At night-time, the city looked very different than at day. It wasn't to do with the fall of shadow on stone, or the lanterns and lighting, it was the apparent angle of everything. Dalliance was used to recognizing an intersection at first sight, but found himself needing to close in to read each one on purpose.

  'Evercandle,' this one said. The other, of course, said 'Lakeside Court', which was obvious: the lake behind him shimmered in the lights from manors across its waters.

  He'd walked, of course. No sense wasting the mana, and he'd needed to stretch in any case.

  "What have we here?" came an unwelcome voice as he considered his next options. A constable. He walked in the pool of light cast from one of the lanterns for which the Evercandles were named, a wick burning gently in a globe of glass filled with clear gelatin. It would burn for ages, something native to the dungeon which had become the domain of the newly noble Evercandle family at the time of their ascension, probably for clearing said dungeon.

  He shook his thoughts away from trivialities.

  "Can I help you, lad?" said the constable, not unkindly. "There’s not too many reasons for a pup your age to be sniffing around the gates of a noble family, and none of the reasons are good ones. If you’ve legitimate business, come back in the morning. For any other reason, get a move on back down to your quarter. There may be no curfew this month as of yet, but it’s time you’d be abed."

  Dalliance nodded soberly. That could have gone worse. Some constables opened with the truncheon instead of just settling for idly fingering it throughout a conversation.

  "Yes, sir," he said, slurring the words together. "Right away, sir. Just as you say, sir." It was amusing to him, the habits of a day on the Wall making themselves known so effortlessly.

  High fences and rows of hedges shrouded the property from view, and he wasn’t going to be allowed to linger near the gate. Well, that just meant he'd lose a few precious minutes.

  He began a countdown from six hundred in his head as the spell took effect. He blasted up out of himself into the night air, arcing over the walls, bypassing curving pavement for the more expedient, direct approach over manicured gardens and lawns. It was utterly impossible to tell where he should go. On the crest of the hill, the largest building loomed with the palatial impression of a manor house, which is where he would have put it.

  Yet, there were swimming pools, two different ones, and next to each, another expensive building. Each of them was clearly a living space, for through the windows, he could see beds.

  Did they not live in the main building? He had three options: go where they almost certainly did their work—their business—or go where they probably spent the night. Or . . . what was the third building for?

  481, 480 . . . Dalliance chose one at random: the main building, the first one he'd thought of. If they wanted to study, it would be easier to do it while it was light out, using natural light to read by. Candles weren’t free. Although, he knew that to the wealthy, such considerations probably weighed lightly.

  It was criminally easy to enter the Evercandle estate. Of course it was; he didn’t imagine most burglars entered through the chimney.

  399 . . . He was already in. His only problem: the door was closed.

  And locked.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Apparently, they were in . . . what? He found himself in some sort of parlor, a sitting room much as Charity's home had featured. There was an elegant set of crystal decanters, each of which held amber or pink or startling blue liquids, or the many shades in between. Better keep Uncle out of here.

  He stuffed himself under the door—a significant effort. Placemats blew off the tables as he expanded into a hallway, one with a small, narrow table set every ten feet or so, placed at once and placemats, upon which had been bowls, in which had been, he suspected, scented water. Or perhaps that was in the pitcher. It was all now on the floor.

  And adjoining this long, narrow room, which he couldn’t quite call a hallway because it opened directly into two different rooms, was what he guessed was a music room. A great piano, its lid propped open on a stick, was still humming from the air of his passage at its entrance. And the next room did look like a library. At least it had bookshelves in it, and lounges, couches, and settees—things he hadn’t known he knew the words for, that he had never owned or sat himself down upon.

  Running footsteps. 370 . . .

  "What is it?"

  "Someone’s here," a higher voice, female, said. "Everything fell off the tables, but I didn’t see anyone, so I hid behind . . . "

  "It’s fine. You did well," interrupted the voice. "I'll see to matters here. Girl, you go find the count."

  Oh.

  This seemed somewhat more dangerous than Dalliance had anticipated.

  Still, he used the time he had to flow into the library, searching for somewhere a body such as his would fit without being immediately noticed. This wasn’t going to work, he realized. As he moved, pages fluttered from books left on tabletops; the chandelier overhead, unlit, swayed in the breeze.

  He felt like he was trying to cram himself into a small space and bumping into everything.

  At least he could see the books on the table and their labels. He despaired to see the majority were fictional: this was not the family library. However, at five minutes till, he nevertheless found himself looking at a spell.

  'For Everlasting Vigor', it read, 'to walk back that most unfortunate ailment of aging: the stallion’s stamina'.

  The incantation was not very long. It was not very hard.

  'Fortitude of the body and its lesser members' didn't sound particularly useful, but Dalliance was only just a mage, and was sure he had plenty to learn.

  He read it to himself silently twice and, hopeful he could recall it in the future, breezed up the chimney and away.

  He failed to cast it before sleep.

  The Dalliance that reported to the Wall the next morning was grumpier, groggier, and found himself immediately on the wrong foot. It turned out Captain Rather only worked every third day: one day of rest, one day of administrative work, one day on the Wall.

  Because Captain Rather was almost sixty.

  The grizzled veteran who found him milling about in confusion led him to the appropriate part of the wall, laughed when he heard who Dalliance was supposed to be with, and took his leave, wishing to be remembered to Dalliance's uncle.

  Captain Eydis turned out to be a tall, muscular woman with red hair and a barking voice.

  "Where do you want me?" Dalliance had asked.

  "Soldier, you're late!" she barked. He considered outcomes in the futures in which he made any reaction other than 'yes, ma'am,' and said "Yes, ma'am," instead.

  "Time to get you blooded," she said. "Chin up: you're a topper for today, son."

  Oh no.

  "I’m not. . . ."

  "Go make your daddy proud," she said. "That’s an order."

  Mute shrugs surrounded him; none of his fellow neophytes were in eyesight. He grabbed the only weapon he’d ever done well with—a bow—only to receive a tutted, "On the Wall?" That made him grab a spear, too.

  He was going to die.

  Go and make my daddy proud? Da was talking about me. The thoughts clicked together.

  Dalliance stepped forward, grim, as the grimy veterans made room for him in their line, shields up, ready on the stairs, waiting.

  There was a calamitous boom, and they didn't go. Showers of dust fell from the wall itself as if from a great wind, and they didn't go. The dead body of a goblin flopped to the ground in front of them, and they didn't go.

  And then the horn blew, and they went.

  They ran up the V-shaped stairs, Dalliance forced to take the steps two at a time to keep up, and they were on the wall top. The rank before them was stepping backwards in good order, stepping sideways at intervals to open gaps to let them in.

  And before them were monsters.