âReally Maâam? Bellivelles?" Clem squinted his eyes on the cleared patches, on the new and obviously just tiled dark soil. Twenty maybe thirty bell-shaped buds was sprouting. Their silver stems curved almost shyly inside the medlarwood fence.
âAnd with the red golden pollen, even!â he remarked, almost gasping a full breath. In a distance of course, itâd be a crime to let his expulsion dirty such gems; fragile and young as they were. Half of them just began to grow their first sepals.
âThank you dear,â she said, laughing âputting down her soil-trodden trowel back into the earthenware bucket. âItâs very nice of you to say it. That old fogey of mine could learn one or two things from that mouth of yours.â she shook her head, laughing. âNice, nice, nice. That all he ever said about my flowers!â
âAh.â he raised his index finger, grin plastered on his face. âI believe thatâs because Mr. Miller knows that the flowers were pale comparsion to the hand that grow them, Maâam.â
âOh you! Always a charmer.â she smiled. âWill you also enter the fair this calendar, then?â
âWell,â he paused. âIâve been growing couple pots of Eanu. But after seeing your Bellivelles, Maâamâ âhe pointed at the wind-swayed budsâ âIâm not sure it why I even bother. And here I thought Iâm being clever.â he laughed.
âEanu was a very fine choice, dear,â she said taking off her leather gardening glove. âEveryone so obsessed with appearance. But we knew that wasnât all there was, right?â
Clem smiled and nodded, echoing Mrs. Nora sentiment proper. That why he chose to plant Eanu this year after all, he couldnât compete in the appearance, not when he had delverâs pay and delver timeslot. But he knew if he could showcase the other aspect âthe scents that most contestants tend to ignore, he could at least cinch honorary mention, maybe even third place.
âIâll tell Don to brought his big blowers. The man never used it anyway. That way all of us could enjoy your Eanu.â she smiled, taking up her bucket and beckoned him to follow her to the left belvedere, just under the hanging Marsi-Grassi vines.
âAnd what a delight would that be.â she sat, gesturing him to follow suit. âPareen would score you high just based on that!â
âNot as high as your Bellivelles, Maâam.â he laughed, half-closing his mouth. âBut thank you.â
âYouâre welcome, dear.â
âThe Belliveles. Has it began to ring yet?â
âOh, I wish! But they just arrived two weeks ago. Just a week before that horrendous, horrendous blockade. Not even my grandfather letter could cut the fee into sense. Five times the normal, would you believe that?â
âAbsolutely Maâam. I heardâ âhe lowered his head in conspiratorial whisperâ âMrs. Carmell grove soilâs shipment got held too. The merchants said itâs âtoo dangerousâ because the blockade cause increase of bandit attacks.â he chuckled. âBut when do we donât have bandits?â
âYes, when do we donât have them? They always around, those vermins. Poor Carmell. She should have just ceded.â she poured a cup of still warm meil, sliding it to him. âTrue the fee was ...unreasonable, but thatâs just that. Unreasonable. Not prohibitive. Still that how it is with that woman âalways matter of principle.â
âYes, it regrettable.â he nodded, thanking her for the offered cup. âLimallene was lacking without the blessing of the grove soil.â
âYes, yes. And here I thought we would finally see the famous double rainbow this fair. How unfortunate.â
âMaybe the next one, Maâam. Mrs. Carmell is principled but even she wouldnât waste a seed for an obvious failure.â
âYes.â she nodded.
âSpeaking of the soil. Would your Bellivelles be fine, Maâam? I heard itâs a bit ...finicky?â
âOf course,â she said, smiling. âI already had dispensation for the [Green Growth], a little cut on my point total, but itâs fine. The flowers more important.â
âGlad to hear that.â
âAlthough,â she paused, taking off her Arpie-adorned cloche, pointing to the bright silvery patches ten steps over. He swore he could almost hear their light, feathery ring. âItâs unfortunate that we donât have spring here.â
âIf only so, I could grow them into seven blooms!â she smiled. âWell, fortunately, the end of shower was pretty lukewarm. We could at least witness five blooms.â
âHaha. Come on Maâam. Fortunately? That might fool Sir Tom, but Iâ âhe flicked a mana spark, shooting it out between the finger-sized, shutterâs gap to the covering tarp that shrouded the Bellivellesâ âwouldnât be so foolish to believe so.â he grinned, watching as the weaved cloth burst with light blue shine, displaying the [Dirt Trapping] enchantment, the [Warm Air]âs rune that fashioned the whole patch visible just for a breath
âAh Clem, must you?â she smiled. âThe adventurersâ rough rubbed on you quite thick this season donât they, dear? We do a little bit more tact here if you happen to forget.â
âItâs simply an honest observation made by an honest man, Maâam.â he giggled. âWould you fault me on that?â
âOh, you! I wonât outtalk you, will I? Well, what brings you around this so early? I presume just not to tease this poor woman?â
âOf course not maâam! How could you label our pleasant conversation to suchâsuch rapscallion thing! Teasing? I would never.â he winked at her.â But yes, I admit that I do have an obligation to attend this morning.â
âAnd what would that be?â
âOh, just some shopping. Grocery for the week.â
âRight, right. I sometimes forget you still a ...fine young man. But really, I thought I heard that one of yours, what do you say it again? Team, yes, team, one of the girls in your team said to be your beloved lovââ
âTeammates maâam. Teammates!â
âYes, yes. âTeammatesâ. Of course.â she winked back, which he fought for a three whole breath before his surging blood overwhelmed his face veinsâ defense; the former fell into an abrupt, steaming red.
DANG. DANG. DANG. DANG.
DANG. DANG. DANG. DANG.
Thank you!
âOh would you look at the time.â she turned her head eastward, toward the townâs bell. âEighth already? Hurry up then, lest all you got is remains, dear. Donât let this woman hold you up. â
âIt was a pleasant holdup Maâam.â he cracked another smile. âSee you next moon on the fair, then?â
She nodded.
With a slight tip of his hat, he bade Mrs. Nora goodbye, exiting her front garden, and walked toward the southwest corner before just fifty steps later, looped back to another block of the residential ânodding and smiling along the way.
And like with Mrs. Nora, he greeted and spoke with all the residents there. A bit of enthusiastic laugh, a little exchange of gossip, and of course small talks. After all, even with gravers contraptions and studentsâ half-bin discounts, all cost-aware Arâendalian loved to complain about the weather. Especially when the less troublesome showers so close to ending, just moons away before it would be replaced by the damn scorch. While the first one only needed a full warehouse of properly stored dried woods, the second meant spending pebbles upon pebbles every single day just to endure the noon heatwave.
And it continued. He greeted [Coachmaster] Simon who doing his weekly supplies, passed half-running Miss Ellis that once again almost late to the association meeting. He stopped and talked with either a prompt hi there, or in length of quarter of bell. He greeted all. From the all polite [Keeper] Beatrice to the avid, enthusiastic Mr. Tren. Often it was at such a length that he was inevitably invited for a meil and snack. Which he accepted of course, since unlike what he said to Mrs. Nora, today was not his grocery day. Oh no. He mixed that thing up. Sometimes on first, sometimes on fifth, sometimes he even bought two weeks supply in one day, making two trips since he refused to get a coach for such short distance. Regularity was bane for any self-respecting rogue. Especially after that damn ruling. And if his sense didnât fool him (which was pretty unlikely), he did need to waste a bell or two this morning. Depending on that boyâs persistence.
Waving his hand just around the street block, he walked east, exiting the last medlar-planted street âan almost invisible border between the residential and the Elm. And as he entered, around maybe a hundred steps in, he was struck by shouts, often and loud. People bargaining, [Peddlers] advertising, or just incidents âyoung [Coachmasters] and pedestrians bumping on very packed streets. Which made sense. After all it was produce days. And while the newly passed ordinance had banned dumping the fruit and vegetable bits by the roadside, a whole fifty calendars of history was not something that you could wash overnight. Literally and figuratively. And by literally he meant was the still wet and goopy street, the crevice between the stones was filled with black sticky liquid that the town sewer failed to completely drain. If not for the crowd, he'd slap a clothmask or at least pinched his nose. The stench was permeating. But he was still Clem. And Clem that people knew was always unbothered âskipping through the trough with smile. A puddle jump, a sideway pivot, a swallowed retch, it took him only three wicks to pass the busy market and arrived to his destination; the eastern neighborhood.
Contrast with the un-fun of Elm, the eastern inner was better. Way better. The road was paved and hummed. The first with carved river stones, the seconds with grand of magical intones. It was always a wonder wasnât it, he smiled. Visiting the academy. The air smelled of leatwood spring and the road to it was drowned in manalights. Almost as if it was middle noon of a scorch and not a cloudy morning, a bell after rain.
He spared a lookie to the left, to the right, and as inconspicuously possible, to the back. The pedestrians were few and mostly consisted of students ârecognizable by their gilded robes. No sign of the boy. Which was promising, since it meant that the damn brat was either bored, tired, or decided that his running around wasnât worth the bell. At least he hoped that was the case. Since there a real chance that the boy was just a distraction and he was followed by a higher agent. He shrugged at that thought, though. That was how it was, you know? Being outleveled. Not much could be done about it.
While it true that he was a rogue, he specialized in traps, not spying. 9 out of 10 who did basically get recruited at fifteen âa whole calendar before the minimum sixteen of the guild. Although if it only indeed the boy who followed him, he should only be a riser. Higher riser, alright, but still a riser. He meant it was kind of obvious, the brat followed him in thirty-forty-thirty downwind maneuvers. Which was just two level above âfollow from behind and donât get caughtâ. If it was him, heâd at least add roof jumping or looping-bumping to the mix just to throw the other side off.
He kept walking, three-quarters slower, pretended to be hit and almost hit by another passerby. Standard slow yourself down and observe. And true to that, by two streets and five unwitting victims later, he didnât saw any sign of the boy. Or anyone following him in fact. Well, some of the passerby âmostly the one who he almost hitâ gave him either an annoyed stare, a heckle, or for one really angry woman, a raised fist. But that was that. He sensed no movement. No pause. No shift in the crowd behind him. He bet the boy did give up, he smirked. After all he had been running him dried for at least three bells, talking to like ten people. staying in their houses âsnacking. Who wanted to hear people talking about the weather over and over?
Smiling, he continued to walk, avoiding puddles and running water from the remaining rain he barely managed to half-avoid by timely taking shelter on Mr. Tren. Not his shoes though, the thing was soaked, it sounded a sequence of weird squee-splish-splash-splosh, dripping it bits of water on the dried pavement. It continued for a long long steps, until all of sudden, it wasnât.
Climbing the raised bridge, he felt the bits of water on his wet cloth dried. One moment he was damp, his clothes sticking, his feet itching. Then, a moment later, he wasn't.
Carved on all surrounding street limestone, the steady glow and ebb of spellwork rune shielded each nook. It was nothing grand. Or so his party enchanter claimed. Just a tier-1, cantrip-bordering [Repel Water]. However, even he, a non-spellcaster could attest to its resplendence. It immensity and swathes that all-encompass. Those were not stuffs to be dismissed.
The water; the brackish rain, his clothes wet. All were pooling together. Forming a temporary web of puddles before slant of the sloped road drawn it to the roadside drain. It was quite pretentious, but as his party enchanter said, no surface water touch Everlight by chance alone. Not damp of your clothes, nor fall of the showers. All must glide down before the bubble border.
This of course was a far cry from the awe of true [Weather Control]. Few things were. Mr. Tren once said, laid inside the innermost keepheart of the empire's glace, the glistening stone shone like starry night. The gem was wrought from the lower floor of River Deep, pulling the whole north freezing gale to its core, allowing the Empire's southernmost cities to grow even most finicky Owsh on their biting field.
Yet the bubbles did mean something. Not that he was into it. But as a good rogue, at least those who want to get employed as [Trapmaster] delver, he attended a few classes on enchantment and spellwork here.
Most of the theory stuff went over his head. But he remembered this one in particular. Either because it plastered big on the library or that his introductory professor insisted his student to remember by repeating it once before each and every class. Both more likely.
It signified as the old man said, that Everlight was a conservatory. Unlike Caelfall or Lerwick, Everlight took a further step in preserving the ancient spell and old working, chiefly the yet to be understood ones, spawned from dungeons or old ruin.
After all, like stones and dirt, from desert to grassy hills, water did sweep all.
Even magic itself.
Thanks for the chapter