Frank Poe

Month 1, Day 7, Thursday 3:30 p.m.

Frank looked over the past week’s worth of work with pride, aching knees, and cramped fingers. After moving his desk next to Marie’s table in front of the partition and clearing his office floor, Poe had covered the floor of his office with the spell array that he would use to test the Pearl.

If it worked, he would build an enchantment, likely an amulet, that would let him trigger a counter to his curse. Instead of the koi coat’s half measures, people would remember conversations with him! No more notes! He could meet with friends for dinner and they’d recall him. His family might take him back, and he could finish his Master’s certificate.

The possibilities were endless.

Marie seemed happy with the New Year’s day treat, but as he’d worked on the array, she seemed to withdraw bit. Frank guessed it was his request that they skip lessons for the week while he worked on it. He”d promised to show her the basics of alchemy, but hadn’t had the opportunity as he worked on the spell array. He closed the office, so he thought she would appreciate the time off.

“This is it.” Poe waved an arm toward the array. “A reasonable and permanent way to deal with my curse.”

“Congratulations, Master.” Marie sounded unenthused. Frank decided it was just a failure to appreciate the accomplishment. “I wonder if I might ask a question?”

“Anything you like! Although I can’t promise that you’ll understand my answer.” Frank replied. “This is a complex spell array, after all.”

“Sure. Um. Have you consulted the Oracle? Frigg?”

“What? No. This will end the curse, don’t you see? I won’t need to worry about interfering with fate, because people will remember me again.”

Marie didn’t glower, exactly, but her eyes seemed a little darker, and her jaw a little tighter.

“I have built this spell on well-recognized principles of memory and divination.” Frank said. “My future will have echoes again. You don’t notice, but most people find it unsettling to be around me. This is a fix. Or, at least the beginning of a fix. You’ll see.”

Frank paid no more attention to his apprentice’s frown.

‘It will be fine.’ He thought.

He’d drawn on all his resources to make the spell array. Thinking of resources, this included the Handbook of Components, Physical Laws, Spell Arrays, and Glyphs of the Modern Sorcerer. The fate portions of the array had come from Frank’s own neglected grimoires left from his time at the University, but the rest had been built upon glyphs and arrays found in the Handbook. Frank carefully packed up the stamped censor’s copy of the Handbook, and put the five volumes in a shoulder spacial bag he’d specifically purchased for the purpose.

Frank still had to avoid the prying eyes of the spies outside the Agency. And, sadly, they now knew about the roof hatch. So, while he could try that exit again, he reckoned it would be watched more carefully. He could still creep across the roofs, but he wasn’t sure that was wise.

Frank rubbed his hand over his face, feeling a little stubble. He’s skipped shaving for a few days. He’d prioritized the array, but he’d also put off planning how he would lose the spies from the Morrows and the Stags.

The fighting stick would be fine for personal protection, but to cast his most portable spells and illusions he would need his pipe, like he’d done on the street some weeks before. Unfortunately, sorcerers and coppers who knew him would recognize it. So. He would have to lose the followers at the Night Market, and that would be easier said than done.

He decided to compromise.

….

After sunset, as the inky darkness of night descended, the shrouded figure of Frank Poe, wearing a blue coat that a flashed with orange and silver, walked out of the closed door of the August Agency, face buried under a grey scarf and wide brimmed hat. When the ephemeral figure reached the corner, Frank Poe impossibly split in two, each man headed in different directions. This impossibility confused the spies, who also split up to follow him, then two blocks later, they all lost sight of Frank Poe entirely in the mist and gloom.

Cory observed that the enforcer from the Morrows, who hadn’t experienced Frank’s tricks, walked on, looking for any sign of the investigator. He surely hadn’t gone far. Jemnie had the night off; if they’d had the clever pickpocket with them, the Morrows might have had a chance to understand what had happened. She wouldn’t find out till later that they received a beating for their failure.

Cory, who worked alone, had to pick one of the two false images to shadow, and when that one disappeared, she didn’t bother trying to backtrack to try to find the other phantom. For one thing, she could recall both of them walking, even when the one she’d followed disappeared. Thus, she realized that neither of the smoke shadows were Frank Poe, and he had obviously slipped away. She made a note in her book, then trudged back to the August Agency.

On her way back, Cory saw another man, dressed in dark clothing, turn the corner a street ahead of her, and he walked deeper into the Mires. He had a satchel over one shoulder, and walked briskly with what someone else might have confused with a walking stick.

Cory had a careful and systematic mind, which had made her ideal for this assignment from Katerine. Frank Poe’s curse disturbed her, especially with how quickly she would forget that she was even following him, but she was beginning to understand the shape of it.

She might not recall anything that Frank Poe had said on new year’s eve, and she only had a vague recollection of some sort of light magic he’d done on the roof, but his odd room filled with couches made an impression. Especially the metal-capped black fighting stick that had leaned unobtrusively in the corner during the dinner at the August Agency. Just like the stick this stranger carried.

She might not be following Frank Poe, but she could follow his fighting stick. She made a note in her book.

…

Frank had several spots on his walk toward the meeting location where he would check for followers. The city’s winding streets and blind alleys—more often than not—helped with mundane methods for catching a tail.

Frank found a sharp corner that had an almost entirely hidden doorway just as he would turn down the side street. He could break the line of sight with any follower, and it was natural for anyone following to speed up and round the corner to try to catch sight of him. If he stopped at just the right spot in the doorway, he had an opportunity to catch the spy or avoid them entirely. Just a few moments out of a follower’s view worked.

Frank thought his distanced output illusion array, which made two smoke versions of himself, had cleverly distracted the spies. He’d even decided to draw out an entire array on Marie’s table so that he could improve his control. When the spell finished, and he’d left the office, the street outside the August Agency was empty. Frank reckoned the decoys worked as planned.

So, when he turned the corner and slipped into the shadows of the door, he was certain that his caution was more paranoia than practical concern. Not only was he dressed plainly, but his distraction should have gotten the spies far enough away from the Agency that there would be no way to link him to it, even if they had seen him on the street. Frank even murmured the magic detecting spell to quiet his footsteps as he rounded the corner.

As he waited in shadow, Cory turned the corner, walking briskly to follow him, then walked past the doorway where Frank sulked. Startled, Frank almost raised his stick to strike, when he stopped himself. Marie wouldn’t like it if Frank hit her friend, even if she was a spy for the Stag. Cursing internally, Frank stepped out of the shadow directly behind Cory, turned sharply, then retraced his steps, walking briskly around the corner.

Marie wasn’t the only one with quiet vinyl-soled boots. Cory did not notice in time to see Frank disappear into the night.

Shaken that Cory managed to follow him, Frank took a long detour to avoid that street and potentially crossing paths with her again. He also checked for followers several more times before he felt confident enough that he had, at last, beaten his tail.

As he put on his mask, he found himself gritting his teeth. Again. He bustled to the meeting, and was nearly late to catch the start.

‘These spies wouldn’t be a problem if I had the respect I deserve.’ Frank thought, ‘If I’d finished my mastery as planned. If my family still treated me like their child. No cold looks and unbearable silence. Cursed Depths, I wouldn’t even need to be a driftwood-forsaken investigator. I could be a real sorcerer, with a real job at the High Crown’s Palace.’

Frank gave the password and quickly found a seat. Because Frank arrived late, he and the pearl seller acknowledged each other, but they would have to wait till the end of the meeting for the arbitrators to oversee the sale.

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As the meeting began in earnest, Frank buzzed with excitement, but he did try to pay attention.

The healer returned with a new mask. Frank identified her because when the alchemist asked about the sempervivum apricus and mandrake, she identified herself. The new mask seemed high quality, including some sort of minor attention diverting ward that Frank felt pressing against his mind. Frank also noted the healer seemed to return with a shopping list; she purchased a portable water carrier, liquid stone, minor healing potions, and lung sealing potions. She traded these potions for no small about of gold.

The fact that the young healer seemed to be buying up the kinds of potions one might see on a battlefield suggested that the Stags, or whoever the woman represented, expected a fight soon. Frank didn’t have much trouble identifying Canelo either and she seemed particularly attentive to the healer’s purchases. Frank silently vowed to himself that the August Agency wouldn’t be caught in that fight.

When it came time to sell, the young healer surprisingly seemed to be selling three conduits: one modest gem, one small one that might be used by a child or weak sorcerer, and a shattered one. None of them were terribly strong.

Masks were a good way to prevent someone from showing surprise, and Frank reckoned he was not the only one who benefited from having a mask. Usually a person-to-person sale would receive a better price, there were only so many reasons to sell a conduit this way. The magical gems could be stolen, but — given the intensely personal nature of conduits — they were difficult to steal, unless you killed the sorcerer. She might have acquired them as payment, but then to sell them at a meeting suggested she did not know anyone to sell them to. Frank didn’t want to fall into a confirmation bias, but it seemed likely this healer lived an isolated existence as he’d already guessed.

Frank could gift the small one, and use the shards in a spell array, but he didn’t have a use for the medium rated conduit. Frank considered making an offer on the small conduit. It might be a good gift for Marie, but the bidding started off at 75 gold for the two working conduits. It was more than he had planned to offer, but, because Frank had been trailing behind Silverling when he’d been trying to sell a conduit, Frank wasn’t surprised. The shop selling price of conduits had risen dramatically. Those shop’s offers on Silvering’s conduit had been relatively low, which Frank reckoned came from a tightening the grip on monopoly pricing. In this respect, that was the point of these meetings.

This mystery healer would almost certainly walk away with a better price than a shop offered. The fat alchemist offered 80 gold and etherwood leaves for the lot. Frank thought that it was a balanced offer; money for the working conduits and an exchange of ingredients. Not everyone agreed.

“These prices are ridiculous; wait a few months till the shortage is over and you’ll be able to get that celerium for half the price.” A woman said. Frank doubted that.

“My offer stands. I like to build up relationships with useful people” The fat alchemist replied. Frank nodded to himself. He didn’t have a reason to cultivate the new healer as a contact, but illegal healing always demanded ingredients. A little good will now might pay off handsomely for the type that dealt in smuggled materials.

“One hundred fifteen gold for all the celerium.” The Arbiter offered. Now that was unusual, because the offer had the hallmark of a bribe. Frank shifted his head to try to get a better look at the healer.

‘Are the Arbiters picking sides?’ Frank wondered. No one else bid.

Then it was Tanya’s turn, and she asked whether anyone had been able set up a meeting with the Raven Queen. Frank found the answer unsurpising.

“I tried, but my contact refused to help. They were afraid to talk about the Raven Queen at all. Wouldn’t even say her name. Apparently, Lord Lynwood is cracking down. I suggest you go to the Verdant Stag and ask there. The red-haired proprietress has connections to Lord Stag, and he should be able to get you an audience.”

Canello already knew this, and said so. Frank frowned to himself. Maybe Canello would return to him for information. He may not have been loyal to Lord Lynwood, but Frank was hardly likely to provide more information now. He was curious about the Raven Queen, but he considered the August Agency’s contract with Canello complete. There wouldn’t be any need to mention Silverling’s connection unless Canello paid for it.

Frank even wondered idly whether Canello knew Silverling. ‘Maybe I should be going to her for information.’ Frank chuckled to himself.

“The previous offer still stands.” Canello said. “Anyone who can give me relevant information about the Raven Queen or set up a meeting between us will be rewarded. Gold. Beast cores. I also have access to various unusual or restricted components, if you have a very specific need. But I’m not interested in trading for anything except the Raven Queen.”

When Canello desperately accepted an offer to hear overheard rumors from coppers in bar, Frank sighed to himself. Her arrogance and pride were catching up to her.

The seller of the Shen Dragon Pearl asked if there were any counter offers, but Lisa declined to sweeten her offer, and apparently no one else was willing to reopen their bids.

As the meeting turned to the general exchange of information, Grandmother spoke.

“There are rumblings of blood and violence in Gilbratha’s future. It is like a violin string pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping and slicing through flesh. Take heed. Be wary.”

“That’s pretty obvious to anyone with eyes and ears,” Frank replied.

After some additional news, parties began to divide up and exchange their information and goods.

Frank went with the Arbiter and the pearl seller to conduct the exchange. He removed the books from the satchel, and placed them on the table. The seller drew out knotted fabric-wrapped parcel from their own storage case, and placed it in front of Frank. The fabric itself was a coarse cotton dyed ochre.

Frank untied the knotted fabric and revealed a ceramic circular jewel box that was a little larger than cupped hands, and decorated with a scene of a bearded sorcerer conversing with a ridiculous image of a busty and unrealistically human-looking mermaid.

Frank lifted the lid off the box, turning it over and seeing that padding extended to the underside of the lid. In the box, nestled in layers of a purplish blue silk, the Shen pearl shone iridescent.

“The padded china box is included. No charge.” The seller murmured.

Frank silently nodded in response, his speech having left him entirely. The nearly spherical pearl glowed as beautiful as a full moon. The pearl appeared larger than he expected, wider in diameter than a finger joint, and not at all like the tiny jewels pearls tended to be. On its surface, a beautiful iridescent sheen reflected the dim light in the private room. Even in the dim light, the pearl shown a deep purple ranging to mottled pink and grey nacre. Small blooms of white spots, almost like stars, shimmered on its surface.

Frank had researched the Shen pearls as much as he’d could, and they were described as beautiful, but those descriptions failed to reveal how shockingly magical the pearl appeared. Frank reached forward, but he hesitated to touch it. He suddenly felt that the pearl shouldn’t be touched by unworthy fingers.

The appraiser appeared to look between the two.

“May I pick it up and examine it for the appraisal?” He asked.

Frank and the seller nodded. The Appraiser put on a white glove and carefully lifted the pearl from its divot in the fabric. He brought a thaumaturge’s loupe to his eye and looked at the pearl through it. Then he hesitantly brought the pearl to his mask, lifted the bottom of his mask, and rubbed it gently on his front teeth. He replaced the lower half of his mask and nodded.

“It’s so beautiful, I almost don’t want to test its capacity.” The appraiser observed. “These tests can damage natural stones, and I’ve never tested a Shen pearl before.”

Frank finally found his voice. “Go ahead.” He croaked, and coughed.

The appraiser had a device ready for the the test with spring resistor and a needle gauge.

“This is one of my own devices. It works very well when testing unknown gems.” He murmured. After carefully fitting the pearl in the device, the appraiser began channelling magic into a crystal light and reading the little gauge. After a few minutes, he announced the Pearl’s capacity. “The pearl can channel over 1300 thaums for a short period, and probably would channel 1000 thaums for many hours without damage. I warn you, it may heat up quickly if you used it to resist another’s will, but honestly, its the highest capacity natural pearl I’ve ever heard of, and it’s still just as smooth at channeling will as unblemished cerelium of a similar size. Remarkable. I would say that this is exactly as offered, perhaps even better quality than described.”

The appraiser carefully removed the pearl from the device and returned it to the box. Frank carefully replaced the lid and retied the square of fabric.

“Now the books.” The seller said.

The appraiser treated the books with nearly as much reverence as the pearl, carefully lifting each book from the table, flipping through the pages with gloved hands, reviewing the table of contents and skimming several chapters.

“See here?” The appraiser pointed at the endpapers in on the volumes that he had opened on the table. “These are hand decorated with floated dye; no two books’ endpapers are alike. This isn’t the parchment edition, which are even more valuable, but even the regular edition books were printed on mixed silk and cotton paper.”

He closed one volume and flipped it to show the spine to the buyer. “Leather, of course, but also embossed with the printer’s seal and publisher’s proof marks and inlaid with gold leaf. See that the printer’s mark is an oak leaf? The printer in Gilbratha’s mark is a fish. Forgers rarely get that right. ”

Then the appraiser opened the books to the title page. It was stamped with a red - almost black - censorship mark. “And here is the censor’s mark, marking these books for destruction. There’s a mark in every volume here, which is consistent with the import embargo on these books. The city publisher also has a censor’s mark, but it will show that it has been reviewed and they marked those books with green, rather than red. Green-lit some call it.” The appraiser nodded to himself. “Do you need additional proof of authenticity? I can’t personally attest to the contents.”

“Let me browse a few sections. I’ve had the censored sections described to me in sufficient detail that I can verify if the passages are identical.” The pearl seller drew a few pages of notes from a pocket.

“You’re sure the description is accurate?” Frank asked. “I’d hate that this sale doesn’t go through because your expert has read a forgery.”

“My expert has personally reviewed original volumes in the restricted Archives of the University. They are trustworthy.”

Frank shrugged. He knew the books were authentic. He, however, wouldn’t have any way of convincing this stranger otherwise.

The seller flipped through several chapters and silently read several pages in sections Frank knew were removed from the expurgated volumes. He appeared to compare them to his notes. Eventually, he put the volume back down on the table.

“This is authentic. Could I pay you to tell me how you managed to get these books?”

“No.” Frank replied.

“As expected.” The buyer carefully picked up the books and started putting them in an expanded-volume case.

The arbitrator nodded. “The exchange is accepted. Please take your goods.”

Frank lifted the box from the table and gently put it in his satchel. Lightly tapping his his fighting stick on the floor to reduce his jittering nerves, he returned to the main room.

The exchange took over an hour. Canello, the young healer, and everyone else appeared to have left, or they were finishing up in other private rooms.

Frank used great care heading home, but when he finally arrived, walking past the spies watching the August Agency’s front door, Frank’s face hurt from smiling.