Chapter 60: Going back to Normal

The assassin glared at me in silent, paralyzed fury as I stuffed his boots into the closet, wedged his upper body behind a stack of old accounting boxes, and shut the heavy wooden door.

Click.

I locked the closet door from the outside using my lockpick, ensuring he wouldn’t be found until the party ended and the servants came to clean the guest wing the next morning.

I turned back to the room, double-checking every single detail. I closed the heavy star steel safe, spun the combination dials back to zero, and pushed the snowy mountain oil painting back into its original position over the wall cut.

I smoothed out the wrinkles on the carpet where his body had fallen, picked up my iron lockpick from the floor, and straightened my small silk suit.

I adjusted my dark blue bowtie in the reflective glass of a display cabinet, making sure no dust or carpet fibers were clinging to my jacket.

"That was exhausting," I muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.

I returned to the grand ballroom as if nothing had happened.

Duke Voulstridge was standing near the entrance of the balcony corridor, his posture rigid and imposing. As I walked past him, I subtly slid the paper rubbing of the ledger and the assassin’s serpent token into his coat pocket.

The Duke didn’t say a word out loud, but his eyes narrowed with lethal intensity. He nudged his coat slightly to secure the evidence.

"Is it done?" he whispered under his breath, barely moving his lips.

"Clean," I whispered back without breaking stride. "Check the closet when you get a chance."

He gave a slight nod. He knew what to do with the assassin trapped in the closet.

"Silvester! There you are!" Arielle came running over, holding two glasses of sweet fruit juice. "You missed the ice sculpture demonstration! It was huge!"

"Sorry, Arielle. Got lost," I said, taking one of the glasses and taking a sip. "The hallways in this place are a nightmare."

"You’re bad at directions," she pouted, thrusting a plate at me. "I saved you another strawberry tart. You better eat it because I had to fight three baron sons for it."

"Did you hit them with ice magic?" I asked, eyeing the tart.

"No," she said proudly. "I used my elbows. They cried."

"Good girl," I said, taking a bite. "Never let high society steal your dessert."

"Are you going to leave already?" she asked, tilting her head. "Father said you have to go back early."

"Yeah. An eight year old staying out past midnight looks suspicious," I replied. "Besides, I have a shop to run tomorrow."

"You are boring," she groaned. "Next time you come to tutor me, bring more of those pink candies."

"If you practice your mana control properly, maybe I will," I said.

I spent another hour at the party, acting like a normal child, before taking the Voulstridge carriage back home to the Commercial District.

By the time I reached the guild, it was past midnight.

The front door creaked open quietly. Victoria was sitting in the rocking chair near the counter, holding a broom in her lap, fast asleep. She had waited up for me the entire night, just as I expected.

I smiled faintly, taking a soft blanket from the shelf and gently draping it over her shoulders.

"Mmm... Little lamb...?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Is that you?"

"Yeah. I am back," I said softly.

"What time is it?" she asked, blinking heavily as she adjusted the broom in her arms. "Did the Duke treat you well? Did you remember your manners?"

"I was on my best behavior," I lied smoothly. "And it is way past your bedtime."

"Did you eat properly at the party?" she asked, grabbing my hand to inspect my fingers for dirt. "Or did you just fill your stomach with fancy sugar?"

"Ate lots of cake," I admitted. "And three strawberry tarts."

"I knew it," she huffed, though her voice was thick with sleep. "Your stomach is going to turn on you by morning. Noble food is all presentation and no substance."

"My stomach is fine, Victoria. Go back to bed."

"Did you bow properly to the Duchess?" she pressed on, leaning forward in the chair. "You didn’t stare at people, did you?"

"I bowed, I drank my juice, and I didn’t stare at anyone," I said, gently pushing her toward the stairs. "Now go sleep before you fall off that chair."

"Alright... don’t forget to wash your face..." she murmured, slowly standing up and heading upstairs to her room.

The next morning, life went back to normal.

The morning sun shone through the guild window, casting long golden strips across the wooden floorboards. Victoria was frying sausage and eggs in the kitchen, and the smell filled the main hall.

I sat at the front counter, organizing my small screwdrivers and iron files into clean leather slots.

"Breakfast is almost ready, Silvester!" Victoria called out from the kitchen. "Make sure you wipe down the counter before the grease gets on your tools!"

"Already wiped it twice," I called back.

"Wipe it a third time!" she demanded. "And wash your hands! You were touching dirty metal all yesterday!"

I chuckled softly and shook my head. She really had no idea what kind of metal I was touching yesterday.

A local baker woman came into the guild carrying a small wooden music box with a broken latch.

"Good morning, little Silvester!" she greeted cheerfully, setting the box down on the counter. "Look at this mess. The latch snapped off when my grandson dropped it this morning."

"Good morning, Mrs. Smith," I replied with a smile, picking up my magnifying loupe. "Let me see what we are dealing with."

"Can you fix this latch? It won’t close properly," she asked kindly, placing three copper coins on the counter. "The blacksmith down the block said he would have to melt the whole hinge, but I know you have delicate hands for this sort of thing."

"A blacksmith uses a sledgehammer for problems that need a needle," I said, examining the bent brass clip inside the keyhole. "He would have ruined the wood carving."

"That is exactly what I told my husband!" Mrs. Smith laughed, leaning against the counter. "I told him, little Silvester at the guild has magic fingers with locks! He fixed the butcher’s padlock last week in three seconds!"

"That was just a jammed tumbler," I said modestly, inserting a thin brass pick into the mechanism. "This one just needs the internal tension spring realigned. Give me five minutes."

"Take your time, dear," she said, watching me intently. "Is Victoria keeping you busy with chores?"

"Victoria keeps me busier than a guild master," I chuckled.

"She loves you, boy," Mrs. Smith said warmly. "You are a good kid, Silvester. Most boys your age are running around in the dirt breaking windows."

"I prefer fixing things," I said.

The small brass latch snapped back into alignment, and the music box lid closed with a crisp, satisfying sound. I turned the small winding key on the side, and a soft, tinkling melody played through the tiny internal comb.

"There you go, Mrs. Smith. Good as new."

Mrs. Smith gasped in delight. "Oh, you wonderful boy! Look at that!"

"That will be three coppers," I said, sliding the coins into my palm.

"Keep the extra," she smiled, pushing a warm, paper-wrapped cinnamon bun onto the counter next to my hand. "Fresh from the oven."

"Thank you, Mrs. Smith."

One night I was fighting black-thread assassins in a Duke’s palace, and the next morning I was fixing a baker’s music box for copper coins.

It was a strange life, but I didn’t hate it.