The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Audience, pt. 1

This wasn't a bad idea, so Able flipped to an empty page and, after glancing around for a likely subject, started sketching the mechanisms of the clock, starting with what he could see, then guessing at the interiors he couldn't.

"Wait, you can draw?"

Able looked at his sketch, then at the amazed look on Lark's face as he peered at said sketch, "...yes?"

"I don't know why I'm surprised," Lark shook his head. "You studied art?"

"Geometry. One of my favorite subjects, to be honest, and a prerequisite for astronomy, which is another discipline for which diagrams can be more useful than paragraphs, and furthermore, embellishments can make them more effective."

"Where do you find room in your brain for all the things you know?" Lark's smile was...spellbound. Able was flattered that he was looking at him that way but really wished he would stop.

"That's like asking where you get all your energy, isn't it? I just have an appetite for it, I guess. Or the stamina, maybe. However that metaphor works best."

"You have more curiosity than most people," Lark fixed it.

"I suppose," Able looked at the clock to sober himself. 2:01. Any minute now. It seemed that Lark wanted to say something more, but refrained. Able kept drawing, trying not to watch the minutes tick by. The door would open when it opened.

Unless it wouldn't. Adeptson had not appreciated that last meeting. Perhaps he was punishing Able for it by making him wait longer. Or what if he didn't intend to meet with him at all? His pencil strokes were getting stiff and erratic, and when he heard footsteps in the hall he froze. The clock read 2:15. His heart was hammering so hard he couldn't even hear it ticking.

Lark's finger nudged his pencil. Able turned to meet the brown eyes that casually dropped their gaze to the paper once more. He was the perfect picture of an interested observer. Able did his best to give him something to observe again while Reeve walked up to the door with a sheaf of papers in hand. Perhaps he meant to knock, but he stalled mid-step, then turned.

"What's all this, Houser?"

"I'm waiting for my appointment," Able gestured to the door.

"I thought you already had an audience with the count," Reeve cast his eyes on Lark. "You need another?"

"I have new questions I was hoping he would answer, yes."

"And you mean to introduce him to your... 'landlady?'" the sheriff raised an eyebrow.

Able's mind raced and every option it presented sounded even more suspicious than the one Reeve himself had presented.

"Nah, I'm just chatting with him while he waits," Lark chimed in.

"I see," the Sheriff's amber eyes had been wanting to settle on Lark while he had been questioning Able and now took their chance. "Who are you, exactly, and who gave you clearance to be in here?"

"Lark Miles, and don't I have a right to be here as a Larbant citizen?"

"Citizen," Reeve fought down a sneer. "Indeed? Settled in Fairbanks?"

"Yes, for many years now."

"Then I suppose you have your settler papers?"

Lark squinted one eye, then looked to Able for help.

"It's a document that allows you to keep your provincial rights when you move to a territory," he explained. "Your rights and tax rates would have remained the same as if you had never left Blueport, essentially."