“We'll try again later, or tomorrow. You nearly had it that time. When you can mark the full wire neatly, I'll show you how to fix it as a rim for one of the ladies brooches.”

Octavian looked downcast, and Alexandria held her breath as she waited to see if he would throw one of the violent tantrums with which he'd plagued them for the first few weeks. When it didn't come, she let the air out of her lungs with a slow rush of relief.

“All right. I'd like that,” he said slowly.

Tabbic turned away from him, searching through the packages of finished work that had to be taken back to their owners.

“I have another job for you,” he said, handing over a tiny pouch of leather, folded and tied. “This is a silver ring I repaired. I want you to run over to the cattle market and ask for Master Gethus. He runs the sales, so he won't be hard to find. He should give you a sestertius for the work. You take the coin and run straight back here, stopping for nothing. Understand? I'm trusting you. If you lose the ring or the coin, you and I are finished.”

Alexandria could have laughed out loud at the little boy's earnest expression. Such a threat would have been worthless for the first weeks of the apprenticeship. Octavian wouldn't have minded being left alone. He had struggled mightily against the combined efforts of his mother, Tabbic, and Alexandria. Twice she'd had to search the local markets for him, and the second time she'd dragged him to the slave blocks to have him valued. He hadn't run again after that, instead adopting a sullenness Alexandria thought might be permanent.

The change had come midway through the fourth week of work, when Tabbic showed him how to make a pattern on a sheet of silver with tiny droplets of the molten metal. Though the little boy had burned his thumb when he tried to touch it, the process had fascinated him and he'd missed his dinner that night, staying to watch the final piece being polished. His mother, Atia, had arrived at the shop with her tired face full of apology. Seeing the tiny figure still working with the graded polishing cloths had left her speechless, but Alexandria woke the next morning to find her clothes had been cleaned and mended neatly in the night. No other thanks were necessary between them. Though the two women saw each other only an hour or two each day before sleep, they had both found friendship of the kind that can surprise two reserved and private people, working so hard that they never realized they were lonely.

Octavian whistled as he trotted through the crowds at the cattle market. When the farmers brought their animals into the city for bidding and slaughter, it was a busy place, rich with the warm scents of manure and blood. Everyone seemed to be shouting to each other, making complicated gestures with their hands to bid when they couldn't be heard.

Octavian looked for one of the sellers, to ask for Gethus. He wanted to pass over the mended ring and get back to Tabbic's shop faster than the adults would believe.

As he wove around the shifting mass of people, he entertained himself by imagining Tabbic's surprise at his speedy return.

A hand grabbed suddenly at his neck and the little boy was lifted off his feet with a lurch, his feet slipping. He let out a blast of shocked wind at the interruption to his thoughts, struggling wildly in instinct against his attacker.

“Trying to steal someone's cow, are you?” a hard, nasal voice sounded by his ear.

He jerked his head around, groaning as he saw the heavy features of the butcher's boy he'd crossed before. What had he been thinking? Like a fool, he'd dropped his usual guard for predators and they'd caught him without the slightest effort.

“Let me go! Help!” he yelled.

The older boy smacked him hard across the nose, making it bleed.

“Shut up, you. I owe you a beating anyway, in return for the one I got for not stopping you last time.” The burly arm was wrapped around Octavian's neck, squeezing his throat as he was dragged backward into an alleyway. He strained to get away, but it was hopeless and the rushing crowd didn't even look in his direction.

There were three other boys with the butcher's apprentice. All of them had the long-armed rangy growth of children used to hard physical work. They wore aprons stained with fresh blood from their labors at the market, and Octavian panicked, almost fainting with terror at their cruel expressions. The boys jeered and punched at him as they turned a corner in the alley. There, the din of the market was cut off by the high walls of tenements that leaned out above, almost meeting the ones opposite and creating an unnatural darkness.

The butcher's boy threw Octavian into the sluggish filth that was ankle deep in the alleyway, a combination of years of refuse and human waste thrown from the narrow windows above. Octavian scrambled to one side to escape, but one of them kicked him hard enough to shove him back into place, lifting the small body and grunting with the impact. Octavian screamed with pain and fear as the other two joined the first, kicking with hard feet at whatever part of him they could reach.

After a minute, the three boys rested with their hands on their knees, panting from effort. Octavian was barely conscious, his body curled into a tight ball of misery, barely distinguishable from the dirt he lay in.

The butcher's boy pulled back his lips into a sneer, raising his fist and laughing coarsely as Octavian flinched from him.

“Serves you right, you little Thurin bastard. You'll think twice before stealing from my master next time, won't you?” He took careful aim and kicked Octavian in the face, whooping as the small head was rocked back. Octavian lay senseless with his eyes open and his face half submerged. Some dirty water flowed between his lips and, even unconscious, he began to cough and choke weakly. He didn't feel the fingers that searched him or hear the pleased shout when the older boys found the silver ring in its protective pouch.

The butcher's boy whistled softly as he tried on the metal band. The stone was a simple dome of heavy jade, held to the metal with tiny silver claws.

“I wonder who you stole this from?” he said, glancing at the prone figure. Each of them kicked the boy once more on behalf of the owner of the ring, then they walked back to the market, thoroughly pleased with the upturn in their fortunes.

Octavian woke hours later, sitting up slowly and retching for minutes as he tested his legs to see if they could hold him. He felt weak and too sore to move for a long time, crouched over and spitting elastic strands of dark blood onto the ground. When his head cleared enough, he searched his pocket for the ring, then the ground all around him. Finally, he was forced to admit that he had lost it, and fresh tears cut through the dirt and crusted blood on his face. He staggered back to the main road and sheltered his eyes against the painful sunlight. Still crying, on unsteady feet, he made his way back to Tabbic's shop, his mind blank with despair.

Tabbic tapped his foot on the wood of the shop floor, anger in every line of his frowning face.

“By hell, I'm going to kill the brat for this. He should have been back ages ago.”

“So you've been saying for the last hour, Tabbic. Perhaps he was delayed or couldn't find Master Gethus,” Alexandria replied, keeping her voice neutral.

Tabbic thumped a fist on the worktop. “Or perhaps he's sold the ring and run away, more likely!” he growled. “I'll have to make it good, you know. Jade stone, as well. It'll cost me a day of work and most of an aureus in materials to make Gethus a new one. No doubt he'll claim his dying mother gave it to him and want compensation on top of that. Where is that boy?”