Chapter Ten: The Troubles of Growing Up

Carlos’s words failed to stir much enthusiasm among his companions, to his surprise. The bespectacled youth reapplied fresh bait to his hook, making it clear he wouldn’t rest until he’d fed every fish in the river. Koman watched his bobber with rapt attention, nervous that anything Carlos said next might startle the big fish about to bite. Rarely, he shot Carlos a warning glare before returning his gaze to the water.

Carlos, now annoyed, turned his eyes on Reina. Malt barely had time to catch her breath before she noticed Carlos’s attention and, startled, grabbed her wooden bucket and hurried off to dig for more bait in the soft mud behind them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Carlos snapped. “You’ve dug up enough worms to feed every fish in the river already.”

His sharp tone halted the girl in her tracks. She stood there, clutching her bucket, utterly at a loss.

“Why are you taking it out on Malt?” interjected Charle, the tall, red-haired youth, breaking the uneasy silence. As he spoke, he stood up and brushed the grass from his trousers, then walked over to Carlos, sighing, “She’s just worried about you. Are you really going to that strange alchemy hut?”

Carlos’s expression grew serious; he nodded slowly. “I have to do something, learn some skills.”

“Is this about your disappearance the other day?”

“In a way…” Carlos admitted, curling his lip in frustration. “But I’m not leaving town. Is it really that big a deal?”

Charle, now standing at his full height, already looking like a grown man, glanced down. He saw Koman’s vacant stare lost in the water, and Sidis behind his gold-rimmed glasses, silent and pensive as if his family had just lost a fortune. Malt, ever the shy and quiet one, said nothing. No one seemed keen to voice their feelings, so Charle just shrugged helplessly.

His weary face was full of unspoken grievances as he looked at Carlos’s new formal suit now stained with bits of grass, then sighed.

“It’s not just worry for you, honestly. You’re a noble, after all. You hardly need our pity. Really, it’s ourselves we feel sorry for. You have status and power, a good father. But look at us—Malt’s mother works in a tavern, Sidis may seem well-off, but his family’s just barely hanging on. Once you leave, he won’t be able to throw his weight around anymore.”

Sidis began to protest, but Charle silenced him with a fierce glare. The bespectacled boy bit his lip and fell into thought again.

Charle went on, “Koman’s family is decent—he’ll probably inherit the business. But at this rate, all his fat will be gone in no time.”

Carlos looked up at Charle’s face, now roughened by the first hints of stubble, and suddenly understood. Among their little group of five, Carlos was the only one with leisure and freedom to spare. Now, even he, the idle young lord, was striving to better himself. The others could clearly feel the pressure of growing up.

Such was the confusion of adolescence—the pains of growing up.

Carlos spat out the grass stem he’d been chewing, watching it, now pale and chewed, float away down the river. He let go of the words of comfort on the tip of his tongue.

He turned to Charle. “You’ve had a rough lot, born an orphan. If luck had been kinder, with your drive, you’d have learned a trade by now, and perhaps found someone to introduce you to a wife.”

Charle was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve met a good hunter lately. He thinks I have promise and wants to take me out into the wilds, away from town.”

Malt’s eyes grew moist. “Cousin, it’s dangerous out there!” she whispered timidly.

Charle’s only remaining relative was Malt’s mother, his own aunt by blood. Though her life had made her rough around the edges, she’d raised Malt as best she could. Yet, rarely did the two address each other as cousins. Now, worry for Charle’s future finally made Malt speak from her heart, and Carlos realized the connection between them.

“So that’s how it is,” Koman said, abandoning his vigil over the bobber, his curiosity piqued.

Charle gave no reply, lapsing once more into silence.

Sidis scratched his head. Noticing his float twitch, he realized the bait had been stolen by a clever fish. As he bent to add more bait, Carlos stopped him with a hand on his wrist and pointed to the water. “Even fish have their own plans. Sidis, what do you want to do with your life?”

Sidis’s bespectacled eyes, reflecting confusion, stared blankly. “I want to study at the Magic Academy in Cyprus City, but my father hasn’t saved enough yet. It’s terribly expensive.”

Koman’s chubby cheeks quivered as he scoffed, “Come on, four-eyes. You were tested by a dark mage when you were eight, remember? You have no magical affinity. Why can’t you just give it up?”

Sidis glared at Koman, exasperated. “You don’t need affinity to be a magic apprentice. As for you, Koman, you’d better be careful with your steam forging, lest you roast yourself alive!”

Koman replied with pride, “Don’t worry about me. I could take you two to one now, and soon, even a hundred of you wouldn’t be a match for me.”

“Would you dare fight a dark mage?”

“As if you would…”

“I might, at least if he’s my teacher.”

Carlos, ever the peacemaker in their group, decided to steer the conversation elsewhere and mentioned the murder that had taken place days earlier on the Wooden Bear Bridge. Instantly, everyone’s attention shifted to the grim case—drawn in by the mystery, the savagery, and the allure of a crime. Such brutality, though shameful and repugnant, always seemed to spark a strange and universal curiosity.

Just as the somber mood began to lift, someone appeared at an inopportune moment.

Grant showed up from who-knows-where, and as the others were still discussing the murder case, the very perpetrator appeared at Carlos’s side.

“Young master, someone on the bridge is watching you.”

Carlos frowned and glanced toward the bridge. Sure enough, a lean dark figure stood at the far end, staring straight at them.

Koman, still caught up in Carlos’s earlier story, looked over in surprise. “Looks like a Black Hat. Could he be investigating the case?”

Carlos spoke quietly to Grant, “Who is that?”

“Anderson Morey,” Grant replied.

Carlos shot Grant a surprised look, but seeing his serious face, realized there was no jest in it. He rubbed his nose, thinking for a moment. “The one you impersonated? Has he tracked us down?”

Grant glanced at the figure on the bridge and snickered, “Not sure yet. But even if he has, so what?”

Carlos was pleased by the coachman’s confidence and chuckled softly. Then, resting his chin on his hand, he said dryly, “Still, it’s odd. How could he have found out?”

At this, Grant fell silent, as if it had nothing to do with him.

As the conversation shifted from the murder to the black-hatted figure on the bridge, Carlos, in his expert manner, offered several observations and shared his thoughts on the crime and the criminal. He remarked that murderers were certainly villains, but didn’t always look like villains on the surface.

His unique analysis met with general approval.

Sidis jumped up, pointing at the black-hatted man. “Then do you think he could be the killer? No one ever said a Black Hat couldn’t be the murderer, right?”

Charle, thoughtful, offered his own view. “I suppose it’s possible. Not all bounty hunters are monsters—there could be bad apples among the Black Hats. But what does it matter to us? We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

Carlos looked at Grant’s dark face. “From a criminal psychology perspective, it’s true—the killer often returns to the scene of the crime.”

Malt covered her mouth in fear. “Someone among the Black Hats could be a murderer? That’s terrifying…”

Koman declared with righteous conviction, “Don’t worry. The Steam Guardians will protect Saltwell Town, especially with the mayor’s help.”

Sidis’s speculation met with general agreement, and suddenly, he stood up, abandoning his rod and running home without a word. As he ran, he shouted, “This is bad! I have to go hide my money!”

Sidis hurried off, terrified that he’d lose his savings for becoming a magic apprentice.