“You’ve been looking at that figurine since yesterday.” Forest said after another round of smashing him around the inn.

  "It’s a children’s toy.” Elias answered the unspoken question. “You were particularly rough today.”

  She grinned. “Some bad news came my way yesterday. I lost quite a bit of money.”

  “Market related?”

  “How did you guess? Your merchant heritage?” She took a hot towel from Gareth and wiped her face clean.

  Elias leaned back and fiddled with the toy, imagining Annalise playing with it across the classroom. “I was in the market yesterday. Saw some strange things, and the Enforcers wanted answers.”

  Her smile faltered, and she fiddled with her emerald pendant. “And what did you tell the Viridian Forest sect?”

  “Nothing they couldn’t have dug out themselves. The local gangs are acting up.”

  “Those punks have nothing better to do than harass innocent businesswomen.”

  “You were the innocent businesswoman?”

  “Amongst others. The association is planning an intervention.”

  Elias frowned and tried to recall whether Varen knew of any ‘interventions’. He drew a blank.

  “Do you mean violence?”

  Forest chuckled, her smile widening at his bewildered expression. “No. That’s unproductive. It’s a matter of paying the right people to control what happens.”

  Oh. Protection money. “Wait. You pay the gangs?”

  “If they’re willing, but more often we end up reaching out to the sects.” She scowled and kicked a small pebble against the wall.

  Varen’s memories surfaced. “Patronage.”

  Forest nodded. “Yes, that’s what they like to call it. Forget it, Elias. We were talking about that toy of yours.”

  Elias turned the figurine in his hands, rereading the inscription. Derek. Just like his student.

  “They make toys like this in my hometown. Better ones. The heads the wrong size. Metal is too heavy for the intended age group, and you can’t change the clothes.”

  Forest craned her neck to observe the figurine. “Why would you change its clothes?”

  “Children like that sort of thing. And creative play is infinitely better than predesigned form.”

  She glanced at Gareth, slowly running his finger across a book in the corner and mouthing the words. “You do seem to understand what you’re doing. Is this a case of plagiarism?”

  Elias’ lips twisted in derision. In a way, it was. He could imagine Dara gleefully locking him up for madness if he brought the case. It would be best if Forest wasn’t involved further. No one could be. “Not really. I don’t think the original maker purchased exclusive rights. Just curious who could have made it.”

  Forest headed into the courtyard and swung her blade a few times, before moving into her sword katas. The sword spun in ever faster arcs, until the tip became a blur and the steel vanished occasionally when the cut direction deviated mid-swing.

  Elias would normally join her in trying to improve his sword skills, but the figurine demanded a search.

  Forest reached the end of a kata and froze, leaves settling onto the spine of her blade and nose. Shadows danced across her brow and flitted into her eyes.

  “If you need help, let me know.”

  Elias half turned his head and bowed.

  #

  The craftsman’s district roared with furnace heat and the fused scent of iron and ash. Carts wound their way through the main street, ingots tied tight, drivers sweating, dragging material in lurching bursts. Elias ducked through bent archways, diving deeper into the district’s alleys with a makeshift map in hand.

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  The vendor who sold him the figurine had pointed him to a re-distributor who lived amongst chaotic non-records and loose crates of material haphazardly marked with peeling stickers. Elias soothed the man’s suspicion with merchant signs and assurances he wasn’t an Enforcer.

  The first craftsman lay stiff behind a ring of grim-faced Enforcers.

  His little workshop was cool and quiet, the smell of ash swallowed by the pressure of decay.

  “Do you like viewing dead bodies Elias?” Ila pushed through the gawking crowd—less pushing, more getting it to part at her gaze.

  Elias quickly held up one hand and with the other gave her the map. “Someone said I could find the creator of a toy here.”

  She tilted her head and gestured for him to drop his hand. “The mentally unstable gravitate towards negative energy. I’m not arresting you for looking.”

  “Would you believe it’s bad luck?”

  “With you?” She returned the map. “The man had a heart attack. He was old.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  “The next craftsman on your map is two streets in that direction. The drawing’s wrong.” She returned to the body, casting spells Elias couldn’t recognize to dissolve the presence of death.

  Elias breathed a sigh of relief and cast one more glance at the dead craftsman. He looked like every aged family member who passed away. Was there something else in the face but peace?

  Heart attack. Uncle Smythe went with a heart attack. Ward missed the old man whose face he couldn’t recall.

  #

  The second craftsman’s mustache commanded the room. It filled it, flowing from below the man’s chiseled nose to his elbows in glossy waves, lacquered with expensive oil.

  “What do you want to buy, boy?”

  “Not buy. Like I told your apprentice, did you make this figurine?” Elias held it up as a blast of hot air poured from the furnace hidden somewhere in the back.

  “I make many things. Can’t remember them all. Why do you want to know?” He peered at Elias, mustache swaying in disapproval.

  “This design is used a lot in my hometown. Was wondering who it was.”

  The man huffed and called for a journeyman.

  A young woman, sweating with exertion and wiping grease-stained hands, peered at the figurine for a moment before shaking her head.

  “Not ours.” Her accent was strong, almost garbled compared to how they spoke in Pentas. The voice of someone who didn’t speak the common tongue comfortably.

  “Fine. Get back to work.” The craftsman waved his ring-studded hand. A smooth, moisturized hand.

  This was one of those cases. Both Varen and Ward’s memories screamed at the injustice, so Elias bowed and left quickly under the glowering mustache. He went to the nearby merchant’s guild and filed an anonymous plagiarism and oppression complaint.

  He whistled and trotted towards the third craftsman on the list.

  Apprentices were also students.

  #

  “You don’t have to do this!” Elias called up at the young woman strapped tight with a metal frame reminiscent of a butterfly’s wings. She swayed on the roof, the breeze buffeting her slightly.

  “I do. I will fly today, or I’ll die trying!” She pumped her fists. Her bloodless cheeks and hunched posture belied any semblance of confidence.

  Elias waved to get her attention. “Yes that’s wonderful, but why not use a talisman as protection.”

  She shuddered and closed her eyes. “Stranger. You don’t understand. You can’t understand. Progress demands risk. For glory and a million gold!” She tossed herself from the roof, flapping her arms vigorously.

  Elias’ breath caught.

  He summoned a surge of mana into his legs and launched forward. The wind deflected her, the flapping making her descent erratic. He pushed hard with one foot to change his running line, images of Forest’s flashing sword guiding his steps. She thumped into him, cackling gleefully as they rolled into a heap.

  “Two seconds longer than last time. Two whole seconds. The sects won’t be able to keep their monopoly on flying now.”

  “Wonderful. Look, can you stop laughing?”

  She kept shuddering as she stepped away. Her shoulders shook; butterfly wings rippling iridescent in the sunset glow. “Two seconds.” She mumbled.

  “Risk is good. Sometimes.” Elias loomed over her, finger waving under her nose. “But this was unhinged, what if you broke a leg?”

  “Three gold.” She replied, slipping out of her mechanism. “And two weeks’ delay. The potions taste like feet, though.”

  “What does a foot taste like?”

  “Socks. Old ones.”

  Elias shut his mouth. Unwashed socks weren’t rare for Ward.

  “Thanks for catching me by the way stranger.” She held out a gold coin and Elias’ lips twitched.

  He placed it gently in his wallet. “No problem. Just be more careful next time.”

  “Of course.”

  Her flinty stare looked over his head. Neither of them believed she would be careful.

  He sighed. “I came here for this. Did you make it?”

  She grabbed the figurine, eyes lighting up and technical terms spilling from her lips. “This is Derek’s work. Even without that weird imprint, I would recognize it.”

  Elias’ heart beat faster. “And where might I find Derek?”

  “On Caravan Lane. Take a left at the half-dressed fish fountain and two rights after that. Hard to miss. Hey, would you like to be my assistant?”

  Elias muttered a hasty apology and dashed out, passing by the fish statue dressed in shorts and sandals, arriving quickly at ‘D’s workshop’. It was quieter here, but the omnipresent heat felt greater, hugging his spine and pulling him into the workshop.

  “Hey customer, what are you looking for?” Derek was a young man. He lounged on a chair, with feet up against a coffee table.

  “Did you make this?” Elias held up the figurine in trembling hands.

  “One of my Barbara dolls? Enforcer edition. It was limited time only.” He smiled.

  Elias licked his lips. He’d planned a few opening interrogations, but arguments with Ward’s sister kept intruding and he asked. “Do you have a doctor, or nurse edition? Maybe an astronaut?”

  Derek’s smile slipped.