Chapter Fifty-Nine: Agreement Reached

Kevin was perplexed. He already knew that Little Spoon was the daughter of the Assassin Guildmaster, ranked one hundredth—essentially the lowest in the guild. Still, it seemed unlikely her circumstances would be so dire as to force her to carry firewood and tend the hearth. Could she be in the midst of some mission?

If that was so, then Little Spoon’s act of ignoring Kevin was surely intentional. He, in turn, thought it best not to greet her.

He continued briskly on his way, entered a villa, and, under the guidance of a servant, made his way to the study. Count Guraide sat in the center, a book open upon his desk, sunlight filtering through a vast stained-glass window behind him, casting mottled patterns across the room. Stained glass was a costly luxury—used as a household window, it was a clear mark of distinguished heritage and exceptional wealth.

The servant led Kevin in, then withdrew, closing the door. The room now held only Kevin and the Count. Kevin cleared his throat. “Good day, my lord. I’ve come to apply for the position of tutor.”

“Kevin,” the Count said, his face expressionless, “who sent you?”

Kevin was momentarily taken aback. He didn’t recall introducing himself. Why did it seem as if the other man already knew him? But then, as a bard, he was something of a public figure. It wasn’t entirely surprising that he might be recognized.

“I came on my own after seeing the notice,” Kevin replied, not daring to mention the assassin’s recommendation.

“No need to force yourself if you don’t wish to say,” the Count said, lowering his head to continue reading. “It’s an easy matter to investigate.”

“Er…” Kevin felt a bit awkward. “In truth, I believe I am more than qualified for the position. I’ve traveled for ten years, seen much, and am fluent in many languages and cultures. I have plenty of study in literature, arts, history, mathematics, and politics. I’ve served as an officer, and even the ambassador of the Kingdom of Lebozier has spoken well of me.”

The Count gave him a glance. “Why did you leave your post in Saka to come to the capital?”

Kevin was startled. How did he know about Saka? Had word of yesterday’s debate with twenty-six people already traveled this far?

“To be honest, I’m short on funds lately,” Kevin admitted after a brief silence. “I hope to earn some money quickly; I’m in a bit of a bind. At least until December.”

“You want to repair your catapult?” the Count asked offhandedly.

Kevin fell silent.

The Count continued reading, unconcerned, but Kevin’s heart raced. That the Count even knew about the catapult was deeply unsettling.

“Why are you silent?” the Count inquired.

“Yes,” Kevin could only admit. “The military budget is lacking, and as a newcomer with few resources, I must fend for myself.”

“How much do you want?” the Count asked.

“Several thousand… perhaps tens of thousands…” Kevin hardly dared to say it.

“Do you think I’d be willing to give you that?” the Count’s attention remained fixed on his book.

“Have you hired other tutors before, my lord? Could I first learn about the student?” Kevin shifted to the practical.

“Aren’t you concerned with whether I’ll pay you?” The Count still didn’t look up. “If I refuse, won’t all your effort be for nothing?”

Kevin was silent for a moment, then replied, “You already know so much about me, my lord; you must have a fair grasp of my character. I’m not particularly capable—earnest debate in taverns earns me only a few silver coins. I can’t defeat wanted criminals, nor can I find a chamber pot to sell. Now that I have such an opportunity, I must seize it. My lord could offer a probationary period and pay accordingly.”

“Are you aware of a method where one keeps replacing people, leaving them perpetually on probation, so the employer avoids payment?” The Count was blunt.

“I know,” Kevin answered, “but I believe you are not that kind of man.”

“And how can you be so sure?” The Count lifted his gaze. “Perhaps I am precisely that sort of man.”

Kevin fell silent.

After a pause, Kevin asked, “My lord doesn’t seem particularly concerned whether the student receives a proper education?” Throughout the conversation, the Count’s tone had been rather exclusionary, almost as if he was intentionally needling Kevin. Yet if he truly disliked Kevin, he could simply dismiss him. If he was interested, then they ought to discuss the student, the curriculum, and so on. What was the point of all this roundabout talk?

“I’ve heard you’ve written a book?” the Count asked suddenly.

“I have,” Kevin nodded.

“What’s it called?”

“The Chronicles of Assassins,” Kevin replied. “It’s been some time since I finished it.”

“A novel about assassins? That’s a rare theme,” the Count remarked. “Is the main character an assassin? Or perhaps the head of the guild?”

Kevin was surprised that the conversation had turned to his novel, but he dared not ask further and answered honestly: “The protagonist is indeed an assassin, but never becomes guildmaster.”

“So the protagonist never becomes the guildmaster?” The Count seemed intrigued. “Does that mean the original guildmaster survived to the end?”

“Yes,” Kevin replied.

“Is the guildmaster very powerful?” the Count asked casually.

Kevin hesitated, suddenly suspecting the Count was intentionally steering the conversation this way, perhaps because he had a personal stake in the role of guildmaster. Could it be that the Count himself was the Assassin Guildmaster? A cold sweat broke out on Kevin’s brow. He’d met the guildmaster once before, but that had been while masked—he’d never seen his true face.

Then again, if Little Spoon, the guildmaster’s daughter, was reduced to carrying firewood, how could that be explained?

“Why do you fall silent again?” the Count pressed.

“In my depiction, the guildmaster is a man of great wisdom—courageous, resourceful, capable of enduring what others cannot. That is why he became guildmaster,” Kevin replied, somewhat anxiously.

The Count was silent.

“Ahem,” Kevin forced a laugh, “I’ve always worried the assassins might come after me, since some parts of the story could be misconstrued. But since I’m still alive, it speaks to the guildmaster’s magnanimity. Ha ha.”

The room was quiet. The Count continued reading. After a long moment, he finally turned a page. Kevin didn’t dare to rush him, but stood waiting.

At last, the Count spoke. “Since you’re here, you may as well give it a try. The student is my niece, ten years old. Next year, she will enter the Royal Academy, so before term begins, we’ve arranged for several tutors to prepare her.”

Kevin was taken aback. “Ten years old? Entering the Royal Academy?” Everyone knew that entrance was at fifteen, and only after rigorous examinations. Even if she entered next year, she’d be eleven—four years early.

“She’s a recognized prodigy,” the Count replied. “She’s already passed the Level Two Mage certification, but in reality, she’s learned more than thirty spells, many of them mastered at first try, and is proficient in all four schools of magic. Quite rare.”

Kevin nodded, feeling a rising pressure.

“Your task is to teach her academic subjects. Others will handle practical training,” the Count continued. “Here are a few textbooks you can use for reference.”

Kevin accepted three books—literature, mathematics, and the Lyonian language. They all appeared to be quite elementary.

“I’ve already hired two tutors, both students of the Royal Academy, but neither worked out,” the Count shook his head. “This sort of preparatory study is optional at best. True masters won’t come to teach her; even if she’s a prodigy, school brings many uncertainties. Masters usually take on students only after graduation.”

“So the position of tutor isn’t one with high pay. Otherwise, everyone would be scrambling for it—how would it ever fall to you?” the Count sneered.

Kevin sighed lightly but said nothing.

“How much time do you intend to spend here? Will you return to the camp at night?” the Count inquired.

“Yes,” Kevin replied helplessly. “No matter what, I must attend roll call.”

They discussed a few details, and it was decided that Kevin would serve as tutor—on a probationary basis, subject to dismissal at any failure. He was to come in the mornings, be provided lunch and dinner, then return in the evenings. Travel expenses were his own, and there was no pay during the probation—only two free meals a day.

The Count gave a special warning: “While you’re here, you may go about freely, but—do not enter the kitchen!”

Leaving the Count’s study, Kevin wiped the sweat from his brow. The whole interview had been bizarre—the other man seemed to know everything, as if all was within his grasp. Kevin couldn’t help but wonder if the assassin’s referral was itself part of some intricate scheme. But then again, he was hardly someone worth scheming against; even someone ranked hundredth in the guild could easily finish him off—why go to such trouble?

In any case, Kevin decided to meet his student. But when he reached the door, he hesitated. The girl was a prodigy, surely proud and aloof. Since Little Spoon was present as well, perhaps it would be wise to approach her first and gather some information.

On second thought, if Little Spoon was pretending not to know him, there must be a reason. It wouldn’t be wise to question her directly. As there was no hurry, Kevin wandered the grounds, hoping for a “chance encounter.”

He did, in fact, “chance upon” her. Little Spoon was making her way across the yard with another bundle of firewood. Their eyes met again, but she continued on as if nothing had happened.

Kevin hurried over, broke off a twig, and tossed it at her feet. “Miss, you’ve dropped your firewood.”

Little Spoon said nothing.

“Let me help you pick it up,” Kevin said, bending down and, as he approached, whispered, “What mission are you on?”

“My lord,” Little Spoon suddenly curtseyed deeply.

Kevin jumped, turning to see the Count standing right behind him. He was so startled he nearly leapt out of his skin.

“Go on, get back to work,” the Count said casually. Little Spoon immediately shouldered her bundle and hurried away, leaving Kevin to chuckle awkwardly. The Count said nothing more, strolling off at his own pace.

Kevin wiped his brow. The man’s abilities were unfathomable. Would he appear behind him again if he turned around?

Kevin spun quickly—no one. He walked a few steps, turned again—still no one. He let out a silent sigh of relief. Perhaps it had been coincidence, or perhaps he was just being paranoid.

He turned to retrace his steps and, to his horror, saw the Count standing right behind him.

“You’ve turned around twice in a row—were you looking for me?” the Count asked.

Kevin fell silent.

“I told you to teach, not to wander around aimlessly,” the Count said, a note of irritation in his voice. “Do you really want to be dismissed on your first day?”

“No, I’ll go right away!” Kevin replied, scurrying off in haste, thoroughly discomfited.