An alarm went off in Joseph's head. It was not so much of a sound as it was a feeling, an urging to awaken, a subtle yet forceful push to leave the dreaming behind. He opened his eyes with a start, gasping in sudden surprise, before his brain reminded his body where he was, and settled.

It was a spell Phineas had given him, this alarm clock. Partially out of the Deep One's usual kindness, partially because he had gotten sick of Joseph's wind-up alarm clock he had borrowed from Mallory. The components of the spell were on Joseph's desk, a small piece of paper and a dark rock, in which Joseph merely had to whisper dark words into, holding it so close he was practically kissing it. The words only came to him when he was actually using the spell, a sort of paradox that Phineas claimed powered the spell.

“You are piggy-backing off of what is already there,” Phineas had said, “There's already got a current of magic throughout Castle Belenus. You're just using it to kickstart the spell.”

“Similar to Wakeling's teleportation magic throughout the place, right?”

“And the floating hands,” Phineas said, “And the invisible monsters that stalk the halls at night.”

Joseph gave him a look.

“That was a joke,” Phineas said.

“It... Sorry, man, it wasn't very funny.”

“No, it was not.”

Joseph simply smiled as he remembered their little conversation, before he pulled himself up and out of bed. Rain pelted their windows – the storm had returned after a mere few days' worth of respite, and now gave no sign of easing up. It had gotten to the point that the Weatherfolk, that guild who chronicled weather patterns and other atmospheric phenomena, had sent a few of their members out. If Joseph squinted, he could make just make them out on Moonstone on the Len, two dots on the very top of Doge Busciver's mansion, setting up an elaborate network of magical rods and dishes, to both capture lightning and to track the movement of the storm as it curled across the interior of Londoa.

Not good weather, for what Joseph was about to do. But he didn't mind, not really.

Not after the climb. After that, after tasting lightning and drinking it in, he found he quite enjoyed the rain.

That, and his newest clothing requests had just come in the night before. A pair of solid boots and a heavy, dark blue cloak. He put these on, along with a heavy coat and a solid-colored shirt, though this one was devoid of any logo.

He had meant to apologize to Rosemary about his AC/DC shirt getting torn to bits on Prime. He had developed a taste for the band, and he had learned to quite like that shirt.

But that was a conversation for later. Joseph took a deep breath, and walked out the door, making sure to close it quietly so as to not wake Phineas.

Only a few guildmembers were up and about. Joseph passed by Whiskey and his usual wanderings up and down the stairs, the silent puppet ignoring Joseph as he trudged along. Archenround, too, was up, having (at last!) made a full recovery. She was in one of the offices, getting a bit of paperwork done. The serpent gave Joseph a wave through the open door as he passed by. Lazuli was awake, too. Much like Whiskey, he didn't need sleep. Most of the time, Becenti kept him busy doing one chore or another throughout the day, giving him something to do. But on rare occasions, the old man would forget, or run out of chores to assign.

On those nights, boredom and the most annoying member of the guild mixed to create a dark combination.

Joseph caught Lazuli on what was probably the tail end of his night's work, the android grabbing one of the floating platters of coffee and pouring the contents of a salt shaker into one of the kettles. He glanced over and locked eyes with Joseph.

A manic heart-dropping smile crept on his facsimile of a face. Lazuli slunk over to Joseph's side, stepping in time with him as he went down the stairs towards the Great Hall.

“What's the show, Joe?”

“Morning, Laz,” Joseph replied.

“You're not going to tell anyone about what I was just doing back there, right?”

“Only if you tell me which ones you've sabotaged,” Joseph said.

“I could,” Lazuli said, “But you're like Rosemary. You already poison your coffee as is with the amounts of sugar and cream you put in. I'd be doing you a favor.”

“Uh-huh,” Joseph said.

He could not help but give Lazuli a sardonic smile. Lazuli returned it with a mischievous grin, and despite the fact that his face was just a projection of blue dots on a blank screen, his eyes held a truly devious mind for making everyone's life worse, as was the job of a younger brother.

And Joseph filled that same role, back on Earth. He could not help but respect the android.

“Alright,” Joseph said, “Fine. Don't tell anyone this, but you know Broon, right?”

“No, I don't.”

“Har,” Joseph said, “He keeps his polishing oil in his room.”

“No shit,” Lazuli said, “Where?”

“Beneath his bed.”

“Ha! He's a heavier sleeper than he might think,” Lazuli said, “I've looked under there before, and all I could find was dirty underwear and scraps of armor.”

“It's under the floorboards,” Joseph said.

A light went off in Lazuli's head – literally, a bulb popping up between his eyes.

“Oho,” he said, “Why, thank you, Joseph. Look for the plate with an 'X' on the bottom. That's the one I've kept special, just for you.”

He patted Joseph's shoulder, giving him a thumbs up, before scampering upstairs. Joseph rolled his eyes and made his way to the Great Hall's entrance.

***

The wind whipped Joseph's cloak as he stepped out of the relative warmth of Castle Belenus, a cold gale that was already eating its way into his bones as he walked. Rivers were running down the street, and the flooding had gotten so bad in parts of the city that there had been discussions of setting up sandbags on certain streets to maneuver the overflow towards the edges of the ravine. Nothing actionable yet, though.

Presumably because it was election season, and no one could be bothered to actually pay attention to the city while they were throwing money at gala-this and fundraiser-that. And the ever-looming Golden Round, some big festival or whatever. Joseph rolled his eyes as he stomped into a large puddle, splashing up a deluge that blew up to his knee.

There was no one around as he made his journey through the city, his cloak pulled close and his fingers going numb. Scuttleway already didn't go out in the rain, and even the most industrious merchants had battened down the hatches and closed up shop.

He was alone.

He stomped through the storm in silence, gritting his teeth and weathering the weather.

***

The Scuttleway Post Office was a large building on the edge of the city, located near the docks. It was a spiraling sandstone tower that reminded Joseph of a corkscrewed sea shell. Oftentimes, mail was delivered by individual birds, who carried them strapped to their legs as they made their way across the breadth of Londoa. Mailmen would then deliver them throughout the city – Castle Belenus even had its own mailbox, right by the Great Hall's entrance.

But the mail hadn't been getting delivered the last few weeks, and the deluge was the reason why. It was as though all of Scuttleway had ground to a halt. As Joseph opened up the door, he was greeted by an orchestra of squawking, caws, and hoots. Birds of all stripes and colors, unable to be sent back out to their homes due to the storm, were in cages that filled the entire room. Pigeons danced and ruffled beside one another. Crows cawed and screeched, flapping around their cages, a few of them with sticks in their beaks that they were trying to use to unlatch their doors. Owls glared imperiously at Joseph as he swept inside, eyes following him no matter where he went. There was even a phoenix, the great red bird trying her damned hardest to look regal in the face of all of the feathery chaos around her, a golden missive tied to her leg.

Joseph tried his best to ignore the chorus of caws as he went deeper inside. The post office's lobby and main mailroom had been completely overtaken by birds, but the back office was relatively clear. The only inhabitant was the head mailman.

“Morning, Nigel,” Joseph said.

The hobgoblin looked up. Joseph had met him on his first run here, when Becenti had sent him to collect the guild's mail after the first round of rain. Nigel was older, portly, with one eye smaller than the other after a rather nasty accident, the left closed slightly more than the right. He had been working in the post office for the better part of twenty years, and he always fastidiously put on his nice, faded blue uniform, even though no one would be coming in. He always went into the office, even when the storm roiled outside.

“Morning, Joseph,” he said, “Becenti's got you doing this again, aye?”

“I volunteered,” Joseph said, “Gives me something to do.”

“You've been volunteering every day for the past week, lad.”

“Yeah, well,” Joseph shrugged, “Maybe I like the rain.”

“Or you're waiting for a letter,” Nigel smiled, “Come on, lad, you don't have to pretend.”

Joseph rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

“Alright,” he said, “I'm looking for a letter from... A friend, let's say.”

“Mmm,” Nigel said, “Well, I'm sorry to say that there's no mail for the Amber Foundation today.”

Joseph's face fell.

“Aye, sorry, lad,” Nigel said, “Not many people want to send mail out due to the storm, and I wouldn't be surprised if what's being sent out here is being delayed. Whatever bird your friend sent out, it's probably seeking shelter, or was blown off course.”

“...I see,” Joseph said, “Still, I'll come by tomorrow.”

“Didn't you hear me?” Nigel said, “It's probably better to come by once the storm's over.”

“I'll still come tomorrow,” Joseph said.

“Lad,” Nigel leaned in, “I'm sayin' is that nothing's really going to come in. Storm's too strong.”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “But I've got nothing better to do.”

Nigel let out a low chuckle.

“Nothing better to do than entertain an old hob and his birds?”

Joseph shrugged.

“I like birds,” he said, “I like the rain. I'll take the hob, I guess.”

The hobgoblin smiled at that, a greasy, old sort of grin.

“Ha! You bastard,” he said, “Alright, grab a seat. Make yourself useful, and help me sort through what I've got.”

***

They spent the next day or so working, Nigel finally building up the motivation to untie each and every letter tied to each and every bird, putting them into small cubbies in the mail room.

“Each city's got a different system,” the hobgoblin explained, “Because each city has a different mailman. Here, we sort based on parts of the city.”

He gestured at the wall, letting Joseph take stock of it. There were symbols written on the wall, all of it closed in by a giant circle. A gash lined through the circle's center, and each cubby had a certain rune written into it.

“...It's Scuttleway, isn't it?” Joseph said.

“Ha! So you metahumans can learn,” Nigel said, “Aye, I was something of an artist in my younger years, decided to do a mural of the city.”

“I notice you only got halfway,” Joseph said, smirking.

“There's a reason I quit,” Nigel said, “Because I realized I wasn't actually any good at it.”

“Hey, you never know,” Joseph said, “Anyways, I basically put the letters into the cubbies from the part of the city you're in.”

“You just concentrate on the birds,” Nigel said, “Most of 'em are friendly enough. I know this city like the back of my hand, so I'll work on actually sorting them out.”

“Right,” Joseph said, “Uhm, I don't really know how to work with them, though. The birds, I mean.”

Nigel gave him a look.

“One of your guildmates is a toucan, and apparently you've got an electric soul that's a bird. How do you not know how to work with them?”

“The bird is symbolic,” Joseph said, “For... I don't know.”

“It's symbolic for you need to learn how to work with birds,” Nigel said, “Let's get to work.”

***

The rain continued on for the next few days, the deluge stretching onto the week as a watery companion to Joseph's work. His mornings, instead of his run (which would be more of a swim, the way things were going) was spent helping Nigel wrestle the aviary's inhabitants, taking the letters and putting them into their places. With all of the mailmen staying at home, however, there was little to do save for storing them, and as the days wore on the letters simply sat there, unread and near-dusty. True to his word, only a single letter came in that time, held by an air elemental that dissipated as soon as it arrived. Nigel glanced down at it, face wrinkling.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Hmm,” he said, “A letter to the Lady Sunala.”

“Oh,” Joseph said, “My friend Rosemary's been working with her.”

“Usually, letters go straight to the nobility,” Nigel said, pulling at an errant chin hair, “Rather odd that the elemental would come here.”

“Maybe it got lost, or blown off-course,” Joseph said.

“Maybe,” Nigel grunted, “Be a good lad, and deliver this to her, will you?”

“...Me?” Joseph said, “Why me?”

“Because I don't have anyone else right now, and you like the rain.”

“Why can't it be you?” Joseph said.

Nigel shook his head, looking down at the bundled scroll the elemental had given him.

“It would be a shame if I got that letter from your friend before you got here, Joe. I might lose it, what with how busy it is in here.”

Joseph smirked.

“You're a dick, Nigel. And you owe me.”

“Don't get wet out there,” Nigel said, “Wear your cloak.”

***

The road up to Sunala's estate was slick, the manor itself veiled by fog, an elephant tusk-colored, domed tower in the mist. Rain slaked across its surface, adding a new dimension of textures as Joseph approached, entire waterfalls undulating down outcroppings and landings, rivering through the grooves in the tower's makeup. Twin guards, both Elven, both wearing faded green armor that folded together like the leaves in Spring, flanked the double-doors that led into the estate.

“Hey!” Joseph said, raising his voice over the gale, “I'm here to deliver a letter!”

“State your business!” the guard on the right yelled.

“I said, I'm here to deliver a letter!”

Joseph presented the letter, now safely encapsulated in a sheath of wood to protect it from the downpour. The guards looked at one another, before one of them knocked at the door. Joseph cocked an eyebrow as he watched the guard communicate with someone inside, before the door closed.

A few minutes later, Rosemary stepped out, hugging her red cloak close to her as she walked carefully down the steps.

“'Sup, Joe!” she said.

“Hey, Rosemary!” Joseph replied. The elf moved in closer so they didn't have to yell, gritting her teeth as the rain assaulted her head. By the time she made it to Joseph, she was already drenched.

“Letter,” Joseph said, handing it to her, “Came to the post office, instead of her estate.”

“Weird,” Rosemary said, “I mean, it's right here.”

“Yeah, the elemental must've been lost.”

“Must've gotten blown off course,” Rosemary said, “Poor thing. I'll get this to the Lady, sound good?”

“For sure,” Joseph said, “We're still on for cards tonight, right? With Broon and Mekke.”

“Oh, geez, Mekke's joining?” Rosemary grimaced, “Yeah, I'm still in. But be prepared to lose, Joe.”

“She's that good?” Joseph said.

“There's a reason why not many of us play nowadays,” Rosemary said, “Anyways, I'll let you go back to skipping and hollering in the rain. I'm going back indoors.”

“Fair,” Joseph said. He squinted at the guards, “Seems like they're being pretty paranoid, you think?”

“It's election season,” Rosemary said, “And the Doge already suffered an assassination attempt, remember?”

“Mmm,” Joseph said, “Still, they did all of the horse and pony show, instead of just taking it themselves.”

“They can't really abandon their posts, I guess,” Rosemary said, “Then they wouldn't be very good guards, would they?”

“I guess not.”

“Anyways, it's cold,” Rosemary said, “And there's coffee. Want to come inside?”

“Nah, I'm good,” Joseph said, “I've got to get back to the post office, help Nigel wrestle the letter off of the phoenix there. He's been putting it off.”

He shivered, not particularly relishing the thought of the burns that would no doubt pepper his skin when they were through.

“Well, alright,” Rosemary said, “Good luck! Take a picture for me, or something.”

“Will do,” Joseph said. He returned her bright smile, before turning back and walking down the street. Rosemary watched him go, the storm swirling around him, before she went back inside.

***

The doors closed behind Rosemary with a grating, lonely boom, leaving her alone and soaked to the bone. She had only been outside for a few minutes, but already she could tell that she'd need to discard her cloak and let it dry for several days – a thought that made her shiver, and not from the cold. She couldn't understand how Joseph seemed to be just fine as he stood in the rain, seemingly oblivious that it was even there. Then, his soul was made of lightning – rooms he walked in had begun to become tinged with the smell of ozone, if you were sniffing.

She took a chance to wring water out of her once-curly hair before heading back up the stairs to Sunala's office, stepping up the clean marble steps. Sunala's estate had a way of being eerily silent, with the torch sconces always being half-lit, or extinguished entirely. Even the footsteps of the servants were muted and quiet. They did their best to remain out of sight, only appearing before Sunala at her beckoning.

All of them were elves. Everyone in here, especially after the Brothers Corpo fiasco, was an elf in some shape or form (saving Rosemary herself, of course). The majority she had identified as wood elves from the myriad wooden realms that dotted the multiverse. The cook was a sea elf, only able to be identified by the scales covering her forearms and the subtle way that her pointed ears ended in thin, trailing spines. The Master of Arms for House Sunala was a dark elf, his eyes a rich violet and his skin as black as the night, and he always wore a longsword by his side. He was guarding the door to Sunala's office as Rosemary made her way to the fifth floor.

“Hey, Braxin, I'm back,” Rosemary said.

The dark elf gave a nod, opening the door and beckoning her to go inside. Sunala had hardly moved from her desk, the only thing being different was that she had picked up another book, having tossed the one she had been poring over through the morning (A Treatise on Elven Influence) into her customary pile of read books. Rain painted the window behind her, casting her in its dark gray shadow. The only light in the room, barring what little of the Inner Sun could punch through the cloud layer, was a thin candle at her desk.

“Who was it, Rosemary?” Sunala asked.

“Just Joseph,” Rosemary replied, “He got a letter from the post office for you.”

“Ah, I had no idea your guild was expanding to a mail service,” Sunala gave a soft smile, gingerly plucking the sheath of wood from Rosemary's hand, “He even went through the trouble of protecting it from the rain, though that was a bit of an ignorant gesture. I presume that it came by air elemental?”

“Yes, milady,” Rosemary said.

“Ah, one of my contacts in Tlantoia,” Sunala said, “Must've come all the way from the outer parts of the landmass. The paper's designed to not get wet, you see.”

To demonstrate, she walked over to the window, opening one of the panes and holding the unrolled scroll out in the open rain. She came back, presenting it to Rosemary, who took it in hand.

Sure enough, there wasn't a droplet inked into the letter.

“Wow,” Rosemary said, “That's pretty nifty.”

She took a chance to take a gander at the letter. Much of it was in Elven, though Rosemary had picked up on enough to understand most of it.

“InterGuild?” she said, “Your contact will be at InterGuild?”

“Rude, Rosemary,” Sunala said, taking the letter once more, “But yes. His name is Adonal Adaya, and he is a member of... a small collective, shall we say, of like-minded individuals.”

“I thought InterGuild only allowed guilds in,” Rosemary said, “Hence, er, the name.”

“Another one of our gatherings is a member of the White Feathers,” Sunala explained, “She's invited the rest of us, and we're using it as a business opportunity.”

“To help with the election, right?” Rosemary said.

“That, and other topics,” Sunala said.

She glanced down at the letter for a moment, giving it a read-over. A sudden and uncharacteristic wave of reluctance washed over the noblewoman as she read the letter a second time, putting it down and scratching at the stump of her left hand.

“Rosemary,” she said, “I know this is rather out of the blue, but would you like to accompany me to InterGuild?”

“You're going?” Rosemary said.

“The letter is an invitation,” Sunala said, “And I'm curious to see what you make of... of our organization. I'm interested in what you'll think.”

“I don't know if I could,” Rosemary said, “I don't think I'm in the running for InterGuild this year, pretty sure all the slots were claimed a while ago.”

“...I see,” Sunala said, “Well, I can take a look into perhaps seeing if I can't get a second invitation, or inviting you along.”

“Oh, geez,” Rosemary said, “You don't have to do that! I know InterGuild is insular as is. I'll...”

She shrugged.

“I'll figure something out.”

“All the same, I want you to be there,” Sunala said, “Besides, it's InterGuild. You'd like the party.”

Rosemary returned the noblewoman's smile.

“I'd bet.”

***

“InterGuild,” Ichabod said, “Is quite the occasion. And one we'll need.”

He and G-Wiz were in his room, various paintings having been removed in favor of a conspiracy theorist's average workday, with a diagram of the Tower of Eden covering the wall, and red string looped together, creating lines that connected parts of the Tower together. Entries and exits, major offices, and a singular, crimson circle near the Tower's base, with writing beneath it reading 'HERE THERE BE DRAGONS' in Ichabod's hurried script.

G-Wiz wanted to call him a nerd, but they had more serious discussions to go over.

“Is there something we'll need there?” she said.

“Yes,” Ichabod said, “A modification. To my arm.”

“A... modification,” G-Wiz said.

“Yes,” Ichabod said, “Vicenorn told me of a contact he has in the Mechanics Association, that guild on Clockwork?”

“Yeah, I know the one.”

“Well, apparently one of their members has a handy little device that we'll need, one that I can slot into my arm with a bit of jury-rigging.”

“Neat,” G-Wiz said, “And it'll get us... where, exactly?”

To answer her question, Ichabod stepped over (nearly stomping on one of his art pieces) and pointed at the blood-red circle.

“Here,” he said, “This door leads to an elevator that will take us down to the Tower of Eden's lower levels. That's where we're going to get the information we need.”

“And it's protected, then,” G-Wiz said.

“Well, no,” Ichabod said, “The average elevator’s pretty easy for me to get into, then.”

“So, what, then?” G-Wiz asked.

“The door to the records is what’s protected,” Ichabod said, “So what I’m to do is negotiate to obtain a rare implement, a Shardeen Cutter. It'll be able to hack into the console they have set up for the records room.”

“Wouldn’t that door be connected to the rest of their systems?” G-Wiz asked, “You could hack it from there.”

“No,” Ichabod said, “It's a closed system, connected to... well, whatever they have down there. It's not part of the main tower.”

“And you know this, how?”

“We found that out, last time,” Ichabod said, “Took us months to realize it. Made us feel like idiots, to be honest.”

“Indeed,” G-Wiz said, “And how do you know this... Shardeen Cutter, will work?”

“Because I used an Alloween Cutter last time,” Ichabod explained, “Think of Cutters as a... Swiss army knife of hacking. We used an Alloween last time, and it worked… to a point. A Shardeen has more options, more implements, more tools. So if for some reason they've changed how their system works, the Shardeen will be able to account for that.”

“'We,'” G-Wiz repeated. She poked at her keytar, before saying, “You've done this before, haven't you?”

“Yes, actually,” Ichabod said, “Before I joined the guild. What, you think I just found a diagram of the Tower of Eden lying around?”

“Who was the other guy?” G-Wiz said.

“It wasn’t just… one guy,” Ichabod said, his voice quiet, “Besides, not important.”

“Ichabod,” G-Wiz said, “Come on, don't be a stickler.”

Ichabod turned to her, lips tightened into a cool frown.

“I wonder if we should talk about Nole?” he said, “He loved the rain, didn't he? Always yammering about it-”

The words stung. G-Wiz blinked at the sudden reminders of her friend.

“Alright, shut the fuck up,” she said, “You've made your point.”

“Good,” Ichabod said, “Now, InterGuild allows one to bring a plus one. And considering that I was already selected, I was wondering if you'd like to come along.”

“...Sure,” G-Wiz said, “Now, I've got some shit to get done.”

“Of course,” Ichabod said amicably.

G-Wiz rose to leave the room. Just as her hand reached towards the knob, she turned around.

“Ichabod,” she said.

“Hmm?”

“You didn't need to say that,” G-Wiz said.

“You don't barb at me, I don't barb at you,” Ichabod said, “Makes things simple, doesn't it?”

“Like I know what does and doesn't set you off,” G-Wiz said.

“Does it matter?” Ichabod said, “I told you what I wanted to share. I've been to the Tower of Eden before. That's it. Have a good rest of your day, Galatea.”

“...Fine,” G-Wiz spat. She opened the door, and left without another word.

***

The end of the week brought – as was the norm – more rain. Lighter this time, the Weatherfolk predicted. It seemed that whatever had created this storm, natural or otherwise, was dissipating. One of the members of the Weatherfolk insisted that the storm system had been a natural phenomena, just of a more intense sort than the usual seasonal monsoons. Her companion, a twitching, talking rat, gave the theory that the storm was a result of the eln meia on Darkheld Landmass, a result of their weather magics that their fleets often employed to boost their ships' speed.

Whatever the case, while the Inner Sun did not quite break through the clouds, the rain had lessened, mere pinpricks on the back and head instead of stone-like drops. A few Scuttlers had even begun walking the streets again, tentatively picking up their errands from where they left off. Joseph walked into the post office to find many of the birds gone, having been sent back out to return to their owners. A couple of Nigel's mailmen were here as well, dressed up and removing scrolls from the cubbies and stuffing them into bags.

“Morning, Joe!” Nigel called from his office, “Come on in. Don't mind the racket.”

Joseph smiled as he weaved his way past the birds and mailman, walking into the hobgoblin's office and taking a seat.

“Thought that, with the rain letting up a bit, I'd clear out some of the aviary,” Nigel said, “Coffee?”

“Please,” Joseph said, “You don't need help with anything?”

“No, not today,” Nigel said, “Most of my workers actually decided to come in, which is nice. They'll be taking their usual rounds, even bought them some umbrellas.”

“On the city's coin, of course,” Joseph said.

“Of course,” the hobgoblin chuckled. He poured Joseph a cup, his nose wrinkling as Joseph added in far too many sugar cubes for his liking.

“Thanks,” Joseph said.

“I'll never understand it,” Nigel said, “You're basically drinking candy.”

“It's good,” Joseph said, “I used to drink it straight black. Still do, sometimes.”

“So I've been wasting my money buying these damn creamers and cubes for you, when you could've just had regular coffee this entire time.”

Joseph simply smiled in response, taking a sip.

“...You know what else I can't believe?” Nigel said.

“What?”

“You haven't asked me if you got any mail today.”

Joseph spluttered as coffee went down the wrong tube. He put his mug down, coughing it out, tears straining in the corner of his eyes.

“Right!” he said, “Did I get anything?”

“...As a matter of fact,” Nigel said, “You did.”

He presented a faded, beat-up old scroll, laying it down on the desk between them.

“Came in from that bird in the corner there,” he said, “The one with two heads.”

Joseph picked the scroll up, unreeling it and giving it a read.

Dear Joseph,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I'm writing this letter after following up with you on matters pertaining to what occurred a little while back.

“Probably doesn't want to get too specific,” Joseph muttered to himself.

I have found my contact I told you about before, and I am taking him as my plus one to InterGuild. Please ensure that you arrive at InterGuild within the first three days of its commencement, and go to the bar known as the Bookish Wyrm within the hours of four and six in the evening. My contact is not willing to meet at any other time, and when I tried to convince him of using a venue besides InterGuild, he declined. He sees the business opportunities there that he would not enjoy otherwise.

This is your best chance, Joseph. Make use of it. I will see you when we dream again.

-M

Joseph nodded, putting the letter down, his eyes hard as he took another sip of his coffee.

He wished it were black.

“Well, there's that, then,” he said.

“Bad news?” Nigel said, “Did they break up with you?”

“What?” Joseph blinked, “Oh, no, nothing like that.”

“Ah, good,” Nigel said, “Wouldn’t want to see your heart broken, lad.”

He let out a chuckle, though it fell away as he noticed Joseph glaring at the wall.

“...Everything alright?” he asked.

“It’s… I just hoped I wouldn't have to find some way to get to InterGuild,” Joseph said.

“Ah,” Nigel said, “That's that big guild thing, right?”

“Big meeting point of guilds,” Joseph said, “I didn't know this when I was talking to the guy who wrote me this letter, but the Amber Foundation only lets a few of its members go each year.”

“And,” Nigel said, “Let me guess. You're not on the list.”

“I wasn't even here when they made the list,” Joseph said, “So now...”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Now, I'm going to have to figure out some way to get there.”