I was exhausted enough not to care about the comfort of the mattress, and the concerns of my situation did not keep me up. The morning bell was a rude interruption to my sleep, which was, I imagined, the entire point. I got up, bending each leg experimentally, then stretched and tried out a few other movements. My muscles were complaining about all the stairs and the hiking, but in a very muted tone. Nothing approaching real pain. I couldn’t quite remember. Had it genuinely been this easy when I had been in my original young body? If so, then youth was indeed wasted on the young.

Breakfast, at least for us, was delivered to the sitting room in Branneth’s and my suite. I opened the covers to discover porridge, being kept warm by some mechanism that wasn’t obvious. Just plain porridge, in bowls, with spoons. The table was set with a range of jams with their own tiny spoons, but no toast. Lilianna promptly added some of the blue jam to the porridge and stirred it in, so I tried a little myself. It was a taste something like cheesecake, and something like rice pudding. I might get used to it.

It was perhaps the first chance Lilianna, Branneth, and I had a chance to talk privately, and even the small talk wasn’t that small. Every question about the past was a potential minefield. But it wouldn’t be healthy to pretend we weren’t mourning the loved ones we’d left behind. I don’t think it had fully set in for any of us, but this was going to be the most extreme form of culture shock we’d ever encountered. Everything was different, and we would never be able to go back. No food from home we could order from somewhere. No media we could follow along with. Not a single shared piece of nostalgia with any other person. Branneth was taking comfort in the extensive training he had received to deal with this very matter, and Lilianna was kindly asking him questions about it. She included me in the conversation from time to time as well, skilfully keeping the discussion going when it threatened to veer into the dark.

“How can you be so relaxed?” Branneth suddenly demanded of me.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, genuinely not understanding what he was objecting to.

“You are completely unprepared to be a hero, and you don’t seem to care,” Branneth said. “No, it’s even worse than that. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the kind of questions you’ve been asking. You don’t sound like a defender of anything. You sound like a traitor and a coward.”

That was a surprise. Branneth was clearly a good deal smarter than I had given him credit for. I felt ashamed of myself. I had disregarded him based on the persona he portrayed, when knowing full well that personas could be any level of fake.

> As is typical, it did appear that His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, considered the possibility that Hero Branneth was simply jealous of the closeness to Hero Lilianna.

“Branneth!” reprimanded Lilianna. “How can you say that?”

“It’s true,” said Branneth. “This man is no kind of champion for the gods. Strolling around like he’s above us all when it’s perfectly clear that he’s just useless.”

“Do you think the gods made a mistake in sending me?” I asked.

He squirmed and then said ‘no’ in a small voice. Pity. It would have been interesting to have an honest critical discussion about the whole system. I wondered whether it was worth pursing, but someone knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Assistant Oxenden.

“Good morning, Assistant Oxenden,” greeted Lilianna. “Time for our expedition to one of the Spires?”

“No,” he said, looking notably shifty. “I’m afraid there’s going to be a bit of a delay.”

“Has something gone wrong with the itinerary?” I asked, with less sarcasm than that question deserved.

Assistant Oxenden hesitated, and then just blurted out, “There’s been a death. The body was found this morning in the ceremonial grounds, so we might have to postpone the whole thing.”

Oh, good. How terrible.

“Heavens above,” exclaimed Branneth.

Lilianna looked pale. “Do you mean the place we met the dragons? Who was it? How did it happen?”

“We’re still looking into it,” said Assistant Oxenden. “Hero Percy, could we have a private word?”

“Yes, of course,” I said, gesturing him through to the study.

He closed the door behind him, and then came to stand over a chair without sitting down.

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“What can I do for you?” I prompted.

I couldn’t possibly be some sort of suspect in this, could I? That would be working fast, even for me.

Assistant Oxenden said, “I’ve been charged with overseeing the investigation, on account of my worship of His Infinite Wisdom, Felos.”

I almost asked who that was, before I remembered at the last minute that was the name they used for the god of curiosity. It seemed a bizarre reason to push the investigation on Assistant Oxenden. He was a follower of the religion, not some religious clergy, as far as I knew. And even if he had been clergy, would that even have made him an investigator?

Assistant Oxenden continued, “But I’ve never done anything like this before. I was hoping…”

He trailed off with as much hope in his voice as in his words. It was entirely misplaced. I hadn’t done anything like that before, either. I don’t think I ever even knew anyone who’d died outside a hospital. Was this supposed to have been part of my duties as a hero? Would admitting my incompetence open me up to questions I wasn’t prepared to answer?

> While summoners can request heroes with particular skillsets, that significantly increases the faith requirements. There is no indication they did so here, as rookies are assumed to have no skills whatsoever. Naturally, there is also no chance that a hero would have been sent mistakenly, despite what His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, likes to imply.

“I’ll help in any way I can, of course,” I said. “But I have no familiarity with any magical methods that exist to investigate with.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, relieved. “There are servants with those skills. I just am concerned I lack the ability to direct them. Any thoughts would be greatly welcome.”

That was less bizarre. Assistant Oxenden was not truly being asked to handle the matter. He was being asked to take the flack from anyone who wanted to complain about the matter. I wondered if someone had even suggested he ask me. If a hero was unable to trigger a war, then presumably they were also unable to trigger an internal political crisis. I resented the possible manipulation, but if Assistant Oxenden was honest that all he wanted was thoughts, then I could do that. I always had plenty of thoughts.

“What do we already know?” I asked, resigned to my fate. “I take it we don’t think it was an illness. Do we know what time it happened?”

“No. It was Candidate Bethany Fairbanks, and she was perfectly healthy. We think she must have thrown herself off the viewing platform early last night. The destiny-weaver will determine the exact time of death, but the body had been there a while.”

“Are we sure it was a suicide attempt rather than just an accidental fall?” I asked.

“Why do you ask?” he said, with strange caution.

“With all the places to jump, why there?” I asked. “There are hundred-meter cliffs all around us. Ones that would have guaranteed death. The viewing platform isn’t all that high, after all. She would surely have had some concern that she might survive if she was trying to take her life. It strikes me as far more likely that she simply tripped.”

He looked depressed. “We found a note on her body. It’s a little smudged, but most of the words can be made out. We had hoped to keep that private. It blames her parents, and we did not think it was kind to reveal that.”

They would definitely have to reveal that. Her parents would never believe them if they didn’t. I frowned. I didn’t like the picture. It didn’t fit. I reminded myself that could be more a result of cultural differences than real problems.

“Would have been important for her that her body be found?” I asked. “Or to be found largely intact? For religious or filial reasons, say?”

“Not if she’s committed suicide,” said Assistant Oxenden. “She won’t get a proper funeral regardless of the state of her body.”

That was harsh. Punishing the person even after they were dead – in a society that knew for sure that the afterlife existed. This was not a culture that allowed for noble or honourable suicides, then.

“You said the note blamed her parents. In what way?” I asked.

“That they had put too much pressure on her,” said Assistant Oxenden. “That she couldn’t face becoming a dragon rider. That it was all too much.”

I thought back to the evening before. Bethany had been upset by her father’s argument, and then there had been the incident when she had been called names. But she had thrown that all off when she had seen the dragonets, I was sure of it. That had been genuine joy.

“Have you told her parents yet?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Assistant Oxenden. “They’ve been called to the grand meeting room.”

“Then we should go there immediately,” I said.

I wanted to see what they had to think about this suicide. And, with any luck, see what could be done about changing the ‘might have to postpone’ to a ‘definitely have to postpone’.

Memo to Self

Stuff to avoid

· Becoming a dragon rider

Information gathering

· Find out about alternative occupations and opportunities

· - Speak to Minister Greenfield in private

· - - Find out when he is due to leave before he leaves in four days

· Investigate other countries and cultures to see if they’re a better fit

· - Determine just how far heroic independence goes

· Track down itinerary [no point]

Opportunities

· Sneak out when harvesting night flowers [7 days]

Preparations

· Beg, borrow or steal clothes of a different colour

· Delay the bonding ceremony as much as possible