A skepticism in his words, but the twinkle in his eye betrays his mirth. “You don’t expect me to shave the fees too?”

I take a resigned sigh. “Just the measurements, please.”

Elleven chuckles to himself, pocketing the paper and rummaging the box of knives from beneath the counter. The laugh is deep and rumbly, similar to a cat’s purr. At least the man is warming up to me. If only cause he received a bonus from that noble for early completion.

“Sevens through Eights, right? Sure you can handle it?”

The past seven days have been an adjustment. Anything longer than an Eight Inch has become awkward to handle. Not unwieldy, just uncomfortable.

I select one of his options, test a couple of swings and grips, and do the same for a second. I pass him the scende for both. “The handles’ fine.”

Another chuckle.

“How long till the armour’s ready?”

“Three days is twenty scende. Expedited two scenence.”

“How many actually pay?” I prod, slipping a sheet of paper from my pocket to jot down my instructions.

“You’d be surprised.”

I flip the paper to him. He scans it, flicks his glance to the entourage, then crumples it into a pocket. He already knows Clarabelle; it isn’t hard to deduce whom I’m wary of. Sevan catches my warning glance and pivots his head from the strained swan neck to a random board near the ceiling.

“Figured you wouldn’t take the bait. It’ll be ready in a week. After my other commissions, of course.”

I flash him a smile, dip through the entrance onto the street, and accept Ivans’ hand to step down. He is wearing his hood again, back to his silent act.

Not all of it to maintain performances.

“Sevan, I need you to run an errand for me.”

The foolish spy jolts to attention. He put quite the effort into his initial acting, but doesn’t quite seem to know which direction to take it. Supposedly, his beloved refused his marriage proposal on the premise of being too weak, which is why he requested to continue accompanying us. Clarabelle was convinced, Carlile indifferent, and the rest of us varying degrees of the same. Now that he’s following us around, his overpowering motivation has floundered.

I hand him a list and smile. He takes a curious glance at the ingredients before propping an incredulous eyebrow.

“I trust you will do well.”

It will take at least a half hour to collect all of the ingredients. It’s not purely for busywork, either. The incense I used (which ended up inciting a ‘mob’) was a bit too potent; I have a few ideas to adjust the mixture before the Rift, but my avid potion-crafting has dwindled my inventory of ingredients.

Clarabelle chooses to accompany him, which saves me some time. My next stop is the potion shop. From her piles of paperwork, her glasses gleam beneath the wide brim of her hat.

“Damage to an Item is permanent.”

“Do you have my commission?”

She shakes her head and gestures over to the changing room. “Tell me how it fits.”

The wristguard fits snugly, neither chafing nor pinching. Flexibility fine. I trigger the mechanism on its own first to gauge how it functions, then reset it and load the disks. Activating it again, the top disk snaps into position. A thin plate shimmers for a half second before vanishing.

Karmel had set up a dummy in the back corner. I pop the disk into its second position and launch it directly at the dummy. It clips the right cheek and splinters against the wall.

I reset the mechanism twice more in quick succession and funnel the remaining two disks directly into the throat of the dummy. Sand pours from the gash, the head rapidly deflating. The post, unbalanced, topples into the pile of blood.

Sand.

It’s just sand.

The glass of her lenses shine as I slip back over and set the empty box on her counter.

“Good fit?”

“There’s a slight skew, but otherwise perfect.”

“It was calibrated to your original measurements.”

“I appreciate the last-minute adjustments.”

“You gifted me the pelvic bone of a Jabberwock and the organs of two Tearrorbols. But hun, the damage on a magic vessel is permanent. You can’t award it the same disregard of a golem.”

“What is the difference between an Item and a Golem?”

“Only the Borogoves hunt a Jabberwock. The fact that you killed it with only a few hints from a Muse is outstanding.”

The fairy nuzzles into my neck, kicking her feet absently against my shoulder. Upon hearing her name, she flitters her wings and scurries into the inner pocket of my coat for a nap.

Perfect hiding skills. Ten out of ten. I switch topics. “You wouldn’t happen to want to lend your skills for a wave, would you?”

The lenses shine. Amusement?

“It is too early to ask the generosity of a businesswoman.”

“Would a plus ten charisma hat do the trick?”

She chuckles. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ryan. Be mindful of your magic, now.”

That’s a no, then. I accept her answer, and the extra disks she has provided, and slip through the doors. Ivans is waiting for me, arms crossed and head bowed in thought. After a moment, he slips a bit of jerky from his sleeve and bites into it.

I brandish a few coins. “Ready for a snack?”

We peruse the stalls, Ivans taking lead. His nose navigates the people and pathways fluently, like a hound latched onto a scent. We stop at a curry stall. The owner takes one look at Ivans, scrawls out a ticket, and starts prepping a bowl with a heaping serving. He passes the bowl to him before the coins even drop into his hands, a friendly and familiar smile crinkling his eyes.

A separate bowl just for rice. Of course.

Next are kebabs, then pastries, fresh fruit, ice cream, stew, wraps, dried rations, and some summer vegetables. The vendor of the vegetable stand chirps cheerily about how his favourites, the rutabarbes, are nearly ready for harvesting. She saunters off topic into matters of gossip between the neighbours and her husband, but Ivans just nods along and smiles. After about fifteen minutes, she recognizes another customer, gifts Ivans an extra three cucumbers, and switches to enrapturing her next target with all the details espoused in the previous ten minutes, plus some.

“You seem to be quite well-loved by the people,” I remark, linking my fingers behind my back.

“I grew up on these streets.”

“Oh?”

He shrugs, bites into a cucumber, chews, swallows. Licks the water that drips down his wrist. He mulls over his words for a moment. “You know how it is. You meet people, form relationships and connections, learn who to trust. You learn the good from the bad.”

“That’s part of life.”

“Yeah,” bites, chews. “They are.”

“Is that how you learned spacial magic?”

He’s quiet for a bit. “I guess so. Been a while since my first spell. Was taken into the castle after that.”

“When we met at the summoning chamber, you mentioned that the king was a good man. How do you know him?”

“I don’t, really. But, it’s not difficult to see.”

“Such as?”

“He gives it to you straight, you know? Most nobles try to curl their words and skirt around what they mean. That probable deniability, you know?  He doesn’t care about the context of his statements. He just means them.”

“I can see that.”

“What about you? What do you see?”

“I see a man who’s tired. He doesn’t care about being appreciated for what he offers; he just does what needs to be done. A lot of the people I met seem to take pride in their work. It’s refreshing.”

“As opposed to?”

“Some people just go through the motions, you know? Work for pay, take it home, dubious that they’ve even put in the effort at all.”

“Sounds like they’re asking to be fired.”

I shake my head. “Sometimes they can’t.”

“What about you? What kind of work do you put in?”

“I don’t commit to anything that isn’t worth doing.”

“And the Rift?”

“What do you think?”

He thinks for a bit. Polishes off his cucumbers. Clarabelle and Sevan catch sight of us, a hefty bag in each hand. Time is nearly up.

“I think you have a lot of concerns. Not all of them about the Rift itself.”

“That is correct.”

“You’re not doing this alone.”

“Do you remember the third? We had a conversation about mana transfer.”

“Seonday.” He asserts. “I remember.”

“Something has felt strange to me since then. I kept quiet about it, but I think it’s clicked recently. Can you talk to the king for me? I would like to meet with him tonight.”

“You still owe me dinner.”

“Five of them, right?” Jo shuts up as we finish crossing the distance to Clarabelle and Sevan. I accept one of the bags from Clarabelle, checking the quality of the ingredients. I scoop up an apple from within and pass it to him, the skin a nice, shiny purple. “I haven’t forgotten.”

He accepts my offer and vanishes to the sound of a loud, juicy crunch, taking all of the groceries with. Sevan stiffens but Clarabelle, accustomed to Jo’s antics, just reaches for her staff with fidgety fingers. She stops at a look from me.

“Come on, you two.”

“Where are we going?”

She’s gotten better at asking questions, at least. I smile. “The training grounds.”

The training grounds, slightly removed from the castle, is just that: ground. Dirt, to be specific. Some weapon racks have been scattered about, informally sectioning off parts of the grounds towards various weapons training, but aside from that there isn’t much to see.

The soldiers are un-uniformed, practicing mock combat in the melee section and notching arrows in the section where bows and arrows have been strung. Some of the battling incorporates minor elemental spells, but the majority seem to be magic-banned. One man oversees all of the sections with intense focus, arms crossed and brows furrowed. They crease deeper at a glimpse of myself and my companions.

“Attention.”

The soldiers cease movement immediately and disengage. They each line up at their respective fields, backs straight and proper.

“Captain Heaventhew,” I say, stepping up to the man. “I would like to test these two a bit; may I borrow a patch of dirt?”

He marks them over briefly, frowning.

“I will interfere if necessary.”

A stiff nod. Corpenne, his assistant, reorganizes the grounds to clear a space. I wave them over to it. “Your opponent is each other. Show me what you are capable of.”

There is a hint of panic in Clarabelle’s eyes, but she reluctantly obeys, unsheathing and gripping her staff. Sevan, forgetting that he is meant to have zero training, just nods and pulls out his own wand.

They begin circling each other. The Captain dismisses his soldiers back to their drills.

“So,” he begins, the furrow entrenched in his brow. “Why are you really here?”

“I can multitask.”

“What is it?”

“I had someone looking into the records of the previous Summoned for their Rifts. He said he’s coming up short, so I figured it might be a military grade.”

“There aren’t any records. Not at my clearance.”

“So, are there no records or are you not cleared?”

“Was that all?”

Tough nut. But, he has to be to maintain his position. “I was also wondering if you had any men to spare.”

“For?”

“There’s a Rift coming up.”

“As I said. For?”

Clarabelle and Sevan have engaged each other now. Tentatively, like they’re fighting with feathers.

I lower my voice. “The Adventurer’s Guild has banned Bryant Riordan.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“It hasn’t circulated yet. But he will not be entering the Rift accompanied. Yuki isn’t either, out of stubbornness.”

The two start easing into the fight. Clarabelle takes a jab with her staff. Sevan deflects it with a gust of air and twirls his wand like a dagger, bringing his leg up to kick her back and gain distance control.

“You don’t trust me as far as you can throw me,” I say, continuing. “Do you trust those two will prioritize civilian lives?”

“I can throw you pretty far.”

“Mmm. Disagree.”

He watches the two. Clarabelle’s lighting up, literally. As Sevan ramps up the difficulty, she’s fritzing to keep up. I open up the pouch at my hip and slot two disks into place. Sevan boosts himself into the air, sharpens his wand with wind magic, and dives in for the kill. Clarabelle throws her staff up, accidentally misfiring a spell off towards some of the soldiers.

Two quick bursts of sound rattle the weapons on the racks. I lower my arm as Sevan flips into a land, the realization dawning on his face. Clarabelle is shaken, hand white-kuckled on her staff that she also slowly lowers.

I gather the splinters from the two disks with a snap and burn them. “That is enough, you two. Sevan, the instruction was to battle, not kill. Clarabelle. You know exactly what you’ve done.”

Her wide eyes gape upon the recovering soldiers and the deep scorch line simmering in the dirt almost at their feet.

“Which Calikat, Clarabelle?”

She stammers, but no words come out.

“Clarabelle.”

She flinches. “I-I-I don’t know.”

I sigh. “Go home. We try again tomorrow. Both of you.”

The captain watches in silence. Sevan shrugs it off and leaves. Clarabelle ducks her head beneath her hair, clutches the staff between her hands, and scampers out.

“Volunteer only. I cannot promise anything further.”

I turn to the captain and smile. “That is the best I can ask for, Captain. Thank you.” I turned to the soldiers and bow. “I apologize. Thank you for your time.”

Ivans shows up at the edge of the grounds, some jerky in his fingers. He sniffs the air, looks at the expression on my lips, and offers me some. A soft smile splits my lips.

“No, thank you.”

“Midnight is his earliest.”

“Midnight? Thank you. Are you hungry?”

He holds out his hand for me to take. “Starving.”