“I have a significant head start on you in being cynical.”

“I’ll do better.” Devon straightened himself, eyes flicking about the crowd as if he hoped to identify an assassin amongst them. “I want to learn.”

“Not too quickly, I hope.” He tried to make it seem casual. But he had pushed Jon Bassett into responsibility too quickly, and did not want to make the same mistakes again. He hoped Devon would hold onto his youthful optimism for years, rather than go too fast. And frankly, Guy hoped that some of that learning might come back his way as well.

A few tables down the line, a basket of fresh bread was being delivered by none other than the servant girl Arable, who kept her face down and a bonnet to mask the scars Jon Bassett had given her.

Not too quickly, Devon.

“Unbelievable!” came a deep-hearted roar, and Guy snapped his attention to a throng of men pouring through the front gates. Not a crowd of miscontents, this was the entourage of the visiting Lord Geoffrey of Oughtibridge. Every movement seemed to take effort from the huge man, and his face was bright red and bursting just at the slight incline from the gatehouse. “This is the top of it all, that’s what this is!”

“Your lordship.” Guy slipped from behind the table to meet the dignitary. “Is anything the matter?”

“Everything is the fucking matter!” he belched, and did not stop as he barreled to the front of the line to inspect the day’s offerings. “What is this?”

The crowd retracted from him, watching in alarm as he snatched a lump of bread and squeezed it to pulp. Guy wondered if this was supposed to be a demonstration of strength. It was tempting to answer the man’s question of What is this? with the obvious word bread, but decided to keep quiet until he learned what had prompted the lord’s rage.

“I came to see the Sheriff,” Oughtibridge continued, sending a look of disgust to everything within arm’s reach. “He keeps sending tax collectors at me, so I decided to finally pay.”

A loose gesture indicated two of the men in his entourage, who each held one end of a sizable wooden chest they appeared eager to be rid of. They jostled its weight to the ground and took a step back.

“But this, this just proves my point.” Oughtibridge stuck his nose into a nearby bowl held by an old man who did not know enough to retreat. “This is what he’s doing with my taxes, then? This is why he’s so desperate to count every last coin I have, so he can give out food for free?”

“I don’t think the two are related,” Guy answered, fully aware it was only for himself.