With everything progressing nicely, Jess had decided that it was time to get to grips with planning. Contractors had already been contacted to evaluate the land and price up her requests. The fiddly issue of what school supplies she would need still waited to be tackled.

Writing materials had been surprisingly easy to source but cost an arm and a leg to purchase. Getting used to the ridiculous feather quill was proving problematic as well. The damn thing seemed to have a mind of its own, twisting in her grip.

Jess cursed under her breath as she fiddled with the nib, checking once more that she hadn’t damaged it. No longer weighed down by her arm, the papyrus that she was writing upon attempted to return to its natural curled state. She hastily moved to grab it, and succeeded, but also managed to smear the inky words across the sheet… as well as her palm and wrist.

“Bother…” she grumbled as she sat back upon her heels. With a sigh, she realised this wasn’t working as well as she’d hoped. I need some weights.

Her room had little to offer so she scampered out and ducked into Mike’s storeroom. He had made sure to set back an excess of stock that would normally be dumped. The numbers of adventurers entering the store were still far greater than they had been before he implemented the new greeting but were more manageable now. Even still, almost running out of stock seemed to have put the fear in him.

A weathered hilt (minus the sword), a large green rock that was flat on one side and a heavy length of chain were gathered from the stockpile and Jess triumphantly carried the items back to her room.

“Perfection,” she whispered to herself as she set the items down to weigh down the edges of the papyrus, before setting back to work on completing her lists.

She was so enthralled in the task that she didn’t notice Mike’s entrance through the open door until he dropped the supplies that he had been carrying. Candlesticks rattled on the wood and an apple hit with a heavy thump before rolling towards Jess. The clatter caused her to startle badly, hand reaching to her chest as she threw herself awkwardly back onto her rump.

“Christ on a bike! You scared the hell out of me, Mike,” she exclaimed, nervously laughing with relief. When she was met without a response, she looked up to see Mike, rigid in shock and staring at the papyrus before her.

“You ok?” she asked tentatively, confused by his reaction. He was a stickler for neatness but surely a few papers wouldn’t be enough to ruffle his fur.

“Ye’re… writing?” he said with wonder, lifting his eyes from the chicken-scratch words to meet Jess’s.

Jess gave a nervous laugh. “Well… yeah? You didn’t think I was that work-shy, did you?”

“No. I mean… ye’re writing?” he said as he took a few ginger steps towards her.

“Yes?” Jess agreed, despite being completely baffled by Mike’s reaction. An ominous thought struck her like a thunderbolt, and she blurted out her question. “This isn’t one of those weird rules, is it? Like, I’m not allowed to write because I’m a commoner or an adventurer or something?” She stood, using the bedframe as support, to glance around Mike towards the door, ensuring that nosey customers weren’t overhearing their conversation.

“Jess. Ye’re a Zephyr,” he informed her. There was still a tinge of wonder to his tone, but it seemed to be sinking into a vat of concern.

Jess gave an exasperated sigh. “Ok. Explain, please. What’s a Zephyr?”

“Folk who can write,” answered Mike flatly, earning an eyeroll from Jess.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. Surely you can write too. I’ve seen you reading the papers down at the village hall, you can’t pretend you’re illiterate,” Jess probed.

Mike snorted heavily. “Reading ain’t writing. That’s like saying Nevin’s a chef on account of his good appetite.”

Jess stared at him, incredulous at the idea, but unable to form a coherent argument to challenge him. Mike refused to budge, crossing his arms, and boasting a determined look on his face.

“So… You’re genuinely telling me that if I gave you my quill and told you to copy what’s on my page on the line underneath… you wouldn’t be able to?” she said slowly.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” he confirmed, irritably. “Folk can draw or paint, but ye can’t write unless you’re a Zephyr.”

The scribbled writings on her page suddenly seemed a lot more dangerous now. Prometheus was punished severely for stealing fire from the Gods to aid humanity. What would my punishment be?

“Why’d ye need ribbons?” asked Mike. The question caught Jess off guard and she floundered for the reason.

“House colours,” she finally managed to reply.

“Would ye not be better off using paint?”

“No. It’s to sort students into groups. Just in case I get a lot of them. It’ll be easier if they’re all in teams. That’s why I need ribbons,” Jess explained.

“Red and Gold. Green and Silver. Blue and Bronze. Yellow and Black,” Mike said, listing off her notes. “Would it not make more sense to leave out the last one? All the others have a metal.”

“There needs to be all four. I can’t just leave out Hu-,“ Jess started before cutting herself short. “You’re trying to distract me. Why?”

She fixed Mike with a stare, and he shuffled back away from her and towards the door. It was difficult reading his expression, but Jess could see that he was looking more flustered than usual. Jess pondered briefly whether spending more time on farms would have benefitted her. Would a cow’s emotions be similar to a minotaur’s? Do they have a secret language like cats or dogs?

Without another word, he disappeared out towards the shop and Jess followed, concerned. The empty room was a relief but the way that Mike both closed and locked the entrance door set Jess’s heart racing. She stood watching at the counter, wringing her hands and waiting for whatever terrible news Mike was delaying.

With curtains now drawn, he ushered her upstairs into their shared kitchen area to take a seat upon a stool. The stove was lit with shaking hands and the kettle placed above, all whilst Mike took great care to stay away from the windows, as though any passing pedestrian might spot the guilt upon his face and report them both.

It wasn’t until they were both seated with a hot cup of herb tea that Mike spoke.

“Ye need to make sure that no other folk know yer a Zephyr”.

“I think I worked that out for myself,” Jess said flatly, though the snark in her voice couldn’t hide the worry lines upon her face.

“The Zephyrs… They used to be more common,” Mike explained. “If folk had an issue, they could go to the Zephyr and they’d write a note or an instruction for the adventurers. They could help with gathering food for the orphanages. Help deliver medicines or messages quickly. Every city had a Zephyr.”

“Where did they go?” Jess asked.

“No one really knows,” answered Mike with a deep frown. “The ones that remained were gathered up by the King and sent North. But…” The sentence was left hanging, causing Jess to grip her warm mug just a little more tightly.

“Are they… the ones that went North… are they ok?” she brought herself to ask, eyes staring blankly ahead.

“As well as they can be, I suppose,” Mike answered. “It put the fear in them. Folks say that the Zephyrs won’t write until the King orders it. They haven’t been seen outside the palace walls in years.”

A shudder ran through her despite the warmth in the room. Mike’s hand came to rest gently upon her shoulder, and she looked up into his concerned face.

“Are ye well?” he asked earnestly.

Jess gave a wry smile. “Someone walked over my grave, that’s all.”

The moment that the words left her lips, she realised her error. Mike’s alarmed expression only compounded her worry and she winced apologetically.

“My bad. It’s just an expression where I’m from,” she explained. “Not a current grave! Just a… metaphorical future one.”

“Explains a few things…” Mike said darkly before taking a sip of his tea. A delayed outburst of a high-pitched giggle from Jess caused him to startle. He scowled, looking down his front where dark spatters of liquid were beginning to spread.

Still giggling, Jess managed to eke out some words. “I’m sorry! It’s just so ridiculous.”

She put her hands to her face, resting her elbows upon the table whilst Mike stepped away to find a cloth to dab at his tunic.

“There’s magic and weapons and Heaven knows what,” she said, speaking through the gap between her palms. “But writing? It’s writing that’s dangerous?”

“Maybe it is,” answered Mike. “Maybe it isn’t. Either way, just make sure that no one else knows ye write.”

“Aye aye Captain,” Jess agreed glumly.