Jack shrugged. “I stole a fish.”
Richard hid a laugh. If he had a doubloon for each time he and Kaldar had had this precise conversation . . .
George’s blue eyes went wide. “Why?”
“I was hungry. And bored. But mostly hungry.” Jack spread his arms. “Look, I took one small fish, then the guy started screaming, so I slapped him with it. It wasn’t my fault he tripped and fell into a stall of fruit. So I laughed, and they all started chasing me.”
The rage written on George’s face imploded into icy determination. His voice was suddenly calm. “And so you had this pissed-off mob chasing you. Why did you lead them my way?”
Jack widened his eyes in mocking sincerity. “Because you needed a bath.”
George pulled his rags over his head and dumped them on the floor. He wore a gray-and-black tunic and pants. Good choice, Richard decided. The clothes hugged his body, while allowing ample freedom of movement. In the few years he had known him, the boy had filled out. George would never be a large man, but he had that devastating combination of lean muscle, quickness, and discipline that made one a lethal swordsman.
“Two weeks in that alley. Rain, heat, people kicking me as they passed by. And you decided I needed a bath.”
“Water is good for you. Really. You were filthy.”
“Mhm,” George said.
“Do you have any idea how badly you smelled?” Jack wrinkled his nose.
“I was supposed to smell. I was pretending to be a beggar. You blew my cover.”
“Your cover was already blown,” Richard said. “Parris knows the Mirror has been watching him.”
“See?” Jack said.
“That’s beside the point. You ruined two weeks of work because you were bored. Now I’ll be pulled off this assignment, and someone else will have to take my place.”
Jack shrugged, slightly less sure of himself. “Good. It’s summer. All you do is work. Maybe we can finally have some fun.”
“I’m going to kill you,” George said calmly.
Another familiar emotion. This had to run its course, or it would fester.
“Boys,” Charlotte began. “I really don’t think—”
A glowing yellow sheen rolled over Jack’s irises. He was two years younger but already the same height as George and wider in the shoulder, with the beginnings of a powerful musculature. Benefits of his changeling blood. Of course, it came with many drawbacks.
Jack motioned at George. “Bring it.”
George lunged forward, swinging his arm. Jack moved to block. Midway through the punch, George twisted, picking up speed, jumped, and kicked his brother in the chest. Jack flew out the door and into the gym.
Nicely done!
Charlotte gasped.
George strode to the door with a determined look on his face.
“George!” Charlotte called.
He turned on his toes, produced an elegant bow, said, “Excuse me, my lady. This won’t take long,” and walked out.
Charlotte looked at Richard. “Why are you just standing there?”
“They’re young men. It’s quite normal,” he told her, and held the door open for her. “It’s better they resolve it now and be done with it.”
She sighed, stood up, and went out into the gym.
The two boys danced across the floor, launching a flurry of kicks and punches, blocking, spinning, jumping. The other activity stopped, and the fighters watched them. Jack clearly had superior strength and speed, but George had studied harder. His movements had the surety born from many hours spent training, while Jack fought on instinct. His instinct was rarely wrong, Richard reflected, as George slid across the floor after taking a powerful kick. But it was no substitute for practice. Still, since William, his cousin’s changeling husband, had taken over Jack’s hand-to-hand education, the boy showed a marked improvement.
George rolled to his feet, lunged, getting inside his brother’s guard, and locked his hands on Jack’s arm. Northern three-point flip, Richard diagnosed. Jack tried to counter with the Lower Sud drop—William’s influence—but the three-point was nearly impossible to stop, and George had gotten a good hold. Trip, turn, flip. Jack flew through the air, and George slammed him onto the ground. Jack’s back slapped the floor.
Ugh. Richard grimaced in sympathy. That had to hurt.
George landed on him and locked his arm into a bar. The fighters cheered.
Next to him, Charlotte winced again. Watching it from the healer’s point of view was probably more trying. He decided to reassure her. “They’re actually quite careful with each other. For example, this takedown was designed to incapacitate the opponent. A quarter turn to the right, and Jack would’ve landed on his neck.”
She gave him an unreadable look.
He felt compelled to explain. “George could’ve broken Jack’s spine . . .”
She raised her hand. “Richard, stop trying to make me feel better. You’re making it worse.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” George said, putting pressure on Jack’s arm. “You’re done.”
“I’m just resting,” Jack told him through clenched teeth.
“You’re done,” George said.
They were at an impasse. Jack wouldn’t admit defeat, and George, despite all his anger, wouldn’t dislocate his brother’s arm. He took a step forward to break them up, but Charlotte beat him to it.
She walked across the gym and crouched by the two teens. “That’s enough, George.” She gently put one hand on his fingers, gripping his brother’s arm. “I have something very important to tell both of you, and it won’t wait.”
“Is it good news?” Jack ground out.
Profound sadness reflected on Charlotte’s face. “No. It isn’t.”
George released Jack’s arm. The boys rolled to their feet.
“Come,” she said, linking one arm with George, the other with Jack, and led them both back into the room.
SIX
“MY name is Charlotte.” Dear Goddess, there were no right words. Charlotte took a deep breath. “Your grandmother might have mentioned me.”
“You rent our house,” Jack said.