Vasht Elford was my tutor until I turned fourteen. He taught me everything the knights and Bleeders of my house could not. The rules and the beauty of mathematics, down to the various interpretations of the classics.
When the signs of war drew near, our discussions shifted into politics. Blackwood Steel had just founded their first armory, and Vasht taught me how to read the signs: the flow of money, the changing face of industry.
But my most treasured memory of him is his fire – the way he sought to kindle my potential without ever comparing me to anyone else.
He left our house three years ago. I never thought I'd see him again. Or that he'd still be alive.I had always assumed he was left, like so many others, to die in some gutter.
I freeze. The thoughts of change and new beginnings that had filled my head vanish like mist under the rising sun. Vasht pulls me into his arms, but I stay rigid as stone.
"It really is you," he says, holding me tight, as though he must feel me with his own hands before he can believe I exist. Truth be told, I feel the same.
"Vasht."
I say his name with such reverence. Deep inside I fear he'll dissolve into air, like my dreams.
But nothing happens. He only holds me, and I feel my eyes burn hot. Slowly, I raise my arms and return the embrace.
We stand like that for a time, silent, while memories and emotions wash over me. Then he releases me and looks me over.
"Had I not spent your entire life at your side, I would never have recognized you," he says, his gaze tracing my body. "You've grown so thin."
I smile faintly.
"I haven't had much to eat."
"But you did find work? As a trainman?"
"Unpaid. But I was allowed to eat from the galley and sleep on the locomotive. It was enough."
I say this, but Vasht's expression shows pity. It angers me. Pity never changed anything. Still, I hold my tongue. I cannot be ungrateful.
Vasht gestures toward the chair before the oak table. I sit. He perches on the table beside me, not opposite. He is not the Director now, but an old friend. My heart beats calmer for it.
He says nothing. He lets me begin when I am ready.
I glance once more around his office. The Director's office of Gearford Academy. The center of the Four Cities.
"You've done well for yourself," I say, and regret letting a trace of my own woundedness slip into the words. Not everyone I knew had to suffer as I did.
Vasht doesn't take it amiss.
"I was fortunate. When the war ended, everything moved so fast. The Academy was already known, but in the last two years it has become the center of the world. Or so it feels. First I was a professor, and for reasons I still don't fully grasp, the former Director wanted me as his successor when he retired."
He smiles at me.
"Since then, I've been Vasht Gearford. What's your story? Why Arth Carter?"
I shrug.
"Alaric Redsong had to beg and steal scraps on the street. Arth Carter is a citizen of Copper City. No bounty on his head."
"I saw it. Half a million Chits. Unbelievable," he says, and at once my blood runs hot.
I look at him, and suddenly his closeness feels less friendly, more dangerous.
He notices and shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest.
"I swear, by all the years I served your family. You always treated me with more than fairness. You are safe here. That is why I took you in."
He folds his hands again. His words ring true. I simply know it.
"I searched long for you. When they... when they found Cressya, I thought you would soon follow. But you survived."
"I had good teachers."
He laughs warmly, but then his face shifts. Serious, almost sorrowful.
"And what, Alaric, have the last two years taught you?"
I sense at once this isn't the same question as before. He doesn't want to know how I crawled through gas-pipes and rubble for a single Chiton, nor whether I killed, lied, cheated, and betrayed to survive.
He is asking if I want vengeance. Ironically, the question stirs nothing in me.
"It's pointless," I answer. "No one can stop the wheel of the New World. It turns, and it crushes those who stand in its way. And I am afraid."
He regards me with curiosity.
"But even the wheel was once forged. Change is always possible, don't you think?"
"There's only so much change people will accept. And once it comes, it can't be undone. So it is with me, and so it is with the Age of Steam."
"You speak of acceptance as the limit. You confuse power with habit. But who decides what is acceptable? The lords of the factories, those who control the food? Or is it not the people themselves, who set the measure in their willingness to act?"
"The people are tired," I answer, realizing that after all these years we've fallen right back into debate. And it's not what I need now. "I am tired."
He understands, nods in satisfaction.
"Your outlook is clouded, and understandably so. But I'm glad. I could not have given you vengeance. As Director I command this Academy, but the companies are the ones who keep it alive. I have no armies, no spy networks, no Steamers beyond these grounds."
"I know," I say. "I would never have asked it of you."
He inclines his head gratefully.
"You would have had the right, Lord Redsong. Know that I am still your teacher and your friend. If you seek a new beginning, you will find it here. Do you wish to stay?"
I consider. Vasht's presence here has given me no reason to change my decision. Only strengthened it. For the first time, I have someone at my side.
"Yes," I say firmly. "I'll stay. I must climb as high in the classes as I possibly can."
I look up and see Vasht glowing with pride.
"Ah, Alaric, understand, I cannot just put you at the top. Not without cause, at least."
He rises, circles the table, and pulls out a folder of papers. Then tosses it into the waste bin.
"What was that?" I ask. He winks.
"The first trial. We'll adjust it somewhat. I take it you are still a Bleeder?"
Slowly, deliberately, I nod. He claps his hands.
"Wonderful. The new test begins in an hour."
The clock behind him strikes midnight.