Entering the inn, the one she had decided on, she spoke to the receptionist.

“Hello, good evening, ma’am” the receptionist chirped in a practiced manner.

“Uh—” Ruri cleared her throat, "Evening to you too, may I please get a room to stay for the night?" she asked, her voice betraying her inner turmoil; she had rehearsed this.

Her usual bed was the cold, damp ground, or if she was lucky, a villager's humble hut. The prospect exited her: warm, linen sheets, beaten hay, maybe even a firepit besides it, Oh a bedframe!

The receptionist took her name down — an alias, of course — with a practiced flick of the pen.

"Since you're alone tonight," she suggested, "might I recommend the Duchess Suite with en-suite? It's only 54 coppers a night, since it's off-season."

Fifty-four coppers! Ruri fought for her life as she kept a straight face, maintaining a warm, thoughtful smile. 'Burn me and spread my ashes—what in the living fuck do you mean fifty-four?' she screamed inwardly, her frustration boiling beneath the surface.

‘Calm down.’ She forced herself to breathe, reminding herself she was a gentlewoman with a (temporarily) full purse. ‘You still have enough for the ride, and maybe just enough for a few more meals.’ She tried to comfort herself.

“Brilliant, just give me a moment, dear” every word a herculean effort to hold back a snark.

Setting her suitcase on the carved plank by the wall – grapevines adorned the wood – she carefully undid the latches. Just enough to reach inside, not enough for prying eyes.

She had ‘found’ the money pouch with the dress, but the contents were her own, blood and sweat. She only had two coppers short of a hundred before, and the purse lightened significantly as she drew 5 copper notes and 4 coins, exact change, not a shilling over.

She handed it to the lady and took a seat on the couches as instructed.

Resting her back after hours of digging, she looked both ways over the shoulders. The only other occupants in the room were an older couple, deep in conversation, paying her no mind.

She stealthily bent her head down to her dress sleeves, catching a whiff. She was still bothered about the man she met earlier, and the look in his eyes. It held no lust, for she had knew how that looked, but of something different, a disquieting curiosity, attraction even. It still clung to her.

"It smells of lilacs," she breathed, surprised yet strangely comforted. The unexpected scent, a remnant of the dress's past owner, was a welcome change from the anticipated sweat.

She relaxed and rested her back on the couch. It had been a short day today, yet it felt like the long one. The couch provided welcomed support to her aching spine, and she allowed it her fatigued neck as well, resting her head back and looking up.

The celling was a light blue, almost like a cloudless sky. The gaslights that surrounded the room excluded a warm light, but her eyes were drawn to the centre. A large piece of quartz, almost the size of her head, was held by what seemed like gold chains. It glowed a bright, pure white light, the same tint as the Stern, and pulsed gently every few minutes.

She was tranced by it. She squinted her eyes to see, to her complete shock, thin lines ran across its surface, making intricate patterns, weaving over one other: in concentric circles.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

It was magic!

She had never seen anything like it before — not even in the book. The receptionist had returned and gave a slight chuckle to see the young woman staring with such passion at the mana light.

“They’re the new mana-lights we installed last year” she said politely, “they’re worth three gold”, she added with a hint of pride..

‘Mana-lights? They’re powered by mana. How are they glowing when the sun is down? Three gold? That’s 300 copper notes! What can I not get with that money?’ she was overflowing with questions.

Mustering her composure, she asked, brimming with curiosity, "How do they work at night?"

The receptionist blinked. "Well, why wouldn't they? I turn them on myself every evening."

That didn’t answer her question at all, if anything it added to it, ‘You can turn enchantments on and off?’ she was awestruck.

Lost in thought, she barely registered the receptionist leading her to a room. She found herself cross legged, her dress crumpled beneath her as she sat on sheets with the fireplace roaring, her book in her hands.

It was almost the middle of the long night. Ruri had been up for almost seven hours. She found nothing in the book that were to explain the strange mana-light she saw downstairs.

She looked down at herself, and quickly remembered to take the dress off. She looked around at the room, her naked skin enjoying every inch of the bedding.

“it’s silk” she said, stroking the sheets. “its softer than the book’s pouch.”

The walls were painted in a pastel mint colour, with ornate white skirtings blending into the pinewood floor. The door, which she had come in through while deep in thought, was glossy and stained a deep black. She say a pewter hook nailed to wall adjacent, with a cream bathrobe on a wooden hanger.

She jumped up from the bed, grabbed the robe. It caressed her body like a warm spring breeze, and its smelled clean and of earth after rain. It wasn’t too thick, but it was warm. She knew it to be wool.

She explored the room further. Curiosity piqued, she skipped towards a door nestled between the bed and the entrance. A quick turn of the brass knob revealed a luxurious sight: a large wooden tub, big enough for her to sprawl comfortably with legs outstretched. Polished black iron rings encircled the perimeter, secured by gleaming brass rivets at regular intervals. A rope dangled invitingly from the ceiling beside it, a small plaque proclaiming, "Ring for hot water, it will be promptly delivered to your room."

A smile tugged at her lips. This wasn't just any room; it was an oasis. The gentle clinking of the bell echoed through the space, the sound a melody compared to the harsh scrabbling of the day

Ruri felt a sense of peace. The wait wasn't long. When the attendant returned, the tub was steaming with fragrant water, delicate flowers bobbing serenely on the surface. With a sigh of pure contentment, Ruri sank into the warm embrace, the day's worries dissolving like sugar in a hot cup of tea.

Sleep, deep and dreamless, claimed her as she drifted off in the luxurious water.

“Master!” A student clad in mage’s robes called out from across the corridor. There wasn’t much bustle, as most spent their waking time in the long night privately. Polyphasic sleep was a necessity more than a choice, but many still went out and about in the hours, under bright moonlight.

The man stopped in his step, dropped his shoulders, and turned. He held a mug of chathine gum with warm water and honey; he had built up a resistance to the caffeine in tea.

“Yes, that’s me.” he replied, monotonous.

The student, a boy in his twenties, jogged up to the man with the salt-pepper beard, clutching papers to his chest. He had been seeking the Master for the better part of an hour and was overjoyed to find him.

“Can you please tell me what I’ve done wrong here?” he said, hastily. “I accounted for the soil-pull in the chant, but still its tips too far. The upward push is larger than the pull too, by —” he paused abruptly, drawing a sheet beneath, “there it is, the sine of half the angle between them.”

The Masters eyes lit up. He grinned ear to ear as he looked over the sheets. They had finally encountered turbulence. He could finally teach turbulence!

“Very well done. I shall cover this in class this week, but your work is correct.” He had waited years to talk about turbulence again, he felt the Destin [1] inside him calling out from his soul. Both parted ways, each happy for their own reason.

The master reached his office, an observatory built on the top floor of the tower, the telescope that had taken him two years to put together shined in polished brass. He rolled back the shutter and let moonlight shine onto his brainchild, the only reason he kept living in this god-forsaken world, his rocket.

He took a sip as he looked at the sheets of paper on his table. They were blueprints, but yellow on black as he couldn’t find any cyanotype dye in this world yet. He had a lot of work ahead of him, so he sat down, and began typing, on his typewriter.

[1] “Hey it’s me, Destin, and welcome back to Smarter Every Day”