《The Outward Eye》


 A Day In the Life

    Quill von Barbery of Kweeleh enjoyed a healthy dose of routine.  As he did every workday, he woke up gradually, letting meditations turned dreams sink into his subconscious from whence they came.  With a full body wiggle against a heavy wool blanket, he stretched and got his muscles and sinews ready for yet another day.  Rising, he knew by the angle of the shadows through the narrow window that he had just enough time to brush his chestnut hair before it was time to get the morning paper.  Taking three steps from the end of the bed, he looked in the mirror, eyes a vivid hazel and not the least bit bloodshot, for he was a man who liked to get eight hours, not counting the half hour spent meditating before bed and his languid awakening.


    He had tied a heavy robe of turquoise cotton around his waist and had his hand on the door to his small, comfortable apartment when he heard the papergirl calling out her first ¡°Extra, extra!¡±  With exact change, and no more, for it never did well to carry too much money, he went out and bought his paper.  Setting it on the table, he set about making breakfast.  The headlines would still be there after he had stoked the embers in his stove, coming up to temperature just as he had finished mixing the sour cream with ground herring and bread.  While his breakfast and lunch baked, for it was a tasty dish and he was a man of economy of effort, he skimmed the headlining article.


    Evidently the Earth Guild, Coldpass¡¯ premier mining and quarrying guild, was approaching a pre-Loss artifact under the governing claw of their draconic patron Tome. For reasons he couldn¡¯t name, the idea rankled that the dragon should get credit for the work and risk of the miners unearthing the thing. But then, he supposed it was no different than the credit due the guildmistress for the same work, and he was on cordial terms with the Madame Parchment von Barbery of Pergamina.  He didn¡¯t care to think further on the issue, it wasn¡¯t as if he could do anything about it, whatever his feelings regarding the matter.


    With a sigh and a shrug, he folded the paper neatly and got dressed for his job at the library-cum-bookstore Dragon Tales. The name, as ever, amused him.  Slacks, shirt, vest, suit jacket and cravat, all but the shirt in shades of blue that highlighted his northern pallor. Greatcoat, a necessity in a city warmed by geothermal vents yet never quite warm, an easily bleached white for the inevitable mildewing damp the weather engendered. Against volcanic ash, the second of two kinds of weather the city bore, a wide-brimmed felt hat of dull gray, not intended to impress when it would be removed indoors. He forbore the perfectly acceptable woolen scarf, preferring the slight bite of the wind to the added step of removing and hanging said scarf. Permitted as a general exception to civilians, a dueling foil on his left hip.  Finally, at the door, heavy boots in serviceable black.


    He took a circuitous route to Dragon Tales, having the time and enjoying the exercise in the brisk mountain cold.  Perhaps that was the real reason he went without a scarf; perhaps he found the cold bracing and invigorating, in place of the Fireplains coffee which so many favored.  As he walked up the alleyway behind the library, he noticed one of the red bricks which made up its structure was loose, and protruding.  Dismissing thoughts of rabid mice, and overcome by curiosity as to who or what might have loosened it, he levered the brick the rest of the way out of the wall.  There was, as it so happened, a piece of parchment behind it, written upon in a cramped, spidery hand.  It said, simply, ¡°Earth Guild.¡±  Quill found it strange, to say nothing of cryptic, but tucked the piece of paper into his pocket and opened the back door to the library.


    It was, as he had admitted to himself, a library-cum-bookstore, but Quill held especial fondness for the library, which was primarily his domain.  Oh, certainly, he had superiors he answered to, not dismissing the owner of the entire enterprise, but he organized the volunteers who lent books and reshelved those which had safely returned.  It often resembled wrangling cats, getting the volunteers organized, and it did not pay particularly well compared to the tourist or guild enterprises to be found in Coldpass, but it paid well enough and he enjoyed the work.  Quill had a knack for forming a rapport with others, and having done that the volunteer cat became much more biddable.


    His first stop before wrangling volunteers, however, was the chalkboard which sat before the large front window of the library.  Theoretically, he could have foisted this task off on one of his staff, but he took particular pleasure in preparing the morning announcements and writing them in neat, blocky letters.  It was rather like his personal reshelving of the library¡¯s small collection of fiction; he arranged the books in a series not by author and then title, but by author, series, and then title, so that if one wanted to find a particular volume of, for instance, the Dragold serial Daring Kaliskast, one could find them in order under the author¡¯s name.  Having read a few of them, Quill had serious questions as to why one would seek out that particular series, but it was popular enough.  On the blackboard, as he pondered this, he wrote out the titular announcement, having decided upon it in the moment, ¡°Tomorrow, special lecture by leading sorcerer at Power of Engel¡¯s Sanitarium for the Criminally Insane!¡±  He would confidently broach the matter with Doctorate of Sorcery Glue (von Barbery of Glus) during their time together in the Manners Lounge that evening.  Sundry other notes went onto the board before he strode into the break room and assessed the morning¡¯s attendance by his cats.  Volunteers.  Quill quirked a smile at the mental slip.  He adored his volunteers, but they could be a handful.


    Later that day, he collected his lunch from under the small pile of snow where he had left it and strode towards the main square park, ringed as it was by tables and chairs ostensibly for the patronage of the go-playing crowd.  It was exactly one hour before the fashionable time to take one¡¯s lunch, by design in more than one respect.  He was meeting a young woman for a business lunch, and the crowds would be a deterrent to the meeting running too terribly long.  He preferred to be punctual in attending to his duties, even if he was considered perhaps excessively attentive to a job which only existed because it had to.  Quill passionately believed in the necessity of his library position, shuddering to think of the state the library portion of Dragon Tales had been in before his tenure there.


    ¡°Cold already?  You¡¯re not going to make it the entire hour,¡± a soft soprano said to him.  Looking up from his lunch, he recognized the woman he was meeting from her description.  Denouement von Fireplains of Unknota.  She wore a light green coat and hat which accented her emerald eyes and brought out the richness of color of her light brown skin.  Her black, curly hair was pinned in an up-do of some kind, which flattered her chubby face, broad, flat nose, and generous mouth.  An interior voice told him to cool his head as he rose to his feet to shake her hand, and proximity made visible the runes active on her coat to combat the cold.  But then, he¡¯d known she was wealthy from the start, and her name marked her out as a stranger to Barbery, but to enspell a garment spoke to considerable resources.  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you found me so easily,¡± Quill replied, having made all these observations in the span of a moment.  He realized he would have to win out over his attraction to make an objective assessment of her competence.  It was not her appearance he found most arresting, though he would scarcely dare despairage her looks, but her self-possession, proverbially tweaking the nose of a prospective employer; not to mention the good taste to wear air runes without underlying stitching.  She had money but did not care to advertise that fact by more than fine tailoring and expensive protection from the elements.  Similarly, she appeared to have bought her lunch not from one of the promenade stores catering to passing merchants, but instead one of the smaller stores on the side streets.  Her boots testified to her having left the covered city square.  It would have cooled his ardor some to notice her insulated pewter cup of coffee, but she was from the Fireplains where it was grown; it could well be a creature comfort rather than a mark of status.  Was, in fact, more likely a creature comfort given her understated rune branded clothing.


    ¡°Let me tell you, Quill of Kweeleh, there are only so many gentlemen enjoying a herring pat¨¦ and decked out entirely in blue.¡±  Quill colored to have been characterized so, and also resolved to buy from a more expensive fishmonger if the nature of his lunch was apparent by the smell on the breeze even after a morning in the snow.  Denouement sat opposite him, setting down a lunch of light pastry and spiced eggplant.  ¡°So.  To business, or would you prefer to talk?  So often, I¡¯ve found small talk makes my employers uncomfortable.¡±


    Quill knew in an instant that he would very much like to make small talk, but also that their time was limited.  ¡°Perhaps a compromise?  To business, and small talk with what time remains to us afterwards?¡±  Denouement tilted her head and smiled a little, nodding.  ¡°So.  Business.  We have some high-altitude spelunking for you to undertake.¡±  For a moment, he wondered at his word choice, before deciding that ¡°we¡± included his superiors at Dragon Tales.


    Denouement expressed confidence in her ability to manage ordinary caving, and even extraordinary caving.  Some of her remarks hit on curious blankness in his mind, filed away and forgotten almost immediately.  But on the whole, it was a productive and pleasant business lunch with a woman whose wit and intellect were an absolute delight.  She had incisive questions as to the elevation and hazards involved, and provided him with a list of gear she would require to undertake the caving.  ¡°And your objective is any and all books which might have been preserved by the elevation, isolation, and cold?¡±


    ¡°Is that a problem?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡±  The second half of her statement was swept away by the wind.  The square was growing crowded, and it was with some regret Quill concluded their meeting.  He very carefully had avoided making overtures; it would be inappropriate until their business was concluded, and like as not cause discomfort in someone with whom he had only exchanged correspondence.  It was his distinct impression, however, that she was entirely aware of his interest, and found it amusing.  He was not used to being the subject of humor in that fashion, but it certainly, to put it bluntly, beat the sunshine out of revulsion.


    Lunch concluded with time to return to Dragon Tales and make sure his volunteers returned from their own lunches on time.  The day passed, like so many, unremarkably, aside from a single rankling encounter.  While it was no secret, it seemed to be passed along on the grapevine of those who frequented the library that he was an Incarnate Wholist.  This was not in and of itself a problem, Coldpass was not intolerant of religious difference, but the questions he received on the matter ranged from the imbecilic to the insulting.  Today was a typically earthbrained take on Incarnism, in which he was asked whether the One God was in the book the lackwit hefted.  Though Quill was tempted to retort something to the effect of the book containing the Lord only if the man could read, he took a deep breath and replied patiently that it was even in Wholist doctrine that the One God created all things, was all things, and was in all things in the form of the Word.  Predictably, this took the wind out of the man¡¯s sails, for he lacked the understanding of Incarnism to reply.  Quill felt more drained from the exchange than he did from the day¡¯s labors or reigning in his interest to speak intelligently with Denouement.  If only it weren¡¯t nearly every day, it would be so much more bearable.


    Dragon Tales closed for the day, Quill set out for the Manners Lounge.  There, he met with Glue von Barbery of Glus, a tall, lean individual with wispy straw-colored sideburns and a long braid, brown eyes made to look sallow by a yellow robe trimmed in an even paler yellow.  As they were so fond of saying, not only was yellow the color of air sorcery, but it was a happy color and happy inmates of the Power of Engel¡¯s Sanitarium were imminently rehabilitated inmates.  Presently, Glue was cooing over the toy drake of Parchment von Barbery of Pergamina.  He didn¡¯t know Parchment as well, but could hardly complain, as she sponsored their membership at the Lounge and she was in any case devoted to the ideals Quill held dear.  She was of average height for a man, making her shorter than Quill but tall for a woman, and carried her weight in her bust and belly.  Her eyes were almost black, and the electrical burns of cutting-edge earth runes marked her right arm, intentionally exposed on an otherwise conventional and expensively-tailored pantsuit.


    They settled on one of the general-purpose couches of the Lounge, having little of significance to discuss.  They smoked a flavored plant fiber, no more intoxicating than blittero, but pleasant and affording plentiful opportunities to draw thoughtfully before replying to a question.  Quill mentioned a book he had been intending to lend to Parchment, and offered to come by the following day.  She agreed, though she had a busy schedule she would see to it that her secretary let him in to deliver the book.  Glue mentioned that one of their inmates, rehabilitated by air sorcery, would be being released the following day.  Under supervision, of course.  Parchment expressed curiosity as to the mental state of the patient, Power of Engel¡¯s being a sanitarium for the criminally insane, after all, and they made a date to allow Parchment the opportunity to interview the inmate before his release.  Realizing he couldn¡¯t recall, Quill inquired as to the name of the toy drake.  With a wry chuckle, Parchment replied, ¡°Tome Junior.  He was a gift from the Earth Guild¡¯s patron, the air dragon Tome.  He finds the name amusing in a blasphemous kind of way.¡±  Something about irreverence towards an agent of the divine sat poorly with Quill; but no, it wasn¡¯t that.  Quill sighed.  It was a thought doomed to remain on the tip of his brain, it seemed.


    After an enjoyable evening, including fine fare courtesy of the Lounge, Quill excused himself and returned to his abode.  He undressed slowly, preferring to end his day much as he began it.  As he folded and sorted clothing between that which would be washed and that which would be worn the next day, he recalled Denouement¡¯s commentary on the monotony of his attire with chagrin, he breathed slowly and deeply.  While posture and stillness helped, Quill was quite practiced at meditation and could reach a shallow meditative state while accomplishing his preparation for bed.  He sat on the floor when he was ready, and spent a passive few sandglasses meditating on the divine and the day¡¯s events, watching his thoughts without attempting to judge or change.  When he laid down in bed, he fell almost immediately asleep.

 Appearances

    Quill woke up and stretched luxuriously. His dreams had been of Denouement, and the pleasure he felt that she would shortly have concluded her business on his behalf.  He chided himself gently that he had not yet concluded his business with her, and business was always to go before pleasure.  A curiously unyielding principle, given the low-stakes nature of working at a library, but such was the way of a man of habit; you found yourself doing things with little notion of where the habit had come from.  The air was cool, and he looked eagerly towards stoking the oven to make squash pancakes with which to use up the last of his sour cream before it truly spoiled.  Given said chilly air, he belted his heavy robe over his nightclothes.  It was a pity rune stoves were, in practice, only practical in warm climates, the fire runes drawing their heat from the already chilly air.


    But before pancakes, to collect the paper.  Speaking of which¡­ Quill took the previous day¡¯s paper and stuffed it in his oven, to become kindling for a larger flame.  As the call of ¡°Extra, extra¡± came, he tipped the papergirl for coming to his door and sparing him a slippered trek through snow already piled as high as his boots.  He could have sworn he had shoveled the walk, well, now that he thought about it he hadn¡¯t since Monday.  So he only had himself to blame for two days¡¯ accumulation of snow, unless he was going to be a mighty fire sorcerer calling down a rain of ash to melt said snow.  Quill shook his head.  Parchment didn¡¯t even have time for sorcery and she was guildmistress of the Earth Guild.  Glue, meanwhile, was Glue.  Their special interest was the mind.  Just don¡¯t suggest to them that fire or water was more suited to blumbing the mind¡¯s depth.  Quill, on the other hand, had a great deal of blood and meditation invested in an axiom spirit of lore.  Just don¡¯t suggest to him that animals knew of herbalism and that he could have invested his time and effort into a fey spirit.  Quill smiled at his small judgment, followed by a small measure of hypocrisy, and then prayed for forgiveness for both, knowing it was already given.


    The blini, his small squash pancakes, were delightful, and for lunch he had leftover pat¨¦.  It was, after all, tasty, and he was still a man of economy of action.  Though he really would have to find a fishmonger who used more salt, upon reflection of Denouement¡¯s ready identification of his lunch.  The headlines spoke of violence by the desperate; a man with only a wool coat had forced his way into a heated building during last night¡¯s cold snap, and when repelled violently had killed the inhabitants.  Quill thought to himself firstly that he was glad he carried a sword with him, but he chided himself for blaming the wrong party.  His second thought was of the appalling reality that the Orth itself provided the heat the city of Coldpass needed to thrive and yet there were huddled corpses frozen in place against the walls of warmer buildings.  Even the necromantic pulses which emanated from Mount Barber couldn¡¯t give motion to those bodies, so thoroughly frozen were they.


    Quill was still hungry after his breakfast, and he wanted something to perk himself up given the requisite patience regarding Denouement, so he took a longer route to the library and bought himself a small pastry from a shop.  He had brought near-exact change, once again not one to carry more cash than was needed.  Nor, upon reflection, to possess all that much money.  Even his membership at the Manners Lounge was a result of his association with Parchment.  The club, nominally his club, was a location for the rich, the building itself used an incredible amount of heat rather than being made of the thick chunks of stone which most of the buildings in Coldpass used as insulation.  It had been conjured under the supervision of the Earth Guild by cutting-edge fire sorcerers as a single four-storey tower of steel.


    He adjusted the billboard, to read as a headline, ¡°Today, special guest Glue von Barbery of Glus on the subject of air sorcery!¡±  He made a cursory headcount of his volunteers, grudgingly including Leather who was late yet again; he really would have to talk to her about the importance of punctuality.  That done, his own work not yet up to his ears, he headed down to the Earth Guild with the book he was lending Parchment in a small valise.  He was clearly expected, directed straight down the hall to the guildmistress¡¯ office.  Unfortunately, it seemed he had timed his visit poorly.  In the back of his mind, he recalled that Parchment was visiting Glue to learn about the inmate they were soon to be releasing, and given that Glue was lecturing later that day the visit would have to be in the morning.  He was admitted, if he would like to wait, to the small office, but the secretary was nothing if not dutiful and kept him company while bringing his work in with him.  One did not, after all, leave even a trusted guest alone with guild secrets.  ¡°I saw the headlines about the Earth Guild being on the cusp of a great discovery,¡± Quill ventured.


    The secretary made a face.  ¡°Someone was indiscreet.  Tome wanted secrecy.¡±  He made another face.  ¡°That will, please, go no further than this office.  Since it happened, we¡¯ve been trying to play it as an official press release.  Zrit¡¯isar,¡± Quill recognized the Draconic name of the dragon Tome, ¡°wasn¡¯t happy about it, but once the secret was out felt we may as well take the opportunity to play up to advancement and guidance provided by our expensive draconic patron.¡±  The man veritably preened as he discussed this.  He was, quite obviously, very proud of being part of an organization with such estimable ties.  Dragon Tales, for all the silly name, boasted no such patronage, and Quill found himself making conversation by rote rather than enjoying himself.  With the honest excuse that he had to get back to work, and the less honest excuse that he couldn¡¯t conscience keeping Parchment¡¯s secretary from his own work, Quill left in a bit of a hurry.  It was only after he was nearly back to the library that he realized he had left not only the book he was going to lend to Parchment but his entire valise in her office.  He could see it quite clearly in his mind¡¯s eye, sitting just to the right of the comfortable, but not too comfortable, chair in front of her desk.  He would have to collect it the next day.


    Glue arrived from Power of Engel¡¯s, flushed with excitement to lecture on the subject of their special interest.  Quill hoped enough people showed up to make Glue feel validated and a draw of patrons to Dragon Tales.  Fortunately, his worries had been for naught.  The lecture room was buzzing with conversation; evidently there was some hope that air sorcery might be the answer to the very headline that Quill had read that morning.  He felt vindicated in updating the billboard to emphasize that Glue would be lecturing today.  Quill took Glue aside briefly, and asked that they speak to Parchment if they were seeing her that night, so that he could retrieve his valise the next day.  Glue smiled shyly and admitted they were, and agreed to make sure that Quill would once more be welcomed into the corridors of the Earth Guild.  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Attaining the podium at the front of the room, Glue cleared their throat.  The room did not quiet entirely, but the dull roar of a room of conversation gave way to hissing whispers.  ¡°Air sorcery, as I am sure you all know, is one of the four basic elemental spheres.  Everyone is familiar with the stone sorcerers of the Earth Guild who fashion tunnels in minutes, who called forth the stone of the mountain in great quantity as insulation, who designed and effected the geothermal heating of Coldpass.  Yet these are but base applications of elemental earth.  As post-Loss understanding of magic improved, it was realized that there was a clue in Scripture, referencing the First People as made from clay.  Earth sorcerers went from being rural tools and urban planners to celebrated healers, able to repair anything from a minor cut to a badly broken bone.


    ¡°You may be asking yourself, ¡®What is an air sorcerer doing telling us what we already know about earth sorcery?  We are the proud and established home of the Earth Guild.¡¯  Well, let me tell you, I am making sure you have the background to understand elemental air, which is diametrically opposed to earth, and yet very similar in its application.  You see, elemental air is more than cutting winds and storms.  With the sphere of air, one can purify blood poisoned by gangrene, but this is an incidental advance in the application of sorcery.  What I specialize in, what you are here to hear, heh, about, is the application of air sorcery upon the mind.


    ¡°As the broadsides and papers have made everyone aware, air sorcery can intrude upon the conscious thoughts of living creatures.  In the Fireplains, Peaceshield, and elsewhere there is even a trend of intentionally learning just enough air sorcery to read the minds of animals, the better to communicate and be communicated directions.  The more soft-hearted focus on fire sorcery to convey simple emotions, but this is not an act which I believe yields as much result for a given amount of effort.  For even emotions are bound up in symbology, and those symbols are, of course, intellectual.¡±  Glue went on at some length about the more conventional uses of air sorcery, including by not limited to silent communications, communication over short distances otherwise blocked, and ability to detect lies.  They were building up to something, undoubtedly, and so Quill was surprised when they went on to say, ¡°I will now take questions, before I address the issue most pressing in your minds!¡±  There were a few rudimentary questions about the nature of air sorcery, one regarding ethics where Glue related it to the possession of a sharp knife, and then finally someone asked about the morning¡¯s headline.


    ¡°I am not unaware of this morning¡¯s headline, and that the crowded state of this room can be attributed to it.  ¡®Can something be done?!¡¯ you cry.  I am here to tell you that yes, it can.  It was in fact earlier today that Power of Engel¡¯s Sanitarium for the Criminally Insane released, on a supervised and probationary basis, its first inmate today!¡±  There was a collective gasp by the crowd, and Glue had to wait for the murmuring to quiet down before continuing with their speech.  ¡°I can already tell this is cause for concern to some of you.  Well, let me assure you, there is no need for concern.  For just as earth sorcery can heal the body, air sorcery can heal the mind.  The root of all crime, and yes I do say all, is sickness in the mind.  With a delicate touch, time, interviewing and understanding of the subject, air sorcery can take that sickness and sublimate it or shut it away behind doors that require intentional thought, thought the person in question would ideally consider unthinkable, to unlock.  The inmate being released has one of the Sanitarium guards as a companion, but I look eagerly forward to him plying his trade once more, a model citizen of Coldpass!¡±


    Glue¡¯s speech-presentation was the highlight of the day for Quill.  The low came shortly after, and reminded him of the hazards of introducing people to Dragon Tales who weren¡¯t the library regulars.  A woman walked up to Quill at the hushed encouragement of a man Quill suspected he recognized, and asked him, ¡°So¡­ my¡­ friend.  Says you¡¯re an Incarnate or some such.  You believe the One God is in everybody.  But I heard you¡¯re a duelist.  Does that mean you fight the Lord all the time?  Isn¡¯t that blasphemous?¡±  Quill sighed and marshaled his reserves.  It was a familiar pattern, he would start to explain the foundation necessary to explain the more refined concepts of the Incarnate faith, and meanwhile she would lose interest before he¡¯d actually answered her question.  But if he rebuked her¡­ that went against his faith as a Wholist and as an Incarnate, but some days he just lacked the wherewithal to be patient with people about this kind of thing.  He took some centering breaths and recited that he should love his neighbor.  The woman who had approached him cocked her head like a dog trying to understand and said, ¡°Hello?  I asked you a question.  Don¡¯t you work here?  It¡¯s, like, your job to answer questions.¡±


    That was the last straw for any hopes of inner peace, for Quill, but outer peace still had hope.  He began with her first statement, which any teacher would have recognized as a question.  The One God was, in fact, within everyone, because He made Creation.  But it was not the One God who Wholist Incarnism focused upon.  It was the everyone.  She tilted her head to the other side at this, and Quill restrained another sigh.  Predictably, she lost interest somewhere along the cycle of fulfillment and suffering that he did, yes, contribute to by dueling, but that it wasn¡¯t a blasphemy.  He wondered if his obvious frustration with the topic had fueled her endurance.  In the end, she wasn¡¯t any more enlightened than she had started.  Which, Quill supposed, meant he was no more enlightened than he had started.


    At the end of the day, Quill marshaled his volunteers, thanking them for their efforts, and shooed them from the building.  The bookstore closed at the same time, and he waved to Chapter as she locked up her own side of Dragon Tales.  She waved back, and then they walked in opposite directions towards their evenings.  Quill went home, not having any plans with Glue nor Parchment.  Nor, he thought ruefully, with Denouement, though it was a pleasant thought that tomorrow she had said she would have more questions.  He allowed himself the happy hope of a less formal meeting with Denouement after she had obtained whatever tomes resided in that rocky mountain cavern.


    In his apartment, warm from the sun and the banked coals of his squash pancake breakfast, he slowly and precisely undressed, sorting clothing between that which would be worn the next day and that which would be put in an undignified mass to launder at next opportunity.  Fortunately, in the bitter chill of the mountain pass Coldpass took its name from, one did not sweat overmuch, and so it was bathing more than laundry which was a regular necessity.  Quill, a fastidious and perhaps proud man, of course preferred that he do both as often as his time and budget allowed.  He settled in to meditate before going to sleep for the evening.  In the morning he would blame his troubled dreams on the negative energy created by his impatience with the woman who, as a fellow human, was his neighbor.

 My Valise

    Despite troubled dreams, Quill felt accomplished as he woke up, a fact he attributed to a day well completed prior and meditation upon his successes before bed.  His wool blanket sang a song of body heat and comfort in a heated-but-not-warm apartment.  With a sigh, he put on his heavy robe and prepared to go about his day.  The papergirl, evidently motivated by the previous day¡¯s tip, was by his estimate a sandglass early and right outside his door when she cried, ¡°Extra, extra!¡±  Quill only made it to the door on the second repetition of this call.  He tipped, but less well, not wanting to be disturbed before he was ready for his day.


    He set about getting his stove up to temperature, intent upon making beet pancakes for breakfast and a salad for lunch, also with beets.  Added to his gastronomic endeavors would be millet and curds in one, and apples and beans to the other.  The boiling time needed for the salad would push up against the time he had to leave, and so he planned to snatch it off the stove and pour it into a large bowl as he left.  While breakfast was frying, he scanned the headlines of the paper.  In red letters, no less, was the declaration that the Earth Guild had been bombed.  The explosive had been small, but had entirely destroyed the office of the guildmistress.  She had, fortunately, been away on philanthropic business, but her secretary had been injured.  Along with a wealth of paperwork lost was the particular directions and directives associated with the pre-Loss artifact Tome was guiding them towards, and this would delay work by several days while the requisite information was translated and compiled by bilingual scribes at the direction of their patron Tome.  Despite what it would do to his schedule, Quill resolved to check in on Parchment before he went to work.  Hopefully she had made it to her office in time to rescue his book.


    The Earth Guild building was not state of the art of sorcery, but as an Age of Stone building it was beautiful.  As a wealthy guild, the premier guild of Coldpass, it could afford the gratuitous costs of heating, and so was both taller and less blocky than many of its fellows.  Granite carved with statues representing the union of dragon and craftsman abounded, though it had been some time since the Earth Guild had concerned itself with so base matters as craftsmen.  Its partnership with Tome had bolstered its fortunes and the fortunes of those tied to it, and it had also specialized.  Now, it was specifically devoted to mining out the caverns of the mountain it stood upon, providing building materials for the Fireplains, and somehow Tome¡¯s sticky claws had gotten into the taxation of trade through the pass to the northern coast.  Quill supposed he could not be too upset about this, as Parchment had done right by him and was the highest representative of the Guild, with the exception of Tome himself.


    Inside the Earth Guild building proper, Quill saw a scene of chaos.  When he was finally able to flag down a harried scribe, he learned that the paper had, if anything, understated the losses the Guild faced from the destruction of Parchment¡¯s office.  When he pressed, he was informed that even the lowliest scribe and the loftiest manager was occupied and that it was absolutely impossible that he get a meeting with the guildmistress that day.  Having made his best effort, and by now quite late, Quill satisfied himself with the fact he would see Parchment at the Lounge that evening, provided her being alright was not another polite fiction to the papers.  As for whether his valise, and the book inside, had survived¡­ he held out little hope, if even the protected and personal papers of the guildmistress had not made it through the blast.


    Despite his lateness, he paused to circle around to the alley and see if anyone had left anything interesting behind the loose brick in the wall, but he was disappointed to find nothing.  Inside, most of his volunteers had set to their tasks without direction, following the schedule he had painstakingly arranged some time ago.  It was only two in particular, one of them Leather, who needed to be directed to their work.  As he filled the billboard with the day¡¯s events, Quill pondered why, when his friend had nearly been blown to smithereens, he was still feeling a curious satisfaction which had only grown with his visit to the Earth Guild.  Ultimately, he assumed it had to do with the reassurance of her safety, anemic though that reassurance had been.  He was approached by the male cohort of the woman from the day before, with more uninformed questions about Incarnism and dueling.  He started over from the beginning with a sigh, but made even less headway than he had the day before.  He consoled himself that the time spent was time closer to seeing Denouement.


    When lunch did finally come, and it did not seem to come in any particular hurry despite the fact he had gotten as far as unity with the Savior in explaining Wholist Incarnism, he set out at a brisk pace.  Despite his advice to himself, he was excited to see her, and even his schedule took second place to securing the same table for himself and setting his fish-free lunch upon it.  Denouement, in an inscrutable non-response, was precisely on time, this time carrying a curry bun.  ¡°Well, good afternoon to you, Quill.¡±  He replied in kind.  ¡°I¡¯ve taken a look at the location of the cavern, and I have some concerns.¡±  Like a key into a lock, the subject of business put his interest in the charming, competent woman into a compartment and closed it away.  Denouement began to describe the difficulties the elevation posed.  It would fall to Quill to procure the equipment necessary, and an intrusive thought bid him to approach Parchment regarding the expense.  For the altitude sickness, she would need a chambered bottle made by a fire sorcerer with access to the advanced elemental sphere of metal, followed by cold branding and exposure to regular atmosphere.  At that statement, Quill¡¯s mind went to Glue.  While they wouldn¡¯t be capable of the fire sorcery, they lit their incense with a fire rune branded on their fingers, they might be capable of the advanced elemental alchemy Denouement was describing.  Noting the details thoughtfully, and certain of Glue¡¯s ready aid, he asked that she meet him for lunch the next day along with Glue.  Denouement nodded and dabbed some curry from the corner of her mouth.  It was a very kissable mouth, he thought, and his second thought was that clearly the business portion of the meeting was over if he was observing the corners of Denouement¡¯s mouth.  Once again, the precept that business took precedence over pleasure came unbidden to his mind, and he heeded the warning.  With naught more than a handshake, Quill bid Denouement a good day and returned to the library.  He felt some trepidation, unwarranted and unexplained, at the thought of introducing Denouement and Glue, but he put it aside with the recollection that Glue was taking an interest in Parchment.  After all, what else could he be concerned about?


    Back at the library, Quill had another unfortunate encounter.  It filled him with an unnameable dread, as opposed to the beleaguered irritation of those who misunderstood either his sword, which he knew better than to draw, or his Incarnism.  A large, pugnacious man came directly up to him.  He was pale, with blue eyes and a nose that had been broken at least once.  He wore his dark hair in unfashionably long bangs.  The man in question strode up to him and introduced himself as Burner.  He had what Quill fancied a pyromaniacal gleam in his eye as he said this.  Without stating his authority to do so, he began to question Quill as to his comings and goings, things with which he was clearly quite familiar.  As he asked, Quill felt a sensation he recognized, though he couldn¡¯t say from where, of someone rifling through his thoughts.  And so, when Burner asked him why he looked behind a loose brick most days, his mouth stayed closed but his mind offered up a plaintive ¡°I don¡¯t know!  Curiosity?¡± which seemed to satisfy Burner not at all.  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Quill wanted heartily to end the interaction, and yet he knew it would end all the worse if he closed it preemptively.  At the question of who he had been meeting for lunch, a picture of Denouement flashed before his eyes, and Burner looked at him with a leer.  ¡°Don¡¯t get any ideas about her, librarian.¡±  Quill felt a flare of anger, that this stranger would offer him advice on conducting his own affairs, feeling certain one could not manage both the air and fire sorcery simultaneously to rifle through one¡¯s thoughts and one¡¯s feelings.  Evidently, however, he was mistaken, as Burner responded to the anger with a grin and added, ¡°Don¡¯t like that, librarian?  That¡¯s really just too bad.  You¡¯re not in charge in Coldpass, and Burner is.  Right hand arm man of Tome, I am.  You¡¯re good at looking like your mind is open, but I¡¯ll get your secrets out eventually.¡±  Their interaction apparently concluded, the man turned on his heel and stalked out of Dragon Tales.  Quill, badly shaken, settled in one of the reading chairs and didn¡¯t stir from that spot until it was nearly closing time and one of his volunteers approached him for direction.


    The Manners Lounge was just the thing to settle Quill¡¯s nerves after an emotional and trying day.  Everything, from the early cry of the papergirl to the encounter with Burner, had worked to unsettle him.  Even Denouement, though delightful, was a diversion from his routine.  He had also, evidently, harbored doubts as to the accuracy of the paper report, because he felt better just seeing Parchment, hale and hearty.  She was laughing as Glue played with Tome Junior, teasing the toy drake with exhalations of molasses-based hookah smoke and tickling fingertips.  Here, Quill felt he was more himself, more in his own awareness, just by sharing space with his two best friends.  Well, not best friends, Parchment was a relatively recent acquaintance.  And yet he felt sure of her being on his side.  There was no secret he would need to keep from her.  Not that he had that many secrets.  Desire for a woman before business was concluded, and before he had entirely gotten over a boyfriend he had trusted and then been separated from by events beyond their control.  ¡°I had a difficult encounter today,¡± he said, after a few passes of the hookah pipe.  The cool smoke, though not intoxicating, was pleasant and relaxing.  ¡°A man named Burner.¡±


    Glue leaned back and exhaled a plume of smoke.  ¡°Ah, Burner.  How is he?¡± Evidently they knew of Burner.


    ¡°Confrontational.  Air sorcerer, fire sorcerer.  He knows Denouement is meeting with me.¡±


    Glue looked sharply at him.  ¡°I see.  Do we need to discuss this in any depth?¡±


    Quill shook his head.  ¡°He warned me away from her, but it seemed more an interest in her on his part than anything related to business.¡±  The term ¡°business¡± was curiously vague in Quill¡¯s mind, despite the fact he could discuss in detail the specifications of the flask Denouement required made before she could retrieve the books in the cavern.  He felt an itch between his shoulder blades, and as he contorted to scratch it noted that there was nobody within listening distance.  Despite the deleterious effect it would have upon service, he found it a relief for reasons he could neither name nor bring himself to question.


    Glue shook their head as he recounted them.  ¡°Lunch works.  We¡¯ll need to discuss her needs.  I didn¡¯t think the mountain was tall enough to require air supply, nor that the mission was so long as to make that noticeable.¡±  We know the atmosphere gets thin higher up, and Coldwell already can cause altitude sickness as a low pass through the Barbery Mountains.


    Parchment looked up from soothing her overstimulated toy drake. ¡°Perhaps she¡¯s foisting a later endeavor¡¯s cost onto an existing patron.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Quill contradicted, ¡°she merely comes from the Fireplains which are a much lower elevation and she¡¯s already dealing with altitude sickness. Or, perhaps you are mistaken, Glue. Would you like Denouement¡¯s job?¡±  His tone was sharp, Quill was well aware of this, but there was little rancor in his heart.  Glue was an old friend and regardless of their personal feelings, they would doubtless arrange for the sorcery needed for the retrieval of the books Denouement was to obtain.


    Glue chuckled and then blew smoke rings at Tome Junior. ¡°I recognize that tone.  Don¡¯t worry, Quill, we¡¯ll get her the equipment she needs.  I¡¯ll ask all my impertinent questions at lunch, and you can take umbrage on her behalf.  But if she¡¯s half the operator you think she is, I suspect she¡¯ll put me in my place.¡± Quill felt satisfaction at, to his mind, an eminently accurate assessment of Denouement¡¯s character.  She would accept warranted correction without allowing any question of her general competence.


    ¡°My question,¡± Parchment began, ¡°is who we¡¯re getting to do the metal sorcery and air brand.  Can you brand runes, Glue?  You haven¡¯t mentioned them.¡±  Glue shook their head.  ¡°That¡¯s what I thought, I just wasn¡¯t certain.  You never mentioned brands when you were telling me about how you rehabilitate your criminally insane.¡±


    ¡°The sorcery just hasn¡¯t advanced to a point that it¡¯s practical.  Air brands are cutting edge in and of themselves, and fire brands were never studied enough to develop anything so complex as what I need in order to help a criminal renovate their mind.  If I could enact an effect as complex as a spell with a rune, it would be simple to rehabilitate everyone in the sanatorium.  As is, it¡¯s a slow process of building the magical architecture in their actual minds.¡±  Quill pricked his finger with a small cheese knife and consulted with his channeled spirit of lore.  He didn¡¯t understand Glue¡¯s explanation, but evidently his spirit did, because what came to him was the analogy of digging a ditch versus a wagon rut.  Were runes capable of more complex effects, Glue could simply dig a ditch of good intent.  Instead, they were of necessity repeating patterns in the pliable material of the mind until, like a wagon running along a path, they had produced a rut that would stay emplaced in the mind.


    ¡°What this means for me,¡± Parchment said, ¡°is that I will be commissioning this, or transferring the funds necessary to one of you.¡±  Quill immediately advocated for Parchment working through Glue.  After all, they would be speaking to Denouement the next day, and Glue had a better understanding of sorcery than Quill.

 Kweeleh and Plotarc

    Quill woke languidly, savoring the warmth of his bed before stepping out to  retrieve the paper in his blue robe.  He pondered, as he tied the sash, his near-universally blue attire.  Once upon a time, he had been young and full of ideals, and the Virtue of the Student, whose color was blue, had appealed to him.  He had made it into a persona, a declaration of allegiance.  The focus on the mind only increased when he became an Incarnate, trying to meditate away the distinction between himself and the world around him.  Potentially a heretical faith, as so many wits would try to claim, but the Black Queen herself had heard the arguments of the Wholist Incarnate teacher Silent Voice that it was simply an elaboration on existing doctrine.  That, of course, was in Fief.  The Sevens were significantly more tolerant of religious differences, Spirithome was almost entirely Paxite, and Mind, in the land not returned to the original inhabitants, was purely and simply Incarnate or¡­ he sighed mentally.  Drachist.  A popular branch of the Incarnate faith that held dragonhood as the final step in a soul¡¯s journey to, depending on whether they were Wholist, either go to Heaven or simply transcend existence and subsume into the whole of reality.  Never mind that dragons didn¡¯t hold particularly well to the ideals of Incarnate or Wholist faith¡­ his mind scratched like a pen nib breaking and drawing a line across a page of print, and he abruptly found himself inside preparing breakfast with the paper on the table.  The dough was already made, and he was mincing hare, onion, and mushrooms.  There would be no necessity of lunch being made, Glue was reasonably well-off and enjoyed treating, and that evening he would be having dinner with his moms Kweeleh and Plotarc.  Not that he ever thought of them by those names?  He shook his head.  Sometimes the workings of his own mind were a mysterious opaqueness.


    In the paper, announcement of an investigation was a painfully redundant indicator that they had no idea who had bombed the Earth Guild.  Evidently the pleasant young man Quill had met had sustained a concussion among his other injuries, and could remember little of that day.  Quill thought to himself that the bomber was fortunate indeed to be forgotten.  There was, of course, the schedule of the guildmistress, which Parchment would doubtless remember at least in part, but based on her absence during the bombing she had no appointments just then.  Only paperwork, reduced to ash.  He did hope the lens of suspicion did not turn towards Parchment herself, though he couldn¡¯t say why it would when she was a dragon loyalist with a direct patron in Tome.


    The weather that day, between its two modes of ash and snow, was a rain of hot ash from the volcano from which Coldpass derived its heating.  Not relishing getting ash stains out of his coat, he took the direct route to work that day, not wandering up the alley as he did some mornings, and set about wrangling cats.  Leather was on time and dutifully attending to her duties, but several of his regulars were entirely missing even an hour into their shifts.  Presumably, the ash was aggravating allergies and making travel hazardous for those without attire suited to not catching fire.  It was something many newcomers to Coldpass didn¡¯t realize, Denouement included, now that Quill considered it, was that while it was cold, the ¡°rain¡± was on occasion very hot, and could melt or ignite thinner fabrics.  Then again, he hadn¡¯t gotten a good look at Denouement¡¯s jacket; it could well have been branded with runes to render it immune to ashfall as well.  He would have to inquire.


    But first, he had to reassign tasks to his remaining volunteers, or see to them himself.  He was still immersed in the last of these when he realized his normal meeting time with Denouement had passed, and the time Glue preferred was fast approaching.  While Quill preferred to meet with a paucity of people around, Glue found anonymity and inconspicuousness in the hubbub of many people.  Quill quirked an eyebrow.  Curious concerns, for a librarian and a doctor, but then he was a man who carried the city-legal dueling foil and Glue knew more offensive forms of air sorcery than they generally let on.  Perhaps, he thought wryly, we are a little too cautious.  A voice piped up, the same one that told him to cool his head with Denouement, that one could never be too cautious, one could only be cautious enough.  He noted it with amusement, but did check that he had secured his foil to his hip that morning before heading to lunch.


    Glue had already ordered for them by the time Quill arrived, and was immersed in discussion with Denouement about the finer points of air sorcery, a subject with which she seemed to be intimately acquainted.  Quill noted that today Denouement had a heavy coat folded next to her at the booth.  Trying to catch up with the topic at hand, he made the small blood offering his axiom of lore required, so that he might draw upon her expertise and keep up with the conversation.  This was not so much because he was going to take part in crafting the equipment Denouement needed as a desire to appear competent in front of her, the better to impress her with his intellect while he had the opportunity.  Glue caught his eye and raised an eyebrow at the motes of light sealing the small wound, but returned to their conversation with Denouement without comment.  Glue understood Quill¡¯s need both to understand and to impress upon others his understanding.  It was a driving urge that got him through even the most arduous of foolish questions, he reminded himself not to call others fools even if they were, was the hope of helping others understand.  The free lore the library made available was the great appeal of the occupation to him.


    A stew of boar, with carrots, onions, and potatoes accompanied milk curd buns and a small sampler plate of game meat with cranberries.  They were doing respectably well eating their way through it when Denouement said something that made Quill¡¯s blood run cold.  ¡°I had the most curious encounter this morning.  This man with bangs, obviously covering an old scar,¡± though he had no memory of having considered such a thing, Quill found himself nodding in agreement without an ounce of pretense, ¡°presented me with a bouquet of flowers and said I had best leave off my business with ¡®the librarian,¡¯ I assume that to be you, Quill.  He asked if he might treat me to lunch, leering as he did so.  When I told him that I was already having lunch, ¡®with the librarian,¡¯ his demeanor went from a sticky attempt at charm to open hostility.  He thrust the flowers against my chest and growled that I would regret continued pigheadedness before stalking off.  Given the nature of our business,¡± again the word skidded off Quill¡¯s mind without contemplation, ¡°I thought you might want to know.¡±


    Glue looked sharply at Quill, who nodded.  They asked permission, lit incense with their fire runes, and then placed a few fingers against Denouement¡¯s temple.  The smoke bent unnaturally to chimney up Glue¡¯s arms and spiral around their fingers where they touched Denouement¡¯s head.  After a few moments, they nodded and affirmed that it was Burner.  Despite having only recently made his acquaintance¡­ or had he?  In any event, the name filled Quill with immediate dread despite fuzzy memories of his own encounter.  They asked when Quill was free, and he replied that he had dinner with his moms that night and a busy half day that Saturday, but he could do a late lunch tomorrow.  Glue gnawed at a lip before shaking their head.  They would retrieve Parchment and meet with Denouement that night if she would accede.  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Denouement nodded, and then asked Glue, ¡°So this Burner.  He needs air sorcery?¡±  Glue cocked their head as though considering something momentous, before shaking their head.  ¡°But surely, if he¡¯s dangerous enough that we need to meet this very evening, and you propose that any and all criminal natures can be ¡®cured¡¯ through the application of air sorcery, the foundation of Power of Engel¡¯s is that Burner simply needs to be treated.¡±  Quill was impressed.  Either Denouement had read some of Glue¡¯s treatises, dense reading to say the least, or he had entirely missed her presence at their lecture at Dragon Tales.  Glue hemmed and hawed.  ¡°The premise of a Sanatorium for the Criminally Insane is that crime is either survival crime or, by your own statements, curable.  At the very least, shouldn¡¯t Burner be in your Sanatorium if he goes about accosting people?¡±  The subject was making Glue uncomfortable, and Quill shared his friend¡¯s discomfort.  Something in the unease said to him that it really would be best that Glue and Parchment meet with Denouement as soon as possible, even if he would prefer that he be in attendance.  ¡°I would be happy to meet you for lunch tomorrow, Quill.  Our business is all but concluded, and I believe I heard you mutter something about business before pleasure?¡±  Glue guffawed, and Quill colored, nodding.  ¡°Well, we can discuss business.  I¡¯ll need to deliver whatever I find, presumably not to Dragon Tales directly?¡±  Quill nodded, finding the prospect of lunch with Denouement almost as agreeable as his impending evening with his moms.


    Back at the library, things were a circus with the short staffed library, but Quill managed well enough.  Nearly a positive interaction, if not for the certainty he specifically had been sought out, a patron asking where they kept their books on Incarnism.  Quill explained the book organizational system, receiving a blank stare, before sighing and showing them the books on Incarnism on the shelves, just to the left of the books on the Wholist faith.  The encounter concluded, he acknowledged that it was, in itself, not a particularly arduous exchange.  Dinner with his moms, however, was enough to make him look eagerly towards the end of the day.


    Quill took a circuitous route to the residence held by his moms, ducking through more than one alley and stopping in three crowded shops.  However, he was not one sandglass late when he finally arrived at the squat, perhaps even ugly stone building, with nonetheless cheerfully candlelit windows.  ¡°Mama!  Mother!¡±  Quill declared joyously as his moms opened the door to their small, but comfortable, home.  It was covered in the detritus of women who enjoyed craftwork; doilies, cross stitch, and quilts adorned nearly every surface.  An otherwise generic set of furniture was made personal and warm in a way he acknowledged his own apartment lacked.  When they inquired as to the health of their ¡°baby boy¡± he laughed and told them he was well.


    His mother, the one who had not given birth but had by all other measures mothered him, commented as she did every time on the foil he wore at his hip.  ¡°I know you don¡¯t approve, Mother, but it¡¯s necessary.¡±  Because being a librarian was such a dangerous business.  Quill sighed, and shook his head.  He couldn¡¯t explain habitually going around armed, and he suspected that even if he could, the answer would only worry his moms even more.  Dropping it with one last reproving glance, they ushered him over to the dinner table.  As only mothers could, they had prepared his favorite dishes, perfect through rose-colored glasses they might be, but perfection was perfection.  A stew of carrots and fried, breaded fish, pierogi which revealed his own as a pale imitation, and a foam of eggs, honey, and cream for dessert.  He didn¡¯t visit his moms as often as he would like, avoiding times of strife in Coldpass and somehow unwilling to make a regular habit of any particular day to visit them.


    At his Mama¡¯s prompting, respectfully reserved until he was halfway through his dessert, he told them about business at Dragon Tales, sharing everything from the aggravation of a thousand stinging questions about his faith, ¡°They¡¯re not even asking in bad faith all the time, it¡¯s just¡­ to have the conversation over and over and over is so draining.  It¡¯s like¡­ well, I imagine it¡¯s like my own ¡®why¡¯ phase when I was a child,¡± to the concern over Leather¡¯s unreliability when it came to assigning tasks.  They listened attentively, and despite himself and his previous certainty, he felt like he was holding something back.  After a few moments of silence, he decided it was Denouement, the wounds of his old boyfriend still fresher than he might like.  ¡°I met a woman through work.  She¡¯s¡­ doing some work for the¡­ library.¡±  The words came out clunky, meeting some internal resistance.  He felt like he was lying, but had no idea why.  He moved on to less uncomfortable aspects of their interaction.  ¡°She¡¯s richer than me, but not ostentatious.  I have a great deal of respect for her mind.  She¡¯s incisive, and witty.  From what little we¡¯ve talked about things outside of business.¡±  His Mother smiled and commented that it was good for him to be showing interest in someone again, after the ¡°unfortunate business¡± of his previous relationship.


    As if sensing his discomfort with the topic, Mama heaped another portion of foam into his bowl and said he clearly needed to eat more.  The comment made him smile.  Mama always felt he had leaned just a little too far into gaunt with his lean, athletic duelist¡¯s frame.  Which, on that subject, he really ought to review his forms more often.  Lately all the exercise he had gotten were his brisk walks around the city.  He resolved to review them during Saturday¡¯s half day, and make a habit of it.  He chuckled, realizing he had done so out loud when his moms prompted him to explain.  ¡°Oh, just adding one more habit to my sundry others, wondering how long it will take me to forget why I started it.  I¡¯m going to take my half day tomorrow to practice my fencing forms.  Which, yes, Mother, I know you don¡¯t approve, but it¡¯s good exercise and it¡¯s not as though I go about fighting people.  It¡¯s simply¡­¡± he was at loss for a good explanation, ultimately settling on, ¡°simply a habit.¡±  His moms, being moms, did not let the evening end on a down note.  Though they knew he would not accept a homey touch for his apartment, they did give him leftovers of both the stew and the dessert, gifts he would both treasure and savor.  As he headed home, he felt a pervading sense of peace.


    When he got home, he mentally added laundry to the list of tasks to which he would have to apply himself on Saturday. It was stacking up to be a full day, with a half day of work, lunch with Denouement, not that he would cancel that, fencing forms, and laundry, but at least he wouldn¡¯t have to cook with the generous portions of leftover food his moms had given him.  He settled down under his wool blanket, and thought again of whether he could trouble his moms for just one quilt to add to his humble apartment, his last conscious thought an unexplained and uncompromising ¡°no.¡±

 Fencing Forms

    Saturdays were a half day for Quill, an institution for which he could thank his residence in the Sevens.  That this half day for himself would begin with lunch with Denouement only added to the warm glow of having visited his moms the night before.  He stretched out, once again wondering why he never accepted their offer of a quilt which would make his home all the more cozier and be less scratchy than his wool blanket.  But, a question for a time when he didn¡¯t feel quite so pleased with life.  He was belting his robe and putting on slippers when he heard the papergirl, and deposited the paper onto the table to be enjoyed just as soon as he retrieved leftover fish stew from a compartment in his kitchen which allowed outside air through a grille.  The headlines that day were once again red letter.  The dragon of Coldpass was offering a reward in platinum for information leading to the arrest, and, Quill supposed, consumption by said dragon, of the person responsible for stealing several books from his lair.  They were of purely spiritual interest to him, nothing that would benefit a human, he went on to say.  As a closing statement he warned booksellers to be on the lookout for anyone seeking to sell antiques.


    Knowing he wouldn¡¯t have time between work and closing up early, Quill took the time to make sure his hair was well-brushed, and it seemed that his spirit was in accordance with the universe as it was a rare sunny day in Crisp which he could leave his hat at home for.  A touch foolhardy perhaps, as weather was changeable, but today was the day he concluded his business with Denouement and he hoped she would be receptive to overtures of meeting outside of a business context.


    When he looked behind the brick, as had become his habit, there was nothing to be found.  He wondered who kept leaving things there, and whether he was frustrating some childish game of secrets by taking the enigmatic scraps.  The library was, as Saturdays were, hectic.  Quill kept his composure well, dealing with people who needed to find books they couldn¡¯t possibly wait until Monday for, helped by the lack of any impertinent questions about Incarnism.  Leather was even on time again, and he resolved to ask her about the change on some day that wasn¡¯t Saturday.  By the time Quill had closed up shop, it was the usual lunch hour, and so the square would be more crowded than usual.  However, Denouement had evidently thought ahead, for she sat with a small bag of pierogi at the go table they had first met at, dressed in the same light green coat she had met him in.  The pierogi were no longer steaming, and he felt a slight measure of guilt at the thought of her waiting in the cold before he remembered her rune-branded coat would keep her warm.  There was an air to her, and Quill wondered curiously how her meeting with Glue had gone.


    Lacking an appropriate topic, he baldly asked, ¡°So, is your coat warded against heat as well as cold?¡±  Denouement laughed and shook her head.  Evidently, as she explained, one could only ward against one so well, and both would be ineffective against either.  She asked whether their business was concluded, and Quill found himself quite vague.  He was sure he was waiting on an edict from his boss, but somehow the head librarian wasn¡¯t the one who came to mind.  Ultimately, he shook his head with a touch of remorse.  Denouement¡¯s gaze grew unfocused for a moment, and then she nodded and sighed.  With equal clunkiness she brought up the topic of exercise, commenting on Quill¡¯s physique and stating that her own preferred form of exercise was rock climbing.  ¡°A curious choice, coming from the Fireplains,¡± Quill said.  ¡°Is there much opportunity to climb around on the plains?¡±  She smiled vaguely, and there was a delay before she nodded and said that the stone Barbery exported was used for all manner of construction and that all but the most carefully fitted bricks offered an opportunity to clamber up and down them.


    Quill was out of his seat before he realized what he was doing as Burner approached behind Denouement and grabbed her shoulder.  Before he could move, Quill had his own hand on Burner¡¯s wrist.  The next few moments were very confusing for Quill.  One moment, he was trying his strength against Burner¡¯s, the next he was on the snowy ground, jaw aching.  Burner guffawed, declaring, ¡°So the duelist librarian has a glass jaw!  Is that why you prefer foils?¡±


    Quill thought to himself that a sucker punch hardly gave him a glass jaw, and wobbled to his feet.  As soon as his footing was steady, he replied, ¡°Let me tell you, you resemble nothing so much as a herring bone stuck in my gums. Your presence poses no risk to my existence, and were I to sleep I would likely never see hide nor hair of you again, and you do inspire somnolence. Yet I feel I must address you, because of the sheer aggravation of your continued presence in my proverbial gums I require an immediate solution to your existence. I shall draw my sword, and you shall gaze upon glory as though it were the glory of the Lord Himself not only by virtue of my gracious form but by the inevitable lethality of your final vision.¡± When Burner wound up for another punch, this time Quill stepped inside his reach and gave Burner a swift jab to the gut that the man bore alarmingly well.


    Meanwhile, Denouement stood, freed from Burner¡¯s grasp.  She turned to go, and Burner cried, ¡°Hold it right there, thief, before I dismantle your friend!¡±  Denouement turned in place and spoke evenly, denying that she was any kind of thief.  Burner spat on the ground.  Quill, stepping out of dagger range in case Burner was more than a pugilist, challenged Burner that if he was half the air sorcerer he seemed to be, he could always try to read her mind and see for himself.


    Whatever Burner did, there was no rush of air and there was a wave of pressure against Quill¡¯s mind.  Burner sneered and said, ¡°So you move quickly, and you¡¯re tricky.  Doesn¡¯t mean anything.  She¡¯s the only one with the talents and we traced her to her air tank.¡±  Quill didn¡¯t know what this meant.  Was Burner also a water sorcerer, capable of psychometry?  ¡°We¡¯ll crack your cell, just you wait, but we¡¯re getting her,¡± Burner jerked his head, ¡°now.  Come on, girlie, you don¡¯t want a dragon as an enemy.  You don¡¯t even want me as an enemy.  I make a much better friend.¡±


    He closed the distance between himself and Denouement and grabbed her wrist again.  Quill, in turn, closed the distance between himself and Burner, and demanded satisfaction.  Burner would duel him, or he would prove himself an honorless coward.  This last word put a nasty gleam in Burner¡¯s eyes.  ¡°You want to duel over a clock to the jaw?  Didn¡¯t you learn enough from the last time you put your hands on me?¡±  Quill once again challenged him, over the affront to the honor of a woman he esteemed, and asked if he was a coward.  Burner spat again.  ¡°I¡¯m no coward, though you¡¯ll not be getting me with that foil.  You¡¯re challenging me, that means I choose the weapon and I choose fists.  Got a problem with that, librarian?¡±  Quill shook his head and something in his chest relaxed as Burner loosed his grip on Denouement.  This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Denouement, on the other hand, appeared irritated.  She turned to Quill and said she could fight her own battles, thank you very much.  Burner grinned.  ¡°You want to fight me instead, De-now-meant?  I can take a rabbit punch or two.¡±  Quill stepped between them.  He had been the first to propose a duel, he would have first crack at Burner.  They could even hire an earth sorcerer to patch him up, if Denouement wanted the pleasure of breaking in Burner¡¯s face.  She scowled and commented that they were drawing a crowd.  ¡°Oh, so the librarian and the fancy lass don¡¯t like attention?  Go figure that.  I¡¯ll take you both, and when I win the thief goes with me.  Name your place, librarian, and don¡¯t think of slipping out of Coldpass before the day.¡±  Surely, Quill replied, even Burner wouldn¡¯t be so gauche as to duel on the morrow, which was Sunday.  Burner narrowed his eyes.  ¡°The Incarnate Wholist duelist respects the sabbath?  Who knew?  Here I thought your business paid no mind what day it was.¡±  Quill recoiled mentally from this man who knew all things he identified himself by.  At least he didn¡¯t know, well, he didn¡¯t know what Burner didn¡¯t know, and he certainly wouldn¡¯t cast about for them now of all times.  ¡°Keep thinking that, librarian.  We¡¯ll strip the secrets out of your bones if we have to.  As for dueling, I¡¯m a member of a private club.  Just like your fancy pants self somehow.  We can go there to fight.  Duel.  Right now.¡±


    He grabbed at Denouement¡¯s wrist, and found himself in the snow blinking blearily.  Quill raised an eyebrow, not having been the one to throw a punch.  Denouement was looking smug, but also shaking out her hand.  ¡°Oh, it¡¯ll be a treasure to fight you, De-now-meant.¡±  Quill asked what this club was, how he could be certain Burner wasn¡¯t just leading them into a trap.  ¡°Now what would a librarian know about setting traps?  What do I have to trap you with?¡±  Denouement said he had untoward intentions towards them both, what further evidence did they need?  ¡°Would you have us duel here, in the snow?  Might soften the blow when you hit the ground.  But no, we¡¯re dueling at my club.  Otherwise you¡¯ll team up on me.  I can take you, but I¡¯d get hurt.  The club will keep things sportsmanlike.¡±  Ultimately, they agreed to follow Burner, though Quill kept his hand on his foil.


    The club was a hole in the wall, painted with the image of a red dragon, known to most as a flame dragon.  Barbery was, after all, the northern reach of the Claw of Fire.  Behind the door was a staircase leading downwards, and as they descended into the depths the walls palpably radiated heat.  At the bottom of the staircase was a room dimly lit with tallow candles, paneled in expensive wood, and an assortment of burly types with bangs standing around.  Quill noted their number and hoped a good left hook wasn¡¯t the extent of Denouement¡¯s martial abilities.  There was a fight in progress, and Burner put up a hand for them to stop.  Evidently the ¡°club¡± was a brawling ring, the man and woman wailing upon each other with their bare hands.  When the fight concluded, the woman spitting a tooth onto the downed man, Burner strode into the middle.  ¡°You¡¯ll be taking off that blade now, librarian.¡±  Quill protested that he would not hand his only force multiplier into the hands of enemies, that on his honor he would not draw his sword until Burner violated the sanctity of the duel.  ¡°There¡¯s no ¡®sancticty¡¯ to a duel, either you win or you don¡¯t.  But I see you take it seriously.  Keep your blade, and if you draw it these boys will perforate you.¡±  Quill looked around to see that at each corner of the room the men observing had a crossbow.


    He would have preferred to limber up first, but Quill saw no chance of Burner allowing such niceties.  By which he meant, in the corner of his mind that was still thinking, that Burner had turned at the end of his statement with a haymaker.  Everyone has a plan until they get hit in the face, so Quill once more stepped inside Burner¡¯s powerful but telegraphed punch, and rather than attempt another rabbit punch that the stout man had ignored, he re-broke Burner¡¯s nose with his forehead.  He saw light on impact, but Burner was reeling.  When your opponent was disoriented was the time for haymakers, not when they were braced for a trap, and Quill landed a punch to Burner¡¯s right orbital.


    The quietly observing corner of his mind noted that the men with crossbows were at the ready, despite his hands having stayed well away from his foil.  He followed up with a southpaw swing across Burner¡¯s jaw, long legs closing the gap between him and the reeling Burner.  He was angry.  He was very angry.  Burner had harassed him, though he couldn¡¯t recall details.  He had harassed Denouement, but that too was hazy in his mind.  The words that came to him were ¡°species traitor¡± but he had no idea what they meant or why Burner represented them to him.  Before Burner could rise from his fours, Quill laced his fingers and slammed them into the back of his head.


    Then he dropped, a crossbow bolt passing over his head, and pulled Burner up in front of himself, putting the man¡¯s bulk between him and the best shot of one of the crossbow-bearing men in the room.  As he stood, he didn¡¯t know what to do about the one behind him, but as a bolt whistled past his head he heard a scream.  Denouement stood in the corner at his back, and he would later learn she had neatly severed tendons in the man¡¯s wrist with a stiletto dagger.  Painful, disabling, but easily remedied by a competent earth sorcerer.  Figuring all semblance of peace was lost, Quill drew his rapier awkwardly with his left hand and held the thin, sharp blade against Burner¡¯s neck.  ¡°We¡¯re leaving.  He lost the duel, and then you interfered.  That¡¯s a crime.  Pity we won¡¯t be pressing charges.¡±  Why won¡¯t we?  ¡°But we¡¯re going to leave, and I¡¯ll deposit this waste of clay on the stairs as we go.  Alive.¡±  Burner was stirring, and Quill bludgeoned him with the heavy basket hilt of his rapier.


    Evidently leaving peacefully was not something the men in the room were agreeable to, because everyone advanced on the staircase.  Quill continued to drag Burner, while Denouement wreaked havoc on the pugilists with her dagger.  She had cleared a path in the time it took Quill to drag Burner to the foot of the staircase.  He threw the man at the nearest thug, and the two of them fled the ¡°club.¡±  At the top of the staircase, Denouement laughed at Quill, who didn¡¯t see what was so amusing.  Evidently he was sporting a wicked black eye from Burner¡¯s sucker punch, and also he didn¡¯t have to look so surprised that she had acquitted herself so well in a fight.  After all, in her line of business, she trailed off after the word business.  She concentrated on something for a moment, and Quill felt a bristle of unease.  Denouement resumed her sentence, saying that in her line of business one had to work alone and face uneven odds every time a plan went all to Hell, and every plan goes wrong sooner or later.  Quill laughed at the truism, ignored vague unease at what she was saying, and felt the adrenaline rush in his veins as a manic smile stretched across his face.  His grin only grew wider as Denouement kissed his cheek, bidding him a good afternoon.  Seeing as she had disabled three brutes with nothing but her dagger, he trusted her safety, but he wondered about his own as he tried to recall where to find an earth sorcerer.

 Church Sunday

    On Sundays, Quill slept in.  Not a lot, as there was Church to attend and he was a deeply religious man, but the three sandglasses he devoted to reading the paper was given over to sleep, as Sunday was a day off for everything.  Everyone, he thought to himself, but priests themselves.  There really ought to be some way of honoring the sabbath without making the representatives of the Lord give it up.  Then again, as Quill recalled sleepily, relaxing under his covers, perhaps it fell in the category of survival, or labors of love.  Didn¡¯t the Savior heal people on the sabbath?  Out of love.  He was certain he had been told by someone that if you do what you love on the sabbath, not only is it not a violation of the One God¡¯s Law, it is honoring the One God Himself.  It would explain why parents were allowed to parent on Sundays, rather than releasing their feral spawn¡­ Quill laughed.  He adored children, and hoped to have one himself some day, but his impression of them was very much informed by his own experience of being a child.  He had been adventurous, to put it mildly, and prone to not feeling the cold until he needed to plead entry to the nearest heated building.  The worry he put his poor moms through.  He sobered.  He supposed he still put his moms through a fair amount of worry.  But maybe that would change some day.  He had heard encouraging news from Fief¡­ what had he heard from Fief?  The thought wouldn¡¯t congeal.  With a sigh, he supposed it was time to rise and pursue spiritual edification.


    The Church resembled a church to perhaps a lesser extent than most, sparing every expense when it came to operation.  It was a block-sized pyramid of granite, relying upon the insulation of a very great quantity of stone quarried incidentally to other Earth Guild projects.  It did, at least, have the eight-point Star of God, and Quill splayed the fingers of his right hand over his heart in emulation of the God Star as he passed beneath it.  Inside, there was a short tunnel, no other word sufficiently captured the claustrophobia of the space, leading to a reasonably spacious narthex.


    He was immediately flagged down by Glue and Parchment, standing together just a little closer than friendship warranted.  Somewhere inside of himself, Quill was jealous, between his failed romance and the delay of any overtures towards Denouement.  Though what the romance of his friends had to do with his own romantic failures, he wasn¡¯t sure.  Quill suddenly remembered her kiss.  Quill supposed a lesser man might make a joke about needing to make sure to stay on Denouement¡¯s good side, but it would be a much lesser man, intolerably so by the standards of civilized society.  Quill felt only a warm regard for another dimension of competence in a woman he supposed he should admit he was developing strong feelings for.  No, he didn¡¯t suppose, he knew for a fact.  He was neither lesser nor the kind to play games of social dominance.  He was secure in himself to a large extent, and the remainder he resolutely kept his own problem.


    A tug at his arm pulled him out of his reverie, and he realized Denouement had attached herself to his arm.  ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to escort me inside the chapel?  Surely you¡¯re not so distracted as to miss the bell and the laws of decorum?¡±  Quill laughed, even as part of himself admonished him for allowing her the token intimacy.  But surely, if Parchment and Glue could¡­ but they weren¡¯t engaged in business.  Except hadn¡¯t Glue involved themself in Denouement¡¯s affairs, and hadn¡¯t Parchment paid for something?  They weren¡¯t part of the library staff.  But Denouement was entirely correct, the bell was ringing and it was too late by far to extricate himself from the duty, and privilege, of escorting Denouement along to his customary spot near the back of the cathedral.


    He raised his voice, a common but not unpleasant baritone, and was pleased to hear Denouement¡¯s soprano was clear and crisp as well as the congregation went through a welcome hymn.  She did refer to the hymnal, but her presence alone was a joy regardless of whether she shared his devotion.  His own inclination towards study and scholarship had led him to memorize vast swathes of the surviving liturgy and new works since the Age of Loss.


    The priest made the sign of the God Star before the altar, and then led the congregation in prayer for their sins.  Then followed another hymn full of joyful noise, one which even Denouement knew.  ¡°Even,¡± Quill chided himself, was an uncharitable extrapolation from only two data points.  As a scholar, he should be better; as a man in love, he must do better.


    Then the priest began the opening prayer.  ¡°Remember, beloved, that the existence of Reynaud, Power of Trickery, does not sanctify trickery.  Rather, the Powers exist to protect humanity from the forces of evil, as Gotorjod the first dragon shielded humanity from the One God¡¯s wrath when they first sinned.¡±


    Denouement, Quill noticed, could wrinkle her nose most impressively when she found something distasteful.  He agreed with the sentiment, and in wandering the fog of his thoughts as to why he found the subject of draconic mercy distasteful he missed much of the opening prayer, to no satisfactory result.  He reflected that they lived in a blessed age of lore, as much of scripture had been reconstructed from hidden troves, the inspiration of prophets sent by the One God, and oral history.


    The priest read from the Gospel, per usual, something Quill had almost committed to memory, and then launched with vigor into the sermon.  ¡°The trickery of sinners is an insidious and pernicious influence upon the soul of their fellows, to say nothing of the harm that can be done to the faithful.  The evil one loves nothing so much as the despoiling of a sanctified soul.¡±  He cleared his throat at the podium, and bowed his head piously.  ¡°I am loathe to do what must be done, but it must be done.  Beloved, I move from purely spiritual matters, as befits this Age of Steel, to comment upon secular affairs as a spiritual authority.  Published in the Coldpass Chronicle was an article which I found deeply disturbing, and showed a clear influence by the evil one.  Indeed, it was anonymous and that in and of itself is a hallmark of malintent.  Evil loves the shadows, while good goes about in the light.¡±  Quill knew he would have read the column, but couldn¡¯t call it to mind, and so listened attentively.  ¡°It suggested that the books stolen from the estimable Tome should be given a grace period during which they could be copied, as scripture was copied during the Age of Stone, at the end of which the originals could be returned to Tome without penalty.  It stated that this was even a moral imperative by Tome¡¯s own statement, that they were spiritual books with little to interest the seeker of wealth.  That slipperiness of logic and ideal is the very trickery against which the faithful soul must guard itself.  Tome, as he commented to the Chronicle, did not say they were scripture, but spiritual teachings concerning dragonkind.  They are close to the very angels, closer than humanity, for they were cast out of the Garden for virtue of mercy rather than death by sin.  This is apparent in their lasting on this Orth much more than the hundred and twenty years allotted to humankind.  What is meant for them is not necessarily meant for us; this was true even in the Garden from which both they and humanity were cast.¡±  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The sermon continued in that vein, and Quill found himself numbly attentive, noting the words so that he could discuss them in the narthex but emotionally unengaged.  His choice of church was largely dictated by the largest congregation, providing anonymity and easy avoidance of those who would take advantage of his being unarmed out of respect for the holy space.  Incidentally, he knew his moms¡­ the thought failed to finish itself.  It was with a certain measure of relief that they progressed to further prayers, as for the congregation and those who needed spiritual support.  It came as a surprise, though he chided himself for it, that one of the prayers called for conscience to call upon the thief who had stolen from Tome.  He deposited the silver he purpose-carried at the offertory.


    The service proceeded largely without incident after that, except for the surprise of Denouement declining to go up to take the Body of the Savior.  Wholists took it more seriously than the burgeoning Witnessate faithful, but it was a sin to take it while ritually impure among Wholists.  Quill indulged the fancy that she had attended services purely for the chance to see him, and wasn¡¯t even Wholist.  It might trouble him down the line, but for what was purely a nascent romance it signified less even than his being an Incarnate Wholist would have were she of the Faith.


    In the narthex, one of the few truly warm places in Coldpass, Quill gravitated towards Parchment and Glue.  Glue, he knew, had already made Denouement¡¯s acquaintance, but Parchment perhaps had not.  He made introductions, and Denouement smiled and patted his arm as she said, ¡°If you¡¯re friends of Quill, you¡¯re friends of mine.  Please, Quill in particular, call me Noue.¡±  Delight and consternation ran through Quill at this declaration, for he had made clear that they needed to resolve their business before any kind of courtship.  Then again, it was simply a familiar title, hardly a scandalous overture.  Ultimately, he resolved to put the matter aside for the time being and allow himself the indulgence of calling her Noue.


    He felt a vague unease, a chill down his spine, as Noue related in general terms that he had defended her honor the night before; it had hardly been necessary, but it had been ever so sweet.  The memories of doing so mostly pertained to her kiss on his cheek, and he felt a hint of outside disgust that the kiss was all the memory the subject evoked.  He wondered briefly if it was Burner, but felt an unqualified assurance that Burner was nothing like so subtle a touch as this.  Which was its own kind of troubling, but this, too, his mind rejected thinking on, filing it away somewhere he couldn¡¯t reach.


    As he so often did, he set the matter aside for contemplation later, though he couldn¡¯t place when or where until he was asking Parchment if they might take a private room at the Manners Lounge the following day.  She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and nodded, indicating that it could be arranged easily enough.  Denouement, Noue, spoke up, asking to be included.  She screwed up her face slightly as she asked, and Quill wondered if she felt the same shadow.  For that matter, he wondered what Parchment and Glue were experiencing, or if he were uniquely the target of a sorcerous probe.  Neither option appealed to him, and he made courteous farewells to Glue and Parchment, though he kept Noue on his arm.


    He introduced her as a visiting investor interested in the trade through the Barbery Range to the northern oceans.  This was entirely true, and yet he was uncertain how it related to his own business with her.  Still, as a true statement it did not violate the Savior¡¯s edict of speaking the truth, for He had left off keeping silent on the subject of sins.  Indeed, Quill could call to mind several passages about the poisonous nature of an injudicious tongue.


    The priest was interested in Noue, not in any untoward fashion, but as an attendee of a Wholist service who neither took communion nor had attended the classes prepared for converts to successfully attain a state of Grace.  ¡°Oh, you know, in the Fireplains there is much less of an organized Church,¡± she said blithely.  ¡°Everything is spread out, doctrine becomes fractured by schism or Witnessate influence because there¡¯s simply so much space to wander about in.  Barbery is, after all, largely mountain towns, is it not?  And the forested segments that survive the burns of the Fireplains are less devout?¡±  The priest uncomfortably acknowledged this was the case, that Mother Church struggled to hold on to its congregations closer to the borders of the Fireplains.  ¡°It keeps faith in the Father Supreme alive, though, wouldn¡¯t you say?  They still pray to the One God, just with differences of teaching.¡±  The priest pointed out that his sermon that very day had illustrated the dangers of differences of doctrine.  ¡°Of course, theft is a sin,¡± she said blandly, ¡°But what of retrieving stolen goods?  Is that not theft in turn?  The property has passed from one set of hands to another.¡±  The priest seemed to regard this as the slipperiness of word that he had been warning about, and Noue clarified, ¡°Dragons are hardly great writers of books.  It is humans who do not rely upon memory, and so the books passed from hands which had hoarded them, for mites to consume, to the hands of mortal woman or man.¡±  The priest disagreed vehemently, asserting that the role of dragons was to preserve knowledge against future Ages of Loss.  Noue cut him off there, ¡°Why would there be another Age of Loss?  We don¡¯t even know what caused the first one.  Going further, why wouldn¡¯t the course of action you decried as immoral help with the preservation of knowledge?  Or to put it another way, isn¡¯t it taking some of the burden of insulating humanity from their ignorance off the admittedly broad shoulders of dragonkind?¡±  The priest had evidently taken as much as he was going to take, and suggested to Noue that there was a Witnessate church just a few blocks down the street where she might find a more receptive audience for her ideas.  If it pleased her, he would encourage her to patronize that church rather than pollute the congregation.  ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry, Father, I meant only to engage in the free exchange of ideas.¡±


    Quill came up beside her and murmured something to the effect that the purpose of the Wholist Church was the preservation of existing ideas, not the promulgation of new ones.  ¡°Then what is a man of learning doing somewhere so opposed to learning?¡±  The question stung Quill, and he considered the matter seriously, long enough for Noue to clear her throat and ask, ¡°Still in there?¡±  He nodded, and replied that he attended the Wholist Church for the veneer of respectability which his occupation relied.  Of course, a librarian could be eccentric fairly safely, but he knew that there was other matters at hand, even if he would be hard pressed to name them.  With a sigh, he said they should discuss it the following evening.  Noue looked at him thoughtfully, before a familiar vagueness passed over her face and she nodded.  He was glad she hadn¡¯t pressed, even her dialogue with the priest made him wonder if she shouldn¡¯t spend more time associating with Glue.

 Key Glyph

    For reasons he couldn¡¯t name, Quill found humor in the headlines that morning.  Bookstores, and, he presumed, his humble library, would be searched, and a crackdown on fences had been pronounced.  He thought to himself that clearly it had been deemed insufficient to warn booksellers against dubious antiques, and if they were extending greater than usual intolerance towards fences, they were grasping at straws.  He was glad the purchases by the library were all from legitimate merchants.  But then there was Noue, but he didn¡¯t think she had anything to do with the library.


    It was then that he felt a vague pressure in his head, and looking around he saw a woman he thought he recognized from the Church narthex through the front window of his apartment.  However, before he could register more than dark bangs, she ducked out of sight and the pressure behind his eyes abated.  He sighed.  He didn¡¯t like the thought of someone rifling through his thoughts, which is what he associated that pressure with.  Even when Glue¡­ but when had Glue rifled through his thoughts?  He shouldn¡¯t presume that they would do that, even if they were a doctor of the mind.  His own mind was hale and hearty and not.  Quill cackled.  He was a man of habit, not criminal nor insane at all, but the question of whether he was brought forth intense laughter.


    Perhaps it was time for a vacation.  The oppressive cold, the grim sight of the frozen homeless that confronted him on every walk, confrontational people rifling through his thoughts or just assuming that they could ask him about Incarnism in place of doing their own research, it was all adding up.  And Coldpass was growing dangerous, the Earth Guild had been bombed.  Perhaps Denouement could accompany him on a vacation somewhere warm.  The Fireplains were warm, sometimes a little too warm, but the month of Libra was still well after the hottest days of Hot.  He quirked a smile.  Surely there was a better term for the months of Cancer, Leo, and Virgo.  Of course, one mustn¡¯t go too far; Mind was infamously incomprehensible with its seasons of Priest, Noble, Officer, and Trade.  Even Quill, without recourse to his axiom of lore, could only recall which was which by reciting to himself the order he had learned them in.


    Mind was a curious place.  Then again, he supposed Coldpass was no less absurd in concept.  An artificial volcano wrought by a fire dragon in the midst of a glacier-covered mountain.  Dragons truly were masters of their elements, for such a feat would be beyond even a circle of sorcerers; yet by the efforts of, so far as they knew, one dragon, the city of Coldpass heated itself with the volcanism of the Barbary Range.  Then, too, there was the matter of frozen bodies being left until they were ready to be disposed of, because of the periodic pulses of necromantic energy radiating from Mount Barber itself.  By comparison, the ticking construct pigeons and strange renunciation of land rights outside the cities of Mind were practically normal.  But enough reminiscing.  When had he visited Mind anyway?  He must have read about it.


    On his way to work, he checked the loose brick in the wall of the library.  There was once more a scrap of parchment, this one enigmatically asking, ¡°Handoff?¡±  He pocketed the paper with a shrug, and deposited it in a dustbin inside the library.  Within, things were the usual Monday chaos, as though nobody could recall how things worked after a day and a half off.  He almost, but only almost, saw the merits of those who called for abolishment of the weekend.  His own politics leaned in the opposite direction, but he would still dutifully work five and a half days each week, because a library that wasn¡¯t open outside work hours could not do nearly so much good.  Education ought to be every citizen¡¯s right.  Quill prided himself on the library¡¯s stock of scholarly texts, though it paled in comparison to the grand library of Repose.


    That trip he remembered well.  He had been introduced to his axiom of lore in one of the ritual chambers of that library.  Or he thought he remembered it well, he was at a loss as to why he had gotten an introduction to so potent a spirit.  But he was woolgathering, while his volunteers were at loose ends, standing about or half-heartedly setting up for the day.  One of them was even starting to consult a scrap of parchment for the blackboard, a task Quill made sure to oversee personally.  He called everyone together and got them organized and on-task before erasing the scrawlings on the blackboard.  It wasn¡¯t that they were wrong, per se, it was just that he liked to do them himself, particularly the block letters of the day¡¯s library headline.  Today was actually rightfully bookstore business, but Chapter rarely minded a second window of advertisement.  ¡°Tomorrow, 5% off the cost of all books!¡±


    He was nearly finished putting down the more pedestrian library news when he heard a dreadfully familiar tentative throat clearing behind him.  ¡°Excuse me for interrupting,¡± the individual began, who could always have not interrupted, if he wanted to be excused.  ¡°But I saw you in the narthex of the Pyramid Church and I was wondering why you attend Church if you¡¯re an¡­ Incarnate?  I have the right term?¡±  Quill sighed and turned to engage with the man.  He was a not-unattractive gentleman sweating beneath a greatcoat in the heated library, but Quill found himself finding fault with points of fashion and grooming out of his irritation at being asked about his faith.  The question wasn¡¯t that big an offense in and of itself, but was he put on Orth just to be annoyed?  Every day he answered questions there were plentiful books he¡¯d seen to it himself the library possessed.  He took a centering breath, the indulgence he permitted himself in exchange for the gracious treatment of potential patrons, and directed the man towards the religion and philosophy shelves.  He mentioned that there was in particular a treatise on Incarnate Wholism by the great mystic Domino von Repose of Condemnation.  Clearly disappointed, but not rude enough to press, the man checked the text out under Quill¡¯s watchful eye.


    Lunch came at what seemed to Quill a reasonable pace, one hour earlier than the trades to make the library available to the greatest number of people.  He dug his lunch out of the snow in something of a hurry, looking forward to lunch with, he thought with relish the slightly intimate nickname, Noue.


    She wore the same mint rune branded coat, standing out for the thin fabric on a brisk day.  Though, to be fair, she was standing with a bag of pastries by the same go table they had met at several times now.  Quill wondered whether she played go at all.  She had the mental acuity for it, but it was said that there were go people and there were chess people, and he didn¡¯t know which they played in the Fireplains.  He was not so distant that he could surreptitiously cut his thumb to conjure forth his axiom of lore, so he resolved to ask another time.


    Once again she kissed his cheek in a familiar gesture he ought not allow but was powerless to resist.  This time, he noticed that he was reflexively bending at the waist even with her standing on tiptoe, the differences in their heights not quite having registered when he was distracted by whatever had been distracting him the night she first kissed him.  She once more had curry buns and coffee, and she smiled when he asked to verify that they were Fireplains comforts.  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Encouraged, he inquired as to whether she enjoyed go.  At that, she made a face and said that she required more stakes for something to hold her interest.  He proposed placing a wager upon the game, and while she raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, she said she would respectfully decline when he clearly had passion and experience surpassing her own.  She bit her lip nervously and looked around, and asked a question he realized he had been about to ask himself, whether they could meet that evening.  He nodded, and while he expected his unruly, unbusinesslike mind to thrill at the prospect, he found himself instead vague but motivated to meet with her.  Something in her countenance, perhaps, made the difference and suggested she had more than flirtation intended.  Nonetheless, he sincerely made sure to give his word to conduct himself as a gentleman.


    She laughed again, and said she had seen the kind smile on his face at the Church youth group; no man who loved children would conduct himself as anything but or he would never have issue of his own.  He replied that if he found the company of women distasteful he could always adopt.  But evidently he bore up far too easily under the weight of her affection to have distaste for her company.  But on that subject, why hadn¡¯t he adopted.  Or at least, he assumed she was going to ask that, but she trailed off and shook her head, murmuring that he should never mind such a question.  He had no ready answer, though he knew it was not in his immediate future.  They finished their lunches soberly, and Quill returned to the library knowing the day would drag waiting for his evening meeting with Noue.


    It was not to be so.  He returned to the library to find a squadron of what was clearly Tome¡¯s personal guard, livery of red and blue-gray common to most fire dragons.  How often had he encountered soldiers of dragons?  Leading them in nondescript brown leathers was a woman who introduced herself as Decontextualized, without state of origin or maternal parent.  As the library opened from lunch in less than a sandglass, he had that much time before Tome¡¯s guard would break down the door.  She didn¡¯t say as much, he simply faced a strong mental image of that being the result of any delay.  Contrary to that, she spoke very politely to ¡°Librarian Quill.¡± She asked that he kindly lead them through the library.  They were informed he knew the nooks and crannies a book could get lost in much better than anyone else, and so they elected to wait for him.  Lost, clearly, was a euphemism for ¡°concealed,¡± but if she would conduct herself civilly, he would as well.


    He felt the beginnings of a headache come on, and as he guided Decontextualized through the library it only grew.  By the time they got to the offices, his head hurt badly enough that he slumped into a chair, handing over his keys to one of Tome¡¯s guard.  Decontextualized patted his back in sympathy, confiding that she had dealt with headaches for many years before entering Tome¡¯s service.  Perhaps he should consider the same?  The pressure in his head only increased as he considered her words, but he found himself preoccupied with books.  What books?  The books stolen from Tome.  But all he could think of was the stock of the library, he couldn¡¯t even call to mind what Tome had reported stolen.  He felt disgust at his foggy brain, and blamed the strange feelings on his headache.


    When the guard emerged from the offices and reported nothing being found, Decontextualized rose and, without farewell, led the squad out of Dragon Tales.  Quill felt relief, although his headache persisted.


    When the next patron came over to him asking about Incarnism, he snapped that Wholism would be sufficient for their spiritual needs and that he would not waste his time and annoy the pig by answering their questions.  He regretted his words, when the headache began to clear, but it was far too late to do anything about it but to put more positive energy into the rest of his day.  That would be no problem with Noue, but first he would talk to Leather and ask what had changed in her circumstances to make her a more reliable volunteer.  The story, as it turned out, involved her children.  With Libra, they were once again safely in school before she had to arrive.  He hadn¡¯t known she was married, but then he¡¯d not taken much of a vested interest in a volunteer he¡¯d perceived as uninvested.  Inwardly, he admonished himself for the snap judgment, and to Leather he expressed his regrets for any harshness he might have expressed.  He came away from the discussion with only a slight lingering headache, and a much more positive attitude.


    Noue was waiting outside the library, almost on the precipice, when he bade good night to Chapter and locked up shop.  She, Noue, not Chapter, explained that she had intended to meet him at his apartment but didn¡¯t know where it was.  She flushed as she said this, and he immediately voiced a lack of concern or humor at her expense over such an oversight.  He quite enjoyed the feeling of her hand in the crook of his arm, and led her through the snowy streets towards his apartment.


    Inside, Noue concentrated intently upon something other than her surroundings, which he would have figured would have been of preeminent interest, and then turned to Quill and asked him if he would please take them to the most private room of his apartment.  Something in her tone made it clear she had no untoward intentions.  Puzzled, his mind roiling and yet blank, he led her to a closet that shared two walls with other apartments and had no windows.  He apologized, as it was cramped, but was informed it would suit well.


    Noue turned to Quill and said, ¡°Could you please visualize your glyph?¡±  The words rang in Quill¡¯s mind, and a complex sigil appeared in his mind.  Unlike many of his distant, foggy thoughts, it was easily held, and he rotated it in his thoughts until it settled.  In an instant, the fog was banished.  A rush of fear ran over him at the number of close encounters he¡¯d had with agents of Zrit¡¯isar, who affected the Loon name Tome.  He realized he rather urgently needed to discuss with Noue the books she had stolen from Tome, as he had signaled to his extracellular contact Spine that the handoff would be at a prearranged drop site the next day.  He asked Noue if she¡¯d read anything of the books she had stolen for the Historians.  She shook her head.  ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure whether the knowledge would carry a signal for their psychic servants, and then after Glue¡­ eugh.  After they worked on my mind, I couldn¡¯t even coherently consider them.  They¡¯re hidden, and I think I can find them without unlocking my glyph, but I need to know where to leave them.  I¡¯m assuming you¡¯re using a drop site, given the scrutiny book stores are under right now?¡±  Quill nodded, as ever pleased by her mental acuity.  He directed her to the drop site, recognizing the expression of nonremembrance Glue¡¯s air sorcery enabled, and suggested they have lunch with Glue Wednesday, after the handoff.  ¡°You don¡¯t want to meet me alone?¡± she teased.  ¡°After all, our business will be concluded.¡±


    Rather than a sense of forbiddance, Quill knew exactly why business came before romantic interest.  He was a romantic, and he could not afford to compromise himself or his cell over emotional attachment.  He would meet with Glue the following evening, and arrange lunch to go over their mental defenses.  He knew now was a very dangerous time for all of them.  He bent to brush a single kiss over Noue¡¯s lips, once again rotated the complex sigil in his mind, and bade her good night.  Despite the fig leaf of air sorcery, the peace to meditate nor sleep came easily to him that night.

 Initiation

    In fiction, there were many fanciful notions of what could and couldn¡¯t impede sorcery.  There were frequently tales of villains wearing rune branded torcs to conceal their iniquity from water sorcery.  In the popular serial about a potent air sorcerer soul-bound (in itself its own kind of nonsense) to an air element dragon, the main villain wore a helm of some exotic metal to hide from the hero¡¯s far-reaching abilities.  And a thin coating of lead was forever used to hide gambling halls from fire sorcerers looking for unlicensed entertainments.  That said, there were some ways of preventing the sorcerously-inclined from rifling through one¡¯s essence, mind, and so on.


    One was simple distance.  The further you were from the subject, the harder the spell became.  Another was retributive magic, though that incurred the strain of maintaining a spell of awareness.  The Manners Lounge had four stories, and the uppermost floors were private rooms for those wanting to discuss business as securely as one could.  This was, doubtless, why Parchment had chosen it to patronize.  The third required an accomplished sorcerer of the sphere you sought to guard against.  Glue was an accomplished air sorcerer, having laid down the ¡°walls¡± of fog which shielded their Historian secrets from draconic psi.


    It was hardly pleasant, however, and reclining on pillows in their private room, Quill relished the freedom of thought having released his glyph entailed.  He relied upon routine to reinforce the soft work, nearly runic itself, of Glue¡¯s sorcery.  Thoughts which did not fit into his persona slipped along mental troughs behind the wall of vague, foggy forgetfulness.  It was not true forgetfulness, in fact Quill probably had to rely upon his axiom of lore more because of it, but it was his own mind maintaining non-awareness of what he was not thinking about.  Glue had gotten the idea from the repression of memories their traumatized criminally insane often demonstrated, and it was more subtle than a simple wall blocking off memories and thought patterns.


    However, Glue was concerned about this new operative, Decontextualized.  That she had given Quill a headache was an ominous statement of the power of her psi.  Every mind had limits, even if she had not reached Quill¡¯s upon her first investigation.  Glue expressed that they would like to take some of the more critical secrets and secure them with walls of air as well as the mind¡¯s own defenses.  Quill nodded, although the concept of anyone, even Glue, tinkering with his mind made him nervous.  As Tome Junior nipped at a scrap of meat in Quill¡¯s sandwich and spiraled off in pique at his warding hand, he thought of emotion magic, fire sorcery.  Finding guilt or paranoia was within the scope of draconic psi, but the excitable dragon kin would put out waves of emotion which masked their own.  Quill raised an eyebrow.  If he weren¡¯t devoted to the secrecy of their methods, he could write his own serial detailing how to evade sorcery and draconic psi.


    Parchment turned to him, and he realized he had been reflecting on the methods of ensuring their safety because, comfortable as it was, releasing his glyph made him nervous.  He wondered if Glue had distracted him in order to avoid giving him the key to his own thoughts, but that thought slipped aside, which meant that yes they had.  Quill asked her to repeat herself.  She replied that they were running out of time.  She had stalled by moving her office and having her interim secretary misfile the papers, but Tome clearly had committed to memory the books Noue had stolen and simply wanted to avoid anyone else having knowledge of them.  She was still directing Earth Guild miners with confidence, now that she had ¡°found¡± the new translated chapters.


    Quill sighed.  The drop had, he would hopefully confirm tomorrow, gone smoothly, but word from Spine was brief and limited to a few words each day.  Even without Glue¡¯s wall of fog, Quill knew nearly nothing of his contact with the next cell, but he would obey her or his orders without question.  Usually, anyway.  He had lobbied fiercely for his former boyfriend to stay on in place of Parchment; at least, as fiercely as one could with the first words of a blackboard sign purportedly about library business.  He sighed out a cloud of flavored smoke.  He had to admit, Parchment was of greater utility to the cause of the Historians.


    On that thought, he said, ¡°I think we should take on Denouement as a journeyman Historian.¡±  Glue chuckled and asked why she wasn¡¯t ¡°Noue¡± just now.  Parchment simply cocked her head thoughtfully.  She was doubtless aware of Quill¡¯s efforts to displace her, but had never commented upon them.  ¡°She¡¯s opposed to the cause of dragons, albeit on the basis of their selfish use of wealth and power.  She¡¯s an accomplished thief.  As a trade center and her status as an investor, she¡¯d have a cover¡ª¡± Glue shook their head in interruption and reminded Quill that he would likely not be allowed to keep a close relationship with Noue, they used the familiar name that had been invited, regardless of whether she joined the Historians or not.  Quill countered, ¡°Oh, just because you¡¯ve found your kindred spirit inside the cell, I¡¯m not allowed to help?  Four isn¡¯t an unreasonable number for a cell, we¡¯ll make an effigy and carry it like we¡¯re¡ª¡± Quill stopped short.  He had been about to analogize them to heroes of a serial.  Maybe reading the back covers as he sorted the fiction section was letting brain rot set in.  ¡°¡ªlike there¡¯s five of us,¡± he finished half-heartedly.


    Parchment snatched her hand from Glue¡¯s like she¡¯d been stung and looked sharply at Quill.  Glue seemed more placid, but Quill¡¯s ill humor likely paled in comparison to the vituperative invective of their patients.  After a moment, they said they would second the initiative provided they could do an in-depth probe of Noue¡¯s mind.  Just because Burner had the subtlety of a drunken ass didn¡¯t mean Tome or Decontextualized weren¡¯t capable of the same mind-jiggery-pokery as Glue themselves.  ¡°You could detect that kind of thing?  That could revolutionize initiation!  Especially with what you said about your madhouse¡ªsorry, sanitarium¡ªpatients, you could create and conceal entire cells!¡±  Glue inclined their head slightly, clearly thinking, and acknowledged that the potential existed.  However, they weren¡¯t certain they were capable of it.  ¡°You as good as admitted you could do it in your lecture, but you won¡¯t entertain it in private?¡±  Glue shook their head and began to explain.  While they were entirely capable of instilling habits of thought, possibly even behaviors, although they hadn¡¯t extensively tested that, there was a bigger issue with creating an entire population slaved to the cause of the Historians.


    ¡°Faith.¡±  Quill groaned and clapped a hand over his eyes.  He believed in a greater good.  His spirit of lore, as an axiom, was less concerned with moral issues and more concerned with his accumulation of knowledge; a pursuit to which he was well-suited as a Historian.  Once they had thwarted Tome he would have to ask Spine about a copy of the books Noue had stolen, to satisfy its curiosity and honor his bargain with it, or else find some other way to feed its inquisitiveness.  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    But getting back to the topic at hand, he knew that thwarting dragons was the single greatest good.  Scraps of parchment hidden in another book had hinted to him as to the cause of the Age of Loss, its draconic origin, and when he had made unsubtle searches for further lore he had been warned, warned again, and finally approached by the Historians.  Glue, however, had an altogether different outlook.  They had learned of the Age of Loss as a result of treating one of Burner¡¯s failed conversions.  The One God had sent a prophet and Burner had tried to brute force her mind towards Tome¡¯s ends.  The result had been madness, Glue was still loathe to speak in any detail as to the state of her mind, and she remained at Power of Engel¡¯s in the long-term suite reserved for the incurable.  Effectively jailing a woman who would do nothing but rave, to anyone who would listen, of dragon-kind¡¯s evils was another layer of obfuscation as to Glue¡¯s loyalties, ostensibly a favor to Tome, despite being motivated in truth by a desire to preserve her life.  And, Quill added, plumb her secrets.  But their faith did not allow admission of such a truth.  Glue bent minds towards Historian ends, but only incidentally or with their full consent.  They believed they were helping, or at least doing no harm, and faith in the Will of the One God was essential to sorcery.


    Questions of faith with an upbringing in the Gospel of Gotorjod had been what steered Quill away from sorcery and into spirit magic.  His meditation, his belief in an energy of life, those he understood.  Church he attended dutifully as a common librarian would, but so often the sermons clearly served draconic ends.  He wondered why they didn¡¯t convert to a Witness faith and then remembered: appearances. He would have asked Glue why they even bothered with their research, if they were going to intentionally hobble their ability to turn it to the greater good, but he knew their answer already; they were helping people.  Unlike Quill, who was a librarian when he wished to be a scholar, Glue was serving both their callings.  All three, if their relationship with Parchment panned out.  Once again he waved Tome Junior away from his sandwich, then elected to finish it rather than vent any bitterness.


    ¡°Eating your feelings, Quill?  You¡¯re a romantic, that will get expensive fast.  Even Parchment¡¯s funds aren¡¯t unlimited.¡±  Glue laughed, and Quill let out an insincere growl.  When he had finished his sandwich he asked Glue what useful information had come of their latest experiment.  ¡°It¡¯s actually very exciting,¡± they replied.  ¡°The criminal inclinations of the individual, we¡¯ll call them Z, have been entirely subsumed into devotion to their new job.¡±  Quill had to ask how a criminally insane person had gotten a job in Icehold, though he suspected he knew the answer.  ¡°We arranged it, of course.  You can¡¯t treat the symptom without treating the cause, and the people who choose principle over food and warmth make rather hideous gargoyles along the street.¡±  The people who choose principle over opposing dragon-kind make the shadow war that much longer, Quill replied.  ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be a sourpuss.  Just because my convictions don¡¯t align with yours doesn¡¯t make them any less valid.  Besides, with Tome¡¯s universal access to the records of anything in Coldpass, my experiments into creating actual thralls would have to be off the books, or we¡¯d simply throw waves of innocents into battle with one another.¡±  Stung by their valid point, Quill kept his peace, sighed, and made a gesture for them to continue.  ¡°And while I¡¯ve avoided attempting any overt controls, they do mark with chalk the number of frozen homeless they pass between work and home.¡±  That sounded promising.  It could be repurposed, if more patients could be released, into a way of monitoring the comings and goings of agents like Burner, or at least the dragon¡¯s guard.


    They sat around, eating and inhaling the water-cooled smoke of the hookah, in companionable silence.  For all that they clashed, they had been forged by pressure (and no small dislike of Tome and Burner) into a cohesive unit.  That Parchment had attached herself to Glue was likely a result of that closeness, but also Quill had less in common with the guildmistress.  She was wealthy, branded, and while she had inherited her position with the Earth Guild, her family was originally out of the Fireplains.  Musing on Glue¡¯s subliminal counting of frozen homeless, he commented that it was disgusting, Tome offering a reward of platinum, when people were freezing to death in the streets.  Everyone agreed heartily, but little of substance was said.  Parchment kept her peace, more often than not, and while Quill knew what side she stood on, he knew little about her.


    He snapped his fingers.  If Glue was going to shore up their defenses, they needed to work on Noue¡¯s mind as well.  He was having lunch with her the next day, would they join them?  Glue had been associating with Parchment, they had formed a bond, maybe he could learn more about the reticent guildmistress during the lunch.  Glue nodded, and Parchment volunteered to attend as well.  The idea made Quill nervous, because he had little excuse to be seen with the guildmistress of the Earth Guild, but if Glue and Parchment were publicly a couple, that would excuse her presence.  Then, again, Burner seemed aware of Quill¡¯s comings and goings.


    He asked if either of them had been menaced by either Burner or Decontextualized.  Both Glue and Parchment shook their heads.  ¡°I would imagine we¡¯re securely in the book of Tome¡¯s allies,¡± Glue said.  ¡°My records are an open book, I forward the cause of order, and Parchment¡­ well, I mean, she¡¯s the dragon-sponsored guildmistress of the Earth Guild.  I¡¯m likely shielded by my close association with her, and I¡¯m honestly hoping your being seen with her will take you from the list of suspects to, at worst, a pawn not worth bothering with.¡±  Quill acknowledged that this sounded like a good idea, though he was slightly frustrated to be thwarted in his information-gathering endeavors.  There was the very good question of why he wanted to know more about someone with whom he primarily shared a very dangerous secret.  He thought of the intense headache he had gotten with Decontextualized applying pressure to his mind, and asked Glue if it were possible she had implanted some kind of compulsion in him for later.  Glue replied, ¡°If she did, she hid it under the intellectual bruising that kind of application of psi causes.  I didn¡¯t see any when I was laying down the walls, but if she embedded it as curiosity, rather than a thought process, I wouldn¡¯t find it.  That¡¯s the domain of fire sorcery.  I think, for the time being, it¡¯s best you not inquire too deeply into the histories or intentions of anyone around you.  Not only could you acquire information to use against them, any holes in who you ask about would tell them what direction to look in.  Whereas if you don¡¯t acquire information about anyone, she could just suppose that her psi failed to take.  Minds are slippery things, both plastic and rigid in different ways.¡±


    Quill nodded, but he felt sincere frustration at the prospect of avoiding learning anything about Noue, when he wanted to learn as much as he could about her and commit it all to memory before her work or graduation tore her away from him.  He wondered if he was simply suggestible, reflecting on Glue¡¯s comment on eating his feelings, as he ordered another roast beef sandwich with what would be an unfulfilled intention of feeding the great majority of it to Tome Junior.

 Orders

    As it happened, they made plans to meet at the Manners Lounge after lunch, once again meeting in a private, fourth-floor room with Parchment¡¯s pet toy drake.  Glue commented dryly that they had a great deal to discuss.  Parchment cocked her head and turned to Quill, who simply nodded and handed over the scrap of parchment, hah, that had been behind the loose brick at the library.  It had a single word scrawled on it in the same cramped, spidery handwriting as ever, ¡°collapse.¡±  Parchment looked up at Quill and asked him if it was a joke.  He shook his head regretfully.  The odds of a forgery were low, the handwriting of Spine distinctive but very difficult to duplicate, despite the itch at the back of Quill¡¯s neck when he had checked the brick that morning.


    Parchment stared at the word for a while, obviously conflicted.  While the fog allowed ambivalence, it mostly prevented it by forgetfulness of their highest loyalties.  The wall of thought that Glue had erected blanketed thoughts that it contained.  It was still like a missing tooth once he unlocked his fog glyph.  He found his thoughts ever returning to the blunt blankness which contained¡­ well, he didn¡¯t know what it contained.  Unlike his mental fog which obfuscated the reasons for some of his habits and kept his trains of thought benign, there was no hint of what was within the stony redoubt.


    Perhaps most troubling was the lack of a glyph, or even the suggestion of one.  Decontextualized or Burner would have to break down the walls themselves to plunder his secrets, and Quill shivered at the thought of the woman in Power of Engel¡¯s forevermore.  He looked over at Noue, who was attending as a guest of Parchment¡¯s in the official books of the Lounge.  The toy drake seemed to delight her as much as it did Glue, and Quill found himself pondering the possibility of a small dog or cat to distract from the blank wall in his mind.  Noue evidently had no taste for hookah, but was sipping from a small mug of chocolate, tickling Tome Junior¡¯s tail with her free hand.  The hot drink was another indulgence he attributed to the Fireplains, though he thought Peaceshield was the actual producer of cocoa the Fireplains were known for enjoying hot beverages.  Which, as a man born and raised on a glacier, he found incomprehensible, but if that was his biggest issue with Noue¡­


    He smiled.  He could relish calling her Noue now.  Her work was complete, and she had been inducted into their secrets to a limited extent.  Or a not-so-limited extent, given the extent of Glue¡¯s sorcery.  It had its limitations, they¡¯d discussed at length the impossibility of a single-sphere form of mind control, but the ability to lock away secrets allowed them to work much more openly with operatives.  It would be a great boon going forward.  A bleak thought, to him, that there would be a ¡°going forward,¡± but one to which he was resolved.  He believed in the greater good, and if he couldn¡¯t bring Noue into his cell, and he admitted the reality that he was not ready to single-handedly overthrow dragonkind entirely, then he would say farewell.


    But that was a problem for the future, and he was nearly ready to lock the fog back into place, file away what was said absent-mindedly, and enjoy the time with Noue.  She caught him watching her, and hid a smile behind a sip of her chocolate.  He hadn¡¯t imagined the smile, however, because she laid a hand on his thigh after she set down the small mug.  Parchment was holding forth on her duties as guildmistress, and when Quill realized he wasn¡¯t listening he went ahead and restored the fog.  He would remember another time, when he wasn¡¯t trying to savor his quite probably limited time with Noue.


    As guildmistress of the Earth Guild, Parchment had to oversee a commercial empire which spread throughout most of the northern Sevens.  They exported granite to other nations, gabbro to the Barbery Mountain Bone Pickers, and almost as an afterthought to their quarrying refined or cut the precious metals and gemstones that came out of the Barbery Range.  However, in the last dozen years Tome had gone from a general advisor to nearly a dictator.  They were on the verge of discovering, as Parchment had leaked to the Coldpass Chronicle, some kind of pre-Loss artifact.  Even she didn¡¯t know what they were going to find, Tome was demanding utter secrecy.  She oversaw countless crews of miners, using a variety of techniques, ranging from ice fracturing of the stone to simply magically reforming the stone with teams of sorcerers.  Curiously, and much to her financial relief, Tome had demanded that no magic users be involved in the excavation of the artifact, so she would be losing only semi-skilled labor.  She sneered at that, as though their skill in any way affected their value as human beings.


    Quill sighed as Noue echoed Parchment¡¯s sentiments and asked if they were paid less.  The fog had to go or he¡¯d look like an imbecile.  Parchment acknowledged that, yes, she paid her ¡°common¡± miners less, because she couldn¡¯t afford the proportionally greater rates the sorcerers would demand for their abilities.  She might be able to, were she not affecting patronage by Tome¡ªNoue interrupted to say that they would still be being paid less.  Parchment asked what Noue suggested, and she replied flatly that communism was the only ethical form of economy.  The Savior, she went on, created communities which operated on a communal basis, even if this fact had been largely depressed or erased by the Age of Loss.  Which she now knew was a product of dragons, creating inequality to keep humans at each others¡¯ throats rather than turning to the true oppressors and hoarders of wealth.


    Quill nodded.  Noue was a particular kind of thief, and they had been lucky to find her.  Skilled, discreet, ostensibly independently wealthy, she stole only from dragons.  She couldn¡¯t conscience such great wealth in the hands of even the semi-divine figures of dragons, when people starved or froze or otherwise perished of want.  Now that she knew a few of the Historians¡¯ secrets, most notably the litmus fact that dragons had intentionally wrought the Age of Loss to wipe out knowledge of their Dragon Wars, her fervor had only increased.  Quill just hadn¡¯t seen that when they had met, because it hid behind the helpful wall of intellectual fog Glue was so skilled at installing in the mind.  In any event, Noue advocated for equality for all.


    Parchment asked what the motivation for more difficult or distasteful trades would be, in such an economy.  Noue shot back asking whether Parchment would abandon her duties as guildmistress to be a scribe or smith if her pay were reduced to a stipend and an indulgence budget.  Whether Glue would abandon their studies and research if it didn¡¯t pay¡ªGlue interrupted to point out that it didn¡¯t pay particularly well, and much as they were loathe to undermine Parchment in anything, the nursing staff of Power of Engel¡¯s were paid even less and engaged in the unpleasant business of managing the criminally insane out of genuine Wholist or Witness charity.  Noue pressed her advantage, asking why the Earth Guild didn¡¯t accord heating to a single warehouse building to end the veritable epidemic of frozen homeless.  This time, however, Glue jumped to Parchment¡¯s defense, pointing out that she was walking a wire-thin line between indulging Tome and undermining his causes.  It was Tome¡¯s will, and his expensive tithe, that kept geothermal power from heating the entire city.  The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Noue nodded, sighing.  Quill took the opportunity to lay his hand over hers, and told her that the injustices she railed against were the entire cause for the existence of the Historians.  Noue looked at him sharply and gestured to Parchment, asking if her market economy ideas would evaporate in the absence of dragons.  Which, then, was the true face of the Historians?  Quill¡¯s alleged idealism, or Parchment¡¯s principled but anemic resistance?  Parchment took umbrage at that, asking where her dedication was anemic when she had allowed her office to be bombed, and would be engineering the deaths of an entire shift of miners just to buy time for the cause.  Noue retorted that she hardly put herself at risk doing it.  Parchment raised an eyebrow and asked where she wasn¡¯t risking anything, smuggling in a bomb to the mine shaft.  That she would be going to a dead drop to pick up the mining tool the Earth Guild was denied, by order of Tome.  Noue considered this, and nodded after a long pause and a sip of her chocolate.


    Glue brought them back to center and said that they had another cause for wanting to meet more privately than a cafe or go table.  Noue cocked her head.  Ah, Quill remembered now.  He took out his penknife and slit his thumb, hissing at the pain before the magic of the channeling sealed the injury as if it had never been there.  His mind, already more expansive from the relief of fog, felt as though a great lattice of facts and knowledge had been laid atop it.  He couldn¡¯t hold it all in his head, but he could search and access it like a library of thoughts.  Not to mention, this time he knew exactly what he was looking for.


    He asked Noue if she knew what manifestation was.  She shook her head and asked him to explain as he was clearly eager to do.  Unable to resist, he asked if she knew what channeling was, which of course she did.  Channeling allowed communing with the spirits of the world, granting knowledge and mystical ability.  He had channeled just then, she¡¯d seen the blue motes of light sealing the cut on his thumb.  He grinned.  As ever, she was perceptive.  Manifestation, he elaborated, was the physical coalescing of a spirit into a physical form.  As agreed, they would pay her for her thievery, and while he couldn¡¯t say it yet the ability would serve her well should she become a Historian, but they were so pleased with her work that they would let her in on another secret.  Among other things, it would make her harder to hold, and it wasn¡¯t a Historian secret so much as knowledge which had yet to be widely disseminated.  There was such a thing as an axiom of lockpicking, a spirit of ordered human thought devoted to the art of opening the sealed.


    Noue nodded, stating that she¡¯d considered such a thing before learning that the skill of such a spirit was rudimentary compared to her own expertise.  But by all means he was to go on, she liked where it sounded like he was going.  He grinned.  She kept him on his toes; he was used to his theater surprising his audience.  He elaborated that if one were to manifest the axiom of lockpicking, one would have a set of tools usable for most any burglarizing endeavor, but also they would possess the ability to open a lock specifically without regard for the scale of the tools to the scale of the lock, with only an exercise of will.  Noue¡¯s eyes shone, and she nodded eagerly.  He was, then, proposing to give her this spirit?  Quill nodded.  He knew the ritual, or his spirit of lore did, though she would have to convince the axiom to work with her all on her own.  They had brought a puzzle lock, ostensibly a rich merchant¡¯s toy, with which she could entice the spirit.  She examined the puzzle lock and said that, given the proper tools, she could open it in less than a minute.  Quill nodded, and everyone cleared space to allow Noue to commune with the spirit of lockpicking.  From then on she would be almost impossible to hold, able to summon forth lockpicks from nothing provided she could draw blood as an offering.


    The spirit appeared as a folded leather wallet of tools, folding itself to be a mouth and two long, antennae-like eyes made from the tools it contained.  Without a word, Noue raised the puzzle lock for the axiom¡¯s inspection, and it examined the toy eagerly.  She set it between them and unlocked it, borrowing Quill¡¯s penknife to smear the opened toy with her blood.  ¡°I propose a compact, axiom of lockpicking.  My blood, my talent, my devotion to humanity, in exchange for your manifestation as a set of tools.¡±  The spirit pursed its leather lips and pondered, and Quill felt sweat break out on his brow.  The axiom would like the appeal to humanity, being the counterpart to the natural world as modern magic understood spirits.  After a pause, it nodded its strange puppet head and spiraled into nothing but blue light, which poured into the wound on Noue¡¯s hand and sealed it.


    With a blood offering, Noue summoned the axiom spirit, squealing with delight at the apparition of a pick on her right hand and a wallet of tools in her left.  She let them melt away into light once more, and then clambered over to Quill and kissed his cheek.  He raised his hand to her cheek and tilted her face towards his, murmuring that their business was concluded.  She smiled and agreed, and then she pressed her lips to his.  He relished the moment, from the warmth of her cheek to finding that she tasted like the chocolate she had been delicately sipping.


    Rather than tease him, on what would be a sore subject of his romances, Quill saw Glue take Parchment¡¯s hands and kiss her knuckles, then her wrist, until they had trailed their way up to Parchment¡¯s lips and they too were caught in a passionate embrace.  They had a war to wage against a potent adversary, were beset by foes with abilities they didn¡¯t understand, and the stain on their souls left by bombing the mine shaft would be called to account on Judgment Day, but for this moment Glue and Quill had the women that captivated them, and nothing more urgent than a gently smoking hookah and a bored toy drake to ignore.


    Quill wondered what Glue saw in Parchment, but it was at least a sandglass before Noue allowed him to break off the kiss and inquire.  Glue laughed and replied that they were both employed in their passions, and that they found common ground in their passionate natures.  Parchment flushed, as Glue said this.  Noue asked Quill what his passion was, and he replied that it was lore, and study, and that he would often disperse his volunteers to their duties and read books destined to pass through the bookstore out of the library to give them one last fond farewell.  She kissed his cheek again, commenting that it was a cute little quirk when he asked what it was for.  ¡°And,¡± she added, ¡°I like kissing you.  I¡¯ll do it again, in fact, I think.¡±  To Quill¡¯s delight, she did.

 Friday

    Despite a slightly late night, Quill woke at his accustomed hour.  He wasn¡¯t sure why he was surprised, though he was assuredly delighted, he found his memories of kisses shared with Noue clear and fresh in his mind.  He got the fire started with yesterday¡¯s paper, putting water on to boil, and checked on the prunes and raisins he had put in water the night before.  They looked to be on the verge of dissolving, and if that wasn¡¯t how Mom made it, it was quite tasty.  He retrieved the paper, and the red letter headline grabbed his attention.


    There had been a collapse in the mine works of the Earth Guild.  The great pre-Loss artifact which Tome so graciously had led the guild to was buried under tons of unstable stone, which would be harder to remove than the initial mining had been.  There was going to be an investigation as to the cause, although preliminary reports blamed unskilled labor.  The guildmistress, and Quill sighed in relief at this, had been about to make a personal inspection tour but had been called away by an unruly homeless person now safely ensconced in Power of Engel¡¯s Sanitarium for the Criminally Insane.


    Quill raised an eyebrow at this, wondering if protesters from his own economic bracket would have been deemed ¡°criminally insane¡± for protesting the sale of the Orth¡¯s own heat.  But then, Tome was a fire dragon and the volcanism of Barbery was not entirely natural, it was possible that the sale of heat was a necessity.  But he digressed, and the article was interesting.  A spirit mage was being hired by the Earth Guild to calm the dead long enough to bury them.


    A sharp hissing drew Quill¡¯s attention and he realized the water he had put on for blanching cabbage leaves was boiling over.  With an exclamation of frustration he ran over and moved it to the back of the stove, and realizing he had read more of the paper than usual he whipped up a quick salad of onions and eggs for breakfast.  He would have to part with the money to buy lunch, which at least would be with Noue and he could show off his knowledge of hole in the wall cafes.  In his hurry, he skipped his habitual checking of the brick in the alley behind Dragon Tales, and set about organizing volunteers.  Leather, in particular, seemed put out by his lateness, and he resolved to apologize to her personally for not setting a good example.  Cats soothed and herded, he set about his own tasks.  First, of course, was the blackboard.  Across the top he wrote, ¡°New members join free with commitment to volunteer hours!¡±  Next, he organized the fiction section of the library, noting with some consternation that someone had checked out three entire compilations of the Daring Kaliskast.  He cast about for what it entailed.  Unable to recall, he sliced his thumb to make an offering to his axiom of lore.


    The Daring Kaliskast was a penny dreadful published by apologists of the late dragon God-King Izkarzon, detailing the thoroughly fictional exploits of an ¡°adventurer¡± loyal to the Church of Izkarzon.  Mercifully across the sea from the Sevens, though evidently popular enough to compile and make its way across the sea.  He blamed the Belt, it was full of dragon fanciers who would find that kind of rubbish exciting, and represented a convenient route for shallow-draft sprint traders.  He sighed and finished sorting the books on the shelves.  Then he went to apologize to Leather, both for his lateness and for his hypocrisy when he had been on her case about her own tardiness.  She quipped that the Savior Himself¡¯s biggest pet peeve had been hypocrisy, and Quill nodded meekly.  Venting seemed to satisfy her, and he offered his hand and a mutual agreement to both be on time going forward.  She took it, and he was surprised to find that her handshake was quite firm, though by no means a crusher grip.  He walked away from the encounter resolving, yes, to be more careful with his time, but also feeling that Leather was a more devoted volunteer than he had thought and that he ought to be more charitable in his assessments.


    When lunch time came, he picked a convenient cabbage roll shop that wasn¡¯t too far out of the way.  It wouldn¡¯t be the same as his own recipe, mostly because it would lack the treacly reduction of fruit he poured over his, but it would be tasty.  Perhaps he could offer Noue a bite.  She was, as she had been from the start, on time, while he was continuing the day¡¯s trend of being just a bit late.  He apologized earnestly and was preparing to launch into an explanation regarding headlines and breakfast disasters when she put a finger to his lips and suggested they make the most of the time they did have remaining.  Eyes shining, he nodded, and sat down at what he had come to think of as ¡°their¡± go table.  Offering her a bite of his cabbage roll, she wrinkled her nose at the pungent leaf wrapping the meats and rice.  Her own choice of fare was likely from one of the shops lining the covered central square, this time a rice dish seasoned with red spices and containing both sausage and shrimp.  She offered him a bite in turn, and he found it hot and heavily spiced where his own food benefitted from only dill and pepper.  He also wrinkled his nose, and they laughed together at their differing preferences.  Their kiss was shallow out of respect for the flavors they would be carrying from their respective lunches, and then they sat back down and dug into their meals.


    Quill commented to Noue that she looked lovely that day, her hair down and cascading over her shoulders in dark ringlets.  Now that he thought about it, he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d seen her with her hair down.  She always wore it up, with two bent pieces of metal pinning it in place.  When he asked her about it, she shrugged and replied that she didn¡¯t feel the need to keep such things on her person at all times lately.  They both stared off into space for a moment before Noue replied that Quill looked charmingly disheveled.  He sighed.  He had meant to brush his hair that morning, but breakfast and the paper had taken priority and then he had run out of time.  Noue clarified that he was still quite handsome, and they both laughed.  Noue¡¯s laughter died in the middle, and she pointed over Quill¡¯s shoulder.


    Approaching them was a man Quill cast about for the name of, with a nose that had been broken more than once and a bouquet of the small white wildflowers that could be found ringing the geothermal springs.  He stalked past Quill, ignoring him, and pushed the handful of flowers to Noue¡¯s chest.  Noue said, ¡°Hello, Burner,¡± in a cool voice, and rather than clutch at the bundle simply allowed the flowers to fall onto the ground and her lap.  His eyes narrowed.  Recalling the name Burner now, alarm flared in Quill¡¯s chest, but as soon as he was alarmed he remembered that neither he nor Noue had anything to fear from this man.  It was¡­ someone else, that he feared.


    Burner turned to face Quill.  In an accusatory tone, he reminded Quill, accurately he suspected, that he had warned the librarian away from Denouement.  Quill took a bit of satisfaction at Burner¡¯s formal use of Noue¡¯s full name.  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Noue stood up and said, ¡°You are boorish, you are low, you are a coward, and I have no use for you.  Leave me alone.¡±  Burner snarled and declared that if that was how she wanted it, it was how she could have it.  Quill staggered at the wake of potent psi, and cried out in fear as Burner presumably was focusing his will on Noue.  Noue crumpled forward, hands on her head, but after a few moments Burner snarled and the pressure eased.  ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Burner?¡±  Noue sniped through gritted teeth.  ¡°Can¡¯t find an excuse for your blatant violation of the laws regarding use of sorcery in search and seizure?¡±  Burner kicked the flowers and turned to Quill, who gave him his best impression of an easy smile.  After all, the lady had dismissed him, he should go, didn¡¯t he think?  The blinding headache that followed was entirely worth the vein throbbing purple flush on Burner¡¯s face.  Noue smiled cheerfully at Quill.  ¡°I think that went rather well, don¡¯t you?¡±  Quill wasn¡¯t sure what she meant by that, but agreed for the sake of being agreeable.  He couldn¡¯t find any reason to disagree aside from a splitting headache.


    That evening, he met with Parchment and Glue at the Manners Lounge.  When Glue and Parchment exchanged a kiss, he sighed and regretted that there had not been a reason to invite Noue.  Except there had been a reason, there simply hadn¡¯t been enough time to both do his job and notify the others.  So he¡¯d have to invite her to their next gathering.  They had been meeting fairly frequently of late, a source of unease but also a pleasure.


    Quill said, ¡°It was fortuitous, the occasion of a madman in your offices when you had planned to make an inspection.  I would hate to see you buried alive.¡±  Glue sighed and said that if they were going to discuss that, rather than simply enjoying the Lounge¡¯s fine hookah, they may as well unlock their minds.  Quill called to mind his glyph, rotated it just so, and felt the fog part from his mind.  ¡°Glue¡­ how much of the madman in Parchment¡¯s office was fortune?¡±  Glue glanced up at his sharp tone, and sighed a breath of smoke.  It had simply been the strong thought in someone with gambling debts that Parchment owed him money.  Removing the false memory and finding him another position would be the matter of a few days¡¯ work, especially seeing as their last ¡°test subject¡± had yet to recidivate, confidence in Power of Engel¡¯s was at an all-time high.  ¡°So what actually happened, Parchment?¡±


    Parchment laid out what had happened, and her matter-of-fact tone made Quill wonder about questions Noue had been asking, as to the morality of his cellmate.  She had met with the foreman carrying a set of mining tools in a duffel bag largely full of acid- and fire-branded explosive.  She arranged to be summoned just as she arrived, and handed her bag to the foreman, asking him to take it ahead after she dealt with a minor issue.  The entire shift of miners were either blown to bits or crushed, either way beyond the reach of any kind of shadow magic to interrogate them.  Their secrets were safe, and given Tome¡¯s insistence upon a lack of magical aid, it would be the work of days or weeks to get them out.  ¡°It was for the greater good, at least.¡±  How Quill could say the loss of an entire shift of good men and women was for the greater good¡­ Parchment shook her head.  ¡°I can say it because if I didn¡¯t believe goodness could come at a cost, I wouldn¡¯t be a Historian.¡±  The spirit mage they¡¯d brought in was going to be useless, assuming Tome suspected anything.  It was, of course, why else the dragon might have called for a spirit mage that made Parchment¡¯s blood run cold.  Fortunately, or perhaps dangerously, Tome had demanded a thorough investigation, having been unaware of a fault or other threat to the venture, and having called for the highest standards of supports.  He was, as he put it, ¡°very interested¡± to learn the cause of the collapse.  Fortunately, such interest allowed Parchment to endanger herself clearing the collapse personally, which both delayed things and allowed for greater obfuscation of the cause.


    Quill furrowed his brow, ¡°You have earth sphere magic though, don¡¯t you?¡±  Parchment shook her head.  She had earth brands on one arm, which allowed her to shape stone like clay, albeit at the temporary cost of some of her strength.  That was ¡°non-sorcerer¡± enough for Tome, and so she would personally delve into the mine.  ¡°Why don¡¯t you have a team of branded miners?  I mean, if this is so important and keeping the magically-minded away is so critical?¡±  The answer, of course, although this hadn¡¯t occurred to Quill so perhaps not of course, was the expense.  Advanced spheres required for branding anything but fire were new, hard to find, and costly to employ.  It had been a mark of status to receive her own brands, nobody had ever thought she would actually use them.  Quill thought back to Noue and her branded clothing warding her against cold, intentionally understated and entirely the antithesis of intent of Parchment¡¯s runes.  Parchment went on to explain that if they found they had more unearthing to do, it was quite possible she would be going to the expense and effort of procuring shifts of earth-branded miners.  ¡°Oh¡­ sarx.  I¡¯ve been asking questions out of curiosity.  We were concerned about Decontextualized¡ªis there any way to shorten that?¡ªhaving implanted curiosity in my mind to leave it ripe for plundering later.¡±


    Glue shrugged and seemed unconcerned, inviting Quill to recall the nature of Parchment¡¯s deceit.  He found that, while he could formulate questions about it, he couldn¡¯t call to mind any of the pertinent details.  Everything was hidden in the blank expanse that Glue had conjured in Quill¡¯s mind.  Glue said they would, however, like to reinforce that construct.  Minds were ever plastic things, which both allowed the construction of complex sphere effects and weakened them over time.  Quill sat through the patently uncomfortable experience of Glue¡¯s hand to his temple, both of them drawing on the hookah, making changes in Quill¡¯s mind that put him in mind of the concept of cognitive dissonance.  Glue was the analyst, of course, but they had explained to him that the mind would go to great lengths to believe whatever it already believed, experiencing discomfort at times verging on pain when contradictions were introduced.  The mind would reject that information, even if it was from an authority, and similarly the humors tended towards a certain balance that varied by the person.  The humors, Glue had explained, were what resisted sorcery.  It was the raw physical reality of the person that fought against the spheres.  So when Glue worked on Quill¡¯s mind, his blood resisted the interference in its natural flows.  Quill, hale and hearty as he was, made a poor subject for Glue¡¯s sorcery, and so they met regularly for lunches and evenings at the Lounge to allow them to reinforce it.


    It was only when Glue commented on the bruised aspects of his mind that Quill realized he had neglected to mention his encounter with Burner.  Even as he said something, Glue was nodding.  They had seen the blunt trauma of a psychic headache, which was not quite the same category of thing as what Glue was doing.  But the mysteries of draconic psi were just that, mysteries.  Quill sighed and tried to be patient as his friend worked their sorcery that kept them all safe, looking forward eagerly to some calm, centering meditation before bed.

 Embargo

    That morning¡¯s paper bore news which suggested¡­ demon dung, he just had it.  Suggested something.  In any event, he felt a sense of foreboding that the city was to be sealed and no goods transported in or out until after the latest Earth Guild mineshaft had been cleared.  Mindful of the day before, he read only briefly before preparing his own recipe for cabbage rolls.  He used the fruit reduction from Friday, and the rice and meat was still good from the freezing cold outside, and if it was a bit dry, the reduction would restore it.


    Once again having attended to breakfast and lunch, Quill set out for work, happily on time or even a little bit early.  Walking up the alley behind Dragon Tales he checked the loose brick in the wall and found not one but two scraps of paper.  One said, ¡°danger¡± and the other said ¡°no.¡±  He wondered which one had been placed there first, or if they were from two separate games of children playing spies.  But then, the handwriting was the same on both.


    With a shrug, he let himself in and set about herding cats, sorting books, and¡ªwait, no, he herded volunteers, and sorted books, and attended to the everyday paperwork of running an organization for one¡¯s boss.  But first, of course, he updated the blackboard to say, ¡°Please wipe the snow from your boots before you enter.¡±  It seemed like a good message, as messages went, because snow was ever-present outside the city square and moisture brought in mildew brought the destruction of books.


    It being Saturday, there was the usual deluge of people who needed books right that day, and couldn¡¯t possibly wait until Monday.  Quill took it as a small grace that nobody asked him about his Incarnate faith, and the day proceeded reasonably quickly to lunch with Noue.  As much as any time was tolerable spent away from Noue, at least.  He supposed he would admit he enjoyed Glue¡¯s company, and Parchment, though the two of them spent more and more time being treacly sweet upon each other.


    Noue looked cheerful and was eating a cabbage roll, albeit one from one of the market square stalls, and flagged down Quill as he proceeded to ¡°their¡± table.  He brought his lunch and explained that, while it wasn¡¯t how his moms made it, his was a more model example of a cabbage roll.  Noue looked dubiously at the purple reduction poured over it, but sampled a bite before returning to her more touristy roll.


    They discussed books, and Noue indicated she¡¯d been doing some reading on dragons.  There was deucedly little literature on the subject aside from records of their patronage and the scriptural references to Gotorjod taking the wrathful flame of the One God on her wings.  Quill felt the impulse to consult his axiom of lore, but thoughts of a man with a broken nose left him with the feeling he should simply listen to what Noue was learning.  It never did well to talk too much with a lady present anyway, Wisdom was¡­ that was a curious mental capital.  But in any event, wisdom often came from the mouths of women, while men drank deep of folly in each others¡¯ company.  She talked about different colors of dragon referenced in stories of patronage, and complained that if they¡¯d been all that interested in patronizing they could have clued in the Age of Stone peoples that there were more than twice the number of elemental spheres than anyone realized.  But then, dragons viewed time differently, having so much more of it, and at least one apologist emphasized the value of hard work, to which humans had been sentenced when they were kicked out of the Garden, and the rediscovery of the spheres thusly.


    Quill was enthusiastic about listening, even as he had the nagging feeling he knew some of this already, because he was, in a conservative and cautious way, dragon-critical himself, and listening to Noue hold forth passionately on a subject about which they agreed was a joy in and of itself.  After they had finished their lunches, and as the square was growing crowded, Noue suggested they avail themselves of one of the entertainments available to the well-heeled on a Saturday afternoon.  She smiled at his suit, still blue, and cravat, one of the few garments regularly changed out, and assured him she would cover the cost.  This was a relief, and not the least bit uncomfortable to Quill; if someone wanted to take him somewhere above his station, they were welcome to do so on their own dime.


    She had heard good things about an illusion show just off the main square, utilizing the recently-discovered light sphere to project fantastical imagery into the air above inclined seats, as singers and actors voiced the parts of the performance.  He asked what story they were performing, and she shrugged and shook her head.  All she knew was that it would be dark, semi-private, and hopefully diverting.  She took his hand and he realized what she meant.  It would be a place to hold hands, even kiss, without fear of¡­ whatever he didn¡¯t like about public spaces.


    They rose from their table and Noue led the way, paying at a small kiosk near the entrance to a carpeted hallway.  Quill wondered idly how they kept carpet free of mildew and then remembered it was not even a block off the covered central square.  Noue led them down the hall and past some printed banners advertising various stories.  Quill wondered if she¡¯d picked one at random and led them through the door into a large, slightly chilly room full of seats fixed to the floor.  There were candles providing illumination, however, and with relatively little trouble they took seats just to the right of the door.  They spoke quietly, and Quill learned she had selected an entertainment favored by those of an artistic persuasion, full of abstract imagery, percussion, and vocalization.


    After a sandglass or two, as the room grew not full but less empty, a gust of air sorcery blew out the candles simultaneously.  Personally, he thought it was a neat trick, though Noue didn¡¯t seem particularly impressed.  He supposed they had seen more impressive applications of the air sphere¡­ at some point.  The room was entirely dark, and then a sphere of light appeared overhead.  It appeared textured, or became textured, spinning in place, until it became an eye, staring down at them.  A second soprano, if he was any judge, held a single ringing note joined by drums when the eye grew two feathery wings.  After that, Noue took his hand, and his attention veered sharply away from the¡ªadmittedly skillful¡ªabstract performance.


    Noue kissed Quill¡¯s knuckles, then the inside of his wrist, and then simply grabbed him by his lapels and let her breath warm his lips before her tongue parted them, his jaw already slack with distraction.  Hardly one to be outdone, he raised his arm to cup the back of her head, thankful she had stopped keeping sticks in her hair and that it was simply soft, curled, and loose, and gently closed the distance between their lips.  She was warm, her lips were soft, and if she had cabbage on her breath he could hardly claim otherwise about himself.  Her tongue, already having parted his lips, met his tongue and lunch was the last thing on his mind.  She hummed her delight into his mouth, and he separated them enough to put a finger to her lips and shush her.  She chuckled deep in her throat and took his finger between her teeth, her tongue making circles around the pad and tracing the finely-groomed edge of his nail.  Then she pushed his finger away, still using her tongue, and sat there looking sweet and innocent even as she had heightened the fancies of his imagination to a fever pitch.  This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The performance, he would later note on the bulletin, was approximately two hours.  Were it not for his faith he would have sworn under oath it had been at most three sandglasses.  He knew his face was flushed, and when he cupped Noue¡¯s cheek for a parting kiss, he felt how warm her own face was.  ¡°May I escort you to Church tomorrow?¡±  Her nose wrinkled in that charmingly displeased way she did, and she asked him why he attended a Wholist Church when there were so many Witness chapels, and probably even a few Incarnate halls.  He replied simply that he was a man of habit and that was the habit that served him.  She considered this silently, before nodding and telling him he could pick her up at The Golden Spoil the next morning.


    It occurred to Quill only as he realized he was taking a different route than usual that he was visiting his moms.  Along the way, he ducked into two stores, though ultimately he decided against buying anything.  He knocked gently on the door to their stout apartment building and the door was thrown wide open almost immediately.  He laughed as they proclaimed they had been waiting for him.


    Mother Plotarc raised an eyebrow at her flushed, cheerful son and asked who he had just met.  He laughed again, regarding the stout, gray-haired woman in a simple black dress and hand-tatted lace shawl.  He never could hide anything from them; well that wasn¡¯t true, he could hide things, but they somehow always knew he was.  With a grin, Quill told them that he was most assuredly in love, as he hugged Mother and then Mama.  They were different to hug, his Mama was tall like him.  Dutifully having pecked each cheek and cheerfully borne other signs of maternal affection, he launched into an excited ramble about Noue.  She was intelligent and witty, an enthusiastic rock climber and knowledgeable about matters political and philosophical.  But they knew that already.  Mama laughed and told him to tell them all about her all over again, if she made her son so happy.  He smiled ruefully and launched back into his ramble.  She had held her own in a debate with some of his friends, not that she had to in order to win his esteem.  After all, his friends could be a handful.  Somehow, the names of his friends never came up.  While he could hide things, and although they somehow always knew, his moms never pressed when he wanted to keep a secret.


    He would have thought he would get sick of cabbage, but even his own recipe couldn¡¯t compare to cabbage rolls made by Mama.  He suspected they used a different meat blend than his own, and it was nothing like as sweet, but he had never asked for the recipe.  Some things were not meant to be made by a bachelor in his own home, because they were the sacred domain of family.  His moms had acquired the habit of coffee after dinner, the bitter brew a welcome accompaniment to whatever dessert they had cooked up.  Today they served up a carrot pudding, made from curds, flour, eggs, and naturally enough carrot.  It had never seemed like an affectation, more just how they did things.  His moms were not ones to make displays of wealth; if anything they were the sort to save fragments of old shirts to make into quilts stuffed with the most ragged pieces.


    Mama Kweeleh asked him how he¡¯d met this woman, ¡°Denouement¡± she was, and probably would ever be to his moms.  Assuming there was an ¡°ever,¡± was the sobering thought.  Mother noted his face fall, and spoke up reminding him not to get in over his head; he was a man who loved to love and his last relationship had left him heartsick when he departed abruptly for Spirithome.  Quill bore the motherly reprimand obediently, though he wanted to defend his former partner that there had been a reason for his departure¡­ but he couldn¡¯t remember it and so kept his peace.  They asked how the two of them had met and he told them it was through work.  His moms exchanged glances, and asked him if he¡¯d purchased those books that had been in the paper.  Though something slid uneasily in the back of his mind, he shook his head, assuring them that the entire collection of Dragon Tales¡¯ literature was legitimately obtained.


    On the subject of news, he asked them whether they needed anything, what with the embargo on trade, but they demurred and said if anything they should be asking him that¡ªthey lived comfortably.  Speaking of livings, how was his job at Dragon Tales treating him?  He sighed cheerfully, explaining about Leather and the efforts to keep the damp out of the books, paperwork to account for hours, expenses, and so on.  He laughed as he told them someone had checked out three volumes of a penny dreadful, and Mother looked reproachfully at her son, reminding him that reading of any sort was enrichment and he ought not judge.  Everyone, after all, was a neighbor and deserved neighborly treatment.  Especially if they were patronizing ¡°his¡± library.  He shook his head in amusement and acknowledgement.


    As the evening concluded, with a minimal number of silences, his mothers sent him off with wrapped puddings, and having heard the tale of the lunchtime cabbage rolls pulled a plate of beef stroganoff from the icebox open to the outside that they simply would not hear of him leaving behind.  Quill protested but knew a losing battle when he saw one, and ultimately wound up balancing a small pile of finger foods and wrapped puddings atop a plate of stroganoff more resembling a platter.  He didn¡¯t remember announcing when he would visit them next, but they never seemed surprised when he arrived.  He tried to count the number of days since he had seen them last, wondering if he habitually visited every so many days rather than a more predictable weekly schedule, but despite a busy day and filling dinner the aromas of food kept him from focusing on arithmetic.  His own cold box of his small apartment was filled to the brim with the rewards of being a good son to loving mothers, and in fact he¡ªonly out of necessity, you understand¡ªhad to eat another of the puddings before there was room to close the lid and not let the cold infiltrate the rest of the space.


    He laughed at his own internal dialogue, as though he needed to defend¡ªsarx.  That was what he had forgotten.  He was going to review his fencing forms on Saturday afternoons.  He hadn¡¯t counted on the romantic interlude with Noue, and he had entirely forgotten he was visiting his moms.  He had exercised the weekend before, and he walked every day, he would make sure to review his forms next weekend.  If he stayed up to review them now he might oversleep, and that might make him late to Church¡­ with Noue.

 Why Not You

    Quill rose early, and if his body protested the reduction in time to lay languidly in bed, his mind was eagerly anticipating an entire service in the company of Noue.  He ate leftovers, not just any leftovers, but leftovers from his moms, for breakfast.  The stroganoff he heated over a small fire, the finger foods he ate cold, and recalling his resolution to resume practicing his forms he enjoyed two of the carrot puddings.  He then donned his usual attire, considering as he dressed the merits of getting a green vest to wear.  Blue was such a melancholy color.  He supposed not all blues were, there was robin¡¯s egg blue, sky blue, aquamarine¡­ but his attire was more in the navy, royal, and indigo blues.  He might look gauche at a funeral but could conceivably be in half-mourning for someone.  He raised an eyebrow at the thought.  There were those who were dead to him.  In any event, a nice pine green wouldn¡¯t look out of place and might lighten the affect of his attire somewhat.  Maybe even the color of spring grass.  No, no, that would be entirely too much; it would be too bright with his somber blues.  Perhaps a new wardrobe?  When one cycled shirts and underclothes, a new wardrobe was just a vest, waistcoat, and trousers.  He could keep his greatcoat and hat, even.  He considered.  A mirror and a skein of fabric would help immensely with his¡ªhe realized he was dilly-dallying, and despite the imperative of not being late paused to consider this.


    Was he feeling nervous?  Shy?  Things with Noue were in the early stages yet, they had held hands, kissed some, seen one of those touristy light shows¡­ he knew her ideals, her loyalties, were compatible with his own.  His moms had said nothing against her except to remind him that he was a man who fell in love.  He wondered at that.  Didn¡¯t most men fall in love?  Not every child was a nephilim.  Did Burner fall in love?  Was he, in his own demented way, in love with Noue?  Quill shuddered at the idea.  But then, Burner had declared himself Tome¡¯s right hand man.  He had higher loyalties.  Not to mention, he had warned Quill away from Noue the moment he had ripped the image of her from Quill¡¯s mind.  Burner, Quill decided, was not a man who fell in love.  All the more reason not to be late escorting Noue to Church, then.  With that thought, he donned his hat and greatcoat and strode out the door.


    The Golden Spoil was not on the covered central market square, but like the lightshow he had attended the night before was not terribly far off it either.  Bells were not yet sounding to summon parishioners, but by Quill¡¯s judgment he didn¡¯t have long before they began their peals.  He stood at the desk of the inn and waited patiently.


    Well, alright, he waited fidgety and nervous and recalling that she had expressed disapproval of his Wholist faith.  The Incarnate element seemed not to bother her, so long as he didn¡¯t stray into Drachist territory, but she was not the biggest fan of the Wholist Church.  To be fair, he wasn¡¯t always the biggest fan of the Wholist Church, but he had his soul to see to and if his idea of purgatory was to be tossed back to Orth as a baby it at least provided a direction for his life.  Witnesses believed all manner of things and to be honest he hadn¡¯t looked closely at the denominations in Coldpass.  He wondered if that was giving insufficient attention to someone he was attracted to, and felt a strong ambivalence between trying to learn more about Noue and feeling as though such thoughts were ill-advised.  Then, too, he had been warned by more than two against giving his heart too much of its own head.


    Given the direction of his ruminations, he surprised himself by daring a peck upon Noue¡¯s cheek when she finally appeared at the desk in her coat and hat.  Which were green.  No wonder he¡¯d been considering green attire.  She laughed gaily at his small gesture of affection and pulled him by his lapels to a kiss that doubtless failed to shock the innkeeper only because she had seen all kinds of silly tourists.  Noue, however, was generally level-headed, a fact Quill was certain of.  When she released him, Quill drew a slow, deep breath and, when he saw her grin, smiled in turn.  Though it didn¡¯t vanish, her smile guttered when he asked if she was ready for Church.  Clearly, not a woman of Wholist priorities.  He winged his arm and then placed his hand over hers, to his delight neither of them wearing gloves.  He asked what she had against the Wholist Church, and she replied absently that she was simply more of a Witness persuasion.  He felt a nagging familiarity in the distracted, perhaps even slightly lost tone of her voice as she said this, and elected not to press further.


    His next remark, on her being quite the enthusiastic kisser, garnered a smirk and a single raised eyebrow.  She invited him to reciprocate, the next time, and he protested that he had been surprised.  Noue rolled her eyes, declared, ¡°I am going to kiss you,¡± and once again grabbed his lapels.  Being of a more present mind, Quill noted how far Noue bent him to bring his lips to hers, and added her fit strength to his list of things he liked about her.  But then he was kissing her, in the middle of a street, her lips soft and warm and fuller than his own, her tongue and a gentle draw inviting him to taste her, and then the bells of the city¡¯s cathedrals rang.  Quill broke off the kiss with an apology and indicated the ringing.  Noue didn¡¯t answer, merely nodded and rolled her eyes; Quill supposed that was kind of an answer, simply not a verbal one.  Their kisses weren¡¯t a verbal declaration that he was falling hard and fast, for that matter, but they were a declaration nonetheless.  He felt quite in charity with life as they walked quickly to the pyramidal Church, as he covered Noue¡¯s hand with his own and they settled into one of the back row pews.


    They proceeded through the welcome hymn, made the God Star in prayer for their sins, sang the second hymn, and then heard the opening prayer and reading from the Gospel.  ¡°The Fruit of the Spirit is a great treasure,¡± the priest declared.  ¡°One which thieves cannot break in and steal.  Save up for yourself the treasures of the Fruit of the Spirit.  As we heard in our reading of the Gospel, the Fruits are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  To the novitiate, the most appealing of these is likely joy, or perhaps peace.  It is a tempting offer, to invite the One God into our souls and trade all the worldly worries we carry for the peace that surpasses all understanding.  And yet, I would say to you that the greatest boon of the Spirit is self-control.  ¡®The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.¡¯  You might say ¡®I have self-control!¡¯ In protest you might say it, and immediately you call to mind the crimes and sins which you have not committed.  ¡®Just on my way to Church,¡¯ you may cry, ¡®I did not trip that old man.  I looked away from a beautiful woman and thought of my wife.  I am not the thief stealing religious texts from the great and noble Tome.¡¯  But did you give alms to the beggar, or did you save it to give to the Church?  And did you not realize that what lies in your heart defiled you?  You wished to look on the beautiful woman, and commit adultery with your heart.  You thought yourself virtuous because the Church will use your alms better than the poor.  And clearly, if one reads the headlines, self-control is something somebody in this city needs, and so all should pray for the Spirit.  As the Savior said, temptations are inevitable, and so apologists cannot say that the dragon tempted.  They are long-lived and virtuous, they accumulate wealth by dint of their virtue!¡±  Noue raised her head to Quill¡¯s shoulder and murmured that the priest was butchering the Scripture, for the full quote said woe to the one who does the tempting.  Quill snickered, amused to hear a dragon in the wrong religiously, and garnered reproving glances which sobered him not at all.  ¡°But the poor will always be with us, and we cannot forget them either.  Just as we should not steal from the rich, so should we not spare from the poor.  The Power of Liamus is the patron of Coldpass, that angelic spirit which guards against the cold.  Give your alms to the homeless, that they might buy a night¡¯s reprieve from that most final of fates, to resemble a bookend holding up the stony walls of our buildings.¡±  Noue murmured to Quill again that if the Church was so concerned with the poor, they could open their halls in the night to allow them somewhere warm to sleep.  Quill whispered into her hair that they could discuss that in the narthex, but that they really shouldn¡¯t talk during the service.  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The rest of the service passed quietly, through prayers for the congregation, collection of the offertory, and the taking of Communion.  Quill wondered if dragons took some kind of communion after their own Gotorjod, or if they just ate someone holy and called good enough is.  The thought was heretical, of course, but he was thinking it jokingly.  Still, he felt the back of his neck prickle and looked around to see if someone were walking about the narthex with bangs.  He wasn¡¯t sure what having bangs, or perhaps a low-brimmed hat, would signify, but he felt a definitive relief when he saw nobody through the open doors.


    After the service, Noue was vehement that the Church ought to live up to the morals it espoused.  ¡°You asked, Quill, why I am not Wholist.  This building is insulated by a colossal amount of stone to save on heating costs, and could save still more being heated by the poor of Coldpass.  The floors are stone and the pews are wood, scrubbed easily enough if one wants to protest as to the unwashed state of the homeless.  Witnessate churches are far from perfect, but they practice what they preach to a greater extent.¡±  She did not keep her voice low as she said this, and they attracted curious stares.  Glue and Parchment looked over curiously, but did not come over with any particular rapidity.  Mentally cursing his friends with mild invective, Quill put to her the concept of poorhouses, and asked why they were not a solution.  ¡°I¡¯m from the Fireplains, Quill.  Yet the poor sleep cold in the poorhouses, hungry and cold after a demanding day¡¯s labor and their only heaping helping that of spiritual vinegar for their ingratitude for being allowed to starve more slowly for their labors.¡±  Quill acceded that it was true, the poorhouses worked their tenants hard and their spiritual diet was meager, but there was also the matter of someone having to pay for the heating.  Noue¡¯s eyes flashed with anger, and she managed to look down her nose at a man nearly a foot taller than her.  ¡°Your library pays for heating regardless of occupancy, cold being a poor environment for books.  Why doesn¡¯t Dragon Tales house the homeless in the night?¡±  Quill murmured something about not having the authority to make that decision.  ¡°But have you brought it up with the person who does have authority?¡±  Once, Quill admitted, and not again.  He flushed, and it was in shame rather than the delight of kissing Noue.  He almost immediately regretted saying it, but asked Noue of her branded coat, her comfortable suite at the inn.  She replied hotly, ¡°This coat was a gift from a sorceress I helped.  As for my room¡ª¡±


    Quill made a mental note to thank the Power of Doctors or perhaps of Wrath, he would consult his axiom spirit at a less obvious time, as Glue cut into the conversation.  ¡°¡®To say nothing of the intemperate tongue, which only the Spirit has the power to control!  The tongue gives life to the defilements of the heart, and if you think there is no harm in words you are mistaken!  As it says in the Old Texts of Scripture, the tongue can crush the spirit!¡¯  Are you about to crush my dear friend Quill¡¯s spirit, Noue?¡±  Glue was grinning.  ¡°You should accord me the first attempt.  Quill, you do realize you benefit from a certain amount of status, you could probably leverage that into a night shelter in Dragon Tales.  It could be a halfway house for patients of Power of Engel¡¯s, an aversion to books might be problematic but as the lovely Denouement pointed out, the entire predicate of the Sanitarium is that behaviors can be changed.  It would cut down on overhead for rehabilitation to avoid giving them a permanent residence until they earned it in their own right.  Even more than defiled hearts, the Savior did have a particular pet against hypocrisy.¡±  Quill recognized that he was being needled, but his friend had just saved him from his own intemperate tongue and so laughed good-naturedly.  Nonetheless, he felt a certain rigidity in Noue¡¯s posture from her hand on his arm, and so when everyone had enjoyed a good round of humor at his expense, Quill drew Noue aside and apologized.  ¡°Bye bye, dear friends.  Don¡¯t do anything we wouldn¡¯t do!¡±  Glue waved cheerfully, their arm twined around Parchment¡¯s, who Quill just realized had been rather quiet through the entire discussion.


    But he would ponder reticence later, now was the time to apologize.  He had, without a doubt, spoken rashly and without awareness of her circumstances, and he hoped from the bottom of his heart¡ªand, he added with a touch of devilry, the tips of his fingers¡ªthat she would forgive him.  Noue looked up at him and stared intently for several moments, several moments which felt like a small eternity, before nodding and melting into his arms in a chaste but affectionate embrace.  The entertainments being closed, at least the reputable ones, Quill asked how he might divert her and further enjoy her companionship that day.  Noue murmured something into his chest that he didn¡¯t catch, and he spent what was probably an improper amount of time for an unmarried man to hold his love interest, but he didn¡¯t quite care about appearances just then.  Perhaps he should seek out a fire sorcerer to reinforce the mental architecture¡­ the thought slipped away.  Didn¡¯t Parchment know a fire sorcerer?  He would, in any case, ask Glue if he needed help from fire sorcery, especially given the way his stomach twisted as he thought of that scrap of paper saying ¡°no.¡±

 Cremation

    Quill, at Glue¡¯s prompting, pictured a certain glyph and fitted it into a mental socket, unlocking banks of fog hiding away his deviant and anti-dragon thoughts.  They had just been shown to their private room, and if they thought it odd that someone would specifically request the top floor, Parchment¡¯s money made it a curiosity at most.  Quill once again lamented to himself that he out of his cell was the only one not free to pursue his chosen vocation, before chiding himself that he didn¡¯t know Parchment was following her heart; just that she was making a lot of money doing what she was doing.  Noue was with them, though she was showing obvious discomfort with Parchment¡¯s toy drake.


    ¡°It¡¯s a baby dragon, right?  It¡¯s going to remember this.¡±  Parchment shook her head, while Glue scratched Tome Junior¡¯s chin.  She replied that toy drakes, for all their superficial resemblance, weren¡¯t truly dragons.  She pointed between Junior¡¯s eyes at a blank expanse of forehead and explained that, were he a dragon, he would have a third eye there.  Noue raised her eyebrows.  ¡°I thought the third eye was a myth.¡±  Glue looked up sharply, obviously sharing Quill¡¯s curiosity as to where Noue had even heard of the third eye, a theory of magic which had been thoroughly erased to all but the Historians.  ¡°What?  I¡¯ve never actually seen a dragon, that¡¯s how you wind up a dead thief.  I¡¯ve just read some of the books they invariably hoard.¡±


    She could read Draconic.  That was an impressive feat.  It was an old, complicated language, rife with loan words and neologisms, as befit a tongue allegedly as old as the universe.  Parchment affirmed, once more, that Tome Junior was a Junior in name only, and would never even make it into his third decade.  He was just a lizard.  But, Glue drew them back to center, discussing psi was why they were gathered, but not that of Tome Junior.  Though, it was evidently not so urgent that they could not take a few thoughtful draws on the hookah.  At Noue¡¯s suggestion, they had branched out from their usual fruity mix to try a kind of Fireplains tea, and Quill found he preferred the taste; it was, however, very rich and so he paced himself.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen her a few times now.  She¡¯s brisk, efficient, and evidently commands entire squadrons of Tome¡¯s personal guard.  Not to mention that she conducted a search of my office while applying mental pressure to me¡­ not in excess of what Burner could do, but certainly with more finesse.  She acted like she was trying to burn through the fog when really she was planting curiosity.¡±  Glue nodded.  Quill had mentioned that when he called the meeting.  They didn¡¯t think he needed to see a fire sorcerer, not least because where could they find one that was trustworthy?  Quill wasn¡¯t about to suggest Parchment¡¯s extracellular contact, firstly because it wasn¡¯t his place and secondly because it would make him an ideal target for Burner¡¯s brand of interrogation.  One mind lost, three cells cracked.


    Noue spoke up that Burner had approached her several more times, each time with a more colorful bouquet of flowers, along with something that straddled the razor¡¯s edge between threat and proposition.  Everyone winced at her choice of metaphor, and she snickered as she teased Tome Junior.  She and Glue were making a game of tickling or gently pinching the drake¡¯s tail in turn, so that the creature spun until he slumped over, dizzy.  Clucking gently, Parchment gathered up Junior and hugged him to her chest, stroking him like a cat.


    ¡°Do we need to do something about Burner?¡±  Glue looked to Noue, who shrugged.  It didn¡¯t seem like he was subtle enough to install the kind of mind magic Glue used, and she hadn¡¯t seen Decontextualized.  ¡°Of course, if he was distracting you while she stayed out of sight¡­¡±  Glue shook their head.  They hadn¡¯t seen any signs of mental stress in Noue¡¯s mind, and even if the magic were from the fire sphere they would have noticed the¡­ Glue rolled their hand thoughtfully, looking for the right metaphor.  They finally settled on saying they would have noticed the bent and broken strands of thought, such as were clearly evident in Quill¡¯s mind.


    ¡°But you only noticed the strands of thought for the headache she gave me battering my mind¡¯s walls.  You said we¡¯d need a fire sorcerer to see whether she had actually implanted curiosity.¡±  Glue sighed, and acknowledged the truth of what he said.  They simply weren¡¯t equipped to combat two different kinds of sorcery.  ¡°Assuming Decontextualized continues to be a problem, would it be viable for you to learn the fire sphere?¡±  Glue stroked their chin thoughtfully.  Ultimately, they shook their head.  Too much research into mental controls would be dangerous in a city with records so transparent to Tome¡¯s watchful eyes.


    Noue asked why they called it sorcery when they knew it was psi.  Parchment and Glue exchanged a look, and Glue sighed again.  The terminology they used was to keep it in familiar terms.  For all they knew that dragons possessed a theory of magic which differed from the conventional elemental spheres, they knew very little about its actual mechanisms.  Dragons, even with their tendency to hoard, rarely kept books explaining the subject, and as Glue gathered they even learned the use while they lived on the chain of islands known as the Belt rather than having it written down.  Noue looked thoughtful and asked if Glue could read Draconic.  Not quickly, but they could.


    Quill leaned back and drew smoke thoughtfully, thankful all of his cell could read it.  As he shifted his balance back and spread his arms to take his weight, he laid one hand over Noue¡¯s, reveling in the contact and remembering the firm ¡°no¡± he¡¯d gotten.  Spine did not want to induct another one of Quill¡¯s crushes into the ranks of the Historians.  Which would inevitably mean Glue locking away Noue¡¯s memories of what she had learned.  That, in turn, would hinge on a choice by Quill.  Glue could probably, given their abilities, turn Noue into a rock climbing enthusiast and affluent investor in truth.  Or, she would move on to the next theft from a dragon and leave his life forever.


    Quill had fallen hard and fast for Noue, and while he had emphasized his request with ¡°please¡± he had to face the very real reality he would lose her.  Even if she were inducted, he was probably just delaying the inevitable, given how well his cell functioned as was.  That was the real decision, and it was out of Quill¡¯s hands, because there was no way he would have Glue lock away so large a portion of Noue¡¯s mind.  It was out of the question.


    He realized the warmth of her hand had distracted him, and came back to paying attention to the conversation.  Evidently, Noue had an old, water-damaged book on draconic psi, which she would be willing to give to Glue.  Quill sucked in a breath.  That would be dangerous, as it would leave findable evidence of Glue¡¯s heresy, but it could also be incredibly valuable.  ¡°Why don¡¯t we leave it at the drop point?  It would avoid risking Glue, and while any information in it would get back to us very slowly, it could also be disseminated to other cells.¡±  Glue nodded and looked relieved not to have to hold a proscribed text.  Noue, however, still held to ideals and asked if it wouldn¡¯t be more expedient for Glue to read it and then send it to the drop.  ¡°I think the problem with that plan is that we¡¯re all under a great deal of surveillance right now.  Burner was not subtle, but Decontextualized engaged in three activities simultaneously.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Did she?¡±  Noue asked.   ¡°You said she gave you the burning headache, implanted curiosity, and went through your office.¡±  She loosed her hand from Quill¡¯s, much to his dismay, before planting it over his and giving him a reassuring squeeze.  ¡°But her soldiers could have searched your office, and we don¡¯t actually know that you¡¯re any more inclined to acquire information than you always are.  As I understand, you¡¯ve been unlocking your glyph a lot more lately, and my experience of having one is that my brain goes crazy wanting input and to process the things that it¡¯s kept buried for even a few days.  So unless Decontextualized has worked the same psi on my mind while Burner distracted me, which I¡¯m not ruling out, it¡¯s more a manifestation of Glue¡¯s sorcery.¡±


    Glue looked distressed, like they¡¯d inhaled too much smoke, but their exhale was clear and from that Quill deduced Noue was inspiring the distress.  He thought to himself about what Noue had said, as they passed the hookah around.  Glue¡¯s mind magic was cutting edge.  He didn¡¯t know the details, but Glue might have once been patronized by Tome, and thus had access to pre-Loss sorcery knowledge.  They also had a sanitarium full of inmates to experiment on, about which Quill pushed aside his qualms in the name of the greater good.  But that there would be side effects was something that quite simply hadn¡¯t occurred to him.  Glue had gone well beyond what they had attempted with their released inmate in tinkering with their minds, but they had done this to assure everyone¡¯s safety.  Still, they had been test subjects.  Glue likely looked like they had swallowed a bug because doing harm was opposed to their nature.  He went down a brief rabbit hole wondering how Glue and Parchment reconciled that Glue had helped Quill to concuss a dragon-sympathetic secretary with a small explosive, and that Parchment herself had killed an entire shift of miners and would do so again if need be.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that Glue has done us any harm, even if there are some unintended side effects,¡± he said slowly.  Glue looked slightly less sick just at that pronouncement.  ¡°After all, they put similar sorcery into the mind of the inmate they released, and they¡¯re doing fine.  Aren¡¯t they, Glue?¡±  Glue nodded and affirmed that Z was doing quite well.  ¡°Speaking of, how goes tracking Decontextualized?¡±  With an obviously relieved expression, Glue launched into an explanation of manpower and how quickly public opinion¡ªand draconic opinion¡ªwould allow them to release inmates.  Decontextualized was highly visible much of the time, going about with a cadre of Tome guards, but other times she seemed to drop off the map entirely.  But with subtle magic¡ªpsi¡ªGlue¡¯s spies could, if they were known to the agents of Tome, be made to forget her passing by quite easily, within the framework of the same magic that kept them from whatever criminal impulses Glue had buried in fog.  And given the transparency of Glue¡¯s records, their inmates were quite probably known.  ¡°That supposes that their watching is something Tome knows about.¡±  Well, yes.  That was the game of spy versus spy, seeing who blinked first.


    Burner wasn¡¯t subtle, and Decontextualized¡ª¡°Suffering Savior we¡¯re calling her Deco, I am not spending nearly two seconds pronouncing the name of our latest nemesis!¡±¡ªwas either very subtle or simply more competent.  Noue, then, was not a high-priority target, nor was Glue.  ¡°Which leaves me in the unenviable position of their linchpin.  I wonder how they rationalize my association with two loyalists such as yourselves.¡±  Nobody had anything to say to that, so Quill drew thoughtfully and exhaled smoke at Noue before handing her the pipe.  And promptly getting a tea-scented cloud of smoke blown in his face.


    Quill considered what they had figured out.  Deco was perhaps not the threat they thought she was, or she was going to undo them with ease.  Which, if she could simply invade their emotions with ease and turn them against each other, they were sarx out of luck and may as well baste themselves for Tome¡¯s culinary enjoyment.  So assume that Deco wasn¡¯t an entire level above them, and that Noue was correct.  Glue¡¯s sorcery had side effects, which meant that a small army of former criminals-cum-spies wasn¡¯t in the cards.  If anything, it meant they had to go back to the drawing board with Z.  Unfortunate, but they¡¯d made it this far without an unwitting spy ring, and it was a little comforting to realize that you couldn¡¯t just program a human.


    Quill was naturally curious¡ªhe wanted to be a scholar, after all¡ªand liked to feed his brain.  He¡¯d even gone so far as to invest a great deal of time and energy into an axiom spirit of lore to offset the limitations imposed by Glue¡¯s sorcery that he had known about.  This wasn¡¯t dangerous, thanks in large part to Glue, and neither Burner¡¯s brute force nor Deco¡¯s scorching psi had been able to penetrate that fog.  They knew he was hiding something, but to be fair he was a man with numerous strange habits.


    He was a librarian who kept a dueling foil on his person, speaking of which he really needed to remember his forms that Saturday; he checked a brick every morning that he wasn¡¯t running late, and gave the blackboard his personal attention.  Clearly they hadn¡¯t cracked that, if Spine wasn¡¯t insisting on a new system.  Unless they¡¯d found and intercepted¡ªbut that¡¯s not productive.  So all they knew for certain was that he was the aforementioned linchpin, but it was a stalemate.  Time was on Tome¡¯s side, eventually the mine would be cleared despite Parchment¡¯s best efforts.  Unless Spine could tell them what kind of artifact they were dealing with, the simplest solution was to destroy it.  They had contingencies for retrieving longer messages, but, probably yes they would have to destroy it.  They lacked the resources to slay a dragon at this juncture, unless they wanted to swallow long-fuse rune explosives and hope the dragon ate them and then got blown up.  If that gambit failed, there would be nobody¡ªat least, nobody the knew about¡ªto oppose Tome getting whatever artifact was buried deep in the mountain.  It had been done, but in far more desperate conditions than they currently faced.


    Having reached his own conclusion, Quill stopped idly passing around the nozzle of the hookah and sat up, realizing Parchment and Glue were talking quietly as well.  Noue looked over at him curiously.  ¡°Parchment.  I think we need to tell your contact we need a large rune explosive.  Big enough to crater the mountain.¡±  Parchment protested that there was a trade embargo on until the mine was cleared, and that they already had half a team of rune-empowered miners ready once Parchment had personally cleared the blast site, making sure to leave evidence of a natural cave-in.  ¡°Then we need the explosive as close to the lifting of the embargo as possible.  There are two possibilities.  Either we¡¯re damned if we don¡¯t, or we destroy whatever Tome is so intent upon obtaining.¡±

 Reassigned

    Quill wondered if he had just missed a clock tower or if the papergirl just judged by the shadows as he did, for she called at exactly the right time.  The headline that morning was about the spirit mage being brought in from Spirithome, evidently for purposes of calming any intact undead miners long enough to bury them.  Breakfast was sour cream, fish, and onions.  Not the most aromatic breakfast, and if he were going to eat it for lunch he might reconsider, but lunch was with Noue at a cafe she evidently liked enough to insist he patronize with her.


    Checking the brick in the alley, he found another of the puzzling scraps of paper, this one saying, ¡°again?¡±  He mused over what that could mean while he prepared the library blackboard.  Things had been a little slow, and he suspected patrons of Dragon Tales the bookstore didn¡¯t realize there was a Dragon Tales the library.  So, he wrote in big letters, ¡°Yes!  You can borrow books completely free of charge!¡±  Then he filled in the events calendar, wondering if he should arrange for more lectures on sorcery and the elemental spheres.  Maybe something on fire sorcery and branding.  It might cost a bit, but a brand like Glue had would save people such as himself from struggling to light kindling.  Before rallying his volunteers, Quill took a moment to consider his friendship with Glue.


    They had been friends a number of years, longer than he had known Parchment.  He couldn¡¯t quite recall how they had met, although he supposed Glue had come into the bookstore.  It wasn¡¯t one of the tourist traps that sold stories about the Claws of Fire and Ice, and might even have a few of their treatises on air sorcery.  They had met during the fashionable hour for lunch, rather like he had been doing with Noue but deferring to Glue¡¯s sense of inconspicuousness.  Glue was an idealist, a trait they shared, but there were definite distinctions in the nature of their idealism.  They were a pacifist, while Quill carried a rapier any time he wasn¡¯t going to Church.  But they were capable of meddling with people¡¯s minds.  It was an advanced use of the air sphere to touch upon the logic of another¡¯s mind, and it was one in which Glue specialized.  That had been an early spark to their friendship, Quill recognizing and respecting mastery of any subject.


    But¡ªa volunteer tapped Quill on the arm, asking if they should get started without him.  They had been tentative around him ever since the terrible headache of Deco¡¯s investigation.  He rose and shook his head.  He had a job to do, and he would do it well.  He¡¯d riddle out what was bothering him about Glue some other time.  He suspected it wasn¡¯t Glue so much as their association with Parchment, but he knew even less about Parchment and there was a great vagueness as to what his concern about her even was.  He rallied his volunteers, saw them to their various tasks, and set about reshelving volumes four through six of Daring Kaliskast.  Whoever had discovered the draconic propaganda was working through them at an admirable pace.


    When lunch came, Quill rushed out the door, eager to spend time with Noue, feeling a sense that time with her would only grow more precious.  He hoped that was only a reflection of the deepening emotional intimacy they would share, and in any event banished thoughts of doom or gloom for the nonce.  She smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips as they met at their go table, but then she took one of his hands and led him away to a bakery called Fresh Flours, an obvious pun on the growing season and their own baked goods.  She ordered for both of them, a croissant roll of some kind filled with ham and cheese.  Quill felt a bit at a loss as she both ordered and paid, but she seemed perfectly at ease with the dynamic.  It wasn¡¯t that he felt obligated to pay, so much as he was used to taking the lead.


    As they settled down at a small table to let their pastries cool, she looked him squarely in the eye and asked what he wasn¡¯t telling her.  He raised his eyebrows, both at the question and at the surge of indignance he felt.  It wasn¡¯t the sort of question he expected to be asked by her in a cafe.  His mind jumped to the piece of paper he¡¯d found that morning.  Taking her free hand in his, he asked in turn, ¡°Do you have to leave on business any time soon?¡±  He smiled, his question having startled her.  She had evidently made no plans to leave Coldpass, at least for the time being, as she thought she was spending time with him.  Certainly, she might move on eventually, but there was plenty of business to conduct in town even once the embargo was lifted.  ¡°You are, of course, spending time with me, but I didn¡¯t want to presume.  I can¡¯t get into it now,¡± she nodded knowingly as he said this, ¡°but yes, I¡¯m¡­ do you like surprises?  Some people can¡¯t stand them.¡±  She took a smiling bite of her steaming pastry and nodded.  Surprises were quite agreeable, when they were of the pleasant variety.  ¡°I would certainly hope it¡¯s a pleasant surprise.¡±


    The conversation moved on from there.  Noue was finding a great deal of potential profit in buying goods from merchants eager to offload, currently unable to move anything thanks to the embargo imposed by Tome.  Once it was lifted, which she had every confidence it would be, she stood to make a tidy profit even if it was currently straining her funds.  ¡°Should I have paid for lunch?¡±  Noue laughed gaily.  They had very different ideas of strained funds.  A lunch with a man she was coming to love didn¡¯t even factor into the same budget as buying trade goods.


    They parted ways outside the shop, and it was pure chance that Quill glanced back for one more look at Noue as Burner approached her.  He had flowers in one hand, and a knife in the other.  This time, they looked to be hothouse flowers.  His heart twinged at the thought of Noue in danger, but she had no need of him.  In a matter of moments, Burner was disarmed and Noue was adding insult to injury by beheading the flowers he had brought with the stiletto she¡­ had used before.  Sometime.


    That night, at the lounge, Quill had purposefully had Noue plan to meet them an hour after Glue and Parchment arrived.  She was already a known quantity to the staff of the Manners Lounge, and would be escorted to their room when she arrived.  As he had before, Quill bluntly put the question of Noue¡¯s membership in the ranks of the Historians.  Glue and Parchment exchanged a glance¡ªQuill nearly missed the beginning of Parchment¡¯s reply wondering when he would start exchanging such knowing glances with Noue¡ªand she said, ¡°We¡¯ve discussed it.  We both agree that she would make an excellent operative, but we think you¡¯re just asking for heartbreak again, Quill.¡±  Quill once again began the mental calculus of whether Parchment or Glue would be less necessary to the movement, were one of them to be replaced, when he felt a pressure on his mind.


    With a start, he pictured his glyph and was locking the banks of fog back in place when it registered that Glue was laughing.  ¡°Oh, Quill, you are a romantic traitor.  There is no way Noue will stay with us when this cell works so well, and you don¡¯t actually have it in you to kill one of us.  Not that you couldn¡¯t, but you wouldn¡¯t.  Your identity is wrapped up in the greater good, but under that you¡¯re a decent man.¡±  Quill growled something about mind magic and not ferreting out every last secret.  ¡°Yes, I know, the greater good is greater than whether I¡¯m helping people and I¡¯m the morally inconsistent one.  I¡¯m sorry I don¡¯t see the good in destroying entire cities to end a single dragon.¡±  Quill snapped back that they hadn¡¯t even had the gall to destroy an office or a mineshaft.  ¡°I don¡¯t blow things up, it¡¯s true, but I¡¯ve been passing my research along to my contact¡ª¡± Quill quipped that they shouldn¡¯t be telling him that.  Glue waved an unconcerned hand.  ¡°Pish tosh, I¡¯ve put so many layers of sorcery on your mind that you¡¯d go insane before you gave up any secrets.  But anyway, I am plenty valuable without blowing things up.  I refer you to the aforementioned layers of sorcery keeping our secrets.¡±  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    They passed the next several sandglasses in thoughtful silence, passing around the hookah hose.  Quill noted with no small measure of delight that Parchment had ordered the tea-flavored molasses in the hookah again, and hoped Noue would take it as the compliment it was.  Finally, Noue arrived, with her a staffer carrying a plate of sandwiches.  Of the group, Tome Junior seemed the most excited, and Quill foresaw himself waving the excitable toy drake away from his food again.  Noue¡¯s brow furrowed in concentration, and then she was once more fully herself with the group.


    She plunked herself down on a cushion next to Quill, giving him an affectionate kiss on the cheek that had Parchment and Glue grinning.  Quill waved them off and challenged them to go a day without similar exchanges of affection.  Parchment gave him a look while Glue affected horror at the prospect.  Evidently remembering their game from before, Tome Junior flounced his tail past Noue, spinning in place before she could even reach for him to try to nip her fingers.  She laughed, and called him a smart little beastie.  Then she turned to Quill and asked, quite plainly, whether he was ready to tell her what he was going to surprise her with.  Once again, Parchment and Glue exchanged glances and smiles.


    ¡°Well¡­ I need permission from my superior¡ª¡± Glue interrupted with incredulity that Quill had even brought it up without permission from Spine.  ¡°I¡¯m working on it!  He¡¯s already gone from ¡®no¡¯ to ¡®again?¡¯ so I think we¡¯re a day from him conceding.¡±  This time Noue interrupted, to ask who he¡¯d inducted previously.  ¡°Ah, well¡­ a boyfriend I had at the time.  He was¡­ why don¡¯t I tell you about the Historians?  If you don¡¯t want to join, Glue will need to mess about in your mind¡ª¡± Glue huffed that they did not ¡°mess about¡± in people¡¯s minds.  Anymore, anyway.  They were far more refined in their technique than that.  ¡°¡ªbut anyway.  As you¡¯ve gathered, the three of us belong to a cell-based underground movement known internally, and unfortunately to our enemies, as the Historians.  We are so named because, well, because we keep history.  The Age of Loss was not some accident, some planet-wide dark age brought on by unknown forces.  It was a very intentional effort by dragons to bury their bodies.  Millions of bodies, at the very least.  They destroyed historical texts, drove prophets mad.  Cities are stone, but we know that cities used to be¡­ I¡¯m distracting from the point.  Dragons destroyed the history of mankind, and they created the Wholist Church to forward their ends only after the One God made it clear He would send prophets until humanity ran out of bodies to divinely inspire.¡±


    Noue was listening attentively, and nodding periodically.  She mused out loud that humans must have some purpose to dragons, if they weren¡¯t simply wiped out.  ¡°They tried that, we think.  Even our records are fragmented.  There was a great dragon war where humanity were the conscripts.  And when we tired of fighting our fellows for the gold and gluttony of dragons, we turned against them.  We nearly destroyed them, until they changed their tactics.  Something was lost, we don¡¯t know what, and the Age of Loss began.¡±  Noue nodded again.


    Quill went on to explain the structure of the Historians.  While they had informal allies outside areas of draconic influence, the initiated operated in cells of three, each with no more than a single extracellular contact, to prevent dragons from simply rending the society from the face of Orth.  He noticed her making a mental headcount, and knew he would have to reckon sooner or later with the four-ness of Quill, Parchment, Glue, and Noue.  But he¡¯d known that, in the foggy portion of his mind, for several days, though he was no closer to reconciling with it.


    Noue¡¯s eyes lit.  ¡°The artifact Tome is trying to find, it¡¯s something you don¡¯t want him to have.  The mine collapse¡­ how much of an accident was it?¡±  Parchment looked uncomfortable and turned away.  Noue pursed her lips.  ¡°I see.  So you killed all those people¡­ to delay Tome getting what he wants?¡±  Quill protested that they needed time, that it was for the greater good.  ¡°You can¡¯t just collapse the mine over and over, what is your long-term plan?¡±  Glue and Parchment looked at Quill.  It was his show to run, deciding what to tell, evidently.  He answered that, mostly likely, they would have to destroy whatever artifact had survived from before the Age of Loss.  They lacked the manpower necessary to kill Tome, the Dragonslayer was an ocean away and aging besides, the best they could do was deny him his objective.  ¡°You killed all those people, just to buy time to¡­ what, kill more people?  You don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re destroying!  What if it could provide the means to liberate people from dragonkind?  What if it could melt the glacier and let the passes be open so that they couldn¡¯t tax merchants to death for the few traceable paths?¡±


    Quill sighed.  But with his glyph unlocked, he knew things that were normally locked away, such as events in Fief.  He didn¡¯t know the details, getting information out of a warzone was forever complicated, but there was talk of an armed uprising against the radiance dragon who had patronized the lineage of the White Queens all through the Age of Stone.  The time was coming that an uprising would be possible.  It just hadn¡¯t come yet.  ¡°You say it hasn¡¯t come yet, but if there¡¯s an uprising in Fief, couldn¡¯t there be one in Coldpass?¡±  Quill shook his head, regretting the course the conversation was taking.  Coldpass wasn¡¯t a mobilized army.  There had been circumstances they simply couldn¡¯t replicate, here in the Sevens.  At least not yet.  ¡°Peaceshield is already moving against dragons!  They¡¯ve destroyed the barrier spheres erected in their lands, and reject the patronage system!¡±  Quill acknowledged this, and sighed.  A revolution, in Barbery, would take a single squad of powerful spirit mages.  The loose and wandering undead raised by the necromantic pulses of Mount Barber could be marshaled into an army.  The Historians were moving on this, but it would take months to gather the forces needed and they had, at best, days before the artifact was unearthed.  If they were successful in ousting dragons from control of Orth, they would have all the time in the world to unearth the secrets of Ages past.


    Noue chewed her lip thoughtfully.  ¡°Could I think it over?  Glue, your sorcery, is there some way you could cast on me so I can think about it while not being¡­ without it being readable?¡±  Glue took a deep breath of hookah smoke and exhaled it into a swirling orb in their left hand while their right reached for Noue¡¯s temple.


    That night, alone in his apartment, Quill meditated upon the concept of morality, sifting through his lore spirit¡¯s knowledge of philosophy.  As he asked himself rhetorical questions, he briefly felt a pressure on his mind, but it passed and slumber took him shortly after.

 Foes to Friends

    The headline which greeted Quill that morning filled him with an uneasiness and dread he couldn¡¯t put his finger on.  The embargo was lifted, trade and merchants could once again file through the city as they would.  Noue would be making a pretty pile of coin off the merchants who had been desperate enough to leave to sell their wares at a discount.  For breakfast he had a light meal of liver sausages and fish eggs, both over crackers.  Salty and delicious.  Not everyone had the taste for liver sausages, but as a native of Coldpass he¡¯d grown up on it.  The weather that day was ashy, and he resolved himself to the task of cleaning his heavy coat on the morrow.  The ash meant that he couldn¡¯t refrigerate a lunch in the snow outside the library, so he resolved himself to the expense of buying a breaded fish stew for lunch.  It would be a tasty treat before he was forced to use his half day cleaning his greatcoat.


    As he was heading to work, he was intercepted in the alley by a woman¡­ no, he¡¯d met her at the library, her name was Decontextualized, without homeland or lineage.  Brown hair, bangs and a long braid, heavy leather armor on an athletic frame.  She made him more than a little uneasy, and he remembered the headache she had, wait, why did he associate her with his headache he¡¯d gotten?  But she was directly in his path, and it didn¡¯t do to ignore a servant of Tome.  Rising from peering behind a loose brick, she greeted him formally, as Quill von Barbery of Kweeleh.  ¡°I don¡¯t have to be your enemy.  Have lunch with me.  I¡¯d arrive at your customary hour.¡±  Quill cast about his mind for conflicting appointments, and realized that he had no good excuse to decline and that in fact he would do well to conclude this encounter early enough to avoid disappointing Leather.  So he acceded, and she nodded and stepped aside, vanishing from his awareness almost as soon as she did so.  He shuddered.  She was unsettling.


    Encounter aside, looking to see if she were the one putting papers behind the brick, he made it to the library on time.  The paper, which he felt oddly reluctant to attribute to Decontextualized, said simply, ¡°fine.¡±  He wrote ¡°Dangers of ash fall¡± and a short list of common precautions, and set about corralling his volunteers.   The day went by blindingly quickly, and he reflected on the unfairness that it should be the case when days he met Noue passed so slowly.


    At an hour before the fashionable lunch period, he walked to the door of the library.  Outside, unbothered by the ash it seemed, for it never landed on her, stood Decontextualized.  He thought he had a more familiar term to refer to her by, but couldn¡¯t recall.  So, he asked.  She, in turn, asked if she might simply call him Quill.  It was traditional, after initial introductions, to refer to the other by just their common name, but she was evidently making an effort to be polite.  Warming just the slightest bit to her, he answered that she could.  She replied by offering Tua as a shorter option for her own name.  Quill briefly felt cross that it wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d expected, then dismissed the irritation as irrational.  When he had no idea what name he had even been expecting, what right had he to be upset that it wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d expected?


    She was leading them as they made light conversation, taking back alleys¡ªwhy did that concern him?¡ªand side roads to get them to a hole in the wall cafe.  There was a single red dragon painted over the doorway, and once again a bristle of unease ran through Quill.  Tua turned to him and smiled, and if the smile had reached her eyes he would have called it warm.  ¡°I¡¯m nothing like Burner, Quill.  If I wanted credit for killing you, you would simply be dead.  While this cafe is proud of its ties to Zrit¡¯isar, nobody is even so well-armed as you.¡±  He glanced up and down the length of Tua and noted that there were no obvious weapons on her person.  Once again, that would-be warm smile graced her face.  ¡°Excepting, of course, me.  Do you mind if I order for us?¡±  Quill felt decidedly uncomfortable with such a familiar gesture, and found himself worrying that she had similar designs on him as Burner did upon Noue.


    Tua laughed gaily, and this time it did reach her eyes.  Cold, cold eyes, taking delight in tormenting prey.  ¡°My loyalties lie with Zrit¡¯isar, Quill.  You have no appeal to me.  That said, we don¡¯t have to be, mmm, intimate acquaintances to stop being enemies.¡±  Quill picked up his menu and saw it was in Draconic.  Knowing the cultural differences would make many of the ingredient names meaningless, he gestured for Tua to give their order to the waiting barista.  What arrived at their table, small enough their knees nearly touched¡ªit had delighted her that he was unnerved to think she had designs upon him¡ªwere two iced beverages made from a mixture of vanilla and coffee, and a pastry filled with mushrooms and beef.  He had to admit, while it was a substantial divergence from his usual fare, it was hearty and tasty.  Tua consumed her own pastry while it was still steaming hot, while Quill elected to wait for his to cool.  That she had actually eaten further reassured Quill that she had benign intentions.  At least, as much as¡­ she smiled with her mouth again.


    ¡°Yes, Quill, do tell.  What do I have benign intentions for?¡±  Quill shook his head and apologized, feeling muddled and uncertain whether he had spoken aloud, but that he wasn¡¯t certain who she had benign intentions for.  Perhaps, compared to Burner.  ¡°What ties me and Burner, Quill?¡±  He shook his head again, trying to clear it.  Hadn¡¯t she mentioned Burner?  ¡°Why yes!  I suppose I did.¡±  She wiped nonexistent crumbs off her armor.  ¡°Do you mind if I talk while you eat?  You don¡¯t seem to have the same¡­ taste for heat I do.¡±  Quill nodded and said that would be fine, taking a tentative bite of his pastry.  Why did all the cafes not serving Barberyan food seem to serve buns and pastries?  Why was he so certain that it was advisable to be quiet and biddable?  And why was there a positive frisson of energy off Tua when she said the word ¡°heat¡±?  She had made clear she wasn¡¯t interested in him so he let go of it as an unimportant ponderable for some other time.


    ¡°We have been at odds, Quill.  We don¡¯t need to be.¡±  He very much doubted that, but he had no basis for saying so and so didn¡¯t.  He thought.  ¡°Why don¡¯t you like me, Quill?  Because I trespassed upon your domain, searching your library?¡±  That would be a good reason.  Was it the reason?  It didn¡¯t seem quite right, but he couldn¡¯t focus; was he getting another headache?  ¡°Oh, no, Quill, you¡¯re not getting another headache.  But the pressure on your mind must be a little disorienting.  Do you have a key you can call to mind?¡±  A key?  No, no key.  Why was she asking about a key?You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Hrm.  It must be linked to something else.  But forgive me, my manners have deserted me.  Here, take a look at this.¡±  She slid a piece of paper across the table.  Quill, his head clearing for the moment, wiped greasy fingers on his napkin and examined it.  It was a formal writ issued by the lord-governor of Coldpass, authorizing the use of sorcery to interrogate¡­ him.  Quill¡¯s blood ran cold.  This was not how Burner played the game.  He relied upon his own agency and ability.  ¡°As I said, I am not Burner, Quill.¡±  He was a suspect by the testimony of Parchment¡¯s secretary of being the one behind the bombing of Parchment¡¯s office, and the destruction of valuable papers which had had to be laboriously copied over and delivered, to say nothing of the delay of the dragon Tome¡¯s designs through the Earth Guild.  ¡°So.  I am the agent chosen to carry out this search.  But I think you would much rather have me as a friend.  You could have everything you want so badly.  Your Denouement would make an excellent ally, the two of you could be a team.  Her skills, combined with your ravenous consumption of lore and knowledge would make a formidable pair.  You think your bedfellows have given you access to knowledge, you have no notion of what was lost.  You would be free to be a scholar, not some librarian head nod by a bookstore.¡±


    Quill looked up at the eyes of Tua.  Decontextualized.  Any familiarity with her would only end in pain for him.  Not Tua, not¡­ he waited for her to inquire as to the conclusion of his thought, even though he didn¡¯t know what it was, but she smiled and tapped the paper.  ¡°That doesn¡¯t have to be how things go, Quill.  I gave you a taste, but we could be friends.¡±  She¡¯s allied with Burner.  Burner who tried to kill him, has threatened Noue, was just generally¡ª¡°Burner is a nonissue.  He has grown unreliable.  Erratic.  That is why I¡¯m here, to clean up his mess.  But you have other friends you¡¯re loyal to.  I felt them.  But you¡¯re not so loyal as you seem, are you?  You¡¯ve considered removing one of them because, somehow, they¡¯re an obstacle to your being with Noue, aren¡¯t they?  I¡¯m sorry, Denouement.  I shouldn¡¯t presume.¡±


    Quill thought of Noue.  He thought of his previous love affairs, and his certainty that, as things stood, they would always go the same way.  ¡°I think you¡¯d find that a dragon¡¯s greed agreed, hah, with you.  We want all of your companions, it¡¯s true, but we have tools at our disposal.  If you want¡­ a boyfriend?  If you want him too, all we need is to find him and you could have both.  It would be no object, and if it¡¯s a sin before your Wholist Church, I think you¡¯d find that Zrit¡¯isar is a more obliging and indulgent Lord.¡±  Quill¡¯s thoughts were muddled, and the more he grasped at his thoughts the more they escaped him, like trying to pick up water or capture fog in a net.


    Decontextualized sighed and pulled out another piece of paper, taking back the first.  ¡°How about this, Quill.  When you can think, whatever that looks like, give this letter a good read.  Don¡¯t think of calling on me, I¡¯ll call on you, and we¡¯ll see what you have to say.  And I do recommend you finish your pastry, they¡¯re quite good.¡±  She rose, scooting her chair in and leaving.  Quill looked at the folded paper in his hand.  He thought he should tell his friends about this encounter, but felt reluctant to do so until he had read the letter.  Which meant not seeing his friends, until he had read the letter.  He was quite certain of that.  As though anticipating an encounter with Noue, the rest of the day dragged on.  He was aware of the letter, kept in his vest pocket; there was no way he was risking losing it by leaving it in his greatcoat until he knew what it contained.


    That night, in the same closet he remembered¡­ he didn¡¯t remember the details, but a fateful encounter with Noue, he visualized his glyph, rotating it into place in the lock in his mind.  As before, he was intensely aware of the gaping blackness of the wall Glue had erected in his mind.  For his own good, he had been told, but he wondered how true that was.  Parchment knew he had tried to have her replaced, and if she knew then Glue knew.  What if they had locked away intent?  What if¡­ the paranoia was unnatural for him, a manifestation of sorcerous meddling with his mind.  Decontextualized¡ªhe would never again familiarize the name of someone so dangerous¡ªhad left hobnailed boot prints all over his mind, he was sure.  Glue would know in an instant that he¡¯d had an encounter with one of Tome¡¯s agents.  But the letter.


    By the light of a candle, sitting on the floor of his closet, he unfolded the letter.  It was¡­ not what he expected.  Even with his glyph unlocked he wasn¡¯t certain what he¡¯d expected.  It was an offer of employment.  In Zrit¡¯isar¡¯s personal library.  He would have light duties, organizing and curating the books of the dragon, but by and large he would be free to study, provided he made his essays available to the dragon.  Conditional upon the offer were the names of his cellmates, as well as his extracellular contact.  While the contract did not specify what her duties would be, it explicitly named Denouement as one of his coworkers, employed for the good of dragonkind.  It also included that, provided he agreed and made a good-faith investment of time and effort, Burner would be relocated somewhere far from Coldpass, handed off to another dragon in need of an unsubtle tool.


    Quill thought feverishly about the letter, not realizing time was passing until his candle went out.  There was no way he could hide it from Glue.  And having revealed it to Glue, Glue would want to look in his mind.  He heard Decontextualized¡¯s voice in his head and startled at the unbidden¡ªit wasn¡¯t air sorcery, it was draconic psi¡ªuntil he thought back at it and realized it was internal.  It was, as Decontextualized had supposed Glue had given him, a key.  He pictured the key, and a lock emerged from the bruising on his mind, hidden behind swelling until that moment.  The space inside was just right for the emotions bubbling in his chest and the letter itself.  He thought about it, and even as he added thoughts to the engram of the letter, the lock expanded, ready to enfold it.


    It wasn¡¯t as though he were committing himself to anything, by locking away the letter.  He just wanted time to think.  He was a man in love, but he was also a man of principle.  Indignance rose up in him.  Glue¡¯s sorcery was something he had consented to initially, but they had grown far-reaching and willful in their use of it upon him.  He deserved some measure of privacy.  Decided upon his course of action, Quill reviewed his thoughts and neatly locked away any thoughts of¡­ a letter?  He had no letter.  Certainly not under a loose sock in the back room closet of his apartment.  Meditation was difficult that night, to which he attributed Decontextualized¡¯s bruising of his mind.  Sleep, on the other hand, came quickly, though he was troubled by nightmares of Noue¡¯s hand being torn from his, and Glue and Parchment burning alive held in scaly claws.

 Live For Love

    Quill met Noue at The Golden Spoil that Sunday.  She was dressed in her fine branded coat, the ash having passed, and he asked her why she came with him to Wholist services when she was a Witness, winging his arm as he asked.  She chuckled and wrapped her arm around his and replied that if it was important to him to be seen there, it was important for her to be seen there with him.  He smiled warmly at the sentiment, and then felt a twinge of guilt.  There was something he wasn¡¯t telling her.  Okay, so there were a lot of things he wasn¡¯t telling her, but he was a habitually reserved person.  He could feel the pointed edges of something poking his brain, that pertained to his future with her.  But for the life of him, he couldn¡¯t tell what it was aside from the discomfort of it, so he resolved to put it out of his mind.  He uttered a minor witticism, something to the effect of Burner¡¯s being ¡°tiresome, boorish, and not even affording the entertainment of meriting interesting insults of his character.¡±  He wished he were so witty when face to face with the man, but something about him made Quill passive and quiet.  Once again, a nagging thought that he could somehow say to Burner¡¯s face all the things he had thought about him.


    The opening hymn was one Quill knew, but he made a point of reading over Noue¡¯s shoulder to avoid her feeling any shame over not knowing the words.  As every Sunday, the priest made the sign of the God Star before the altar, and led a round of prayer for the collective sins of the congregation.  ¡°Everyone, excepting the Blessed Son and Mother of the One God, have sinned and to think otherwise is to delude and damn yourself!¡±  This was the priest¡¯s closing remark, followed by another hymn.


    ¡°Today we call upon the Power of Sael, angel of cleansing, under the Virtue of the Queen, Barachia.  It is perhaps fitting that the Queen is fully the Queen of Rest, for we are in prayer that the undead inhabiting the great pre-Loss artifact be put to rest.  Found through the Graceful guidance of Tome, a spirit mage has been called in, as those who read the Chronicle will be aware, to quiet their spirits and allow us to put them in proper tombs after time immemorial!¡±  Quill felt a frisson of unease.  Spirit mages could do a broad assortment of things, but¡­ alas, fog.  ¡°Undead are a fact of life in Barbery, as I¡¯m sure you all know.  The mountains resonate with the vast necromantic pulses which emanate from Mount Barber every few days.¡±  Quill knew, personally, that it was every sixty-six hours.  He also knew that Mount Barber was a pre-Loss artifact in and of itself, constructed entirely from native gabbro, and that the veins and obelisks of that same stone expanded the area of effect throughout Barbery.  The mechanism of the pulses, however, remained a mystery.  ¡°We are blessed, in Coldpass, that those who perish are generally frozen through, and thus kept from being a menace to the general populace.¡±  That was one spin to put on allowing innocent people come upon hard times to freeze to death.  The undead raised by Mount Barber weren¡¯t even that great a menace, though they could be a vector of disease.  Generally, they wandered aimlessly about, only purposeful under the yoke of a spirit mage commanding the animating spirit inside them.  ¡°It is unfortunate that so many vengeful spirits remain behind to trouble the living, but we live in a fallen world and many blame others for their misfortunes.¡±  That wasn¡¯t even accurate, to Quill¡¯s knowledge of necromancy, but it wasn¡¯t something he had studied enough to make it a hill he would die upon.  But to blame the malintent of the dead for the alleged dangers of the undead, when it took magic to command them into anything resembling orderly action¡­ ¡°So we pray that the spirit mage brought in by Tome will quiet the spirits of the miners,¡± No worries there, there wasn¡¯t enough left of them to animate.  Though the Bone Pickers might be able to assemble a single functional body from the pieces, were they allowed in.  ¡°And also that we are able to bury the dead who have haunted the artifact for far too long.¡±  Undead, normally, would gradually decay, but in Barbery the animating spirits were renewed every sixty-six hours.  Quill was still deeply uneasy about what could be done with a spirit mage and corpses inhabiting it since before the Age of Loss, but he was at a loss as to what made him so uneasy.  Spirit mages¡­ he would need to consult his axiom of lore to know what else a spirit mage could do, and see what made him nervous, after the service.


    ¡°We pray, beloved, that great Sael would also cleanse the false faith of Witnesses that do not acknowledge Mother Church.¡±  Noue made that particular wrinkle of her nose.  It wasn¡¯t cute, exactly, but very expressive.  Quill wondered to himself whether the priest recognized her and was making eye contact, or if it were just a trick of the light like with certain paintings where the eyes seemed to follow you wherever you turned.


    Much to Quill¡¯s relief, Noue did not want to socialize after the service, practically pulling him from the narthex before he could do more than wave over his shoulder at Parchment and Glue.  Why was it a relief?  Again, the feeling of an irritation, a pearl of thought.  She brought him down back streets and alleyways to one of the countless small shops, but Quill wondered why when almost everywhere was clo¡ªthe restaurant boasted lit lanterns and a well-lit interior.  When he questioned a store being open on the sabbath, Noue confided in him that the proprietors were Paxites, and celebrated their sabbath on Saturday.  They were shown to a booth, close to the fire in the near-empty establishment.  There was not a menu, but rather they were simply presented with a charcuterie board laden with crackers, cheeses, cuts of beef and cooked chicken sausages, and an assortment of olive, nut, and potato sides.  This was a new culinary experience to Quill, so he waited to observe what Noue did.  It became quickly apparent this was an equivalent experience to his light breakfast of crackers and fish eggs, and he began experimenting with combinations, taking his cues from Noue¡¯s tastes.


    ¡°I was hoping,¡± Noue said, when they had sated themselves and were merely picking at the remaining treats, ¡°to discuss with you your offer of employment.¡±  Quill swallowed wrong and began to cough.  Noue looked on with concern and then came around to pat his back.  He noticed that he was nearly as tall sitting as she was standing.  ¡°Are you alright?  I thought we had slowed down enough for conversation to avoid any choking.¡±  Quill nodded and gestured for her to continue.  ¡°I¡¯m not convinced that I agree with your methods.¡±  That¡­ was perplexing.  ¡°And I¡¯m not sure that I have the temperament to be a librarian, I¡¯ve been an investor and collector so long, although I admit there are similarities.¡±  That was still more perplexing.  His consternation must have shown on his face, because Noue sighed.  ¡°One God¡¯s sake, Quill, they¡¯re Paxites and it¡¯s Sunday, nobody is about!¡±  She lowered her voice to a hiss, ¡°Unlock your mind.  I¡¯ve paid, they won¡¯t be bothering us on such a slow day!¡±  Quill coughed again, his mind calling forth simultaneously a glyph and a key.  The key slotted itself into the nagging soreness in his mind even as he had to consciously rotate the glyph.  Clearly, while Decontextualized was more skilled than Burner, she was not as subtle as Glue.  As he thought those words, he realized what had been nagging at him all morning, and was doubly thankful he had not had an extended conversation with Glue that morning.  The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°What, Quill?  You¡¯re turning veritably green.¡±  Quill asked Noue how she felt about dragons.  ¡°Dragons?  What do you have locked away in that noggin of yours?  I loathe them.  They¡¯re avaricious, hateful, manipulative.  They amass colossal hoards of wealth over time, when people in their territories starve to death.  Or, in the case of Coldpass, freeze.¡±  Quill felt guilt at the fact he still had not approached his superiors about making the library space, at least, a shelter for the homeless as Noue had proposed.  ¡°In my time robbing dragons, and from what I¡¯ve read, they¡¯ve insinuated themselves into every position of power there is.  They have their talons in the Church, in governments such as Fief¡­ the only place I¡¯ve heard they¡¯ve struggled to tame is Dominion, and there they just work around the people there while continuing their games of intrigue.¡±  Quill could see they played rather extensive games of intrigue.  ¡°They empower ordinary people and give them the sense of being superior even as they damn them by their willful and ungodly actions.  Just look at Burner.  He thinks flowers and a knife is the way to a woman¡¯s heart.  Just look at you, following a dragon serving church over one of the more pure Witnessate faiths.  There are several in town.  The Sevens are wonderfully diverse.¡±


    Quill protested that¡­ he sighed.  He¡¯d only gotten as far as the actual protest before realizing he didn¡¯t have a leg to stand on.  ¡°So what aren¡¯t you telling me, Quill?  You¡¯re making the most awful face.¡±  As a dilatory tactic, Quill asked Noue what branch of the Witnessate faith she would recommend for him.  Her expression made it clear she wasn¡¯t going to drop it, but Quill wanted to buy as many moments of introspection as possible before he made what was assuredly an irrevocable choice.  Noue pursed her lips thoughtfully and tilted her head to one side.  ¡°I mean, you¡¯re identifying as an Incarnate Wholist.  An Incarnate Witness is just an Eminate.  There¡¯s a small temple and school devoted to their teachings two shops down.  I don¡¯t think their services are anything like your Wholist services, though.  I haven¡¯t personally attended because I¡¯m not any kind of Incarnate.  Why do you ask?  I thought you were tied to your Wholist church out of devotion to appearances.  We discussed that just earlier this morning.¡±


    Quill took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and asked if she had any interest in attending an Eminate service with him.  She looked taken aback, then shrugged.  ¡°If you¡¯re abandoning appearances¡ªwhat happened, Quill?  You turned green when you unlocked your glyph, and now you¡¯re asking about dragons and alternative religious services.¡±  He sighed again, and asked if she¡¯d like to meet his moms that Saturday.  As for what was the bee in his bonnet, he would tell her, and Glue, and Parchment, the next evening at the Manners Lounge.  He could tell this wasn¡¯t satisfactory to her, but to his intense relief she didn¡¯t push.


    Remembering his intent to consult his axiom of lore, he changed the subject.  Slicing his thumb and watching the motes of light seal the wound, he told Noue about his unease with a spirit mage having access to the corpses of those who might well have operated the pre-Loss artifact Tome was so intent upon unearthing.  She began to ask follow-up questions, then saw his thumb and waited patiently while he consulted his spirit.  He mumbled the words that came up as he searched and sought the information he wanted.  Shadow mages weren¡¯t what he was worried about, although there was plenty to worry about there.  ¡°What makes a shadow mage worrisome?¡± Noue asked.


    Quill replied that it was a relatively new sorcery, but that the sphere of shadow magic included imbuing the dead with a semblance of life.  It didn¡¯t create undead, or it hadn¡¯t yet, but if Tome could find the pretense to bring a shadow sorcerer then he could directly question the corpses of those who had quite possibly operated the artifact.  A spirit mage could interrogate the animating spirits of the zombies inhabiting the artifact, which if Mount Barber was as old as was believed would have substantial observational knowledge of the artifact.  He let out a sigh of relief.  While Tome could corral the undead using the spirit mage, he would have to go to greater lengths and take still more time to actually learn the workings of¡ªhis blood ran cold.  The books.  The books Noue had stolen.  It was entirely possible that Tome already knew how the artifact worked, and what a spirit mage could do, if not unlock the secrets bound up in the corpses¡¯ hearts, would be direct them to follow the patterns of behavior the bodies had had in life.  They would be the mindless laborers under the direction of a single individual, much easier to bind to Tome¡¯s will than an entire crew of workers.


    ¡°So let me guess.  You¡¯re going to kill the spirit mage that Tome is bringing into Coldpass?¡±  Quill shook his head a single turn, before pausing and putting a thoughtful finger to his lip.  Then he shrugged.  He needed to talk to Parchment and Glue¡ªwith her present, he hastened to add.  He fished the piece of paper he had kept as a totem, a cheering sentiment, however foolish that was, which said, ¡°fine.¡±  He told Noue that she could join them as an apprentice Historian.  ¡°That was what we were going to talk about in the first place, before you came up queer.  I don¡¯t agree with all your methods, though I¡¯m relieved to find out your first impulse isn¡¯t to kill the spirit mage.  You can¡¯t just murder anyone who might unearth a secret.¡±


    Quill didn¡¯t say, but it was evidently written on his face, that he disagreed.  ¡°Quill, if you kill everyone who learns a secret, the killing in and of itself a secret, you will wind up decimating this entire town and losing your hat.¡±  He raised an eyebrow and looked down at his wide-brimmed hat sitting on the table.  His hat?  Noue waved a dismissive hand.  ¡°Something from a penny dreadful.  It refers to losing one¡¯s status and dignity, in short.¡±  Quill nodded.  ¡°You employed explosives entirely too readily and injured an innocent man destroying the papers in Parchment¡¯s office, and for what?  To gain a few days?¡±  Quill blanched at the reference to the secretary, who was decidedly not an innocent in this game of greater good.  He had testified that Quill had been the only one to visit Parchment¡¯s office, and that he had carried a small suitcase with him.  Noue wouldn¡¯t approve of removing¡ªwhat a gentle euphemism for wetwork¡ªthe man, but fortunately it was a moot point.  He had already done the harm he was going to do, short of betraying Parchment herself, and Quill would have to¡­ what were even his options, at this juncture?  He asked Noue to wait until the morrow, and in the meantime that they lock away their secrets and enjoy the delicious Paxite charcuterie board.


    Still clearly dissatisfied, but unwilling to press, Noue agreed that he would answer all her questions at the Manners Lounge.  Quill locked away the fog, but left the key where it was.  He wouldn¡¯t be hiding anything from Glue, and not keeping a secret from an old friend, much less ensuring their demise, was a great relief to him.  He could act for love and for the greater good in the same movement.  Or so he hoped.

 Only Option

    ¡°We have no choice but to destroy the pre-Loss artifact,¡± Parchment declared as soon as the molasses was smoking.  ¡°I will contact Press and request a large enough explosive to sunder it and bury the remains in rubble.¡±  Noue looked shocked and dismayed, and while Quill understood her viewpoint from their discussions, he disagreed with her.  One of the things he liked about her was that they could hold opposing viewpoints and still get on companionably.  He was, however, uncertain how such a large explosive could be transported into Coldpass subtly.


    Much to his surprise and delight, Noue spoke up, suggesting the spaces between the runes be cut like puzzle pieces and transported individually, and then reassembled once they had made their way into town.  Rune magic was not anything like as complicated as Glue¡¯s sorcery usage, didn¡¯t Glue think it would work?  Glue shook their head, expressing a lack of familiarity with branding runes and how that worked.


    Parchment spoke up again.  ¡°It should.  Even the runes on my arm only enable a specific and simple effect.  I¡¯m surprised, though, Noue.  What do you know about rune magic?¡±  Noue put a splayed hand to her chest dramatically and protested that she was a thief after all, and if she knew two things it was stealing things and then successfully making off with them.  Quill dryly suggested she knew more than two things, and she playfully gnashed her teeth at him.


    The knowing glance shared by Glue and Parchment made him flush.  Their cell, for now having four members, had paired off neatly.  It occurred to Quill that with his method of communicating with Spine, it would take a long time to communicate to Press what they needed, and felt a stab of envy when Parchment dismissed it as a nonissue.  He supposed there were dead drops he could use to contact Spine, but for it to be of no moment¡­


    Speaking of things that were of no moment, reminding him of things that very much were, Quill drew the offer of employment from his jacket and presented it to Glue.  He related that first she had interrogated him using what was ostensibly air sorcery, and had shown him a formal warrant for his magical interrogation, and then had told him this was her counter-offer.  Noue immediately left his side and peered over Glue¡¯s shoulder, asking if this was what had him in such a mood the day before.  He nodded and waited for their assessment.


    Glue made a hissing intake of breath as they read the offer.  ¡°She¡¯s figured out substantially more than Burner ever did.  Oh, look, she makes provision for your sweetheart,¡± Glue elbowed Noue gently in the ribs, but she didn¡¯t dignify Glue with a response.  ¡°She¡¯s evaded my releases from the Sanatorium.  At least thus far.¡±  Quill commented that she seemed to have a way of vanishing from his awareness the moment she was done with him.   He winced as soon as the provocative words were out of his mouth, feeling like they were overly suggestive, but Noue evinced no insecurity or offense.


    Glue made a gesture and Quill found himself trying to recall Decontextualized¡¯s face, and realized all he could bring to mind was brown bangs, a long braid, and leather armor.  He found some humor in Glue cursing magical veils when they were trying to use magic to overcome them.  Quill also mentioned that she¡¯d done some air sorcery¡ªbut no, they had discussed that, it was some other theory of magic¡ªand he would like Glue to take a look with their own sorcery.  ¡°What, you have something more shocking than this letter?  The confidence, the awareness¡­ I¡¯m wondering if she gave you this just to hand over and make us sweat.  I can¡¯t bury the nervousness, she might cue in on it.¡±  Quill apologized and confirmed that he did, in fact, have something even more worrisome to share.  Decontextualized, ¡°What happened to Deco?¡±  He was getting to that.  Decontextualized had applied a great deal of psychic pressure to his mind, and in the process left behind a construct rather like the blank wall Glue had emplaced.


    Glue took a long pull from the hookah and exhaled the smoke slowly, making it coalesce into a swirling sphere.  Drawing on the focus provided by the flavored smoke, Glue peered into Quill¡¯s mind, a sensation far less uncomfortable and invasive even than Decontextualized, and certainly more tender than Burner.  ¡°I see bruising, certainly, but¡­ ah, hello.  That is a neat trick.  Bury it in the morass of bruised psyche¡­ Quill, would you like me to unravel this for you?  It can¡¯t be comfortable.¡±  Quill confirmed that he would very much like it removed, after Glue had learned all they could from it.  Any advantage against Decontextualized they could muster¡ªand surely Glue saw why he wouldn¡¯t use a more comfortable shorthand for her name, now¡ªwas one they would apparently need.  Glue nodded and told Quill to let them know if it was too painful.


    He felt a kind of psychic tug as Glue unseated the lock Decontextualized had emplaced in his mind.  Glue ¡°hmmm¡±ed to themself as they fiddled about.  ¡°Ah, now there¡¯s a nasty little piece of work.  She seated it on a kind of mental fuse.  If I weren¡¯t so good, as soon as I removed or unraveled the safe you would have gone insane.  Unfortunately for her, I am that good.  I know how insanity works.¡±  Quill thought uncomfortably of the prophet driven mad by Burner and wondered how much of Glue¡¯s expertise was¡ª


    ¡°Quill, for the life of you stop thinking such things while I¡¯m trying to dismantle this.  Ah¡­ there we go.  As for the safe itself, I see you left the key as an open engram.  But the safe¡­ Quill, you locked this.¡±  Quill froze.  He¡¯d assumed that Glue would be able to learn about the kind of mental architecture Decontextualized employed, but hadn¡¯t considered what else they might learn.  ¡°You always were the most traitorous leader.  You want Noue that badly?¡±  Quill¡¯s mind strayed to Decontextualized¡¯s offer of not only Noue but his ex before her, before he made a disciplined attempt to focus on what he had done.  He had brought the letter to the cell and laid bare his secrets.  ¡°And a good thing you did, she would have unlocked all your rumination the next time she saw you and known all the things you locked up with it.  Then she would have had no use for you and could have pulled the plug on your sanity herself.  Honestly, Noue, thank you for being a more loyal apprentice Historian than he is Master Historian; the man thinks with his heart.  If you¡¯d been less principled I think I¡¯d be in manacles right now.¡±


    Noue laughed and said she was flattered to have inspired such loyalty in Quill, but that it spoke badly of him that he¡¯d even considered turning in the rest of his cell.  He protested that he hadn¡¯t considered saying yes, he¡¯d just¡ª¡°Quill, I am looking at what this lock buried.  I can¡¯t touch the emotional stuff, I can¡¯t even unravel the entire lock, but I can see your thoughts quite clearly.  You were considering taking Noue and Epi and leaving us in the lurch.  I caught you trying not to think about him before and I think Noue should know about old flames.¡±  Noue cocked her head at Quill, but rather than looking bothered she looked merely exasperated.  She said she could tell he was holding a candle for someone else, and what bothered her was more that he wasn¡¯t as devoted to his principles as she¡¯d thought.  Principle had been what he¡¯d used to draw her in to the Historians to begin with!  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Quill apologized, but he had been off-balance and it wasn¡¯t as though, with all her mucking about in his brain, Decontextualized couldn¡¯t have put in place a feeling of desire.  As far as he was concerned he hadn¡¯t been holding a candle for Epilogue anymore, had put the matter behind himself.


    Noue looked to Glue, who shrugged and replied, ¡°I¡¯ll need more smoke if I¡¯m to keep looking around, but I think we¡¯ve found most of the fun stuff.  The lock is unraveled and the key is a mess of engram parts, I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll get anything useful from it except that she tempted Quill and failed.  Noue, you might want to stay on guard, she seems to have identified you as Quill¡¯s break point, and Quill as the most vulnerable part of our cell.¡±  Quill asked if he might not be the most vulnerable because he had the least status.  Glue was the lead doctor at the local Sanitarium, Parchment was a guildmistress¡­ he was a mere librarian.  For that matter why didn¡¯t they ship him off to another cell when Noue completed her apprenticeship, and keep her on in his place to check Tome?


    ¡°What do you mean, ship you off?  Quill?¡±  Quill apologized and clarified that cells were generally kept to three for security purposes, aside from apprentices.  ¡°So you invited me to join an organization you knew would take you away from me.¡±  Quill protested.  The alternative was to lock away all she had learned of the Historians behind one of Glue¡¯s walls and send her on her way.  This, at least, bought him time.  ¡°Time to figure out which of your associates to betray?¡±  Quill shook his head vehemently.  ¡°Well, no, obviously.  If that were the course you found palatable you would have kept¡­ Epi.¡±  Quill protested yet again.  As he did so, Tome Junior, who had grown progressively more agitated as the conversation went on, began chasing his own tail and clawing at Parchment¡¯s side.  Quill went on that he¡¯d had a mind-witch mucking about in his head, it wasn¡¯t as though he would trade Noue for Epilogue.  That ship had sailed, that fork had turned, that thread was cut.  Noue sighed.  ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Quill.  I¡¯m not normally given to suspicion and doubt, but that you were considering turning in your entire cell just to¡­ what, have me as a consort?  It¡¯s really rather disturbing.¡±  Quill turned to Glue and demanded a fire sorcerer.  He wanted this settled.  He had doubted, which was something even the Faithful of the One God were entitled to now and again, and he was not convinced that it wasn¡¯t the workings of Decontextualized that he had even considered it.  Hadn¡¯t Glue noted that it was possible she had put ¡°curiosity¡± in his mind to make it ripe to reap later?


    ¡°That is a fair point, I apologize.  There¡¯s no need for a fire sorcerer.  I can see the bruising, I can see it around the memory of Epilogue, even if I can¡¯t exactly touch it.¡±  Quill turned to Noue, hurt written on his face, and asked if she really believed he were a man of such casual conviction.  He worked as a librarian, she had read the letter offering him employment, she knew his passion for lore and yet he had elected to remain at his current post.  He had laid bare all the secrets imparted to him by Decontextualized, and if that wasn¡¯t a sure enough show of loyalty to his cause he didn¡¯t know what was.  Glue and Parchment were both nodding, and this seemed to decide things for Noue.  She apologized for doubting him.  The cell sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments, perhaps even a sandglass, before Glue passed Quill the hookah hose.  Everyone let out a big sigh, and Tome Junior slumped to the floor and curled up nose to tail.  Noue chuckled, Parchment did the same.


    Glue let out a cackle.  ¡°Boy, we¡¯re all on edge!  It¡¯s almost like having your mind meddled with makes you paranoid!  Keeping secrets, not knowing who to trust, knowing the wrong choice could make you dragon food!  But I will attest that I trust Quill.  He and I are old friends, I was the one to induct him, in fact.¡±  Physician, heal thy self.  Wasn¡¯t it possible that there had been more than one landmine in Decontextualized¡¯s little lock?  Glue wasn¡¯t normally prone to hysteria, though the needling about Epi had been entirely in character.  ¡°I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s possible.  I can¡¯t actually look at my own mind with air sorcery, and having a fellow at Sanitarium do so would be¡­ inadvisable.  Too many secrets.¡±  Noue inquired as to how Glue kept their secrets, then.  ¡°Oh, that¡¯s simple enough, I keep up a wall.  I can¡¯t look, so I can¡¯t do fine work, but putting up a wall of air is easy to do.  It¡¯s necessary, even, for one¡¯s equilibrium given access to mind magic and surrounded by the mad.¡±  Noue asked if that wasn¡¯t a little obvious?


    Parchment shook her head and said the obviousness was precisely what made it the perfect defense.  She¡¯d asked Glue similar questions previously, and it was standard procedure at the Sanitarium for even the apprentice sorcerers to erect mental walls to avoid more than minor frenzies from exposure to madness.  Noue replied by asking if Glue¡¯s hysteria over Quill¡¯s momentary uncertainty wouldn¡¯t qualify as a frenzy.  ¡°It absolutely would.  Except it was an emotional frenzy, not a logical one.  I can¡¯t work the fire sphere, emotions are out of my reach.¡±  Shouldn¡¯t they perhaps branch into fire sorcery, then?  Perhaps the problem with the criminally insane Glue couldn¡¯t cure was that their disorder was emotional, rather than purely logical.  After all, wasn¡¯t insanity a departure from logical thought?  Glue looked rather like they had swallowed a frog.  Not a large frog, indeed one small enough to squirm on the way down.  ¡°Quill?  You¡¯re the lore expert.  Why didn¡¯t you suggest this years ago?¡±


    Quill laughed and shook his head.  His axiom was limited by what people knew, and he was limited by the vast swathes of his mind covered by Glue¡¯s fog.  It had been one of the first tricks Glue had learned and employed as a journeyman at the Sanitarium.  If insanity were not a disordered jumble of the engrams that made up logical thought, it was not something known to post-Loss medical science.  Parchment waved a hand dismissively.  ¡°Science¡± was pseudosorcerific nonsense, a good earth sorcerer was the solution to physical ills and air to the mental ones.  ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dismiss it that readily.  I have documented cases where there are emotional disorders, but my attempts to treat the thought processes have generally eroded too quickly to be useful.  I can lay down a rational track of thought and it winds up in a mental trench in short order.  Well demon droppings, Quill, your new lady friend is wise!  Maybe we should keep her and ship you out.  To Spirithome, if you like.¡±


    Quill raised an eyebrow, took Noue¡¯s hand to kiss it, and otherwise refused to acknowledge Glue¡¯s good-natured barb.  Parchment spoke up that hadn¡¯t Glue intentionally neglected that avenue of research to avoid discovering the secret of true mind control?  Glue froze mid-draw on the hookah, coughed, and wiped tears on their sleeve while nodding.  ¡°A fair point.  But if it might help some of the tortured souls in Power of Engel¡¯s¡­ I¡¯ll reach out to my extracellular contact.  Maybe it is time we did something about Tome, like Noue has been saying.¡±

 High-Spirited

    Whatever of Noue¡¯s feathers Quill had ruffled with his revelation on Monday, they were suitably soothed by the time Saturday rolled around.  He and Noue had seen relatively little of one another, in light of the threat posed by Decontextualized.  However, Quill had spent what felt like a rather substantial amount of time with Glue, experimenting with his humors to increase his resilience in the face of psychic assault.  Decontextualized, fortunately enough, did not make an appearance in the intervening near-week, though Quill supposed that with her ability to cloak herself he might not have known she was nearby.  He dreaded their inevitable confrontation, her partially unraveled lock in his mind a definite answer as to where his loyalties lay.  While he left his glyph locked, the remnants of her lock kept present in his mind the nature of the threat she posed; Glue could do nothing to obscure it.


    Quill was at The Golden Spoil approximately three sandglasses after the end of his half day, having seen to his duties and dispersed his volunteers.  Once again he found himself fidgety and nervous, because for all that he knew and loved Noue, taking her to meet his parents felt dangerously like a pattern he had followed before.  One which would make them worry about him in the months or years down the line when Noue was¡­ gone.  Left.  When she appeared at the top of the staircase, a vision in mint green, he let out a deep breath he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding.  ¡°Noue,¡± he said, going to greet her.  She folded neatly into his embrace, his head over hers, and they both drank in the moment.  Quill felt no small amount of relief that their separation had, evidently, bothered her as much as it had him.


    ¡°So we¡¯re going to meet your parents,¡± Noue said, as Quill winged his arm for her.  Quill confirmed this.  Almost too casually, she asked, ¡°Did you take Epilogue to meet them?¡±  Quill nearly tripped over his own boot, and then nodded.  But that had been a long time ago.  ¡°Not so long that you have forgotten.  Will you forget me?¡±  Quill began to wonder whether she had in fact missed him, or simply saved up ammunition.  Giving the matter due thought, he replied that he would miss her to the extent his fog allowed, which was presently that she would leave a Noue-shaped hole in his heart.  ¡°I will miss you too, then.  To the same extent.¡±  Quill let out a sigh of relief.


    That was, evidently, to be the extent to which the past was dredged up.  Instead, Noue started asking him questions about his moms.  She wanted to impress, and to her that involved polite adherence to protocol.  Was Kweeleh the taller of the two?  What were their places of origin, their own lineages?  That, he couldn¡¯t answer.  At their insistence, and then later his habit, he had called them mama Kweeleh and mother Plotarc as long as he could remember.  She chided him that how long he could remember was not that long, but accepted the answer.  He told her that they would insist upon calling her Denouement, no familiar title.  Rather like Epi had always been Epilogue to them.  He felt comfortable referencing his former love, knowing that Noue was unbothered by his existence.  If it had made her insecure, he wouldn¡¯t have brought it up, but it was a useful example.


    Outside the squat, ugly apartment block, Quill turned to Noue.  As he was about to ask if she had any more questions, the door clicked and swung upon, and the moms were upon them.  ¡°Quill!¡± Mother cried happily.  ¡°And you simply must be Denouement, he¡¯s mentioned that coat.  Oh, it¡¯s so lovely, the subtle cold branding really is a look.  Don¡¯t you agree, dear?  Well, obviously, seeing as you have the taste to wear it.¡±


    Mama Kweeleh was a little more subdued, but took her turn fawning over Noue.  ¡°Come in, come in, you need to have a bite to eat.  And then, when you¡¯re in a food torpor we¡¯ll tell you all about our boy.¡±  Quill smiled indulgently at the diminutive term, and Noue¡¯s eyes sparkled with mischief.  She was going to enjoy seeing Quill a child again, clearly.  Perhaps when she left he could go with her through the Fireplains and return the favor.  As she served up heaping helpings of beet soup, surely only the first in a number of courses, Mama went on with a sad glance at Quill, ¡°He¡¯s had the worst luck in love.  I can tell you¡¯re going to last.  No traveling to Spirithome for you, I think.¡±  Noue¡¯s eyebrows nearly met her hairline at this bald declaration.  She asked what made Kweeleh von Barb¡ª¡°I¡¯ll have none of that.  You¡¯ll call me Kweeleh, dear.  I love the Sevens, don¡¯t get me wrong, but long formal names is one of our lesser sources of pride as a nation.¡±  Quill smiled indulgently at his moms¡¯ insistent informality, hoping it was charming Noue as much as it charmed him to watch.  His smile turned to a grimace at the next change in topic, but he¡¯d known the risks of introducing Noue to his moms.


    ¡°He was such a high-spirited boy.  He¡¯s more reserved now, though I might suppose that¡¯s from his Incarnate practice than any school of hard knocks.  I mean, he¡¯s a librarian.  But he takes it very seriously, I do believe it causes him pain when someone can¡¯t figure out their arcane filing system.  You won¡¯t catch me in a library before I figure it out, I couldn¡¯t stand to see that¡ªyes, that exact smile.  Now Quill, you knew when you brought her here that she¡¯d have to hear about what you were like as a boy.¡±


    His moms launched into telling a story Quill remembered well.  It was not a memory he had called up recently, but he was certain of the outline of events, the course of the story.  He must have been eight, when he found the apartment complex¡¯s snow shovel.  Now, of course, he wasn¡¯t going to clear the walkways with it, or the road outside.  No, he was a child, there was snow outside, and while he had summer chores he was somewhere in that gray area of having completed them and not thinking of them.


    But the snow shovel.  He hadn¡¯t been certain what it was when he found it, propped against the building, likely left there intentionally by whoever¡¯s job it was to shovel the snow and just waiting for a break in the summer flurries.  By the time he had determined it was neither a sled nor a comedy prop, the snow was stopping.  In the course of his experimentation, he had plunged the snow shovel into a drift, and then he leaned on it, thinking it would behave like a shovel thrust into dirt.  Instead, the snow bank gave and the shovel, and the boy leaning on it, fell to the ground.  He realized it was a perfect implement with which to move snow.  Being himself but smaller, he decided there was only one reasonable course of action.


    He would build a snow fort.  But not just any snow fort.  Armed with his instrument of snow mobilization, he would build concentric rings of defilade banks, tamped down and each equipped with a supply of snowballs.  Covered shelters housing larger stores of snowballs dotted his fortifications, each ready to mercilessly pelt intruders should they only think to dig beneath the block opposite the entrance.  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    He had found the snow shovel in the midmorning, and by the time his moms called him for dinner, he had made no fewer than nine star-angled rings in the biggest offensive gesture towards snowball warfare that had been seen in Coldpass.  Had there been other children in the neighborhood, they doubtless would have grown bored in the face of his overwhelming security and tactical superiority, refusing to play after he had retreated only once or twice.  But Quill was one of a very few children in Coldpass, and so he came in from his industry leaving his work untested, hungry and perhaps just a bit cold despite his exertion.  When he told his moms over dinner how he had spent his day, they smiled and asked if he had left room for wheelchairs in his defensive embankments.  He was indignant.  But of course, he had left a two foot gap along every retreating path and snowy slope, sufficient to allow anyone egress.


    He had always been a thoughtful boy, his moms concluded.  But high-spirited, without a doubt.  He had begged and pleaded and wheedled until finally his moms had agreed that they would have a snowball fight with him on the condition that he be the one to assault his impregnable fortress and they be the valiant defenders.  They were onto the main fish course by this time, baked mullet with potatoes.   Noue was eating heartily, a sight that made Quill glad.


    The follow-up, having lured her into a sense of security with baked fish and tales of childhood antics, was mother¡¯s incisive protectiveness of her boy.  How, pray tell, had Denouement come to be a wealthy investor, from whence came her interest in rock climbing and philosophy, and what were her intentions towards his boy?  She didn¡¯t ask this all at once, of course.  It started out harmlessly enough.  ¡°Quill tells us you¡¯re an investor.  That must have taken a lot of capital to get into.¡±  Noue was cheerfully eating and nodded, then was prompted into a further response by the silence that followed aside from the clink of cutlery on dishware.  She had done a recovery job for someone wealthy, rather like the work she had done for Quill¡¯s¡­ library.  Her skill then had been climbing, and she had slithered down into cavernous depths to retrieve a locket of sentimental value to an old man generous with wealth he couldn¡¯t possibly spend before he died.  His parting words had been suggestions on how to invest it, the banks rendering too slow a return for such a small amount of money.  It had been more than she had made in her life, and to him was a paltry sum.


    Her nose wrinkled as she related this, and Quill confided in his moms that she did this when she found something distasteful.  When they asked her what was so distasteful about being given such a boon in exchange for hobbyist work¡ªher rock climbing was a hobby, they assumed?  They hadn¡¯t heard that she did it competitively¡ªshe launched into a diatribe about social justice and the hoarding of wealth.  It made Quill the slightest bit uncomfortable, as dragons were the prime hoarders of wealth and somehow it had never come up with his moms how they felt about dragons, but they were smiling and he smoothed his emotional feathers.  He noticed mama watching him and smiled a bit more broadly.  While he didn¡¯t live up to even her most public ideals¡ªyet¡ªhe was very proud to have attracted the interest of someone who held such liberal views.  He felt it would encourage in himself the development of truer adherence to the ideals he also believed in.  After all, he¡­ something.


    A shadow had passed over his face, it seemed, from the concerned looks mama was giving him, but he just touched his temple, shook his head, and smiled once again.  The look she gave him spoke eloquent volumes as to the lack of success he was enjoying.  She did, however, smile very broadly when Noue also asked Quill what was wrong.


    ¡°She¡¯s observant, this one,¡± mother said proudly.  ¡°Knows our boy well.¡±  Mother was forever the meddler, and often his champion when he didn¡¯t want to discuss things.  She asked Noue what her intentions were with her son, and while Quill flushed he was glad the topic had changed.  He couldn¡¯t tell if Noue was coloring, but suspected she was just a little.  He leaned over to kiss her cheek and the heat of it confirmed the matter.  She replied slowly, thoughtfully.  She said that she had a passion for Quill¡¯s work, and that while he was not always¡ªbut no, that wasn¡¯t what she wanted to say.  ¡°What isn¡¯t?  You have to tell dear old Plotarc now, she¡¯ll be up all night cross-stitching and wondering.¡±  Noue said that she allowed for the possibility she simply didn¡¯t understand the nuances yet, but that Quill did not always live up to his own principles.  Mama and mother exchanged a glance.  Noue hurried to assure them that she approved of Quill, and that his ideals, even only partially realized, put him head and shoulders above other men in her book.


    Then Noue dragged the discussion back to the original topic, of her intentions towards ¡°their boy.¡±  She had come to town on business, and business might drag her away again¡ªhis moms exchanged worried looks at this¡ªshe would count Coldpass home as long as it had Quill.  In the short time of their association, she had grown quite attached.  Quill could tell she had impressed mightily with that statement.  But this wasn¡¯t what she was promised, Noue said with a sly grin.  She had been assured she would be deluged with stories of ¡°their boy¡± and so far she¡¯d only heard one or two.


    Just then, mama had declared that her apple bake was ready to come out of the oven¡ªQuill would never know how she could smell a baked dessert just shy of burning without the aid of a sandglass or hourglass.  As she sprinkled powdered sugar over the dessert, mother, a devilish gleam in her eye, launched into another tale of Quill¡¯s gradually settling down into his current ways.


    This time, it was a little later in his life, when he had attended the local university.  It had been home to one of Coldpass¡¯ three metal spires, and to hear Quill tell it, she said, his eyes had about popped out of his head at the assortment of books lining its steps.  More books than he could read in a lifetime.  She shook her head in amusement, recounting when Quill had invested all he had put away for further education into hiring a spirit mage to summon a powerful spirit of lore.  He still read, however, and that had been her biggest worry.  But she always wondered if Quill might not have been happier if he had stayed at the university longer instead of becoming a librarian.  Growing up, it had been a perpetual dream to spend his days in contemplation of philosophy and reason, and now he contented himself with reading the latest nonfiction arrivals to Dragon Tales.


    She smiled, a little sadly.  It wasn¡¯t her place, she said, to question Quill¡¯s decisions in his life.  He was a grown man, although she would always be her boy.  Noue expressed that if she had her way, Quill would yet be a scholar.  Mother smiled at that, though her wry grin suggested she wondered how Denouement would achieve what the aggregate nagging of his moms had failed to.  All in all, Quill counted the evening a success, the more for plans to see Noue the following day.  He might have been just the slightest bit concerned they would scare her off.

 A Break in Routine

    Quill awoke abruptly to a knocking on his door.  His first muddled thought was that Noue needed something, having been dreaming of her.  His second was that Decontextualized had realized her lock was unraveled and was coming to arrest and interrogate him.  And his third was that whoever was knocking was only knocking, not hammering, and certainly not endeavoring to break it down like a squad of Tome enforcers would.  Disentangling himself from his blankets, he donned his robe as quickly as he could and answered the door.  Whatever fresh nonsense couldn¡¯t wait until a reasonable hour could hopefully be dispatched in time to go back to sleep.


    Much to his dumbfounded surprise, Quill found himself face to face with a flushed Parchment, hauling a large duffel bag.  This was unheard of, unprecedented, and probably a few other ¡°un¡±s that he would think of once he was properly awake.  Murmuring greetings, he swung his door open wide and stepped aside.  He summoned forth his glyph, knowing this couldn¡¯t possibly be a social call.  Parchment nodded her thanks and tramped through the doorway.


    Quill waited approximately long enough for ten sands to fall from a glass, before asking, as politely as his sleep-logged brain allowed, ¡°What in the fulminating fossilized demon dung are you doing at my abode at this hour?!  Or at all, for that matter, when we were relatively certain you were marked as a loyalist?!¡±  Parchment shook her head, and thrust the duffel bag at him.  He plunked it down on his table, and if Parchment winced at his rough treatment of her package, she could deal with it.  He unsnapped the bag, and took in a sharp breath.  ¡°These are enough acid-fire runes to level an apartment block.¡±  Parchment nodded, and inhaled with a ready explanation.


    ¡±Press was able to smuggle in a large amount of explosive using Noue¡¯s idea.  You¡¯ll notice they¡¯re all stitched together.¡±  Quill gestured for her to get on with it.  ¡°I can¡¯t get near the tunnel, Tome has put it under guard and forbidden all access.  You¡¯re the only one of us with combat training.¡±  Quill remarked dryly that there was a difference between being a competent duelist and being able to take out a small squadron of soldiers.  ¡°You¡¯re better than you like to claim.  They¡¯ve brought in the specialized spirit mage as well.  One with the capacity to commune with and command the spirits in the undead.¡±


    That earned Parchment a low whistle.  Evidently she thought highly of his combat abilities.  Especially carrying a duffel bag filled with several pounds of branded silk.  ¡°You could use a pack,¡± Parchment said crossly.  ¡°Look, my life is basically over when Tome realizes what I¡¯ve done.  And he will find out.  I¡¯m the only one who even has the knowledge.¡±  Her tone turned bitter.  ¡°As soon as they broke through the last of the stone¡ªmasonry, incidentally; someone sealed this away¡ªhe ate the entire team of miners.  His lackeys, the spirit mage, and myself are the only survivors to know what¡¯s inside.  And as you so helpfully pointed out, if Tome knows what is inside, all he needs is the spirit mage to operate it.¡±


    The time for talk was short.  Based on what Parchment had said, he had a narrow window in which to act before he might be facing a literal dragon intent upon capturing an ancient artifact of unknown nature and providence.  All he knew was that Tome wanted it and that Spine had ordered it destroyed.  Shucking his robe, he began rummaging about for clothing that would get him through the cold.  Fortunately, his limited wardrobe made this a short matter.  Stuffing the wads of silk in a pack, he asked about the trigger.  Evidently, there was one rune that would ignite the others which had been incorrectly doubled along a seam of loose cotton thread.  Tear off the improperly-formatted rune, and the rest of it would take care of itself.


    ¡°And how long do I have to run?¡±  Parchment replied that it wouldn¡¯t explode until the length had ignited, so if he rushed he¡¯d have time to get out of tunnels.  A sandglass or two.  Nodding his thanks, and strapping on a heavier saber than his usual dueling foil, he strode out of his abode, leaving Parchment to await her fate.


    Conscious of the fact he was now carrying an illegal weapon within city limits, to say nothing of the explosive in his bag, Quill moved quickly through Coldpass, out the gates, and up the railed trail that led to the most recent mineworks.  There were several branches in the path, and Quill had to double back more than once when the absence of guards confirmed that he¡¯d taken the wrong route.  Finally, he found the proper path, one which sloped down and appeared to enter the mountain below even the level of the glacier that gave Coldpass its name.


    At the end were two guards in red and blue-gray livery, armed with heavy broadswords.  The first one was dead before he could draw his weapon, the second hadn¡¯t counted on not having backup.  He must have been a town crier before his recruitment, however, because he had quite the set of lungs as he declared an attack.  Or half of the word, anyway, before Quill cut his throat.  He didn¡¯t enjoy taking lives, knowing it only perpetuated his Incarnist or Eminate cycle of birth and rebirth, but it was a necessary evil for the greater good.  If they¡¯d been able to delay Tome by even a few weeks, perhaps they could have rallied an army of undead, but pitted against another spirit mage such weapons were unreliable, and Tome already had one.


    Charging down the tunnel, he was able to run through another lackey before having to engage in any serious sword work.  He knew the tunnel behind him was clear at least as far as the city gates, so he took advantage of voluminous space to retreat, wearing down his enemies by degrees rather than risking a wound that would lose him blood and stamina.  Speaking of stamina, he really would be religious about his forms, this was wearying.  But given time and a hundred yards, he slew all four of the squad.  That was one squadron, between the guards at the entrance and the four he had just dealt with, which meant¡­ at least six more, plus untold numbers of undead.  Literally untold. He should have asked Parchment.


    The tunnel really had been purpose-dug, because there were no branches to get lost going down until a two-way split; one led the way he had been going, from the other were the sounds of men and women sleeping.  Evidently the noise of combat hadn¡¯t roused them, which struck Quill as just the least bit sloppy as he moved in to make some quiet kills.  Only the last one so much as stirred.  Unfortunately, it seemed that the soldiers were considered expendable and Tome had already known there would be an invasion, because Quill found himself boxed in by zombies.  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The popular image of zombies, in penny dreadfuls and the like, was of shambling, flesh-eating corpses.  This was wrong on either one count or the other.  Directed, bound by a necromantic spirit mage, they moved with purpose and without hesitation.  Loose, they simply meandered around idly, seemingly confused.  Quill supposed if he¡¯d woken up one day in a new body and not-dead he¡¯d be confused too.  He wondered briefly if perhaps he should have devoted the time and energy to learning enough spirit magery to command undead, given his residence in Barbery, but he resigned himself that such questions were too little far too late and he was best off surviving the moment.


    Fortunately, the duelist¡¯s art lent itself to the slaying of undead better than soldier¡¯s training.  Sever the hamstrings and they¡¯d have to crawl, destroy the heart and the body couldn¡¯t hold the spirit.  These were not former soldiers, they bore no armor, and Quill made quick work of them.


    Quill hurried down the tunnel once more, and when he heard footsteps echoing behind him picked up the pace.  As he went, he wondered at the lack of undead, to hear the reports the tunnels had been full of them.  He arrived at the masonry section of wall, and found a breathtaking sight.  Luminous from within was an arch of quartz, branded with runes, the top emblazoned with Draconic words meaning ¡°The Outward Eye¡±.  Having stopped to read the sign, he was now certain he was being followed, not by an individual but by what could be another squadron of soldiers.


    Inside the archway was a raised path which led into the middle of what Quill supposed could be described as a flower made of luminous quartz.  Conscious of those behind him, but curious, he nicked his thumb and summoned his axiom of lore.  He felt its consuming passion for knowledge, but this was not its province, at least in him.  He used it as a library, an index, it did not extrapolate or learn.  With a sigh, Quill made a quick choice.  Investing what, for lack of a better term, he would call karma, he imbued the spirit with greater power, deepening his bond to it and granting it greater powers on his behalf.  He began reading the runes on the wall, arranged in hexagons with letters, arrows, and other arcane symbols binding them together.  His mortal mind grew overwhelmed quickly, but his axiom simply borrowed his eyes and kept reading.  Awareness trickled into his mind, along with dread.  It was, in essence, an eye.  A spiritual eye.  It would read the souls¡ªnot the souls, exactly¡ªhe sighed.  Axioms were sticklers at the worst times.  It would allow the surveilling of all of Barbery from the single space in the middle, would lay bare artifice like Glue¡¯s.  His axiom kept reading and referencing what it was learning; speaking of Glue it made their sorcery look like child¡¯s play, he could make a killing as a brander if only he invested in the ability to create elemental runes.


    When he heard footsteps echoing in the chamber, he regretfully cut off his reading to face his opponents.  Evidently the undead occupying the chamber had been repurposed by the spirit mage, because a tide of undead approached him.  He would be blasting the artifact, he didn¡¯t need to destroy the undead, and so he didn¡¯t.  He simply knocked them off the raised walkway, down onto the branded surface some dozens of feet below.  But their arrival meant he was out of time.  When he¡¯d made it to the entrance to the Outward Eye, he opened his pack and pulled out the length of silk.  The patch obscuring the starter rune was easily found, and sparked when he tore it.


    Having done his task, he headed back up the tunnel, hoping to encounter the spirit mage and perhaps end their menace as well.  Perhaps he could even lay blame at their feet.  ¡°But first; more zombies!¡± he thought to himself.  This time, however, they made no effort to restrain him, and in fact began to flow around him.  He kept his saber at the ready, and while he hamstringed a few, by and large they got by.  Then they were approaching him from behind, from the direction of the Outward Eye, carrying¡ªthe silk!  The fuse was still going, but if they got it sufficiently far away from the artifact, it would just be a matter of digging the artifact out again!  Quill paused, despite himself, his lore axiom still making connections.  A month would be enough to rally an army¡­ but it had taken weeks to reopen the tunnel.  But that had been a much smaller explosive.  He shook his head; he couldn¡¯t risk the artifact falling into draconic claws.


    The flow of undead seemed limitless, it must have taken countless mages to operate the artifact, and Quill realized there was only one option.  Knowing she couldn¡¯t possibly hear him, he nonetheless said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Noue.¡±  He would guard the silk until it detonated, making certain it destroyed the Outward Eye.  Outrage at the injustice of it all flooded him, and he relied upon measured breaths and his training as an Incarnate to calm himself sufficiently to continue fighting with precision and skill.  Noue admired his commitment to the greater good, and if the One God chose to test him with this, he would stick by his principles.


    Charging forward, he snatched the silk from the zombie holding it and ran back towards the Outward Eye.  He tied it to himself like a cape, mindful that he was facing superior numbers and would need to retreat, and that the spirit mage was clearly aware that the opponents of Tome employed explosives if the zombies were trying to remove the silk.  Where before he had prayed that it was more like two sandglasses of fuse attached to the runes, now he hoped it was more like one.


    The spirit mage was no tactician, this much was clear, because they crammed their undead onto the walkway, making them easy targets to overbalance into the hemisphere of quartz below.  In Tome¡¯s position, Quill would have hired a spirit mage with skill in reading the hearts of spirits, the better to make the undead operate the great artifact from before the Age of Loss. The mage evidently could learn, however, because the undead began coming towards him one at a time.  He skewered hearts and severed tendons, but the press of bodies meant he had to retreat.  If he got to the central platform before the explosive went off, he didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d do.  Besides die, but that was a foregone conclusion at this point.  The only question was whether it would deny Tome his prize for him to do so.


    He heard shouting from the tunnel, soldiers arguing that they were not going to stay a moment longer where there were explosives, much less charge into an open space to fight someone carrying them.  If he wanted to blow himself to kingdom come, he was welcome to.  The other voice seemed to be the spirit mage, insisting that someone with combat training needed to go and stop Quill from destroying an artifact of incalculable worth and utterly beyond even Zrit¡¯isar¡¯s abilities to recreate.  If the soldiers had done their job, he wouldn¡¯t have explosives in the first place, how did he smuggle in a veritable cape of branded cloth?!  The voices faded, even the spirit mage unwilling to be too close when the explosives went off, the undead continued to hound Quill.  He was tired, and his sword felt like it weighed several pounds.  Briefly, he entertained fancies of slaying the last undead thrall and leaving the cloak, but those thoughts, fancies of keeping his lunch date with Noue, were to be his last.


    Quill had underestimated the reactive strength of several yards of acid- and fire-branded silk.  When the explosion finally triggered, mineshafts throughout the mountain collapsed, and the very city of Coldpass felt the ground move.  Noue had risen just early enough to feel the movement and wonder what it meant.