The garden was the last place Luchian would be, which meant it was the first place Clyde looked.
He came around the side of the house and found him exactly where he expected, crouched between two rows of vegetables with his sleeves rolled up and his brown cap pushed back on his head, pulling something from the soil with the focused satisfaction of a person doing something they are genuinely good at. There was dirt on his knuckles and a small pile of harvested carrots on the stone path beside him.
He looked up when he heard Clyde's footsteps.
"You're back early," Luchian said.
"I have something to tell you." Clyde stopped at the edge of the garden. "Put those down for a minute."
Luchian looked at the carrots in his hand, then at Clyde's face, and set them down on the pile. He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, and gave Clyde the particular look he gave when he had already decided something significant was about to be said and was preparing himself for it.
"We are going to the Matrix," Clyde said.
Luchian blinked.
"Matrix," he repeated.
"Yes."
"The Matrix that is fifty kilometers away."
"That one, yes."
Luchian looked at him for a long moment, the kind of look that was doing a lot of quiet arithmetic behind it. "For how long?"
"A few years," Clyde said. "Not a visit. A proper move. I have been thinking about it for a while and I think the opportunities there are better for both of us. Better work, better connections, better everything." He paused. "I also have enough money to make it happen."
There it was. The question formed on Luchian's face before he said it out loud.
"Where did you get the money?"
Clyde had approximately two seconds to navigate this.
I sold an astral card at an illegal underground black market. No. I took it from a Howling I killed with my bare hand and then sold it to an old man in a lamp-lit cavern beneath a derelict chandler's shop. Also no. I am an Ichorborn working for a secret organisation that fights supernatural monsters and the raise I told you about three months ago was a significant understatement of what I am actually earning. Definitely not.
"I got a raise," Clyde said.
Luchian stared at him.
"A raise," he said, very carefully.
"Yes."
"Clyde. You are a teacher. An educator." Luchian picked up his gardening tool from the path and set it aside in the particular way he did things when he was using an action to give himself a moment. "Teachers in Cristae earn three shillings a week at the standard rate. You told me you were earning twenty shillings. Which is already significantly above the standard rate." He looked at Clyde directly. "You are now telling me you have earned enough money to move us both to the most expensive city in Miton for multiple years. On a teacher's salary."
"I'm a professor now," Clyde said. "It is a different pay grade."
"How different."
"Significantly."
Luchian was quiet for a moment. The garden was quiet around them, the cobalt light doing its usual cold work on the small rectangle of soil that Luchian had spent months turning into something productive. The leeks along the south wall were doing well. The carrots clearly were too.
Then Luchian exhaled slowly and said, "Alright."
Clyde looked at him. "Alright?"
"You are twenty-three years old. You are clearly doing something that pays considerably more than you are telling me about. You are not in any danger that I can see." Luchian met his eyes steadily, the grey of them carrying that particular quality they carried when he had decided something and had decided it fully. "I am going to trust you. But Clyde, if something is wrong, you tell me."
"Nothing is wrong," Clyde said. "I promise."
That is at least partially true.
"Then I will start packing." Luchian picked his cap up from where it had slid slightly and straightened it. "What about the house?"
"I am going to sell it."
Luchian looked at the house, then at the garden, with an expression that was not quite reluctance but acknowledged that something was being left behind.
"How much?" he asked.
"Two hundred and fifty shillings. I think the location is worth it, the district has improved since we moved in."
Luchian nodded slowly. "That seems reasonable. The garden alone adds value."
"I thought so too."
Two hundred and sixty shillings for a single astral card, Clyde thought. A card the size of my palm, recovered from a dissolved Howling in an Academy corridor, sold to an old man in a lamp-lit cavern. Close enough in value to this entire house. He looked at the building in front of him, the pale stone facade, the freshly painted green door, the windows they had cleaned together the week they moved in. What would a rare astral card go for. Three times that? Five times? The null card woman said an elemental crystal alone was worth eight thousand shillings.
He felt it then. A faint vibration from his inner coat pocket, steady and rhythmic, the cogs of the Clockwork card turning against the fabric.
Not that one, he thought immediately, pressing his hand briefly against his coat where the card sat. That one stays. That one has already saved my life once and it will do it again before this is finished. Some things are not for selling.
The vibration settled, as though the card had registered the decision and agreed with it.
The landlord was a broad-shouldered man who ran his property dealings from a small office two streets over, with the unhurried confidence of someone who understood that the people coming to see him generally needed something from him more than he needed something from them. He looked at Clyde across the desk with that understanding already in his expression when Clyde sat down.
"Two hundred and fifty," Clyde said. "The house on Tenner Lane. The one with the garden."
The landlord considered this. "Two hundred and twenty."
"Two hundred and forty-five."
"Two hundred and thirty."
"Two hundred and forty."
A pause.
"Two hundred and forty," the landlord said, and held out his hand.
Clank. The deal closed with a handshake and a signed paper that Clyde folded carefully and placed in his inner pocket next to the Clockwork card.
He walked home counting.
Two hundred and sixty from the Marrow. Two hundred and forty from the house. That is five hundred shillings total. Underground railway to Matrix costs one hundred per person. Two hundred for both of us. That leaves three hundred for accommodation, food, and establishing ourselves once we arrive. He turned the numbers over. Tight but workable. Matrix has more work opportunities than Cristae for almost every category of skill Luchian has. His painting, his gardening knowledge, his general competence with running a household on minimal resources. He will find something quickly.
And I have the Lunar Academy enrollment. Which presumably covers a portion of costs.
And the Sentinels pay commissions.
And there will be more Howlings.
He arrived home to find Luchian already halfway through packing, which was both impressive and completely consistent with who Luchian was. Two bags stood near the front door. The kitchen had been cleared and wiped down. The garden had been harvested of everything ready and the rest left for whoever came next.
"That was fast," Clyde said.
"I do not own very much," Luchian said simply. "Neither do you."
Fair.
The underground railway station was in the deep district, accessed through stairs that went further down than the Lunar Sentinel tunnels and opened into a space that was entirely different from everything above it. High vaulted ceilings of old stone, lanterns burning along the platform walls in rows, the smell of steam and coal and something mechanical that came from the direction of the tracks. Other travelers stood along the platform with their luggage, a mix of well-dressed Matrix-bound professionals and people who carried the particular composure of those making a significant move and holding the nerves of it together through sheer will.
One hundred shillings each, Clyde thought, handing over the fare at the window. Two hundred total. That is a significant portion of what I have.
He looked at the railway car waiting on the track. Long and dark and steam-powered, its brass fittings catching the platform lantern light, the sound of its engine a low steady chug chug chug that moved through the floor and up through his boots.
Worth it, he decided.
Luchian was standing beside him looking at the car with an expression Clyde had not seen on his face before. Not quite excitement, not quite nervousness. Something between the two, the expression of someone standing at the beginning of something and understanding that it is the beginning.
"Ready?" Clyde asked.
Luchian picked up his bag. "Yes."
Chug. Chug. Chug.
They got on the train.