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‘Perhaps,’ said Helen. ‘But the tradition of primogeniture is not so easily ignored.’

‘Well, yeah. I doubt your father intended for the succession to get you murdered.’

‘Given my circumstances, it now seems more likely that my father appointed me not because he believed I would do well, but because he believed others would do evil.’

‘Hmm.’

‘The most irritating part of it all is that I saw the assassination coming in time, and yet I could not save myself. Suddenly, my most trusted subordinates were nowhere to be found. I died, because I misjudged the true characters of my friends.’

‘Ah. Hence, your determination not to make that mistake twice.’

‘Yes...’

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Sitting in his room, Hector scratched his head as he struggled over his algebra homework. Garovel floated next to him, reading the newspaper sprawled across his desk.

The rest of the school day had gone rather strangely. His new group of lunch friends had been extremely apologetic, even though he couldn’t imagine what they had to feel sorry for. They ended up discussing television and pudding, afterwards, though Hector mostly just listened.

Carpentry club had been the real surprise, however. Word had gotten around of Hector’s tumble down a flight of stairs, and when he had hobbled into the clubroom, thinking he would get a bit more work done on his helm, he had been assailed with a slew of inquiries and concerns about his health from everyone in the club. People who had ignored him for the past year were suddenly talking to him again. He handled the situation the best way he knew how. By running away. Or waddling briskly away, at least.