Chapter 12: List, Ambition, and Twists
“OK, let’s list it,” Tess told me.
“We have got: HUD; overlay; [skill]s; [spell-slot]s…”
“For you,” she clarified. Tess had not unlocked any spells, so far. Whether this was due to her being a [Courier]—not much need for [fireball]—or some other reason, we had no clue. Besides, she had me. A [Scrivener; Master] in the making. I’d be knocking out [fireball] scrolls in no time at all. You could not be too prepared, after all. There were a lot of stray cats in the city, laying in wait to ambush the unaware [Courier]. Joking aside, there were some bad parts to our new hometown, like anywhere with more than a handful of streets. Instead of shooting off a [fireball], however, [sprint] would get Tess out of most sketchy situations.
“…for me…,” I started ticking off items, again. “[Translation; superior]; [mini-map]; enhanced cognitive abilities, like memory; enhanced strength and stamina; night vision (that was so cool! And not the high contrast type with bright whites, more like everything was bathed in an early twilight); and I’m betting a lot more that we have not figured out yet.”
“That’s all you, Book,” she said. “You are the one that knows about all this crap. I just want to run.”
“You are more than that, and you know it, Tess.”
“Thanks, dude. Now, go tell Kolin that.”
Were we still on this? When will the guy actually go on an adventure, and give Tess some space?
“If he doesn't already know, that is on him.”
“Thanks, Book.” She had a great smile. And a huge yawn. I swear I could see every tooth when she unhinged her jaw like that.
I looked over my shoulder, checking the sun’s position in the sky. I know, I have a digital clock in my head. The elves tended to judge time from the sun, even though clocks did exist. They also did not need to go to bed with the darkness; just look at all the [torchlight] scrolls I had been making. Times were generally called midday, midmorning, and such-and-such hour either side of dawn or dusk. I worked hard to fit in.
“The sun isn’t even down yet, and you are yawning like that?”
“And I have to get up before it rises.”
“Yuck, morning people…”
“Lazy night owls…”
And we were off.
----------------------------------------
It was One-day, yet again. It didn’t fit too well with the song, Monday, Monday. I tried to sing it anyway. “One-day, One-day, so good to me…blah b-blah, dah.” The Beatles, right? That didn’t sound right, but hey? Who here was going to argue with me? “Blah, b-blah, dah…can’t trust that day…” What’s a guy to do without a little music in his life? Still waiting for that theme music, universe. That was me now, singing oldies on the way to work after a weekend. Almost more strange than Orcs and Elves.
Maybe not.
With the long weekend behind me, it was time to head on over to “Papers & powers.” For the fun of it, I played with my [mini-map]. I pulled up the settings and looked for a ‘destination’ option. I also wanted to see how much I could influence it. I pictured something like you would see on any number of map applications found on a smartphone. Drop a pin where you were, and set another where you wanted to be. Before I knew it, I was looking at something very familiar. The graphic design was too close to what I expected not to have been influenced to some degree. So, at least it tailored the display to the user’s wants. I had figured that to be the case, having unlocked the customization feature. It could also simply be a universal format for such a function, but the styling was all me. I found a list of everywhere I had been so far, since I’d first discovered the [mini-map] options. What was missing was the search bar. There was no place to enter a new destination. It made sense, with no GPS satellites in orbit. Not unless the Orcs had left one. I did not want to find out if they did. If I was able to connect to any orc-tech outside of myself, the reverse would be true. They could find me.
Having a map of where you already know how to get to wasn’t of much use, but there it was. It had to mean that there was supposed to be more to it. If it was set up to pair with a larger database, maybe the [Mark .07] could talk to others of its kind. A great thing to have if you were planning on invading another world to steal their magic. If I could link my [mini-map] with the one Tess had, then I would have all of her data points. That would let me find anyplace she’d been, which was almost the entire city. Sweet. But no telepathy. Orc-tech had already proved it had some bleed though. Tusk Industries would need to fix that, before the rollout of the [Mark 1.0]. Thinking of that, what was the deal with .07? Not even first gen., what a rip.
I followed a green arrow overlaid on the cobbled streets, taking me down a path my feet knew by heart. Redundant, but neat. What if I could link the [mini-map] with [skill]s? Would my body take over and send me on my merry way? Nah, it would be a waste to use it as a [skill]. What if there were a limited numbers of functions you could add to the list, the same as [spell-slot]s?
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The next thing I knew, the bell above Alric’s shop was ringing in my ears. It made me feel welcome.
“Master?” I called out. A touch quiet to someone’s attention. I was trying for the middle, between ‘Don’t let me catch you in your robe and slippers (with jam in your beard!)’, and the softer ‘Do you have any work for me?’ Just because I didn’t feel any true dread going to work, it didn’t mean I still wasn’t a slacker at heart.
No response came back, so it was all good.
I headed into the back room and my workstation. I took a seat on the wobbly stool and tried to think about how to start the day. Using my [Apprenticeship Unlock] spell had me fired up. Give a mental poke, get a magic reward. I wanted to see what else I could do, especially after all the thought I’d put in over the weekend.
I stood, pushing the stool back. It scraped along the stone floors, letting out a high-pitched squeak. That should get Master Alric moving. It contradicted my earlier instinct to avoid work. It was my idea to get learning, not someone else’s, so it was OK. That is what my cat DNA told me, anyhow. Meow.
As I waited for my Master to show, I headed to the cabinet where he kept the recipes for beginner scrolls. I’d browsed it, before. Alric had shown it to me during the first week of my training. He had told me that I was free to look through it whenever I wanted. I’ve flipped my way past the pages of the thick, hand-bound books once or twice. There was nothing dangerous in it. Not on the surface, anyway. But I’d been having thoughts of trying some—pun intended—off ‘Book’ applications. If you looked at it from a purely technical standpoint, [torchlight] was a miniature ball of fire. [Fireball]. I knew from experience what happens when a person infuses too much [mana], causing a catastrophic, unintended reaction. There would have to be more to it, of course. Otherwise, apprentices would have long ago burnt civilization to the ground. The trick would be finding the right way to screw it up.
The recipes were more about the ingredients needed, like a…recipe. I doubted that there were ingredients that could not be found in Master Alric’s shop, and I was the one who took care of them. Fresh, dried, pulverized. And alive, ick. Living plants, sure. But there were other things. Then there was the keyword used. Another thought hit me. Was it the language passed on from the Mother of Trees itself that held the magic? Or, as Master Alric had repeatedly lectured me on, the intent behind them? How much of the mysteries were layered with some good, ol’ razzle-dazzle? Smoke and mirrors were what made the magic where I came from.
“Book?”
I started, somehow feeling guilty. These files were not the cookie jar, and I was allowed in them.
“Yes, Master. How was your long weekend?”
“Mine.”
All normal, then.
“Are you looking for something, apprentice?”
It was the tone that caused my guilt. Always the tone. Accusatory, annoyed, and bored all tied up together. And that was why I jumped when he startled me. Every time.
“I was thinking,” Wait for the joke…smile and nod…move past it. “You told me that I could supplement the generous stipend you give me.”
He looked for it, but I was able to leave the word free of sarcasm. I was getting good at this. He nodded.
“When I delivered the contracted scrolls, I saw a huge crowd gathered at the bulletin boards.”
“Naturally.”
“Would it be OK…” I started.
“…if you sold some scrolls to the crowds.” He finished for me.
Not the first apprentice to come up with it, huh? Sill…
“Yes, sir.”
“You would have to pay for the supplies, yourself. And do it on your time, not mine.”
“Of course.”
“You would still be responsible for any tasks I assign to you. Completed on my schedule, not yours.”
There was an awful lot of ‘I, me, and mine’, peppering his words.
“And keep up with your studies. That is why you are here. Why you sought me ought, and asked to learn from me.”
“Yes.”
“Coin is good, but it comes second, understand?”
“I do.” That was rich, considering the source. But he had earned it, it was his business, not mine. It was like a family member or a loved one throwing money around when you were eating instant ramen. You wanted to complain, say ‘Why don’t you throw some of that excess my way?’ And you had no say, no right to feel that way. Sucks, being broke all the time. I’d be a good rich person, that was always my thought. It was easy to believe that, amid your daydream fantasies.
“What is your plan? Which scrolls?”
“The basics, to start,” I replied. “I have a penchant for [torchlight] after last week.” My grin invited him to join it. He did not. “Then I thought I would try and—twist—some standard scrolls to fit a new purpose.” I received a single, raised eyebrow for that.
“To sum it up, Book. You, less than a week out from scribing your first scrolls (uh-oh, wait for it), are going to take centuries of hard work by generations of [Scrivener]s and twist it.”
Gulp.
“I thought…”
“Oh, you thought? What, the sheer brilliance of your talents would outshine them all?”
A new perspective could make a difference. And you could not get newer than me.
“Don’t you still owe me for a new crystal, mixing carafe?”
What? But I thought…? Yeah, ‘thought’. I get the point. I hope he didn't mean it, for real. My coin purse as more pocket lint than precious metal.
“Sorry, sir.” It was time to show a little humility. “I’m getting ahead of myself, I know. I get so excited, thinking…uh, hoping…I can make a difference.” A difference in my coin purse.
“Understandable. Expected, even. It takes ambition to become a Master. Just do not overreach. I will bail you out, for a time. Then you must stand on your own feet, Book.”
I was oddly touched. I wonder how many strikes he would give me?
“I understand, Master Alric. I’ll do my best.”
“I am sure you will because I will be watching.”
That wasn’t ominous at all.
“If you are going to do this, I’ll help you do it correctly.”
I stepped aside as he made to move in front of the recipe cabinet. He gave each book a passing glance, straightening the mess I’d made of things as he went. A small frown tugged his mouth down at the corners. I hoped it was a sign of concentration and not one of annoyance. The rings bejeweling his pudgy fingers flashed with refracted light from the morning sun as he held up a dogeared collection of yellowed papers.
“Here it is,” a rare smile turned his frown upside down. I have always wanted to use that in a real situation. He held the folio up so I could see it. ‘Apprentice guide to the burgeoning [Scrivener]’ was writ across the top in flowing calligraphy. What caught my eye, was under the title and scrawled in by hand. It was the initials, A.T.
Alric Talvoryn.
Was this my Master’s first book of scrolls?
Wait! I saw brackets! Not in my head, but actually printed on the cover. This could change everything!
I really was not as smart as I always thought I was.
Thought.