Chapter 11: An Uninvited Visit
He pushed the door open and was hit by the smell of food.
And then, a pair of arms wrapped around him.
"Little Uri's home —"
Galatina came sweeping out of the kitchen, silver hair bouncing with her step, and had him folded into a full embrace before he'd registered the approach. He was tall enough now that she didn't have to crouch for it — he fit against her properly, which somehow made it harder to escape, not easier. The hug was warm. Also slightly sticky, in the specific way that meant she'd been cooking something with a sauce.
"You did very well," she said, her voice soft, entirely genuine in its pride. "Little Uri is wonderful."
"..."
Uriel stood there, briefly unable to produce a thought.
"Mom," he said. "I haven't told you anything yet."
"Right," she said, not loosening her grip. "But going out and doing things on your own is already wonderful."
"..."
"Can I have a kiss?"
"No." He turned his head, successfully avoiding the cheek that drifted toward him. "My hands are dirty. Going to wash up."
He shifted sideways — one precise, practiced step — and extracted himself from the perimeter of the hug.
She didn't pursue. She just said, from somewhere behind him:
"You used to be fine with it."
"..."
"Growing up and getting shy. That's how it goes. Mom doesn't even have to crouch anymore."
There was something in her voice — one part wistfulness, one part warmth, one part something else that didn't have a clean word for it.
Uriel kept walking, face turned away.
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he chose not to acknowledge it.
"Mom. Going to wash my hands."
"All right. Come eat when you're done."
At the table, Uriel organized what he'd learned. Boarding system. Enrollment age. Subject structure. Mana assessment — that one especially needed clarifying. He had things to tell her, and he was going to tell her after dinner, when the food was done and there was time to talk properly.
The rice was good. He kept eating.
Dinner finished. Galatina moved into the kitchen; the quiet, rhythmic sound of dishes being washed came drifting out. Uriel stayed at the table, elbow propped on the edge, turning over his opening line.
School. Boarding system. And, specifically, the fact that he'd be moving ou.
Is she going to object? How do I make the case? This is going to be —
Knock knock knock.
He looked up.
The water in the kitchen went quiet. Galatina wiped her hands and came out. "I'll get the door."
"Well."
The door opened.
From where Uriel sat, the angle gave him a clear view of the entrance.
Three people.
A man in his mid-forties, dressed precisely, spine impeccably straight — the kind of posture that meant trained staff, long service, professional discretion. He held a small ledger.
Behind him, a large man. The kind of large that occupies doorframes.
And in front — about Uriel's height, about his age, fine-cloth clothes, chin lifted at a carefully maintained angle.
Uriel recognized the face immediately.
One word surfaced in his mind.
Crap.
All three of them paused for nearly a full second when they saw Galatina.
The steward's eye twitched, very slightly — controlled, professional, recovered in an instant. The large man blinked and didn't look anywhere else. And the noble boy's expression of composed condescension developed a hairline crack.
Three men. A brief and unanimous short-circuit.
"Madam," the steward recovered first, bowing with practiced courtesy. "My apologies for the intrusion."
"Not at all." Galatina kept the pleasant smile. "What can I do for you?"
"The matter is this." He flipped the ledger open, shifting into a tone of smooth, formal precision. "Earlier today, your child assaulted one of my young lord's attendants in the street, resulting in injury. We have come to discuss this in person and resolve the matter appropriately."
Uriel was already on his feet.
"That — Mom —" his voice climbed half a register without permission, "they started it. They were surrounding someone smaller and I said something, and then one of them put his hands on me first. And I didn't even touch your young lord."
The steward's eyes moved to him. Measured.
"Young man," he said. "Regardless of who moved first, my young lord was alarmed, and his attendant sustained an injury. These are the facts."
"..."
"Now." The steward's tone adjusted — warmed, softened, became smoothly reasonable. "We are not unreasonable people. If there has been a misunderstanding, sitting down and talking it through is only right."
Galatina hadn't responded yet. She looked at the three of them standing in her doorway — just a look, ordinary and unhurried.
Then she turned to Uriel.
"Little Uri did exactly right."
"..."
"They deserved it."
Her voice was light. Warm. The tone she used to announce what was for dinner.
All three visitors went silent.
The steward's brow moved slightly. He cleared his throat.
"Madam." He tried again, a notch more courteous than before. "Naturally, you want to protect your child. That's entirely understandable."
A smooth pivot: "However. My young lord is of the Leiden Comital House, which maintains established relations with the local academy. I'm sure you wouldn't want—" a gentle pause, "—your child to encounter any... difficulties when the time comes to enroll. Complications of the sort that can be difficult to undo."
"Why don't we step inside?" He moved half a step forward. "I believe we can find an arrangement that suits everyone."
Galatina considered this.
"All right," she said. "Come in."
She stepped aside obligingly and gestured them in with a smile.
Uriel watched the steward bow his way through the door, the young lord cross the threshold with his chin still elevated, the large man shuffle in after them — and felt every alarm he had go off at once.
Wait — that whole speech, the ledger, the 'I'm sure you wouldn't want any unfortunate complications'... That's the classic sleazy blackmail line! Mom, why are you letting them inside?! This is the exact moment you slam the door!
He scanned the three of them. The steward was already smiling like a creep who thought he had won.
I have to do something. If I try to argue the facts the steward won't engage, he came prepared. If Mom says something and loses her temper and does something — that could go badly wrong in a different direction —
"Mom," Uriel started, "actually, they were the ones who —"
All three visitors dropped like puppets with their strings cut.
No warning. No sound from Galatina. Just three men standing one moment and flat on the floor the next — neat, simultaneous, like someone had pressed a single button. They hit the floorboards in three distinct impacts. Fwump. Thud. Crack.
Uriel stood very still.
"...Mom."
"Hmm." Galatina dusted her hands together, with the air of someone who has just completed a minor household task. "They came to bully little Uri with grown-up intimidation. I had to make them leave."
She looked down at the three of them without particular concern.
"And they threatened to interfere with your schooling. Bad adults, bad child." She nodded to herself. "Hitting them once is fair punishment."
"..."
The logic was impeccable. The position was consistent. Uriel could not find a single flaw in the framework.
He applauded internally.
Then reality came crashing back down.
"Mom." He looked at the three unconscious men on the floor. "When they wake up, this gets worse, not better."
"Yeah." Galatina crouched, hooked two fingers into the collar of the large man on the outside, and lifted. "Should I stack them and toss them outside?"
"The location isn't the issue." Uriel pressed a hand to his face. "The issue is that when they wake up, they'll know we did this. And they're from a Comital House. If they come back, this escalates. And if it escalates—"
He stopped.
"It might attract a certain kind of attention."
He left the second half of that sentence unfinished. He was fairly sure she understood which second half he meant.
Galatina set the large man back down. Straightened up. Thought about it.
"...That's true," she said, and nodded. "So what do we do?"
Uriel opened his mouth.
She turned and walked into the kitchen.
He heard a drawer slide open. A ladle knocked against something. Then a different sound — metal on metal, cleaner, sharper.
Galatina walked back out.
She was holding a kitchen knife. Large. Very bright. Unambiguously a knife for butchering meat.
"..."
Uriel watched her carry it, with complete calm, from the kitchen to the spot directly in front of the three unconscious men.
"Mom," he said. His voice carefully level. "What are you doing."
"Mm?"
She tilted her head at him. The picture of innocence.
Uriel stared at the cleaver. "Tell me you're just going to peel them an apple."
Three unconscious men on the floor.
His mother, holding a cleaver, standing over them.
Was she going to — silence them? Permanently?