“There is no will,” said Mr. Fence. The banker looked rather unsuited to his job. He stood tall, well tanned, a little muscular, and long salt and peppered locks tied into a bun. Accountants and actuaries across Munth spoke in whispers of this mythological banker who didn’t suffer from eye strain and back problems.

“And unfortunately, because of the lack of a will, we have to fall back on Wizarding Inheritance Laws,” he said.

Mace just glared at him. “Are you sure that you looked through all his papers? His library? I don’t know, under his bed?!”

“We have,” he said levelly. “We are in the business of being extraordinarily thorough. No will, no last testament, not even an occult rune scrawled in blood.”

Rifling through all of a wizard’s collected arcane tomes, grimoires, magic maps, and the mountains of unpublished research papers was a monumental task. Wizards collected every bit of written knowledge for ‘just in case’. That case would never arrive, but it helped to have your spells prepared. Besides, if anything, all that paper made suitable bedding for those long nights spent in research.

“There has to be something!” she snapped. “You really think a wizard, much less the most powerful one in a thousand miles, would just leave all his stuff to just anyone.”

“Not just anyone,” said Mr. Fence, as he gestured over to Tria. “Its owner, by Right of Apprenticeship.”

Mace’s very scrutable glare fixed on Tria, who’s inscrutable face was locked forward. Some centuries ago, it had been determined that in the lack of a will, it was codified that a wizard’s belongings would go to their apprentice instead of family. Distant relatives would often try to sell the deceased’s arcane artifacts, which would always somehow find their way back to the seller, and usually kill them in ironic ways.

“Well he never really brought it up,” Thistle piped in. She was seated in the corner on a chair that had been dragged in from the hall. Mace and Tria had already taken the office’s guest seating. The pair and Fence looked over at Thistle, who had the camouflage of houseplant. Mace and Tria had spent the trip to the bank either arguing or tactically ignoring each other that they hadn’t noticed Thistle following them.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” asked Mr. Fence.

“Thistle Nightwarren,” she said cheerfully. “Friend of the deceased.”

“...Right, anyway, by Right of Apprenticeship, Master Cornsilk’s estate belongs to-” he checked his notes. “Gorganthal the Inexorable? Did I pronounce that right?”

“Yes sir,” said Tria with a smile. “Gorganthal is my mentor and legal guardian. He sent me as his representative.”

Fence turned to Mace. “Without a will, I’m afraid the bank’s hands are tied. I mean you could try fighting it in the courts, but free legal advice, their decision is just going to be what I’m telling you.”

Mace was silent in the way that all those who lost an argument were. Her main point was routed, so she rallied anything she had left for one last fatal charge.

“Well what about the investigation?!” she finally asked. “His stuff could have valuable evidence in the prosecution of a crime!” she said, using the best legal jargon could muster.

“Crime?” asked Tria incredulously. “Mace he died of a heart attack, what crime do you think happened?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the point! I need his stuff to determine what the crime was!”

Mace was reaching and she knew it.

“That,” said Fence, rubbing his temples. “Would be up to the inheritor to decide.”

Mace’s stomach fell as her fingers dug into the armrests. Tria wouldn’t let her poke around her inheritance, but Mace could appeal to her sense of wizardly duty and camaraderie. It was a hail Endea but couldn’t hurt.

She took a deep breath in and steeled her emotions.

“Tria Durana,” she said calmly. “I am asking you, as one wizard to another, to please aid in the investigation of your master’s master’s death.”

Tria looked into Mace’s eyes and smiled. “No.”

“Tria!” said Mace, her steeled emotions softening to potassium.

“You made my school life miserable!” Tria snapped back. “Do you know how much better it’s been since you were kicked out!”

Mace’s nails dug into the armrests so hard they nearly flayed the upholstery.

“Not kicked out,” she growled through gritted teeth. “I dropped out.” It was obvious to everyone that that was adjacent to the truth. In reality, she was sternly asked to drop out or have an expulsion on record, which would risk her entire career.

Thistle stood up. “I believe this calls for some arby-tration.” She walked between them and turned to Mace first.

“Now Mace, it seems to me that the whole reason you’re here is to investigate Cornsilk’s death, right?”

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“That, and other things,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off of Tria.

“So if you were properly able to investigate, you would probably leave right after, right?”

“...Yes,”

Thistle turned to Tria. “So to get Mace out of your hair, it would be a good idea to let her see Cornsilk’s things, right?”

Tria’s lips tightened. “I guess.”

“Now I know she’s been awful to you.”

“I-!” started Mace but was quickly shushed.

“But is there anything she could do that would let her see your inheritance?” offered Thistle.

Tria leaned back in her chair, eye averting to the wall. “There’s nothing I want from her.” But a thought seemed to wash over her face. A smile crept up. “Well there is one thing she can do.”

“Fantastic,” said Thistle. “Just goes to show how talking things through can lead to-”

“She can admit that she cheated on the entry exam!” interrupted Tria.

The room fell silent. Mace gripped her poor chair so hard its arms threatened to tear clean off.

“I. Did. Not. Cheat.” stated Mace.

“Oh please! You and both know that’s a lie. The whole school knows, even your uncle knows!”

Mace stood up. “I did not cheat on the entrance exam! And I don’t have to sit here and take this! I’m getting my hands on that stuff one way or another!”

“Just admit you cheated and I’ll give the damn stuff to you!” shouted Tria, but Mace was almost out the door.

The logical side of Mace’s brain came out of its mole hill and screamed, ‘just tell her what she wants to hear and you can go back to how things were!’ But pride came out of its den and ripped logic apart. She didn’t need Tria, she didn’t need Uncle Hickory. She didn’t need anyone! In fact, it was everyone who needed her. She’d show everyone what they missed when they threw Mace Perovay to the curve. She wasn’t sure why everyone needed her or how she’d show them the error of their judgment, but her mind needed at least some mental barriers to make it structurally sound.

She stomped down the stairs and out of the bank. She wasn’t sure where she was stomping to, but that was the thing about anger. Fury was an engine, but purpose was its steering wheel. Mace was about halfway to Ye Olde Roadhouse before she realized that that was where she was going.

“I assume you have some history?” asked Thistle.

Mace jumped. “How long have you been there? Were you following me?”

Thistle shrugged. “Since we left, and no, because I live where you’re heading.”

“Oh, right,” said Mace. Her boiling anger was starting to settle into a simmer.

“Did she- er- Tria, say anything after I stormed out?”

“Just that she was going to see the doctor barber,” said Thistle.

“Damn,” said Mace, unintentionally out loud. “Oh sorry,”

“Not the worst language I’ve heard. But you’ll be pleased to know that the doctor closed early today.”

Mace cracked a smile at that. She could still beat Tria to the doctor.l

They walked for a while in silence, not exactly walking together but neither walking apart. There was good company in silent anger.

“You’d probably say I deserve it,” said Mace finally.

“Why would I say that?” asked Thistle.

“Because I’ve been awful to her. Wasn’t always that way, you know,” said Mace.

“Oh?”

“I was perfectly fine with just concentrating on my studies, no friends, no rivals. But then she just kept on getting more and more…” Mace searched for the word.

“Perfercter?” finished Thistle. It wasn’t the most grammatically appropriate word, but really fit into the situation.

“Exactly!” Mace exclaimed. “It’s like she’s blind to how perfecter than everyone else she is! I mean sure, you have your students from nowhere who have destinies and magic swords and all that, but she takes it to another level! She’s got the looks, the magic and athletic talent, what more she get handed?”

“I know how you feel,” said Thistle. “I had a lot of jealousy and anger when I was your age.”

“I’m not jeal-” started Mace. Who was she kidding? “Okay I am jealous. It’s just all so…easy for her!”

“I hear you,” said Thistle. “I remember what it was like, watching those who I loved and those who I didn’t get some kind of quest or powers or weird talent. Sometimes they really worked for it, sometimes they didn’t.”

Mace looked and Thistle. The woman was in her late 40s. How many people did she see go galavanting into the great unknown while she was stuck in her home town? Mace always thought that it was Tria who was lucky while Mace wasn’t. It was that she and Tria were the lucky ones, and Thistle, well Thistle was just making the best of a bad hand.

They walked in silence before Thistle spoke up.

“So I assume you’ll be staying at Ye Olde Roadhouse?”

“I was, I only have enough for a week’s stay. But with Tria being a complete…” Mace thought about her companion. “...witch, I think that that stay will have to be extended. Probably have to busk with minor tricks for a while.”

“Or…” said Thistle with a smile. “We could make a deal.”

Mace, who not even an hour ago was offered the worst deal in her life, glared at the woman.

“Oh, nothing too hard,” said Thistle. “Just some magic lessons!”

“Magic lessons?” asked Mace incredulously.

“Magic lessons! Mr. Turpenwile seemed to know a lot, and you’re his apprentice right?”

“Yes, but have you ever tried magic? It’s not exactly like learning anything else.”

“Well I do have a collection of magic books, but they’re a little over my head. I figure that since you’re a student, you could help me understand, you know? Teach me the basics like you were taught.”

The thought of expert level magic books did intrigue Mace.

“Alright, I suppose every wizard becomes a master someday. We’ll start with the basics tomorrow. But I will need to take some days off, for the investigation of course.”

Mace was formulating a lesson plan in the back of her mind. The front was being occupied by her next step in the investigation. True, Cornsilk’s belongings probably contained the most obvious clues, but they weren’t the only clues in town. Tria could keep the junk, for now. Mace had other tricks up her dagged sleeves. Plus, a free stay at the town’s only inn, maybe Mace’s luck was beginning to turn around.

She put out her hand out and smiled at Thistle, who shook it in return. This would be the start of a very beneficial apprenticeship.