Opening a single bleary eye to sunlight streaming through the window. Wolfe and Riley banging around while getting on their field gear. Begging off and agreeing to meet later at lunch. Waking up again at quarter after eight and getting ready using the room's private bath. Ordering two breakfasts to go and arriving at the library by half past nine.
The woman at the desk had lost her hateful glare, but still regarded me with undisguised suspicion. Ignoring her and heading into the stacks to find my new, temporary master. Regarding each other for a moment, then his hand beckoning. Sitting across from each other at one of the tables while eating.
“I was actually a little concerned when you didn't come back to visit,” he says, “ but clearly that concern was misplaced. You've probably been busy.” Not answering the implied question, simply continuing to eat my food. “I also had a visitor yesterday, a messenger from your Director.” Glancing up. “I don't suppose you had something to do with that.”
“What makes you think I did?”
“It was something you said when we last spoke. They want me to restart classes. They were very apologetic about the whole thing.”
“From what I recall, you didn't seem all that put off by what happened the last time I was here.”
The man mustache drooping. Propping his head on his hand and glancing around the quiet shelves.
“I've probably read more books in the last several months than in the last several years,” he says. “I've had some of my old students come by to chat. Social visits, here and there, Doria more than a number of others but, still, not even her very often. I didn't quite realize how much I missed it until you blundered in to remind me.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, well,” clearing his throat, “I assume the reason you've come isn't merely to chat.”
“You assume, or you hope?”
“Hope, of course. Filling the minds of emptyheaded youngsters like yourself is often its own reward.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Laughing at his characterization, but the man didn't join in. “I did want to ask you about some things, but if you're so eager to get started we can get to that later. What do you want me to do?”
“Show me everything you've learned.”
***
“Your fundamentals are solid,” leaning his weight on the recently mended table, “but I'll confess that this design right here,” pointing at my drawing of Runic Shield, “I've never had a student go in this particular direction. Usually if it starts a bit crooked it straightens out, and then adds more lattices. You're moving in the opposite direction, less angular with these spirals. How's it functioning?”
“It's very strong. Much more versatile than I'd first thought. Is that design a problem?”
“No, not necessarily. If it works, it works. Merely a point of interest, something I need to mull over.” Frowning at the rune a moment more. “But now, for your particular problem. I shouldn't even say your problem, it's fairly typical.” Clearing his throat and adopting a lecturing tone. “I had said before that we use the physical as the basis for the arcane, thus necessitating runic designs to focus the energy. The problem you've encountered with Tracing is that there is no runic design, or rather, you're not thinking about it in exactly the correct way. When you try to cast the spell, what's your thought process?”
“Since there's no rune I've been trying to imagine the spot where I want to cast the spell as being the rune.”
“That's good,” he says, with a broad smile, “that's very good instincts. You're close, but the problem with Tracing is that you can pick any spot on your body, in any size, when you cast it. Watch.”
Touching his finger to the table and starting to draw the barest, smallest pinhole size line. Picking his hand up, then putting his whole palm down, and a huge blot appearing underneath.
“Two different casts of the same spell. What do you think the difference was between the two?”
Clearly the size, but that's not it.
“I'm not sure.”
“Nothing at all. Both were cast the same exact way, but only the spot chosen differed. As I've said before, runes are very special, personalized things. Two of the same rune drawn by different people may look similar, but only you can create and activate your own. It's the little differences that really stand out, I do appreciate you showing me exactly what they look like in your head. It's fascinating, and it tells me a lot about you.”
“All good, I hope.”
“Of course.” Letting out a jovial laugh before turning serious. “With Tracing, the image you need to imagine is your entire body. Then, when the spell activates, you can choose where to direct the energy. It's not easy normally but, with your situation, you may find it particularly difficult.”
Difficult. What'd he imagine these last several days had been like? No rest for the wicked, that's for sure. Had learned my body running and fighting and living since getting in here. Half imposed on me and half not.
Concentrating, moving the mana, spreading it out rather than focusing on one spot. Filling every remote corner, the feeling somewhat similar to the discovered equilibrium with the shield. Focusing on the spell and trying to make it activate. Not working. Spreading the mana thinner and thinner into every crevice, and then a feeling of fulfillment, activation. Directing the surge of energy to my index finger. Leaning over the table and drawing a simple shape, a stick figure cat. Face, ears, whiskers. Body and legs. Tail. Drawing a dialogue box coming from its mouth. “Meow.”
My master looking at me, and then the cat, half puzzled and half amused.
“I love this spell.”
Shaking his head. “I'm glad. Use some time to play around with it. You can remove bits of what you've drawn by thinking about it. You can't get them back, you'll have to redraw them, but practice using it. I'm going to get something to drink, do you want anything?”
“Coffee, please, if you can.” Concentrating, removing the tail and then two of the legs on the cat, redrawing the tail as a big fluffy one and the legs all crooked.
“Okay.” Shaking his head yet again while walking away. The man coming back a few minutes later and leaning over to view my masterpiece. Yellow sun, green grass, house with a red roof. The cat out front, calico, sitting on a grey stone walk, licking its paw.
“I love this spell. You can draw the shape thicker than you want and then pare it down. Any color. I've never been that great at drawing, but let me fill in this surface here and then remove the pieces I don't want. It's as easy as thinking about it. Normally I'd never be able to get the lines that smooth.”
“Good. You may want to hold off on submitting this to a gallery. Maybe a touch more practice first.”
“You seen some of the crap they have hanging over in that college? Bunch of poseurs, they should stick to singing. This thing might win first prize. Well, maybe not, it's not bad enough, they never let it win out of jealousy.”
“If you say so.” Putting down the two cups. “So, what'd you want to talk to me about?”
My ease evaporating, looking down at my peaceful, idyllic scene and carelessly destroying the entire thing with a thought. Looking over at him, trying to start, stopping, and then just blurting it out.
“I wanted to say goodbye.” His expression shifting to concern. “Today might be my last day like this and,” trying to get it out, “and I'm really grateful for everything you showed me. I had a really great time because of it. And despite what I tried to do to you, you've shown me nothing but kindness. Next cycle I'm going to be that same person who came in here and tried to rob you, so I don't think you'd want to see me again. So, while I can, I just want to let you know how much it meant to me.”
The last bit a sob. Hiding my face and trying to contain the tears leaking out.
“Hey,” pulling me in and gently patting my shoulder, “what do you mean?” Looking at him, sniffling, blinking away the tears. “What you did, that was years ago. I helped you knowing who you are, full well. If you want to come back in a few days, or in a month, or whenever, you're welcome.”
“Really?” Wiping away the remaining drops.
“Of course,” he says. “I mean, you're not going to make me throw you out of here again, right? You learned your lesson? Because I will, don't tempt me, I'm not that much of a softie.”
“No, no. Definitely not. You've got absolutely nothing to worry about from me. Thank you.”
“I'm not worried at all. I'm looking forward to your visit.”
Standing up, starting to prepare to leave, but then being struck with a niggling thought.
“Hey, another question, I'm not expecting you can answer it, but who knows. Can you tell me anything about the Council?”
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“The Council,” The phrase long and drawn out. Here comes the standard refrain. “Not very much.” That's different. “If you're asking me about them I think you probably know more than I do.”
“All I know is whenever I ask anyone connected to it they can only tell me it doesn't exist. They're incapable of saying anything else. And I know they're connected to the bathhouse. That's it.”
“The bathhouse?” His hand stroking the short salt-n-pepper hairs on his chin. “That I did not know. All I can tell you is, what they did, shutting all the guilds down, it engendered some bad feelings but from what my visitor said yesterday it sounds like they're putting some effort into making amends. Hopefully they're successful. If so, I don't think either of us will have to worry too much about what the Council may have been planning.”
***
A messenger from Shaker. Avery, you kept your word and you made it happen. A preliminary step, of course, but getting them to admit a mistake had been made was always going to be the first step to correcting course. And if all the little Runemages, and everyone else, get their masters back, then what about the poor, put upon Thieves, who'd been done one worse and thrown out in the cold? It stands to reason. People are suckers for fairness.
Arriving at the town hall and causing a stir, once again, with the receptionist.
“I need to mail out these letters. Two to Stormhawk, one to Wyrmsblood, one to Solstice, one to Haven, and this last one to The Red Lion.”
“C-certainly,” she says, taking them as well as the not insignificant postage, about twenty percent of the take from last night's show.
Walking back to The Red Lion and trying not to be annoyed by the fact that one of the letters had been written there, for someone who worked there, but it still needed to be walked over to the town hall and then delivered by them in order to protect my anonymity. Hopefully no problems with the names on the envelopes, but if they're delivered, they'll probably end up with who they need to get to. Rath, at least, is certain to get his. The kid hadn't earned his name before we got shut down, but maybe - just maybe - he'd get one soon.
Getting in the door, being waved over, and joining Riley, Wolfe and the guys at a table for lunch.
“Lucy, you missed out,” says the blonde.
“What'd you get up to?”
“Back to what we were doing yesterday. But,” a deliberate pause, raising her finger, “we saw our friends from last night. They slunk away. Very quickly.”
“Should have chased them.”
Wolfe trying to hold it in, but then starting to laugh. “You really are bad, you know that?”
“No secret, it's my best feature. Let me show you what I learned. Oh wait, Evie, you've got something on your face.”
Reaching over and starting to pretend to clear something away. Upper lip, chin, almost getting two squares around her eyes.
“Alright, alright, stop,” she says, pulling away.
The rest of the table starting to crack up.
“What did she do?” Trying to get an answer, but everyone else trying not to directly look at her. “Listen missy, I had enough of your antics last night, so don't start up again.”
The faux facial hair and half pair of spectacles adding a certain gravitas to her demand, escalating snickers into laughs. Everton glancing over, silently asking me to relent. Okay, okay. The sudden disappearance of the black writing, however, sending them into an uproar.
“Seriously, what'd she do?” Riley now beginning to really get upset.
“It's gone. It's gone, okay? Here, let me see your hand, I'll show you.”
Tentatively reaching out, with distrust replacing the writing that had been on her face.
“How about a heart. I don't know if I like black like this, let's do green. Nah, not bright enough, let's do neon green. Little arrow through the heart. That's wrong, redo it. Okay, tip here and feathers on the back, make the feathers white. Some drops of blood coming off the tip, make those red. Looks pretty good, right?”
Riley's smile beginning to return.
“Sorry about being a pain in the ass last night.”
“And today.”
“Barely did anything today, but yeah, why not. Oh wait, Evie, you got something on your face.”
“Stop!” The girl giggling as she pulled away from my wiggling fingers.
Sitting back and watching them continue to eat. Ordering something quick to catch up. Looks like they all went out and managed without me no problem. Great to seethey're going to make it. Finishing up and then heading back to the room. Riley and Wolfe each taking a quick shower and changing out of their field clothes into some light, summer ones.
“Lucy, are you going to get ready?” says Wolfe.
“Oh, um, where are we going? This thing doesn't start for another five or six hours, almost.”
“Yeah, we've only got like six hours so we need to get going.”
Go where? They're not putting on their formal wear.
“I guess I'll go in this.” My normal outfit. Heavy duty boots, water resistant pants and shirt, forest green cloak. Knives. Didn't bother with the armor or hatchet today.
“You don't own anything else, do you?”
“Only what you got me yesterday. Thanks, by the way, last night turned out good because of it.”
“You're welcome. You were great. But yeah, that's fine, let's go.”
Being led southeast by Riley and Wolfe. Hitting the town square. Continuing east into the merchant district. Passing by the street with the cobbler. Passing by the street with clothing store and then turning south. Oh, that makes sense. A hair salon, an absolute madhouse filled to the gills with other girls from Riley and Wolfe's class. Most wearing light summer clothing, some already in their evening gowns, leaving me the obvious standout clunking in with my boots.
“Put your name here.” The older woman at the counter squinting at me momentarily. “You're going to have to wait to be called. If you leave I can't guarantee your spot.”
Riley and Wolfe putting their names down, then me. Taking off my cloak and hanging it on the otherwise empty coat rack. Looking for an available chair. Riley over there chatting with some people. Wolfe sitting nearby, but not next to her, looking around. There, one's available right there. Taking a seat between two random girls. Glancing around at the hairstylists chatting with their clients and snipping with their scissors, new girls coming in off the street, checking in, and overall being submerged in a sea of droning, nattering small talk and gossip. Sitting for a good bit trying to think, but the grating noise making it impossible. Eventually fading in and out, asleep with my eyes open, the sounds mercifully blending into a single, persistent drone.
Several names called in succession, then “Riley” waking me up. Finally. It's been more than two hours.
“Wolfe.” Twenty minutes later. This is interminable. Pulling out a knife and using it to clean the dirt from under my fingernails to pass the time.
Riley coming over to me five minutes later. “This place is crazy. I'll see you back at the room.” Waving with my empty hand as she left.
“Macarthy.”
At the sound of the name the girls from the new class not stopping their gossip, but the stylists momentarily stopping their work and glancing around. Standing and walking up to the one that had managed to get stuck with me. Unable to hold back my grin at her expression.
“I-I'll be taking care of you today,” she says. Then in a whisper, “I'll try to do a good job. Please don't hurt me.”
Glancing down. Inadvertently still holding the knife, point down at my side. Losing my grin and resheathing it. No sport at all in pushing someone like her around.
“I'm sorry about that, didn't mean anything by it. Kept holding it out of habit. I'm sure you'll do fine.”
The unease somewhat draining away. “Right over here.” Leading me to sit at her station. “Is this how you normally have your hair?”
“Yeah, it's for fighting. Lets me keep it tucked away so it doesn't snag or allow someone get a handhold. I'll undo it.” Unwinding the strands of spider's silk and then pulling apart the braid.
“I really like it,” she says, after combing it out. “When was the last time you had it styled?”
Meeting her eyes in the mirror, exhaustion covering my face.
“Oh. Well, what did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking about putting it up so I could hide a knife in it. My outfit for tonight won't let me use something like this.” Patting the sheath.
“Is that right?” Faintly. “Maybe, um, I could put it...” Her eyes getting tight, a frown stretching across her face. “Maybe I could, um...” Worry. Starting to back away. “Listen, I'm really sorry but I don't know if I can help you. Please don't-”
The shield erupting into being, grabbing her wrist and halting her backward momentum. The crackling light drawing attention from the entire salon, interrupting various conversations and the other stylists' work. Spinning around in the chair to face my captive.
“Come here.” Beckoning her forward. Not moving. Frozen in fear. Releasing my grip on her with the shield. “You're fine. Come.” Beckoning again and the girl taking a half step forward. “What's the problem?” The buzz of conversation restarting with a different sort of cadence. Wolfe at a station on the opposite wall looking at me in the mirror, letting me feel her disapproval. Acknowledging her with my hand.
“Ms. Macarthy,” the older woman from the counter making her way over, “are you having an issue with one of my stylists? I understand you may be frustrated, but please refrain from that kind of behavior. Otherwise I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.” Crossing her arms and standing up as tall as she can. Glaring down at me.
“My apologies.” Grinning up at her, returning her attempt at an intimidating stare. “Your girl here said she might not be able to help me, but wouldn't explain. I was merely wondering why.” Turning back to the girl. “Why is that?”
“I was afraid I couldn't do what you asked.” A mutter. “That you wouldn't like it if I did, and then that you would, you would...” Unable to continue further, biting her lip to stop it from trembling.
“I do apologize.” The woman regarding the girl with disdain. “Would you care to wait for another one of my stylists, since this one seems so incapable?”
“No.” The other stylists watching the conversation out of the corner of their eyes breathing a collective sigh of relief. “I'll hash it out with this one, see if we can figure something out. Thank you, though.”
The girl's lifeline walking away, leaving her to her fate.
“So what's up? Tell me. You're not going to hurt my feelings, I assure you.”
“You have to reconsider,” she says, leaning forward. “I'm not going to be able to make it look good. It's going to look awful. You'll take one look at it and murder everyone in the room.”
“Over a haircut?” A serious nod. “I don't know what you've heard about me but I'm not that much of an ogre.”
Nope, she definitely doesn't believe that. But how bad could a haircut end up? Studying her grim expression. Pretty bad it looks like. In that case, probably for the best. Probably trying to be too clever, using a hidden this or hidden that. Half the reason to have a weapon is deterrence.
“I suppose that plan is out. If I don't ask you to do that, do you feel confident you can do something else?”
“I guess.” Nervous and tight.
“Good. I am entirely in your hands. I guarantee you have far more experience with this than I do.”
“How about, uh,” less worried now, “cleaning it up some, leaving it unbraided and curling it. I think it'll look good.”
“I have no idea what that means, but if you think it'll look good then do it. I trust your judgment.”