Month 12, Day 6, 6:00 AM

Frank Poe

Frank knew that—somewhere in the haze of his normal mornings—Marie would get up, wash, dress, then apply her various black makeups, and then leave early to see Stella. He knew that this meant that Marie had committed to the sort of morning routine that would impress roosters and songbirds. Experiencing it, however, was not the same as knowing it.

Bleary-eye and attempting to brew tea, Frank heard a sharp knock on his apartment door when the sky was still blue-grey with dawn. There was only one person that would have access to his rooms at six in the morning, so it didn’t take a diviner to know who knocked. Poe closed his eyes in dismay; he hadn’t even changed into a proper suit of clothing yet; he was still in his pajamas.

Frank stumbled through the couches and yanked open the door. Luckily the one blocking the doorway had finally moved on, but the revised path reached unfathomable depths of shin-injuring complexity.

His neat, black-haired, and cheerful apprentice greeted him.

“Good morning Master Poe! Ready to … go?” Marie’s smile faded as she took in Poe’s clothes and bleary eyes.

“I will just need to …”

“Drink tea, have a wash, change clothes, and otherwise get ready.”

“Something like that.”

“Hmm.” Marie ticked her head to the side. “I suppose that it won’t be too bad if we’re a little late. Mama goes to bed at around eight.” Marie smiled with, somehow, extra positivity. “I am sure she’ll wait until then before she sends Dinky to come here and break all your bones.”

Frank tried not to look horrified. The last thing he needed was that thug pounding on his door. And, if Maire was correct about Dinky’s ability with a battle wand, Poe wouldn’t want to fight him either, journeyman thaumaturge or not.

“Just one moment.”

Poe shut his door, and looked at his ordinary little cookstove. The little kettle on the hob would be entirely too slow to boil water. So, drawing a quick array on the stovetop with chalk, he resorted to magic to get the tea started, then he changed in record time into a suit decorated with purple flowers and and yellow-gold accents, then drank the hot tea, and finished by splashing water on his face. Perhaps they could visit a proper bath that evening.

Poe rushed through his morning routine, and, less that fifteen minutes later, he was headed down the stairs to the office to grab his coat and the glasses he used to hide his eyes. Marie met him at her black table, where she was already reading his recommend book on light.

Marie carefully rested the book on the table as they left. They began the walk to the Hands, Hearts and Palms.

“Poe. Do you think you can manipulate darkness like you can light?”

“Of course. I’ve cast spells that imitate darkness as well as light.”

“But the book just says that darkness is just the absence of light.”

“Absence of visible light. But yes, that’s essentially correct.”

“So, how would you make a darkness spell?”

“Well, because light is energy, I can transmute the light into darkness. Or, you can transmogrify darkness; you can take the association of one thing with the dark, like say a moth, and make an area dark. Lampblack powder, or a night-blooming flower, or black pearls, can be drawn upon to give you a controllable darkness.”

“So, how does the earring spell work?”

“It takes sound energy and transmogrifies it into a sound that you can hear. If there isn’t any sound, then the spell would fail. That’s not really a problem; you can hum to yourself if it is too quiet. Detecting magic through sound is very old; in the tale of the the vagabond princess and her brother, the princess supposedly heard the magic in the cursed potions her evil stepmother had hoped to use to transmogrify the boy into a roe deer.”

Marie gave Frank a side-eye. “That’s a story. That’s not real.”

“Sure.” Frank replied easily.

Marie huffed at him.

“There have always been fewer sorcerers in the world than people. And people, well, they’d rather have a convenient lie than a difficult to understand truth, wouldn’t they?”

Marie nodded.

“For now, why don’t we improve your mastery of spells you know, rather than branching off into darkness?”

“Alright.”

Frank was surprised at how many people were on the street so early in the morning. ‘Doesn’t anyone sleep?’ Frank thought.

That Morrows had confronted Marie with so many witnesses around just suggested a level of brazen illegality that Frank found depressing.

In a world where the truth of any statement could be determined with a spell, one would think that crime would be more difficult to get away with. If anything, the Raven Queen was just the most high profile example of how corruption, indifferent leadership, and failed investigative techniques allowed even the most high profile law breakers went free in the city.

Then again, the Night Market was the best source of difficult to source components it the world. Frank knew that the Crown’s legal flexibility made for a more liberal world, at least for thaumaturges.

Frank drew his pipe from his pocket. Despite having a battle wand, Frank did not keep it with him. He was a sorcerer, not some thug. He would not use a battle wand as a crutch. Aside from its protective enchantments, Frank had several tiny spell arrays built into the pipe; notably one etched into the bowl.

One might feel that carrying a wand openly was a threat, but a pipe would go unnoticed.

Frank pulled out his particular kinninnick blend that produced a thick white smoke. This blend had bark from several magical bushes, including radiant paperbark trees, and he’d infused them with a ritual. He hadn’t even tried it since the accident.

He lit it with his little fire lighting stick, and swirled some of the smoke into his mouth, and out in a perfect smoke ring. The familiar warmth from the smoke’s inherent magical properties caused and involuntary smile. The healing smoke relieved his tiredness and fatigue. He reckoned his will strain was completely gone now. .

“That smells different.” Marie observed. “Do you smoke … some kind a potion?”

“In a way, it is. As sorcerers we must avoid potions and drugs that effect the mind. You understand why?”

“I’ve heard about this, corrupted will?”

“If you can’t think clearly, you can’t cast magic with certainty and skill. Addiction, dependence, these things interfere. So. I have specific blends of magic kinninnick to make smoke that has magical effects; mostly healing.”

“You did not smoke before?”

“No. I’d … stopped using my pipe, but it is my most flexible tool.”

“Will you teach me?”

“Not likely! I’ll teach you normal potion magic.”

“But if I was a boy it would be ok?”

“Gah! No! It’s not a good habit at all.”

“So, do as you say, but not as you do?”

Frank rubbed the tense spot between his eyes. “Perhaps you should apprentice to a lawyer instead of a sorcerer.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Never mind. Just, for now, know that I use the pipe and its smoke for magic, not any sort of mind altering effects, understand?”

“Alright.”

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Frank’s exasperation nearly had him forgetting why he was coming with Marie at this godawful hour. But, as they approached the street with the parlor, he began to notice the red marks in buildings that showed they had returned to Morrow’s territory.

Frank paused walking for a moment, and cast a small revealing magic using the spell array in his glasses that would help him visually detect any hostile magic. Anything interesting would blaze with a spectrum that would help him identify if any of the five elements were in an active spell array.

When he’d first made the glasses as a student, he did not mean for them to identify hostile magic, but they could.

As they had approached the parlor, nothing stood out, and no one seemed to be hanging about with a battle wand waiting to ambush Marie.

When they entered, the bouncer registered as armed with some sort of battle wand, but it wasn’t Dinky. Frank reckoned this was fine; it was one of the bouncers that Frank had met before. And, as usual, the bouncer greeted Marie with warmth, and they treated the strange, brightly dressed Frank with a suspicion.

Frank let his detection spell fade. He’s hardly need it to have a conversation with Mama Stella; after all, the door was guarded.

Marie and Frank were lead back to Mama, who, instead of her usual place in the laundry, was working in the main office. She gave Marie a long hug.

“Mama, what happened?” Marie asked. “Did they come back?”

“No.” Stella replied. “They sent a runner to ask if we’d had a substitute, but no one came.”

“Good.” Marie said. She turned to Frank. “You don’t need to stay. They likely won’t be back, and I want to go visit Millie.”

Frank felt his eyebrows involuntarily raise.

“You don’t think they’d attack you at Millie’s?” He asked.

“Oh no. She’s not … worth anything to them.” Marie explained. “Morrows don’t bother with useless, or that don’t have any money. Unless they are owed money, and Millie wasn’t like that with them.”

Stella nodded. “Its not far to Millie’s. Kett and his men made their point. They’ll wait a few days before they come back. I don’t know if my girl told you, but you should go talk to Madame.”

Frank found himself clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to talk to the proprietor. She was pressuring Marie, and in his opinion, she was more dangerous than any ordinary thug. She could twitch a finger, and Marie would be back here out of sense of obligation or duty or whatever it was that motivated teenage girls to do anything. However, there wasn’t any point in resisting a meeting. Frank needed to know how bad this situation really was.

He nodded to Marie and Stella, and was directed to a suite. Frank was involuntarily blushing when he knocked on her door. ‘It’s just a woman.’ Frank thought. ‘You’ve talked to women before it it turned out fine.’ Then he reminded himself of all those instances where it had not worked out fine.

Madame called for him to enter.

It was, indeed, a suite of rooms; with a foyer, washroom, and bedroom. Madame met him in the bedroom. There was a huge bed that seemed it could fit three people, surrounded in red and black drapes, a settee that would have been at home in opulence and style in Frank’s own room full of couches, and a beautiful screen of cleverly fitted wooden pieces to make a pattern of stars. At a small writing desk to one side, Madame sat and greeted Frank.

“Master Poe. How nice of you to join us. I would get up, but I find that my illness keeps me from standing without pain.”

‘The sort of illness that left your face bruised and your ribs cracked.’ Poe thought grimly. Poe knew what to expect, but Madame was worse off than he expected, especially since he knew she should be able to afford healing potions and salves. Her face was mottled with purple bruises, and was propped in a chair with pillows.

“It occurs to me, Madame, that you need the attention of a healer.”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Madame replied, “who can find the time?”

Frank took that to mean that when the Morrows punished, they did not appreciate a quick healing. Healing would be evidence of defiance, and defiance would be punished twofold.

‘Still’ Frank thought, ‘I can’t leave it at this.’ He continued this thinking aloud. “My dear woman, if you expect me to have a rational conversation with you, I am not going to see you continue to suffer.” Frank slowly withdrew a flask of a mild healing potion. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would return you to health if you were bleeding or unconscious, but it would ease any pain and speed natural healing somewhat. He walked to her desk and deposited the flask in front of her. “At least take a sip.”

Madame took the flask, and had a reluctant sip. Then a second. She handed it back.

“Thank you. As much as I appreciate this favor, I hoped we could negotiate a business arrangement.”

“Fine. What do you want from the August agency?”

“Glamours.”

“No.” Frank paused. “Do you have some investigative service you want us to perform?”

“Don’t be so quick! Sorcerers don’t have any trouble making money, but I’m sure a person like yourself craves … connection. Regular service here might do you some good.”

“No.”

“I am sure we have some common ground on which we could negotiate. Perhaps …”

“Before you offer some compromise that would be even more manipulative, I will be plain. I am not doing magic on demand for you or anyone else. The August Agency will consider a commission to find you a replacement glamourist. Are you interested in working with me, or are you going to attempt to hold Marie’s relationship to this place over my head?”

Madame sighed. “I need quick results.”

“Do you even want my expertise? You pay me my retainer, and I will consult my oracle. My oracle approves, and only then, will I pursue a glamourist for you. Results will take time. Unless you want a legal sorcerer?”

Madame smirked. “If I needed someone legal, I wouldn’t need to hire someone like you. What if your oracle refuses?”

“I’ll keep the retainer, and you find your own way to disguise the Morrows.”

“You would take advantage of an injured woman.” Madame pouted. But, her bruises had faded from the healing potion Frank had given her. She probably wasn’t even in any pain.

This was a delicate situation. If he could get a read on her emotions …

Frank reflexively drew smoke from his smoldering pipe and made a smoke ring. He nearly had a word ready, but he decided it would do no good. Divination could be a crutch; better to be prepared for the unexpected than to try to never be surprised. He let the smoke fade.

A magical reading would not tell him anything he did not already know, and he hadn’t practiced free casting since the accident. No matter how simple, the divination was not worth the risk.

“I think you are smarter than that.” Frank said. “Now, if you would, let’s write out our agreement.”

And they did. Madame may have been hurt, but she was more than willing to write out out a simple agreement for the August Agency to find someone to do glamour for the Hands, Hearts, and Palms. Poe made his own copy of the commission to find glamour.

Madame offered, again, to give payment “in kind.” Frank was certain that he blushed furiously, but he refused as confidently as possible. ‘Surely Madame knows that I know a trap when I hear it?’ He thought. Any regular trips to the parlor would inevitably lead to Frank being a Morrows’ target. They wouldn’t let an investigator visit their businesses without trying for leverage. People might forget meeting him, but the bookkeeping would have records of his visits.

It was fine—or seemed fine—for Marie’s visits.

After Frank worked out an agreement, which Madame rewrote, to her own personal preferences, Frank returned to the office and Marie.

“Done?” Mama asked as Frank returned. Marie sat in a chair across the desk, reviewing an account book.

“Yes. I need to return to the office and consult the Raven. Marie, will you be returning with me?”

“Mama asked me to look at the numbers from the last few days; I also want to talk to Madame, and visit Millie.”

“Are you sure it will be safe?”

“Yes, Poe.” Marie rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“You can cast the detection spell, but not for long, right?”

“Ok.”

…

Frank returned to the office. On the walk back, his pipe went out. He’d left the kinninnick mostly unsmoked. He had paused and looked at a poster of the Raven Queen: “Alias: The Raven Queen. Dangerous practitioner of Forbidden Magics. Flee on sight. Report any information to law enforcement. Reward for information leading to arrest: Five hundred gold crowns.”

What was he doing to achieve that reward? He needed to find the connections to her. Where would she even hide? With the Stags? Or, would she hide in a place no one would ever expect?

He dropped his pipe off at his desk, and trudged up to the roof.

He sat and considered the situation as he waited for Frigg to arrive.

He breathed deeply, letting his will spread out and touch the living things around him. A curious crow was still awake, and it watched him from a neighboring roof, without approaching. There was a house owl that wanted to take up residence in the rafters of an attic a few houses over. Frigg wouldn’t like that; owls were the mortal enemies of ravens.

Frank let his mind wander. This situation was almost too straight. The Morrows wanted glamours. He just needed to find someone to produce them. Sorcerers and witches who lived on the edges abounded who could probably do that work. But it wasn’t Madame who pressured Marie first; it was Kett.

‘Why had Kett been so eager to pressure Marie?’ Frank wondered.

He needed to find an offering. Frank rummaged through his coat till he found a piece of a glass mirror the length of a finger, and about twice as wide. He dropped it in the bowl. The metal bowl rang with a pale brittle sound, and the sharp edged glass reflected the morning’s clouds. Mirrors created an illusion all their own.

The day began to warm.

Dark wings descended; Frigg finally appeared. She flew over to Frank and alighted lightly in front of him. She preened her feathers. She looked at the offered mirror, but did not grasp it with he beak or talon.

“Frigg. I apologize for the moth.”

“Kraa.” Frigg replied with reproach.

‘Madame at the Hands, Hearts, and Palms wants me to find someone to create glamour for the Morrows.”

Frigg fluffed her feathers. Frank had a sense that she had a question.

“No. I don’t know her real name.” Frank said.

“Kraa.” The Raven said. She hopped around the bowl for a moment. Finally, the raven took the piece in her beak and snapped it in half. She brought half to him, and dropped it at his feet, then she picked up the larger piece left in the bowl and flew off.

‘Compromise.’ Frank thought. ‘I need to find a compromise with Madame.’ He needed to simultaneously find a way to supply glamour and find Madame a sorcerer. ‘Or, that might be wrong; maybe a way to glamour myself?’

He returned to his office and cleaned his pipe. Marie would be back soon. He had time.

In his office, surrounded by the books, with the spines facing the shelves, he planned a different type of divination. When he’d bought the August Agency, this room inspired him to create the magic he’d use for his cases. He swept the papers from his desk and revealed the circle inset on its surface.

With a brush in hand, he began to write the glyphs.