The Boy with the Porcelain Blade by Den Patrick

The wooden bar slotted into the metal hooks, preventing any unwelcome guests. The warm smells of straw and manure greeted him, not unpleasantly. Two battered lanterns spilled yellow light down the center of the stable, revealing the only visible occupant. A scrawny stable boy lay in a heap of blankets with a sheepdog curled up around him. He opened one bleary eye toward Lucien, then closed it and rolled over. An empty jug lay discarded in the straw, relieved of the small beer inside. A few of the horses whickered, eyeing Lucien with interest.
    ‘Virmyre?’ he whispered, not daring to call out. The professore appeared from one of the stalls. He was his usual unreadable self, although his hair was a mess.
    ‘What happened back at the apartment?’
    ‘Never mind that,’ growled Virmyre, ‘What in nine hells happened to you? Are you hurt?’
    Lucien realised he must look terrible, covered in the outcast Orfano’s blood.
    ‘I was attacked on the roof.’ He paused to chew his lip. ‘There was someone up there. Living up there, I think. He attacked me.’
    ‘Are you hurt?’
    ‘Just bruises. I… I had to kill him.’
    ‘Were you seen? Were you heard?’
    ‘No. He was alone up there.’
    Lucien pressed fingers to his neck, remembering the constricting grip of the Orfano, then the awful sound of the man dying with a blade lodged in his throat.
    ‘Where’s this horse? I’d better make my exit before things become worse.’
    Virmyre took a saddle down and placed it on a roan horse that looked at Lucien with large bored-looking eyes.
    ‘So I’m going to be a horse thief in addition to being an outcast?’
    ‘No. This is my horse. Now it’s your horse. He’s called Fabien. Try and look after him. Or find someone that can.’
    ‘But you don’t ride.’
    ‘I used to, back when my wife was alive. I keep meaning to go riding again, but…’
    Lucien stood in the dimly lit stable watching Virmyre attach the bridle and fasten the straps, feeling overwhelmed by the older man’s generosity. A knock at the door startled both men and they ducked down into the stall. Lucien pulled his knife free of its scabbard an inch before Virmyre laid a hand atop his and gestured he calm himself. The stable boy huffed and grumbled, shrugging off the blankets, pushing himself to his feet reluctantly.
    ‘Who’s there?’ he called out in a rough voice thick with sleep.
    ‘It’s me, Camelia.’ The lad shrugged and lifted the bar from the door.
    ‘This is a stable, not a common room,’ he grunted sourly. Camelia calmly cuffed him about the head, then pushed a small jug of cider into hands.
    ‘Mind your manners, you little beast.’
    The stable boy resumed his pose amidst the many blankets. His dog yawned and regarded the newcomer, tongue lolling from an open mouth. Virmyre led the horse out of the stall as Camelia gave a sob and hugged Lucien to her fiercely. The sound of her distress threatened to undo Lucien’s resolve. He felt his throat grow thick while his eyes prickled with tears.
    ‘What…?’ said Camelia, ‘Why are you covered in blood. Look at you. Porca misèria. You look like death warmed up.’
    ‘I’m fine. I ran into some trouble. I’d better go before I cause any more.’
    ‘Too late.’
    It was Dino; he’d appeared at the stable doors like an apparition, dressed in black with only his pale face catching the meagre light. He clutched a sword cane in his hand with white knuckles, his expression grave.
    ‘Golia is heading this way. He’ll be here any second.’
    Camelia tied a sack to the saddle and grasped Lucien’s head, planting a kiss on his forehead as silvery tears tumbled down her broad cheeks. Virmyre tried to lead Fabien out into the courtyard, but the horse stubbornly refused to move. It swung its head from side to side, making a dreadful noise. Other horses in the stables called out in answer, as if aware of Lucien’s plight.
    ‘What’s got into him?’ asked Lucien.
    ‘They’re here,’