Despite Palmyre’s curving roads and cobblestone piazzas that were so reminiscent of medieval Italy, it was still a city of industry. Where many of the side streets were simple cobblestone paths shared by pedestrians and carts alike, the main roads were wide and well-demarcated, with a clear separation between foot traffic and vehicle flow to ensure the wheels of commerce kept turning without running down its citizens in the process. Well, not literally, at any rate. Or so Beth hoped. One consequence of this system was that the roads for pedestrians tended to meander from time to time, saving the most direct routes to the Port District for vehicle access. This distinction did not seem to apply to Gavin, or by extension, Beth and Mark.

“Over here! It’s a great shortcut!” Gavin shouted as they raced after the boy, Mark suffering through a distinct limp after being clipped by a passing wagon.

“I hope it’s better than the last shortcut,” he muttered. “I’m going to smell like fish for the rest of the day.”

Beth tsked at her son. “He’s a good boy, he won’t do that again. I’m certain he saw you slip on that tray of fish heads, and will—oops, spoke too soon.”

Mark shook his head as they followed Gavin into yet another warehouse filled with seafood awaiting packing and delivery. The boy weaved his way between tubs of fish, barrels of roe, and some kind of large cephalopods that dangled from hooks throughout the building. When they eventually emerged into daylight, it was on the other side of the building at a storefront that mercifully opened onto a pedestrian arcade instead of another of the busy vehicle streets.

“Gavin, wait!” Beth called out before they could lose the boy. He trotted back to her and grinned, causing her to shake her head. “Please tell me you know where you’re going? Because I sure don’t, and we seem to be meandering a lot.”

“Pretty sure!” he said.

She stared at him. “Just pretty sure?”

“Kinda sure.”

“Just kinda sure?”

“Welllll,” he said sheepishly. “All I gots is the address, and I’m not so good with my letters yet, so I figured we’d head towards the Port District an’ ask directions.” His face brightened. “Hey, we’re almost there; I can do that now!”

Without waiting for a response, Gavin stepped up to the—thing? Person?—at the market counter. It had the head of a fish on the body of a man, which was somewhat disturbing considering its chosen profession.

Waving hello, Gavin shouted, “How you doin’, Jerry!”

“Arahoovan, bauhfn, ahbuulga,” the creature said with a shrug.

“Ain’t that right!” Gavin said, laughing. “Any chance you recognize this address?” The boy held out his hand, and his Tome appeared. It was simple, appearing as little more than a stack of paper bound together with loose string

The fish-man leaned forward, turning his head so that one of his eyes could point at the page. “Ooavuhba! Augua kllllltk.”

Gavin gaped at the fish-man. “That’s the Orphanage of Ádhmór? Levels!”

Beth and Mark looked at each other. There had been a lot of confusion before they realized “levels” was the Arenian version of the word “awesome."

Gavin waved goodbye to the fish-man before leading Beth and Mark down the arcade. “Why didn’t you just say we was goin’ to the orphanage? Everyone knows where that is!”

“Really? Is there something special about it?” Mark asked.

“It’s the only orphanage in the city. Ain’t that special enough?” the boy said with a grin. “Yer in luck, too. They love me there! Sometimes I’ll sneak down when my da has me doing deliveries.”

He stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d said. “Don’t tell my da!”

Beth laughed. “I won’t bring it up. But I won’t lie for you, you understand?” She wanted to set boundaries for the child. Being the child’s parent was Darius’ role, not hers.

Mark tousled Gavin’s hair. “Don’t worry about her; I’ll lie for the both of us.”

“Mark!” Beth said with a frown. He grinned in response, so she shook her head and changed the subject. “Why do they know you at the orphanage? Do you have friends there?”

The boy’s face fell. “I’ve met some of the kids, but…well, you know how it is. The nuns like me though, ’cause of my Luck stat.”

“What’s the significance of that? I know it’s high.”

“’Cause Ádhmór is the god of Chance, silly! Of course they like a kid their god blessed as much as he did me.”

“Why is the god of Chance the only one with an orphanage?” Mark asked.

Gavin—who at some point had climbed the 2-metre-high stone wall adjacent to the path and was now running across the top—stopped and stared at her son.

“The other gods? Ha! You’re funny, Mr. Mark. Can you imagine that? An orphanage for the god of War?”

“I would think war creates a lot of orphans,” Beth noted.

The boy paused and looked at her thoughtfully. “Never thought about it like that. Don’t really matter, though. Technically, the churches are only allowed to operate in the Temple District, an’ there’s barely enough space for them as is. Besides, I doubt they’d want a bunch of orphans runnin’ around up there anyway.”

“So why is Ádhmór different?” Beth asked.

“’Cause it’s bad luck to go inside a Temple of Ádhmór without his blessing! And if you’re there to bust up his orphanage, bad luck is what your gettin’.”

“Is superstition really that strong?” Mark asked, following Gavin’s progress along the wall closely, arms half outstretched in case the boy tripped and fell.

Gavin laughed as he skipped over a tree limb without a care in the world. “Superstition? No, Mr. Mark. I’m talking about real bad luck. The kind where your Luck stops increasin’ for a couple of years. Or worse. My da told me that one time before I was born, this noble from House Laws went to the Temple of Ádhmór to complain. See, he’d lost a ship in a storm, and he decided that ’cause he had a decent Luck score, he could go to the Chance District and demand the money back.”

“I can’t imagine they liked that,” Beth said.

“They sure didn’t. The priest told him he wasn’t welcome, but he barged in an’ shouted at the altar for a bit before heading home. The Foedus Family was super embarrassed. Told ’im he needed to Evolve and get out of town, so that’s what he did. But he knew he’d gotten on Ádhmór’s bad side, so he Evolved into a riftslip.”

“What’s that?”

Gavin looked skyward as he thought, barely paying attention to the narrow wall he was walking on. “Umm…I never seen one, but they’re skinny and tall. No hair. They can teleport though, an’ apparently you gotta have a lotta Luck for that ’cause anyone that Evolves into a riftslip gets a big bump in their Luck. At least 40 points.”

“Oh wow,” Mark said, his eyes wide. “I’m guessing it didn’t work out so well for our noble?”

“He didn’t get a single point of Luck!” Gavin exclaimed as he resumed walking. “Word is, the first time he tried ta teleport he never popped out the other end. The Foedus Family says he just went somewhere different, but if you ask a riftslip they’ll say he’s stuck ‘in between.’ Whatever that means.”

“So, wait,” Beth said. “I thought Evolving was really hard to do?”

“For normal folk, yeah. But the Families, they got ties to a bunch of different species communities that’re willin’ to Evolve their Family members for a price. They got a lot of rules about it though. I don’t know how it all works.”

“But theoretically, any member of House Laws could Evolve into a riftslip?”

“Not anymore,” Gavin said with a laugh. “The riftslips think Ádhmór is top levels—they all worship him. Only, they didn’t know ’bout that Foedus noble messin’ around with their god before they Evolved him. They were super mad. Almost turned them off the Families completely. My da says that’s why they only do business with House Glass now, on account of the whole Aerix thing. Oh, this is where we cross!”

The arcade had ended at a busy road, but rather than climb down, Gavin simply jumped off the fence and fell into Mark’s startled and fumbling arms, somehow avoiding getting impaled on the pointy end of his staff in the process. Clearly nonplussed by the incident, Gavin skipped down the path and into the street, barely looking both ways as he walked into the heavy traffic.

“Gavin!” Beth barked out. The boy jumped and—seeing the look on her face—scampered back. “What would your father think about the kind of chances you’re taking? Up on top of walls, running into traffic…and that’s not even considering the risk to us.”

“I’m sorry…” the boy said, giving her his best puppy dog eyes.

“Or your mom?” Beth added.

So much for puppy dogs. “Please don’t tell me mum! I’ll be good, I promise!”

Beth frowned at him. The boy was clearly saying what he thought she wanted to hear. That wouldn’t do.

Beth put on her best “mom” face. “Do you know what Mark’s Luck Attribute is?”

Gavin grinned. “I bet it’s super. Mr. Mark is levels!”

Beth glanced at Mark, raising an eyebrow.

“12,” Mark said in a flat tone. “My Luck is 12.”

Gavin’s eyes went wide.

“Do you see?” Beth asked. “Yes, your Luck is high, but when you jumped off that wall you were at the mercy of Mark’s low Luck. There was probably just as much chance he would drop you as there was of you being caught.”

The boy’s wide eyes and genuine expression suggested that the lesson had hit home.

For now, at least.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his head. “I’ll be good. And I’ll take you to the orphanage the safest way I know. I don’t want Mr. Mark to get run over by a wagon.”

“I think that would be for the best,” she said with a smile.

Beth’s chastisement calmed the boy’s chatty nature for at least the next ten steps of their journey, but he took the lesson to heart, leading them on a safer route through the Port District that stuck to the pedestrian lanes and only crossing at controlled intersections. Still, despite Gavin’s newfound care, Beth felt increasingly uncomfortable as a state of decay crawled into the surrounding buildings. The first time she’d seen it, it looked like a visual testament to the city’s economic state. Now, there was an added sense of menace.

A wiry arm snaked around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

“It’s okay, mom,” Mark said, not releasing her from his sideways hug. “Gavin is a blacksmith’s son, and I’m no slouch either.”

She chuckled softly as he let her go. “I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know how little control you have over your ‘special gifts.’” She tried to imbue her words with a sense of quiet humour, but one look at Mark’s face showed how serious he was.

“Mom, you didn’t see what I did when Gavin was threatened. If someone comes after you, trust me: I will take care of it.”

Beth looked at him, not sure how to take this unusual reaction.

Mark was not a person who spoke with a sense of authority. There were a couple of times that morning where he’d slurred his words or stopped speaking because he was having a seizure, and even with his staff she could see that it weighed on him. The frustration on his face when he lost control of his body…it broke her heart. This response, though? This was a level of confidence and protectiveness she wasn’t used to seeing from her son. In fact, it reminded her a lot of…

Hoo boy.

Mark’s quizzical look said that he’d caught the laughter in her eyes. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, stifling a smile. He probably didn’t want to know how much he sounded like his father.

Mark gave her a sideways glance but didn’t say anything.

“We’re just about there!” Gavin piped up. He pointed to a decrepit-looking building that loomed over the street. “Normally, I’d climb up tha’ building and come in through that window up there ’cause it…” He realized what he was saying and his eyes went wide. “I mean, I’d come in through, or by, or, um…”

“It’s okay,” Beth said with a smile.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, letting out an anxious breath. “I was sayin’ that usually I’d come a different way, but we can go in the front door.”

“I would prefer that.”

They rounded the corner and stepped onto a ruined streets; one of those deemed unworthy of upkeep by the Palmyrian government.

“Where is it?” Mark asked.

“Right there,” Gavin answered, pointing. “The brown one.”

Beth followed his gaze. The building looked nothing like an orphanage. It didn’t look like somewhere a person would live at all. In fact, the 3-story brick building barely even looked like the warehouse it clearly used to be. That much was evident from the large, sliding double-doors that had once allowed wagons to approach for loading.

“Holy hell, how is that thing still standing?” Mark asked.

Beth was thinking the same thing. Nearly half the building had collapsed at some point. The owners had used something resembling cinderblocks to shore up what was left, effectively cutting the building’s footprint in half. The blocks were unpainted and rough, making the facility look like a condemned building that people were squatting in rather than a permanent residence.

"Well, hello there," a woman said from behind them. They turned to see an elderly woman smiling at them.

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing," she said, "but I suppose Luck is on our side.”