The false Adjunct watched Mraan with empathy. The boy, as usual, became bored and distracted as his father worked. He moved silently away from the scribing desk, which was set in the rotunda at the front and center of the building, and took a long look outside. The view from the rotunda’s windows was generally toward the southeast. Three storeys below was a circular cobblestone courtyard, upon which fronted the Library and several other buildings of lesser stature. Though the false Adjunct couldn’t see through Mraan’s eyes, he imagined the usual scene playing itself out, of young children playing in the courtyard, and in the waters of a tiered fountain at its center. The fountain was surrounded by ancient elm trees, and around the bole of each tree was a stone bench; most of these would have people sitting on them. Mraan watched until he grew tired of watching, and turned his attention back to his father’s work. His father, however, had fallen silent, paused, and seemed to be deep in thought.
‘What are you thinking about father?’
‘Hm-m?’
The false adjunct felt a grudging respect for the boy. He knew that Mraan was well aware that when his father was so lost in thought, that, chances were, he was preoccupied with something important . . . which meant, therefore, that it was something his son would do well to learn. Haloch, well attuned to his only son, smiled at this, knowing his son’s mind, and that his son was beginning to know his own mind, as well as his father’s, despite his sixteen years. Most boys his age lacked both patience with and interest in things which did not concern their peers.