Harry Goodwin learnt early on that being quiet may protect him.
People in the Church of Radiant Mercy paid attention to sounds. Questions came when people paid attention. Questions invited hands that stayed on shoulders for too long, eyes that measured and weighed, and voices that softened in ways that felt less like friendliness and more like calculating. Harry had seen enough to know what was going on.
He then stopped talking.
He didn't have anything to say. His mind was always moving, seeing, making connections, and remembering. But he found that people thought less when he talked less. They didn't see him. They thought being still meant being obedient.
The bells rang to signal the start of a new day.
Harry hastily got dressed in the dim Light of the dormitory. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his tunic before putting it on. Rav was already up and quickly fastening his boots. Rav remarked, "You're thinking again," without looking up.
Harry stopped. "About what?"
"You always give that look." Like you're hearing something that no one else can.
Harry finished putting on his sleeve. "Maybe I am."
Rav let forth a little snort. "Let me know if the saints start to talk back."
Harry smiled a little, and although it was short, it was real. Rav was one of the few people who could get him to do that without trying.
They got in line for morning prayer and walked through the tiny hallways where their footfall bounced off the chilly stone. The chapel waited, bathed in the soft Light of dawn filtering through the stained glass. Dust motes hovered in the beams like ash blown away.
Harry sat in the same spot in the pew as usual. He had picked it on purpose weeks before—not too close to the altar, where Malrec often looked, and not too far back, where people could notice he wasn't paying attention. He mixed in here.
Malrec's voice was warm and steady as it filled the room. The prayer poured around Harry, who had rehearsed and memorized it. He moved his lips in sync with the others, but his mind was somewhere else.
He looked.
How Brother Halven fixed the sleeve of a smaller boy in the front row. The small nod that Cardinal Veylan and Sister Arlena gave each other. The list was on the altar, partly hidden by a folded linen.
Harry didn't look directly at them. He let his eyes wander, without paying attention to anything in particular. That was the secret to not being seen. Malrec blessed the crowd and sent them on their way after the prayer. The kids stood up in neat lines.
Harry felt a hand brush across his sleeve as they walked out.
Yvanna.
She didn't say anything. She never did that in the chapel. But for a brief period, her blue eyes met his, looking for anything.
He tilted his head just a little, letting her know he was sure. Harry walked steadily next to Rav in the courtyard later that morning, where he was supposed to bring water buckets from the well to the kitchen. The wooden handle hurt his hands, but he didn't say anything.
After a while, Rav observed, "You're too quiet."
"I only talk when it's important."
"That's not what I meant." Rav moved the bucket he was holding. "People notice."
Harry looked at him. "Notice what?"
"That you don't join in. Jokes. Games. Even fights.
Harry thought about the question. "Most arguments don't get you anywhere."
Rav chuckled gently. "You sound like a priest from a long time ago."
Harry didn't say anything.
He knew what the other boys were doing in the yard. Wrestling matches that got too brutal. Teasing that was close to mean—contests to win the brothers' favor.
Being involved means being seen.
Being exposed made you weak.
He liked being far away.
Harry slowed down a little when they got closer to the kitchen door. He could hear voices through the open doorway. It was Brother Halven and someone else.
Halven was saying quietly, "Delivery confirmed."
"And payment?" Veylan said in a harsher tone.
"Good enough."
Harry's steps didn't stop. He walked into the kitchen as if he hadn't heard anything, put the bucket down, and went back for another.
Rav didn't appear to notice.
Classes had started by noon. First read the Bible, then do math. There was a faint smell of ink and old paper throughout the classroom. Sister Arlena penned lyrics in neat handwriting on a whiteboard in front of rows of wooden desks.
Harry's penmanship was neat, with each letter evenly spaced. He had been practicing in secret, copying sections over and over again until his fingers hurt.
The order made things clear.
"Harry," Sister Arlena said something all of a sudden.
He looked up.
"Yes, Sister."
"Say the third principle of Radiant Mercy."
He stood up straight. "Compassion must be guided by wisdom, or else it will lead to indulgence."
"Very good."
He sat down again, knowing that a few boys were looking at him.
Rav smiled from two rows back.
After class, as the kids came out to the yard for a little break, one of the older lads went up to Harry.
The child asked, "Do you think you're better than us?" and stood in his way.
Harry looked him in the eye with calmness. "No."
"Then why do you act like you are?"
"I don't."
The boy's jaw got tight. "You never get angry."
"That's not something to be proud of."
The boy pushed him a little.
Harry stayed still.
The push was a test. Measuring.
Harry said in a calm voice, "I don't have a problem with you." "Unless you want one."
The older boy paused, confused by the lack of fear or wrath. He laughed and moved to the side after a moment.
Rav came up to Harry's side. "You could have hit him."
"Why?"
"He was asking for it."
Harry started walking again. "Not enough to make a difference."
Rav looked at him carefully. "Sometimes you scare people."
Harry stopped. He said, "Good," in a low voice.
He was even astonished by the word.
That afternoon, Harry worked alone in the storage hall, where he was in charge of counting the supplies. There were crates of grain and preserved vegetables throughout the dark room. There was a lot of dust in the air.
He enjoyed doing things like this.
Counting, writing down, and watching.
He could see patterns in numbers just as effortlessly as he could see them in people.
While he was counting the bags of flour, he saw several containers that were supposed to be sent out but were not listed in the ledger.
He looked again.
The difference stayed the same.
Harry slowly closed the book.
He didn't face anyone. He didn't tell Rav about it. But he put it in the peaceful collection that was growing in his head. Names that are missing. Exchanged coin purses. Missing crates.
Patterns.
Harry felt the familiar weight of stone pushing in from all sides when the bells rang, and it was time to go back to the chapel.
The kids knelt. The candles moved.
Malrec talked about trust and purity.
Harry lowered his head when he was supposed to, but he wasn't thinking about the prayer. They were about the boys who had left and not come back.
On the storage hall's ledger. On the currency purse that slipped inside Cardinal Veylan's sleeve. So far, silence had kept him safe. It let him see without being seen. To listen without being interrupted. To study. As the last bell rang and the kids walked back to their dorms, Rav walked beside him.
Rav remarked quietly, "You're not like the others."
Harry looked at him. "You're not either."
Rav smiled a little. "Yeah. But you're distinct in a different manner.
"How?"
Rav thought for a time. "You always think ahead." Like you're waiting for something.
Harry didn't answer right away.
He was waiting.
Waiting to grasp fully.
Waiting for the proper time.
The stone walls seemed to get closer together as they climbed the spiral staircase back to the dorm. With every step, the air got cooler. Boys in the dormitory got into bed, and the muttering faded into sleep. Harry lay on his back and looked at the ceiling again.
The Church was huge. Organized. Managed.
But it wasn't perfect.
Mistakes made cracks.
Cracks could get bigger. And in those cracks, silent lads could live. The bells would chime again at dawn. They always did that.
But every day, Harry paid closer attention—not to the prayers or the talks, but to the small changes that were happening underneath them.
He didn't need to yell to be heard.
He didn't have to lead to have an effect.
For now, not saying anything was enough.
And amid the chilly stone hallways of Radiant Mercy, the quiet boy was learning how strong silence might be.