“Excuse me?” The voice rang through the corridor with its shrewd tone piercing the open air. “Excuse me, can I get some help here?”

  “Yes, what’s the problem?” Laura inquired.

  She held her hands to a small fire, embers streaking in the dark. Blast it was really cold. Repairs on the roof were underway but funding never seemed to go where it was needed these days.

  “I ordered a retelling of the attack on Kag.”

  “Attack on Kag? When was it for?” Laura coughed, mouthing shock.

  Candles shone across the scribe's hall as wicks flickered in the cold evening. A few copiers sat huddled in empty shadow. It was getting late, and the academy had begun to close as more and more guards patrolled the open streets. A figure loomed over the foremost desk, dark green robes draped over metallic gear.

  “Yesterday, and I’m not impressed.” The nobleman reached into his pocket, face torn in rage. “Look at this.” He brandished a thin wad of paper, flailing it through the air to let it catch on the candlelight below. “Eleven pages? Eleven pages? I paid you for forty!”

  “Forty?” Laura mouthed in shock, eyes squirming for her superior.

  “Historical research for the Academy of Lang!”

  “You’re making that up!”

  “Do you want to test me? Go get your master!” the man bellowed.

  A few books seemed to jitter on the wayward shelves, dust mites fleeing into the tepid air as master Danmu approached. He was a tall, thin man with a small grey beard. He wore long brown robes. Laura had sworn he must have done his studies at the turn of the century. But despite wrinkled skin, he was unnervingly quick. His shiny bald head seemed to reflect like an egg in the library’s candlelight. It wasn’t quick before he too turned to shouting.

  “Laura? Where is Jan?” Damnu asked.

  Chalky dirt shook from the quill stand as the young scribe crawled along the musty floor. Jan was deathly still, careful not to make a single move which would alert them of his position. The old master had eyes like a hawk. Some had joked that they had been magically enhanced after the last few years of Jan’s admissions.

  He pressed his back against the desk’s oaken frame. A few dust mites slithered forward to be pattered away by his magic, most likely curious to see if he had dropped the usual amount of food. Books were brushed aside by his feet, as he crawled between the aisles. Another scribe looked up, beady eyes scanning the ground below, only for Jan to press himself against the wall. Normally this would have been easy—vanish through the guise of magic. Yet he needed to get closer. He needed to catch Laura’s attention.

  It had only been three hours since his release, and already, the entire world seemed to change. The memory seemed to haunt him, a whisper in the dark, a fragment of the shattered past. Light flashed before his eyes as his mind fixated upon one goal, fascinated by the sophistication, the intricacy of the seal within his—

  “Jan!” Damnu bellowed.

  A few scribes looked up from their table for Jan to quickly duck under a scattered scroll of yellowed parchment. His breath haltered and he wheezed under the guise of secrecy. Damned dust.

  “Where is that blasted scribe? I swear, if I find him!” Damnu began to rant.

  “My apologies, Laundre, one second.”

  Carpet brushed against Jan’s face as a breeze traced Damnu’s steps. The professor heaved a heavy sigh as he stalked the dusty shelves. He seemed to jump at any trace of sound, waiting, watching, eyes like daggers piercing into the musty library. Sill was muttering in his right pocket. It still felt strange that only he could hear him. The tiny rock was a very powerful inanimate, or the very least an enigma among their kind.

  Grabbing a quill from the desk above, Jan slithered, poking Laura’s foot as she conversed with the merchant. Another student seemed to notice him crawling and opened their mouth for Jan to motion in terror. He stopped and the scribe let out a sigh of relief. Careful, Jan looked up to see their customer. He recognized him in an instant, a servant of Irwain and a lesser nobleman eager to prove his worth. It was no wonder he could stay hidden in the candlelight, yet anything was possible. Obviously, Jan’s illustrious skills had paid off, and it wasn’t just sheer luck.

  “Commander, I think you should know something about that Jannic. It is integral to the mission,” Sill chimed in.

  “Quiet” Jan wheezed. He coughed for a moment, and it seemed like Laundre glanced toward his feet. The mage squinted and Jan cursed, thanking the strikes for bad eyesight. “Don’t talk to me until we're outside, okay?” he whispered.

  The rock seemed to glow blue, almost as if it was reacting to Jan’s commands, happy that it followed its own orders.

  Above, the man stepped back before taking a swig of laiu from a metal flask. The liquid smelled foul as it jutted at his hip, yet it was a popular relaxant. He seemed eagerly calm, almost smiling at the thought of discounted service as his hand rested on an empty sheath. Suddenly, a jolt hit Jan’s side as he stared toward the exit. A hallway was in sight with cool crisp air flowing from the chiseled arch. Damnu was turning—he was halfway past the history section and, this time, bending over to check if Jan hid behind a service chair. In moments it would be war, next civility, and with how short the arithmetic section was, the young scribe would be doomed.

  Sweat trickled down Jan’s brow. His hand ached from the constant strain of inky pain. The man seemed to move faster than the wind, speeding along the library shelves with a renewed passion, a vigour to quash the whole of Jan’s scuttled dreams. The young scribe cursed. If he had moved that fast during the imperial health examinations, then Damnu would be hunting dalious with a stick. Floorboards squeaked as a cobweb flung into Jan’s mouth, almost making him choke on the lengthy string. Bit his tongue, trying his best not to cough.

  He was almost at the front, every two seconds casting another spell to avert the gaze of an onlooking scribe. The poor youth was constantly being brushed by the wind to the point they had to completely avert their gaze from Jan’s direction. Then, at last, he made his way to Laura's desk. Poking the quill’s blunt edge into his friend's leather shoe, Jan tried his best to motion toward the secondary hall. She nodded.

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  It wasn’t long before Danmu’s hawk-like eyes began to zone in. Jan felt sweat trickle down his spine. The unimaginable horror of at least thirty pages of copying for each minute he had been late ran through his mind. Damnu was getting closer. Jan could almost smell the book-like odour the scribe produced. He coughed on a pungent smell, like sawdust on fluttered fumes. A page fluttered from a nearby desk and then fluttered back up as though it was too scared to obey the laws of gravity in the face of the professor's wrath. Candlelight warped, wax reforming as Damnu’s gaze cause their effervescent wicks to quiver. The carpet seemed to shorten, with shadows dancing as Damnu reached his scribe. Jan had to think fast and, acting on impulse, he used magic to slam an encyclopedia to crash upon the floor.

  “Jan!” he screamed, elongating the single word like he was falling off a cliff.

  The sound rippled through the stagnant air, all 9087 pages of Qeubble history coming crashing down on a poor unsuspecting floorboard. The wood instantly snapped, carpenter ants scurrying around as Damnu leaped forward with his feet scraping against the stone floor. He reared towards the source and in a second the two vanished into the tepid night. It wouldn’t be long before he realized their plight.

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Laura shouted.

  Dark clouds shrouded overhead as a few stragglers cast worried glances at the arguing scribes. Two children ran after their parents, holding candied apples from one of Kag’s fairs. A few marble statues littered the twisting street.

  “What I’ve done?” Jan retorted.

  “Barely 11 pages, and they ordered 40!”

  They had begun to walk toward the city center. Cloaks flapped in the summer air.

  “Laundre didn’t even order the attack on Kag. I have no idea why he’s here,” he assumed.

  The trail began to wind as they passed by the intermittent stores. The streets had begun to quiet as the steady stream of residents dissipated into the city's undergrowth. Narrow gilded stone made up row after row of secluded houses.

  “Listen, Laura, I have something I need to share.” He reached into his brown cloak, bringing the pastel seal into the light of the oil lamps. It glinted for a moment, coarse yellow clay almost morphing at its desire. The rock felt light in Jan’s palm, with electricity pulsing at his fingertips. Despite this, the mark was distinguishable and pertinent in its incalculable desires.

  “Is that…”

  “Yes. It’s Crous’s seal,” he replied.

  She paused for a moment, thoughts flickering in the open breeze. For a moment, her hand brushed against his, taking the seal to sit in her palm.

  “Isn’t that illegal? It was outlawed as a bandit sigil. Where did you get that? Did you make it?”

  “No, you don’t understand. I found it in prison.”

  “What?” Laura mused. This did after all seem like the average thing you find in magic prison.

  “And it speaks!” Jan pointed furiously.

  For a moment Laura almost laughed, seemingly in disbelief to Jan’s tale. There had been instances before.

  “I’m not crazy. You have to believe me. I think it’s an inanimate that belonged to Crous. Here touch it, speak to it. You should be able to hear it. I think it was brainwashed or something, as it doesn’t remember a thing.”

  Laura took the rock out of the scribe's palm and held it for a moment. Her mouth gaped as her face was transfixed in a mixture of horror and uncertainty. Her eyes were like giant pupils, two silvery puddles imbued in a feeling of pure—

  “No, sorry Jan, I don’t hear a thing.” She laughed slowly, seemingly happy with herself.

  “What?” Jan muttered.

  The rock continued to pulse blue, light seeping into Laura’s palm. “It certainly is different. Look, it’s all shiny, but there's a way to test if something is an inanimate. We can run it later” Laura said. “Maybe Aloat’s playing a prank?”

  “I swear it talks. I’m not crazy.” Jan looked at Sill, and furrowed his brow. “Talk!” he shouted at the rock.

  No response came.

  “Speak?”

  “Look this isn’t going to work. But it is quite smooth. Is that glass?” Laura questioned.

  She scratched at the rock and felt its consistency against her nails.

  “Give me that.” Jan grabbed it from her hand. “Sill, talk. This is an order!”

  It buzzed for a moment before replying.

  “I do not associate with Jannics. It is against protocol. Is this one of your enlisted Commander Jan?”

  For a moment, Laura reeled back in horror. This time Jan had been correct. It was extraordinary, a small autonomic voice coming from the tiny stone. She immediately held the rock, performing a series of rudimentary spells against its smooth exterior.

  Jan had to think fast.

  “Laura is also a commander. She had herself altered to look like a Jannic.”

  “Really? Her DNA is extremely similar. If so, excellent job. I must say these espionage missions are exciting!!”

  “Yes, very exciting!” Jan tried to match his enthusiasm.

  For now, he was just speaking gibberish. It was an unintelligible dribble that showed the raving lunacy that had become poor Sill’s mind. Jan felt pity for the creature. DNA? What did that even mean? Crous had been a cruel master and tempered it with unspoken words. Perhaps Sill was talking about Laura’s appearance? Its mind was struggling to comprehend and substituting skewed words to make up for a broken soul.

  “Jan, this is amazing, but we need to help it! Do you know how dangerous these are? There's a life in this stone!” She said that, and in the next moment almost dropped it.

  Jan snatched it from her hands. “Forget alive, this thing says it was owned by Captain Anthony Crous.”

  “Captain? Anthony? So, it’s been brainwashed into thinking it’s some kind of soldier. That’s ingenious and diabolical!” Laura mused.

  Jan nodded, clearly understanding what she was getting at and not just waiting to continue his monologue.

  “I’ve never heard that name before, Anthony.” She spoke out the guttural syllables, trying to make sense of the foreign word. It stuck to her tongue like butter on a hot rock.

  “Same, but it said it knows Crous’s location.”

  “What?” Laura screeched.

  “Speak. It’s an order, rock,” Jan mustered.

  For a moment, Laura seemed truly shocked as he detailed the events that had just transpired. She nodded in confusion, even attempting to comfort Sill to no avail. The creature seemed entirely brainwashed, its soul and memory shattered into a simple husk. She held the same fascination as Jan. This was an object of power, something that was Crous’s assistant, and if anything, something he had confided in during his countless atrocities.

  “It could be the clue, the item we’ve been waiting for, a hint about Crous’s death. It was in a box, Laura—a scraped up and gear-worked box that was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

  Laura stopped, with her eyes going wide in shock again. “Geared? Jan, that’s fascinating. What did it look like?” she pressed.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter. I just need to know where we can find more information about Crous… Which section,” he replied.

  “Why?” Laura asked.

  “The thing has conditioning. It won’t let me know Crous’s location without a password and…”

  Laura’s voice changed, rising excitement drilled down with a hint of sorrow. She seemed almost bored at this sentiment. “All of Crous's belongings including paper articles were taken from his hideout and stored in the Irwain’s depository”

  “Exactly.”

  “You think the password would be in there?” Laura asked.

  “Yes, there would be at least some clue. The thing said it would have a backup code written in a book that Crous must have gotten from his employer”

  “Jan, I’m sorry but we can’t find it. All information on Crous is located in the city’s garrison, which is currently under the control of Longsa.”

  “No one heard about Crous in years, with twelve imperial hunters dead and an entire prison splintered. This is our chance Laura, our time for revenge,” he replied.

  For a moment the two stopped, with their breath faltering at the implications. Jan’s own distaste sweltered in Laura’s eyes. Rage was cruelly plastered upon their faces under a guise of sorrow.

  “Listen Jan, why not ask Irwain? I’m sure he’d just give you the keys. He’d probably like it that you’re taking an interest in history.”

  “Ask Irwain?” Jan asked. The young mage skidded down the intermittent cobbles and turned to Laura as he spoke. “He’d never let me step a foot in that room. Do you know how many dark spells are housed on a single shelf? Necromancy, pilomancy, achromancy, and Planuynauamancy? It’s everywhere and besides I’ve heard he has artifacts. These are things he won’t let anyone see, not even imperial inspectors.”

  They were at the foremost corner now, almost at Jan’s residence. Kag’s streets were divided into twelve districts with strict regimented rows of houses and towers confined within the city's looming walls. Shadows danced on the street corners as oil lamps flickered in the cool summer breeze. Jan stopped for a moment to pick up a wad of paper off the cobbles, only to crumple the parchment beneath his fingers.

  “Yes, I know I understand, he doesn’t want you turning into the next hellbent agathokakological skeleton.” Suddenly the street began to darken as Jan’s eyes twinkled in a streak of interest. “Besides, Laura, isn’t this just a little more fun.”