The Heartwood

Chapter 6

"The Chiron," Asher emits, despite himself. Despite his natural inclination to meet all unknown elements with a reserved cache of coolness until he understands his place, their weaknesses and all advantages that can be wrung from the encounter. Before the tall, imposing figure seated quite domestically at the table with Asher's family about, the boy is at a loss for words save for the title of a card that repeats itself in his head.

The Count had been right. The card reading at the dial table had foretold this.

He should be thinking about the rest of the message from that day. He believes it intimately now, not needing time to assess. The playful act is now meaning stacked upon meaning like his destiny being smothered by potential. Layers, foundations, stones forming the shapes of strange towers. Asher wonders vaguely why he is not now choking under the Damner that had been part and parcel of his fortune. Instead of concern or worry, the boy only wishes to dash from the room and continue running until he is at the foot of a very strange house and rapping on a door, shouting the news that his future is mappable. That the Count is right. That they will sit at a table and Asher will admit that he believes and how wonderful that is.

Mr. Fry will ask, with interest, about what kind of person this new instructor is like and Asher slips from the daydream to find the occupants of the room closely observing him.

His father chews his food with a brow raised. His mother asks, "What do you mean, Dear?"

And the man grins ever so subtly, his face chiseled with a long, worn scar carved into his cheek. It looks like an 'C' as he smiles, moving from a half-second of shrewd attention to eager interest.

"One might use the term Chiron to describe a spiritual guide of sacred mysteries, but I assure you, I am but a humble teacher. An impressive word, though," muses the man jovially, apparently pleased to have a new job with such an apt pupil just as much as Asher's parents are happy to show Asher off.

The boy cannot help but feel as if he is on a grand music hall stage with all of the lights cast upon him. It must be the same feeling as standing under this man's gaze. He musters a shrug as his mother coos appreciatively and his father nods at how normal it is for his boy to suddenly employ such large words into his vocabulary.

"Son, this is Darren Kingsley. He will be your new tutor."

Asher's mother widens two subtly painted eyes with loving pride. "He came highly recommended. We thought it was best for you to get a more challenging education."

Asher nods, meekly putting an effort into sharing their enthusiasm. While his act may easily fool his parents, he keeps a set of guarded eyes on the stranger in the house. The man's grey stare seem to catch every movement, and Asher knows no one else will realize it. Darren chuckles jovially at a comment made by Master Walsh and Asher settles himself into his usual seat to eat. He recognizes the way Mr. Kingsley inquires as to how Lynna prepares eggs, earning him the favor of the Walsh's cook. The new tutor switches effortlessly into asking Mrs. Walsh about Mrs. Beckett's latest ambitions, apparently sharing an acquaintance with the woman. Then Mr. Kingsley becomes persuaded by Master Walsh's politics to consider a policy differently.

Asher silently scrapes food across his plate, marveling at how well Mr. Kingsley plays his family. These strategies are not new for the boy but he has never seen them cast by anyone but himself. He also doubts that the stranger cares that Asher has said nothing as he watches the performance with carefully veiled suspicion.

"Oh, the time. We shall be late for lunch," exclaims the woman at the table. "Mr. Kingsley, you will be responsible for our delay."

"My humble apologies, Mrs. Walsh. And please call me Darren if you are not too cross with me."