where the hell you been, Wizard?” he demanded, frowning like an angry schoolteacher. Toren idly reached out and pinched his cheek, to which he slapped Toren’s hand away and backed off.

“Aye, Toren, he’s gonna come back,” Oliver said. “McNonestas was a terrible made-up name.”

“You’re right,” Toren said sorrowfully, casting his gaze over the dilapidated building. ”We’re going to have to leave our new home behind.” Toren held up the gold ring, glittering with pinky-sized stones. “So who wants to come shopping for houses with me?”

Todd bounced up and down with his hands raised in the air. “Ooh, Ooh,” he said, waving his hands.