On the main level of the throne room, there are four exits to choose from: the king’s door, the advisor’s door, the main door, and the door with the podiums for the two commoners. There is a third podium and a fifth door, but both have been walled off from the rest of the space.

The hall beyond the main door is bustling with activity, packed with uniformed workers diligently carrying out a plethora of tasks and agendas. Rather than criss-crossing directions, the workers have divided the hall into the simplistic laws of a road. The uniforms are similar; styled the same but colour-coded and embroidered differently based on distinct criteria. Everyone has a tablet-like device hooked into a specialty holder on either arm. Seems the holder has been strapped over the clothing with leather and buckles, but the buckles have been deliberately tucked beneath where the tablet is set to avoid catching on legs and other everyday annoyances.

Though the throne room was circular, the main hall does not fully conform to its shape. I find a quieter path and slip down it, navigating only where occupants are readily visible. Given the labyrinthian layout of the castle, discovering a dead passageway or hall in disrepair may not be entirely unfathomed.

I slip into a room behind one of the staff (A), who enthusiastically chats up another (B) just about to leave. Both have a white uniform accented with a pale pastel blue.

“Having the Main Road closed was a nightmare!” She (A) begins, opening up her locker.

“You’re telling me! I had to take Saunter to Sundial just to deliver a quipp. A quipp.” B laments, strapping on her boots.

A winces, unbuttoning a cuff. “The security along Sundial sucks. It’s so heavy.”

“If the king frequents it…”

“No ‘ifs’ on that,” A cuts off readily. “He’s always lazing about under that tree. Our taxes go into paying his clothes and food - the least he can do is not dawdle on his actual job.”

“The advisors say he’s been muttering on about selling the Kingdom to Skearview lately.” B sighs, zipping up her bag.

“Skearview?”

“Yeah!” B continues. “All their dignitaries are so fat. And they still insist on selling us that yellow poison they call preservatives. Preserve what? Not their stomach line - that’s for sure.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” A warns, tone jovial. “they may just roll over!”

“Now that’s mean!” B chuckles.

A quiets her voice. “Seriously though. They’re allied with that neighbour. Security of the castle aside, you know they’re willing to grease more than just food.”

B nods. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she holds up a finger. “Just between us?”

A throws her arms around B. “Of course! How did we even get started on this topic anyways?”

B shakes her head.

The two of them finish their preparations and leave, chatting the entire while. Depositing their uniforms into a receptacle, they pass straight past me as they exit through the door and close it behind them. Interesting enough, they kept their earrings, a black oval stud without any embellishments.

Despite being completely alone, the Rubiks’ cube continues its complex pattern. I don’t bother to stop it. The room is small, and, though it requires a key for access, I would rather not be detained for questioning due to an unnecessary risk.

On the wall opposite  the door is a large board pinned with a variety of papers. What seems to be a reminder about tablet care and maintenance, a checklist for something to do with the work of the attendants, Ele – as they seem to be called, and a partial map of the grounds. The Rubik’s cube spins up, wobbling unsteady as it clicks another pattern into its fiddling. Though the characters are distinctly discrepant to my recognized language vocabulary, I can comprehend the words I concentrate on. There seems to be a sweet spot for the spell though – I need a few seconds before the understanding clicks, but anything longer and the page begins to blur. To abate the slight nausea, I channel my attention into the map.

Though I had anticipated the castle to be circular, the partial map makes that explicit. The paths that are visible are clearly marked (though a pen has added an additional nickname and abbreviation to each path, with the main hall taking on two: Highway and Clutterpath). Sundial, one of the two paths that B had complained over, does not show on the map at all. Saunter, on the other hand, does.

I wait for the door to open (it doesn’t take long - the two had been chatting about the changeover before leaving), and slip back into the halls. Navigating by memory, I slip back into the bustle of the Main Hall and diverge down the path leading to Saunter. Despite being closer to the Throne Room (which appears to be the center of the castle), Saunter has more natural light and its walls have taken on the orange glow of the sunset. Given the smattering of tables and chairs along with a handful of bookshelves featuring books, scrolls, sharpening stones and other basic maintenance equipment, the passageway resembles more of a casual breakroom than a connecting room between three areas. Someone had neglected their overcoat, a pale pastel blue coat with the embroidery of the kingdom’s crest on the back and some crescent moons on the cuffs.

The paper in the locker room had a simplified illustration of this coat and the other one worn by the two girls. This one seems to be the coat the Eles’ wear when assigned to a specific person, which just means that they’re bothered slightly less throughout their shift.

Eventually, after a series of estimated guesses and a bit of backtracking, one of the walls splits into a series of evenly spaced columns. Though the hall continues on, seemingly back into the labyrinth of the castle, beyond the columns are a small garden and deliberate stone path that encircles a sundial before continuing onwards into a copse of bushes.

A soft leap from the hall to the path, I crouch down and listen closely. The Rubik’s cube is still spinning its pattern. The path, aside from the humming of some birds and insects, is quiet.

The copse steers towards a single stone bench overlooked by a magnificent deciduous. Trunk shaped like a Willow, the leaves themselves seem to absorb the embers of the sunset. It stirs with a faint familiarity, pricking some corner of memory forgotten.

Sarah would love this.

Stepping to the side of the narrow path, I cross my legs on the stone and remove my cellphone from my inner pocket. The camera function appears the same, but the contact menu has changed. My list from before has been filed under “Earth”. The folder itself has a padlock symbol, and clicking on it reveals the same for each of the contacts in the list. Attempting to interact with any of the padlocked names is useless; Sarah’s included.

The other folder, “Herrva”, has two names: Tammy and Ivans. For Ivans, the phone redirects to a greyed-out page that is formatted similar to a health-tracker or game profile. The details are obfuscated by text that reads the following in a bolded font:

Please set up communications.

Beneath the text are instructions for how to accomplish that on the phone. There are icons and names for apps I don’t recognize. Drumming my fingers against my arm, I back out of Ivans’ name and into the other one; Tammy.

One text fills the screen with the repetition of a spam bot.

T: Enable phone communications.

As though sensing my eyes, a new text suddenly appears:

T: Damnit Ryan! Do you want to break your promise?

Phone Communications Enabled.

Dialing…

“What promise?”

“That caught your attention.” The voice is pitchy like a high school girl, but carries an AI undertone. She continues, “Head to Saunter; take the coat.”

“Why?”

“In two minutes, twenty-six seconds, Sundial will lockdown. Do you want to be caught by the king?”

I stand up, phone against my ear, and retreat down the path. Hopping back into the hall, I lean against one of the columns and cock my ear. Voices further down the path; the king one of them.

“One minute.”

“You’ve only answered part of the question.”

Her tone flattens. “Saunter. Now.”

I wait. The voices approach closer. The Rubik’s cube in my head bounces and picks up speed. Around twenty seconds before targets are visible.

“…Please.”

I slip around the corner. The Rubik’s cube doesn’t slow down until I have returned to Saunter.

“A waste.” The voice carries the inflection of a sigh. “Check your glove; you know which one.”

This character is just sounding more and more suspicious. “You have three seconds to answer: are you a virus?”

“Seriously?”

“Two seconds. One–”

“No. I’m not. Stop being ridiculous; you know who I am and why I’m calling.”

That’s something. There are a few approaches I could take, but I don’t know how long this person – program – will associate with me.

“Explain it to me.”

I pause. Tammy does too. That wasn’t what I intended to say, but it is exactly what I heard myself say.

The voice adopts a hesitation. Hurt. “You don’t remember?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh. I mean. I expected this, but I didn’t… I mean. Okay.” It seems to recover quickly and switches tones. Softer. “You need to check your magic.”

I switch the phone to my other hand and push aside the fabric of the glove. The strange circle is still there, but different. On the flesh of my wrist near the palm are two lines. The bottom line, for lack of a better word, is depleted to about half of its outline.

“How is it?”

So, it doesn’t know everything. “Fine, for now.”

“That’s good. Take the coat; it’s not a plant or trap. If you want to conserve your magic, blending in is your best bet.”

Still demanding, but nicer. Given the comment, she seems to have been acquainted with me to at least some degree. I shrug out of my current coat, fold it up and tuck it beneath my dress shirt for safe keeping. Sliding the other coat over my clothes, I fix the fit and grab some buckles and quipps (according to the label) from the bookshelves.

“This isn’t a permanent fix,” Tammy warns as I fiddle with the straps. “The Capital is enclosed within a Barrier; it’s only a matter of time before the king recognizes your presence.”

“How long?”

“If your magic can last, three days.”

“I will find what I need tonight.”

I slot my phone into the makeshift harness and secure it. The Rubik’s Cube shifts patterns and slows to a languid fiddling. “My previous questions, will you answer?”

“We both made a promise.”

No, then. “I’m hanging up; last words?”

“Check your texts regularly.”

“Understood.”

Ending the call, I slip back into the hallways.

The difference is immediately apparent. Various tasks and assignments are thrown at me haphazardly and distractedly. A few of them I fulfill, others I pass along or ignore. Quipps, a pen with a calligraphy tip, tend to be the most common and simplest to satisfy.

Slightly distracted from the path to the Library is the Dining Hall. Despite wearing the attire, the three utterly fail at blending in. Bryant, with his apparent disdain for the sheath, has leaned his sword against the table. Yuki has followed his example. Arty has unstrung and sheathed his bow, though hasn’t fixed his arrows from spilling out of the quiver. He slices into his steak with the enthusiasm of a robot, face paled beneath the appraisal of the rest of the guests - none of whom bother to attempt a conversation with any of the three.

Curious enough, an extra plate has been left adjacent to the three otherworlders. More curiously still, the reactions of the staff and guests are split between the majority ignorant to its existence and the few who are genuinely puzzled by it. I memorize their faces, then slip away for the Library.

Plucking a text at random from the shelf, I recline against a table to peruse. My phone lights up with a text from Tammy.

“Entry after sundown is prohibited. Identify yourself.”

Arms overflowing with various texts and scrolls. Glasses haphazardly tilted over his nose, barely concealing the inch-thick rings of fatigue hanging beneath his eyes. Two Eles (uniformed same as myself) are similarly encumbered. The cufflinks on their sleeves, shaped into a shield with a bracer, denote them as being actively assigned - presumably to the scholar. But that crest. I've seen it before.

“Elethesire.”

“Esquire,” he corrects, narrowing his glare. “Only the original generation held that title. Answer, or I will raise the alarm.”

There is a scrap of paper sandwiched between the covers of one of his books.

“That is French.”

The pile in his arms scatters over the floor. He seizes my wrist in one hand and drags me to sit on the bench, his other fumbling through his books and papers. He frowns after a moment of effort, dissatisfied, and snaps his fingers. A faint breeze combs through the pile he is rapidly destroying, easily plucking into the air his desired prize. One of his Eles’, having set aside their burden, snaps the paper cleanly from the air to pass to him. He crinkles it without a glance and smoothens it over the table beneath my nose.

“Here, right here. Is it a poem? A code?”

A love song. On its own, useless. Within the scribbles looped like clouds at the top corner of the page, however, are a series of numbers. A simple alphabetical substitution. The twist exists in the poem. Sixth letter down but each third letter skipped. Clever.

I analyze his expression. Hungry. Anticipating. “What are your intentions? Are you satisfying a curiosity,” my eyes flick to his piles of documents, “or is there a goal in particular you hope to accomplish?”

His voice and expression cools instantly. Warning. “That is my concern.”

“Very well.” I take the paper and translate the code into its original French text. He stares, confused, as I slip from the bench and grab a stray paper from his books. A drawn circle, with sanskrit-like characters and lines interwoven within. Not entirely unlike the magic circle I arrived on. Spreading it onto the table, I offer him a business smile.

“May your journey be blessed and bright.”

“Wait!” He stutters, spilling from the bench. “I can still report you!”

I stop at the doors, narrowing my gaze on him.

He gulps. “Y-you heard me.”

“Shall we see who’s quicker?”