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“I’m telling you—”
    Faubus slapped him again, then twisted Hethor’s right arm behind his back. “Give it now, if you have it,” hissed his tormentor, “or you’ll be very sorry indeed.”
    Shaking, Hethor pulled the feather from his pocket with his free hand.
    Faubus snatched it away. “Here it is, Father, proof of his thievery.” He showed the feather to Master Bodean. “Shall I call back the bobbies and have this scoundrel thrown in the stockade?”
    â€œNo …” said Master Bodean slowly. He was looking at Pryce, and the gleam in his oldest son’s eye. “I’ll just be turning the lad out. ’S punishment enough. You two go on, now.”
    â€œFather … ,” said Pryce, touching the old man’s arm. “Are you sure?”
    â€œThe boy’s desperate.” Faubus shot another glare at Hethor. “He could try anything.”
    â€œHe’ll be gone within the hour,” said Master Bodean. “And with no fight. Right, boy?”
    Hethor nodded, miserable, shaking now in the wake of his anger and his shame.
    â€œGo, sons,” snapped Master Bodean.
    They filed out, Pryce smirking, Faubus with a sideways shove that sent Hethor staggering. Outside the taximeter cabriolet ground into gear and wheezed off, followed a moment later by the clopping of the horse’s hooves.
    Hethor stared at Master Bodean, who stared back. They stood in silence, surrounded by the ticking of the clocks, an endless mechanical wave brushing against a brass shore.
    â€œâ€™T’would have saved much trouble if you’d shown me the feather last night,” said Master Bodean quietly. “I’m too old to raise up another ’prentice.”
    â€œIt wasn’t his—,” Hethor began hotly, but Master Bodean put his hand up, palm forward.
    â€œI know it wasn’t what Pryce said. I don’t know the
exact truth, but you see, boy, it don’t matter. My son’s a man of learning, soon to take the cloth, and he’s family before that. I have to take his word over yours on both counts. Not even with some female librarian testifying against him, neither. If he’d come to me private, without dragging Faubus into it, I might have talked around the thing to the truth. But I can’t be branding my eldest son a liar in front of his brother. Even if I know he is lying.”
    â€œWhat about me?” Hethor cried. “I’m no liar. The angel did come to me, with a message, and left me that feather as token. The message will not be trusted without the token.”
    Master Bodean looked sadder. “You speak to me of trust? You, who didn’t trust me enough to tell me about this wonderful message, and the token besides?”
    â€œI … I didn’t comprehend it.” Hethor stared at his boots again. “I still don’t. But once I understood more, I came home to beg your leave to go to Boston and see the viceroy.”
    â€œYou got your wish, boy,” said Master Bodean. “You’ve all the leave in the world now. I won’t have you whipped or nothing. Your father’s money was good enough.”
    â€œI need to go upstairs and—,” Hethor said, but Bodean interrupted him.
    â€œI won’t have you in my house. There’s nothing up there that don’t belong to me anyway. As I’m a generous man, you can keep the clothes you’re wearing, though Pryce will shout me down for that, too.”
    â€œOh.” Feeling stupid, Hethor set down the books.
    â€œListen, boy,” said Bodean, even quieter. He shuffled across the room, looking older than ever before. “If you’d come into your journeyman rank, and done well, as we both know you would’ve, you could have taken over the shop as master when I laid down my tools. Now my sons will have the shop free and clear, to lease or sell. My money will be theirs instead of yours, you