And that was when the Sarjeant-at-Arms finally deigned to make an appearance. He was supposed to be guarding the front door; that was his job, to be the first and last face any outsider ever sees if they come through the front door without an invitation. The Sarjeant is in charge of Hall security and family discipline, which means he gets to hit people a lot; and he’s never happier than when he’s found an excuse to really lay the law down. He made my life hell when I was a child, beating me till the blood flew for the smallest infringement of the rules; and when I finally came back to the Hall to put the family in order, one of the first things I did was to beat the crap out of him. And then he had the nerve to say he only did it to toughen me up and prepare me for the world outside. He actually said he was proud of me, before he lapsed into unconsciousness. I’ll never forgive him for that.

The Sarjeant-at-Arms was tall and broad, with muscles in places where you and I don’t even have places. And though he affected the stark black-and-white formal uniform of a Victorian butler, it never fooled anyone for a moment. The man was a thug and a bully and proud of it, and therefore perfectly suited to his job. He had that stiff-backed, steely-eyed military look that promises you blood, sweat, and tears in the future, and every bit of it yours. His impassive face always seemed as though it had been carved out of stone, but now it looked like someone had been at it with a chisel. The last time we went head-to-head, Molly hit him with a plague of rats, and now one side of his face was a mass of scars and his left ear was missing. I gave him a stern look.

“I thought I told you to get your face fixed. The cosmetic sorcerers could put you right in an afternoon, and you know it.”

“I like the scars,” the Sarjeant said calmly. “They add character. And they’re very good for intimidating people.”

“What about the ear?”

“Pardon?”

I scowled at him. “Where the hell were you when we got ambushed by that mob?”

“Right,” said Molly. “Taking it easy in your cubicle, were you, with the latest issue of Big and Busty and the door locked?”

The Sarjeant ignored her, his cold gaze fixed on mine. “About time you got back, boy. Whole place has been going down the crapper since you left. Family discipline is falling apart, without the old certainties to keep them in line. They need you here, setting an example. Not gallivanting about back in the world, on personal business.”