A Fine Black Sky
CHAPTER FOUR
In the Office which Kid’s Father occupied - had always occupied - the boy was instantly reminded of the long days he would play upon that rug, even as his Father took meetings, with important people and the disaffected, how he would be told to be quiet, not a peep, while his Father talked business, never quite knowing exactly where he belonged, how he was perceived and the long, lonely hours his Father would sit at that desk, with a low light from the hooded lantern creating a tableau for the lost childhood Kid had experienced. Yet he loved his Father dearly. If only he was somebody - somebody his Father needed, trusted, respected? Poor Muet. He had been the favourite. Still, this conversation had been a long time coming.
Kid’s Father rose from his desk, a sight to behold in itself, as he so rarely did when addressing his Third Son.
“My son! How goes it? Keeping up on your studies?” voiced the Lord, obviously unused to talking to children.
Kid understood he hadn’t been called to his Father’s Office simply to exchange pleasantries, yet he completed them appropriately, “All is well, Father.” he said. And immediately his Father’s tone had changed.
“We are at a constant state of immovable peace, my son, and that is as it should be. But what is not is that your Brother, beloved Muet, can no longer fulfil the role to which the Second Son is assigned. Therefore, Kid, I am to send you upon your life’s path - that of being your elder Brother, Eighteen’s Chief Advisor, upon his accession to Lord of the North Tower and all that entails. For this you must be Apprenticed. Therefore, you are to go to the South Tower forthwith, where you will take up the Apprenticeship once promised to dear, departed Muet, and become the man your Brother will need in the years to come.” The Lord sighed, his chest rising and dropping in exhausted motion.
Kid was in shock, “Are you sure Father? I’m just me. I have no purpose. I feel you need to search amongst your trusted -“
The Lord gripped his Son’s shoulder, squeezing a little to force the point home, “No, my Son. It is your role now, and you must grasp it with vigour. Learn all you can, for you know not what will become important, and what will become immaterial. Study. And make friends, my Son! There will come a time when networking is a second nature, and you will be thankful of the practice you gained while you were young enough to accept the deceitful, and learn from your mistakes for later in life. My boy, you know - your Mother would have been proud to see you now.” His Father then released his shoulder, relieving himself of the burden of accession, passing that responsibility onto others. When he sat down, the Lord looked visibly more relaxed, and his age showed a little more in the lines about his face, his beard a little more ragged and mottled somehow with silver here and there where those follicles caught what light there was in the room. Kid, now merely a distraction, turned and left the Office.
And there it was. Duty. There was no choice but to fulfil it. The Broken Boy would have a purpose, after all.
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