Kalin was about ninety percent sure his contraption would work.

He stood barefoot in the ankle-deep water in the cellar, robe hitched up and pinned around his knees. Something Prioress Evelyn had told him stuck in his mind: the ancient motto of the Order of Clerics.

Servants of all indeed.

He held an inch-thick length of hollow wooden tube in his hand, its tip submerged in the pool of water.

The foot-long tube of wood connected to another tube, and another beyond, extending in an unwieldy sequence up the cellar stairs and up to the main mechanism of the contraption above.

“Ready?” the old man called, sounding a bit excited.

If only his house had been on a hill. A siphon would have been so much simpler than this monstrosity…

“Just a moment! I want to double-check the—”

“Here weeeee gooooooo!” The old man’s creaky and quiet voice had turned to a manic yell, and Kalin himself gave a little yelp as the tube of wood in his hand bucked, a whooshing noise filling his ears as water began to flow through it.

It’s actually working, he thought. I really expected—

A stream of cold water shot down the back of his robe, and he jumped, accidentally raising the tube from out of the water. The steady noise of water flowing turned into a keening whine that grew in pitch as the pump sucked more air instead of water.

“Hey! What are you doing down there? This thing’s getting hot you know!”

Kal rapidly stuck the tube back into the water, drenching him again in musty cellar-water as a dozen leaks sprang up along the tube seams.

He focused on the binding cantrips that held the wooden tubes together. After having laid the wards to power the pump above already, it was all he could do to focus his mind enough to keep the bindings steady. A small part of his mind was amazed he could do it at all. Back at the abbey he’d only ever been able to hold two or three cantrips at once, even simple ones like [Bind]. Now he was keeping a dozen going. They were on the verge of collapsing, but still, he was pleased. Progress was progress, even if it wasn’t a level up or stat gain.

Slowly, the bindings stabilized as his focus settled, and the leaks became trickles. He couldn’t quite get them all airtight, but they were close enough not to interfere with the action of the pump.

After a half-hour of bending over double in the dank cellar and trying not to let the cantrips slip, it was done. The whirring of the pump above slowed, and he heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs. Kalin sighed in relief as he finally let go of the cantrips he’d been holding, and wooden tubes clattered to the floor as his make-shift pipe fell apart.

There was just one thing left to do.

A faint sheen of water still covered the slick stones of the cellar floor. There was little enough that it would probably dry on its own in a day or so, but Kalin wanted to see the job done right. As the old man made his way down the steps and exclaimed in joy at the lack of water in his house, Kalin smiled, and focused on one last spell.

To his surprise, the [Flame] came forth with a happy roar, billowing out from his hand until it threatened the empty wooden shelves where the old man had removed his books to safety.

The old man raised his eyebrows.

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“No dragon, hmm?”

Kalin flushed. Maybe he’d become a combat mage after all, with power like that from a simple [Flame] spell.

Job done and his focus and energy spent, Kalin collapsed in a satisfied heap to the warm, dry stone of the cellar floor. No rush of experience gain flooded his body, but nonetheless, he felt good. Drained and tired, but happy with the job he’d done. He started as the old man clapped his hands, the sound echoing in the empty room.

“Well done! I’ll get my books moved back in, and all will be right as rain!” He grinned the crooked, gap-toothed grin of a man who’d gone many, many years without eating solid food.

Kalin rose to help, but the man shoved him back down with surprising strength.

“No, no, I’ll do it. Sit there and rest lad, you’ve earned it.”

Kalin blinked, then smiled. He’d spent an hour of the morning ferrying books out of the cellar in careful stacks as the man hovered at the top of the stairs, calling directions and reminding Kalin several times of the god’s injunction against the destruction of useful knowledge, and what might happen to those who disobeyed the gods.

He absently rubbed at the cover of the tome at his side. Fair enough, for the man to be protective of his books. Kalin felt a deep connection to his own tome, empty though it was. He patted it fondly, grateful not for the first time at the book’s magical protections. He supposed it would be a sorry look for the Order if their mages were always dropping whatever natural disaster they were currently solving to make sure their tomes were dry.

Kalin leaned back and closed his eyes. Despite the fact that he was in a stranger’s house on a floor made of stone, he found himself dozing pleasantly, half-aware of the man’s movement up and down the stairs.

He woke to something heavy dropping in his lap, and the old man’s face looming above him.

“Well, Kalin. Thank you for cleaning out an old man’s basement. I’m not sure what I would have done without your help.” He squinted like he’d posed a difficult question and was waiting for an answer.

Kal stood up, looking blearily into the rough burlap sack and seeing the crank and wooden case of his pump mechanism as he was led up the stairs.

By the time he’d fully woken up and come to his senses, he was halfway out the door.

“Wait!” he struggled with what he wanted to say or express, his thoughts still heavy with sleep.

“What…what class are you?” he asked eventually. It didn’t quite cover the curiosity Kalin felt about the man, but he didn’t think it would be polite to ask something more personal.

“Why, I’m a [Professor]! [Retired Professor] now, of course, after all those years. Taught at the Royal University,” he said proudly. “Wasn’t fired once, despite the accidents,” He winked. “Tenure, you know.” He cackled like he’d pulled off some sort of mad trick.

Kalin nodded, but before he could ask or say anything else, the door was closing.

Then it stopped, and the [Retired Professor] stepped onto the doorstep and held out his hand.

“I’m Jeremy. It was nice to meet you, Kalin.”

Kalin shook Jeremy’s hand, and just before the door latched shut with a click, he saw a smile on the [Retired Professor]’s lined face, gap-toothed and happy. The bushy haired old man gave him a wink, and shut the door.

Kalin stood there for a moment, blinking in the sudden chill of night and realizing that he’d spent the whole day helping the old professor, and that he’d used Kalin’s name.

He must’ve been listening after all.

Gripping the burlap sack that held his homemade pump, Kalin started walking back towards the inn.

The muck and mud of the previous day had dried, and he walked more sure-footedly down the streets of Krinth, thinking over his day.

He was grateful for it, he decided. And glad that he had helped in some small way. When he got back to his room at the inn he would check his tome to see if he’d gained any experience, but he felt himself strangely at ease with the possibility that he hadn’t, and for the first time sine the Ceremony he felt a certain place in his mind ease up and relax. He couldn’t say exactly what it was, but, even if he was still worried about the future and unsure of how his path could possibly lead him to defeat the Scourge, he felt okay. Things would be alright, whatever happened.

Something thunked inside the burlap sack, and the cloth bag nearly tore itself from his grip. Confused, he looked inside.

Underneath his ramshackle pump there was a bundle of thick black velvet, the kind Kalin had only ever seen beneath artifacts of great value in the Order’s Hall of Remembrance. Frowning and thinking the professor must have accidentally left something of his inside, he unwrapped the folds of velvet, and as he did he heard another thunk as the bundle lurched in his hands. A strange feeling began to well up in his stomach as he finished unwrapping it to see—

A man shouted and an ox shouldered Kalin to the side, but he didn’t notice, cradling the fist-sized egg in his shaking hands.