There was a lot to be done after that, but doing it all did little. Housing services was closed, maintenance was closed, and none of the custodians could be found. The sheets needed to be washed to get the clay and plaster out, and not just by a machine, so Mirian set those aside.
The curses of “where the hell is this water even coming from?” ended up being answered by an exploration of the third floor: The empty room directly above was part of the building's utilities, and the strange hole had sliced through a small copper pipe leading to the water heater. A small stream of water had been hissing out of it the whole time.
Her next rant was along the lines of: “I have repair page, repair cloth, repair pen, but nothing on pipes or ceilings. Why don’t I have a repair spell on pipes or ceilings? What the hell even does that to a building?” It was late, and she was tired; it was not her best rant, but the frustration had her muttering to herself. The bed was hopeless; there was no way she was going to sleep on it, and a second round of trying to find a custodian or someone to help fix it led nowhere. Lily didn’t have any spells that were relevant either, so they put the tin container up on the third floor to block the hole there and wrapped the pipe in cloth, though that only made the water drip onto the floor slower, and it was still managing to get under the tin.
By then, the crisis had attracted five more students in the dorms, but no one seemed to have anything useful for plugging leaks. It was all a bit ridiculous. It wasn’t like they needed specialized tools or silver. Tar, caulk, and a bit of hemp cloth could do the trick, but there was none to be found.
Mirian stormed off to the library. “I’ll be back when I can find a repair,” she said.
The guard at the main door of Bainrose listened to her explanation—more of a yelling session—for about five minutes, then opened the door, probably more to shut her up than anything. The library was one of the few buildings always open to students anyways, though usually it was for studying, rather than maintenance. The librarian was, of course, absent, because why would things be easy? Mirian knew the library’s classification system for spells, so she went off to find it herself.
This was no easy task. All the spells and research texts needed for a given class were brought to the first and second floors so students had easy access. All the other books were in the first and second basement levels. The basements had originally been catacombs, actually built before Bainrose Castle, and though a great deal of digging and refurbishment had been done (as well as moving all the old skeletons, with priests overseeing the transfer), the place was still an absolute maze, even with all the signs.
One would have thought that a simple fire spell could harden the clay she had, but with the surrounding plaster damaged, the author warned the water would just seep around. So it was on to the next book.
Practical Spellology 2 had a simple repair metal spell, but it required a specific kind of ink for the glyph she would need. All glyphs were made using the powdered spell organ of some sort of myrvite, and the school sold these inks in bulk to the students so they could practice making the glyphs they needed for each spell. The problem was, even though she had dozens of specialized inks for glyphs, this specific ink she didn’t have, and the Academy Supply Shop wouldn’t open until Firstday. She wasn’t waiting two more days for that nonsense.
The spell organ she needed was baduka boar tusk (hadn’t she just eaten baduka boar for dinner?), and then she would need a bit of copper. The copper she had, only it was in thin wire. Could she wrap up the broken pipe and then melt it a bit?
She went searching for a melt metal spell.
Paging through Flexible Spellbook Composition for the Practical Mage, she found an interesting section that caught her attention. Most of the time, when you wrote a spell in a spellbook, you put the glyphs in the exact order you wanted to use them in to cast the spell. This prevented a lot of terrible accidents. This author recommended creating an array of commonly used glyphs, and depending on the order used, one page could contain dozens of spells, rather than just a few simple ones or one complex spell.
As she was reading though, the exhaustion of the day hit her. She told herself she’d just close her eyes for a moment.
***
When she awoke, it was dark. The lights in the basement levels were dimmed for night, and the spell-candle she’d been using had gone out, the tiny lantern spell long expired. The book she’d been reading lay in her hands, still open.
First she thought, what time is it? Then she thought, Gods, what year is it? It was one of those kind of naps. Then she thought, what’s that noise?
There was a scuffling sound, nearly inaudible. Was that what had woken her?
A shadow passed in front of one of the lights as something moved between the shelves. Still groggy, Mirian started to move to rub the sleep from her eyes, then froze. She’d expected another student, or maybe the guard out front who was wondering why it had taken her Gods knew how many hours to find a book on repairing pipes.
It was not. The figure was dressed in all black, a deep cowl covering their face. When they walked, their soft boots were silent, but then they would hit a part of the uneven floor and make the slightest sound.
Another damned cloaked figure.
Or the same one?
Fear gripped her first, and she wanted to sink into the chair. Then, she realized that with her spell-candle out, there was little light shining on her. By a trick of the angles, she was wrapped in shadow, and whoever was approaching didn’t see her.
When she was very young, Mirian had been startled by a sparrow. The bird had suddenly been within inches of her, tweeting and flapping as it took off. Her mother had explained that the bird had been there the whole time, she just hadn’t seen it because it was so still.
Mirian was still. She held her breath as the figure approached her and didn’t even blink. A thought occurred to her: What if the person was wearing goggles of night-sight? There were several expensive devices that did that. She thought about bolting.
The stranger passed her. She waited until they were out of sight and had rounded the corner to start breathing again.
Curiosity gripped her second. It was a damned curse, but something was going on, and she needed to get some sort of hint—some understanding—of what.
Silently, she rose, and put the book she was holding back on the shelf. That was basic courtesy. Then she tip-toed after the cloaked figure.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Before she rounded the shelf, she looked right around the corner. At first, she didn’t see them, then the movement caught her eye again and she watched as their dark cloak ducked between two other shelves. She checked around to make sure there wasn’t anyone else, then checked where the lights were. Instead of going between the shelves they had, she went one shelf over so that her silhouette wouldn’t pass between the figure and the light. This may have been the dumbest thing she’d ever done, but she wasn’t going to be stupid about it.
At the end of the shelf, she had to wait again before the movement caught her eye. The figure was heading toward a door she’d never been down. She wasn’t even sure she’d seen the door before.
A little voice in her head told her, go get the guard, get out, run, it’s too dangerous, you’ll get in trouble, but another part of her was resolute. And what good would getting the guard be anyways? The last one had basically ignored her.
She hesitated at the door. It led down, obviously. But what was in the third basement level of the library? She had no idea.
The figure apparently had found a key, because the glyph-lock was simply open. Just beyond the door were the top of the stairs. It was a long spiral staircase, but made of solid stone. She considered that the figure might be waiting for her at the bottom, but dismissed the thought and cautiously proceeded. Each step down sent her heart pounding, and the world became darker. For a time, she was in almost total darkness, just stepping down and down, wondering if there was an end, or if she’d slipped into some strange arcane trap and was now walking an endless stair. Was that even possible? Her anxiety said yes, but her resolution said no.
At last, a faint light showed the edge of the steps. Mirian reached the bottom, where a thick iron door had been wedged open by a book, bending the spine of the book. Whoever they were, they weren’t a good person. Through the crack, she could see the room beyond.
The third basement floor was nothing like the refurbished catacombs above. The construction was totally different, with huge vaulted ceilings, but not like the ones of Bainrose Castle above. The vaulting looked absolutely modern, with thin lines of shining steel lining the stone and panels of glyphs. Only, most of the glyphs were eroded. Only a few were illuminated with arcane energy.
Beyond, there was a massive door, at least five stories tall, and made of solid stone. Mirian gaped at it. She’d gone down a lot of steps, but she didn’t realize just how many. How was something this colossal beneath Bainrose? The door was made of solid rock, which struck her as stupid. It had to be impossibly heavy. The entire thing was carved in swirling designs. It was as intricate as it was abstract; there were parts that looked like wings or eyes, and others that looked like monstrous faces had been melted like candle wax and dripped down. Other parts looked like creatures frozen in battle, but by some trick of the sinuous design, she couldn’t tell what kind of creatures. It didn’t look like the architecture of any of the civilizations.
At the foot of the door was a spell engine, a big one the size of a carriage, though it looked minuscule next to that colossal door. Brass and steel pipes connected it to one of the glyph panels by the door. That was what the cloaked figure was studying. She could see it was a he, now, with pale skin and blond hair. Was he from north Baracuel? Or Akana Praediar? He was furiously writing in a notebook.
The man stopped, then looked her way.
Mirian froze, her heart pounding.
Now she ran.
She stumbled twice on the dark steps, then slowed, listening for the sound of pursuit. The iron door below creaked open, the hinges oiled, but the weight of the heavy door apparent. She froze, then quietly kept ascending, willing her feet to just be softer, because in the silence, she could just hear them. Was he running after her? Had he cast a spell of silence so she wouldn’t hear?
She quickened her pace, wincing at the subtle echoes ringing through the spiral stair. There was a noise below; now he definitely was pursuing, she could hear it.
She made it to the top and dashed to one of the nearby stairs, a different one than the cloaked man had apparently come from. At the first floor, though, she froze. An idea wormed its way into her, and she seized it. She kept going, up one of the side towers to the second floor. She crept off to the side to a dark section, crouched down, and peered through banisters—and waited.
The waiting was intolerable, especially with all the adrenaline pumping through her, but she took deep breaths to slow her racing mind and watched.
Finally, one of the first floor doors opened and a man walked out. She blinked. This man had dark brown hair—but it was the same cloak she’d seen. It was the same man, she was sure of it, but he must have used some sort of illusion.
He looked around, striding out in the open with total confidence. That got her heart pounding again, because Mirian knew then she was right. It was confirmed a moment later when the man moved past the night librarian and to the front door. He said something then, first to her, then to the guard. The wards and walls of Bainrose were designed to eat sound, so though she could hear that they were talking, the words were all unintelligible.
If she had been able to hear them, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. A deep chill ran through Mirian. What would have happened if she had told the guard? Would they be locking her up? Or worse?
Something was going on in Torrviol Academy. But who could she tell? The guards were apparently in on it. The night librarian was in on it. Viridian hadn’t believed her. Or was he in on it too?
Hiding in the shadows, she felt paralyzed. What could she do? What the hell could she do?
The problem was, the man wasn’t leaving, and it wasn’t like the entrance was going to get less guarded. There was also the problem that the guard had seen her come in, and she’d left a definite impression. What if they recognized her later? She needed something that would make them dismiss her as a target.
Well, there was another exit. She’d heard rumors of students taking it in one of those endless quests young adults took to make their mark on the world.
She headed toward the museum wing. It was on the third floor, and no one was around. The main exhibit was locked up, but the tower with the latrine was just off that—and it wasn’t. She walked up to the latrine, and opened the lid.
Then she walked down to the first floor and strode through the main hall. The guard, cloaked man, and librarian were all waiting, and all watched her as she approached. She held her head high, and walked with a wild confidence she did not at all feel. When she was near, the cloaked man and the guard each took a step forward, but she said, “You would not believe what just happened. There’s another student—she must have been studying? Bit weird at this hour. She was hollering about being chased. Wouldn’t talk to me at all, just kept saying she had to get out. I think she ran up to the museum wing? I was like, ‘that’s not the exit,’ but she didn’t listen. Weird, right?”
The guard and the cloaked man stopped, and shared a glance.
“Anyways, I think I found a solution to my problem. Have a good night!” And she walked by them, heart hammering.
They didn’t follow. The cloaked man said something and walked toward the museum wing. With any luck, they’d see the open latrine and think this mysterious student they were hunting, a mysterious student who, importantly, was not her, had climbed down the narrow passage. People had climbed up them in old sieges, and that was before they’d all been cleaned, so it was completely possible.
She managed to make it across the empty courtyard and round the corner before she fell to the ground shaking. Her adrenaline was out of control, and for a minute, she had to just sit there and tremble. She breathed deeply, trying to control herself. Mirian hadn’t felt this out of control for years—since she was a kid. What had gotten into her? And also—what had she been thinking? What she’d just done was insane!
It took a minute longer to calm her breathing and to get her hands to stop shaking.
As she walked in the dark toward the dorms, eyes darting side to side because she was still expecting—well she didn’t know, but something—Mirian thought about what she was supposed to do about it all. The guards of a city were supposed to be trustworthy. Baracuel had higher powers, though. The Crown Bureau and the Arcane Praetorians both handled crimes and criminals that city guards couldn’t. Then there was the Deeps. Well, it was actually called the Department of Public Security, but that was an annoying mouthful and everyone knew it was the spies and secret police of the government. It was full of the people who hid in the deep shadows, hence: Deeps.
She had no idea how to contact any of them.
She had no idea how to describe any of it without sounding like a lunatic.
And what if the conspiracy went deeper than that? Maybe it was better to keep her head down.
When she got back to her dorm, Lily was asleep. She changed into her nightclothes, then went to one of the common rooms to sleep in a chair, since her bed was still soaked.
She didn’t get much sleep.