Chapter Text
It starts, as most things do, with Forsyth.
It’s always Forsyth, dragging him off on some ridiculous adventure. Out to the woods to look for fairies. Into the marketplace to look for pickpockets and swindlers. Out to the river to sneak onto a boat. Into the palace courtyard to play knights.
Python always makes sure to complain about how far they walk—and he means it, too—but really, he doesn’t mind their little adventures. Forsyth’s world is full of fun and excitement, and it’s always plenty far away from Python’s house. When they’re playing knights, he can forget the worry of whether his father will come home drunk, angry, or both.
Not a month ago, Forsyth confided in Python that his own father was demanding he come along to the local lord’s castle to begin his studies proper and, most importantly, spend his days under adult supervision. Python figured this would mean an end to the adventures. He should have known better.
“It’s the lord’s son,” Forsyth whispers. There’s no one around to hear them, but he insists on an air of secrecy. “The younger one. I see him when I sneak away from lessons.”
It sounds like a recipe for trouble, but Python likes the idea of meddling in noble business. “Yeah? What’s he up to?”
“Nothing,” Forsyth says gravely. “Nothing at all, ever.”
“So what?”
Forsyth shakes his head. “You don’t understand. He’s always… sad. I always see him training and studying. It’s like he’s trapped there! We have to help him!”
“We don’t have to,” Python argues.
“But we’re going to!”
Python sighs. When Forsyth sets his mind to something, there’s not much anyone can do about it. Besides, he does want to see what the inside of the castle looks like.
Their adventure begins a week later, once Forsyth has made his plans and Python has slipped away from home.
Python follows Forsyth and his father to the castle, staying well out of sight. Nobody knows it, since he’s always with his loud friend, but he’s good at slipping through the woods unnoticed. He likes it.
The castle is tall and imposing, the biggest thing Python has ever seen. Stone walls dig into the earth around it, daring anyone to attack, and a lonesome guard waves people through at the gate. It’s hard to imagine a fancier home, except perhaps for the king himself.
Python hurries onward, following Forsyth into the courtyard. The guard at the gate raises an eyebrow at his tattered clothes but says nothing. Once inside, he surveys the bustling yard and scrambles up a tree as agreed. He’ll wait here until Forsyth has time to escape from his lessons, so the two of them can sneak into the castle together. And until then… the summer air is warm, and the tree is comfortable. He curls up among the ancient branches for a little nap.
He awakens to Forsyth shaking the tree, which he nearly falls out of in the process. He swings down quickly and lands hard on the dirt. Lucky for them, the courtyard is near empty at this hour, and nobody really cares what a couple of kids are up to. Python likes this invisibility because less people ask him strange questions. Forsyth likes it because it makes it easier to play spies and detectives.
Together, they sneak into the arching stone hallways of the castle. It’s as impressive on the inside as the outside, though much less fun. He certainly feels no more knightly in here than he ever does. Most of the people using the hall are servants, carrying food, books, papers, or weapons. Forsyth guides him carefully down the hall, ducking away from the more important-looking servants, til they finally reach a set of stairs.
“We’re not supposed to go up here,” he explains.
“But we’re going to?”
Forsyth nods eagerly. “But we’re going to!”
The second floor is scarier than the first. More than once, Python has to yank Forsyth backward around a corner at the sound of approaching voices. The people up here are knights and scholars, not servants. They might actually care if they found two raggedy children running around in their fancy house. Python wishes, not for the first time, that Forsyth had chosen a more fun adventure, like raiding the pantry. But his friend is determined, so he keeps up.
Finally, they turn a small corner off the main hall, and Forsyth stops. In front of them, set into the stone bricks, is a tall wooden door.
“He’s in there,” Forsyth says, a little out of breath from running. “He always is, in the morning. For lessons or something.”
Approaching, Python notices a knot hole in one of the boards. He peers through it, careful not to make a sound.
It’s not as if he hadn’t believed Forsyth that something was going on here, but the view he catches through his tiny peephole is something else. It’s a schoolroom, as large as the main room of Python’s house, with desks and bookcases and piles of paper all about. It looks like a dragon’s hoard of boredom, and stuck right in the middle of it is one tiny, red-haired child. He sits stone-still in the middle of the room while a tutor, towering over, paces around him, lecturing in a stern voice and hitting the table with a stick. It’s horrifying.
When he finally tears his eyes away from the grim scene, he turns back to Forsyth. “What do we do?”
Forsyth frowns. “I don’t know. Maybe we can help him run away.”
“We don’t even know if he wants to.”
“Well, he has to—” Forsyth scrunches up his face. “Why wouldn’t he want to leave?”
There are plenty of good answers to that question, but Python doesn’t like any of them, so he just shrugs. “Dunno. Is that guy going to leave?”
“The teacher?” Forsyth says. “He’s usually gone by now. Here, we should keep watch!” His eyes light up at the idea. “I’ll make sure no one comes around the corner, and you can watch for when the teacher leaves.”
“Okay.”
Python presses up against the door, trying to get a better look through the knot hole. He can just barely hear what the man inside is saying, though he doesn’t understand many of the words. The kid talks too, once in a while, but only in a voice too small to hear. Finally, the teacher piles a few more books onto the main desk, says something about assigned readings, and turns for the door.
Python scrambles away, grabbing Forsyth by the wrist and pulling him out to the larger hallway. The twisting corner buys them a few seconds, which they spend sprinting down the hall, watchful eyes be damned. At the last moment, Forsyth pulls to the right, and they tumble around another corner, into a passage of lesser interest.
They press against the stone wall and listen as footsteps proceed toward them. Python lets go of Forsyth’s arm, and Forsyth reaches for his hand instead. For all their adventuring, there’s not much they can do now but hope not to be caught.
Luck is on their side—the footsteps continue the other way, and no more follow. Forsyth is the one brave enough to step back into the hallway first, and he eagerly motions for Python to follow. Together, they creep back down the hall to the tiny, empty schoolroom.
The door is still closed. Python peers through the knot hole again; the lord’s son hasn’t moved from his seat.
He turns to Forsyth. “Y’think he’s even alive?”
“Sure he is!” Forsyth shoves past him, grabbing the door handle. “Come on!”
The old wooden door creaks as it opens, and the boy at the table startles. He looks over his shoulder, staring at them with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?” he says. Then he squints at them like he’s trying to figure something out and adds, “Who are you?”
“We’re here to help you!” Forsyth says proudly.
“I’m Python,” Python adds. “That’s Forsyth.”
“Oh,” says the boy, “um.” His voice is so quiet, it hardly even carries across the small schoolroom. “You probably shouldn’t be here. My father doesn’t like for people to interrupt my studies.”
“You shouldn’t be forced to study!” Forsyth shouts, advancing toward the desk. “You don’t have to—”
Python elbows him quickly—“Shh. We’ll get caught.”—and Forsyth claps a hand over his mouth.
“I’m not being forced to study,” the boy says. “I like reading. I’m only allowed to in the morning, though.”
“D’you want us to leave?” It would make a nice end to their adventure, wouldn’t it? Everyone would be happy—or happy enough, anyway—and they could all go home.
The boy blinks at them. “…No.”
“No?” says Python.
“Yes!” says Forsyth.
“I don’t get to see very many people,” the boy continues. “Except for the servants and tutors. And they’re not very nice.”
Python frowns. “Aren’t you in charge? I thought everybody had to do what you say.”
“Python! Be nice!”
“I am! I just asked a question!”
“If people listened to him, he wouldn’t be sad! Isn’t that right… uh…”
For the first time, the tiny boy smiles a tiny smile. “My name is Lukas. And I’m not sad. I’m just… busy. And I don’t enjoy my studies very much.”
Forsyth crosses his arms. “I don’t like my studies either. My father wants me to read all day when I could be training.”
Lukas sighs—and Python can’t help but think how much older it makes him seem, just for that moment—“I wish I was allowed to read all day. It’s the only thing I actually like.”
Python winces. “Sounds pretty sad to me.”
“What if we help you run away?” Forsyth’s eyes light up, sparkling with a dream that nobody else can see. “You could take your books with you and read all day! And you could go into town and talk to people instead of being stuck here all the time!”
“Um,” says Lukas. “I don’t think that would… work.”
“Why not?”
He fidgets with the closed book in front of him. “Well, I wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep. Or anything to eat. I think I would starve to death unless a wild animal got to me first.”
“Oh,” says Forsyth, crestfallen. “Then… how are we supposed to help you?”
It’s a stupid question to ask, especially to a noble’s son. Python grabs Forsyth’s arm and starts turning for the door, ready to make a quick escape, but… somehow, Lukas doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t even look annoyed. He just sort of blinks at them, perfectly still and silent.
“Well,” he finally says, “you could come back tomorrow?”
“Really?” Forsyth half-shouts, slamming his hands on the desk and startling Lukas. “You mean it?”
“Yes,” says Lukas. “I think I’d like that.”