The next morning Dwayne went to the Palace’s Gray Tower, which loomed over its West Wing. Pushing his way through a throng of anxious mages, he approached the desk of the head clerk, who only gave him a cursory glance before returning to her pile of paper.

“Excuse me,” Dwayne took in the lack of a ring, the cheap shirt, and the badge pinned to it, a ruby red quill pen on a black circle pinned, “Miss. I-”

“If you’re wanting to apply for a provisional license, you’ll have to wait with the others.”

Whatever that was. “I’m not here for a provisional license.”

“What do you mean?” She looked up from her papers. Her eyes widened. “Oh, m-milord. Are you perhaps here on Royal Sorcerer business?”

For once, he didn’t have to introduce himself. “Yes, I am.”

The clerk glanced nervously at the door into the Gray Tower. “Do you have an appointment?”

Dwayne’s eyes narrowed. If he’d been Monti from the Exchequer’s office, she wouldn’t be asking her that question. “No, I don’t.”

“Good, I mean,” the clerk’s face flushed, “please wait in line or have the relevant authority arrange an appointment. I’m sure we’ll get back to you within a month.”

A month. “Right. Excuse me.” Dwayne stepped around her desk.

“What are you doing? Wait!”

Ignoring her, Dwayne entered the Gray Tower, which was filled with clerks, secretaries, and functionaries rushing to and fro, calling out to each other, staggering under piles of papers. They all wore the same uniform: white blouse, black trousers, low-heeled shoes, and that badge with the blood red pen on it.

Despite the clerk’s protests, Dwayne’s forceful entrance into Princess Anne’s little fiefdom would have gone unnoticed if the only person wearing any color hadn’t been walking past.

“Young Kalan!” Sercombe quick-marched over to him. “What brings you here?” She dismissed the protesting clerk. “Doesn’t your office have its own work to do?”

“We do.” Dwayne tore his eyes away from the efficient engine of activity he was witnessing. “That’s why I’d like to talk to Thadden.”

“Thadden? Our Thadden?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” the other head clerk grinned, “that is a bold move.”

Glad she liked it. “Is he in?”

“The Harvest Ball is coming up. Everyone’s in. Excuse me.” Sercombe looked it over a sheet of paper that had been handed to her. “No, Her Highness wants the reference space enlarged so that it’s clear how important they are.” She turned back to Dwayne. “We’re revamping the provisional mage license application forms again. I’m hoping these new ones will make it easier for them to get accepted.”

Dwayne frowned. “What are-”

A screech ripped through the hubbub.

Sercombe groaned. “Cups, those new printers are not worth the knights we spent on them. Ross! Sorry, I have to handle this. Thadden’s office is upstairs on the right. Ross!” Then she was gone.

Still wondering what the provisional mage licenses were, Dwayne made his way over to the spiral staircase in the center of the room. Sercombe’s actions had drawn the attention of the rest of the office, who threw angry glances and muttered loud whispers as he passed. This hostility was not what he’d expected. After all, they were in the same line of work.

Leaving the first floor behind meant not only escaping all that, but also finding the one thing the Scaled Tower had more than its gray counterpart: silence. Up here, six doors massive doors set into the stonework stood watch over thick carpet, old portraits, and more than a few wall scones, which still used oil to provide light.

Dwayne went straight to the door on the right, whose brass plate stated “Baron Otto Thadden, Senior Associate Secretary,” and knocked. Hopefully, as a mage, Thadden could explain those provisional licenses.

When the door opened, Akunna stepped out. “The Baron is-” She stopped, her bored expression transforming into a glare. “What are you doing here?”

“Who is it, Gretchen?”

“Dwayne Kalan, milord.”

“That’s young Dwayne Kalan, Gretchen. He’s heir to a title. Let him in.”

“If you please,” Akunna somehow curtsied sarcastically, “milord.”

Compared to the dislike Dwayne had endured downstairs, Akunna’s hate ran sharp and hot. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time or the place to figure out why. All he could do was say, “Thank you” and enter.

The left wall of Thadden’s office was covered in obsolete and outdated books on ancient shelves, and the one of the right displayed his collection of certificates, including his Magisterium diploma and his mage’s license, a golden plate issued to him by Lord Kalan’s predecessor Sobol. The baron himself sat at his massive wooden desk in front of a paned window that overlooked the Palace gardens. He wore his preferred brown and gold robes, the pen badge on his chest the only concession to the uniform that was ubiquitous on the first floor.

“Young Kalan.” Thadden’s eyes only briefly lingered on Dwayne’s before he gestured to one of the chairs that sat in front of his desk. “How can I help you today?”

Dwayne sat, his nervous weight making the chair creak. “I’m here to ask a favor, Baron.”

“Oh? What favor?”

Here it goes. “I’d like you to be the next Royal Sorcerer.”

“That,” the baron’s eyes went distant for a moment, “is a substantial favor. Why me?”

“Honestly?” Dwayne forced his knee still. “Because Her Majesty gave me very specific requirements, and I don’t know very many people who can meet those requirements and are willing to take on the position.”

Thadden leaned back in his chair. “Have you asked anyone else?”

“No, you’re my first choice.”

“Well,” Thadden’s eyes glittered, “that is quite the honor. I accept of course. However, I do have a few requirements of my own. Three to be precise.”

Dwayne’s knee started to bounced. “What requirements?”

Thadden chuckled. “They are quite reasonable, I assure you. Of course, you understand that my becoming Royal Sorcerer must be seen as proper, respectable, natural. When your master left his station, he not only left you and your Office with no employees or contacts, he also damaged Her Majesty’s standing at court.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Did you know he was going to do that? Abandon his duty like that?”

Hearing it put like that made Dwayne’s heart sink. “No, I…He didn’t tell me.”

“That’s a shame, but in many ways expected.” Thadden didn’t see Dwayne’s fist clench. “Lord Kalan has not been himself for quite some time, but, abandoning his duty to Her Majesty is still unforgivable. However,” he offered Dwayne a half-smile, “That is in the past. With your help, I can undo the damage he left in his wake. Now, my requirements. We must ensure that there won’t be any more outburst like last week.”

“I’ve taken steps since then.” This morning, Dwayne’d only burnt his fingers twice using matches to light the lanterns. “It won’t happen again.”

“Whatever steps you’ve taken, I believe that instruction will improve upon. It’ll mitigate the effects of your heritage and give you a strong foundation for handling yourself at court. As such, my first requirement is that you attend Mr. Ziegler’s etiquette classes.”

“Andreas Ziegler?”

“Oh, that’s right, he mentioned he ran into you the other day,” said Thadden. “Mr. Ziegler has an enormous talent for taking untutored individuals such as yourself and creating mavens of the court. What do you think?”

That, honestly, while actual lessons would be an improvement over just reading Armsford on his own, Dwayne was hardly “untutored.” If he needed lessons on anything, it was how to figure out why Akunna seemed to hate him so much. It was like he’d done something to her personally.

Thadden was waiting for an answer. “I’ll take the classes,” said Dwayne. “What’s your next requirement?”

“That you’ll take the Rite of Attestation.”

“Take the what?”

“The Rite of Attestation. You know what that is of course.” Thadden’s brow furrowed. “It’s a test administered by the Church to confirm a candidate’s magic potential? Oh, it’s not a painful procedure.” He’d misread the panic on Dwayne’s face. “You’ll see. Gretchen, get me Brook’s Rituals and Rites.”

Dwayne watched Akunna search the shelves for the book, his mind racing. If the Rite involved some sort of blood test, or worse a demonstration of the congenital Qe spell he did not have, he was screwed. “Why should I take this Rite?”

“Legitimacy.” Thadden gestured for Akunna to give the book to Dwayne. “Receiving the Church’s stamp of approval would make all the questions about your true abilities go away.”

Just like casting Qe mage in front of Magisterium professors had. “If you say so. What’s your third requirement?”

All humor drained from Thadden’s face. “Catch those miscreants robbing those poor mage families.”

Finally, something they agreed on. “I’ll handle that personally.” He’d said that like Mei wasn’t already busy with the murder, Rodion with Sanford, and Huan with Huan. “Consider it done.”

“Excellent.” Thadden got to his feet and offered his hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you, young Kalan.”

Ignoring Akunna’s furious glare, Dwayne got up to shake the baron’s hand. “As I am. Thank you for accepting my offer, Baron.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Thadden sat down. “Now, since it seems I have even more work to do, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave for the time being. Gretchen, show him out.”

“This way, milord.” Akunna escorted Dwayne to the door, which she jerked open. “Will you be requiring conveyance to your next destination, milord?”

“No, thank you.” Dwayne stepped into the hallway then turned to her, his voice “Hey, did I-”

Akunna shut the door in his face, leaving him with one word. “Traitor.”

***

Over in the Clerical Quarter, the section of the city nearest to the Palace, Mei climbed the steps of the austere block-shaped building that faced the swooping spans and soaring spires of Sen Wallace Cathedral. The ninth bell had already sounded, which meant that dozens of Souran in white and russet cloaks were making their way in. Pushing through them, Mei reached a wide white marble desk that sat in the center of the foyer, where a balding spectacled man with pale skin was writing something into a notebook.

“And what might you be here for?” Spectacles squinted at Mei and the long leather case that contained her rifle. “This is the Chamber of the Judiciary. Are you lost?”

“No.” Mei scanned the crowd for black coats, “I’m looking for Charlie.”

Spectacles frowned. “I’m sorry who?”

“He is a scrytive.” Mei let her attention shift fully to him. “He told me he works here.”

“He told you that?” Spectacles shook his head. “I don’t understand, but are you here to report a crime, young lady? Surely, your embassy would handle such matters for you.”

The word wasn’t familiar. “My embassy?”

“Yes.” Spectacles pointed at the door. “You’ll find them in the Gentle Quarter if you’ve got any thefts or complaints to report. They’ve got that weird architecture at their gates, you can’t miss it.”

“I have no thefts or complaints to report.” Not any that hadn’t already been reported. “I am here about a murder.”

Spectacles went pale. “You are?”

“Trevisan,” a female scrytive joined Mei at the desk with a wink, “it is too early for you to be making that expression. I haven’t even turned in my reports yet.”

“Zelda.” Mei let out a huge breath. “I’m here for Charlie.”

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“I figured.”

“Scrytive Wagner.” Trevisan wiped his brow with a yellowed handkerchief. “You know this, this, Charlie?”

“Of course, I do.” The look Zelda gave Trevisan could freeze rivers. “He’s Scrytive Charles Vogt. Senior,” she let that word hang for a moment, “Scrytive Charles Vogt.”

Trevisan’s face somehow got paler. “She didn’t say his name so I assumed that-”

“Don’t assume, Trevisan. It’s not your strong suit, Trevisan. Come on, Mei.” Zelda led Mei past the desk. “Charlie’s an early riser so we should find him in his office.”

Mei glanced back at Trevisan. “Is Charlie not his real name?”

“We call him Charlie because we’re his friends.” Zelda pulled open a low wooden door. “They get to call him Senior Scrytive Charles Vogt because they’re paper scratchers who only speak official. Understand?”

Mei just nodded. She’d ask what a “paper scratcher” was later when it became relevant. For now she followed Zelda through the door and down a gloomy set of stone steps.

“Believe it or not,” Zelda’s voice echoed loud here, “this place used to be a fortress temple before Lady something-or-other gave it to Queen Lena for her shiny new High Judiciary.” Easy to believe. Both this passage and the building above it reminded Mei of the giant pyramids guarding Soura’s southern border. “That means this place has a lot of character!” She shoulder-tackled another door open. “Whew, people have got to stop closing that.”

Mei’s eyes had finally adjusted to the gloom. Zelda had led her to a squat stone corridor harshly lit with bright chemical lights. There were a dozen doors on each side and one very wide one behind a portcullis on the far end. It looked like-

“A dungeon?” asked Mei.

Zelda put a dramatic finger to her lips. “Shh, don’t call it that. The brass hate it when we point out the lack of air, sunlight, and the semblance of good living conditions.” She led Mei almost to the end of the corridor, to the second to last door from the end, and poked her head in. “Hey, Vogt.”

“Wagner?” Charlie looked up from his work. “You’re early. I just heard the ninth bell.”

“Look who’s come down from the forest Tower to see you.” Zelda pushed Mei into the room. “I found her making Trevisan work for his wages. Shall I leave her here with you?”

“Please do. Please sit, Mei.” As Mei took to the rickety chair sitting in front of his desk, which occupied nearly half of the office, Charlie asked. “Are you here to join our fine fellowship?”

“I thought we said it was an association,” called Zelda from down the hall.

“We ain’t no association!” yelled another scrytive.

Charlie chuckled. “We used to be a brotherhood, but, well, not all of us our brothers.”

“I’m not here to join.” Mei’s eyes drifted around the room then caught on a highly detailed painting of an idyllic forest. “I’m here to find the murderer.”

“That’s a good painting isn’t it? It’s of northern Bradschwald where I’ve got a cabin. You’re welcome any time as is your help with that murder investigation.” Charlie reached up. “Let me get the file for you.”

Mei pointed to the one on his desk. “That’s not it?”

“Oh, this is something minor. Nothing for you to worry about.” Charlie opened the murder file and turned it around to show Mei. “The brass like to look busy by giving us all these pointless cases.”

Mei’s fingers traced a detailed colored drawing of the windsong’s corpse. “Do you know who he was?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Charlie turned a page. “The only thing we’ve manage to confirm is that no prominent local families - noble, merchant, or mage - are missing any sons, at least not any they’ll admit to having. No one has even offered to come look at the body.”

“You have the body? Where?”

“You saw that barred door at the end of the hallway, yes?” Charlie shifted in his seat. “It’s where we keep the bodies.”

“Can I go in there?”

Charlie winced. “Maybe later. I… we Sourans are wary of unburied bodies, but that picture should be enough.”

“Okay.” Mei inspected the picture again. “I don’t think he was a noble or a merchant. He’s looks too Vanurian.”

“That’s… a problem.”

Mei looked up from the picture. “Why?”

“If he’s Vanurian, then…” Charlie scratched the back of his neck. “Then no one, noble, commoner, mage or commoner will back this investigation. We need someone with a title or money or connections to get the brass to let us do this.”

“Someone like Dwayne?”

“Your boss?” Charlie’s vision went inward. “Right, he is heir to an estate and he is Head Clerk of the Indigo Tower.”

“The Scaled Tower.”

“Most people just use the color because of the Gray Tower.” Charlie stared at her. “You’re Head Guard, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I told you.” Charlie looked too young to be having memory problems.

The scrytive grinned. “That means that you’re here as a liason.”

“A what?”

But Charlie was already searching his files. “Where’s those forms? A year ago the Gray Tower got all excited about standardizing cross-Office interactions.” He gave her a look. “You and Dwayne were lucky to miss that. You cannot believe how boring the meetings were.” He returned to searching and finally pulled out a large envelope. He handed them to Mei. “Here they are.”

Mei looked at them. “What do I do with this?”

“Get your boss to fill them out and turn them in. Oh and sign this.” He flipped the file on the desk over and pointed to a line.

Mei raised an eyebrow. “Sign?”

“Put your name on it.”

Easy enough. Mei did so.

Charlie didn’t comment on how bad her handwriting was. “With this the paper scratchers will be too busy trying to figure out the inter-Office protocol to try to get our victim’s body removed or to stop us from getting real work done.”

That sentence had made about as much sense to Mei as any of Dwayne’s impromptu lectures on magic, so she focused on what she could understand. “We need to find out who he was.”

“I think we should start with suspects.” Charlie saw the doubt on Mei’s face. “Around here, Vanurian live on the other side of the city wall, in the Plague District. They are not predisposed to talk to any authority from this side of the wall.”

That sounded very reasonable, so much so that Mei hated it. Starting with the victim meant not having to think about likely suspects, like Huan. “I said that he’d probably been chased. Could another windsong have attacked him?”

“No windsong would do this, if only because they don’t have the time.” Charlie tapped his lip. “A roofrunner might have though. They can’t fly, but they know every shingle and corner up there like the back of their hand.”

Mei’s eyes glittered. “Roofrunners?” She hadn’t thought to explore up there.

“I recognize that look.” Charlie leaned forward. “Mei, they are not a romantic lot. They’re shady folk trying to reject the strappings of civilization. They are ruffians, scum, and very dangerous. We’ll talk to them together. I have a contact I can lean on to set up a safe meeting.”

Mei did hear what he was saying, but technically she was under orders to explore every part of the city and the roofs were part of that city. “We could also look for the message that was stolen.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you think a message was stolen?”

Mei opened her mouth to answer and then shut it. Her reasoning, which had made sense to Dwayne, and to her, not only relied on knowing things about Dwayne he may not be ready to share, it was really based on her assertion that Huan was not involved. Charlie was friendly, but he did not need to know that.

Finally, she said, “I can’t say.”

“But you have a guess.” When he caught her squirming, he sighed. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me who you think it is. If you did, and I wrote it down, then I couldn’t ignore it. However, I have one question to ask you, and please answer honestly: are you willing to hand in said suspect if all the evidence points to him?”

Mei’s eyes dropped to her lap. What she knew already fingered Huan as the most likely culprit. Finding out that it was him was unthinkable. He’d asked her to be honest. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.” Charlie reached across his table and patted Mei’s arm. “You don’t have to know, not yet.”

Mei just stared. “I don’t?”

“Not until after we’ve found what we need to find. Now,” Charlie took out a pencil and started writing, “we have three questions. Who was the victim? What was the stolen message? And-”

“Who could have done it?” Mei let out a breath. “We need to find out who was there.”

Charlie nodded. “Exactly. I’ll head to the Magisterium and start on the first question. He was windsong so he had to have studied there. Maybe someone remembers him.”

“What about me?”

“I think you should-”

Zelda barged into the office. “Vogt, there was another robbery!” She glanced at Mei. “Oh, hi, Mei. You’re still here.”

Mei waved to her.

“Mei and I are keeping that murder open.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “What this about a robbery?”

Zelda grinned. “Nice! I know how you hate abandoning cases. And I just got a report from a Nicole Fletcher saying that her book was stolen four days ago.”

Mei’s heart sank. That was the night of the dinner. “Was another magic book stolen?”

“Right out of her personal library, and get this, she was a guest that that dinner you two went to. She came back from that and found the window open.”

There had to be thousands of mages to rob in the city and yet it had to be one that had been that the dinner Huan had left early. Mei would have thought this was good new for Huan’s innocence except that little detail about when Nicole had returned, which meant that if Huan had been there, he’d have plenty of time to rush back to the Warehouse District.

Charlie asked, “Why didn’t she report it sooner?”

“She’s an earthhoist. She literally spent the last four days pulling double shifts in the Exchange.”

“Cups, I’m glad I’m not her.”

“There are easier ways to put your kid brother through school,” agreed Zelda. “Think I can convince old Fried to let me talk to her?”

Charlie rubbed his chin. “Fletcher’s just an earthhoist, right? No title? No money?” When Zelda shook her head, he winced. “No, I don’t think Fried will go for it. She’ll do that thing with her face-”

“-the one where that vein in her forehead starts popping?” Zelda sighed. “Yeah, I thought so. It’s a wonder we get anything done around here.”

And that was that. The investigation was dead in the water and whoever had stolen the books would get away with it. Unless, of course, someone who worked for the Royal Sorcerer’s Office, the office required to look into magical crime, happened to say, “Do you have a location?”

Zelda frowned at Mei. “Parvenue District 248 Vents, apartment three-oh-two. It’s one of the newer buildings. Why? Do you have a murder to chase down?”

“I do.” Mei stood up. “And Dwayne will want to know.”

“Where are you going, Mei?” asked Charlie.

“To track down those suspects.” Better her than Charlie. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

***

“Excellent, you made it,” Dean Bruce closed the door behind Magdala. “Your lady mother didn’t raise any objections?”

Magdala’s stomach did an unhelpful flip. “She didn’t state any.”

“Excellent.” The dean gestured to the space. “Then let me welcome you to the College of Martial Magic.”

Despite her misgivings, Magdala found herself already amazed by the College. The three story building, which had been built just before most of the old Magisterium campus had burned to the ground, was practically made of archways and should have felt very cramped, but the dean had had most of the interior walls torn down and had had builders construct two large archways to allow her to open the center space even more and fill it with tables upon tables of workspaces, each laden with experiments.

“I have just the project for you.” The dean advanced.

Magdala had to step quickly to keep up. “What is everyone working on?”

“Most of us are working on smaller projects intended to revolutionize Soura’s martial capabilities. For instance,” Dean Bruce gestured to a trio of researchers aiming a crossbow at a square of shimmering cloth, “Ricci, Lewis, and Gibson are working on a new kind of armor, one that hopefully will make plate and mail obsolete. Schmidt here,” they’d passed a researcher who was pouring a dark brown powder onto a sheet of metal, “is attempting to recreate that formula you used to free yourself in Yumma so that it works on stone.”

Magdala’s mouth fell open. “You…you read my reports?”

“Of course, I have.” The dean picked up a clipboard, signed it, and then put it down. “It’s just one of the reasons I wanted you here at my college. You don’t just have a famous name, you also have talent and the will to use it. Come along.”

Magdala couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just continued to follow Dean Bruce as she explained experiment after experiment. There was one experiment, however, that the dean didn’t mention. It lay at the back of the space, past a five wir glass wall, the only partition in the space and seemed to involve an old scroll and bleached leather jackets.

“Dean,” Magdala pointed, “what’s that?”

The dean didn’t even bother to look. “It’s my personal project, a bit of historical research I’m hoping to Offer to the crown soon. In fact,” she stopped at a table laden with notes and boxes, “the project you’ll be working on is related to it. Here’s your project leader.”

The only person at the table looked up from his notes, saw Magdala, and said, “Gallus?”

“Colin?” Belatedly, Magdala remembered that Dean Laurence had mentioned Dean Bruce to Colin the last time the two of them had worked together.

“Excellent, you’re familiar with each other.” The dean placed a hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Young Gallus, you will assist Mr. Fletcher and figure out a way to distribute aerosolized materials. Between your talent and his diligence, I believe you’ll have this done before the month is out.

“I have other things to attend to.” The dean started to stride away. “Don’t hesitate to talk to me with any issues, young Gallus.”

When the dean was out of earshot, Colin slumped in his seat. “Is this some sort of punishment?” He glared at Magdala. “And aren’t you working on something with your Wesen?”

“He’s not my Wesen,” said Magdala through gritted teeth. “He’s his own person. I’m here because this college sounded interesting, and Dean Bruce invited me herself.”

“She did?” Colin sat up. “You didn’t apply?”

“You can apply?”

Colin started at Magdala. “You… Its…” He coughed. “Anyway, I’m project leader, so you’ll follow my lead.”

Magdala opened her mouth to protest, but the word “high-handed” stopped her, so instead she said, “Understood.”

Colin handed over his notes. “Then get familiarized while I keep working.”

As most of it was research into past failed attempts, it didn’t take long for Magdala to read through Colin’s notes. All he was doing was trying to figure out how to force a liquid or powder through a very small hole. Compared to new armors or new sapper techniques, wasn’t that rather pedestrian for the College of Martial Magic?

“This doesn’t seem hard,” she said aloud.

“Oh?” Colin scowled over his notes. “Then you tell me how to remotely aerosolize a material using Wind Qe?”

While Magdala had no idea to do that specific thing, her affinity for it was too weak to even try, she had seen Lady Pol work wind at a distance. It had been required for her to produce lightning. “How far away?”

“A prinwir.”

Even Lady Pol’s range was only twenty wirs, far less than the thousand in a prinwir. “Why does it need that kind of range?”

Colin flexed his fists for a moment. “Why are you asking questions? This is the project the dean gave us, so we’ll complete it, learn from it, and move on to the next. Are you questioning the dean?”

Magdala rolled her eyes. “Cups, I’m not questioning her. I’m questioning this make-work she has us doing.”

“What did you think we were going to do here?” Colin spread his arms wide. “We’re just students. We’re here to learn enough to fight for a position here after graduation. And not all of us got invited.”

Three things prevented Magdala from answering Colin’s anger with her own: she’d chosen to be here, and at least this wasn’t rearranging scrolls or whatever they did at the Archives, she wasn’t a quitter like her lord uncle, and, finally, and this was the reason she least wanted to admit, Colin was right. They were only students and it would take time for them to work their way up to decide their own projects.

“Fine.” Magdala tapped a passage in Colin’s notes. “One of your assumptions is that a wind Qe can’t define the volume of air over that such a long distance because they can’t see it, correct?”

Colin blinked. “Correct.”

“Then what if we gave them something they could see?” Magdala grabbed a pencil and sketched a diagram. “Like a bag or a box? Anything that the wind Qe mage could squeeze.”

Colin frowned. “Isn’t that inefficient? Might as well just have an Earth mage…” His eyes widened. “We could have an Earth mage do it. They just need line of sight.”

Magdala grinned. “In that case, a Water Qe could do it too, if there was liquid in the outer walls of the barrel. We’ll still need to figure out the container and the size of the hole it needs to aerosolize the material.” Magdala looked around. “Do you have any of it here?”

“No, but I have its parameters.” Colin handed her a slip of paper. “Now that we’ve figured out the delivery mechanism, we can create and-”

“Wait.” These were the parameters? “These are ranges of viscosity and surface tension are too wide. We don’t even know if the material is a powder or a liquid.”

“Ah, yeah…” Colin’s voice went quiet. “They do not.”

“We’ll have to create at least a thousand different versions just to cover all these ranges.” The sheer amount of work dwarfed what she’d done to create Dwayne’s spell shunts. “We’ll be lucky to get this done in three months, let alone one.”

“That’s the assignment.” Colin crossed his arms. “If it’s too boring for you, I’ll do all the work and you can sit back and take the credit.”

Is that what he thought had happened during their lab work? Did he not see how much work Magdala had- She sucked in a breath. No, this was not the time. They had no time.

“I’ll do the liquids.” She copied down the parameters into her own notes. “You can focus on the powders.”