Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

“How did you get in here?” Nicci snapped.

“Master key.” He waved it like a king’s pass. “See, my father’s the landlord. I was just checking your things for subversive writings.”

“You can read?” Nicci sniped. “I would have to see that to believe it.”

The defiant grin never left his face. “We’d not like to find we have subversives living under our roof. Could endanger everyone else. My father has a duty to report any suspicious activity.”

Richard stepped aside to let the young man by as he headed for the door, but then caught his arm as the youth picked up the candle.

“That’s our candle,” Richard said.

“Yeah? What makes you think so?”

Richard tightened his grip on the bare, lean, muscular arm. Looking him in the eye, he gestured with his other hand.

“Our initials are scratched in the bottom, there.”

Before he thought, the young man instinctively turned the candle to have a look. The hot wax spilled over his hand. He dropped the candle with a yelp.

“Oh my, I am sorry,” Richard said. He stooped and picked up the candle. “You’re all right, I hope. You didn’t get any of that burning wax in your eyes, did you? Hot wax in your eyes hurts something fierce.”

“Yeah?” He swiped his straight dark hair back from his eyes. “How would you know that?”

“Back where I came from, I saw it happen to some poor fellow.”

Richard leaned partway out into the hall, into the light of another candle on a shelf. With his thumbnail, he made a show of carving an R and a C in the bottom of the candle. “See, here? My initials.”

The youth didn’t bother to look. “Uh-huh.”

He swaggered out the door. Richard went with him and lit the candle from the flame of the one in the hall. Before walking away, the young man turned back with a haughty look.

“How did that fellow manage to be stupid enough to get hot wax in his eyes? Was he a big dumb ox like you?”

“No,” Richard said offhandedly. “No, not at all. He was a cocky young man who foolishly put his hands on another man’s wife. He got the hot wax dripped in his eyes by the husband.”

“Yeah? Well why didn’t the dumb jackass just shut his eyes?”

Richard gave the lad a deadly smile for the first time.

“Because his eyelids had been cut off, first, so he couldn’t close them. You see, where I come from, anyone touching a woman against her wishes isn’t treated indulgently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The young man’s eyelids weren’t the only thing that got cut off.”

The young man swiped his black hair back again. “You threatening me, ox?”

“No. There would be nothing I could do to you that would harm you more than what you’re already doing to harm yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You are never going to amount to anything. You will always be the worthless muck people scrape from their shoes. You only get one life and you are wasting yours. That’s a terrible shame. I doubt you will ever know what it is to be truly happy, to achieve anything of worth, to have genuine pride in yourself. You bring it all on yourself, and I could do no worse to you.”

“I can’t help what life deals me.”

“Yes, you can. You create your own life.”

“Yeah? How do you figure?”

Richard gestured around himself. “Look at the pigsty you live in. Your father is the landlord. Why don’t you show some pride and fix up the place?”

“He’s the landlord, not the owner. The man who owned it was a greedy bastard, charging more rent than many could afford. The Order took the place over. For his crimes against the people they tortured the owner to death. My father was given the job of landlord. We just run the place to help out fools like you who don’t have a place; we’ve no money to go around fixing up the building.”

“Money?” Richard pointed. “It takes money to pick up that garbage left there in the hall?”

“I didn’t put it there.”

“And these walls—it doesn’t take money to wash the walls. Look at the ceiling in this room. It hasn’t been washed in a decade, at least.”

“Hey, I’m no scrub woman.”

“And the front stoop? Someone is going to break their neck on it. Could be you, or your father. Why don’t you do something worthwhile for a change and fix it?”

“I told you, we’ve no money to fix things.”

“It doesn’t take money. You just need to take it apart, clean the joints, and put in some new wedges. You can cut them from any little scrap of wood lying around.”

The young man wiped his palms on his pants. “If you’re so smart, then why don’t you fix the stairs?”

“Good idea. I will.”

“Yeah?” His sneer returned. “I don’t believe you.”

“Tomorrow, after I get home from work, I will fix the stairs. If you show up, I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

“I might show up just to see some dupe going to the work of fixing something that isn’t even his, and for nothing besides.”

“It isn’t for nothing. It’s because I use the front steps, too, and for the pleasure in the place where I live. I care if my wife falls and breaks her leg. But if you want to come and learn how to fix the steps, you will wear a shirt out of respect for the women in your building.”

“And if I show up and watch you, and I don’t wear a stupid shirt like some old geezer?”

“Then I wouldn’t have enough respect for you to bother teaching you how to fix the stairs. You will learn nothing, then.”

“What if I don’t want to learn something?”

“Then you will have taught me something, about you, instead.”

He rolled his dark eyes. “Why should I care about learning to fix some dumb stairs?”

“You shouldn’t necessarily care about fixing some stairs, but if you care about yourself, you should care about learning—even learning simple things. You come to have pride in yourself only by accomplishing things, even from fixing some old stairs.”

“Yeah? I got pride in myself.”

“You intimidate people and then mistake that for respect. Others can’t grant you self-respect, even others who care about you. You have to earn self-respect yourself. All you know right now is how to stand around and look stupid.”

He folded his arms. “Who you calling—”

Richard jabbed a finger against the young man’s smooth chest, forcing him back a pace. “You only get one life. Is that all you want out of it—standing around calling names, scaring people with your gang? Is that all you want your one life to mean to you?

“Anyone who wants more out of life, who wants their life to mean something, would care about learning things. Tomorrow I’m going to fix those stairs. Tomorrow we’ll see what sort you are.”

The youth folded his arms again in a defiant stance. “Yeah? Well, maybe I’d rather spend time with my friends.”

Richard shrugged. “That’s why your lot in life isn’t fate. I don’t have any say in much of my life, but I make whatever choices I can make in my own rational best interest. It’s my choice to fix those stairs and make the place I live a little better—instead of whining and waiting and hoping for someone else to do something for me. I have pride that I know how to do that for myself.

“Fixing stairs isn’t going to make you a man, but it’s going to make you a little more confident in yourself. If you want, bring your friends, and I’ll teach you all how to use those knives of yours for something more than just waving in people’s faces.”

“We might come to laugh at you working, Ox.”

“Fine. But if you and your pals want to learn anything of worth, then you’d better start out by showing me you mean to learn by showing respect and showing up with shirts. That’s the first choice you have. If you make it wrong, then your choices as you go along are only going to become more limited. And my na

me is Richard.”

“Like I said, you might be good for a laugh.” He made a face. “Richard.”

“Laugh all you want. I know my own worth and don’t need to prove it to someone who doesn’t know theirs. If you want to learn, you know what you must do. If you ever wave a knife at me again, though—or, worse, my wife—then you will be making the last of your many mistakes in life.”

He chose to ignore the threat with more bravado. “What am I ever going to be? Some dupe, like you, working your tail off for that greedy Ishaq and his transport company?”

“What’s your name?”

“Kamil.”

“Well, Kamil, I work in exchange for wages so I can support myself and my wife. I have have something of value—myself. Someone values my worth enough to pay me for my time and ability. Right now, choosing to work at loading wagons is one of the few choices I have to make in my life. I chose to fix the steps because it improves my life.” Richard narrowed his eyes. “And what does Ishaq have to do with it, anyway?”

“Ishaq? He’s the one who owns the transport company.”