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Next morning, sitting at his father\'s desk with a head propped on his hand, Vittorio found how deeply mistaken he was.

"Young signore, can you kindly explain me this?" Antonio put a massive accounting book in front of Vittorio. He perked up, examining the neat lines. The dates came to the last year, and Antonio\'s finger pointed at the column names. "This. What logic stands behind your father\'s decision to sort columns this way?"

Vittorio read them, then raised his eyes to Antonio\'s face.

\'Like a dried fish,\' he thought, doing a terrible job of hiding his sourness.

"This way? You mean by type? Animal food, then garden food, then field food, then drinks. Isn\'t that the most obvious way?"

"Most obvious?" Antonio huffed in derision. "They should be sorted alphabetically. This is impossible to read—which is a clear sign that your family is hiding something here."

Vittorio glowered. "Oliveira had always been honest in our dealings with both our liege and our vassals. You can read through every ledger for the four years that have passed since the last visitor from a Royal Inspector, but you won\'t find any hidden money."

Antonio met his glower with a snobbish glare of his own.

"Every embezzler says so, young signore. I\'m going to read through every ledger myself and see."

\'I wonder what kinds of people become Royal Inspectors,\' Vittorio thought, clenching his fists. \'Arrogant, rich bastard. He\'s only fifth rank because his father fed him spells by spoonfuls. Otherwise, he\'d find his own land to rule instead of going to that of others and complaining about columns being in a wrong order! Who says that it\'s a wrong order, anyway? You, signore Dried Fish?\'

"Then, I can\'t stop you, signore Cattaneo," Vittorio said aloud.

But this brought another, gloomier thought to his mind. \'He won\'t read through all the ledgers in two days! Not even in three. By then, Father will come… With an army. Gods, an army!\' Vittorio shut his eyes for a long second. \'The king doesn\'t care about our war with Nuvoloso because we are too far and too small. What if Antonio snitches to him about it? He might even lie and blame it on us! What I\'m going to do?\'

He really hoped Antonio wouldn\'t be that stubborn. After all… Old ledgers weren\'t THAT interesting. Not four years worth of them, to be sure!

There was even less interest in watching Antonio read said ledgers. Especially since every comment Antonio mustered was yet another complaint about "wrong" bookkeeping.

"Blue ink is too whimsical for an accounting book. It\'s a well-established standard to only use black ink for account keeping. I\'m sure Oliveira viscountcy is not so far from the capital to still not know it."

"Was this written with the use of magic? The handwriting is almost illegible. You must be glad that I have so much experience with deciphering chicken scratches. I believe that magic shouldn\'t stand next to numbers at all."

"Gods, is that DUST? Hire a proper maiden if your magic servants aren\'t good enough for the job!"

"It\'s not dust," Vittorio shot to his feet and demonstratively rubbed the book\'s cover. The grayish sheen didn\'t go away, nor did it appear on his finger. "The leather looks this way because of the tanning method. And excuse me, signore Cattaneo… I have other matters to attend to. Truly. I\'m sure you won\'t get lost, and if you have questions, just send me a call. Most definitely, a mage of your rank knows that simple spell."

Vittorio hurried away without waiting for any further remarks on Antonio\'s part. Gods have refused all his prayers: first for patience, then for Antonio to have a sudden and violent bout of diarrhea.

From the study, he went towards the top of the tower. Instead of the elevator—the one magical invention that separated a commoner with a castle merely three storeys tall from a wizard with a tower twenty, or a hundred, floors high—though, he took the stairs. The long rise made his heart beat and cleared his head.

The fresh air on top of the tower helped, too. Vittorio stood near the edge, leaned on the parapet, and tried to spot his father\'s camp. When this didn\'t work, he reached for the Sending Amulet under his clothes.

\'Good day, Father. Do you know when you will return to Sanremo di Mare? Will Vespertino and di Vinci come with you? Is Federico well? What about Cael?\' He paused a little, and added, \'I\'m doing just fine here, don\'t you worry. Take your time, too. Really.\'

The answer came after several minutes, which Vittorio spent simply standing and enjoying the breeze and the lack of dried fish nearby.

\'There are many wounded who better not be moved at long distances yet, and no villages to leave them there. So my return will be delayed by several days. My allies will come with me to rest in the city before returning to their lands. Federico is still drawing breaths. Cael…\' Here, Vittorio imagined, Father frowned. The magic of Sending Amulets removed all emotion from the voice. \'He\'s alive and well despite his latest reckless endeavor. You shouldn\'t worry about your brother, Vittorio. And you definitely shouldn\'t follow his examples. I sleep more soundly at nights, knowing that I have at least one son with reason in his head.\'

Vittorio blinked, not knowing if he should smile and puff his chest with pride or be envious of whatever adventure Cael found himself in.

Last month and some were just packed with adventure for him. For Cael! Yeah, that definitely made Vittorio envious. And only more determined to get rid of Antonio.

This was as close to an adventure, a grand mission, that Vittorio would see while his father had a word to say about it. And his father had plenty of words when he wanted to.

\'Don\'t worry, Father.\' Vittorio ensured him. \'I\'m the best son, we both know it.\'