Apparently my friends found the Executive Scholar intimidating? I couldn't help but think they were overreacting, considering their lack of rational reasons for their upset. More importantly, she had taken care of the whole mission for us while searching for me and then while I was in the bath, meaning no need to make a close reacquaintance with dirt nor travel over dust-choked lands; they might have professed a smidgen more gratitude over this truly heroic feat.

"Ugh, it hurts my head to hear you gushing over that monster," Bessie lamented, "When you're also like the nicest person I know."

I nodded sagely. "So basically, you now know how I feel when you fangirl over Derrick?"

She gasped in feigned outrage before laughing, and the rest of us soon joined in. That was how our driver found us, looking a whole new man with a different updo, freshly stylish clothing, and irrepressible smile. We all stared at him. "Heard you were done, so I came early," he explained with no sign of his former awkwardness.

"How'd you know where we are?" Tom asked.

"Lucky to have [All Aboard]." He was practically whistling a jaunty tune.

"All right, fess up," Bessie said soon as we'd settled into our seats and started off. "Why do you look so happy?"

The Companion flushed but answered readily, "I met someone."

"Oooh! Do tell! Who and how and when?"

So that was what true-blue new infatuation felt like. I listened, fascinated, as our driver began singing the praises of his beloved whom he'd known all of a few hours. "Wow," Tom said. "No good deed goes unrewarded, huh?"

That might be true, but only if you assumed nothing of the quality of said reward. Many hours later, I waited impatiently with my apologetic friends as the Guildhall receptionist explained the mission's cap for Bronze-Rankers was set to ten credits, essentially one large copper I could apply toward my next purchased course. Waving her, them, and the whole matter away, I hurried to the library to thank and apologize to my mentor, who told me the real bad news: we would have to reschedule with Senior Okim, the Senior Copyist Scholar, who knew when. "It's not that he is busy or callous, merely... distractible. You will understand better when you meet him."

I was unsurprised by these foreseeable consequences of my participation and didn't regret it, but all the same I was glad to be done with charity work and back with my books. Hopefully there would be no more excitement for the next few days... or nothing more than my upcoming lesson in Scribe and meeting with the tailor.

Disappointingly, Learned Westwick failed to bring a Book this time. Instead he had me demonstrate all my uses of [Scribe], showing pleasant surprise at my ability to fully memorize and reproduce books, more so than for my two completed Scrolls of Mana Barrier and Mana Shield. "Incredible, but you will likely have a difficult time challenging yourself to break through," he said.

I hesitated but answered, "Not if I start working early on Skill Books," and told him of my intended wager and the recent circumstances delaying its attempt. As I'd hoped, he instantly assured me he would apply directly to Senior Okim himself and to look forward to hearing back from them soon.

Two days later, I sat nervously in a private room with my mentor awaiting the two Copyist Scholars. They both appeared wearing the white robes and might've just rolled out of bed, such was the state of their hair and general casualness. While Learned Westwick ambled purposefully toward us, the delicate-looking Senior Okim appeared to drift in mostly by accident, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He had to be prompted to present the to-be-repaired Skill Book and complained somewhat sulkily, "Do we have to do this now? I just reached an interesting section."

"You're always occupied with something interesting," my mentor said.

"Well, yes," the other Senior replied as though this were obvious and irrelevant. "That is the point of a good Book."

"But it isn't often a non-Copyist Scholar seeks to repair one, no?" my teacher said genially. "Especially with only the second-tier [Scribe]."

The dreamy eyes turned vaguely in my direction. "Hm. Since you both insist."

The Skill Book was shockingly battered to the point it was nearly unrecognizable as for the first-tier -- though not Tier-1 -- [Empathy] and quite unusable. "I know you originally intended to try for [Advanced Empathy], but frankly I can't imagine you would have succeeded, much less done well," Learned Westwick said. "Not unless you've already studied, repaired, reproduced, and ideally rewritten both its initial and intermediate Skill Books. I'm guessing your confusion comes from your personal experiences outside the guild. Since the number and range of Books that are not controlled by us Scholars are limited at best, non-Scholars working with them have been forced by necessity to adapt, though as you have probably seen for yourself, their quality consequently suffers."

In truth, I hadn't expected to succeed, but I had hoped putting in a good effort might gain the Senior Copyist Scholar's favor. Seeing his bored, restless gaze now, I was indescribably relieved I'd missed our scheduled meeting and thus thought to include my teacher in the proceedings. I supposed here was my good deed's reward, after all.

As no more instruction or guidance appeared forthcoming, I turned my attention fully onto the Book in its ludicrously terrible condition. The sight of it honestly pained me. It felt like I was beholding a badly defaced masterwork.

At the same time, I knew the truth of how it reached this tragic state was just the opposite. Every 'use' of a library Book could be stretched up to twenty-four hours. A conscientious patron took full advantage of this fact, not stopping even when incapable of stringing a full sentence together, much less treating the subject of study with any semblance of delicacy. This Book was so mutilated ironically because it was so valued. If I hadn't fallen asleep from sheer mana exhaustion, I would have done the same attempting to study [Mind Over Matter].

As unfortunate as the Book's condition was, I soon realized it was another boon in disguise my teacher had given me. Even after a thorough inspection and with the Book's Skill, I could not fully grasp its entirety or its essence. The complexity and delicacy of the finely layered arrays was simply beyond the scope of my expertise. However, I didn't need to see the whole forest, the resident fauna, or every laden tree to identify where the land had been ravaged. I only had to spot the obvious evidence of the blackened earth, scattered bones, and ragged stumps. Nor did I need to be any manner of specialist to improve upon what I saw. I only had to do my best to seed, water, and replant, trying to reintroduce life into each blighted plot.

No, despite my perception of each Book as a contained universe, perhaps a better analogy returned to art. Instead of a gorgeous tapestry with a few minor imperfections that would leap out upon inspection unless fixed flawlessly, I'd been handed its tattered remnants. I was no Master or even Adept Artisan like the original creator, but I needed only to fill the gaping holes, even with my clumsy stitches; cut the convoluted knots, even with my fumbling fingers; and reinforce the fraying threads, even with my less delicate touch to see an immediate effect. I breathed out something like an hour later, coming back to myself to find I'd drained over half my mana to finish the first page. Well, not finish, but perhaps just as important as the ability to work on a Book was knowing when to stop. Despite the glaring flaws that remained after my effected repairs, I recognized further intervention at least by me was likelier to harm rather than help.

I readied myself before turning to the next page... and Senior Okim said: "Stop."

Sometime while I'd been busy concentrating, his placid aura had shifted as though coming awake, rich inner depths revealed beneath a surface churning with variegated waves. Externally he looked the same, but to my other senses he'd been transformed into nearly another person entirely. As I froze, he reached forward and lifted the Book as carefully as if it might crumble apart any moment. His fine-boned features were unreadable inspecting my handiwork, and I found myself holding my breath... then forcing myself to breathe when the seconds ticked on. This wasn't my first attempted repair, but as my teacher had deduced, I'd previously worked outside the Scholar's Guild. I had never before been judged by an acknowledged expert in the field.

Belatedly, I realized the Senior must have no intention of preserving my labor. Of course not, that would be a monumental waste of a potentially high-quality Skill Book. While I'd personally give myself a passing grade considering the complexity involved and my comparatively low-tier [Scribe], the Book's future user wouldn't care about my personal efforts and accomplishment, only the end result, and rightly so. This wager was intended to showcase my current abilities and potential, not to lighten anybody's workload.

I wished I could sense something from Senior Okim other than intense focus, but I consoled myself it was better than if he'd been radiating negative emotions. Meanwhile, my mentor clearly felt unqualified to judge my work himself and was likewise waiting with bated breath, whereas Learned Westwick at least seemed somewhat pleased and mostly thoughtful, craning his neck to peer at the single page I'd repaired. If [Advanced Empathy] worked on my own emotions I'd probably faint from an overload of nerve-wracking anxiety albeit mixed with pride and anticipation. Though I knew I was still a mere amateur in the art, I truly believed I'd managed to place my best foot forward without wasting precious hours... which somehow only worsened my nerves.

Great deities! Had I ever endured any wait more agonizing?

After perhaps thirty-five seconds that felt like a compressed eternity, Senior Okim deigned to directly notice me for the first time. "Not a Copyist," he pronounced. "Yet you love books all the same."

I swallowed, trying not to let too much hope rise prematurely. It hadn't been a question, but I answered anyway: "I do."

"Not Skill Books any more than ordinary books, though," he continued. More than once I'd heard my gaze was piercing, penetrating, too-knowing, etcetera, even without revealing I was an Empath... a top-tier Empath, now. For the first time I thought I knew how it might feel to be on the receiving other end. His eyes were very blue. "Nor would you devote yourself to either."

No, much as I admired and coveted them, I could not imagine willingly giving myself over to Books as true Copyist Scholars did. Perhaps that was my loss, but there were too many other interesting fields to study and explore for me to choose deliberately limiting my future prospects in such a way. Similarly, though I loved the library, there was still so much to learn by way of true experience rather than only through the filtered medium of books.

"You suffer distractions from the outside world," he stated, paralleling my thoughts. I wasn't ignorant of the oddity of the situation. Compared to others and even other Scholars, I practically lived in the library. But compared to the Copyists, I did leave and for reasons unrelated to Books. The glass was nine-tenths full or one-tenth empty. Then he said, "One in particular at present," jolting me.

Just how much had he picked up on my current obsession? I stared back at him with something between terror and longing. To be so seen filled me with a feeling of both freedom and entrapment. I wanted to be known, even as I was afraid of the judgment that followed, as thunder after lightning.

But I reminded myself his viewing lens was still subjective. Much as I'd repeatedly been called oblivious, I thought this Senior would scarcely have noticed my existence without a Book to bridge us, at which point he seemed to see straight through my imprinted page right into my soul. But just because I was an open book before him did not mean he truly understood or was qualified to judge me as if I were a Book. Given his earlier comments, perhaps I -- or the metaphorical book-me -- was simply not to his taste in genre.

Abruptly, the Senior Scholar's aura resettled into the mirror-bright surface of an undisturbed lake. I would've been amazed by his self-possession if the dramatic change didn't feel more natural than deliberate. And he was already turning away, physically and mentally, with the air of a reader who'd just finished the last words written in an ongoing story. "Satisfactory. Do not disturb me again until you have [Enhanced Scribe]."

As I sat there, stunned, he left. The door closed softly behind him.

"I do think he is intrigued by you," Learned Westwick spoke into the silence with incongruous cheer. "But he is also jealous of his time."

"I see that. Thank you." In truth, I felt rather as though I'd woken to a giant pimple on my face, fretted over it, and then minced out of the room to find nobody else noticed or cared. Yes, I was gladdened, really. But also, was I so utterly insignificant?

"Congratulations, Rowena," Senior Rubrik said, tapping the white card left behind on the table. "You must have impressed him enough to concede the wager." Ah yes, the other Senior had left his SES, as agreed beforehand: Rowena Loress, [Magic Hand], Senior Mattias Okim, Unlimited Uses, Subject to Availability. So I had that to look forward to... just as soon as I gained that confounded [Mana Barrier]. Well, it had been less than two weeks.

"At any rate, this is quite a relief!" Learned Westwick said. "For my future lesson plans. I'd originally planned to refer you to my mentor to train on more difficult Scrolls, but perhaps you can skip straight to Books as I did."

My eyes widened. "Wait, do you mean..."

He chuckled. "Don't get too excited. We will start you off with observation only. But yes, I mean to begin your education in working with Skill Books early."

I bobbed my head eagerly. "It would be my pleasure! And privilege!"

After managing a muddled success with something so precious and difficult, I thought I should have an easier time with any other forms of creative crafting. Upon my first attempt at sewing, I was shortly disabused of this notion. "You're unused to physical work, aren't you?" Senior Georgina Lauren -- Senior in the Artisan's Guild, that is -- surmised in her husky voice. "No, I don't mean [Scribe]. Just look at those soft white hands. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were some noble lady."

Face flushed and lowered, I asked, "Do you believe I will be able to craft my own mage robes?"

"Hmm, if your goal is your mana? I believe I can still help you... given you hold up your end."

I doubted less her honesty than her abilities, considering her abundant self-confidence likely boosted by her personal charisma, overt attractiveness, and figure-flattering fashion ensemble. Her looks toed the line between natural and mage-embellished, traditional and artistic, with her riotous scarlet hair that seemed to glow just slightly, her violet eyes framed by thick lashes and glitter makeup, and especially her painted nails, seemingly a uniform red but on closer inspection containing original designs, like so-subtle wax seals. Whereas I generally observed people wearing heavy cosmetics disguised to be light, I sensed she went in the opposite direction, disguising her natural beauty as artificial, presumably to credit personal ability rather than luck.

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

I normally didn't linger so on appearances, but as she'd clearly taken such effort with hers, it seemed only polite to take note. Even more striking to me personally was the constantly shifting maelstrom of emotions I could sense from her. As expressive as she was externally, she seemed to have an even richer internal life.

None of this recommended her as a robe-maker, however, and she'd diverted me for the past hour with tea, small talk, and sewing lessons. From how she spoke of her work, singing her own praises, I'd have expected her to be an Expert already. Now here she was challenging me with an arched brow. But as Hannah's parents had taken the trouble of introducing us, I obediently nodded. Besides, I was curious.

She left me briefly in the sitting room, where I admired her home decoration in general and wards in particular, before returning with an exquisite dragon dress -- even its flame-red buttons were individually stitched works of art -- probably worth large silver or gold if not for the conspicuous failure of the sewn enchantments. While not as disturbing as the Book I'd inspected, I couldn't help frowning at the waste. I was especially conscious of the time that must have been spent on such fine embroidery, possibly influenced by my earlier painful experience with needlework. Meanwhile the runes, however artistically woven into the dress's design, could hardly compare to the superlative quality and complexity of a Skill Book's. They still would have been impressive though... if only.

"Yes," Senior Lauren said, seeing my expression. Her glossy ruby-red lips puckered into an exaggerated pout. "Such a shame. I know Martha and Harold are good people, but I want to hear it from you. Do you truly believe you can help me discover what went wrong?"

"I don't know," I said. Feeling her balk, I added, "But it doesn't cost you anything to let me look?"

"You could be trying to steal my work."

Though she said it with a little smile, I could tell she was dead serious. Staring at her, I said, "Your failed work?"

"One woman's trash is another's treasure." Something suggested she spoke from personal experience. I had a sudden image of this fashionista rummaging through a Master Artisan's rubbish bin and was newly grateful for Hannah's parents and their comparative normalcy. But after another few minutes hemming and hawing, she did hand over the questionable garment in question. "Careful!"

I carefully laid the dress out beside our recently used tea set on the table, angling it to observe the visible runic array. As expected, I didn't immediately see anything wrong with her design. And despite her lingering doubts, she was a good hostess, refreshing her offerings of tea and cookies while I scrutinized every rune, group of runes, and finally the outfit in its entirety.

"Ah." At last, I looked up. "I think I see it. Your enchantments are fine in themselves, but taken together the added inefficiency makes them a little too strong for the material."

"That can't be right," the Artisan said promptly. "It's worked before using the same exact material. Bought in bulk from the same weaver and welder."

"Really?" Argh, I was so sure I'd gotten it right! Hubris? "Can I see?"

Her suspicion instantly spiked, overshadowing all other emotions. "You think I'll let a potential spy anywhere near my best work?"

"Um, that's fine then," I said. "Will you still help me with my mage robe, though? Please?" I added when she only stared at me through slitted eyes.

"You don't even really care to look, do you?" But just as I was hoping she'd gotten over her paranoia, she added huffily: "I will hardly show my masterwork to someone who has no appreciation for art."

It had been a long, tiring day. Circulating my mana, I poured myself another cup of tea and drained it in lieu of responding. It was really quite excellent, subtly restorative, and perfectly complemented by the cookies. If I were rating Senior Lauren as a hostess rather than Artisan, I'd have no complaints.

By the time I'd returned the cup to its saucer, I had fully regained my composure and said levelly, "As it happens, I do appreciate superior art, most especially when combined with superior magic. However, I am here as neither a critic nor connoisseur. I am something akin to a client, here on business that is personally important to me, and by now I harbor extreme doubts as to your capability in assisting me. No offense" -- great deities, Bessie was rubbing off on me -- "but thus far you have taught me only how to stab my fingers with needles or ruin otherwise fine clothing and enchantments. I apologize if my words are unduly harsh, but our remaining time today is short."

Throughout this short speech, she'd simply sat back and observed me. In the pause that followed, my burst of courage failed and I began struggling with whether and how to apologize again when she said: "Fine. I have two more, let's call them conditions." Seeing I didn't protest and instead helped myself to another cookie, she retrieved and set before me a long box, which opened to reveal three embroidered fans fully spread out on display. "Which would you choose?"

Puzzled, I said, "On what basis? If you mean the best crafted and most expensive, then this one." I pointed to the left fan, illustrating a snow scene; as the light played across its surface different shapes were revealed, the runes and stitching both the most intricate by far. "If you mean my personal preference, then the middle one." It reminded me of a sunrise, not the most breathtaking in its splendor but simple and evocative. "The other I suppose is intended to appear fancy or costly while stinging on actual quality and substance." It reminded me of a jewel-studded peacock tail, really.

She stared at me with parted lips. "Marvelous. You pass with flying colors. Why the middle choice, though?"

"I just like it. I think... Something tells me you made the other two for the purpose of sale or display, whereas you originally made this one just for yourself, probably as practice. You weren't as technically proficient back then, but" -- I shrugged -- "it gives me a good feeling."

"Marvelous," she repeated, though internally she roiled with more complicated emotions. "Nobody else has seen so deeply or so fast."

"You've tested others?"

"Naturally. I test all my prospective clients."

I gaped at her. "Do you mean to say you discriminate between them? But why? Even if they might be lacking in judgment themselves, they'll still wear your work outside."

"I never sell less than excellent work," Senior Lauren said with a little moue of disapproval. "But why should I put in the extra effort for those I don't care for? Do you know how many come in here and praise this bit of costume craft because it 'matches' their gold jewelry?"

Well, I did see her point and it was frankly none of my business. "And your final condition?"

"Here you are."

She presented a nonmagical contract, brushing her hand against mine unnecessarily; I leaned away and wasted no time perusing it. Basically, I had to agree never to sell, trade, or share anything I learned from her, to submit to a truth examination if suspected of breaking the contract, and to owe her any earnings plus a staggering amount in reparations if found guilty. I signed without hesitation thanks to my unburdened conscience.

Though I felt her approval, she didn't yet fully relax. "I'll file this with the guild first thing tomorrow, and then I'm all yours. Shall we start this again over dinner?"

"I have a condition of my own," I said despite the tempting bribe. "Before I help you any further, I want convincing proof you can actually help me in return."

"Fair and fine." She licked her lips. "Until tomorrow."

----------------------------------------

"Oh yes, in some ways she's a typical higher-ranked Artisan," Hannah said later in Duni. The rats had gotten better at leaping over our Mana Barriers, but Bessie, Tom, and I had also gotten better at anticipating and preventing them. "Picky, prickly, and peculiar."

"Seniors are considered that high-ranked?" I asked.

"Well, she's in her early thirties, which is pretty young for a self-made Senior Artisan. My mom's known her since she was a child, and apparently she used to be more normal? But then she found her passion and started her own business. Imagine if you had access to Duni all night and day and it wasn't sleeping all the time."

I boggled at the implication. "You think Duni could turn into a decades-long passion project?"

"No," Hannah said, "But not necessarily for lack of wishing. Sadly I doubt Grimmark would let us keep our current arrangement that long."

----------------------------------------

The next night, after a disappointingly decent dinner -- I'd been spoiled by Tom's superior cooking -- Senior Lauren finally deigned to display her showpiece. To my surprise, it was as masterfully done as she'd claimed all along. Though I'd recognized the failed enchantment had ruined a perfectly good dress, I'd lacked the imagination to realize the dress's true potential. It was more than its fine embroidery, more than its fluid enchantments, more than the sum of its parts: it was a work of art and function both, the one complementing the other. The Artisan's expression turned even more smug on seeing mine, though she also felt uncharacteristically nervous. "Well, madam Scholar?"

"Marvelous," I freely admitted. "But why don't you have anything like this on display? Or shown to the Artisan's Guild?" With this kind of craftsmanship, she really should be an Expert already!

Instantly, her smile flipped into a scowl. "Display? No, I pick and choose my clients, not the other way around. This is why I don't offer my full services to anyone who won't sign a confidentiality contract." Ah, hence the privacy provisos I'd taken for paranoid overkill. "And I certainly won't advertise my gifts to the guild."

"You're saying you hide your abilities," I said disbelievingly, "To turn away potential clients?"

"I am an Artisan, not a vulgar seamstress. I don't have to like my client, but there should at least be a little mutual fascination, wouldn't you say?"

Picky, prickly, and peculiar. "Can't you just refuse unwanted clients? Surely the Artisans would back you?"

"Against Mercenaries, probably, but Assassins?" Seeing my bewilderment, she explained, "Never underestimate the pettiness of nobles. And before you ask, of course the guild doesn't condone their actions, but once you've refused more than one, who can say which arrogant brat is responsible? No, too much success can draw just as much bother."

"But is enforcing secrecy even possible?" I said. "Your clients are walking public advertisements."

"So? They aren't nobles themselves and are forbidden from boasting, or rather, they know I can and will criminally, financially, and professionally prosecute them for daring. There's no prestige in wearing my brand, so no noble would care to notice me. I can also claim my products are still suffering from consistency issues. Assuming that stops being the truth," she finished pointedly.

"Um, but wait," I said. "You're supposed to prove you can help me first?"

She gestured to her masterwork. "Do you still doubt me?"

I hesitated. Pragmatism warred with sentiment, and the latter won out. I just couldn't imagine the creator of such a piece giving me less than her best, knowing I could not help judging its measure and hers. Perhaps I was naive to believe this of her, but... well, I was cursedly curious myself how this enchantment could succeed where its exact-seeming replica failed.

Unfortunately, my curiosity remained unsatisfied when I took my leave for the dungeon, returning earlier the next day to continue scouring the two garments for any clue. Even to my trained and enhanced eye, they appeared essentially identical in their creation. At the same time, some instinct told me they were not, even beyond the fact one was a working masterpiece and the other only aspired to be.

Lacking any better ideas, I went over them stitch by stitch, comparing them with a critical eye. Yes, I had resorted to a shamefully brute-force approach, but it seemed wiser to utilize a likelier if dumber method than to continue wracking my brains when there might well be no smarter solution.

I was reminded of a spot-the-difference puzzle I'd once been presented. Though my memory, mind, and Appraisal were all necessary or useful, it was still possible I was staring right at a barely discernible dissimilarity without seeing it. This simply wasn't my forte.

No, after an hour of fruitless combing with focused use of [Advanced Appraisal] -- without it, I'd probably have run my mana dry, and long ago -- I took a break to rest my eyes and drink tea, staring glumly at the metaphorical mountain left ahead of me. And the worst part was, climbing wasn't nearly enough, merely the means by which to conduct my exhaustive search. At this rate it would take me days or weeks devoted to the task for a hope of finishing, where a single lapse in focus could ruin the entire venture.

"There just has to be a better way," I told Senior Lauren, who was paying more attention to her current knitting project. I could see why she might have been driven to obsession by her 'passion': only now, focused on her craft, did her emotional turbulence settle into a kind of inner peace.

Recalling my earlier resolution to consult my favored advisor first, I returned to the library. There must be a good book for this. A short discussion with the library assistant took me to a previously unexplored section of shelves, whereupon I engaged in that activity, common to visitors, rare to me, of standing in place to browse. Within five minutes, I had memorized a supposed shortcut for spotting differences and relocated to my usual table with a book of such puzzles to try.

Staring at the two juxtaposed images, I attempted to spot the difference by focusing with my left eye on the right image and with my right on the left, or in other words, to usefully cross my eyes. This was easy enough, but the next step, of focusing on the new middle image, proved just as frustrating as my efforts earlier in the day. Eventually I lost patience, flipping the page to try a different set.

"Rowena?"

Looking up, I found my mentor eyeing my children's book with a mostly perplexed, somewhat disturbed feeling. Blushing, I explained my current task to his pronounced relief. He cautioned me against signing any more contracts without Learned Anderson present, then left me to it.

On my third picture pair, and after some untold number of breaks, I found aligning the images to make a third noticeably easier. With grim determination, I persevered until, in the manner of a breakthrough, I realized I saw it. My current fixation had paid off with glowing parts! I stared unblinking and made note of each one, only to discover after a quick consultation with the text I'd missed two out of the fifteen differences. Instead of the alleged seconds, it took me a full minute to bring the joined image back into focus and another to spot a fourteenth difference. The fifteenth I wasn't sure of until I blinked back to the two images and manually compared them.

This wasn't quite the expeditious timesaver I'd hoped for, but I thought it was better than nothing. Unfortunately, applying my newfound trick to the previous puzzles succeeded -- eventually -- for one but not the other, which I worried did not bode well. All this time spent on optical illusions was rendering me vaguely nauseous, and I happily desisted in favor of a beginner book on sewing.

The next day saw me returned to my real-world puzzle with a vengeance. Laying out the two dresses side by side, I determinedly crossed my eyes. I'd expected overlapping the effectively three-dimensional images would be exponentially more difficult, but that didn't seem to be the case. Of course, my view of the fabric was partially blocked, but the runic enchantments didn't rely only on ordinary sight in the same way. The completed circuit of one and broken circuit of the other were harder to reconcile, not to mention they already glowed. But with little to lose, I continued to stare.

When my hostess suggested tea, I waved her away and stared some more. I stared and stared and... unfortunately, I did not unlock a new [Spot the Difference] Skill per my secret fantasies. I did succeed at sensing something was different, not in the fine stitching I'd expected to consume most of my efforts, not in the runic arrays woven skillfully if too numerously throughout, not in the hems or pockets or extraneous buttons, but in a single front-fastener button. Yes, there was an unaccountable spot of difference. Then I manually compared the two for confirmation.

"That can't be," Senior Lauren said when I went to her in triumph. "Are you certain you do not have koumpounophobia?"

I stared at her, impressed and a little envious she managed to naturally fit that into a spoken sentence. "No, I have no personal fear of buttons. Look here, they all appear of the same material and make, but... do you have [Intermediate Appraisal]? Good, then you have to look very, very closely. It's subtle, but the tiny difference in how this button conducts mana has a ripple effect over the whole dress, ultimately enabling it to contain the combined enchantments... do you see?"

I assumed she did, since she continued to protest: "But I bought them from the same welder!"

"Welder?" I repeated, staring at the clearly woven buttons.

"Well, she's also a jeweler, a collector, an artist... Anyway, I stitch these crosswheel buttons myself using her rings, which I know she makes all together at once! I can't think of any reason one would be different... except..." She froze suddenly, her eyes and mind lighting with realization. "The tinker!"

"Tinker?" I repeated, my brows rising at her inexplicable blush.

"Yes, I welcomed a tinker in once," she said with artful casualness. "A strange fellow, in a pleasant sort of way. I had a few broken odds and ends, so while I had him over... well, he must have fixed that button's ring and better than new!"

"A higher-tier Skill." I nodded. "How are you so sure it isn't the other way around, and the one originally broken didn't fail again?"

"Because I've had multiple failures starting before he came." She tapped her lips in thought. "I considered he might have acted as inspiration."

I eyed her little smile. "Shouldn't you be more concerned you'll need outside help?"

"Ah, but I've been hitting my head on this puzzle for over a year! To have it solved is reward enough. Besides, I have not forgotten that tinker." Now one finger was tracing her bottom lip. "I had no good reason to contact him again, much less with a potentially career-changing breakthrough in my hands, but... Well, I am not displeased for the excuse. The best kind of pleasure is mixed with business, after all, and vice versa. Wouldn't you say?"

"Um, I don't really understand," I admitted. In truth, she was giving off even more conflicting emotions than usual -- repulsed desire, vicious benevolence, playful seriousness, predatory vulnerability -- and I was reminded again how singularly peculiar she was.

"Oh, sweetness." She reached out to caress my hand. I would've startled and pulled away but I could feel her rising excitement, presumably over our auspicious partnership. "I can't thank you enough! Well, actually I can and good deeds make good debts" -- her voice dropped into a throaty purr -- "so let's get started, shall we?"