Bastion

one to me,” he ventured.
    “It’s terrific if you know the good inns,” Jakyr agreed. “Not so good if you don’t. That’s why we’re going out on this road—I know all the good ones here.” He paused a moment. “Huh. I wonder if the reason my parents never noticed I was gone and that instead they were getting the Trainee Stipend was because they thought it was part of the chit system. We always had Heralds coming through.”
    “Trainee Stipend?” Mags asked.
    “If you lose a working youngling, the Crown compensates you while he’s a Trainee. They figure once a Trainee goes into Whites, he’d have been old enough to strike out on his own, so you couldn’t count on having him. Of course, if he’s an only child, and you figure he’d have been supporting you in your age, you get a different sort of stipend.” Jakyr waved his hand in the air. “I don’t know who figured all that out, but it’s all to make people happy about their offspring haring off on the back of a white horse. Or, at least, not unhappy.”
    “You mean—” Mags said, something suddenly occurring to him. “If Cole Pieters had been treating us decent—paying us wages—feeding and clothing us proper—”
    “As your guardian, he’d have gotten a stipend, aye.” Jakyr snorted. “In fact, that just proves how damned stupid he was. He would never have gotten exposed at all if he’d just been smart about things. When Dallen first showed up, allhe needed to do would have been to let Dallen have you, shut up, and present his papers to Haven. He’d have been collecting a nice little packet every year until you got your Whites, and all for doing nothing. If anyone asked about the shape you were in, he could have found a way to explain why you were in such bad condition. Orphaned and running the streets alone or something. The smartest thing would have been if he’d claimed he’d only just gotten you when Dallen showed up for you. You wouldn’t have told the truth, would you?”
    Mags shuddered. Even now, sometimes, he had fleeting nightmares about Cole Pieters. “Never. I’d’a been sure no one would believe me. Not even Dallen could’a got me to tell.”
    “So, there you are. Dumber than a box of rocks.” Jakyr snorted. “And how many younglings of his own did he have?”
    “A lot,” Mags told him, though he had no idea why Jakyr had asked that question. “A whole lot. He was under the skirt of every maid in the house, plus the ones from his wife.”
    “And there you have it!” Jakyr exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Like my parents. Just because you can have a quiverful of youngsters, it doesn’t mean you should. Or any. Right?”
    “I guess,” Mags replied, completely bewildered now as to where that statement had come from. What on earth had prompted it?
    :Huh . . . I wonder . . . : Dallen said.
    :You wonder what?: Could it be Dallen had gotten some insight about Jakyr that would explain . . . a lot? :Care to let me in on the secret, horse?:
    For once, Dallen seemed reticent to say anything. :Right now it’s just a . . . speculative insight. I’ll let you know if it comes to anything useful.:
    •   •   •
    The inn was as good as Jakyr had said it was. To Dallen’s intense pleasure, they indeed made pocket pies—but, oh, such pocket pies!
    These were not just the tasty, but unvarying treats made by the Collegium kitchens, nor the pies of uncertain quality you found at Fairs, whose contents could be dubious.
    Oh, no.
    There was no doubt at all as to the quality and provenance of the contents of these pies. You could taste every ingredient, separately and as a harmonious whole. And the list of what you could get filled two boards on the wall of the inn.
    Mags hardly knew what to choose. There were pies full of chopped beef or pork, minced carrots, onions, peas and barley, all seasoned and savory, with just a touch of juice, enough to keep it all from being dry. Pies full of something like stew, only thicker; “gravy pies,” those were called. Chicken pies. Game pies. Egg-and-cheese pies, flavored with bacon. Apple, currant, blackberry, quince, pear, and cherry pies. Mince pies. The crust was amazing, and for any other pie that Mags had ever tasted, it would have been the best part, but here it was something that was part of a delectable whole. Mags had a half-and-half—half chopped beef, half chopped pork—and a cherry pie. These astonishing pies were washed down with exactly