Part Four: In Which There Are Expensive Special Effects But Very Little Motion

Here is the remainder of what I wrote in November. Total wordcount: 17,459. Average of 4364.75 words a week, 581.966666 words per day. Not awful, but not good either. At any rate, here is the final chunk of text (by final, I mean from November, not ever. I'm not that mean.):

The tower from which he emerged was across the street from the House of Acuity, one reason it was such a big market. He took a moment to observe the building. Tiny flickers of golden light twinkled around the entrances, and he could see a fuzzy image of the interior when he closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes, dispelling the map lore. If he needed to call it up later he could, but he was already starting to feel tired. He was beginning to think he relied on his blessing too much.

He walked into the House, ducking under the thick red curtains that filled the entryway. He emerged into a huge room, lit by a deluge of windows. Stalls were stuffed into every available space, and merchants used every possible method to catch the eye, the ear, or the nose and draw attention to their goods.

Devon needed to go to the administrative booth. He closed his eyes and gently tapped his foot. When he opened his eyes, a faint golden line appeared, showing him the way.

He moved through the fair, dodging bodies and ignoring the admittedly interesting sights and sounds that assaulted him. He followed the faint golden mist, until he reached the center of the market, and abrupt opening from the narrow aisle he’d been navigating.

The administrative booth was like four merchant’s stalls crushed together. It had several attendants, each one with a line of people waiting with various degrees of patience. Fortunately, Devon had no interest in speaking to an attendant – for the moment, at least.

He shook his head subtly, at the same time imagining an empty circle in his mind. A shiver rippled across his skin, and tiny sparks popped off his fingertips. After a moment, the frission ended and he had completely cleansed his aura – no Terros energy remained in his system. He wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible, and without an Atmos blessing all he could do was use no supernatural energy.

The attendants of the booth, each wearing very professional dark blue suits, even the women, moved with surprising efficiency. The lines remained the same length, but Devon could see that was because people were joining the line at the same rate people were leaving. He was impressed in spite of himself.

He moved around the perimeter of the open space. Behind the counter where attendants handled basic customer complaints was a small office. He couldn’t see into it; the only window had a heavy green curtain covering it.

He looked up, and found a large clock hanging from the ceiling. It was just now noon, which explained the delicious odors wafting through the air. He had three hours to get to the Archchancellor, and probably the same for the Judge.

He sauntered casually up to the counter, bypassing the line completely. He smiled at the attendant, a young blond girl with pale skin, freckles, and big green eyes.

“Hi, I’m here to meet with - ” he began.

“I’m sorry, sir, there’s a line. Please wait your turn,” the girl said, icy politeness coating her voice.

“Really, I’m just here to see - ”

“Sir. Please go to the back of the line,” the girl said, interrupting him again, her voice very stern, yet still professional. Devon opened his mouth to try one more time before he was grabbed from behind and pulled unceremoniously to the back of the line.

He caught his footing awkwardly, stumbling a little. A man in line looked at him and smirked before turning back to the attendant. Devon straightened, dusted off his clothes, and got in line. It wasn’t worth making a scene.

The line moved quickly. Devon squashed the urge to retaliate when the man that had rudely yanked him about – a whisper of a man, dressed all in gray and white, barely as tall as Devon’s already-short ears, no hair, no accessories – walked past him, but maintained his composure. When he finally reached the attendant, she greeted him with no trace of anything but cool professionalism.

“Good day, sir, how may I help you?” she asked.

“I am Devon Knowles, I was contacted for a delivery today,” Devon said, smiling brilliantly.

The woman, who had a nametag that read “Daphne”, nodded. “You’ll need to go to the main office. It’s -”

“I know where it is,” Devon said, tapping his foot nonchalantly. Tingles raced around his eyes as the lore began to recharge. “Do I need to ask for someone specifically?”

Daphne smiled coolly at him. “You should ask for Joseph Jameson,” she told him. “Can I help you with anything else, Mr. Knowles?”

Devon shook his head. “Thank you for the help, Daphne. Have an excellent day.”

“You too, sir,” she said, and as Devon turned and walked away, he could practically feel her shift all her attention to the person after him.

He was distracted by a loud click! inside his head. His map lore was up and running. He normally left it on, since it took a very long time to activate it from scratch. Sometimes he felt like the map lore was less a part of his blessing and more an accessory he turned on and off. It was incredibly useful, at any rate.

He walked over to a stall selling “power crystals”. He’d heard of these before, and assumed they were a total fraud. Only Kosmima blessings were affected by gems and crystals.

He picked a stone at random from the box labeled “Petra”. It was a clear stone, very rough and uncut. He played with it idly while he focused on his map lore. Golden glitter filled his vision, and he instructed it to find the main office. The stone in his hands suddenly burned with intense heat, and he yelped, dropping it back into the box.

As the stone left his hands, his skin thrummed and his vision warped. For a moment, he was looking at the market from above and the main office was highlighted with brilliant gold light. His vision snapped back to normal, and he stumbled back.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” the merchant said, moving over to him. It was a portly man with a thick black beard but a bald head. “Would you like to try a more specific stone?”

“What do you mean?” Devon asked, intrigued. It had only lasted a moment, but it had been the clearest vision his map lore had ever given him.

“What you had was a general amplification stone. That’s all I put out on display, since the stronger ones are more dangerous.” The man rummaged in the back of his stall, going through several drawers set in the wall before pulling out another clear stone. This one was cut, and quite peculiarly. The little Devon knew of Kosmima gemcraft told him symmetrical cuts were better than asymmetric. This gem had clearly been carefully cut, and was free of flaws, but it was bizarrely shaped, some spars much longer than others and some very small nubs, more like goosebumps than spars.

The merchant handed the strange little stone to Devon. It felt warm, like sunlight on his fingers.

“This stone is designed to enhance a Fytevo blessing,” the merchant explained. “They work best with weak blessings, so be careful you don’t try to push it too hard.”

“Fytevo is definitely not my strength,” Devon said. “Do you have any plants?”

The merchant promptly grabbed a tiny potted plant and placed it on the counter. Devon touched it with his free hand and closed his eyes.

It was an Arandan violet, bright purple with white fringes. He could sense it would be effective against a small amount of pain, but got nothing clearer.

The stone in his other hand pulsed with warmth, and knowledge poured into his head. Arandan violet was used to abate a precise amount of pain, one which Devon experienced as a short throb in his toe. It needed certain amounts of sunshine and water to survive, and a certain amount to flourish. It was compatible with certain plants, and incompatible with others.

The knowledge hit him in a flash. When he took his finger away from the plant, it vanished. The stone in his hand cooled slightly, back to sunlight.

“What do you think?” the merchant asked. “It can be useful to have such an ace up your sleeve, no?”

Devon put the stone down on the counter. “It’s very unique, but I’m not really interested. I’ve gone this long without Fytevo, I think I can manage without it.” He smiled, not intending to insult the merchant.

“I have Petra and Panida stones as well,” the merchant replied. “Unfortunately, Kosmima isn’t compatible with this kind of amplification; they have their own methods.”

Devon thought for a moment. “Can I see the Panida stone?”

The merchant beamed and rummaged through his drawers again, producing a new stone. It was just as awkwardly cut, but it was tinted a pale pink. Devon took it carefully. The stone immediately began to radiate heat.

“Is it supposed to be so hot?” Devon asked. He felt energy begin to vibrate in his muscles and bones. An aura abruptly flared around him, and he felt a strange prickling on his forearms. A glance showed him he was growing fur. With a shriek, he dropped the stone onto the counter. The aura around him snuffed out, and the fur on his arms puffed into a cloud of dust that quickly faded away.

“That’s why I don’t keep these stones out,” the merchant said, picking up the pink gem and holding it to the light, examining it for flaws or damage. “If you get your blessing amplified too far it can go out of control.”

Devon focused on moderating his breathing. He knew intellectually that strong Panida blessings let you modify your body, but he’d never been upset he wasn’t strong enough to do so with any sort of skill.

“I guess that means you don’t really want a stone, if your Panida had that reaction and you’re not interested in Fytevo,” the merchant said, his tone full of put upon despair.

An idea blossomed in Devon’s mind. “I tell you what, merchant,” he said, realizing far too late he hadn’t gotten the man’s name. “If you can make a stone that magnifies just map lore, I’ll buy that.”

The merchant’s eyebrows shot up. “A very creative challenge, good sir. I shall look into the matter. If you wish to find me, my name is Jan Ianson, of Larne.”

“And I am Devon Knowles,” Devon said. They shook hands, and Devon began walking again. The distraction had eaten more time than he’d meant to spend. He wasn’t going to be late for anything, but he needed to stop pausing for silly reasons.

Part Three: Jack's Revenge

And we arrive at the end of week three. I have a grand total of 15654 words based on Microsoft Word's count, which does not bode well for the end of November, but I'm going to continue writing as long as it takes. This story has me in a death grip and will not let ago until it's all out on paper.

This post is technically not everything I wrote this week, but the half-page I didn't type up is the start of a new series of events with Devon and I don't like posting a mid-episode cliffhanger.

Enjoy!

Alexander took a pull from his mug. HE and Gwen had returned from their mission to Life support just in time for Gwen to retouch her makeup and get erady for the opening of the bar. Alexander’s relationship with the bartender didn’t get him free drinks – the inn wasn’t quite successful enough for that. Isaac had only opened a year and a half ago, and while he did well enough, there wasn’t yet consistent custom. Alexander still drank exclusively at Life Support – what better benefit was there to living above a bar?

He looked at Isaac, who was smiling broadly at one of his customers, and thought maybe there was one larger benefit.

Isaac, done with the customer – who looked oddly familiar – slid down to Alexander. “Need anything, honey?” he asked.

Alexander shook his head. “I’m good for now. I’ll let you know if I need…anything.” He winked at Isaac, making a face he thought was dangerous and sexy.

Isaac burst into merry laughter, collapsing onto the stool he kept behind the bar. Alexander joined in, though it was the awkward laughter o someone who wasn’t sure if he was being laughed with, or at.

“Oh, Alex, I’m sorry, just…that face!” Isaac wheezed. He lifted his apron, a classy black number, and wiped his eyes. Alexander’s laughter relaxed a little, now that he knew what was going on.

The storm had broken over Zydobe, and Alexander felt completely blinded. He couldn’t hear anyone’s truthfulness, his vision and hearing were reduced, and he could barely conjure enough light to read. The lights he’d constructed in his apartment were heavy-duty, sturdy complexes of power. They would survive a storm for two days; if it lasted longer he’d be forced to recreate them. It was worth the cost of lantern oil, or candles, not to mention the risk of fire.

Isaac got control over himself and headed off to check on other customers. As he left, someone slid onto the stool next to Alexander. He didn’t plan on engaging with his new neighbor, so he was startled when she began speaking to him.

“Well, Mr. Cartwright,” she said. Alexander turned, shocked to see the Lady Nave. “I trust that display was to conclude your investigation?”

Alexander nodded, thinking quickly. Other times he’d used this particular strategy, he’d had time to prepare for meeting his client. “Lady Nave, your partner is not abusing your trust,” he said, choosing his words very carefully. “I chose the avenue of investigation I did to bolster your public image.”

Lady Nave’s eyebrows rose. She leaned on the counter, her gray dress crinkling. “That is very magnanimous of you, Mr. Cartwright,” she said. “Is the case closed, then?”

“Unless your partner knows how to lie to a Tranquilus on a calm day, it is,” Alexander replied. After a pause, he added, “It was calm at the time.”

Lady Nave laughed, a delightful laugh. It was like tinkling bells. “I’m glad you are so sure of your discovery, Mr. Cartwright. Here is your payment.” She dropped a bag on the counter that clnked heavily. “I appreciate your…alacrity. If I need investigative services, I know on whom I should call.”

With that, she rose and departed, a vision of grace in gray silk gliding through the incongruous setting of the bar. Alexander waited for her to leave before opening the bag and checking how much was in it. His eyebrows shot up; the amount was in excess of what they’d agreed. He pulled out four silver coins, and signaled Gwen. The redhead, her cheeks flushed from exertion, glided over to his stool.

“Can I help you, sir?” she drawled. Alexander smiled and reached out his hand, carrying the coins. Gwen deftly swiped the coins, tucking them into a pocket hidden somewhere ein her dress. She winked and swept away.

Alexander took a copper coin from the pouch and laid it on the counter, then got up to walk around. He pushed through the crowd, fighting his way outside. Once clear of the building, he stood under the awning Isaac had put up over the street side of the inn. The rain outside was pouring down, and lightning crawled across the sky. The storm was unusually strong; the rainy season wasn’t due for at least a month. Maybe the Atmos priests had done some sort of working that stirred up the storms.

He felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t been to the Temple of Atmos in months. Anyone with a blessing was technically an acolyte, and as expected to participate in a service regularly. There was no actual punishment for skipping, other than the condemnation from anyone who knew about it. Isaac was occasionally one to scold Alexander for missing, though he rarely thought about it.

With a storm this wild, even someone like Alexander could exert a little Ventus power. He turned to face the west, cardinal direction of Ventus, and emitted a pulse of energy. The wind around him flared crazily, and he lifted an inch or so into the air. He closed his eyes and floated out into the storm.

Flight was a gift to the powerfully Ventus-blessed, but hovering was within Alexander’s grasp with a storm like this powering him. Atmos blessings depended on conditions as much as Terros blessings depended on materials.

“Watch out, idiot!”

Alexander’s eyes snapped open and his concentration shattered. He dropped half a foot to the ground; apparently the storm had magnified his hovering more than the thought. He stumbled and collapsed backward, which was fortunate. A horsedrawn cart clattered past, the driver bellowing obscenities at Alexander, who was soaked by the water the cart kicked up. Being blessed by Algidus protected him to an extent from cold, but being wet was still miserable. He stood up, wishing that a blessing granted control over water.

He began to shiver and turned to go into Life Support. The door burst open of its own accord as he approached, another handy little trick. He sighed happily as the warmth inside hit him, and slid through the crowd toward his usual stool.

His course took him to the bar, but he ended several seats too far to the right. As he started to walk to his seat, Isaac stopped him.

“Alexander! You’re soaked!” Isaac gasped. He whipped off his apron and ran around the bar, pushing customers out of his way. He got to Alexander and immediately checked his temperature.

“You’re freezing! You can’t just rely on your blessing to keep you healthy all the time!” Isaac scolded, turning Alexander around and shooing him toward the door. “This is why you always get sick, you just assume your blessing will handle everything. Just because you don’t feel the cold doesn’t mean you aren’t cold, stupid!” As they exited, Isaac kept his harangue going. Alexander was shivering too much to really listen, and just let himself be pushed along.

Isaac turned to go up the staircase when a whistling shriek ripped through the air. Alexander spun toward the source of the sound, but he couldn’t see anything through the driving rain.

“Alexander, what are you – Eye and Needle, shaking sand!” Isaac swore. Alexander saw what had set Isaac off: an enormous, massive ship flying through the air, aimed straight at them.

Alexander closed his eyes and inhaled. He would regret what was about to happen, but he didn’t seem to have much choice.

He turned to face south, into Life Support. He inhaled again, this time with specific intent. Energy flooded into him, and his body seemed to freeze. His bones were surely cracking, his marrow expanding in bloody ice crystals. His blood was slowing, congealing, his saliva becoming icicles in his mouth.

He screamed, and spun back to the plummeting sky ship, pointing both palms at it. A blast of pure force ripped out of his palms, emanating from two ice blue Algidus glyphs that had appeared on his skin. Hot air billowed from his body, a reaction to his working.

The blast of force wasn’t like one a Thermas blessing could conjure. Thermas force was blunt and uncontrollable, good for discouraging footpads and thieves but bad at picking up a teapot. Algidus let Alexander move objects with his mind, and all he wanted was to move the airship far enough that it wouldn’t crush him.

Blue light burst from the ground beneath his feet, and an enormous glyph traced itself around him. Blue lines of light streamed from the air, flickering up through the air and weaving together, forming a net above their heads.

The falling skyship lurched as the net of light slammed into it. Alexander felt the impact as a flare of heat in his skin. The blue light blazing around him grew brighter, and with a final yell Alexander shoved the ship with all his might.

The ship lurched and groaned, but shifted to the right. It crashed to the ground, but it didn’t hit Life Support. Alexander had time to hear yelling begin before he fell to his knees, then onto his hands, and finally rolled onto his side. As he passed out, the blue light around him swirled into a single spark that flew off to the northwest.

A rainbow of colors rippled across the backs of Alexander’s eyelids. He gasped, and opened his eyes. Standing over him was a woman with very short, dark blonde hair holding a round medallion inlaid with mother of pearl strips set in gold. The mother of pearl was blazing as the woman – the woman from inside the inn, he realized – called upon it to heal him.

Waves of sensation ripped through him. They weren’t good or bad sensations. It was more like something was pulling on his insides, a very strong, very odd feeling.

The medallion winked out. Alexander jerked, arching his back involuntarily, then fell limp. The girl got to her feet, towering over him.

“That’s the last of it,” she said to someone behind him. “If I use the medallion any more, it’ll shatter.”

“As long as he’s okay,” the person, apparently Isaac, replied. Alexander considered rolling over, but decided lying there was much better.

He could see that they were in his apartment. The black walls were lit by a blazing gem on his table. His lights had fallen apart in the face of the brutal storm. It occurred to him his coldbox might have been damaged by his working.

“He’s just exhausted. He’ll be haunted from that working, though.”

Alexander blinked, his mind working slowly. He opened his mouth to ask a question.

His mouth didn’t move.

“There’s no way I can get to the Temple through the wreckage and the storm!” Isaac said. “Can’t you cleanse him?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, Isaac, but only Atmos priest healers can cleanse an Atmos haunting. He’ll be able to move in a day or so.”

Alexander felt a spike of panic. Hauntings happened when someone used so much power in a working they caught the attention of Atmos, goddess of the skies, or Terros, god of the earth. Hauntings were the price of enacting a powerful effect, and paralyzed a blessing until a priest could cleanse the poor afflicted individual.

If Alexander was haunted so strongly he was physically paralyzed, he must have really pissed Atmos off. He closed his eyes – the one part of his body he could move – and tried to relax.

“Jenay, can you help me get him to the Temple?” Isaac asked.

“I can’t, I have to go help the other casualties. I’ll see if I can send someone to help, Isaac.” Her voice was curiously intimate, like she and Isaac were old friends. Alexander opened his eyes.

Except they didn’t move either.

Alexander would have really started to panic, except his breathing was completely out of his control. It was surprisingly difficult to succumb to terror when one couldn’t breathe too quickly or break into a cold sweat.

“All right, Jenay. Do your best.” He heard flesh touch flesh and assumed they shook hands. He heard footsteps leaving, and felt a hand touch his face. Isaac spoke, but Alexander could tell it wasn’t for him.

“This haunting had better get cleansed, and fast.”

*****

Devon woke in his bed, his muscles sore from the day before. He let himself lie still, enjoying the feel of his blanket against his bare skin.

His moment of peace was shattered by a soft but insistent whine. His speaking medallion was going off. He groaned and rolled over, reaching up to take it from the peg on the wall against which his bed was pressed.

He held the medallion in his right hand, and pointed south with his left. A tiny trickle of energy flickered through him, the most Kosmima he could muster. The whine coming from the medallion shut off, and a voice began to speak. It was a deep voice, a voice used to public speaking.

“Devon Knowles, I am Chancellor Aron Mark. I am interested in your services this afternoon. Please come by between the hours of noon and three.”

The voice message ended, and another immediately started.

“Devon Knowles, I am Gregory Nami. I am a clerk for Judge Hanover. We request your service this afternoon. Please call at your convenience.”

Another voice message immediately started.

“Devon Knowles, I am speaking for the House of Acuity. We would appreciate the use of your service. Please come as soon as you can.”

By this time, Devon was wide awake and getting dressed. A chancellor, a very powerful judge, and one of the largest centers of business in the city, all calling on him? It was going to be a good day. He threw on an outfit of black slacks and a dark red shirt, slipped his shoes on, and grabbed his messenger bag. He started to jump out of his window, his standard exit, but realized that was likely an unsafe choice after such a power expenditure yesterday. He took the door.

Walking through his apartment building was an experience. Most people that lived there were very poor, and smelled like it. Devon hurried down the stairs and into the street, headed for the transit tower.

As he walked by the church, a voice called out to him. “Ho there, stranger!”

Devon considered stopping for a moment, but quickly dismissed the idea. He’d done a service a few weeks ago; he wasn’t due to participate in another for at least two more. Talking to priests, or just churchmen in general, was always an exercise in futility.

“Excuse me!” the voice called again. “Could you spare a moment to help me?”

Devon stopped, sighing a heavy sigh, and turned. He could at least hear the man out.

“Thank you!” the man said. It was a man about Devon’s age, and cute. He wore a simple robe of yellow cloth, which didn’t hide his attractive body shape. He was blond, with light freckles and pale blue eyes.

“My roses aren’t doing well, and I need someone with a Fytevo blessing to take a look at them,” the man explained. “I can tell you’re blessed by the Earth God. Have you any affinity with plants?”

Devon sighed again, then looked at the roses growing on the wall of the church. He walked up to them, noting a number of black spots on the leaves.

He touched the closest rosebud, sending a pulse of power into it. The rosebud unfurled, and a smattering of golden sparkles flew from its petals.

“There’s some kind of insect chewing on them,” he explained. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Bless you for your help, brother,” the churchman said, drawing on the air with his index finger. Devon felt a shiver, like the hair on his arms was standing up.

“I’ve cleansed you. You won’t need to attend a service for at least a month,” the churchman said, smiling. “Come see me next time you’re due.”

With that cryptic command, the churchman ambled away. Devon stared after him, completely nonplussed. After a moment, he shrugged and turned, walking briskly into the transit tower.

He showed his membership card to the clerk, a pleasant old man named Gerald. He started to walk away when Gerald called him back.

“Devon, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there’s been a shortening of the durations on memberships. You’ll need to renew in two months.”

“What?” Devon asked, shocked. “I paid three hundred gold crescents for this membership!”

Gerald winced. “Prices are going up. Something going on in Aranda. Above my pay grade.”

Devon snarled and stalked over to the transit departure circle. The day had started so well. He revised his plans, opting to go to The Laughing Maid instead of heading straight to the government buildings to stake out these new employers.

Devon made it a habit to always know something about the people for whom he delivered. It helped prevent messy situations. He stepped into the transit circle when it was his turn, and felt himself tensing up, expecting another bad trip.

But this transit was as vanilla as all the other city jumps he’d made. No strange sensation, no startlingly vivid visions. Just a white flash and a new transit tower.

He strode out of the tower, calling a greeting to the clerk he passed. He headed straight for The Laughing Maid, walking purposefully but not hurriedly. Never hurry unless you’re running a message, and then never hurry and be seen. As a motto, it lacked class, but it had worked well for him.

The flowers startled him; they’d changed to a brilliant red. A moment of dread slowed his step; if Sarah had put out new flowers by herself, she’d be in a horrible mood. As he approached the door of the inn, he didn’t feel the usual sense of calm wash over him. That couldn’t be good.

As he entered, the sheer number of people in the common room startled him. For the hour, at least two hours before noon, even three people would be abnormal. There had to be at least twenty, all talking and laughing and eating.

That explained the unusually tense atmosphere. Sarah always maintained an aura of happiness and relaxation in her common room, but when Devon caught a glimpse of her behind the bar, hair askew and stains on her apron, frantically making drinks, he understood why it was missing. She didn’t serve alcohol before about three in the afternoon, but this crowd was happy to drink her cider and juice.

Devon took a stool at the bar and waited for Sarah to notice him. He subtly began broadcasting feelings of serenity. He wasn’t nearly as good at this as Sarah, but he could make a difference in her mood, at least.

“Hey, flounder boy,” a loud voice behind him said.

Devon turned to see Amber, wearing a black vest over a shiny eggplant shirt and black pants. “Flounder? Where did you get that?” he asked.

“I just thought it was funny,” she said. “And you look like a flounder.” With a cheeky grin she melted into the crowd.

Devon frowned. He did not look like a flounder. He had a very handsome face. His sister told him that all the time.

“What do you want, Devon?” Sarah asked, finally getting to him. Had he not been distracted by Amber’s bizarre comment, he would have noticed she was standing straighter, the wrinkles on her face were disappearing and her eyes were less maddened.

“Tell me I’m handsome,” he said plaintively. Sarah’s jaw dropped right before she slapped him.

Devon squawked. “By the Eye, Sarah!” he said, rubbing his face. “Was that necessary?”

“I didn’t hit you that hard. Stop whining. Now what do you want?”

Devon stopped emitting pulses of calm and focused on his cheek. A cool tingle replaced the stinging, and he felt the redness start to fade. Panida was nothing for major healing, but tiny things like a slap he could fix.

“I came to tell you I have three jobs from the government today,” he said, resuming the serenity aura. Maybe Sarah would eventually start helping him out; she knew this place well enough to divert the emotional atmosphere with a thought.

“That’s wonderful!” Sarah said, and Devon finally felt another aura bolster his own. Apparently, her mood was as important as her attention.

“Ashleigh!” Sarah bellowed. After a moment, the now-redheaded waitress swished over, wearing a short pink skirt, tight black top, two belts, and black leather boots. Devon wondered if she had a Fytevo blessing; her hair changed color enough that buying dye would be incredibly expensive.

“Cover the bar for me for a moment,” Sarah said. Ashleigh sighed, but came behind the bar and started refilling drinks.

“So what kinds of jobs?” Sarah asked, leaning over the counter.

“Don’t know yet,” Devon replied. “I’ll find out this afternoon. They all want to be picked up after noon.”

Sarah nodded. “Who is it?”

Devon told her about the messages, explaining what he knew of the clients. Aron Mark was the chancellor of the harbor, in charge of maintaining records of all the ships and goods that passed through it. Judge Hanover presided over a naval merchant’s court, and the House of Acuity was the site of a huge daily market.

Sarah frowned. “That sounds kind of fishy,” she remarked.

“What do you mean?” Devon asked. He noticed he was drawing a thread of power out of the ground, all he could get through the wooden floor. He shut down his aura and stopped the draw; if his body was defensively drawing strength to bolster his blessing, he’d pushed too far.

“Well, you’ve got jobs from two officials that basically control business coming in from the sea, and one of the biggest selling areas in the city,” she said, frowning and playing with a strand of hair. “I’m not saying you’re delivering something that will destroy the city economy or anything, but be careful. That’s all.”

Devon nodded. “Thank you, Sarah. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. You know that.”

Sarah smiled a little sadly. “I do, Devon. I do.” She cleared her throat and Devon felt a powerful wash of cheer flow from her. He gave her a wry look, and she shrugged, winked, and began cleaning glasses that had begun to stack up on the counter.

“So when was the last time you went out on a date?” Sarah asked, very obviously not looking at Devon at all. Devon rolled his eyes.

“You’re just a cornucopia of subtlety today, aren’t you?” he asked. “Ashleigh. Get me some cider!”

“Right away, flounder boy!” Ashleigh called back. Devon slammed his hand down on the counter, which only made Ashleigh laugh and Sarah give him a murderous look.

“So?” she asked, returning to her glass.

“The last time I went on a date…” Devon mused. The sailor he’d run into popped into his head. “I guess it was that guy from your friend’s inn you forced me to dance with.”

Sarah gasped. “That was months ago! This is an emergency!”

“It was two weeks ago, Sarah, calm down,” Devon said drily. “I’m not so lonely I need to be going out and having sex every night.”

“But you are lonely!” Sarah whined. “You come here every day and flirt with my waitresses! Honey, you need someone in your life.”

Devon looked up at the clock. An hour to noon. He could go to the House of Acuity, since they wanted him whenever he could get there.

“Just leave, I see you looking at my clock,” Sarah said, pretending to be hurt. “I hope I never see you again!”

Devon grinned impishly at her, then got off his stool and started sliding through the crowd, which was finally thinning. The last thing he heard was a loud voice scream as he exited the inn.

“I just finished your cider, you jerk!”

Devon continued to smile as he walked jauntily down the street, whistling cheerily. He strolled to the central transit tower, taking his time and watching people bustle around the city.

Before he entered the tower, he stopped to lean against the heavy stone walls. He closed his eyes, and let his mind wander.

In his mind, an image formed. Just as always, he saw the Temple of Terros. Situated near the eastern edge of the city, it was a blocky building, with thick walls and few windows. Priests of Terros maintained that temple should be a place of darkness and meditation. As he pondered, golden mists spread out from the image of the Temple, and coalesced into buildings and streets.

His fingertips began to burn as the image of the city built itself in his head. He kept his mind relaxed, letting the image increase in size. The more complex and enormous the map in his head became, the more his skin burned. Just when the pain became too much to bear, there was a pop in his ears and it all went away.

He opened his eyes, and felt a reassuring sense of confidence and direction. The city changed a tiny bit every day, and the longer he went without reeducating his map lore, the more he would feel an underlying sense of confusion. His map lore wasn’t visible unless he activated it, but it still gave him a sense of direction even greater than the internal compass his blessing granted.

Renewing his map lore didn’t actually make him more confident, but taking away that atavistic sense of being lost made him simply less anxious. And it burned a few minutes.

He began to walk again, entering the tower. He showed his card to the clerk, waving down the irritating reminder that he needed to renew again sooner than he thought. He advanced through the line as quickly as he was allowed, and warped to the merchant’s district.

Week 2: The Pathetic Boogaloo

Here is week two, which is longer than week one by approximately 1000 words but is still WAY behind my goal. My wordcount is somewhere around 11892 when it should be 23338. I just vomited in my mouth. As does a character in this post! Yay! Again, please comment if you see any stupid typos, I typed this hella fast. And thus does the post begin.

Alexander waved at his waiter, wordlessly indicating his cup. He sat at a table in one of the newest shops in Zydobe, a ritzy place called “The Brew”. It was a coffeeshop, extremely new and wildly popular among the upper crust of the city. Alexander didn’t exactly fit with his battered leather jacket, comfortable but hideous shoes, plain black shirt and worn slacks. His air of unconcern matched the richer customers perfectly, however. The same could not be said of his company.

The woman sitting across from him sat tensely on her chair, constantly looking about as people came and left. She wore a recognizable maid’s uniform, though she had nothing indicating for whom she worked.

Alexander had brought her to this coffeeshop on purpose. She would be extremely nervous that her employers would walk in and see her, and therefore more likely to let something slip that could help Alexander’s case. Alexander, however, knew that the Nave family frequented a coffeeshop much closer to their actual residence. It was also much more exclusive than The Brew, which would let anyone who could pay in advance enter, regardless of appearance.

“So, Natalie,” Alexander began. “Are you enjoying your coffee?”

The dark-haired girl nodded hesitantly. “It’s not a drink I’m used to, but it’s very good, sir,” she said softly.

“Please, call me Alexander,” he told her. “I’m no sir to you. I just want to ask you a few questions.” The concealer on his neck itched, but he forced himself not to touch it.

“About what, s…Alexander?” she asked. She had barely sipped her coffee.

“Just about what it’s like, working for the Naves. I might be looking for a position in the future.” To his ears, the lie was accompanied by a sudden hum in the air. Natalie was not blessed by Atmos though, and wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“The Naves are very good employers, yes,” Natalie said. “Lady Nave often gifts us with clothes and we get a trinket every Winternight from milord.”

“A trinket? That’s very generous of him,” Alexander said, genuinely surprised. Even with the modest staff the Naves kept, a trinket a year would be a heavy investment. “How do they treat the staff? Day to day, I mean.”

Natalie spoke so quickly, Alexander had to take a moment to decipher it. “Lady Nave is wonderful, always kind and offering compliments, letting us eat in the kitchen instead of outside like my last job, and she doesn’t tolerate any kind of mistreat -” She shut her mouth abruptly, her eyes going wide. Alexander leapt on the opening.

“What mistreatment, Natalie?” he asked, his voice low. “What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Natalie sputtered. The air around her began to hum to Alexander’s ears.

“Natalie, you can trust me. Did Lord Nave do something to you?” Alexander pressed.

“Lord – no!” Natalie sputtered. The air went silent; she was telling the truth. “Lord Nave would never do anything to his staff!”

“Who, then? Is he seeing someone on the sly?” Alexander said, going as far as he dared.

“Of course not!” Natalie spat, clearly outraged. Despite her demeanor, though, the air hummed – though very softly. She wasn’t lying, exactly, but she wasn’t convinced of the truth.

It was good enough for Alexander, who sat back happily as the maid stormed out of the shop. Alexander sipped his drink, then pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket. He began to scribble notes.

Maid, Natalie. Uncertain of Lord’s fidelity, but loyal to household. More investigation necessary. He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee, before his contemplation was rudely interrupted.

“Made a bit of a scene, didn’t you?” his assailant asked, plopping herself down without any invitation at all. Her short blonde hair contrasted sharply with Alexander’s own. His hair was shaggy and dark enough that people often described him as “dishwater blond”, something he didn’t understand at all.

Andrea’s hair, on the other hand, was so blonde it was practically white, like Kosmima-light trapped into physical form. She was a head shorter than Alexander, though her height disguised a wickedly strong street fighter; her other talents were even more hidden.

“Your marks are starting to show, by the way,” Andrea pointed out, laughter in her green eyes. Alexander grabbed his napkin and wiped the cosmetics from the sides of his neck, letting the tattoos that were the side effect of his blessing show. Cosmetics only lasted a few hours on them, anyway.

On the right side of his neck, below and slightly behind his ear, the mark of Tranquilus sat. It was a stylized representation of a calm day, straight horizontal lines connected by oblique ones. On the left side of his neck, exactly mirroring the first, his Algidus mark emerged. It was a depiction of three moons, one new, one half, and one full. Every one blessed by Atmos or Terros had two of these marks somewhere on their body, proclaiming their abilities. Alexander often had to hide his, since truth-finding was the most well-known of the Tranquilus gifts.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Detective Fields?” he asked. She smirked at him, while waving down a waiter, who promptly delivered a steaming cup.

“I was walking by, minding my own business -” she paused for Alexander’s derisive snort “- when a maid comes bursting out of The Brew in tears, so upset she doesn’t care that everyone can hear her ranting about some ‘pretty-boy asking what’s not his to ask, not respecting a lady’s wishes’ and et cetera. Naturally, I assumed you were involved somehow.”

“She said I was pretty?” Alexander asked, grinning when Andrea rolled her eyes.

“Cartwright, you know I don’t care where you poke your nose, as long as you’re staying out of my way. But take some advice: sometimes the best way is to not cause an enormous commotion.”

“All due respect, Fields, but this is my business. If you’re going to hire me, you can call the shots, but until then let me use my methods,” Alexander told her, letting a tinge of annoyance color his voice.

“Fine, Cartwright. Don’t say I didn’t try to help. You want to learn how to investigate without leaving a trail someday, you call me,” Andrea said. She stood, slapped a coin down on the table that would cover her drink, and left the shop.

Alexander continued to sit and nurse his coffee. It was an expensive drink; he wasn’t going to waste it. As he sat, he watched the clientele.

Many were merchants, wearing the distinctive gold chains on their vests. Other than that, merchants were as diverse as any other group of people. Some wore fine silk vests, with embroidery and ornamented buttons. Others had simple wool vests, and still more had cotton – it looked simple, but was expensive to ship from Port Jakaran.

Others were from rich families. Perhaps the husband or father was a successful merchant, but the ladies that came in with their skirts and petticoats and jewelry had likely never spoken to a customer, only been one.

Isaac would say he was being harsh. Alexander did have a tendency to see the worst in people. He tried to think of how Isaac would have viewed the ladies twittering and gossiping at the booth a few feet away.

One was obviously a gemsmith. She wore a brown vest over a white shirt, and her Kosmima glyph, a multifaceted shining gem was displayed proudly under her eye. The second woman wore a dark wool dress, tight in the bodice but more relaxed in the skirt, accenting her thin waist and pleasant figure.

Alexander focused on the gemsmith. The shop was full of chattering customers, but with a particular mental twist, he could hear just their table, as if there were a glass dome around their area.

“So what’s he like?” the lady asked. She had her back to Alexander, so he couldn’t see her face, but he did notice her hair was clearly treated well by a stylist, and often. The chestnut brown curls cascaded gently over her shoulders.

“He’s very handsome,” the gemsmith replied. “He’s tall, and dark, and he owns an inn! He doesn’t have a blessing, which is a relief.”

“Didn’t you have a fling with a Tranquilus merchant one?” the lady asked.

“Yes, and it was awful! He could tell anytime I told a lie, which made…well, he wasn’t the most skilled man I’ve ever met,” the gemsmith replied, wiggling her eyebrows. They both began to cackle with glee.

Alexander released his concentration, and the noise of the shop faded back into his hearing. Isaac probably would describe them as “earthy and forthright”, he supposed, but all he could think was that they were shallow and rude. What kind of lady talked about her love life in public?

He dropped a few coins on the table, overpaying for the drink, and left the shop. He tried to find something happy to think about, and his thoughts immediately turned to Isaac.

It was only just past noon. Maybe he could go to the inn and catch Isaac by surprise, bring him some lunch. That sounded like a good plan. He began to walk toward Isaac’s inn, debating where to stop for lunch.

A shrieking noise completely distracted him. He whirled around, trying to find the source of the horrible sound.

A few streets over, something huge began to lift into the air. It was shaped like a ship, with sails, but no oars. From the bows and masts, strange constructions extended into the air. They were long poles with blades at the top, and the blades were spinning. The longer Alexander looked, the more absurd the thing seemed. But it was rising into the air, no question about that. Alexander couldn’t figure out how it was defying gravity. There was no storm, so it couldn’t be use of Ventus blessing, and he could see no sapphires that might be powering the lift. Even so, such a huge craft would make any reasonably sized sapphire shatter.

The strange sky ship lifted fully above the level of buildings and slowly turned. It began sailing south, away from the harbor. Alexander continued to watch, astounded.

Another ear-piercing shriek ripped through the air, and a cloud of white smoke exploded from several holes in the sides of the ship. It lurched forward in the air, apparently gaining speed.

Eventually, it cleared the horizon to the north, presumably headed to the government district. Alexander, and all the other passersby who had paused to gawk, began walking again. Alexander had to turn around to go in the right direction and he nearly ran over a person behind him that was still staring after the flying ship.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, making sure the young lady was all right. After a moment, he realized it was the gemsmith on whom he’d been eavesdropping.

“It’s fine,” she said distractedly. Her eyes were still focused on the horizon to the north, and she looked angry. Before Alexander could examine her further, she shook her head and walked away.

Alexander watched her go, bemused by her behavior. After a moment, he began walking toward Life Support, Isaac’s inn. Along the way, he pondered what Natalie had said, considering the other servants he’d interviewed. All had claimed the Lord Nave was faithful, but each had had a tiny shiver in their voice, proving they were less confident than they seemed. Natalie had mentioned some kind of mistreatment, and the gardener had been unwilling to discuss how the servants were treated, giving only that “The Naves treat us right and proper, and that’s that.” It was frustrating, but Alexander felt like he had enough to confront the Lord Nave and do a truth-reading on him.

A gust of wind tugged at his coat, and his senses seemed to dull. In horror, Alexander looked at the sky to the south. Indeed, a storm was brewing on the horizon. The weather-read he’d gotten the morning before was coming true more quickly than he’d imagined.

The storm that Alexander could see moving into the city would shut down his investigation for at least two days. He had to get some kind of solid information before it broke.

He found himself on a major thoroughfare. Carts and carriages rattled past, and pedestrians slipped among the horse-drawn vehicles with skill. Normally, he would turn right, heading down toard Life Support. He made a snap decision and turned left, traveling upward to where the Nave’s residence lay. As he walked, he looked for a messenger boy. Eventually, he spotted one, marked by his blue cap and satchel. He signaled the boy, who ran up to him.

“Go to the inn Life Support, and ask the bartender to send Gwen to the transit tower on Rose Street.” He gave the boy two silver coins. “Take a transit tower to the inn. Keep what’s left.”

“Thank you, sir!” the boy said. “Life Support inn, ask the bartender to send Gwen to transit station on Rose Street.”

“That’s it. Go!” Alexander replied. The boy took off, and Alexander kept moving. Instead of going straight to the Nave house, he took a slightly less direct route. Rose Street was several blocks down from the Nave residence, but it was the closest transit tower. It would probably take Gwen fifteen minutes to get to Rose Street. He could use that time to plan.

He reached Rose Street after only a few minutes of walking. Outside the transit tower was a small park that gave the street its name. Alexander found a stone bench and sat down.

His normal strategy in such a case was to interview peripheral people who would have insight, mostly servants. If the servants lied about the master, or mistress, and his or her fidelity, he would arrange a chance meeting and ask the suspect point blacnk. Usually, they responded with an instinctive denial, which he could immediately tell was truth or fiction. If it was fiction, he’d begin following the suspect. In winter or the rainy season, it was easy to follow someone unnoticed, and he could find the identity of the other woman. Or man.

This time it would be different. The sudden storm would eliminate his truth-sensing, and if the storm lasted two days he would hae nothing to give Lady Nave when she returned to him. He’d lose the case.

So he was resorting to desperate measures. He couldn’t confront Lord Nave in his own home, that would cast suspicion on his lady. Instead, he’d have Gwen pretend to be the mistress, and listen to their conversation from outside the house. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it had worked before.

He began to fidget. What was taking Gwen so long? He could feel the storm pressing on him, dampening his blessing. At the same time, the temperature was dropping, letting his Algidus nature emerge. That would be a bit useful, if Gwen would just show up!

For a few more interminable minutes, he waited. Eventually, a familiar red-headed woman walked out of the transit tower. Gwen was older than Alexander, somewhere in her thirties. She had worked as a waitress for most of her life, and in truth was better at bartending than Isaac. Isaac trusted her to run the place in his absence, and was considering letting her buy into part of the ownership.

For Alexander, Gwen was a plant. She was a brilliant actress, even though she had no formal training as a player. She was beautiful, and she was exactly the kind of beauty an older man would look for during a mid-life crisis.

She paused outside the tower, obviously looking for him. She was dressed for work, a white blouse that was dangerously unbuttoned, a simple brown skirt that would not show stains, exotic but tasteful makeup, and pale gray slippers.

Alexander stood and waved to her, creating a tiny burst of light from his palm. She saw it and began walking toward him, ignoring the appreciative looks and whistles she was getting.

“I hope this is important, Alexander,” she said once she’d reached him.

“Oh, it will be,” Alexander promised. “I need the standard mistress act. You’ll get your usual cut.”

Gwen nodded. “What do I need to know?”

“Let’s walk and talk,” Alexander said. They began to move toward the Nave house, passing several very rich houses of pristine white stone.

“Lord Nave, given name Alan, might be seeing someone on the side,” he explained. “The servants are all unsure. They claim he’s innocent, and they aren’t lying, but they aren’t convinced they’re telling the truth.”

“That’s very subtle,” Gwen said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t think truth-reading could tell something that distinct.”

Alexander shrugged. “I get lots of practice. I won’t be able to do that here, though. This storm is too close. You should probably tell me a lie, to check.”

Gwen thought for a moment, then said “Isaac is seeing a woman when he’s not with you.”

Panic grabbed Alexander’s heart in a crushing grip, and only the vibration in the air that proved Gwen was lying kept him from running straight to Life Support.

“Gweneth Sienna, that is a cruel trick!” he said, unable to keep his voice free of his suddenly churning emotions.

The wind picked up, blowing Gwen’s hair about. “I’m sorry, Alex, I just wanted to say something I knew for a fact was a lie.”

Alexander sighed heavily. “Well, I can still hear a lie for right now, so that’s a relief.” They turned a corner, and they had arrived at the Nave house. It wasn’t as palatial as other homes nearby, but it did have two stories, many windows, and subtle strips of mother-of-pearl in the walls.

“So you go in and demand to meet with Lord Nave. Preferably in front of his wife, so he has to deny. I’ll be listening form out here,” Alexander explained. Gwen nodded.

“Am I tearful, demanding to be recognized, he should leave his wife? Or am I scorned, deceived, how dare he not tell me he was married?”

Alexander thought for a moment. “Let’s go with tearful. I don’t think his wife actually loves him, she just wants a hold on him. She certainly tried hard enough to seduce me.”

Gwen smiled at him. “You’re just so quaking handsome! And you don’t act like you prefer men at all. It’s very cruel to us womenfolk.” She winked at him. Alexander smiled back, then gestured to the house.

Gwen took a moment to compose herself. Incredibly, her eyes began to water with held back tears, and she marched up to the front door. Alexander followed. The cool air, promising the storm that was to come, masked the sound of his footsteps and let him move silently. If it got even colder he’d become difficult to see, and in snowstorms he could be effectively invisible. Of course, snowstorms never happened in the jungles or coasts of Aranda. He’d only seen one, when he visited the mountainous Port Jakaran.

He stood behind a potted plant in the entryway next to the front door, relying on the cold to keep him unnoticed from the street. Gwen pounded on the door, deep in character.

The door opened, and the butler emerged. Alexander hadn’t been able to speak to him, as entry to the house was not something Lady Nave had given permission for.

Actually, what he was planning wasn’t, either, but he wasn’t obviously connected to Gwen as far as the Naves were concerned, and she would give a false name anyway.

“May I help you?” the butler asked smoothly.

“I must see Lord Alan straight away!” Gwen said, her voice quivering with unshed tears.

“And who may I say is calling?” the butler asked, visibly unaffected by Gwen’s act. Alexander looked closer at the butler, and to his horror saw a Tranquilus mark on the butler’s left hand. He’d be able to hear Gwen’s lies.

Alexander focused all his attention on the butler. Another ability the cold gave him was confusing and dazing people. It wasn’t could enough to actually make the man do something he wouldn’t normally, but if he could distract the man, maybe Gwen could get in.

“My name is Eoin Fairheart,” Gwen said, giving a very working-class name. The butler frowned, and Alexander struck. To his eyes, blue sparkles began to glitter around the butler’s ears. No one else would be able to see it, and only someone with a very powerful Algidus blessing would even sense that something was happening.

The butler blinked, looked closely at Gwen’s tearful face, then nodded. “Follow me, madam,” he said, gesturing for her to enter.

Alexander sagged in relief when the door closed. He relaxed his concentration on the butler and closed his eyes. He pointed east, relying on his inborn ability to know directions, and drew on the air, focusing on his ability to magnify hearing.

The inside of the house was filled with activity. He ignored clattering pots and pans, chattering maids, and a gardener talking to himself about roses, and listened only to the quiet, hiccupping sobs of Gwen as she was led deeper into the house. After a moment, he heard the butler speak. “Lord Nave, a Mistress Fairheart to see you.”

The lord of the house was not thrilled. “Fairheart? I don’t know anyone by that – Eye and Needle!”

There was a gasp, and the sound of cutlery clinking. Apparently the Naves had been eating lunch.

“Lord Alan! I can’t bear being apart from you any longer!” Gwen wailed.

“Who in the storms are you, woman?” Alan snarled. There was no sign of a lie in his voice.

“Alan, I know you feel obligated to your wife, but what we have is so real! Can’t you feel it?” Gwen demanded.

“I would never treat my wife so!” Lord Alan roared. There was, again, no sign of dishonesty. “Get this harlot out of my house!”

The sound of a slap, a muffled cry from Gwen, and then sobbing. Alexander could not distinguish false crying from true, not by sound, but Gwen’s crying sounded genuine.

The front dor opened, startling Alexander out of his trance. The sounds inside the house dropped away, and his eyes opened. Gwen was lying on the path, a red mark covering her face.

Alexander waited for the door to close, then ran up to Gwen, helped her stand, and walked her to the main road. She had mostly regained her composure by the time they reached the road, though her eyes were reddened and the mark on her face was still enflamed.

“Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve been slapped like that,” she commented.

“Oh, Gwen. Still able to be sarcastic,” Alexander said. “Let me look at that mark.

Gwen let him touch her face, though it obviously pained her. Alexander focuses one last time, though he was growing extremely tired. His ability to heal was very weak, but for this, it should be enough.

Wind began to swirl around the two of them, a reaction to the power he was using. Every action caused a reaction; hearing lies and increasing his hearing were very passive things his blessing allowed. Healing was one of the most active abilities he had, and his lack of training made him sacrifice a lot of energy for a simple process. The reaction was an agitation of the weather around him.

But the red mark on Gwen’s face faded to invisibility. The redness of her eyes also diminished. She took in a deep breath, and Alexander took his hand from her face.

“You…might need to get some training for that,” Gwen said, her voice unsteady.

“I’m sorry, did it hurt?” Alexander asked.

“No, no…it just feels very…odd,” she assured him.

The two of them began walking. It was about an hour past noon, and Gwen would need to be at the inn. Alexander had basically finished his investigation, and with a storm blowing in would need to close his practice.

Neither of them noticed the figure in gray following them.

*****

Devon walked into the transit tower. He walked up to the clerk, a woman he didn’t recognize. Even someone who used transit towers as often as he did couldn’t know everyone that worked there, especially when clerks didn’t have to be Kosmima gemsmiths or adepts.

“Can I help you, sir?” the woman asked. She was a very small girl, with shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. She wore the outfit of a gemsmith in training, a brown smock over dark pants, with the Kosmima glyph stitched in white over the left breast.

“I need to go to this location,” Devon said, handing her the card from Judge Nitsin. The girl opened a book that matched the one from which Nitsin had copied. Once she found the page she wanted, her eyebrows shot up, but she gave Devon a destination card.

“Go to the third departure circle, please,” she said. Devon was surprised, since it normally didn’t matter which circle he used, but he nodded and thanked the girl before walking deeper into the tower.

The third circle had a much shorter line than the other two. Devon only had to wait for two people in his line. He handed the adept at his circle his card, and he gestured for Devon to enter the lampstands.

Te teleportation process seemed completely standard to Devon, until the part where he normally whited out. This time, his view of the tower fragmented and shattered.

Images whirled around him. He floated in a black void, unable to move or speak; all he could do was watch as the visions flashed through his eyes.

A ship floating through the air

The night sky on the ocean, constellations lit up like burning lamps

An inn with a staircase leading up to an outside door on the second floor

A ship, this time on the ocean, burning with blue light

A map, crisscrossed with brilliant gold and blue lines

With a snap, and a roar that sounded louder than anything Devon had heard in his life, he arrived.

He stumbled out of the arrival circle, clutching his head. Waiting hands caught him, supporting him while he recovered his balance.

When he felt like he could stand, he brushed at the hands and they released him. He opened his eyes, not sure what to expect.

He was in a room that contained only an arrival circle. Directly in front of him was an older man sitting in an armchair. Devon, recalling, his instructions, pulled the envelope out of his satchel and handed it to the man. He took it with a nod of thanks.

A hand on his shoulder turned him around. Devon blinked in surprise. Around the arrival circle, four Kosmima adepts stood where lampstands would typically be. They were wearing medallions of agate set in gold, and each held a chunk of topaz in their hands. The adept with Devon gently ushered him into the circle.

The adepts began to hum, and their medallions glowed with a spectrum of colors. dEvon felt the vibrations of a teleportation roll across his skin, and as it came to a head, he braced himself. Just as before, instead of a white flash, a series of visions imposed themselves onto his mind.

A hammock strung under the stars, two bodies sleeping peacefully within

A kettle screaming

A man with black hair and stubble, kissing a woman with very short blonde hair in the rain

A blond man with long hair and a dark brown coat holding a searing blue flame in his hands

Just as before, he didn’t arrive so much as crash land. He stumbled forward, and was again caught by waiting hands. The dizziness didn’t seem to last too long and he managed to open his eyes and walk on his own in a minute or so.

He walked out of the transit tower, remembering to wave at the clerk. It never hurt to be on people’s good sides. He began to walk aimlessly; his mind was still shaken by that strange experience.

Had he just performed an inter-city jump? Or even an inter-continental jump? He’d never been on one of those; his year-long membership was only good inside Port Nanfula. He’d never even spoken to someone who had been on one. Well, in person at least. Probably a couple of his clients had.

Clients. Why were clients important? Did he need to do something about a client? Was a client going to give him something?

He looked at the sky. The sun was setting. Was there something important about the sun setting? All he could think about was the visions he’d just experienced. They were images, but he’d heard and felt them. He’d experienced the feeling of energy on the ocean, the passion of the two lovers, the rage and regret of the blond man.

He wondered who the blond man was. He had looked so angry and determined, and yet Devon had felt a powerful feeling of despair and loneliness coming from him. And what had those ships done to be flying through the air?

His dizzy ruminations were interrupted by a sudden shout and a body crashing into him. Caught off guard as he was, he collapsed to the ground, his assailant on top of him.

“I’m so sorry,” Devon gasped, pushing gently on the person to help him or her up. The person atop him pushed their hands onto the sidewalk and met Devon’s eyes.

His. Definitely a man. Devon didn’t get past his incredibly blue eyes. They were so entrancing. But, rather than stare into Devon’s eyes for eternity, the man pushed himself up to his feet and offered Devon a hand. Devon allowed himself to be pulled up and got a better look at the man who had knocked him down.

He was tall, very tall, with a muscular build and a square face framed by a wonderful black beard. He was wearing a sailor’s uniform – dark blue shirt with gold buttons, matching canvas pants and sturdy black boots.

“Sorry to run you down, maybe watch where you’re walking next time, eh?” the man said. He spoke very quickly; Devon had to concentrate to pick the words apart. By the time he’d figured out a response, the sailor was already on his way, whistling cheerfully.

Devon stared after him for a moment, then looked around. His bemused wandering had gotten him to the harbor district, about fifteen minutes’ walk from the central transit tower. He must have been more addled than he’d thought.

He looked up at the sky, which was darkening rapidly. The sun had fully set.

“The trinket!” he gasped out loud. He stomped one foot and a circle of yellow light sprang up around him. It woulnd’t be visible to anyone but another Petra. He focused on Gemsmith’s Row, the street where all trinket shops were located.

From the golden circle under his feet, a line of light shot out. It ran northwest, climbing up onto a roof, then leaping into the air.

Devon drew strength into his legs. To his eyes, a fine golden mist filtered out of the ground and into his muscles. He took off running, following the map lore. The golden line would guide him on the most direct route to the trinket shop, which would close soon after sundown.

He leapt, traveling an inhuman distance to land on the roof of a house. The map lore continued, bouncing from roof to roof. His ability knew instinctively how far he could jump and safely land, so he didn’t slow or hesitate, even when he was leaping across a major thoroughfare.

From the harbor district to the merchant’s district would normally take at least twenty minutes by road. Devon flew from rooftop to rooftop, above the notice of pedestrians. People in the buildings he used as his highway might notice, but he was traveling so fleetly no one would catch him.

The golden line abruptly dove down to street level, ending in a golden disc. Devon leapt, twisting gracefully in the air to land on his feet. He landed squarely on his target, which flexed and absorbed the impact of his landing.

Before dismissing the map lore, Devon thought the phrase “Judge Nitsin’s trinket shop” with a peculiar emphasis. A shop front to his left lit up with brilliant gold light. Devon smiled, and stomped his feet again. The light winked out.

He walked casually into the shop, even though he was buzzing with adrenaline from his rooftop journey. Business was all about keeping a calm, cool front no matter how you felt.

As he walked into the store, he noticed tha the few clerks that remained were all staring at him. As he strolled to the counter, he realized he was covered in sweat and his clothing was wrinkled and disheveled.

His primary blessing was Petra, a connection to rock and stone. However, everyone with a blessing had at least a tiny ability with all four aspects of their deity, Atmos or Terros. Devon could barely make a gemstone flicker, but he had enough sway over his Panida aspect to override his body in certain ways.

He smiled at the clerk manning the main counter, a young woman with dark hair and pale skin. At the same time, he drew strength from the stone floor and forced his body to reabsorb his sweat.

He immediately began to overheat, his body feeling like he had dropped into a tub of ice. The power of rock filling his skin kept him from falling over and vomiting all over the storefront.

“May I help you?” the clerk asked, looking somewhat confused. Maybe she’d noticed the sweat disappearance. Devon couldn’t spare any attention for an aura, so he simply got down to business.

“I’m here to pick up a trinket for Devon Knowles,” he said, smiling ever more brilliantly. His head was starting to spin. “Can you get it for me please, darling?”

The woman snorted, but turned away. While she wasn’t looking at him, Devon let the pores on his arms go. Sweat burst out of his skin so fast it literally jumped away from him, and his head cleared a little. When the clerk began to turn back, Devon clamped back down on his pores.

“Emerald and pearl, set in silver, to be worn on the wrist or hung around a likeness,” the clerk recited, handing him a package of brown paper. Devon accepted it, tipped an imaginary hat, and turned to walk out the door.

The room tilted crazily around him. He yanked moer power out of the stone floor. The more he pulled out, the more visible it would be, but as long as he maintained control long enough to get out of the store, he would be fine.

He stumbled when he hit the door, and when he left the store the type of stone under his feet changed. For one second, the strength of rock inside him failed. His vision blacked out, he stumbled a few steps to his right before collapsing to the ground, and his limbs started to spasm. As his mind fogged, he lost control of his skin. Steam burst away from his exposed skin, and his clothes were immediately soaked.

His mind cleared as his body vented the excess heat and toxins. He was lying facedown on a gravel road. Gravel was not the best stone in the world, but as he drew in power, he wasn’t going to complain that the road wasn’t paved in granite.

He got to his feet. He’d somehow managed to get far enough away from the trinket shop to not have been seen. He checked the package in his hand, making sure that it hadn’t been damaged, and dropped it into a pocket of his messenger bag. He began walking in the direction of The Laughing Maid. He didn’t invoke his map lore; he was so exhausted that even strengthening his body by drawing on the road barely kept him awake.

There was a transit tower just ahead. He made a snap decision. He’d talk to Sarah in the morning. He turned into the transit tower and headed home.