As he cradled the dead child, something in him changed.

There were so many children he had delivered into poverty, a new burden to those who already had nothing, and yet it was a burden that they ached to bear.

A burden he ached to bear.

What might a child who was raised by someone as special as Sarah be like, imbued with the values and perspective she would give?

He felt a pang of angst and regret, initially thinking it was on behalf of Archie, who would not get to witness these things, but then realising it came from his own heart. The role Archie had offered him would not be enough. He wanted it to be his child that was raised by Sarah. Raised with Sarah.

Then, to his surprise, he realised he did not care that the child was the fruit of another man’s loins. After all, there had been times when he took solace in the possibility that his mother had secretly lain with someone other than his father: that he had not inherited the man’s brutish and destructive nature. (Unfortunately, all subsequent evidence pointed to her fidelity.)

He had made one terrible mistake with Sarah, and it had cost him dear, but perhaps there was redemption to be had yet. Archie had shown him the error of his judgment, of his cowardice. Archie’s offspring would therefore be a permanent reminder of what truly mattered in this life. Raven would be proud to raise that child as his own.

FIFTY-SEVEN

t was raining when he came back out onto the street, and there was a bite in the wind. Raven pulled his coat tighter about him, grateful for its heft and warmth. He had many vivid memories of being on these same Old Town streets when he could not afford such a garment. He had felt particularly cold and vulnerable during his days at George Heriot’s school, scurrying between buildings to minimise his exposure. As a student at the university, though he had been no better clothed, there had been many nights when a skinful of ale at least made him heedless of the weather. He had never been heedless of all the elements, however, for on these streets there lurked more brutal things to assail you than wind and rain.

When he was a child, he used to look forward to being a man, because he believed that when such a time came, he would no longer feel so much fear. Now he understood that to be a man was to feel fear and to proceed nonetheless. As Sarah had told him and Archie had shown him, he would rob himself of the life he ought to live if he let fear restrain him. That obtained whether it be fear of violence from men such as Flint and Gargantua, or fear of disdain from men such as James Matthews Duncan and Professor Miller.