Frax had yet to find employment. Strick sat thinking about that for a while, chewing the inside of his lip. Suddenly he stared past Frax, his eyes going wide. He had not finished his “Look out!” when Frax had spun to face the door, crouching, poised. Each fist had grown a dagger. He saw nothing; no one and no menace.
“You’re hired,” Strick said, and Frax turned to find him still seated comfortably. “A partition will divide the room downstairs: an entry hall and your room. Your bed will be in it, and your belongings. You’ll consider yourself on duty at all times, starting on the morrow. What payment did you receive, as palace guardsman?”
Still in partial shock, Frax told him.
“Hmp! The Prince is no less important than I am-yet. Same wage, Frax.”
“You-that was a trick! You tested-“
Frax blinked down at the swordpoint at his chest. His new employer had stood and drawn and set it there as fast and smoothly as any man Frax had ever seen.
“You had to be almost as good as I am, Frax,” he said in that equable way, eyes large and serene. “I won’t be wearing a sword.” And Strick swung the sword up and back, touched his shoulder with it, and sheathed without glancing down. “Do you know anything about a sort of over-age street urchin named Wintsenay?”
“Not much, Swordmaster. He’s a-“
“You definitely are not to call me that, Frax! We’ll-” He paused, listening, and smiled. “I have a guest, Frax. If I’m lucky, two guests. In the morning, Frax?”
Frax was nodding, working at finding a respectful title for his astonishing employer, when Esaria bubbled into the room.