The world sang and Miles listened.

A sapient with a flapping inverted 'U' of a mouth croaked a sales pitch over a rack of personal computers. The customers milling around his stall paused to examine them, occasionally picking them up to try them out.

In the sound generated by Strike the Disharmonious, the vendor sang in the note of a brushed bell, but the palm-sized computer units he was selling screamed a constant discordant counter-note.

Miles paused at the stall, looking down at the computers.

These are not harmonious.

Miles had been walking around the Ishel Corporation Lounge with the first half of the Strike the Disharmonious spell ringing in his ears for the better part of an hour, trying to work out what made something a valid target.

Visually busy or cluttered items were often disharmonious, sleek and well-designed items often weren't. Information tools like computers, comms, and simulators almost always were, but the tablets in the off-Exchange bookstore weren't.

Powered multitools were universally disharmonious, while dedicated mechanical tools and close-combat weapons never were.

Very few living beings were disharmonious. The exceptions were those individuals who were heavily augmented with synthetic components.

So far, the theme seemed to be a combination of the quality of something's design and how dedicated it was to a single purpose.

Miles could describe it in terms of purity and focus, which meshed with what he was starting to understand about the Harmonizer philosophy. Things which had a purity of their function, like a knife, were more harmonious than things that were unfocused, like a multitool. It didn't make objective sense in a world of matter and energy, but as the worldview of an ancient magical society, he could buy it.

Very few living beings were valid targets for the spell. Miles had come to terms with the fact that it wouldn’t be much use as a direct weapon, except maybe against truly chaotic enemies like Trin’s slap boss, but plenty of tech ran against the harmony, and Miles thought it could be useful for degrading equipment.

Even Miles’ own striker pistol was disharmonious, which he attributed to the variable power output, and maybe the fact that it was designed to be non-lethal. The power slider reduced the purity of its function, and a pistol that wasn't meant to seriously hurt anyone ran counter to its form.

The thing that worried him was that he was actually starting to sympathize with the magic's point of view.

He let the spell fade as he stopped to examine the stall.

As well as computers, there were simulators, which could commandeer someone's senses for training or entertainment, and comm units, which came with a huge variety of styles and features.

He picked up a comm that looked like a rugged handheld game unit and caught the vendor's eye.

"Hi, would this be good for someone with chitin stick manipulators?"

The green-skinned sapient turned a pair of bulging eyes at Miles, then looked down at his fleshy hands.

"Not for me," Miles clarified. "For a friend."

"Naaah," the vendor croaked, their mouth opening like a drawbridge. "That's for exothermics. You wanna haptic."

"Okay, do you have one?"

The stall owner reached over and took the comm from Miles with a fleshy five-fingered hand, then gave him a different unit. This one had a central screen surrounded on each side by a matrix or physical buttons.

"Here you ah."

"Thanks."

Miles took the comm unit. He pressed the obvious power button and found the keys that moved the focus around the interface.

"Is this screen good for Ankn vision?" Miles asked.

"Yah. Any problems, just change the settings."

"Great,” Miles said, turning the device over in his hands. “How much is it?"

"Three hundred."

Miles took pleasure in being able to afford that. Not only could he afford it, it wasn't even a big deal. He tapped his own comm to the shopkeeper's terminal and packed the new device away in his backpack, alongside the rest of his recent purchases.

He considered upgrading his own comm unit while he was there, but he wasn't a savvy enough consumer yet to know what kind of features he could get, or even what he wanted.

As he walked away, he held out his hand and began re-casting Strike the Disharmonious. He concentrated on the pure tone until he could hear it, then looked around, assessing the various goods and people.

This was a good place to try this. The Ishel Corporation Lounge was part department store, part food hall, and part market. Most of the floors were dedicated to permanent stores in various categories, but the market level offered itself to pop-up stalls that changed from one day to the next. It was meant to be a good place to pick up a bargain or something unique, but the sheer diversity of stalls also made it a good place for Miles to learn the ins and outs of harmony.

Up ahead, a store selling armor had a powered shield hanging on a panel. It was shaped like a heater shield, with a piece of tech at its center like a tiny radar dish, and a silvery front face that was decorated lavishly in gold filigree.

It rang in Strike the Disharmonious with the screaming of torn metal. The shield should have been a fairly focused item. Maybe the tech built into it had an offensive purpose, or maybe things with too much decoration were also disharmonious.

He stopped to examine it anyway. Out in the spiral, humans were unusually squishy compared to a lot of the other species. Miles had started wearing his robe everywhere after their second trip into the dungeon, but he didn't know how much he could trust it to work as armor.

"How much is this?" he asked the Hurc running the stall. They were one of the Hurcs who had solid black eyes, rather than the sclera-and-pupil eyes that Brisk from the ship had.

The owner spent a second assessing him. "Nine fifty."

Miles hummed, not convinced. That was a lot. Three weeks rent. On the other hand, if it saved his life one day, it was worth it.

The vendor noticed his reluctance.

"Listen, you want defense? This is it. It's got a forcefield that'll divert metal projectiles, and an inertial damper that'll stop heavy hits dead. The metal's a crystal alloy. This thing could take an artillery hit and still be in one piece."

"Where does it divert the projectiles to?" Miles asked.

He had a vision of hiding behind the shield from bullets, but the bullets all ricocheting away in random directions.

"Conical profile. It'll put sixty degrees onto the path of anything flying at you, so long as it’s metal."

"So, to the sides."

"To the sides, maybe a little behind."

"Too dangerous to my team," Miles said.

The stall owner made an expression like he conceded the point and immediately turned his attention to another potential customer.

Miles continued on, focusing back on the pure note.

As he was approaching the floor's elevators, he was hit by a sudden twisting sensation, focused somewhere around the spot just below his stomach.

The feeling was mild compared to the gut punch he’d felt on Delatariel Station, but it was instantly recognizable. Someone was magically assessing him.

He stopped and turned, casting his eyes over the crowd, looking for anyone paying him too much attention.

Watching for someone observing him here, among diverse sapients, wasn't as simple as it would have been for him among humans, but as far as Miles could tell, nobody seemed to be focused intently on him.

He’d almost convinced himself it was his imagination, or indigestion, when he felt magic stir again somewhere in the crowd.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

If his own magic felt like warm energy spinning in a slow rotation, then this was almost the opposite. A feeling that was blisteringly cold, turning in a sharp stepping motion, like the clicking of a ratchet.

Miles scanned the crowd, looking for the source. He felt like he could tell exactly where the magic was coming from, a magical proprioception that covered the entire room, but when he looked at that spot he didn't see a person.

The only thing there was some kind of device; an inverted black pyramid, about four feet tall and one wide, standing on its point at the edge of a stall.

After staring at it for a few seconds he was sure that it was the source of the magic.

As if it'd been alerted to his realization, the black spike levitated up off the ground, rotated a hundred and eighty degrees, and began floating away.

Miles only hesitated for a moment before following it.

The device moved without obvious haste, but it always seemed ahead of him. Every time Miles turned a corner, it was already disappearing around the next. Stalls with vertical panels and display racks broke lines of sight and the bustling crowds of shoppers made it hard for him to move quickly without just pushing people aside.

As Miles reached an open area of the market floor, he caught sight of the black spike disappearing through a doorway at the edge of the floor.

He rushed ahead, reaching the opening just in time to see the device float around a corner at the far end.

Miles stopped at the doorway. The corridor looked like it might lead to storerooms or offices linked with the activity on the market floor. It wasn't shut, but it wasn’t an obviously public area.

He stood there for a few seconds. Technically, there was nothing telling him he shouldn't go in there.

He passed through the doorway.

At the far end of the corridor was another open doorway, this one leading to a storeroom. Stacks of folded-up stalls lined the walls, with chairs and stools of different shapes and sizes dotted around the floor. The back wall of the room was given over to a sealed hatch, a similar design to the ones on the entrance level, but sized more for cargo than people.

The triangular black device floated in the center of the room, seemingly waiting for him.

Miles walked slowly into the room, taking up a position opposite the levitating unit.

A pulse of magic sang out from the device, a sharp double-tick of icy intent. A second later, the storeroom door slid closed. It shut with a heavy metallic clang.

Miles startled at the noise. He twisted to look, only to see that his way out was closed.

Oh shit.

Instincts that he hadn't needed since old Earth surfaced, warning him not to follow strangers down dark alleys, not to get involved in what was obviously other people's business.

Wariness that hadn’t applied on the regulated levels of Unsiel Station, and wouldn’t have helped him navigate Brisk’s betrayal, now began explaining to him why putting himself in a room alone with a strange entity might not be a good idea.

He shuffled over to the door, not taking his eyes off the unit, and pressed at the door panel.

It rejected him with a buzzing noise. The door didn't open.

With nothing else to do but examine the unit that had led him here, Miles noticed new details about it. There was something like a lens on the side of the thing facing him, a circular concave disk, staring at him from the black metal case like an eye. The panels of its body weren’t perfectly aligned, instead spaced so that there was a narrow gap between them. Through them, Miles could see more deeply embedded machinery.

Under other circumstances, he’d be ready to conclude that the thing was an entirely technological entity, except for the fact he’d sensed it using magic twice already.

"Hi?" Miles tried.

The unit was silent for long enough that Miles started wondering whether he'd just followed a cleaning drone back to its storage room, but then it spoke. Its voice came out as a low bass buzz, like an electrical short.

"Meandering with an active attack spell, neither acceptable nor wise."

It took Miles a second to realize the thing was chastising him.

It didn't like him walking around casting Strike the Disharmonious?

For a moment, Miles contemplated how doing that might look to another mage, someone capable of seeing what he was doing, but not necessarily understanding that he wasn't powerful enough to actually hurt anyone.

It could have looked like he was walking around pointing a gun at people.

"I didn't mean to worry anyone," he said.

"Attacking with magic in the promenade, likely to bring security down on you."

The thing's voice spoke almost every word in a slightly different tone, like it was imparting an additional layer of meaning that Miles' Eyes of the Emigre couldn't interpret.

"I wasn't going to attack anyone. I didn't understand the magic and I was trying to get a better feel for it."

"As an excuse, somewhat feeble."

"Right. Yeah, I guess it is."

Miles felt his face getting warm. At least he was only being spoken to, and not arrested, though he felt like he could be excused for this one. He hadn’t actually hurt anyone.

The exchange lapsed into silence. Miles wondered if that was all the thing had in mind, but the door was still closed.

To check if the thing had gone to sleep as much as to get an answer, Miles asked, "Are you a mage?"

"As a mage, I am a Counterfactual Sorcerer."

"I haven't heard of that tradition," Miles said.

I haven't heard of many traditions.

"Altering the world by proving our means to do so. We make our argument, and the world concedes."

"That sounds cool. I'm a Harmonizer."

"As a mage, you should show restraint in crowded areas. Recklessly using magic, likely to necessitate magical security on the promenade. Monitoring magic use in the marketplace — a disadvantage to us all."

"Right," Miles said, thinking through the device's complaint to work out its meaning. He was starting to get a feel for what the changes in tone meant. "Mages like being able to cast spells freely in the marketplace. You don't want someone putting magic on their security's radar and ruining it for everyone."

"Speaking generally, you correct."

"I've been looking for a mage to help me understand this kind of stuff," Miles admitted. "There aren't any mages on the Exchange or city listings, and I'm looking for resources. A teacher, maybe another Harmonizer, maybe delta?"

"Casting spells, you use an index?"

"Yeah. Is that not normal?"

"Casting your smiting spell, you were not using an index."

"I was. I just don't have to tap the screen every time. I've worked out how to trigger it mentally."

"No."

"No?"

"Meandering on the promenade, you were not interfacing with your index. In casting your spell, you were using the magic as originally practiced."

"That's… I don't think so," Miles said.

All he'd done was try and mentally recreate the feeling that casting with his index had pushed on him. But he was meant to be able to index-cast without actually touching the device. That'd been explained to him when he got it. It had just taken him a while to get the knack.

"Arguing with me, unwise again," it said. After another span of cool silence, it said, "Discussing this with a Harmonizer may enlighten you."

There's another Harmonizer here?

"You know another Harmonizer?"

Instead of answering, the device rotated in the air, and emitted another pulse stuttering magic.

The door at the rear of the storeroom clunked to life, then slid slowly up, revealing a slice of the city. Cold air rushed in from outside and a light drizzle started sprinkling the floor of the storeroom floor closest to the edge.

The door had barely been open for a handful of seconds before an unoccupied platform passing by the spire changed direction, swooping in to hover next to the open door.

The black spire floated through the door and out over the platform, lowering itself to stand on its point. It turned slowly and looked back through at Miles.

"As your senior, I can show you to the Dendril City Enclave."

"Enclave?” Miles asked, then, “Wait, you want me to come now?"

“As your discoverer, I can explain to them the situation and they can issue you a warning.”

The voice of the old instinct that had mocked Miles for following a stranger to a secluded area was now screaming at him not to travel with this unknown mage to a second location. It was almost drowned out by the part of him that was desperate for more information and more magical resources.

"I don't even know who you are," Miles said, feeling his desire warring with his caution.

"Speaking formally, I am It-who-strikes-decisively."

Miles recognized the naming style. It was similar to They-who-flies-with-abandon, the Gilthaen drone.

"Are you Gilthaen?" Miles asked.

"As a trusted friend to the Ialis Corporation, I was granted a Gilthaen name."

Oh. Me too.

"In that case, I guess I'm He-who-burns-his-hand-on-mercy,” Miles said. “But you can call me Miles."

"Speaking casually, my name is Iddris."

Iiddris waited patiently out on the platform, raindrops building up on its black metal exterior. Miles stood opposite, trying to decide if it was safe to go with them.

"Do you mind if I message my friend and tell him where I'm going?" he asked.

"Speaking honestly, I do not care."

"Right."

Miles pulled out his comm and wrote up a quick message to Trin.

> Miles > Trin

> Hey Trin, I'm about to take a ride with this upside down triangle guy called It-which-strikes-decisively, also Iddris, to a place it calls the Enclave? Might be mage related. If I don't message you in an hour can you call city security and tell them I'm missing?

Trin must have been already on his comm because a message came back about twenty seconds later.

> Trin > Miles

> You always talking to shady people. Shady guy on station. Shady guy in city. Stop going with shady guys! I will call security if I am awake.

Miles closed the message and dropped his comm back into his pocket.

Having prepared the best lifeline for himself he could, Miles finally managed to overpower the inner voice that was saying 'no', and gave in to his curiosity instead.

Stepping out onto the platform, he grabbed the railing, feeling his stomach lurch and his head spin as the transport pulled away from the Ishel Corporation tower and began to descend.