Touring Bostkirk

~ Alexis ~

The legate spent most of the ride hiding behind his Riverstone illusion, which Alexis preferred to think of as a waterfall, while he messed with his tablet or read books, all the while Alexis gaped at the city. Their first stop was an equipment shop for magic crafters. The people there not only seemed to know d'Mourne, but were so enthusiastic about his arrival that the owner, a dwarven woman named Hendrika, and four others lined up to greet them. Each was a full-fledged crafter with different specialties. Alexis had to listen to introductions, followed by an extensive conversation about mana conductance, fluid viscosity, and circle compression as the legate browsed the aisles. She would have been bored, but the contents of the shop were so bizarre she never lacked for things to look at.

After browsing, he gave a list to the young rabbitkin who ran the front of the shop, and they proceeded to the back room. It was far larger than the retail space, with a dozen apprentices at workstations. Hendrika explained that most of their business was in processed materials and sub-assemblies for the magic item trade, but their best efforts went into making tools, often to custom specifications.

"My tools came from Androwe here," the masked legate said, nodding in one man's direction. "I won't use anything else now, except under duress."

"And we appreciate your business," said Hendrika, "but something tells me you didn't come here just to buy materials."

"I have a rush order for you. I need a mirror as tall as Alexis. I'd do it myself, but I'm pressed for time and I need it tomorrow."

"What's the catch?" asked the dwarf, suspiciously.

"The glass needs a high content of philosopher's wool, and the backing has to be made from this." He placed a small ingot of silver in front of the gathered craftsmen, who oohed and ahhed over it. To Alexis, it looked like a plain hunk of silver, valuable but not special. "I know it's hard to work, but I also know what you're capable of."

One of the crafters, an arc, picked up the block of metal, the width of a finger, and held it to the light. "You looking to scry into next year with that?"

"I never trust divination," said the legate. "It's either a scam or a trap, every time. Can you do it?"

"We can," Hendrika assured them, "but I can't guarantee delivery until tomorrow afternoon. We'll take the job, for the right price." The dwarf's eyes rested on the bar of metal. "You got any more of that tempered silver?"

"A little."

She grinned, "Let's talk."

The workshop was abuzz with conversation while the two of them were sealed up in Hendrika's office. Alexis wandered forward to the retail area of the shop, browsing bins of strange fasteners, spools of different-colored wire, glass sheets and cylinders, and blocks of gelatinous material that wobbled when she touched them.

"What are those?" she asked the clerk, who was using a small scoop to measure out what looked like pebbles from a larger container into a smaller one. His tail looked so fluffy she wanted to touch it, but she knew better. The beastkin children in Mourne didn't like being treated like they were pets.

"These are mana stones. They're low quality, but there are uses for them. Any clue why your legate wants so many?"

"No idea. Is he a good customer here?"

"He's placed a few orders. But that's not what he's famous for. You saw Androwe, right?"

"The one who made his tools."

"He got a level and multiple skill-ups from one commission for d'Mourne. He wasn't the only one, either. There's a bunch of people at the palace who leveled up from his jobs. Whole shops got leveled up. They held a big party and everything. The joke is, when you take a job from the cursed d'Mourne, you better order your meds the same day.

"So, what's your role in all of this?" He was a handsome rabbit boy with good arms and round eyes that made her melt a little. She casually positioned herself where she could look at him while he worked.

"I don't know. He says he's going to teach me a few things, so, student, I guess? We haven't really started yet."

"If the stories about him are true, you're in for an interesting ride."

The spark of interest in his eyes made her feel light enough to float out the window. "I guess," she giggled, "we'll see how it goes."

The rabbitkin boy offered her a card with his shop address and name on it. "I'm Sisbert. If you ever want to go somewhere good for lunch, send me a card, okay? Arctown is just down the street. Best food in the city, I promise."

"Thanks!" She tried not to blush, or giggle, or crush the card in her thrilled hands. "I might take you up on that."

"If you two are quite done …" The legate was watching, from behind his mask, while his pocketwatch ticked down the seconds. "We have much to do today."

Another carriage, another card, another ride. His waterfall was on again.

"A word of advice, Alexia. You should carry some of these with you at all times, with your name written on them." He handed her two of the Sunglaze Inn's business cards. "When someone gives you their contact information, you have the option of returning the gesture. People can't reach out to you if they don't know where to find you. But never write your room number on the card. That's a very different kind of invitation."

"You're not going to chew me out for talking to a boy?"

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The legate laughed as if she'd told a good joke. "No. Just promise me you'll only see him during daylight hours."

"Okay." She wasn't sure, but it sounded like some kind of trap. Her parents would never condone meeting a boy they didn't know. Then again, her parents weren't here.

"I have a wedding to attend in a few days, and I'll be gone for several hours. If you write to him tonight, he can probably arrange for time off to show you all the best food stalls in Arctown. But keep your charm on," he waved at the bracelet he gave all the girls on their first day in the city, "just in case."

She felt a little better about The Mage's Path after her encounter at the equipment store. D'Mourne wasn't just a powerful magician; he had a reputation for being great for people's classes.

Their next stop was in the shadow of the governor's palace, a hair salon where a woman named Korneli tutted over the streaks of gold manaburn in the legate's hair and immediately pushed him into a back room where she could work on him, mask off, without subjecting anyone else to his curse. While she waited, Alexis was firmly guided to a chair where a series of people did things to her face. They cleaned, coated, peeled, abraded, washed, squeezed, and lotioned her until she glowed.

Korneli looked tired when she emerged from the back room, like she had spent all day with the most obnoxious uncle in her family and had only just escaped.

"What are we doing for you today, Alexis?" Korneli ran long fingers through her hair. Compared to the other women nearby, Alexis felt very plain, even though her clothes were new.

"I didn't know we were doing anything. This wasn't planned."

"So I gather. If you're getting an apprenticeship, then I recommend something practical, low-maintenance, but more suited to the shape of your face. Will you trust me?"

"Uh, okay. If the legate trusts you, then I'll trust you."

"Good answer." Korneli's moody aspect lightened while she worked. There was something magical about the way Alexis's hair shone brighter every time the comb passed through it, and how a snip of shears cut more than they touched. When her hair grew out in some places to give Korneli more to work with, Alexis was convinced there was magic at work. Maybe d'Mourne was right, and Knexenk was only a subordinate god, and maybe he was wrong. But he was right about classes being tools for using magic. It was so obvious, once you started looking at it that way, she didn't know why she'd ever thought otherwise.

The legate, cloaked in running water again, paid with two different guild cards and collected her for their next destination: a massive store covering two floors, full of previously used books. He went straight to the proprietor and handed him a list. "I'm looking for these titles. Older prints are better, except this one, it has to be the Orlut edition."

They browsed poetry and old demihuman books while they waited. The legate built a stack of histories that he dropped with a thump on the sales counter when it was time to leave. He paid for his books and stuffed them into his handy satchel. Then, they crossed the street to another bookstore, looking for a few titles that the first store didn't have.

These were personal errands, and he was dragging her along with him to keep an eye on her. If it hadn't been for the mess with Prater, this would have been a day off for him.

"I'm sorry."

"About what?" The waterfall across from her was reading. She could see the book rippling in his hands.

"That you have to drag me around with you on your personal errands."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Apologize for something out of your control. It's annoying. You're only here today because of Prater, and neither of us could control his poor choices. If you must apologize, pick something you have the power to change."

"Like screaming my head off in the middle of a battle?"

"For example," he chuckled. "Was that your first fight to the death?"

"Yes."

"Then don't be too hard on yourself. Nobody knows how they'll react to mortal danger until it happens."

"It was pretty horrible. Do you have any advice, in case there's a next time?"

"Get stronger. Try to avoid a 'next time'." He snapped his book shut. "Anyway, it's not all personal business. Read this." A book flew from the waterfall into her lap.

"Sense Your Way To Glory: A Guide To Mana Handling. By Achille Cuvillier."

"The title is shady, but Cuvillier knew his topic. That's the best guide I've found so far. Read the introduction, skip the first half, and read the second half. By the time we meet your new master, you'll be able to do some of those exercises.

"It says on the cover that this is for advanced study. I'm not even a beginner."

"Everyone else has it backwards. Mana handling isn't something optional to study after you learn a bunch of spells. It's foundational. It's the first thing to learn. Working mana intently for half an hour a day is worth more to you, and your class, than learning more spells or more skills." One hand appeared from the waterfall, palm up. "Proper orchardist skills, learned through practice and experience." The other hand appeared, "competent mana handling." The two hands clasped, "Your class will teach you how to combine the two. That is what a class is for."

The carriage stopped at their inn long enough for the legate to pop in, pick up his messages, decide on their next destination, and show a new card to the driver. He produced two large buns full of meat and vegetables for their lunch, while the carriage turned toward Arctown.

According to the introduction of her new book, the first half detailed many ways a person could acquire the ability to sense mana. It was, claimed the author, the most unpredictable phase of the process. Most people versed in magic could feel their own mana to a limited extent, but there couldn't be any real progress toward mastery without the ability to sense mana from other sources. Apparently, the skill came differently for every person, so the first half of Glory was a hodgepodge of things to try in hopes of awakening the coveted ability. Cuvillier recommended the reader try the safest methods first and only attempt the more dangerous ones if necessary.

"Why am I skipping the front? It seems important."

"You won't need it. There is a safe, reliable way to awaken your mana sense."

"You have a shortcut?"

"It's not a shortcut. It's an effective teaching method." For the second time that day, her legate sounded genuinely offended. Alexis wondered how, if such a method existed, d'Mourne knew about it when Cuvillier, the supposed expert on the subject, didn't. "Don't ask me where I learned it," the legate told her, "that's a secret. But I can use the method to teach you."

Arctown was a colorful, exciting quarter of the city. Whereas most of Bostkirk's quarters followed a unified architectural plan, Arctown's buildings looked like they were magically dropped there from far-flung provinces. Rossignol warrens sat between layered buildings from Okujuni and steel-and-stone townhomes made for dwarves. The colors were brighter, the smells were strange, and Alexis saw more kinds of beastkin than she knew existed. Elven warriors paraded about in brightly colored armor, wearing masks like monsters or legendary animals. Compared to the rest of Bostkirk, it seemed a lot more fun.

The carriage stopped in front of a blocky building made of massive stones stacked four stories high and held together by gravity. The building wanted passersby to know it was immovable.

"Welcome to Dwergbank," said the legate, "the preferred bank and guildhall for producers, crafters, and Arcaics."

Alexis felt reluctant to enter the bank, if indeed it was a bank and not another unfortunate situation like Prater's orchard. "What's it like inside?"

She could hear his grin from behind Riverstone's waters. "I haven't a clue. Let's find out!"

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