In the fortnight since I started working at Alexander and Sons, I've learned a few things about the black market business. First, smuggling can only be profitable if everyone trusts that the items will be delivered. Second, don't bother Anna before lunch; she has a wicked temper when she's hungry. And third, no actual trading ever occurs inside the store.

Anna and I sit behind the counter during the day. The wood is knotted and covered by ink blots—some of which soak in, others we can wipe off—together with quill scratches, Mr. Alexander's abacus, an earmarked copy of Samark's Laws and Trade, a couple dead spiders, last month's shipping schedule, a compendium on the prices of barley, and three incomplete sets of scales. The ivy-covered front door remains shut, giving me plenty of time to improve my arithmetic. Anna says my school learning is "somewhere between that of a rock and a lizard."

Mr. Alexander departs in the morning and returns after dinner. He takes with him a leather-bound traveling case, and each evening he provides Anna with a surprisingly extensive list of the day's exchange rates: how much copper was being sold for, how many rolls of silk were purchased, and which ships are carrying what spices. He also meets with our clients, apparently. "It's always better to make deals face-to-face, young Dragan, employing as a few formalities and omitting as many signatures as one can manage." I guess his clients feel the same, since they never want to be seen within our shop.

Growing curious (and tired of sitting still), I tried to accompany him a few days ago. "Would you like me to come with you, sir? I'd be happy to watch and learn."

Anna glanced up from the counter, staring through her papa's monocle with her seafoam eyes. "No, that's not necessary, but perhaps...perhaps when you are sufficiently prepared, Dragan," said Mr. Alexander, "you must study here for now, since I'm sure Anna would miss you greatly." After he left Anna socked me in the stomach and then played with my hair, knocking another full bottle of ink across the counter.

Yes, I know they're still keeping something from me. Yet I can't blame them for it; I too would be suspicious of an unknown assassin who just happened to stumble across a black market trader. Wariness is really the most I could hope for. And they've treated me well enough: for the first time in my life I have a room of my own, with a window overlooking the shop's shaded entrance, and a bed stuffed with cotton, not hay. Thanks to my name I'm quickly absorbing everything that Anna teaches me—which goods are taxed too highly, which items are sought after, and which ports are open to Samark shipping. The longer I can stay here, the more I will learn.

But that doesn't mean I completely trust them.

For the last two weeks Mr. Alexander and Anna have helped me, but haven't asked for anything in return. They haven't once mentioned my promise to fence for them: to smuggle goods through the city and into the docks. And when they do ask me, I know it'll be a "high-risk venture," as Mr. Alexander would say with one of his wan smiles. I need to be ready.

I need a plan.

Dragan said we were supposed to meet here at dusk. All three of us: Dragan, Elidia, and me. I guess I go by Levin now, but I'm still not used to that name. The captain just calls me "recruit."

It feels good to sit outside after a day of combat training. Inside the barracks the air is perfuse with sweat, as everyone rushes to rip off their mended socks and replace their used bandages, while the veteran guards yell at us for whatever they can think of. The other recruits say it's a kind of hazing ritual; first the guards scream at us, berating our real and imagined shortcomings, and then—perhaps in a few months—they'll start being nice to us, accepting us as brothers. To be honest, I don't really care about brothers. I already have Dragan and Elidia.

Elidia is the first to one to meet me, arriving as the eight o'clock bell rings out across the city. She still seems unnaturally small for a thirteen-year-old kid.

"Hey. Have you been eating enough?"

"...hey…Levin..."

Elidia stands next to the stone wall, keeping her eyes lowered as if she wants to disappear into the background. I guess that's the end of our conversation. The sun is setting now, casting its final rays against the sea and the clouds, and Samark is covered by a sense of peacefulness; it's too late for work, but too early for revelry. The guards are probably digesting dinner. If Dragan hadn't arranged this meeting, I would be heading back to the training grounds in order to practice my swordplay. They've only allowed us recruits to wield wooden swords so far—which are far lighter than their steel counterparts—but I can still improve my muscle strength and coordination by repeating what I've been shown. At least, that's what the captain told me.

Dragan arrived after another quarter of an hour. Like Elidia he's small, but his movements are lithe, and the pair's self-confidence could not be more opposite.

"Sorry I'm late. Master Alexander was quizzing me about the different types of trading vessels, and somehow that developed into a treatise on piracy. Regardless, thank you both for coming."

I punch him in the shoulder. "Don't be late next time, I have a lot of training to do." But even as I say that, I can't help but smile—it's good to see him again.

"...happy birthday Dragan…"

I'd forgotten about that.

"Thanks! Yeah, if it wasn't for meeting Hermes, right now the church would be getting ready to sell me as a slave." He grinned, walking closer to Elidia as she stole a glance at his dark eyes. "You should have seen Father Victor's face when Levin and I told him our names. He was confused, angry, and happy all at once: confused because it was so unexpected, angry because he knew that somehow we'd cheated him, and happy because...well...Victor wasn't completely evil. He was happy that we'd found a better life, even if it was at his own expense."

Fifteen-years-old, huh. The naming year. In a couple months, I will turn fifteen too.

"...even so...the church will never forget…" Elidia mumbled that phrase so softly that we almost missed it, letting those words drift away over the quiet dusk. Later—much, much later—I realized that the sentiment was something that she had thought about deeply, and that each of those words were dear to my shy, nervous, and disfigured companion. But not now, not when Dragan was back, and our night was about to begin in earnest.

The first thing you should know about Dragan is that he has a lot of ideas. Plans. He calls them plans. A few of those ideas are quite good—like assassinating the priest from both his back and chest, while posting Elidia as a lookout—but a lot of those plans are questionable. To be more precise: most of his plans don't make any sense to me.

"Levin, I need you to pick two of the older boys at St. Alodia's. Choose ones that are strong and reasonably clever, but above all, choose kids that are obedient. They should do whatever you tell them without question. It might be useful to thrash them several times...I dunno, you need to command their respect, but without inciting their hatred."

Another thing you should know about Dragan: he has an annoying habit of talking rapidly and then ending abruptly, as if he expects you to complete his thoughts.

"And why should I do that?"

I don't want to waste my spare time anywhere near St. Alodia's, bullying those unlucky kids whose fate we just escaped. I want to train and become a guard, someone whom the captain and my friends can depend upon. Clack. Clack. A stranger stumbles close to the wall where Elidia, Dragan, and I are conferring, and now Dragan pauses to let her meander past, intently studying the uneven lime mortar between the irregular stones. He resumes as soon as she's twenty paces away.

"We need more help. People that we can call upon to assist us, but also people who won't pose a threat to us. People who don't realize that we're assassins."

Elidia stammers, seeming to anticipate where Dragan is going. "...so Levin will teach them how to fight…" I wish she would talk more. Honestly, I think Elidia is smarter than either Dragan or I.

Dragan nods along, acting every bit the omniscient leader. "Exactly. I'm sure all the kids at St. Alodia's look up to you Levin—you've just been named, and now you're learning cool combat techniques. Pick some of our mates and spar with them. It'll be a chance for you to keep practicing, and they'll get stronger from it." And then he added, almost as an afterthought: "plus, maybe if you teach them what you've learned, they might one day be named as well."

I double check to make sure that the drunken woman is completely gone. The sun has completely set, and now our faces are illuminated by the stray lights that have wandered out of open doors, unlatched windows, and the night sky. It would be nice to have some kids my age to practice with; the other recruits can't be bothered to care, and the wooden practice dummies outside the barracks make everything seem...impractical. As if training against them won't translate into actual combat.

"Aye." I'll do it. Nothing more to be said.

I should have guessed Dragan had other plans.

"Elidia, you still haven't told anyone that you've been named?" She nodded, concealing her scar in the deeper shadows. "Please remain anonymous at the orphanage for now, and keep tabs on the kids that Levin is training. Make sure they can keep a secret—if not, we'll be forced to stop working with them." Here he stopped to grab a breath, racing through his ideas before they were fully formed within his throat. "I haven't found anyone willing to take apothecary apprentices without proper schooling; they all expect their pupils to have attended the College."

It was Elidia (our named apothecary) who originally informed Dragan and I about Samark's College; apparently it's outside the city walls, and the school is largely operated by the clergy. In other words, it's impossibly expensive.

"...you should get me books…"

Now it was Dragan's turn to lag behind. "What did you say, Elidia?"

Elidia glanced over at me, hoping I would explain. Nope. This is what you get for not talking with me earlier, while we both were waiting alone for Dragan to arrive.

"...I can learn what I need...from the recipes....there are books filled with apothecary recipes, and lists of ingredients, and the alchemical formulae...for brewing potions, or …you know."

It makes sense. Instead of a master chemist—which are rare and expensive—Elidia could learn something from manuscripts. Apothecaries are one of the few named professions where that might work; or at least, it could help the girl with a scar get started.

"Ah I see...that's an excellent idea Elidia!" Was it just a trick of the flickering light, or did I see the girl blush under Dragan's kindness? "Now we have our first mission for Levin’s men."

Huh?

What is this guy talking about now?

I just want to go back and train. Next time I have to listen to Dragan's plans, we should meet at the sparring field.