The next day after an uneventful lunch with Mei and Francesca, Magdala dragged Dwayne’s research to the College of Martial Magic. This morning, Dwayne’s steward had dropped off four massive boxes full of notes and relevant reading materials. Packing it all onto her equipment cart had been the work of a morning. When she reached the table she shared with Colin, Magdala immediately started unloading the research.

“You’re an hour late.” Colin looked up from the vial of fine blue powder he’d been examining and frowned at the pile of books and papers forming on the table. “What is all that?”

“Our next project.” Magdala hefted the last box onto the table. “Where’s the dean?”

“She’s supervising her pet project.”

“Thanks.” Magdala snatched a notebook out of a box and strode away.

“Wait,” Colin chased after her, “where are you going?”

Magdala had learned a little about the College of Martial Magic while testing innocuous fluids for their aerosolization capabilities. The main thing she’d learned was that the Dean’s pet project, the one that lay beyond the glass wall, was an attempt to revive a Golden Age weapon that was so dangerous only fully licensed mages were allowed to work on it. Dean Bruce was currently speaking to one of those mages, her characteristic black leather suit contrasting to the whites the others wore.

“We’re behind enough as it is.” Colin caught up to Magdala. “We shouldn’t be wasting her time.”

“No.” Working on that bland list of liquids? That made marching through the jungle sound appealing. “Let stop wasting time.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

They finally reached the glass wall where Magdala’s confidence finally faltered. The dean didn’t look happy, the researcher she was haranguing kept throwing angry gestures in the direction of an ancient scroll, and the other were standing frozen. She could go back, heed Colin’s warnings, but the work she and Dwayne had been doing was important. She had to take the chance. She knocked on the glass.

Even through the thick muffling glass, the sound caught the dean’s attention. She threw a glare at its source then relaxed when she saw Magdala. With a quick bark, she dismissed the researcher and then approached the metal hatch set in the glass wall.

“We should be working,” Colin whined.

“You can go back, if you want.” Magdala went to the hatch and waited.

Colin followed, muttering. “She’s going to be so angry.”

The hatch’s lock spun open, and Dean Bruce stepped through, her hands already pulling her mask off her face. “Young Gallus, I see you’ve decided to come in today.”

“Dean,” Magdala bowed, “I have a project proposal.”

“Dean,” Colin squeaked, “I told her that-”

“Mr. Fletcher, I believe that young Gallus can explain herself.” The dean pushed the hatch close. “After all, despite having stated that she wants to be here, she’s arrived late and interrupted my time sensitive work for this proposal of hers.”

Cups, Colin was right. She was mad. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I truly believe that the results of this project will be far more significant to you, this college, and our Queendom than a bunch of powders and liquids. Here.” She offered the dean Dwayne’s notebook, which had all his latest work. “Look at this. Please.”

“Very well.” Dean Bruce took the notebook and skimmed its pages. “These are simply result tables. He’s been switching the magical contents of these spell vials and…” She went still. “I see.” She flipped back a few pages and reread them. “Interesting. Still, I don’t see a proposal here.”

“Here’s my proposal.” Magdala pulled a sheet of paper out of her pocket and handed it to the dean. She’d written it during lunch, with some help from Francesca.

The dean looked it over. “Cueller’s Blessing. You want to create a Qe-based method of creating materials with thaumaturgical potential?”

Magdala grinned. “Yes.”

“More importantly,” the dean was looking through both Dwayne’s notes and Magdala’s proposal, “you believe that you could capture the Qe root. If that’s true, then capturing the other roots would also be possible.” The dean looked up from proposal and notes, her eyes glittering. “You’re right. This is significant.”

“Isn’t that impossible?” asked Colin. “All of the literature states that our magic is an inseparable part of us.”

“And yet,” Dean Bruce returned the notes and proposal to Magdala, “the Tuquese regularly inscribe their magic into everyday objects. What is the literature’s explanation for that, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Well, that’s because their magic is more primitive than ours, so it’s easier to separate from their person.” Colin looked between a silent dean and Magdala as if that line of logic held water. “Isn’t it?”

“This will be your chance to find out.” Dean Bruce drew herself up. “Young Gallus, you and Mr. Fletcher are to pursue this research. As project leader, you will not forget to request any resources you need to achieve tangible results.”

“But,” Colin stared at the dean, “I was project leader!”

“And as project leader on your now former project, you have the honor of writing up your results up till this point.”

A flash of yellow light filled the room. When it faded a researcher was writhing on the floor beyond the glass wall.

The dean tsked. “Another failure. I have to deal with that. You’re dismissed.”

“If I may ask,” Magdala pressed a hand against the glass, “what are you working on?”

The dean put her mask back on. “The future, young Gallus.”

As he and Magdala returned to their table, Colin said, “I wondered when you’d start waving your privilege around.”

This boy. “Did you really want to be making powders for the next week?”

“Maybe.” Colin scowled as he stepped around a rack of flasks. “Or maybe I just don’t want to work for someone who comes in late, ignores her project leader, and then complains about the work she’s behind on.”

“Oh, really?” Magdala side-stepped a pair of medics rushing to the back of the room. “Well, maybe I don’t want to work for someone without an ounce of real creativity. You were already behind. How much more would have gotten done if I hadn’t arrived?”

Colin looked away. “I would have figured something out.”

“Sure you would have.” Magdala sat at their table. “After all, you’ve been here for a month. Surely, you were almost there.”

Colin plopped down onto his seat, muttering, “At least, I wasn’t suspended for tranquilizing my entire class.

That was a tempting idea, but unfortunately, knocking out Colin would only result in guilt, a tremendous amount of scolding, and a suspension so long it might as well be expulsion, all of which would be nothing next to how much it would suck to disappoint Dwayne. Besides, she’d given her last sleep bomb to Mei anyway.

How would Dwayne handle this? How would Francesca? Certainly, not by antagonizing her teammate. Maybe a compliment?

“I must admit that you did spend your time well by exploring every possible angle.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed. “Is that sarcasm?”

“What? No, it was a compliment.”

“You just said that I was wasting my time.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You might as well have!” Colin sucked in a breath. “Look, just leave me alone. I need to wrap up my project.”

Magdala reached for their notes. “I can help.”

“No.” Colin yanked them out of reach. “No, I’ll do it. Alone.”

Which left Magdala to ponder how in Markosia she was going to work with someone so hostile. Was Francesca right? Had Magdala relied too much the patience of friends? She could try to do this alone, but Dean Bruce had assigned Colin to her team and failing to use every resource to complete this project would likely lead to failure.

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What she needed was someone who could smooth things over with Colin, someone who was a mage and wasn’t extremely busy with their own projects. It was probably true that Magdala relied too much on her friends, but that was because her friends were extremely reliable. For this one time, she was going to rely on one in particular to help get this project off the ground.

Magdala just need to wait until Francesca was done helping Mei.

***

“Cups, there are a lot of people here.” Charlie led Mei through the press of people. “Are they all here for provisional licenses?”

Mei had expected the crowd, Dwayne had warned her over breakfast, but what she hadn’t expected was how long it took for her and Charlie to make their way through it. It almost made her regret leaving Maggie’s sleep bomb in her room. It did made her regret not waiting for Fran, but it had seemed silly to stand in line when you didn’t have to.

After what felt like an age, Mei and Charlie finally pushed their way through, stepped over the ropes holding the crowd back, and reached the desks where a dozen clerks sat.

“What do you mean I don’t have the credentials required?” shouted a mage in heavy brown and white leather.

The junior clerk sighed. “In order to receive a provisional license from this office, you’re required to have the support of a dean of the Magisterium, a noble of real standing, or to pay five dukes in coin.”

“Five dukes! I could buy a title with five dukes!”

A duke coin would buy out the warehouse Mei stayed in.

“If you don’t have what is required, please step aside.” The clerk started to wave to the next person in line, but Charlie got there first.

“Excuse me, Miss.” He presented his badge. “We’d like some help.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait in line if you want to apply for anything. Her Highness says no favors for anyone.” The clerk’s bleary eyes finally recognized the badge. “Oh, you’re a scrytive. In that case, any official business must be handled at the Privy Council level or by filing a General Request Form.”

Charlie leaned in close. “Do you really want to bother me about forms when murderers are on the loose?”

Murderers, one of whom might be- Mei pushed the thought away and wrestled her face back into stillness.

“Murderers!” The clerk’s hands made the sign of a cup. “That’s terrible. However…” They glanced over their shoulder at the thin, brown-haired woman, whose big wooden desk sat directly in front of the door into the Royal Secretary’s Office.

Charlie nodded. “I’m sure your supervisor would understand in this case.”

The clerk sighed. “I’ll to talk her. Excuse me.”

As they hustled over to the big desk, Charlie shook his head. “Inkfingers.”

Mei frowned. “Their fingers were clean though.”

“Paperpusher then.” Charlie’s nose curled. “Not paid to think, just paid to grind out forms.”

Considering the piles of forms on Charlie’s desk, it was unclear to Mei how a clerk’s job and a scrytive’s job were different, but instead of stating that, she turned to face the crowd. Contrary to what she’d thought while pushing through it, it wasn’t actually a mob, but an orderly line of tired, bored, and frustrated mages.

Charlie followed Mei’s gaze then winced. “Those poor bastards. It’ll take all day to get through that line.”

“They’d get through it faster if you’d let my clerks do their job.” The supervisor had followed the junior clerk back. “You,” she crooked a finger in Charlie’s direction, “come with me. Lang, back to work. Who’s this?”

She glared at Mei, who’d stepped past the desk.

“I’m Mei.”

The supervisor glared at her. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Mei here is the Indigo Tower’s Head Guard.” Charlie lifted his chin. “Our inquiry is cross-office.”

“Well,” the supervisor sniffed, “I’d wondered what had become of the other tower. Come along.”

She led Mei and Charlie back to her desk, where everything on it - quills, ink wells, papers, silver nameplate - was so carefully arranged that Mei knew that the supervisor believed in the necessity of the inkfinger.

“Sit.” The supervisor waited for them to sit, then placed herself back in her chair. “Why are you here, Scrytive…?”

“Vogt. Senior Scrytive Vogt. And we’re here investigating the recent murder of a windsong messenger.” Charlie offered a half-smile. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“Murder is your department, not ours, scrytive.” The supervisor leaned back in her seat. “As such, I fail to see why that was reason enough for you and this… guard to disrupt our work.”

Maybe Mei should get a badge too, so that people would stop doubting her.

“Murder is a heinous crime that should be punished forthwith.” Charlie spread his hands. “We just want to take a look at your records to narrow down our suspect pool.”

“Then file a General Request Form or bring the High Judge herself.” The supervisor cocked her head to the side. “Unless you’re accusing someone in Her Highness’s office of having committed said murder?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ve wasted everyone’s time.”

Mei’s lips pursed. Apparently, not every office in the Queendom worked to be as helpful as the Chamber. Maybe Dwayne’s trick would work. “I’d like to speak to Tate Sercombe.”

“You would like to what?” The supervisor’s fist hit the table. “Dame Sercombe is Her Highness’s personal clerk, and she shall not be bothered with this. Between the mess your ‘Head Clerk’ has created and the Harvest Ball, we do not have the time.”

Mei said nothing. That had been her best move.

“Perhaps you’ve heard of Mei Axesnapper?” Charlie put a hand on Mei’s shoulder. “Hero of Walton?”

This made the supervisor roll her eyes. “What is that, some Tuquese title? No one civilized cares about things like that.”

Mei’s throat closed up. It was clear that the supervisor wasn’t going to budge and, worse, had no reason to. She had all the time in the world to waste theirs.

“Look, Clerk Arnold, I’m sure we can-”

“Look, Scrytive Vogt, there’s no arrangement or deal or offer that will get you past me. Go fill out a General Request Form, get it approved, and then we’ll talk.”

“Mother says,” Fran’s voice was a break of sunshine on a cloudy day, “that forms are for people who lack the imagination of a beached jellyfish.” Only Mei could hear the following words. “Sorry, I’m late.”

The supervisor glared at Fran, who’d changed out of her usual blouse and pantaloons and into a shimmering goldenrod dress and sky blue velvet cloak. “You should be waiting in line, young lady.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Fran’s grin turned wolfish, “not after what my family paid to build this place. My name is Francesca Lucchesi, and I’m here to get a provisional license.”

“Lucchesi?” The supervisor’s eyes flicked to Fran’s cloak clasp, which depicted a sailing ship and an elm. She shot to her feet. “Yes, Miss Lucchesi. I’ll handle it immediately.”

“But before that,” Fran tossed her curly hair over her shoulder, “I’d like to see the registry and find out who else has gotten one of these things. My family has a reputation to uphold and can’t afford to associate with riffraff.”

“But,” The supervisor wrung her hands, “The registry is confidential, Miss.”

“It won’t be when a Lucchesi is on it.” Fran glanced at Mei and Charlie. “Why are these two here?”

“They want our help with a recent murder, Miss.”

“Do they now?” Fran’s eyes twinkled. “That’s convenient. They can vouch for the people in the registry.”

The supervisor glanced sidelong at Mei. “They?”

“Yes, they.” Fran arched an eyebrow. “I’m surprised at you, Arnold. Everyone knows about Mei the Axesnapper. She’s got a royal commendation and everything. Now,” she strode past Arnold’s desk, “let’s get a look at that registry.”

“Miss. Miss!”

As the supervisor scrambled to catch up to Fran, Charlie let out a low whistle. “When you said you’d ask her for help, I assumed she’d just throw money at the problem.”

Mei smiled. “Maybe if the supervisor had been nice to us.”

They followed the supervisor through the chaos of the Royal Secretary’s Office, down the stairs, and into a well lit, windowless room filled with rows and rows of bookshelves, where she grabbed a book from the shelf furthest to the right.

“Here we are.” She placed the book on a small pedestal. “This year’s licensees.”

“Oh?” Fran tipped her head to the side. “Then we’ll-” She stiffened. “Arnold, I require the facilities.”

The supervisor clerk blinked. “Oh, those are-”

“I. Require. The facilities.” Fran’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to make me spell it out for you?”

The supervisor’s face flushed. “No, of course not, Miss. I’ll take you there myself.” Her eyes slid to Mei and Charlie. “Perhaps, they could come with us?”

Fran’s eyes narrowed. “If you make me embarrass myself…”

The supervisor paled. “No, miss. This way, miss.”

As soon as they were gone, Charlie started flipping through the book. “Remind me never to get between a Lucchesi and anything ever.”

“I’ll do that,” said Mei.

She went to the shelf, selected the book next to the empty space, and opened it to a page that could have been ripped from the books in the Tower. The main difference was that instead of intricately drawn marks, these pages were covered in much simpler ink stamps, parts of which Mei recognized. For example, the red-crowned jay definitely had the body of the yellow-crested quail that had been stenciled onto the victim’s bag. Finally, they were on the right track. Mei began to flip through the pages quickly, only checking yellow stamps as she went.

“How are you going so fast?” Charlie was only a quarter of the way through the book on the pedestal. “I’ve barely made it fifty pages.”

“Yellow-crested quail.”

“What?”

“Yellow. Crested. Quail.”

Charlie blinked. “Oh, the stamps. Brilliant!”

As Charlie’s search accelerated, Mei opened the next book. They needed to hurry. Fran’s diversion wouldn’t last forever. Yellow-padded badger. Yellow-horned bunting. Yellow-crested bear. She did not want to come back here again. Flattened beetle. Finned crab. Plain daisy. Coming back here would mean breaking back into this room. Wyvern. Awrock. Quail. Breaking in would mean asking Huan-

Quail. Crested. Yellow.

“I’ve got it!” Mei brought the book to Charlie and slapped it down onto the pedestal. “What’s the name?”

“Juanelo. Juanelo Rincón Ybarra.” Charlie’s eyes widened. “Cups, he was so young.”

Juanelo Rincón Ybarra. Lots of awkward consonants there, but Mei would remember every one. “Anything else?”

“He’s part Vanurian, just like you said, and his sponsor is… There’s no sponsor.”

“What?”

“It just says ‘on order of the Royal Sec-”

“Clerk Arnold,” Fran’s voice echoed in from the corridor, “I must express my gratitude for your saving me some embarrassment.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, Miss.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.”

Squashing the urge to tear the page out, Mei knew at least one clerk who’d be very upset at the idea, Mei quickly returned the book to the shelf and then rejoined Charlie next to the door. Both were looking quite innocent when Fran and the supervisor entered the room.

“Feel free to send that request over to my elder sister. Tell her I sent you. Now,” Fran reached the pedestal, “let’s take a look at this registry.” She frowned. “Scrytive, who is this?”

Charlie looked. “Erlana Pade? I believe she’s-”

“I’ve never heard of her.” Fran turned on her heel. “We’re leaving.”

“Miss?” The supervisor hurried after Fran. “Miss Lucchesi!”

On her way out of the Royal Secretary’s Office, Mei muttered the name of the victim under her breath, the name of the man who’d help her prove Huan wasn’t a murderer: Juanelo Rincón Ybarra. Now, she had to find out where he’d lived. Since no nobles or merchants had come for his body, there was only one place that someone with five dukes to burn would live.

Boscage.