When Jeb reached the door of the Workshop, he paused for a moment. Would it be better to have the Managrass ready for the Weaver when I ask him to weave it? he asked himself, then shrugged. It probably wouldn’t hurt anything if he had to go back to get it, and there was no guarantee that the Weaver would even be willing to weave it for him. The thought of just selling the Managrass directly to the Weaver and skipping the intermediate step of having it woven before selling to his Glyph Professor flitted through Jeb’s head, but he dismissed it. He had already agreed to provide the Manaweave, and his family had taught him better than to renege on his obligations.
The Weaving Workshop was not immediately visible when Jeb arrived. As he watched the different crafts pass him by, though, it only took a few minutes for the door labeled “Weaving” to appear. Jeb focused on it and walked towards the Weaver again, repressing the part of him that wanted to avoid this place.
The interior of the Weaving Workshop looked much like it had the last time Jeb was inside. The only difference was a new tapestry hanging opposite the entrance. Jeb knew at once where all of the Manathread that the Weaver had taken went. The prismatic mural on the back wall could be nothing else.
“Who’s there?” the Weaver’s voice called from one of the side closets.
“It’s me,” Jeb called hesitantly, “Jeb.”
“Ah!” the Weaver suddenly appeared far from any of the doors, rapidly moving towards Jeb. “I was wondering when you would return to my domain. Did you bring more Managrass to trade?” The sheer longing in the Weaver’s tone was startling enough that Jeb found himself relaxing. It was unexpected, sure, but the hunger did not seem directed at Jeb, which made it far more bearable.
“Not at this exact moment, no,” Jeb replied. Seeing the Weaver’s expression darken, he hurried on, “I was hoping to make a deal with you.”
The Weaver’s eyes lit with some expression that Jeb could not quite name. It was too hungry to be glee, though mania seemed too aggressive. “Oh? What can I offer you, and what have you to offer me?” He continued his approach towards Jeb as he asked the questions.
Jeb cocked his head, frowning. “Is there something you would want other than Managrass?”
The Weaver paused, stopping in his tracks. “Many things,” he replied after a long pause, “there are many and countless things that I desire. However, Managrass is certainly something you can offer me. What would you ask in return?”
Jeb took a moment before responding himself. Hesitantly, he spoke, “would you be willing to make Manaweave like how you taught me?”
The Weaver cocked his own head, though something about the gesture seemed almost inhuman to Jeb. As he stared into Jeb’s eyes, Jeb shuddered slightly.
After staring for far longer than Jeb felt comfortable, a light seemed to spark in the Weaver’s eyes. “Ah, you have felt the trash that peddlers sell as Manaweave.” He scoffed, as though there was something ridiculous about the implied assumption that he would make something so low quality. “Yes, I would be willing to make Manaweave. How many sheets do you require?”
Jeb looked up as though he were considering the question. “Including the Managrass you keep for yourself, how much would I need to bring to get sixty sheets of Manaweave?” As long as he was bartering, Jeb thought it might be nice to get some Manaweave for himself.
The Weaver hummed. “I find it interesting that you did not seek to negotiate my price separately. Then again, I suppose that is in line with the way you presented yourself before.” He began moving again, and Jeb resisted the urge to turn his entire body to track him. This was the Weaver’s space, after all. He had the right to go wherever in it he wanted.
The Weaver sang something to himself in a tuneless voice. It was clearly not in the Republic language that the two had been speaking in just a moment before. “Twice again more than what you brought the first time,” he suddenly said, voice breaking out of whatever song he had been singing.
“I’m sorry?” Jeb replied, half missing the statement.
“I will need twice again more than what you brought the first time,” he replied again.
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Jeb worked through the sentence in his head. “Three times as much?”
The Weaver started nodding vigorously, shooing Jeb out. “Yes, yes, now go and come back with the Managrass.”
As Jeb left the room, he asked a final question, “do I need to bring it all at once, or could I bring it in portions?”
The Weaver said nothing for a long moment, and Jeb began to wonder if he hadn’t heard. Just as he was getting ready to repeat himself, the Weaver spoke. “So long as you bring at least a third as much each time as you brought the first time, that will be sufficient.”
Jeb nodded and moved back to his room. As he walked, he started to consider what he could spend his newfound income on. The immediate idea of paying off his debts to the Censusmaster felt less and less satisfying the more he thought about it. After all, as long as the Dean didn’t think that he was paying it off too slowly, there was no consequence in delaying payment.
What else could I spend money on? he thought as he entered his room and started gathering the fibers of Managrass he had grown. The only thing I’m missing is my family, and it’s not like-
Jeb froze, hand halfway into his bag. Both Declan and Catherine had gone to see their families over the term break. Jeb hadn’t because he knew that it was not safe to travel alone. If he could travel with a caravan, though, that would mitigate most of the risks. Jeb made a note to see if he could go to town to find a caravan heading where he needed to go at the next term break. He hadn’t heard anything about not being allowed off the Academy campus, but wanted to confirm that with Dean Aquam.
Once he had gathered all of his Managrass fibers, Jeb began the walk back to the Workshop. As he heard the bells tolling, though, he quickly changed direction. He had somehow lost hours during his conversation with the Weaver, and he was almost late for Advanced Theoretical Enchanting. Rushing towards the classroom, Jeb hoped that Declan had saved him a seat.
To his relief, there was a seat directly beside Declan, and Professor Bearson still hadn’t entered the classroom. As the last bells tolled, he strode in through a door that existed only as long as he was using it. Jeb had grown used to his style of entrance over the previous term and didn’t bat an eye at it.
“Welcome to the second semester of Theoretical Enchanting,” Professor Bearson said. “I see that most of you were in my course last term, and the rest of you I know from independent studies. As a result, I will be eliding through most of the expectations within my syllabus, as they remain unchanged from last term. If you have any questions, you are, of course, welcome to see me during my office hours. Now, are there any lingering questions from last term?”
A few students raised their hands, and the class fell quickly into rhythm. Jeb did not doubt the Professor’s claim that most of the students in the course were in Theoretical Enchanting the previous term. There were maybe a dozen students in total in the class, and he thought that he recognized all but one or two of them. Candidate Therese was there as well, which was a bit surprising.
When the class ended, Jeb walked over to her, curious why she was in the class.
“Good day, Candidate Therese,” he said formally.
“Good day, Jeb,” she replied. “Is there some way that I can help you?”
“I was just wondering why you’re in this class. I had assumed that someone in charge of the laboratory section would have already finished the entire course sequence.”
She nodded. “That is a reasonable, though not always true, assumption. It is true for me, however. I took this course,” she paused for a moment, “a few terms ago,” she finished hesitantly, as though she expected Jeb to call the statement out as untrue. When he didn’t, she looked at him strangely for a moment and continued, “I want to be a Professor when I finish my degree, and Professor Bearson believes that it would be in my best interest to watch the way that he teaches so I can begin to develop my own curricula. I will still be teaching the laboratory component of this course, if that was going to be your next question.”
“It wasn’t,” Jeb admitted, “but I’m glad. Anyways, sorry for bothering you.”
She smiled kindly. “It was no bother at all. I will see you in the laboratory.” She stood to leave and Jeb moved away, turning to see Declan directly behind him.
“Are you about to do something?” he asked.
Jeb nodded. “I am!”
“Oh,” Declan said, moving out of Jeb’s way. “Do you want to get breakfast together again?”
Jeb looked at his schedule. “I should be able to!” he replied. “What time were you thinking?”
Declan rolled his eyes, a small smile starting to form. “Not first bell, or whatever ridiculous time you’re waking these days.” Before Jeb could object to the statement, he continued, “how is seventh bell?”
“Sounds good!” Jeb replied, moving towards the exit. “Have a nice night!”
“You too, Jeb.”
Jeb hurried to the Workshop, hopeful that the Weaver would still be there. When he opened the door, the Weaver was standing directly in the entryway. “Were you lost in your journey back to the Workshop?” he asked, tone full of something that bordered on concern.
“No,” Jeb replied, shaking his head, “I just lost track of time and was almost late to my next class. Is this enough Managrass to start?” he asked as he began to pull the fibers out of his bag.
The Weaver made no effort to mask the glee on his face as he began to collect the fibers. “It is,” he confirmed, head bobbing, “I should have your Manaweave ready by the third dawn from now.”
“Which bell is that?” Jeb asked. After a term in the Academy, he had started to think of the passing of time less by the rise and fall of the sun and more by the tolling of bells.
The Weaver scoffed. “Come after eighth bell,” he said, tone imperious, and turned to leave.
Jeb waved. “Ok! See you in a few days.”