Tomas’ day hadn’t gotten any better.

The meeting finally over, he'd decided to take his carriage around the city for a few hours, searching for enlightenment. But, so far, all he could think of was how sore his butt was after sitting for so long. He awkwardly repositioned himself, groaning as he forced himself to, for the trillionth time, review everything they had done to find the Dreamer. The investigators looking into the problem weren’t at all clueless; it was just that the information they turned up always pointed to where the Dreamer wasn’t.

They’d interviewed the families of the previous Dreamers. Many times. So many, in fact, that the families had banded together to rebel against the repeated intrusions. Tomas would have to do some bridge-mending. Another kind of pain in the butt.

Normally, the old Dreamer would have selected a successor, then dreamed the transition into occurring when the time was right. In this case, though, the Dreamer had been busy on some trivial project and hadn’t taken care to make sure he made himself healthy and he had become a victim of a sudden heart attack. The bloody idiot!

Until then, no-one knew what happened when a Dreamer died without naming a proper successor. The great fear had been that the Dreamer line would end, but fortunately, if there was a fortunately in this whole debacle, the evidence was that the job had passed on to… someone. A completely untrained, unknown someone.

Well, that was being unfair. Whoever it was, appeared to be competent. But, for whatever reason, didn’t want to reveal him or herself. The problem with that was that there were things that a good Dreamer had to take care of that required proper training and support.

In theory, Dreamers could make themselves smart enough to handle all the details, but history had shown that this was a bad idea. The new Dreamer would drift away from the mundane parts of the job and start experimenting.

Tomas shuddered. An experimenting Dreamer was not a good thing. He, and a few select others, were part of a council who were supposed to ensure things ran smoothly or, if necessary, were handled discreetly. This was another reason why there was always supposed to be an heir waiting in the wings. If the current Dreamer had to be forcibly retired, there needed to be someone to take over.

Tomas grudgingly admitted that although he had a healthy amount of self-interest in having access to the Dreamer, it was apparent that the new one could really use their guidance. Some issues were becoming critical!

They had to find that bloody Dreamer!

And, dammit, his butt hurt! Shifting about, he settled in the least uncomfortable position and stared out the window, unable to stop his thoughts from running through the same well-worn ruts.

The obvious approaches had not worked. The council had searched everywhere, turned over every stone, looked in every bush, and… nothing. They’d asked whatever Fae they could find, and all the Gods. Even the weird ones. No-one coughed up any useful information, although a number of the Fae did have a very colorful way of telling them to go away.

More tense now than at end of the council meeting, Tomas could not help himself from fidgeting.

He needed a break. Or rather, a better break.

Leaning back, he closed his physical eyes and opened himself up to the magical. He wasn’t an exceptionally strong practitioner, but what he did, he did very well. His expertise came in handy when dealing with Magisters, students, and all the other issues involved in running the College.

Students, through a not unreasonable sense of self-preservation, tended to avoid the most powerful and temperamental Magisters. Not optimal when those Magisters were supposed to be their teachers. As a counterpoint, he got along well with the students; not so intimidating that they shied away.

The College needed someone like him to make everyone work together. It was all a big juggling act, but he enjoyed the challenge.

Somewhat calmed, Tomas peered at the magic on the streets outside his carriage. Mage sight was one of his lesser talents. Something he could do, but not exceptionally well. His version allowed him to see spells and energy as a multitude of colors and intensities representing the competence and the power of the caster.

Even a weak talent like his was rare. He never let on that he had the ability; everyone needed their secrets. Coupled with his best ability, which was Manipulation, he could move objects or alter spells to stop them from being cast or adjust them to his advantage. Overall, his abilities were handy when conflict arose. It hadn’t been necessary to use them at full strength often, but when he did, the results were devastating. Tomas was proud of his record.

As they passed a tea shop, Tomas signaled that they halt. Upon exiting the carriage, he ordered his favorite while his driver, Samuel, found a place to park. He got it in a takeaway cup, being too worked up and sore to sit at the small tables as he usually did.

As he walked, Tomas debated visiting a temple to talk with the resident deity. Ordinarily, he leaned toward the Gods of reason and logic, but today he wanted to be a little more adventuresome. As he wandered away from the larger temples, he heard faint sounds of yelling and the thumping of drums. Probably some religious dispute; not everyone solved their differences with esoteric discussions over herbal tea.

Ahead, Tomas noted a beggar sitting on the street. The sign on the temple behind him was so poorly drawn that he couldn’t make out who the god was, or what it represented, but, apparently, beggars were allowed on its doorstep.

Vagrants like this were rare since the city provided basic healthcare, food, and shelter. Unfortunately, some people fell outside the system, for whatever reason. Tomas examined the old… man, he guessed. He could see a small amount of magic drifting around the person, random and uncoordinated; not indicative of any real talent.

Often beggars were glorified in popular fiction: turning out to be Sages looking for an apprentice, or a god setting up a hero for some useless quest. Tomas kept an open mind, but it most likely that the beggar was just a beggar.

And, by all the Gods, the man was ripe! Not something that had to be. There were public baths that anyone could afford.

Tomas crouched down.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” the old man responded.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Go away! Don’t bother me! You’re not a fucking do-gooder, are you?”

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Not only body odor. By all things holy, his breath was deadly!

“Nope, just trying to help.”

“Well, that’s a do-gooder, isn’t it? Give me some money or get out of my face!”

Tomas decided this guy didn’t really need anything.

“Uh, no,” he said as he stood up. “You may want to work on your people skills.”

He turned to walk away, then stopped. Checking for his purse, he found it missing. Tomas spun around in time to see the old man high-tailing it into the temple.

“Ha ha. Classic,” Tomas laughed ruefully as the fellow disappeared.

After a short debate with himself, he opted to follow. Either he had just been robbed, or had been robbed because someone or something wanted his attention. He readied a few spells. A bit late, but better now than never.

Inside, the temple was much larger than it appeared from the outside. This was interesting, because that use of dimensional magic was complex. It was typically employed where significant funding was available, not in your average ratty little temple. The room was also unexpectedly bright, with a few decorative ponds, artfully placed pillars, and extensive murals depicting… well, Tomas wasn’t sure. They were somewhat abstract. In sharp contrast with its exterior, the interior was quite pleasant. He sniffed. The beggar should be around here somewhere. His reek would have left a trace, but all he smelled were fresh plants and some vague smell of… nice.

Tomas did not know which deity was associated with this place. Most temples were gaudy, espousing the philosophy that more is better, but what he saw here was subtly agreeable. It intrigued him.

A bodiless voice spoke, “I see you appreciate my home.”

“I do. It’s interesting. Is it correct to assume you are the god of this temple?”

“Rightly so. I have that honor.”

“Did you happen to notice a person run through here a short moment ago? He may have been carrying my purse.”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Would you be so kind as to point him out to me? I would rather he returned my possessions.”

“I am so sorry, that’s not possible. He has left, on about his own affairs. Just for your information, he is an associate of mine. Annoying, but mostly harmless. I find him to be useful, from time to time.”

“I see. Maybe I should go as well, then.”

“Please stay. We have much to discuss.”

“I disagree.” Tomas turned and took a step toward the door.

A coin dropped by him, ringing as it bounced a few times, eventually settling on the floor. Tomas peered at it. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a golden dime! Worth much more than what he’d lost. Ever practical, Tomas picked it up.

“You realize that this is much too much and… inconvenient. I couldn’t spend it without going to an exchange and converting it to something more negotiable.”

Another coin fell past him. Once it stopped bouncing, it turned out to be a steel dollar; a normal coin of good value that was accepted everywhere.

Tomas picked it up. “Well, then. What do you want to talk about?”

The voice laughed, “I like a man who can be bought.”

“After a fashion. It’s the principle that counts, and I have not been bought, simply reimbursed. May I ask who I am addressing? I have to admit to being confused. You seem very accomplished, but are remaining well ensconced in your enigmatic-ness.”

“You just made up that word, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but it should exist.”

They both chuckled.

Tomas peered around, observing the local magic. There was a possibility he could tease some information out of the fields to supply a clue as to whom, or what, he was in the temple with him. Close by was a tight ball of energy. He gave it a little tweak. A bong rang out.

The voice laughed. “Ha-ha! I see you found the doorbell.”

Oh well, it had been worth a try. Tomas continued his investigation. He was quite competent at reading magic gradients, but even so, he couldn’t find anything to account for the entity behind the voice. This was both perplexing and intriguing. This was no obscure god playing at greatness.

“All right, I admit I have been hooked. Why don’t you manifest, so we can discuss why you arranged for me to be here?”

“I can’t really do that, this is how I am. I have nothing as normal as a standard vessel. Certainly, I could generate something, but I felt it was important to be honest with you.”

“I beg to differ. We definitely didn’t start out on that foot.”

“True, but it accomplished what I intended. We’re talking.”

“Yes, but why the subterfuge? I would have talked to you if you’d manifested yourself in some manner.”

“Possibly.”

“I don’t suppose you are the God of Games, if there is one? Maybe the God of Thieves? No, he has his own temple, already. Lies and deceit? Again, the position is taken. How about spies and backroom deals? You know, that seems appropriate. Any hints?”

“You’re dancing closer to the fire. Keep going.”

“Hm. Some variant of the Goddess of Subtlety?”

“No… not a variant. Everyone who plots, schemes and connives worships me to some degree, whether they realize it or not.”

Tomas had to admit that he was impressed, at least a little. Hearsay had it that the Goddess of Subtlety, also known as the Hidden Goddess, and a myriad of similar names, was a member of a secret pantheon. Generally, though, the whole idea was regarded as more imagination than fact. On the other hand, with the world being what it was, enough believers for anything could birth a deity. There was a possibility that this one was what she said.

“You know, I’m leaning toward believing. Convince me.”

The voice laughed, “I don’t have to. You’re already there.

“Let me share the reason I wanted this meeting. Both you and I are searching for the Dreamer, and neither of us has been successful. I suspect we each have information that would help the other, but need to reach a certain level of trust. I decided to make the first move.

“Let me explain,” she continued. “A specific someone has come to my attention, and I think you have a chance to accomplish something where I cannot. This individual is dangerous and unstable, but has secrets I haven’t been able to root out. It has some odd friends protecting it, which ties my hands from a direct approach. I feel that your involvement would be helpful.”

“Are you sure you can’t be more obscure? That’s a lot of words for not much information.”

“My nature is what it is. Let me say that I have arranged for the two of you to meet. I think you will find it… interesting.”

“Oh. Gods help me when Gods help me!”

“Ha! So true.”

“Do you mind if I ask if you know if there are any gods involved in our Dreamer situation?”

“I will tell you what I know. There’s a very strong chance that one or more is, but if so, they are very good. There are no obvious threads pointing to a definite conclusion. We gods cannot directly command the Dreamer, but there are subtler ways. Trust me, I have used many of them in the past, but at the moment I can’t find the stupid Dreamer to use any of these excellent ploys on.”

Tomas took her statement with a strong dose of skepticism. Bending the truth would be part of her nature.

“Interesting,” he replied. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I need time to mull over what we’ve discussed, as well as get used to a powerful god no-one really knows. Is there some method I should use to contact you? Or do I just show up here?”

“No. After you exit, this temple won’t exist. I’ll give you a way, though.”

“Is this a gift? If so, I will have to refuse. ‘Beware of gifts from the gods’ is how the adage goes, I think.”

The Goddess laughed. “Not a gift. I have a relationship with the Turtle. Here you go. Leave a message with this on it at his temple, and I’ll get it.”

The glyph appeared in front of him, floating in the air. Tomas committed it to memory.

The Goddess continued, “It may take some time for me to respond. Can you give me yours?”

Tomas manifested his own glyph and clarified, “This will reach me at the College.”

“Yes. Thank you. Good luck.”

Something withdrew and Tomas felt a lack in the room. The temple had become empty and was no longer inviting.

“Hmph,” he said to himself as he left. He barely noticed his surroundings as he walked back to the tea shop, climbed into his carriage, and directed Samuel to return to the College. He mulled over what had just occurred.

A new player. Or maybe an old player pushing a new agenda.

At least it was something fresh to ponder. He didn’t notice that his butt wasn’t hurting anymore.