everyone who turned me away for a job was thinking: why employ a Northerner? It’d only make the customers nervous, and besides, there’s plenty of other young people looking for work. Ones with proper brown hair and everything.” He said this quite matter-of-factly; the bitterness was in the words rather than the tone.
“You’re just being paranoid, Arren,” said Flell.
He was silent for a time. “You know—do you remember how I fell off that roof when I was twelve?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Arren said in a low voice. “Someone pushed me off.”
Flell started. “What? Who? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I did. They didn’t believe me, and anyway, I didn’t see who did it. I was on an errand to fetch something, but someone grabbed my bag. I ran after them and they threw it on the roof of a building. I went and picked it up, and then someone shoved me from behind. Eluna was flying overhead, and she swooped down and put herself in the way, so I hit her instead of the ground. I probably would have died or been crippled if she hadn’t. But I was knocked unconscious, and a while later Bran came along and found me lying there and carried me back home. That was how we got to be friends.”
“Arren, that’s—but why would anyone do that?”
“Because I was a Northerner,” said Arren. “Other children were always picking on me when Eluna wasn’t there. In the end she started staying with me all the time, and they left me alone then. But I knew they still hated me. And now Eluna can’t protect me any more.”
Flell stiffened. “Arren, you don’t think—you’re not in danger, are you?”
“No, no. I’m all right. They aren’t going to kill me. But they can still make trouble for me. At this rate they won’t need to push me off another roof; they can just wait for me to starve to death.”
Flell paused. “Have you eaten anything yet?”
He shook his head. “Too sick.”
The parcels of food were still on the table. Flell found a plate and started opening them. “You’ve got to eat,” she said, pulling out a loaf of bread. “Go on, Bran and Gern went out especially to get all this for you.”
Arren accepted the plate of food she offered him and started to eat, chewing listlessly. “I don’t deserve this,” he said.
“Nonsense. Eat up, you’ve got a big day ahead of you.”
He gave her a cynical look. “Oh? Why, what’s happening today?”
“We’re going to get you a job,” said Flell. “And possibly something else, too.”
Arren swallowed. “You’re not going to ask your father to help, are you? Because I really don’t think—”
“No. How’s your chest, by the way?”
He let her open his tunic and carefully peel away the bandages to inspect the wounds. They looked much better, though it was difficult to tell yet whether they would begin healing. At least none of them looked as if they were filling up again.
“Ow. How do they look?”
“Not too bad,” said Flell, “but we’ll have to change the bandages tonight. Have you got a clean tunic anywhere?”
Arren picked up a piece of cheese. “Yes, in the chest over there.”
She fetched it and a fresh pair of trousers, and when he’d finished eating she gave them to him, saying, “You’d better wash yourself first. And you look like you need a shave, too.”
The bowl of water was still on the table. Arren found a small bar of nasty-smelling soap and gave his face a wash, beard and all. Once he’d dried off he combed his hair, carefully reordering it until it had begun to resemble its old neat self again. After that he combed the beard as well.
“Aren’t you going to shave it off?” asked Flell.
He shrugged. “I can’t find my razor. Can I have that now? Thanks.” He took the tunic and put it on, along with the clean trousers and the pair of heavy leather boots he seemed to wear everywhere, even on official occasions. “There,” he said once he was done. “How do I look?”
“I can’t say I like the beard much,” said Flell. “You look completely different now, you know.”
“Oh? How?”
“Older. And a lot scruffier.”
He scratched it. “Maybe I’ll have it trimmed once I can afford it.”
“Why not just get rid of it?”
Another shrug. “So, where are we going?” He was playing along with her now, but evidently curious.
“To the hatchery,” said Flell, scooping up Thrain. “We’re going to go and see Roland.”
Arren’s face fell. “Flell, you don’t