Efrain stewed in the gondola as it passed the historic district’s crimson gates. It was certainly an interesting mess he’d stumbled into. A boy, unfavoured by many, suddenly getting into a fight, then getting ill, and then getting poisoned to death? To be certain, his assumption could be wrong, but combined with Clara’s insight he doubted it.

 

The boat rounded another turn and Efrain thought about what he was going to say to the matriarch. He wasn’t exactly sure what impulse had led him to seek out the Eisen. Perhaps it was a mixture of courtesy and liking of the old woman, or perhaps she was simply one of the few in the city that he both knew and had invested a modicum of trust.

 

Either way, he turned over the events in his mind, wondering how to deliver the news. His disquiet deepened as they finally approached the steps leading to the Eisen complex, Efrain making an effort to appear casual as he strolled up to the door guards. He paused just before going in, turning back to look at the network of canals and tall buildings.

 

Why did he feel so… unsteady? There was a hovering sense of something over the city, events clashing and coming apart with increasing turbidity. Efrain couldn’t articulate the sensation, but he held profound certainty that something larger was very wrong indeed. Shaking his head, he pressed the door guards, who recognized and let him in.

He was informed by a maidservant that the matriarch was out, but left instructions that he should be welcomed. Efrain was sat with a fresh pot of tea in a lavish guest room off the main foyer. It was almost another hour before the door slid open beside him. Aysatra and Aya both entered, wearing wear of green and gold, wrapped in coats to stave off the morning fog. Both sat and graciously accepted the tea Efrain had kept warm.

 

“Well,” said the matriarch, “I trust you’ve got a good reason for interrupting my rest.”

 

Efrain glanced at Aya, analysing the changes that finding her family had wrought on her face and body. There was a reminiscence of tension in the shoulders and face. Still, for all that, she seemed far more settled than the frightened girl that he’d met only two weeks before.

 

“It concerns the Madros boy, who was struck down by illness,” Efrain said, leaning back on his haunches.

 

“Has he finally kicked the bucket?” said Aysatra casually.

 

Efrain stared at her, noting the annoyance rather than shock or concern in her face.

 

“He was doing better, contrary to my expectations,” he said carefully, “but yes. He passed this morning, after a sudden relapse.”

 

Efrain placed careful emphasis on the last words, hoping they would provoke a reaction from the older woman.

 

“Aya, why don’t you change into something more comfortable?” she said slowly, “I need a few minutes alone with your master here.”

 

Aya flushed slightly at the mention of Efrain as ‘master’. She nodded, saying her goodbyes in as fluent formal Karkosian as she could, and left the room.

 

“Alright, out with it,” said the Matriarch, taking a long drawl of the tea.

 

“The initial infection was benign,” Efrain said, “I confirmed it as best I could. The boy was recovering. Both me and other healers agreed.”

 

“There’s a ‘and yet’ here,” she sighed.

 

“And yet he suddenly took a turn for the worse,” Efrain said, “and what should I find but a pinprick in his swollen neck, that was not there before.”

 

The matriarch’s expression darkened and she set down the cup with tight fingers.

 

“You know I don’t care much for delicacies,” she said, “speak plainly.”

 

“The boy was poisoned in the midst of his recovery,” he complied, “I’m almost certain of it.”

 

“Almost?” she snorted.

 

“Enough to come to you with suspicions,” Efrain said.

 

“Well that’s very gracious of you,” she said, getting up, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to-”

 

“There were priests, and other healers in the room,” Efrain said, “they suspected poison as well.”

 

The woman paused in a painful looking half-squat at the words.

 

“The parents were only hours away. I imagine if they’re not here already, the sister has been sent for. I tried to buy as much time as I could, but I don’t doubt that one of them will crack soon, if they haven’t already.”

 

The matriarch lowered herself down to the ground slowly, looking older and more tired than before. She took a moment to compose herself, taking another deep draw from her tea.

 

“I see,” she finally said, “and what do you expect me to do about it?”

 

“Do as you see fit,” Efrain said, “I did not come to offer counsel. You know the city and its people better. I came to give you as much time as possible.”

 

She sat for a while longer, looking into the black pits that constituted Efrain’s eyes.

 

“I appreciate the warning,” she said, mouthing the words over, “you’ve done me a favour.”

 

Efrain shrugged. He knew at least partly this was motivated by a desire to gain such favour with a greater house. He tried not to acknowledge his deeper liking of Aysatra, or of his intuition about the city’s preternatural status.

 

“It was the least I could do. I’d rather there not be a house war in the city, at least not while I’m in it,” Efrain said, getting up, “now, I best be along and tell the commander about this. I’m sure that it’ll force another chink into his plans, if he has any left.”

 

“That one’s a schemer,” Aysatra sneered, “I doubt you’ve scratched the surface of what he means to do.”

 

Efrain paused to wonder at the venom in the woman’s voice. Was it simply that he had tried to keep the matriarch’s granddaughter from her? It felt like an incomplete answer to the scorn she expressed. There was something deeper here, something about the commander’s own history.

 

“You should stay with us for a time,” she said, “my granddaughter speaks enthusiastically of your tutelage. Continue it, if you are willing.”

 

The words were constructed as an offer, but the tone suggested a command.

 

“I would be happy to teach Aya,” Efrain said simply, “although I should be getting back to the academy. There’s much work to be done there, if you don’t object.”

 

Aysatra nodded and waved a hand to dismiss him.

 

Efrain left the Eisen house, uncertain of what he wanted to do next. There was the interminable task of correcting his many, many past errors. They seemed to lack substance or import at this moment. He crossed down to the waiting gondola, preparing to step on and direct him back to his offices. But before he could take his second step onto the boat, Efrain noticed something.

 

Some distance beyond in the canal, perhaps ten or fifteen paces, a tiny wave was cresting.

 

Efrain stopped, staring, straddling between the gunnel and the waterside step of the Eisen house. The boat man was staring at him, confused at the hesitation. Efrain tried to convince himself that it was merely a trick of the light, but upon closer examination, his suspicion was confirmed.

 

Other waves were continuing on, passing between various moorings and lapping at the stone siding of the canal. That one wave, however, was stilled, not stopped, but arcing in such a slow manner, flecks of water flung away from it. Efrain was struck with a terrible sense of anticipation, of things that were coming to a head, that events were beginning to accelerate to some end he could neither see nor understand.

 

As quickly as the impression had come, it vanished, the wave slumping down into the water around it.

 

“Sir?” the gondola driver said in accented continental, “are you ready to leave? Did you forget something?”

 

“No, no I…” Efrain said, staring past him for a moment more, “it’s nothing. Just a trick of the light. Take me to the academy, good man.”

 

It was perhaps an hour later, Efrain sunk into the fifth book of corrections and annotations, when there came a knock on the door.

 

“Master Efrain?” came the voice of the fat Mentor, “there’s a young lady here to see you, by the name of Aya.”

 

He opened the door a crack and pushed his face to whisper to him.

 

“She’s the Eisen heir,” he said with a note of fear in his voice.

 

“Well aware. Apparently I helped make it happen,” Efrain said, waving him away, “send her in.”

 

Aya was ushered in, along with a guard in the polished bronze and pearl of the sand-shell legion. He took up a position near the window, standing entirely silent as he regarded Efrain impassively. Aya sat, nearly huddled in the chair before his desk. Before she might’ve looked around her with discomfort or wonder at the room’s finery, slumped her shoulders to make herself look smaller. It was a common enough feature that Efrain had quickly come to expect it, even with the little time he’d spent with her. Now, her back was a little straighter, her head held a little higher.

 

Your grandmother works wonders. Barely two days and she’s already got you sitting with dignity, Efrain thought, shaking his head.

 

“So?” Efrain said, moving several stacks of defunct documents to a waiting pile and opening up a new sheet of paper to scribble at.

 

“Grandmama… I mean the matriarch said I should continue my lessons with you,” she said.

 

She didn’t even stutter or slow at the word ‘grandmama’, Efrain noted, laying the pen down. More importantly there was a continuation of the previous conversation he’d had with Aysatra in the words. Efrain thought he perceived a slight undercurrent of ‘she needs everything she can get’.

 

“Of course,” Efrain said, clearing a space on his desk as he moved towards the bell.

 

The mentor had somehow installed it in the brief time that he was away - a burnished brass piece with a red tassel. It had a full resonant tone, lower than one might expect from its size. Efrain didn’t like it but it did its job well enough, tackiness aside. A young student came bursting into the room, bowing his head to the guest and her seashell guard.

 

“Here’s a list of objects I’ll need as soon as possible,” Efrain said, handing him a torn note with his writing on it, “now, in fact. If anyone wonders what you’re doing, give them my name.”

 

The student nodded and ran out of the room, clutching at the paper like it was sacred. Aya stared at him, and began to giggle.

 

“What?” Efrain said, as he laced his hands together and stared at the young girl.

 

“It’s just,” Aya said, eyes gleaming with amusement, “I’ve never seen you like that. Giving orders.”

 

“You don’t think it suits me?” Efrain said, cocking his head.

 

“I didn’t say that,” she protested, “I just said it’s new.”

 

“Indeed,” Efrain said, “and how is discovering that, for all intents and purposes, you are a merchant-princess?”

 

She cringed slightly at the words, yet at the same time drew herself tall. Efrain chuckled at the motion, almost hearing the old woman’s rebuke.

 

“It’s… like something out of a fairy tale,” she said, “I don’t know if I’m dreaming or not.”

 

Efrain straightened out some piles, trying to sort out the interminable mess he’d already created. He seemed to have a more critical eye for it, after all, it reminded him of the… For an instant, a different office flickered in front of his eyes. Larger, with more shelves, large windows obscured by red curtains. Efrain did the ethereal version of a blink, trying to refocus his vision and hearing.

“Huh,” he said, “a dreaming.”

 

“What was that?” said Aya, frowning at the distant tone of voice.

 

“It’s… well, it was a principle of early Church mysticism. They were very concerned with the import of dreams. Dreaming was considered a sacred act, one that broke down the barrier between body and soul. ‘A conduit to understanding’, they deemed it. I’m sorry, I don’t know why it came up.”

 

Aya sat and digested the information in silence. Before she could ask another question, as Efrain was sure she was, the student popped back in.

 

There was a small wire of copper, a small white feather, and a fist-sized clay ampule filled with sand. Aya frowned at the introduction of all these new devices, Efrain smiling internal at her confusion.

 

“Today, we’ll learn another set of fundamentals. To put it simply, we’ll talk about how materials interact with magic.”

 

He hoisted up the copper wire and the feather, waving them in front of the young girl’s face.

 

“The principles are fairly simple. Different materials ‘conduct’ magic differently, just as heat transmits differently through iron versus crockery. I want you to touch the copper wire.”

 

She put out a finger, touching it cautiously to the end of the copper wire. Efrain let the smallest flow of pure magic transmit through the metal. Her eyes widened, no doubt feeling the slightest of tingling at the edge of her finger.

 

“Now, I want you to try doing that. Don’t try for anything specific, just let magic flow,” Efrain said, “the previous process I taught was a framework for creating specific effects. Spells, some call them. This is more basic than that. Just feel the power within and direct it.”

 

Aya closed her eyes, and in a moment, Efrain felt a tingling in his own fingers. Suddenly, with a savage push, he created a current in the metal, Aya’s flow vanishing as her hand jerked back.

 

“Ow!” she complained, “what was that?”

 

“Magic, when interacting with any material, had a ‘direction’ and ‘potency’,” Efrain said, “be it in the air, or your own flesh, or a piece of metal or stone, those two qualities always exist. You push in a direction, with a certain amount of potency. Hence, it stands to reason that if someone was pushing in the opposite direction with the same or greater potency, your flow would stall.”

 

“I felt it!” she said, eyes now glistening with excitement, “it’s like someone flicked my finger, hard.”

 

There was some mock reproach in the words, which gave Efrain another chuckle.

 

“Here’s another principle. Magic does not vanish into nothing,” Efrain said, “it must come from and go somewhere. If you are adding magic to a material, it is like adding water to a cup. The water does not vanish. Touch the wire again.”

 

She did, watching to see if Efrain would touch the other end, but he kept his fingers interlaced on the desk.

 

“Now, quest within it,” he said, “can you feel anything?”

 

“Um,” she said, frowning as she focused on the metal, “no I… wait, there is something. It’s an odd feeling. Like…”

 

Her frown deepened as she tried to describe the sensation.

 

“Like a layer of oil on a pot. A residue. And… oh. It’s gone,” she said, glancing around.

 

For Efrain the sensation of held magic was more like rust, or some dusty crust on the material to be scrapped off. The synergy with her origins gave him even more amusement. The perception of magic came from the mind, after all, and the mind was influenced by the life of the person that owned it.

 

“Principle four,” Efrain intoned in all the solemnity of an academic, “nature seeks balance. Areas of high concentration will seek areas of low concentration. That copper wire leaks magic quickly to the air, just as it would heat. Magic leaves the metal, and joins the environment.”

“And finally, principle five,” Efrain said, picking up the feather, “there’s a discrete amount of magic that can exist within an object at any one time. What do you think happens if that amount is exceeded?”

 

Aya sat, eyes hooded in thought as she stared down at his desk.

 

“If magic is like heat…” she began slowly, continuing when Efrain nodded, “too much heat and a pot would warp, or melt.”

 

Efrain nodded once more, the embers of pride beginning to smoulder in his chest. He held up the feather off the side of his desk, and poured magic into the object. A shudder ran up the feather, Efrain kept pushing. There was a distinct burning smell, and Efrain kept pushing. Lines of light began to open across the stem of the feather.

 

With a loud crack the feather disintegrated, black ash raining on his desk as a powerful wave of magic rippled through the room.

 

Aya sat, wide-eyed, staring at his now empty fingers.

 

“That would be flooding,” Efrain said simply.