Early in his years at EnviroCharm, Gideon had taught himself to stay calm in the face of angry customers or angrier bosses. So it hardly bothered him when Caelan Whitfield went on a tirade about everything wrong with The Last Rest.
In short, the threadbare linens, the lack of laundry and housekeeping services, the leaky faucets in the communal bathrooms, and the presence of a strange bear and glowing-eyed rats made it hard for the Celestial Cargo Company to enjoy their stay.
Gideon noted with satisfaction that one thing Caelan didn’t complain about was the leaky roof. Had they finally fixed it?
No complaints about the food, either. Thank you, Grimsby.
Most of the issues were things Gideon had already planned to fix. He wouldn’t have had many problems if they’d come in a few months. Though he may have found entirely new things to bother him.
When Caelan stopped to catch his breath, Gideon finally interjected. “Well, Mr. Whitfield, I’m sorry your stay has been less than satisfactory—”
“Less than satisfactory is putting it lightly. Do you know how much we paid for our rooms?”
Gideon had no clue. Pricing was one of many things they hadn’t settled, but Gideon could only assume Uncle Kelvan had gouged them.
Good.
“I’m sure it was a substantial outlay for your small operation, but…”
“Small?” Caelan said. His cheeks turned even redder.
“Please forgive me,” Gideon replied, turning his gaze to a group of Caelan’s companions intently watching this exchange. Gideon counted seven people, five men and two women, excluding Caelan Whitfield himself, which meant one of their guests was still out of sight.
The group was standing near a train of wagons parked end-to-end along one side of the courtyard, opposite the hot spring. Nearby, a set of horses were tied to hitching posts in reach of a trough filled to the brim with crystal-clear water. Gideon didn’t remember those being there, and he wondered if Grimsby or Clonk had hastily installed them.
Three of the men and both women were dressed in rugged clothes suitable for the road. They were presumably fellow members of Caelan’s merchant company who drove the wagons or hauled cargo.
The other two men were dressed in studded leather jackets, and Gideon could see chainmail shirts peeking out from underneath. They carried longswords in scabbards on their belts. A quick [Appraise] told him the chainmail was enchanted with [Toughness] and another spell called [Lightness], which Gideon didn’t know. Was it gravimancy? Aeromancy? He had no clue.
Those must have been Caelan’s guards, then. Only two? For such a dangerous mountain pass?
There was something strange here, Gideon thought. Details that didn’t add up. Why hadn’t they gone farther North, around the mountains?
This pass was a shorter, more direct route if they wanted to get to the Elvish Cities as quickly as possible. But if so, why had they stopped here overnight? Why not continue their journey if they were truly convinced the spiders hadn’t been dangerous?
“Hmm,” Gideon said out loud before catching himself. He brought his attention back to Caelan Whitfield, who’d been explaining that the Celestial Cargo Corporation was anything but a small operation. They had dozens of active trade routes and hundreds of employees.
Gideon didn’t know if that counted as small—he was no merchant—but it didn’t seem large to him, either. He raised his hand until Caelan finally stopped talking long enough for Gideon to speak. “Yes, Celestial Cargo sounds quite impressive, Mr. Whitfield. I hope you understand that I meant no offense. I’m unfortunately ignorant of your business, but whether a company is large or small is hardly indicative of merit. Until recently, I worked for a huge company that I quite hated. Now, how about I try to help you.” Though Caelan looked like he desperately wished to resume speaking, Gideon refused to pause, talking in one constant stream of words. “First of all, I’d be happy to do your laundry. I’m sorry we’ve been understaffed, as I was away on business until now. I suppose I should explain that The Last Rest hasn’t officially opened yet, so some of the amenities are not—”
“—if it hasn’t opened, why did you—”
Gideon continued talking as if he didn’t hear him. “—not up to snuff yet, I admit that. So here’s what we can do. You asked for a refund, but considering you stayed here last night and presumably will stay here tonight since it’s the afternoon and our checkout time has passed, I’m afraid I can’t offer a full refund. What I can offer you is a voucher—one free night for you and your caravan during your next stay as compensation for your troubles.”
“Next stay?” Caelan said, eyes bulging from his head. “As if we would ever come back here!”
“I think you will,” Gideon calmly replied. He leaned in and whispered into Caelan’s ear. “I think you already plan to.” The more he talked to Caelan Whitfield, the more he suspected this was not the man making the decisions. In a way, he was like Mr. Dreadmoor—a manager in a long line of managers, but not the owner or the client. Not truly the one in charge.
It was just a suspicion, but underneath Caelan Whitfield’s anger, Gideon thought he detected a hint of anxiety.
Gideon wondered if the real boss was the one he hadn’t seen yet. He wondered if Caelan was putting on a show for them. Were they in one of the wagons? Casually, Gideon kneeled and pretended to retie his shoe. As he did so, he tapped the dirt and sent out a pulse of [Geosense].
No, not in the wagons, he realized. He glanced up and saw a shadow watching them from one of the castle windows. Up there.
“You’re mad,” Caelan said. “Mad, I say! After the treatment we have received—”
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“Okay,” Gideon said, standing up and shrugging, then beginning to walk away. “Go ahead, then. You can leave right now.” He gestured towards the sagging door of the open gate. “Please take care on the road. It’s even more treacherous at night than during the day.”
Gideon strolled around Caelan, leaving him speechless as Gideon headed towards the keep. He was already imagining a nice, relaxing bath. Though he’d bathed yesterday in Valeforge, after the carriage ride and the hike up the mountain, he was in desperate need of another soak.
After taking a few steps, Gideon felt Caelan’s hand grab his arm, trying to turn him around.
“Now listen here, I’m not done—”
As Gideon looked into the man’s eyes, he finally felt his calm, customer service persona fall away. He channeled a tiny [Quake], enough to shake the ground underneath Caelan without breaking it. The man stumbled and fell backward. “You are done. You may not be used to a proper business, Mr. Whitfield,” Gideon said coolly, “but I’m afraid it’s the policy of The Last Rest that patrons are not permitted to assault or abuse our employees. Which includes myself. Don’t touch me again. I’ll come by later to fetch you and your party’s laundry, and then we can have a reasonable, polite discussion about what else I can do for you during the remainder of your stay.”
As soon as Caelan Whitfield hit the ground, the rest of the merchants and guards turned away from the scene, pretending to act busy, checking on the backs of wagons or tending to their horses. No one came to defend their boss, not even the guards.
Gideon tried to stop himself from grinning. There was something distinctly enjoyable about the sight of Mr. Whitfield sitting on his ass in the dirt.
The man’s anger had now left him. Instead, Caelan stared up at Gideon with a look of shock, saying nothing.
Of course, there was still the matter of the bad review, but Gideon would worry about that later.
“Grimsby really should have stayed for this,” Clonk said from behind him, and Gideon shook his head at him.
“Come on,” Gideon said, and headed towards the castle. Once they were inside the great hall and Clonk had closed the castle doors behind them, Gideon turned around to face the armored knight. “I need to find Uncle Kelvan. And Lady Ondine.”
“How’d you know that would shut him down, anyway?” Clonk asked.
“Because underneath his anger,” Gideon said, “I recognized his fear.” He swallowed, remembering. “I used to be like that myself. Afraid of losing my job, I mean.”
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Gideon knocked on the door to Kelvan’s lab, which was slightly open, and poked his head in. His Uncle’s mirror was floating in the center of the room listlessly, and Kelvan himself was lying in a large reclining chair and appeared to be asleep, snoring loudly with his mouth open.
Clonk strolled past Gideon, his joints squeaking with every step. Kelvan woke with a start, blinking his eyes.
“Greetings, Uncle Kelvan!” Gideon said cheerfully.
“Oh, welcome back, welcome back,” Kelvan said, then narrowed his eyes. “Another level? You’ve been advancing quickly, Nephew. Well done.”
Gideon smiled. “Thanks. I was meaning to ask you about that, actually. I learned a new spell called Enhancement. It’s a combination of Toughness and Sharpness.”
Kelvan grinned. “Not bad.”
“Yes, but how did I do that? Whatever it was, it was a big enough achievement to help me advance. That’s how I gained the level. I was, uh, enchanting someone’s shears.”
“I thought I told you that from now on, every spell you cast should be for yourself. Why go back to the gardening tools?” Kelvan frowned.
“This time, it was my own decision,” Gideon said. He walked towards Kelvan, then pulled out a chair from one of the nearby workbenches and sat down. “It was fun, actually. The spells felt different when I cast them. Like they blended together effortlessly. I’ve never felt that way before.”
“It’s a product of your Spiritweft. Since you’re still at Copper Rank, I hadn’t expected you to be able to do that yet. But considering how many times you must have cast those spells, it makes sense.” He stroked his beard as if thinking it over, then smiled. His red eyes seemed to glint in the mirror’s surface. “Yes, yes… it confirms an old theory I once read regarding advancement.”
“Do tell,” Gideon said, eager to find an explanation, hoping his recent progress was something he could repeat.
“Excuse me,” Clonk said from behind them. “I’ll take my leave, Lord Kelvan. This is boring.” And then he marched out.
Kelvan gave a nod to Clonk, then turned back to Gideon. “First, let me ask, what is the common understanding of advancement in the current time?”
“There are some fancy criteria, mathematical models, but they’re pretty expensive to access. I know they use them at Falconridge. Apparently, they can predict when their students will advance and track their progress, quite precisely, by measuring their mana network using some device.”
“So all of that is useless to you,” Kelvan said, and grunted. “Only available to the privileged.”
“I suppose so. I had no idea when I was going to advance or why I never did during all my years at EnviroCharm.”
“Well, let me explain my theory, then,” Kelvan said, looking excited. At times like this, Gideon could see the old wizard’s enthusiasm to share his knowledge. “Advancement is based on tangible strengthening of your mana core, and the network that allows you to channel mana through your body. The System measures the properties of this network and assigns you a numerical value that summarizes your progress.”
“Yes, that much is common knowledge,” Gideon said. “But if that’s the case, why didn’t I level at EnviroCharm? I cast my ass off, day in and day out, for years back when I was a spellmonkey.”
“I wasn’t done yet,” Kelvan said, making a clucking noise with his teeth. “Yes, you did, but you cast the same spells, on the same target, in the same way. Advancement rests on three pillars—repetition, novelty, and inspiration. For years, you had the repetition part down. But the novelty was zero, and you were about as inspired as a corpse.”
“I take your point,” Gideon said.
“Repetition, novelty, inspiration—is that common knowledge in your time?”
“No,” Gideon said. “I’ve never heard that before.”
Kelvan nodded and smirked. “It is as I suspected. Certain pieces of information have been obscured by the powers that be. Magic is being gatekept. It was already happening when I was alive, you know. I was discouraged from sharing information outside the Ebonreach Institute when I was a student there. No books could be taken off campus, either.”
“You make it sound like a conspiracy.”
Kelvan cackled, and his mirror zoomed in closer to Gideon’s face. “If it is a conspiracy, it is one that hides in plain sight. The most powerful wizards wish to keep their power and have acted rationally to do so.” He shrugged. “However, that’s not the point, Nephew. What I mean to say is that all the repetition you performed gave you a great understanding of the fundamentals of geomancy, and you’ve had more than enough practice manipulating mana. You have mastered the basics, so now when you attempt to stretch yourself, the advancement comes more readily. Such ease of progress will not continue forever, but for now, you are making up for lost time.”
“So my years at EnviroCharm weren’t wasted after all?”
“No,” Kelvan said. “They only would have been wasted if you had stayed there. All that aside, how was your trip? I hope you’ll be sticking around for the foreseeable future. We have much to do.”
“I have no plans to go anywhere,” Gideon said and took a deep breath. It was time to tell his Uncle what exactly had happened in Prospera. If nothing else, he didn’t want Kelvan to be surprised when Mortimer Rook showed up at the castle someday. “Especially now that there’s an evil wizard out there who wants to light me on fire.”
Kelvan grinned. “Oh?” In the mirror, he sat back down on his chair and scooted it forward. It was strange, Gideon thought, but his Uncle looked almost proud. “Your first nemesis! How delightful. Tell me everything.”
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