Excerpt:

"Why did you hire me?"

Jacob did not pause in his note-taking, eyes still focused on the scripture. He did run the pad of a finger across the corner of the soft, thin paper. It felt slightly greasy, betraying the popularity of this page, of one of the psalms contained. This particular book was several years old, yet Jacob could sometimes turn to a certain passage and feel the crisp disuse. "I didn't hire you; the friar did."

He heard Isaac increase the pace of what he was doing - tidying something or other that did not need it, it sounded like. What had been a quiet rustle was a more pronounced banging now. Probably dusting the candles.

"Then why did the friar hire me?"

"You would be better to ask him." Still calm, still measured.

Isaac snorted.

There were a few moments pause and the boy finished his work, or least decided he had done a good enough job. The air seemed to still in Jacob's quarters, so much so that he considered the possibility that Isaac had left, and he had somehow not noticed the ring of retreating footsteps. He looked up the the childish caution of someone who knows his assumption is incorrect. Isaac stood at the window, watching him.

"Are we friends?" Isaac asked.

Despite trying to keep his face schooled, Jacob knew he showed a little surprise at the question. It was disarming. He felt any answer would betray too much vulnerability, that even to consider the topic would be to admit something. "I, uh-" He searched Isaac's face, and found frank honesty where he had expected the boy's usual attitude. It helped return him to his composure; he felt more secure in his superior position. "No, we're not. I hardly know you."

Isaac nodded, and then began untugging the the corners of Jacob's bedsheets.