Vesper went back to work for Fartmor, trying to act like nothing had happened. As far as everyone else was concerned, Vesper hadn't seen or heard anything. Especially if seeing or hearing anything led to mysterious heart palpitations or Vesper accidentally slipping out the window with reinforced iron safety bars. No one would correlate either of these actions to Fartmor, and that was the point. Vesper also wanted to avoid being on the end of a pointy mace. Why a pointy mace and not a sword? Well, that was what Vesper imagined. It was hardly logical.

The [Finder of Secrets] flipped through another dry book, marking any mention of exits. He was growing tired of exits, books mentioning exits, and books referencing books mentioning exits. It was all so tedious. What Vesper didn't grow tired of, though, was the hefty silver he gained after each workday.

Since Olbin had arrived, Vesper had accrued 6 silver. One silver was lost to greedy food merchants, his conniving innkeeper, and a small donation to Grunkor. It was a debt to Grunkor, but Vesper liked to think about it as a donation. He felt more generous when he thought about it like that.

"Stop rubbing against the table!" hissed the [Bookworm] girl Vesper sat across from.

"You'd be rubbing the table if you had to read what I read every day. I bet you get all the interesting things to read," Vesper complained.

"Of course, I get interesting things to read. Fartmor doesn't give out books that aren't interesting to read."

"Well, what I've got is boring, so…" Vesper rubbed the table to emphasize his point.

The girl scowled.

"If you keep this up, I'll put in a word that you need to be tossed in a ditch. Fartmor is on his last straw with you; he's getting more paranoid the more he thinks about you. I told you it never ends well for those who pry."

Vesper leaned in.

"I didn't pry! At least I wasn't trying to. I was just trying to return a book. Why do you have to keep acting like Fartmor is going to lop off my head or something? I can't work with these thoughts jumbling around my brain."

"You should've resigned, or, wait, no. If you'd resigned, then it would've looked like you knew something. I guess you're just screwed," pondered the [Bookworm] girl.

"I'm just screwed? I don't know anything that would make Fartmor worried."

"I don't know what you did. It's none of my business, really. But I do see Fartmor when he passes you, and the look he gives isn't one of endearment."

Just another week. That was what Vesper needed. It would be a bit rushed, definitely sooner than when the party actually wanted to leave. But, frankly, Vesper was feeling a little paranoid. It wasn't that the [Bookworm] girl told him Fartmor was acting colder around him; it was that Vesper noticed that Fartmor was acting colder around him. He'd mentioned it to his party, but none of them took it seriously. After all, how vicious could a bunch of book nerds be?

Soon noon came, and Fartmor walked towards Vesper. Fartmor didn't even look at Vesper as the silver piece he dropped rattled on the table. It was strange. That was not how you interacted with others.

Vesper pocketed the silver. He stood outside the entrance, waiting for Quill to exit. Vesper jabbed Quill in the neck to get his attention.

"Ow." Quill moaned. "What was that for?"

"Quill, we need to speak."

"I already told you, Vesper; I'm not helping you on your crazy suicide quest or anything related to that evil book you like to carry around."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Not about that."

"Then what do you want to talk about?" asked Quill, curious more than anything.

Vesper pulled Quill to a secluded corner street. He looked left and right, making sure that no one was eavesdropping.

"Fartmor is going to do something to me, I think."

"Have you been listening to Sandra?"

"The [Bookworm] girl?"

"Yes, she's always gossiping and exaggerating about how Fartmor feels. It's all political. She's trying to scare you, Vesper."

"I know that, but I've seen it too. Fartmor has been acting strange around me."

"You're overreacting. Even if you did a little prying, if what you said is true and you didn't hear anything important, then you'll be fine. I disagree with what Fartmor does, but he's not a complete monster. Maybe a bit immoral. "

"So people don't go missing like Sandra says?"

"Oh no. People do go missing or die mysteriously. I told you that this profession was full of backstabbing and betrayal."

"So Fartmor could be after me?"

"He could. But like you said, you don't know anything."

"You're right. I'm dumb as bricks as far as Fartmor is concerned."

"But what if he is coming after me?"

"Then you're likely already dead. You just don't know it yet."

Vesper's face went pale.

"Look, Fartmor's been at the helm for longer than I can remember. No [Bookworm] is gonna get in the way of his plans. So it's not something you should worry about too much."

"Well, that's helpful," said Vesper, sarcastically.

Quill shrugged.

It was a relatively brief interaction, but that was ok. Vesper was late, anyway. The time had been set to noon, which was rather inconvenient when you left work at noon. Maybe it would work if Vesper could teleport, but Vesper only had two legs and no teleportation magic.

He strolled down the street with purpose, trying to look as cool as possible. If you were going to be late, you might as well be fashionably late.

Soon the adventurer's guild stood before Vesper. He entered, cutting the long line of adventurers waiting for their turn. That was the perk of forcibly blackmailing a guild administrator into joining your suicide Wyvern hunting expedition.

"You're late as usual," huffed Siora.

"I get out at noon. I'm never going to arrive on time."

"You could at least hurry. You're like a one-legged hermit with how slow you walk."

Vesper looked around. "Where's Olbin? He's not out drinking again?"

"He's always out drinking. He might as well not show up to these meetings because when he does, he's just a drunken mess."

"Same Problem?"

"Yeah, the guy is a coward and a drunkard. We haven't even left yet, and he can't keep his hand off the bottle."

That wasn't good. That was the consensus of everyone here, except Grog. Grog didn't know what to think. He didn't think often.

"We need to get a map," Vesper insisted.

"No map is going to accurately depict the outskirts of Calfor. Based on the information provided by the benefactor, we'll need to reach the town of Kungdil before we get any information on where the Wyvern is nesting."

"And where's that?" Vesper asked.

Siora paused.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Then why don't we get a map?" Vesper asked, impatiently.

"It won't be on a map. I already checked; the closest location we'll get is that the village is in the Alduin forest, which is around the White Peaks. Guides for that region are sparse, but we could get one. I, personally, know a couple."

Grunkor nodded sagely. The elf did make some good points, but the longer Grunkor listened, the more bored he became.

“How we kill Wyvern?” said Grunkor. Grunkor paused. "How do you all kill Wyvern?" he corrected himself.

Vesper and Siora glanced at each other. Neither one of them had an answer yet. Vesper wanted to check out some books on Wyverns but hadn't found the time. He was too busy dealing with Fartmor and figuring out travel.

"We'll figure it out, Grunkor. Right now, we have very little to go off of," said Vesper. It wasn't like Vesper had interacted with a Grand Ice Wyvern. Few people had, and even fewer had lived to talk about it.

"Warm clothes?" Siora suggested.

"Yeah, we'll need some warm clothes," Vesper agreed. Ice was cold, after all.

Grunkor scowled.

"Grunkor knows about clothes, but clothes don't kill dragons."

"Well, what do you suggest? Grunkor. Since you're the one with all the big ideas?" Siora huffed.

"Cannons!" shouted Grunkor.

"We don't have cannons," Vesper responded. "Besides, cannons are heavy, and you've got to feed them." Vesper had learned that from Kervin at the orphanage.

"Feed them?" wondered Grunkor.

"Yes, you need to feed cannons, cannonballs. I guess to energize them up or something. Probably like a meatball, I reckon."

"Grunkor knows how to make a ground rat ball. Think cannon would eat that?"

"Grog would eat a rat ball," said Grog.

Siora groaned. "Have none of you ever even seen a cannon? Cannonballs are the lumps of metal they shoot. They run on magitech and are fueled by mages. My dad has like a thousand of them."

All eyes converged on Vesper.

“I’m a [Wizard] not a [Mage]. I can't do anything with mana."

It was clear to the group that cannonballs wouldn't work, no matter how enticing they were.