The Boy with the Porcelain Blade Read Free Page B

passed a small huddle of buildings, shuttered against the wind, smoke dissipated in a pale grey plume above the chimneys. Lucien spotted some boys playing outside, ragged-looking things, pinched and dirty. Their clothes were a uniform blend of dark grey and smudged brown. They wore no shoes, their feet pale underneath the mud that clung to them. Lucien said nothing and looked down at his boots, grateful for the thick socks he wore.
    ‘Why aren’t those boys at school?’ he asked.
    ‘Because their parents can’t afford it, most likely.’
    ‘What do you mean, afford?’
    ‘It costs money to send children to school, and not everyone has enough. Some people struggle to feed themselves.’
    ‘Who pays for me to go to school?’
    ‘Well.’ She paused. ‘The king, I suppose.’
    ‘And where does he get his money from?’
    ‘The king takes money from the people. Taxes.’
    ‘Even from people who don’t have enough to eat?’
    Rafaela nodded.
    ‘Even from people that don’t have shoes?’
    Another nod.
    ‘I don’t think I understand taxes,’ mumbled Lucien against the wind.
    ‘Few people do,’ said Rafaela, concentrating on the road ahead.
    Finally they came to a building. Based on its size, Lucien guessed it was a barn. Moss had grown up one side of the structure, creeping across the stacked stones and feeble mortar of the bottom half. The top was constructed entirely of wood, caulked with flaking white plaster.
    ‘This is a strange building,’ whispered Lucien, not knowing why. Rafaela smiled at him and jumped down from the cart, unhitching it from the mule.
    ‘What makes you say that?’
    ‘Well, half of it is made from wood.’
    ‘Not everyone can afford a castle made out of stone, little prince.’
    ‘So it’s about money? Again?’
    Rafaela smiled and nodded.
    ‘Everything is about money.’
    ‘Then why have I never seen any before?’ he asked.
    ‘The rules don’t apply to you; you’re Orfano.’
    She tied the mule up and made sure it had access to water, then held out her hands to him.
    ‘Come now, jump down. I want you to hear this.’
    They entered the building and Lucien struggled to breathe. Inside were close to thirty children, ranging from six to twelve years old. He’d not seen so many before, certainly not children who were anything but scullions or pages. Even in the training rooms of House Fontein the number rarely rose above fifteen of Demesne’s privileged noble young. The children in the barn sat at small tables, chatting to each other and reading aloud from books. Some noted down single words on scraps of parchment and took them to a wooden board where they pinned them up. Most of the children had shoes, but their clothes were well worn and often threadbare.
    Rafaela rested a hand on Lucien’s shoulder, holding him against her. She was taller than him back then. He looked up at her, forcing a nervous smile.
    A woman attired all in black clapped her hands twice. The children became hushed, folding hands neatly in front of them. Some couldn’t quite direct their attention to the teacher, instead staring at the girl and the shivering boy who had just arrived.
    ‘Today we have a special treat. Mistress Rafaela has come to speak to you. As many of you know, Mistress Rafaela works at Demesne, but once she attended this very school. She learned her words just as you now are learning yours.’
    The schoolteacher nodded politely to Rafaela, a small smile stealing over her thin lips. She was a severe-looking woman, her black hair scraped back into an unflattering bun. She had an abundance of forehead and rather beady eyes. Lucien was glad she wasn’t one of his tutors.
    Rafaela ushered the children to one end of the schoolhouse, where they variously wriggled and bumbled about, managing to cram onto a broad, slightly mangy rug. Lucien perched on a corner near the front, not straying far from Ella. The children sat beside him and said nothing. They stared with owlish expressions or