The sun had just risen from behind the red-weathered rooftop. The smoke of night’s burning was still wafting and white, spreading heckling cough to the unfortunate guests whose windows thrust open by last night’s wind. Yet it was not that burnt wood smell, that tickling sneeze of smog that roused her awake. Instead, it was the muddled clap-tap-tack, the dampened clang-bang-crack that broke her sleep from deep.

As her eyes blinked for the seventh time, struck by the glaring sunlight; the chill crisp breeze sang itself from the opened window. And together with the cerulean, cloudless sky, they greeted her with a smile most fondly.

...she hated the day already.

“What time is this…”

Of course. One look at the still turned on lamp post down below, she threw herself back to bed. Ludicrous. It wasn’t even sixth. Why the people in this town must be so — so, morning?

“Sleep. Sleep...” she pushed the erwee fur pillow to her face. Hoping that somehow the lack of air would lull her back into that wonderful, wonderful sleep. Which to her not-surprise, came to no avail. The shuffling footsteps, the pointless, infuriating people greeting each other alongside the clang of dishes served filled her ear to brim. Her brain to jolt. If not for Jerry’s most reasonable monthly rent for the rarely visiting adventurers, she would have chosen another inn already.

“Fine...”

Dragging herself out of the bed, her nightwear trailing, she opened the wooden drawer, and start rummaging it.

“Where is that— ah.” Slipped between her white undershirt and her spare evening wear was a robe light blue. Pristine as mountain’s brook, bodied as a good carpet. Carefully, she took it from the pile and spread it on her bed.

Unlike her usual. Which was using whatever left on the top pile. She needed that just for today, just for today, to wear the fanciest, not-a-gown clothing she had on her person.

Why?

Well, there were a lot of arguments last night. There was sobbing, there was shouting, and there was screaming. Unfortunately, the last two came from Emily who in the whole fuss got both of her toes stepped by Rene. And wasn’t from the whole party crying, because they had realized they were morons. Stupid. Near-sighted. Regrettably though, and to the loss of the whole magical world, the real possibility of obtaining twenty thousand gold coins eclipsed the not-so-real possibility of meeting a grand magi. She knew. Blasphemy.

Not that it mattered. As for today, she did need to do a run purchasing crushed copper powders. And if she happened to pass the store when she returned. Well, she might as well check it out, right? After all, maintaining a good standing with your supplier was just that, sense. And it wasn’t like it going to take long. It’d been a half bell at most. She’d still have plenty of time to reached the entrance before ninth bell.

Now, what else? Her coin purse, check. Her notes, check. Done? All right… Let— Ah... yeah. By the table corner, a still water in a basin reminded her that she had one thing left. Her hair.

Ugh. She took one look at her sprawled shoulder length and sighed. It just simply wouldn’t do. Pulling out a palm-length wooden case from her bag, she flipped the case open. Inside was a pair of medlarwood sticks, lacquered black. Gingerly and while looking at her reflection, she looped her hair backward twice and pulled it before using one of the sticks to hold it in place. Propping it in a low bun.

“Mmm.” She tilted her head, left, right. Taking a long look, making a little push, a little pull. “Good enough.”

Putting on her shoes, she kind of regretted now that she dismissed Fami when the latter offered her to teach that ‘new and sophisticated' style that the Hightowners seemed to craze about. Just her luck. The braided side bun with two locks of both hairs unfurled, flowing right beside each ear was admittedly more ...pretty. Which more proper. More respecting. But since it was done. Well, it was done.

“All right!”

Checking everything for one last time, she nodded and approached the door before a force seemed to seized her hand in the knob.

“Oh, right. Dismiss [Lock].”

At once the wooden frame burst. Not the real thing no. That’d be two whole golds and a long conversation she didn’t want to have. Instead, it was the diagram — the seal that held that the lock in place. Magic to magic, mana to mana, the whole things fragmented; crumbled; dissipated. And for a moment the room was blue until the wind, as ever dutiful, spread out every trailing haze, every swirling mote to nature and beyond, leaving the room magic. Magic but not much.

She wasn’t as paranoid as Clem, which she was pretty sure in the absence of proof contradictory, slept with one of his eyes open. Yet she heard stories. Knew stories. Thieves, drunken louts, or just your overall, general bastards and busybodies. So inn meant lock. That just sense.

Pushing off the door, and trudging down the stairs, she pulled up a book from her bag. If she wanted to sell this act, she ought to be ...convincing.

“Livite, cleaning. Avite, tuning. Livite, cleaning, Avite, tuning.” she mumbled, the book in her face as she approached the dining area.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Morning.” A finger greeted her. Pushing her book down by its spine until the leather’s bind curved-opened, facing her chest and her frown. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you.” She swatted that offending hand. The annoying man lingered for three more breathes before she (and she should have done this sooner) swiveled left. Passing his hung smiled face and moving toward the empty stool by the empty long table. “Marten’s circle seven, five, three. Entry, northward. Tower’s triangle, nine, six, six, three; moon phases, south or west. Cursive continuity. Began with ...ugh.”

“For the test?”

“Yes, Clem. For the test.” she flicked her other hand, the one that didn’t hold the book to indicate that his question was that —exasperatingly obvious. Hopefully. “Cursive continuity began with ...mana recess, beware of flux excess. Something, something, relighting. Be wary, wary of…. Alvenna’s double diagonal. Those reduced the output by half of normal.”

And true to her expectation, her rogue friend just simply nodded and with the same flair of steps, skipped toward the right far of the counter where Jerry still flipping some Koshi on the pan.

“Here,” he said after a wick passed, on his hand was a steaming bowl of soup with four Koshi dipped.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a bite of the bread. “Mmm. That’s good.”

“So where is everyone?” she said. Of course, she knew, but, well, she wanted to really sell this, didn’t she?

“Registering. At least Emmy is. I don’t know about Lyd. And I guess, Rene is welcoming our transporters?”

“Oh. This early?”

“You know Emmy.”

“Right… So for the transporters. *Munch*. Who do we get?”

“Well, Emmy wants to get Rake. But you know how the guy is, he’ll send his ‘employee’” —he rolled his eyes— ”first. Either Pako, Benedict, or Oskar.”

“You’re not going?”

“Eh. Emily doesn’t need my help.”

“True. Tools and Tabularies, cold iron, dispelling and blocking. Silver-silver expedited coating. *Munch*. Silver-copper, branching connector. Silver-gold, mana receptor. Iron-gold? Waste of money.”

“Okay, good luck studying!”

“...huh?” she said, her mouth still wet from the soup, her books now by the stool, the spoon by her hand when she saw the man stood. “You said you weren’t helping Emily.”

“Yeah.” he turned back. “But I got something to do.”

“And that is...”

“A secret.”

“...whatever.”

“Remember to arrive before the ninth bell!” he shouted from the doorway.

“Yes, yes…”

“Also don’t visit too long!”

“Yeah. Wha—”

Before she could reply, the man had disappeared. Probably with his famous smug smirk. Damn. She touched her hair. Maybe it was too hopeful playing a mind game with a guild-certified rogue.

Well, at least he left her with a good breakfast…

It wasn’t until a bell later, she had finished and properly digested the meal. Then, she spent a quarter of the bell walking and a quarter purchasing (and checking —double-checking, since she was responsible and all). So, with just a half bell to spare, she marched her feet toward the southern corner of Elm, to the Aglen Street.

That was when she was struck with a very important fact that she just happened to forget. What would she say?

‘Hi, sir, I admire your work very much, so please share how you do it with me?’. No. She could —would lose her eyes that way. Like that Julio-something. She remembered it very clearly when the brat, obviously used to get his thing his way, offended Prof. Alaka. That rotted hand, black as charcoal and cut in twain was very visceral.

‘Sir, I admire your work very much, please take me as your apprentice?’ How about that?

Well, whatever... She would just try to get close to the master. Saying she was admiring his work and just — just move from that.

“Okay Arlene.” she steeled herself as she twenty steps away from the store. Distinct by its weird smiling face etched by the signage. “It’s time to—”

“—huh?”

Outside of the storefront, on the wooden leatwood door, was a sheaf nailed. The words on it was squiggly, hastily scribbled, and bit smudged from the rain. But the content was clear enough to read. The content that teared her up to, well, tears.

Announcement.

The store is closed for the remainder of the week or until further notice.

Thank you for your understanding. We hope to welcome your patronage again soon.

—The management

W—what happened?

Why was the store closed??!

As it turned out on the north-north east far from Aglen, away from the busy, harry of Elm was a girl of fourteen asking the same question. Her beret flopped sideways, looking at her master throwing a bubbly, horrible, weird concoction down to another bottle while smiling eerily widely.

“Clar doesn’t need to work today?”

“Yes, Clar.” master said, smiling. He was scooping a spoonful of good flour and ruined it by adding it to the foamy stuff. Mixing it until the frothy awful swallowed the nice yellow flour into a mud brown. Eww. What was master thinking? Sister Doris said that was for Koshi. Clar loved those!

“We’ll have a break this week. Tomorrow, we’ll do something fun!”

“Fun?” her eyes bulged. “What fun? Clar wants to have fun. Do Leo also get to have fun? Oh, Oh, how about Mrs. Crombe? How about Sir Edward? Oh! Oh! Sister Jeane and Sister Doris too! Can they have fun? Please, please, master!”

“Ye—yes! O—of course they could come, Clar,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll have a picnic! So I ha—”

“Picnic! Picnic! Hear that Leo? We’ll have a picnic!”

“Woof.”

“Ehm. Yes. Tomorrow we’ll have a picnic in the park. But!”

“But?”

“But we’ll need to get ready today. We couldn’t have picnic without food, right?”

“Yes! Food!”

“Right, so now — Mrs. Crombe, Ms. Jeane, please.”

“Sir.”

“Y-young master.”

She jumped up and down when the two women approached master. Would sister Jeane and Mrs. Crombe make something delicious? Hmm. What was that sister Jeane holding? It smelled wonderful!

“Alright, so is it done?”

“Jeane?”

“Yes, young master this is the boiled milk.”

“It’s evaporated milk, Jeane.”

“Ah, for—forgive me, young master.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” master took the pan from sister Jeane, putting it on the table. Then with a smile, he spoke the word Clar had long to hear. “So let start!”

Food!

“Sir, I’m” —Mrs. Crombe interrupted master. She seemed worried. Why?— “sorry, B—but this — this evaporating thing, yes? What — what is it? I’ve been a [Manor’s Cook] for ten calendars before Lady Van’s kindness, may light guide her, allow me to took the retiring Mrs. Wallace’s [Housekeeper] duties. But I’d never, hear something like this. This — this isn’t something taught, sir. I mean, the milk would just be boiled off, wouldn’t it, sir?”

“Hmm, well…” master smiled. But instead of the happy smile, this one was the knowing smile. Like when master knew something that Clar didn’t but want Clar to find out what it was by herself. Come on Mrs. Crombe! You could do it. “How about you just taste it?”

Nodding, Mrs. Crombe took a wooden spoon. Her face scrunched up, worried. Then with just the very tip of her teeth, she bit the milk. “Ah!” Clar nodded. See?

“It’s sweet. So sweet! And the milk. It’s — it’s ...stronger?”

“Yes and along with this” master brought up the foamy jar. “We’ll make bread. A better bread.”

What?