Thus having dumped the looney in the looney bin, I went home to pack a bag of holding with the minimum bare necessities. A few spell rods for shaving, rain protection, personal scouring and such, the spirit stones I’d need to fuel them, a change of clothes and nothing more. Regardless of my father’s wishes I had no intention of paying him more than a curteous visit, and he certainly had other sons to serve as trump cards in whatever machination he had concocted. As for Meylor, I simply didn’t give a toss. No doubt they would find him in an underground joyhouse or, one might hope, impaled on a nobleman’s spike trap whilst trying to break into their wine collection.

I locked my front door, entered the sigil across the street and input the glyphs for the main square. Like the infirmary and the other official buildings, the transit hall was located at the northern edge of the Dome. Newbshere was a long way away from Valatones, and I’d have to go through the longport network via Eldenrose, stopping first in the nearby city of Rumbark. I did plan on spending a night or two in Eldenrose, mostly to annoy my father, but also because I like that city. The food is good, the guesthouses are comfortable, its proximity to the Elotar portal lends itself to a rich stock of exotic wares in the shops, and the local gentry are a delightful mix of Tewul and Rodazians. At least this held true in the westmost sections, I’ve obviously never set foot in the Eastside.

I popped out of the sigil in what passed for Newbshere's town center, a solid concrete pillar with the Party emblem at the top. Surrounding it was a modest plaza paved with more concrete, and a handful of buildings cast in the latest style of concrete. A drone patrol was hovering around with their scanners out, but they only gave me a lazy swipe before heading down the main street. Glad to be rid of them, I leveled my tophat and made for the transit hall.

A couple of mutbrutes hung around the entrance, in all likelyhood mercenaries looking for young blood to recruit, or anyone dumb enough to buy trinkets from them in broad daylight. One of them was a muscular sort with a flamespitter mutation, the other had dark blue hair that I surmised doubled as a mana battery. They both carried swords, but neither had the gait of a swordsman, painting them as street mages hit hard by the Silence. It should have been painfully obvious that I was in no way their type of customer, but wisdom was never a function of street cred.

“Wazza! Gots artifacts here, 10 blues each,” the flamehands whispered as I passed, patting his bag of holding. His pilot light was definitely the brightest part of him. "Primo wares, gent!” The transit drone in the ticket booth perked up its antennas, and the blue-haired woman stepped on her companion's foot. I didn’t even break my stride as I continued into the hall.

As expected there was no traffic and I’d have the next ritual all to myself. Which was nice. The bulwark that protected the circle from interference had been dimmed to a quarter strength, but it still looked functional, if only as a formality. Most of the locals here had never been to Rumbark, and would be content to travel there in a smelly carriage rather than shelling out half a month’s merits for a longport. Oh well, being a big postman in a small town had its upsides.

I headed for the ticket booth, but was ripped out of my musings by an all too familiar sound. The ill-boding crescendo of too much mana being funneled into a poorly conceptualized spell came warbling through the doorway behind me, followed by the *BZZARK* of a miscasted magic missile, a triple-M as the students call them. My thoughts flashed back to the torment of my early years, suffering through endless repetitions under the tyrannical tutelage of my father, and I suddenly felt in no hurry to purchase a ticket.

The muties had headed out to examine the commotion, and I went after them, confused by what I had heard. The warmup had sounded more like a Crackling Ray or another third circle spell. Pouring that much power into a beginner's bolt would certainly make a mess of anything it hit, but it was a horrendous waste of mana, and doing in the town center? Who would be insane enough to do that? Who could possibly…

Ah.

“I did it! Master Gaylor, I cast a spell! The Firmary Inn has an outdoors area now!” Rosie yelled. She was bouncing up and down, waving her arms from inside a gaping hole in the infirmary wall, ignoring the unconscious doctor and the spirit stones on the floor. The square was now littered with concrete dust, smashed medical equipment and the remains of a thoroughly decapitated teddy bear. The muties had drawn their swords, the transit drone zoomed past me to call for backup, and civilians were vacating the square so as not to get arrested by proximity.

And now I had two options. I had seen my share of powerful magic, and this innocuous madwoman somehow had the mana reserves of an archmage. Someone like that would be the protegee of a powerful clan, possibly the Thundershafts, only acting the part of a clueless innkeeper as a facade. Should I go out there and throw my postmasterly weight around until they agreed to sting her for me, so I could bring her along and collect a fat finder's fee? Or should I stay here, wait for my ticket, go to Eldenrose and party it up for a week?

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Yes. Yes, I should.

“Forget her, get the doctor’s bag! Get the stones!” yelled the bluehair. Not much brighter than her buddy, after all. I turned away and walked up to the ticket booth.

"Thieves! Magic miscrea- uh, Magic missile!” Another ridiculously wasteful chargeup, followed by another *BZZARK* and a crunching *splarch*. Powers above, was she not throttling her mana at all? How rich was she? Could she be a Haruspex?

“Oi there! You!” the transit drone buzzed, amplifying its voice through the rod it'd normally use for announcing arrivals. “Sleep!”

Good night, Rosie.

“Hello mister pixie!"

What.

"Sorry I killed him a bit, but I do believe they were trying to steal Mister Doctor’s snacks.”

I turned around and ran up to the doorway, hiding behind the wall. From my vantage point I could see plenty of drones flying up the main street, one sleeping mutbrute next to an extremely dead one, a baffled transit drone and a giggling Rosie trying to get it to land on her finger. I began to understand why her clan must have given her a mindscrew potion and chucked her out. Mr. Wainwright was a quiet, pleasant neighbor in comparison.

“Wotcher Bizz,” said the leader of the squad that had arrived. “What’s all this then?”

“Ello Bozz, lady here messed up the ‘firmary and killed this merc. And she won’t go to sleep.”

“Pah!” said Bozz and stung Rosie in the neck. She yelped and started wobbling. “Ooh! That wadnt… thas not good.” The transit drone named Bizz headed back inside and I leaned against the wall, pretending to look at my slate.

“She’s a fat one. Gotta sting her again,” one of them buzzed as she collapsed. “Shut up, Baz,” a third one said, but he sounded amused.

“Wait a minute,” said Bozz again and checked his scanner. “Oh bollocks. Are you the One?” he asked her, but she had gone unconscious. I couldn’t see his face, but the drone actually sounded afraid. “Bollocks! I think she may be the One!”

Then he checked his scanner again, and his antennas relaxed. “Ah! Nah, her Luck’s all wrong. Close fit though. All right then, float her up boys. We’ll bag the mercs later.” They activated their levitation rods.

I wondered if she’d be equally chatty as a servitor. Maybe they’d let her serve drinks?

“Maybe she’s the Two!” Baz got a smack for that one, but the others giggled. “Blimey, we’re gonna burn out our rods here! Make haste, boys!"

Or maybe they’d just take her to the Voting Center.

“Bozz, I’m losing her! Bloody hell, she’s an elephant!” She flopped arond in the air, smacking her limbs against the concrete.

Oh, curse me for a sentimental fop.

“Excuse me, boys,” I shouted at the drones as I caught up with them, “I couldn’t help but notice you trying to abscond with my building inspector.” I walked up to Bozz and extended my merit badge. “Arturio Velas, Head City Planner Associate of the Rumbark Party.”

I took the badge back and continued before he could speak. “As you all know, as per Transition Left Eight of the new plan for the Lowlands region, every infirmary must have walls that can resist at least a fourth circle mana fluctuation. I’m sorry to say this one failed the test completely.” I gestured at the infirmary. “For which there’s a rather hefty fine of fifty spirit stones, which I’m sure the good Doctor in there will be more than happy to provide, seeing as he’s already opened his bag for you. It certainly wouldn’t do to have that merc wake up and steal it. So, I suggest you return my building inspector to me, and go collect the fine.”

Bozz eyed me for a few long moments. “You lot are out of here on the next ritual.” He turned to his squad. "Right boys, first the tax, then the merc. And someone clean up what's left of the other one.” They switched their rods off, and Rosie fell down hard, rustling her awake. She vomited at one point, but I did manage to get her inside the transit hall without getting any on my boots.

Bizz was back in his booth. He gave us a good, long scowl when I asked for a double pass, but eventually he decided we were too much bother. Transit passes in hand, I walked Rosie into the circle while he began preparing the machinery for the ritual.

“All right,” I said as the veil of the bulwark closed around us, cloaking us in complete silence. The large glyphs around the ritual circle started powering up one by one. “Who are you, really? Cause I know you’re not Rosie the innkeeper, and I want to know exactly what clan you belong to before this longport completes, otherwise I'm going to pull out my sixth circle Rod of Petrification, zap you before you can say “magic”, and serve you up to the Party Office as a lawn ornament! You may have some sleep protection, but you’re not a demigod.”

She shuddered. Her encounter with Newbshere’s finest seemed to have knocked some humility into her, because she was far more restrained in her reply than usual. “I’m… I can’t remember. You said I was Rosie, and that’s all I know! And I also know that… I’m an innkeeper.”

I pulled my pen out of my breast pocket and pointed it at her.

“No! It’s the truth! I swear! I don’t like the pixies! Please, I just… I just wanna go back to my inn. I’m sorry!” She seemed genuinely terrified.

“A little late for that,” I said, putting the pen back in my pocket. Truly, it is mightier than the rod. “You’re coming with me to Rumbark, you’re going to pretend to be a building inspector if anyone asks, and then we’re going to Eldenrose. Probably we can talk to an actual innkeeper there and have the Party assign you as a barmaid. Going to be one heck of a papermill since you don’t have neither slate nor badge, but my family name casts a long shadow.”

She relaxed. “Thank you, Master Stonks.”

“Gaylor is fine. But tell me one thing, how did you learn Magic Missile so quickly? And how the bleeding hells do you have so much mana? When I left you this morning you were clueless, well, even more clueless, about magic."

“Oh! It was Mister Doctor who told me how to do it. I just think of the bolt coming out, and then I say Magic M-“

“NO!” I screamed,

*CRRNNNNNNNNNNZZZZ*