Chapter 7: Goodbye, Estarón University

While it is commonly understood that Semiotic Magic- or "formal" magic, as some call it- is purely a matter of training, this is not quite true. There is the question of money for the material components. There is the difficulty of advanced study. And, something more troubling- there is a generational toll to its overuse. A family that uses Semiotic magic regularly will find it more difficult to do so with every passing generation. Words will not adhere to the memory, gestures must be ever-more precise. The magic, for lack of better, rejects us. I myself am capable only of rudimentary spells, and only with two decades of training. Any child I have will almost certainly be even more impaired.

-Journal of Don Francesco Estarón

Caspar

It was clear, even before the situation got worse, that Caspar was going to have to leave town.

There really was no recourse, he decided, wolfing down food as he did so. He hadn't burned any new energy with that stunt, but still felt utterly empty. The larder was in severe danger. The clock had just struck three when he started planning in earnest.

The trouble was twofold. First, obviously, there were two dead bodies in his house. This was less than ideal, and would certainly raise some eyebrows. He had no idea how he would explain the situation to Max, let alone the authorities. Well, he supposed he knew roughly what he could say to the old servant, but dreaded the consequences- Max had said all along that this was a terrible idea, and would be quietly insufferable for a long time to come as a result. It would be rough on the man, of course, but he had already endured one death in this house.

As to the authorities, the issue wasn't explaining that the thugs had been trying to kill him. That was justifiable for exactly the same reasons he had conveyed to Mouse- the Menagerie was trying to silence him. It even had the benefit of being mostly true. No, the issue was explaining how Caiman had been killed in an obviously magical way. A normal misfire didn't do that to a person, Caspar suspected.

Even assuming he could somehow explain himself to the authorities, using bribery or privilege, he would hardly be out from under this issue. The Shackled Queen would not take the murder of two of her agents as an end to things. There would be more. The next ones wouldn't let him sober up and leave him unbound.

So: Leaving town. He found the most recent map they had (twenty years or so, hardly current), and spread it on the table. Where to go? Actually, better yet, why to go? He could go to Falmouth and take up Kraken-hunting, or to Sbanegdal and try and hide with Javi's family. No, no he couldn't do that- couldn't put them at risk. Foillet, to join those old Llynderite nobles in exile? The Tetrarchy, to lose himself in the sands? The blasted hellscape of Struth?

No. He knew where to go.

He looked fondly up at the old portrait of Alexandre Estarón, hauled down from his room to a place of honor in the dining room. For two decades, he had sat in his room and dreamed of exploration. Dreamed of leaving, of seeing the splendid seas of Creu-c'tal in all their endlessly unfolding mystery. The ocean that endlessly gave new stories, new lands. Yes, he knew what he would do.

"Thank you grandfather." Caspar tried to imitate that confident smile, but knew instinctively he had fallen short. Something to keep working on. He would have the time.

To the edges of the sea he would go.

. . .

After a few hours' fitful slumber, he left the house of his birth for presumably the last time. He had some errands to do before he could go.

First, he cleaned up the gore as best as he could, and left a note for Max explaining the contours of the situation. Out of shame, he left well before the servant was scheduled to arrive.

Next, he set off for the Hall of Oars. He wasn't sure if he'd see Javi today- the youth was difficult to pin down, and Caspar sometimes missed him entirely on the quads. Caspar planned on chartering a ship this very evening, rather than risking another attempt on his life. That meant taking no chances with scheduling- he would risk the social faux pas and leave a message with the de Leons. Once that was wrapped up, he would go see if he could get into the Abnormal Magic building on Estarón University grounds, and perhaps borrow a few books for the road. He still desperately wanted to know something of how his powers worked.

As he walked, thoughts he had tried to cordon off crept back in. That was the second time he had been confronted with violence since he had obtained his powers, and the second time he had responded with overwhelming, lethal force. Was he doomed to be a weapon of destruction? True, he felt justified in both cases; he would certainly have died, or been severely injured. But, on the other hand, he felt like he ought to feel more moral revulsion at snuffing out lives. Instead, it felt easy. Fun, even. He couldn't help suspecting that not only was he justified in removing those who stood in his way, but was doing an active good. After all, they were bad people, monsters. He was just trying to defend himself. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He didn't. He didn't.

Yet, despite the darkness of his inner life, the weather refused to play along. It was a gorgeous morning in sunny Seren va Llynder. The morning crowds bustled, and the smells of Llynderite street food filled the air. Derringer Macaws dove too and fro, seeking to cajole pedestrians and tourists into donating food. Caspar reveled in the short walk to the de Leon residence. It was in the same neighborhood as the Estarón residence- the family was not allowed a residence in the Reserved Third, despite possessing the rights and privileges of a great house, due to their Sbanegdal origins.

The building was quite nice, with a clear nautical theme. The de Leons had built their name in alongside their sturdy ships, and never let anyone forget it. The House of Oars had walls of shaped wood with flowing curves, decorated merrily with semaphore flags and faux canons. Caspar had a hard time internalizing that after his first impression, however.

His second impression was that of a very polite, very standard butler. Caspar would have sworn he was related to Max, had the man not insisted otherwise. This butler said all the right things, made all the right nods to Caspar's family name. He was offered tea. All well and good.

The issue was the current occupancy of the house. Which is to say, none of the de Leons were in town, apparently.

"Is it possible any of them would be in town privately? So as to not attract attention."

"Possibly, sir," the butler said dubiously. "The Don likes his privacy, though he dislikes Sevala. May I ask whom you are seeking? I would be delighted to convey a message for you."

"Certainly, thank you. Javi- Javier de Leon. I have reason to believe he's in town."

"Javier?" the butler's brow furrowed. "He's currently doing a term of service in the Navy, as is de Leon tradition. My word, news from Sbanegdal really doesn't circulate much here, does it?"

. . .

Caspar writhed during the long walk to Estarón University. It was an awful morning- the sun beat down too hot, and the odor of greasy street food caused him to hack and wheeze. Filthy Derringer Macaws harassed innocent pedestrians, cursing them out in vulgar terms for mere scraps. The University was not in the same neighborhood at all; he should have taken the canal, by rights, but wanted the time to fume.

He had not cooled off in the slightest when he went through the magnificent campus gates. Further discussion with the butler had confirmed it; Javi wasn't in town. In fact, he didn't even look much like "Javi" at all, based on the portrait Caspar had seen. He debated going to one of the taverns and asking after Javi's residence, but decided against it. There was no reason to assume he would be telling anyone else the truth either. "Shut it!" he snapped at the singing flowers. They continued, unabashed.

So did he. Caspar scoured the quads for the man he knew as Javier de Leon, frenetically pacing the long paths and strange back ways. No luck after an hour. None after two. He didn't stop looking. Caspar had one day left in town, and wasn't going to let this go.

Yet, oddly enough, it was not he who found Javi, but Javi who found him. The weirding ways of the university were still alien to Caspar, and he found himself in a strange courtyard, empty of all but a small rock garden, with no windows looking out into it. A small forgotten shrine. Caspar paused to take the sight in, looking angrily for meaning in the whorls of pebbles and larger rocks.

"Hey, Caspar!"

He spun. The sound of Javi's voice- once so joyous- filled him instead with nausea. Caspar didn't respond, just stared wordlessly at this young man he didn't know. He hadn't bothered to wear the black glove today- he had a point to make. With belly full, and on at least some sleep, he began to wonder what he would do. Caspar had killed two people with magic already, after all...

"Hey! Caspar! I'm talking to you!" Javi paused. A look of genuine concern was etched into his face. "Are you okay, man?"

"Am I okay?" Caspar raised an eyebrow. Something superficially resembling a laugh crossed his lips, which were firmly set into a sneer. "I'm fine. Superb, really. I'm glad you're here, "Javi". I wanted to talk to you." On the emphasis, energy discharged from his hand, dragging a small string of the pebbles up towards it. There they hovered, slowly orbiting his left arm in a tiny slow-motion tornado. Rage and pain boiled up within him, mingling with-

. . .

"Javier de Leon"

"Whoa, whoa there friend!" Javi held up both arms in a pleading gesture. "I don't know what's going on here, but I think you need help."

Caspar looked awful. He'd never had great fashion sense, a sin for which Javi was perpetually forgiving him, but it was more than that. Deep, dark circles ran under his eyes, and there was something jittery or haunted about the gaunt face. His black overcoat was streaked with blood down the front, in a strange splatter pattern. His left hand, which Javi had never pried into, looked worse than ever- sparking incandescent veins ran through malformed black flesh. The whirling rocks were nothing new at this point- he was starting to see how Caspar's abnormal magic worked- but he didn't see the normal wince of pain.

"Can we talk? Please?" Javi asked. It was destroying him to see Caspar this way. The poor kid obviously hadn't ever had anyone his own age to talk to, he just needed a break. Needed something to go right. Heck, Javi could understand that. That'd been him until- but well, the alabaster-white wraith in front of him was barely the Caspar he'd met two weeks ago.

Caspar laughed cruelly. "Talk? Is that why you're armed?"

How in all the hells below could he know that? Javier did indeed have a collapsible sword stashed in a boot, a little Magitectural trinket he'd grabbed while in town. He almost asked Caspar, but decided that pushing his luck was not a good decision at the moment. "I'm not trying to hurt you Caspar! It's just for self-defense. I've had this the whole time we've known each other!"

True enough. He had wondered in the past how Caspar went around the city streets totally defenceless, though he suspected he knew now. How long had he been able to do magic at this power level? Years, certainly. Maybe over a decade. Caspar was well beyond Javi's beginner magics.

Caspar shrugged. "Ground. Or I'll send the ground to meet you." A heavy-looking stone joined the slow orbit, and this time Javi saw the wince on Caspar's face. Not limitless, then.

Javi laughed with feigned ease, and pulled out the small metal rectangle. "Alright, alright. No worries man, let's all be calm. Look, I don't know what's going on, but Rowan was telling me that you've been running around campus looking like a man possessed. Screaming, shouting, crashing through hedges, the works. Now, I haven't taken Demonology yet, but I gotta say man, the resemblance is- whoa!" A pebble whipped past his head at high velocity.

"Enough with the faux friend act." Caspar snapped. "And enough with the jokes. You really don't know why I'm looking for you?"

"Honest, man. I covered the bar tab- sorry, sorry. No idea."

Caspar scowled. "Well, no matter. I came looking for you because I learned the truth, "Javier de Leon"." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable. "What, did you think nobody would notice, just because the de Leons are from Sbanegdal?"

Ohhhhhhhhhh.

Fuck.

Javi held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I can explain. I really, genuinely can, Caspar. It's not going to be a problem for you. But I'm gonna need you to not be threatening me when I talk, or it's going to be hard for me to focus on explaining." This was not good, "Javi" thought, but it could be worse. True, Caspar had almost certainly made him. But, on the other hand, he and the boy were getting along well before, maybe he could salvage the situation.

"Stop threatening you? I don't even know who you are!" Caspar snapped. More pebbles were drifting up, rotating around his feet. A vein pulsed in the pale neck.

"And I don't know whose blood is on your coat, Caspar. Let's deescalate, alright? Don't- you know what using that does to you."

"It lets me defend myself from people like you!" Caspar gloated. Was he floating slightly? Or was that just the dust? "Lets me defend my home from people who underestimate me."

Bachinaal save him, something was deeply wrong in that boy's head. "You want this? Really? You want to come across like a violent psychopath to people who care about you?" "Javi" let some anger show. He needed to get through whatever else was in there. "Just let me explain myself!"

"I want to know the truth!" Caspar roared. He made a pulling motion, and suddenly "Javi" felt words spilling forth. He tried his best to shape them, but he could only nudge- keep within certain banks.

"I'm not Javi de Leon, heir to the greatest family in Sbanegdal. You're right. My name is Felihe, and I'm from Foillet. Heir to nothing, orphan from four. I'm..." Felihe struggled against the compulsion. He needed to word this carefully, given Caspar's state. "I'm a sailor, on a ship called the Chalice. I was dropped off here for shore leave about sixth months ago. Figured I would finally get that education. Only thing is, your fancy school here doesn't take adopted shopkeeps from Roseport. Hell, two years of savings couldn't even make rent around here. So, I... improvised." Felihe felt a sharp pain in his throat. "Agh, sorry. Not really improvised. The Captain knew the plan, well in advance. He brings the ship around every few months to check on me, just in case- he's docked right now. Leaves in a week. Anyway, I knew none of you Sevala ivory-palace types would know the difference-"

"Ivory tower." Caspar said quietly.

Felihe smiled. There he was. The scholar, not the murderer. "Ivory tower, sorry. You always were better with words than I was." He paused. "Listen, Caspar-"

"Keep going." Caspar snapped.

"Alright, alright. I was just trying to get some education in basic traditional magic. And then, if I was any good at it, I'd look into the weird stuff." Felihe looked Caspar dead in the eyes. Yes, something of sanity was beginning to return. "You wouldn't believe what's out there, Caspar. The orthodoxy the Federation preaches about this world- they're missing giant parts of the picture. I've seen things I can't explain. That I want to explain. And that's why I'm here."

"And why didn't you just tell me?"

"Honestly? I didn't know what to make of you at first." The magic yanked at his throat again. "Argh. Stop it! Caspar, you don't-" Again, the pain, even worse. Felihe couldn't stop the string of worlds that followed. "You were a mark, at first. I thought I could take the sad, orphaned poet for all he was worth. Food, a place to stay, drinking money, whatever. I had barely a penny to my name, got by on grifting. I couldn't tell you I wasn't a noble, or the trick wouldn't work." Felihe's mouth closed, by force. No, that wasn't right. He had more to say. But some outside force was pushing down now, keeping his mouth shut. Across the way, Caspar looked stricken.

"A mark..." he muttered. "That's all I was to you then?" Caspar made a motion, and the pebbles dropped. He looked tired. So, so tired. "I understand, now. It makes sense. Why would you- never mind. Never mind, you thrice-damned traitor."

Felihe desperately wanted to open his mouth, to finish the story. That wasn't it, wasn't how he felt anymore. But some malevolent outside pressure kept holding him back. It wasn't Caspar, Felihe suspected; he seemed to have stopped using his magic altogether. Or, he had, until he asked one final question.

"Where, exactly, is the Abnormal Magic Building? And what do you know of it?"

Felihe, compelled, answered. Caspar left. The outside force kept him pinned for another minute. When it was over, Felihe stayed, and wept.

. . .

Caspar did not return to the House of the Open Book. After his encounter with that bastard Felihe, he took steps to recuperate. He had eaten as much as he could at a tavern, and found a shady spot under a tree to take a nap.

Felihe, on the other hand, did try his luck at the House.

. . .

Felihe knew from Caspar's accounts that his family estate had at least one servant, named Maximilian, who by all accounts was loyal and upstanding. Felihe had at first assumed that this was simply false modesty from his mark. The Estaróns were one of the great houses- hells below, they ran the Univeristy! Yet, the more time he spent with Caspar- the more he grew to care for and value the boy- the more he came to doubt that. Within a week of their meeting, he had stealthily followed Caspar back to the House of the Open Book, making a mental note of its location. Yet, he never quite was able to screw up the courage to actually infiltrate the place. It simply felt more and more like a betrayal.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

As he approached the ancestral seat of the Estaróns, he grappled with the situation. True, Caspar was a horrifically depressing rich noble, with a vocabulary bound in corsets and an alarming habit of passing out. This was not even to mention his abysmal sense in fashion, which bothered Felihe more than it probably should. He was trying not to put that kind of personal judgment on people. And, the truth of it was, Caspar was more than his upbringing, if he could be given a chance. He needed the open seas, a steady diet, and somebody to help him learn about his magic. Whatever that was- whatever had driven Caspar to nearly kill him- it wasn't intrinsic. Something outside had driven Caspar's rage to steeper heights, just as that thing had blocked Felihe's attempts to explain himself. And so, he was breaking the rule he had set: he would sneak into Caspar's house, and try and find out what had caused his deformity. He had described the arm as a "family secret"- the answer must lie somewhere within.

He had arrived at the House of the Open book by now. Felihe had given himself a peremptory cleaning with magic, but was more than sure his foreign clothes and bruises made him stand out, especially in the upper city. Best to get inside quickly. Hopefully Max wasn't at work right now. He braced himself for trouble, and snuck around the side through a narrow alley. Nobody there, other than the usually heckling of the Derringers. He reached into his bag, pulling out a coil of rope and a hook. A single, practiced throw, and he was scaling the side of the house with practiced ease. At each story, he paused to listen at the window. On the first, nothing. On the second, however, two people were talking in raised tones. Felihe swung on the rope a few times, then hooked his left hand onto the windowsill to hold himself concealed. He peaked his eyes over the edge of the window.

Max was working right now. But that wasn't the worst part.

A Federal Navy Captain, in full dress regalia, was standing in the upstairs hall, talking to Maximilian. A vicious scar had torn her right eye away, replaced with a Magitectural prosthesis. Two hatchets adorned her belt

. . .

Caspar

The campus of Estarón University was very different at night.

Where normally it was bustling, full of young people in the prime of their potential, now all was silent. The stone halls of learning loomed in the night, shade rendering their bulk monstrous and hulking rather than hopeful.

Across the garden from him was the Abnormal Magic building. On the top floor was a library, according to that traitor Felihe. All he needed to do was sneak in, get a book or two that explained his unique condition, and sneak out. Nothing to it. He was rested, fed, and totally in control of his emotions.

First question: How to get in. He walked around the circumference of the structure. It was, oddly enough, totally without visible means of entry or exit. In fact, the bottom three floors or so were a solid slab of greenish-black stone, without window or other aperture to mar the reflective surface. The stone walkway around the building shared this unbroken quality; instead of cobbling, as was the norm for Estarón University's scenic paths, the Abnormal Magic building sat on a "raft" of what appeared to be faultless obsidian. The effect, up close, was more than a little disconcerting. Caspar considered attempting to force his way through the wall, but decided against it. If any wizards were still on campus, making that sort of racket was certain to attract their attention. Whatever the limits of his powers were, he didn't feel like testing them against the Archmage.

So, instead, he looked to the top of the building. It was about five stories up, one of the tallest buildings on campus. The last two floors had normal windows. He could see through them, he reckoned, if he had an eyeline. Or, alternatively... he looked up at the roof. If he wanted to be up there badly enough, he could. Hopefully there was a roof access. No convenient sources of heat to pull from.

A puff of air, and he was up. Caspar gasped as the familiar pain rolled over his body. It was definitely lesser than before- eating and sleeping were reducing the strain. Caspar shivered against the sudden cold. He looked out over the campus, over the city. Beautiful from up here, a hundred feet above the inner city. He could almost see over the walls of the inner citadel. Out to the south, the long bridge from Estarón University to the Archmage's tower. To the northeast, the Exalted Lighthouse. To the east, the cacophony of Little Elsewhere, the Offworlder district. And, in every direction, the rush and power of the open ocean, stretching on to infinity.

Wait, a hundred feet up?

Caspar looked back over the edge. Yes, he was at least a dozen stories up. Hmm. Truly an Abnormal Magic Building. The wind nearly sheared him straight off the roof as he looked down into the quad. The gusts were much stronger than they had any right to be. Truly a- anyway. He looked around the roof for an entrance. No door. No hatch, even. But, failing that, there were a series of flat panels, sitting nearly flush with the roof. Caspar sidled up to them. He had never actually seen a skylight before to his recollection- they weren't generally a verb in the city's architectural vernacular. Yet, he was familiar enough with the concept of glass to take the point immediately. Below him, in darkness, a room stretched out. His night vision wasn't good enough on its own to see what lay below. That was fine though; he'd planned to do this in the dark.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cateye marble. Too small, as it turned out. He uttered the words of the nightsight incantation, and watched his vision expand... and then stop. Everything was dimly lit, but not as bright as he would have liked. Caspar debated using his personal magic to boost the spell, but decided against it. He was already going to be pushing it teleporting back down without a nap in between. Below him, he could now see a finely attired reading room, in the building's idiosyncratic modern style. A comfortable-looking white chair curved oddly and sinuously between two small shelves. Caspar could tell by the warding and chains that they were magic bookcases, much like the one in Father's study. Now, the skylight. It didn't have any way of opening it that he could tell. Shatter or teleport?

He opted to teleport. There was no telling who could be listening. It was a short distance- about twelve feet from roof to floor- but that didn't seem to matter to the magic, which sucked at his energy reserves hungrily. Caspar gasped involuntarily as dark spots swam in front of his eyes. Well, one question resolved. He'd need to find a way to walk out. Two jumps back would kill him.

His pain and exhaustion were quickly forgotten in the spectacle he was surrounded with, however. Caspar had always been a man who loved a good library, and this was the best of them. Not in terms of scale- he was in the stacks, after all- but in terms of significance. The shelves that rolled through the dark space inside here were generally utilitarian things, more metal than dark wood, and built for bulk storage rather than display of opulence. It made him giddy.

Caspar flitted from shelf to shelf, looking for anything that would obviously answer his queries. The chains and locks were a fairly strong impediment to simply grabbing books from the shelves. But there! A book cart sat unattended, the day's work of reshelving left unfinished. Well, that was practically an invitation he thought. Streets of the Weeping City looked interesting, so he picked it up. It was oddly cold to the touch, made of a strange black leather unlike any Caspar had ever seen. He blew dust from the jacket. A choking cloud billowed up, sending Caspar into a coughing and wheezing fit.

Ah, much obliged! a voice echoed into his head. Tell me, what would you like to know, my friend?

Caspar looked nervously down at the book in his hands. Three large cheerful blue eyes had opened in the leather. No hint of a mouth. No hint of malice, either. Still, Caspar gingerly replaced the tome (A jovial Bye now! cross his thoughts). Magic library. Best to stick to his specific search, probably.

He continued along the halls, his footsteps echoing oddly on the crisp tile floor. It wasn't as quiet as he would have expected of a library at midnight. Distantly, among the stacks, tomes groaned and creaked in their bindings. He reflected on the stories he had heard of such literary places of power; could any mere pulped paper absorb arcane power without effect? Especially abnormal power... he shivered. But yet, the concept felt an odd lure. Somewhere below his recent struggle for survival, deeper hungers stirred. He wanted to know what lurked in the dark alleys of knowledge, off the well-travelled byways and throughfares. He stopped walked, and looked thoughtfully down a row of books. Nothing immediately greeted the eye; but, on the other hand, the distant noises had hardly stopped. They wouldn't be intimidated into silence, it seemed.

Finally, he came across the thing he was looking for: a reference desk. He searched behind it greedily. A catalog, a catalog. Even a guide to the organization system would sufice. These ancient tomes of power had no obvious rhyme or reason to their shelving. Caspar rooted through the drawers of the shabby desk. Nothing, nothing, office supplies, nothing. Below the space where he expected a chair would often sit, a small stone box and a metal thermos. He opened the box curiously. No, that was just somebody's lunch, preserved against decay by the most minor act of Magitecture imaginable. He checked the thermos. Black coffee, kept fresh by the magic of insolation. Well, that figured. Even a place of this much power had to have people for maintenance, and those people needed maintenance themselves.

Someone coughed behind him. "Excuse me sir, is there a reason you're perusing my lunch?"

He started to turn around slowly, but felt a piece of metal pointedly stuck into his back. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but it sure felt like a gun barrel. "Whoa, whoa there. I was just looking for a map, or a manifest or... something to help me find my way around."

A laugh, from behind. Weathered, to be certain, but rich and textured. The laugh of a woman who had seen a lot, if he had to guess. "You mean like a librarian?"

Caspar sighed. "Yes, like a librarian. That's you, I take it?"

"Well, that depends. Do you have a library card?"

"Of course I do. Am I allowed to turn around now?"

"Sure, just let me check something quickly." He could he sworn there was a note of irony in her voice, but he decided not to worry too much about it. The metallic cylinder withdrew, and he had found someone to point him in the right direction.

Caspar was beginning to turn around -still slowly- when something went click in a way he wasn't fond of. When he finished pivoting, he notice that his hands were cuffed in very sophisticated-looking shackles. Runes sparkled cheerfully along the black adamantine. Something clicked off in his head, quietly. "What on Creu-c'tal- I am a student at this university, and I have every right- who- how dare you!"

The woman before him seemed totally nonplussed. He doubted that she'd been seriously thrown in years. It was an older woman, with dark skin framed between long black dreadlocks, threaded through with a few early strands of silver. The heavy-duty spectacles of the active reader adorned a lightly scarred face- the nose had been broken a few times, and the right eye looked to have almost been removed at some point. Her clothes were on the nicer side of plainWhat appeared to be a snub-nosed pistol of strange make sat at her waist. That wasn't what had been menacing him though; the metallic cylinder from before appeared to be some sort of stamp. "Every right, you say? Is that why you're breaking into a university library in the dead of night? No, I tend to find that people with the right to be here don't encounter me."

Caspar groaned. "Look, I really am a student at Estarón University. Whether or not I have specific rights to this particular library is academic. There's hardly call for handcuffs- what are these, anyway?"

"Adamantine cuffs, with a little something else. To keep you from using any magic you may have acquired, as a student or otherwise. And, as for whether that's what you are, I think we'll just wait for the proper authorities to resolve that. Don't do anything stupid- well, dumber than you've already been." She patted the pistol pointedly. "It shouldn't be more than a few minutes." She, to Caspar's shock, began wandering around nearby shelves, totally ignoring him. She hummed to herself absentmindedly, seemingly looking for nothing in particular. Caspar wasn't bound to the desk, or restrained at all besides the cuffs. He took a cautious step. Nothing. "Sorry, who are you?"

"Sofia." she called back. "Yourself?"

"Francesco." Caspar called back.

She snorted. "Fine then. I wouldn't go anywhere, if I were you. That'll just make it worse when you have to make your case."

Caspar watched her curiously for a minute. She was doing something strange with the books. Whenever she came across one that interested her, she took it, unlatching it where necessary. She then did something with her hands, and- he couldn't quite tell. Something ended up in a bag, and the book went back on the shelf. On a hunch, Caspar extended his senses, looking for the traces of magic that surrounded spellbooks like a miasma. It was harder than before, but not impossible. Around the books she took, not a hint. He laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?"

"You aren't a librarian."

The roaming from shelf to shelf paused momentarily. "Did I ever claim to be?"

"No, I suppose not. But if you're just a security guard, you still shouldn't be stealing the books." Caspar laughed, while slowly backing away from Sofia. He could always detonate the pistol- but he wasn't really in life-threatening danger, as best he could tell. He couldn't keep responding violently like that. Or, rather, he could; a dark part of him hungered to do so and be done with it. But it wasn't right. He didn't want to be that kind of creature.

Not like Father.

She looked back over a shoulder. "Stealing? I'm perusing and putting them back. Surely you must know the sort of library this is- it'd be a terrible idea to take anything from here." She paused thoughtfully. "What were you here for, anyway?"

Well, nothing for it. Caspar drew it as much power as he had left and teleported himself exactly two feet to the right. The handcuffs clacked to the ground. He cried out immediately in pain, feeling the burn rise from his arm in waves. It glowed through his clothes, a somehow angry incandescence. He was starving, cold, and clutching his left hand to his chest with agony. Last teleport of the night. "Trying to figure out how I can do that." He saluted mockingly, and dove behind the desk.

No gunshot followed. He heard a cursing, and a rattling. Footsteps, coming closer. Sofia spoke in a totally different accent, quieter and more pointed. "Please tell me you didn't do that to get in."

Time to blow up the gun now? Caspar reached out, feeling for the pistol. Even this act was like lifting a boulder. He was drained to the last drop. Still, he got a lock on it. If he were in danger, he could end this. "Through the skylight, yes. It seemed impolite to break the glass."

The footsteps stopped. "Please believe me, I have no desire to hurt you. After witnessing fiat magic like that, all I want to do is ask you a hundred questions. But right now, thief-to-thief, we need to go."

"Why? The authorities are already on their way- ah. Of course. And I assume that the magic...?"

"Magic library on a magic school. If they don't have ways of detecting it, they deserve to get robbed." Sofia sighed. "I was just here to grab a few books of note. You can use my exit strategy if you like, but we need to go now if we want to be leaving at all."

No response. Caspar waited for a few seconds, then heard the footsteps softly moving away. He peeked over the counter. She was indeed there, back turned in a trusting manner, quickly packing the remains of her lunch into a black backpack. She turned, nodded wordlessly, and set off into the stacks.

Caspar waited another few minutes for her to return. Nothing. He sighed in relief. Well, that strange enounter out of the way, time to resume the search. He wished he'd thought to ask Sofia if she knew where any books on his particular type of malady were; she seemed to know what to call it, anyway. 'Fiat Magic'. Hmm. It fit what it was, he supposed. It accomplished what he wanted, when he wanted, without any fiddling with components or ritual words. Still, he didn't feel much more enlightened yet than when he had entered. Grudgingly, he slunk from behind the desk. Sofia had left the handcuffs on the floor; he pocketed them just in case. Now, where to?

He froze. A strange noise was echoing through the stacks. A distant, raspy snuffling, like a very sick, very large dog. It sounded oddly sorrowful, like it felt bad for whatever it was hunting for. But, from the depth of the timbre and the situation, Caspar was extraordinarily sure that hunting was the thing that it did. The snuffling was from the west at first, but became rapidly omnidirectional, defying acoustics. The noise was not the only sign of approaching creature (creatures?"); the air chilled, and became dry. Very, very dry. The books on the shelves flapped in irritation, with a few even shouting in languages that hurt his ears to hear. The lights above flickered, and went out. In the darkness, he saw eyes. No, not eyes. Windows. Windows to a world that spoke in tongues of fire and-

. . .

He stood outside.

He was... alive? He was Caspar, and he was alive.

He was outside. Of that he was sure. Outside of whatever daemonic insides he had been in?

Where had he been?

He turned, and noted with some shock the Abnormal Magic building. It was its normal size. This bothered Caspar, though he couldn't quite place why at the moment. It also bothered him a little that he was outside the building at all. The irritable-looking university guards were a third bother.

"Sorry, what's going on?" Caspar asked, in his best plaintive voice

"You were trying to break into the Abnormal Magic Library. Got caught. Now, I imagine, you'll be going to jail." The head of the group looked irritated to be awake. All six or so of the guards were dressed in outrageous customary outfits; puffy, frilly, red-and-yellow slitted things that dated back six hundred years. They had a mix of pikes and rifles, with no obvious magical accoutrement. According to Estarón family lore, this was what Horatio Estarón had worn as city Archwizard, and thus was garb of tremendous prestige and honor. According to most everyone else on campus, it had more to do with the real city guard not wanting to share uniforms.

Behind them, a thick wool blanket concealed what looked to be a crate or box, about the size of a couch. Two heavy pewter handles protruded from either side. Looking at it caused Caspar's vision to blur momentarily. He reached out cautiously with his "fiat" magic senses. Yes, there was something inside there, but it didn't radiate the same sort of power that he normally detected. It was more like the books in the library than Magitecture or Semiotic magic. He heard a low snuffling from inside the box, and pulled back. No need to dig himself deeper.

"I'm sorry officers, there must be some mistake. I'm a student here, you see."

Another guard snorted. "Oh yeah, and is she one too? C'mon kid, don't waste our time, it's late." He nodded at Sofia, who slouched against the side of the building. Her hands were roughly bound in front of her, and her pistol was gone.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "They got you too, I see. It happens. Plenty of time to discuss the things to learn from this in jail."

Caspar rubbed his temples. "What happened? I feel like someone filled my head with smoke."

"Apocryphal Hound, unless I miss my guess. They're almost impossible to stop without foreknowledge, and anything you'd need to know to defend yourself is, well..." she nodded back at the Library."

The captain hit Sofia in the back of the head with the butt of his spear. "Quiet, you. Both of you! We're just waiting here nice and tight for the Blueheels to arrive. Don't anybody try anything funny."

Caspar decided to push his luck. "Hold on, sir. I think you ought to know who I am. My name is Caspar Estarón, and- agh!" Another guard clubbed him in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"Quiet, he said." The guard wheezed. She had bad teeth, and looked like she could rip him in half. He decided not to push any further.

Fortunately, something went right for a change instead. After thirty seconds or so, Felihe came pounding around the corner of the Abnormal Magic building. "Ah, Caspar, my friend! I was worried about you- oh." He looked from guard to guard. "Get yourself in trouble again, eh? Have too many drinks and break into a library again? Not to worry officers, I'll take him home. This happens all the time- can't trust the man around the written word." He grabbed Caspar and Sofia, and began briskly walking them away into the night.

The guards almost fell for it. The captain- presumably promoted on account of his mental capacity- managed to put two and two together, however. "Hang on, hang on. Who are you?"

"Javier de Leon, heir to the de Leon family and student at this university. Who are you?"

"We're the ones taking your friends here in." the captain retorted. "Do we need to add you to the delivery?"

Felihe held up his hands, grinning. "No, no that won't be necessary lads. But I don't think you'll be very happy with how this plays out."

The captain snorted. "I know you think you're a big deal, kid, but your family doesn't have any power in this city. We'll survive de Leon anger. Besides..." he looked Caspar over thoughtfully, "there's a warning floating around the department to look for someone that matches this one's description. Apparently a navy captain wants to ask him a few questions."

Caspar noticed Felihe visibly flinch. If he noticed, in his still-befuddled state, that meant the guards likely did as well. Hmm. He began another inventory of his options, as was becoming a habit in these times. He wasn't bound. Not much in his pockets, other than- Caspar felt something soft, with an oddly sharp point. In some bemusement he pulled out a feather quill pen, the tip stained with what looked to be dried blood. No ink was visible. Had he tried to defend himself with it?

"You won't be writing your way out of this one," Sofia whispered under her breath. "But you might-" a guard struck her in the back of the head again. They weren't going to let any planning happen.

Felihe had recovered his position somewhat, and was trying his best at an argument from authority. "...and further, if my own personal nobility and intendent privileges aren't enough for you fine fellows and ladies, what about my friend over there? Caspar Estarón might be a bad enemy to make."

Now, it was the guards' turn to look visibly shocked. The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully. A patchy, awful-looking beard did little to disguise a failing jawline. "Estarón, eh? I think I saw something in the papers about it- wasn't there something weird with them lately? One got married or had an accident or something?"

"One died, I think!" another guard volunteered, looking pleased with himself. "We were talking about it just the other day over a pint. Terribly bloody business. They say it was the, uh, zoo what did it."

"Alright. So, an Estarón got killed by a zoo. Who's he then?"

"I'm Caspar. The new Don Estarón, and lord of the university." Caspar threw a little Fiat power into his voice, magnifying it magically. The effect was mostly to cancel out his exhaustion, sounding firm and determined when he was sagging and unsure. Yet, this too seemed to awe the guards. The captain threw up his hands in despair.

"Alright then lads, it's beyond our pay grade now. Ralina, send Drummond a spell of message. We'll take this three to him and let the boss sort out the pieces." Here, the captain waved at a figure standing by the covered cage, who was dressed in the telltale garb of the combat mage (alloyed by the ridiculous university uniforms). Bags and pouches for spell components, along with a mighty ironbound reference tome were strewn haphazardly about her. A bone whistle was dangling from her neck, with strange carvings whirling down its length.

She saluted unsteadily. "Aye aye. Anything else cap'n?" Her accent was strange to Caspar, leaning heavily on vowels utterly unlike Llynderite dialect. He shot a curious glance at Felihe, who mouthed 'Falmouth' with a wink. Any significance was lost in the heat of the moment.

"Oh yes," the captain continued, "And tell Callis as well. We'll have it all out in the tower. Tie up any loose ends."