The Seer by Jordan Reece

things, lest he pick up on their memories later on, but Gavon didn’t always remember to do that. However, he imparted nothing at the times he forgot. Jesco found it quite strange. It was as if Gavon had sprouted fully formed upon this earth when he walked into the asylum for his first day of work three years ago. Nothing made an impression on him, so he left no impression on anything else.
    “I like that one you got,” Gavon said, rolling him out to the wood-paneled hallway. It was blindingly bright from the sun shining through the windows. “The one that changes color with the day.”
    “It’s a weather-catcher,” Jesco said. It was one of his favorites, and so complex within its casing that he fretted every time he took some bit of it apart that he would never get it back together. “Centralized with the Mothership Aviator and attuned to every weather-catcher in all of Ainscote. With a few turns of the pointer upon the map, I can tell you if it’s going to rain all the way north to Surren or south to Port Adassa.”
    Despite Gavon’s considerable height, the explanation soared straight over his head. “I like how it changes color all the time. I come in your room and it’s got a little sun on the front piece, telling me it’s going to be a nice day. Or raining and it’ll have sleet coming down at an angle. Snow for snowing and clouds for gloomy weather.”
    “Yes, I like that, too,” Jesco said kindly as he was wheeled into the dining hall. Gavon left him at the private table that was just for Jesco, and went into the kitchen for his personal tray and utensils. The othelin children chattered to one another at a long table, the newest arrival watching them in a mix of wariness and longing to join in. That had once been Jesco. The pack of children that he had grown up with here had transferred to other asylums, were living on their own, or had taken work far away and were given housing by the companies to hire them.
    At another table, a nurse was spoon-feeding a baby in a high chair. Abilities usually made themselves known between the ages of five and eight, with one exception in infant Nelle. She had been left on the asylum doorstep in a basket. The examination was over and done with in a moment when she wailed and shattered a window. Everyone within twenty feet of her had nosebleeds. In order to spare the glass and protect general health, the doctor had had to fit her with a special collar. It delivered a small zap when she cried. Now a little over a year old, she was the darling of the asylum with her big black curls, chubby thighs, and tinkling laugh. Even the mental patients smiled to see her toddling down the hallways and in the garden, and a fair number of them avoided the othelin patients for all they were worth.
    Gavon delivered Jesco’s meal and started to fix a napkin in his shirt. Batting him off, Jesco said, “I’m well enough to feed myself, thank you.”
    “That’s a good spirit you’ve got in you this morning,” Gavon said cheerfully. “Well then, I’ll go and say hello to everyone and come back to wipe you off in a few minutes.” He lumbered away.
    After eating, Jesco was taken to the drawing room. It was a beautiful space full of small tables and comfortable chairs, a library of books along two of the walls and a grand view of the garden through the bay windows. Gavon set up a tray for Jesco to work upon and left him to it, only coming by now and then to check on matters and bring lunch.
    Jesco deconstructed and reassembled for long hours, and then an attendant opened the door to the drawing room and threw him a significant look. The sketch artist entered a moment later. Another woman was with her, one that Jesco didn’t know.
    Lady Memille Ericho hailed from a proud old Ainscote family, never to sit the throne in its time of monarchy but ever in the wings as advisors. The fall of the kings and the advent of Parliament seated them high in government and university chairs. The