《The Arcanum Algorithm》

Chapter 1 A Servant's Fortune

The pounding on the door was heavy and urgent, cutting through the stillness of the pre-dawn hours. Inside the small thatched hut, Grimm jolted awake from his uneasy sleep. The biting cold that had seeped into the rough wool blankets now numbed his feet, and he hissed sharply as sensation returned in painful prickles. He dared not keep whoever was outside waiting.

"Coming!" he called out, his voice still rough with sleep.

Ignoring the painful tingling in his feet, Grimm scrambled into his worn clothes and snatched the leather jacket that served as a second blanket from his bed. He unlatched the heavy wooden door, and a gust of winter wind blasted him, carrying stinging particles of ice that made him shiver violently.

Old Ham huddled on the driver's bench of his weathered cart, a whip in one hand and a smoking pipe in the other. The cart's wheels had left twin tracks in the deeply rutted, snow-covered road.

"Hurry up, boy. The roads are bad today. We'll catch hell if we're late," Ham said around the stem of his pipe, taking one last deep draw before gesturing impatiently.

Grimm pulled the door shut and climbed quickly onto the cart, his movements practiced and efficient. He'd heard the same warning every morning since they'd secured this steady work. Ham said nothing more, simply flicking the reins. The old horse let out a resigned snort and pulled the cart forward, its hooves crunching through the frozen ruts.

Grimm leaned against the cart's splintered rail, glanced up at the still-dark sky, and closed his eyes again. On mornings like this, with fresh snow slowing their progress, the trip into town to the Viscount's estate took nearly half an hour. By the time they arrived, the sky would be beginning to lighten.

The familiar scent of Ham's cheap pipe tobacco filled the air, and Grimm felt a familiar wave of gratitude toward the old man. His earliest memory was of a winter much like this one, waking up alone in a blizzard. Everything before that was a dark void. He had no family, no history. He'd survived by begging on the streets of Bitherl with the other orphans, never knowing a full stomach, until the day Ham, then a childless old man, had taken pity on the clever-looking boy and brought him home.

"When I die, this hut and the old nag are yours," Ham had said with a rough chuckle. The inheritance wasn't much, but to Grimm, it represented stability and a kind of belonging. He viewed Ham as the father he'd never had.

Their work was simple, if unpleasant. They arrived at the Viscount's estate before dawn to clean up the considerable mess left by the noble's nightly entertainments. They loaded the waste onto their cart, hauled it outside the city walls to dump it, and then used the same cart to procure supplies for the following night's festivities. The round trip took most of the day.

The familiar change in the sound of the cart's wheels told Grimm they had reached the cobblestone streets of Bitherl. He opened his eyes and sat up, automatically brushing the accumulated snow from his threadbare clothes in a futile attempt to look presentable.

Most days, the revelers had long since departed by the time they arrived. On the rare occasion a noble was still present, they never deigned to glance at the lowly servants. Their appearance mattered not at all to them. The Estate's steward, however, was a different story. The man was notoriously difficult, always seeking a reason to criticize and extract a bribe. He had more than once fined Ham a silver coin for the invented offense of "unpresentable appearance."

The two guards at the main gate, large men in full knight's armor, looked exhausted after their long night of duty. They gave Ham and Grimm a cursory, disinterested glance and waved them through. Years of the same routine had made them familiar, invisible fixtures.

Grimm jumped down from the cart and kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he hurried toward the grand hall they were tasked with cleaning, not daring to look around at the opulence.

Today, however, the atmosphere felt different. The old steward was waiting for them at the entrance to the hall, his face a thunderous mask of displeasure. His narrow, sharp eyes fixed on them with unmistakable venom as he hurried over.

"Wait here quietly," he hissed, his voice low and harsh. "Plug your ears and shut your eyes. Don't move until I tell you."

"Yes, sir. Of course," Ham and Grimm mumbled in unison, exchanging a worried glance.

From inside the great hall came the sounds of a heated argument. Though the words were muffled, the raised voice was unmistakably that of a young woman, shouting in anger and distress. Instinctively, Grimm knew this involved someone far above their station.

They waited in the cold for what felt like an age. The sky lightened to a pale gray, and both men stamped their feet and shivered violently in the deep cold.

The steward stalked back over to them, his expression even darker. "If you can't handle the cold, don't come back tomorrow," he snapped.

Ham's face fell. After a brief internal struggle, he fumbled inside his ragged tunic and produced a single silver coin, pressing it into the steward's waiting palm. "We can handle it, sir. Of course we can."

The steward pocketed the coin with a practiced motion and returned to his post by the door, peering anxiously into the hall, ignoring them once more.

"That thief," Grimm muttered under his breath, too low for the steward to hear. "He just took a bribe from us last week."

"Quiet, boy," Ham sighed, the sound full of a weary resignation that came with age. "We're lucky to have this work. Plenty of others would take it. He'd be happy to see the back of us."

Their whispered argument was cut short as the doors to the great hall burst open. A young woman in an exquisite gown stormed out, her fine features streaked with tears. She stopped near the two frozen servants, turning back to shout into the hall.

"I won't go to some horrid Lilith's Cottage Sorcerer Academy, and I will not become a Sorcerer!"

As a final act of defiance, she drew a thick, leather-bound book from within her robes and hurled it away from her into the trampled snow. It landed not far from Grimm's feet. Then she gathered her skirts and ran from the courtyard, sobbing.

A portly nobleman, red-faced with fury, stormed out after her. "You're rebelling against me? Don't just stand there! After her!" he roared at two armored knights who stood at attention.

To Grimm's astonishment, the Viscount himself—a man they saw only from a distance, always surrounded by sycophants—emerged next, wearing a placating, almost nervous expression. He spoke in low, urgent tones to the angry noble, who seemed to be his superior.

"That foolish girl! Throwing away the chance I paid a fortune for! That Sorcerer's recommendation... and with the selections only half a year away..." the portly nobleman fumed, his voice trailing off as the Viscount led him away, neither man granting the two shivering servants so much as a glance.

The steward, looking frantic, gestured to the two guards at the gate, and all three hurried off in the direction the girl had fled, leaving the courtyard suddenly and utterly silent.

The mysterious book lay in the snow, mere steps from Grimm. He took an involuntary step toward it, but Old Ham was quicker, reaching out with the stem of his pipe to tap sharply on Grimm's wrist.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" the old man whispered harshly.

Grimm pulled his stinging hand back. "Who's to know?" he argued in a hushed tone. "If anyone asks, we'll say we swept it up with the trash and dumped it. The noblewoman did throw it away."

Ham cast a nervous glance around the empty courtyard. Seeing no one, he gave a slow, reluctant nod.

Grimm snatched up the book, stashing it quickly inside his layers of clothes before he could lose his nerve. He and Ham then set to work, their breath pluming in the frigid air as they efficiently cleaned the grand hall, loading the evidence of the night's decadence onto their cart. No one returned. No one asked about the book.

As their heavily laden cart creaked its way out of Bitherl, the usual silence between them felt different, charged. Grimm, wide awake now, felt the weight of the book against his chest like a second heartbeat.