Fluid - 37

With the clear view through the window, I spot Irene handing over the tonic to Myrrine, and she catches Tasenka’s arm before she can head off with Myrrine. To outward appearances, Irene is chatting casually with Tasenka until Myrrine is out of earshot; it’s only then that tight notes join Tasenka’s song. When Tasenka goes pale and puts a hand over her mouth, it’s clear her condition wasn’t an attempt to catch the adventurer into marriage. A bit embarrassed, I exclude her from Resonance’s field and turn back towards the library’s shelves to give her privacy.

When I’ve finished adding a few hundred books to the library, Irene’s still not returned. Unsure when she’ll return, I complete the books I’m working on and create a group of a dozen language primers by the main doors. With their spines identically styled to the rest, I set an embossed bronze sign to catch attention and set restrictions within the texts, ensuring they’ll return to the library and those exact shelves.

With my mother’s temple so close, it’s easy to hear the quartet of familiar songs and head that way, though a path past the inn’s windows wasn’t perhaps the wisest of choices. A hurried theme spiking with sharp notes and a harsh beat alerts me. Rather than ignoring him and continuing, I turn and wait.

Better dressed than many of the villagers I’ve seen, the man’s apparel is still modest, and I can smell the ale and spirits that permeate the cloth despite being washed. Earthen-toned shirt and pants made from some of Zosime’s better fabric, though a few years old with seams stretched from frequent washing.

Given the descriptions I’ve heard, I can only assume he’s Georgius. A lean man, the garments hang loose around him; whatever he did with the excess profits from cramming adventurers into rooms didn’t go towards a surplus of food. His hair is nearly solid grey with only a few brown strands salting the mix, a hue that goes along with his dark brown gaze and olive skin. Though I can hear his annoyance, he gives me a gap-toothed grin that doesn’t hint at it, insincerity and nerves colouring his tones erratically.

“You’re Georgius, right? Can I help you?” I ask, though reasonably sure, I didn’t want to assume.

“Yes indeed. You’ve certainly done a lot of helping around the village already, Gailneth. I want to speak about the pricing of your dormitories,” states Georgius. “Apologies for rushing you, but I saw you pass the window and didn’t want to miss a chance to speak. You’re a hard person to track down,”

“I was just speaking to Irene earlier about some ways to help your inn, so this is good timing,” I say, and my statement causes his assessing gaze to start wide open.

“Ways to help?” asks Georgius, and as quick as the startlement appeared, it shifts to a suspicious gleam.

“Yes, how you could make more coins off your rooms without packing people into them. I hadn’t expected so many people to leave the inn given the dormitories, as you call them, are little more than shared barracks.”

“Well, when you have them priced at a pittance, it is bound to happen,” accuses Georgius.

“Have you been in them? They’re all single beds, hard mattresses, and thin blankets with a central aisle. There is just enough gap between beds for two people to sit facing each other and not get in each other’s way.”

“With multiple large washrooms with flowing warm water attached to the barracks and toilets that whisk the waste away better than even in roman cities,” argues Georgius. “I’m lucky anyone stayed. Especially considering what you call hard mattresses aren’t stuffed with rags or straw, and thin blankets are fine in a room that’s constantly a pleasant temperature.”

The aspects he points out I admittedly hadn’t considered in my pricing.

“How about I add similar facilities to your inn and help set up fancy rooms to earn you a higher return?”

“How much would that cost me?”

“Far less than you think. Though I’d prefer some improvements also involve Yianni and his apprentice, and their efforts you’d have to pay for,” I reply.

Georgius’s gaze sharpens. “What did you have in mind that would need their help?”

“I’ll set up pipes from upstairs, but they should be put behind a false wall by Yianni when they come out the end of the building. You can pay to get rid of that outhouse at the end of your inn,” I say, motioning to the partly covered building where straw flooring handles the overflow. “That will allow you to extend the building and add extra rooms. The pipes will put the waste into an underground tank where it’ll be incinerated, and then send the ash to a collection point for farmers to turn into fertiliser.”

Georgius waves his hand towards the front door in frustration. “If I’ve barely any guests, what the point in extending and upsetting those I do have with noise and mess?”

“You don’t have to extend immediately, but it’s better to plan for it. Also, outhouses like that are breeding grounds for illness, so it’s best to get rid of it soon,” I explain. My explanation cools Georgius’ ire a fraction, though more because the frustration in his gaze is replaced by disbelief. “Has Alfarr mentioned the likelihood of higher-level adventurers utilising the Sanctuary’s annex?”

“He did,” admits Georgius begrudgingly.

“Unlike in the past, adventurers turning up won’t be restricted to the summer and spring for the best-paying jobs. They’ll be coming and going all year round, so you won’t have the lean months you were used to having in business.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The energy of the annex is continually creating more beasts and plants. High-level adventurers from the north can come here to avoid the snow, yet both profit and progress their classes. More than a few can likely teleport and come here even if there is a quiet period when hunting is bad and jobs are light,” I reply, pointing towards my mother’s temple. “I was just going to speak to Grand Traveller Aggie and her companion Pitnari; come along and ask them if they agree.”

“I’ve heard they’re friends of yours,” Georgius says, his smile still firmly in place. “Will their account differ?”

“I don’t know, nor am I experienced in the north; what I said was what Grand Master Hasusar pointed out about the flow-on impacts of Sanctuary,” I admit, and his front falters when his jaw drops in surprise at my admission. Is it that unusual for someone to admit they don’t know something? Or is it a noble thing among humans?

“When will they start getting here?” pries Georgius.

“I’m not associated with the Adventurers’ Guild; perhaps confer with Alfarr or Yngvarr to see what they’ve been told—it might help you plan,” I advised him and, at his dissatisfied expression, I share what information I do have. “All I know is that Hasusar and Alfarr were discussing several plans the other night. I don’t know if they’ve settled on any yet.”

“So you don’t know if they’ll arrive,” chides Georgius

A woman walking by on the other side of the street shoots him a look of shock but continues muttering about coins and fools.

“It’s a matter of when, not if; I’m sure you’ve heard details from the ventures they’ve made already. When rich adventurers get here—if we equalise the facilities—which do you think they’ll prefer sleeping in?” I ask.

His expression had been relaxing, but now the lines around his eyes deepened with his suspicion. “That brings me back to what you get out of it.”

“I’ve got a few requirements, but nothing burdensome,”

“Such as?” asks Georgius folding his arms as if bracing for the worst.

“We can discuss them later, and you can decide which option you prefer,”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Something to go into when we sit down and discuss the improvements to your inn. If Selene has said anything about our agreement, I think it would go along similar lines. A share of additional profits, not a share of what you’d normally earn for rooms. Though I’ll be asking someone to check the numbers as, it seems, I’ll need to do with Selene.”

“She mentioned profit sharing from her extra production,” admits Georgius, with a sudden cautious tone, and I listen closely to his song and catch similarities I’d not previously noticed.

“Yeah, which I’ve been told she’s avoiding by capping how much the family bothers to process each day. Something about keeping to what they could previously store, even though our arrangement is on the extra production. Not like she couldn’t have asked me to help store the extra,” I laugh, and Georgius’ face goes pale. “I listen and remember, Georgius. Did you want to come along and talk with Aggie now or later?”

“Ahh, I’ll leave you to it; I’ve got a few things to tend,” mutters Georgius, his music skipping about as quickly as the smile left his face.

“No doubt like talking to your relative Selene,” I smile. “Your songs are more closely tied than many in the village. I deal fairly with people when others deal fairly with me. And while I prefer to avoid more situations like Imhotep’s, I’m sure others might force my hand.”

“What do you need salt for?”

“Why should it matter? I like helping people, but I also object to being taken advantage of when an agreement has been made. It sets a bad precedent,” I say. “I’ve made salt harvesting faster and saved them lugging drinking water. I can understand they still have to scrape it up, and who wants to do much more of that, right? However, that she cut it off in a way that avoids paying me anything seems too convenient.”

With that, I resume my trip towards the others and leave Georgius to jog away. When I get close, I hear the others past the temple’s side wall rather than within the building. The sharp hum of Mana with airy tones signifies casting practice and, when I round the corner, I find it’s now Phile’s turn.

While Androkles looks on, Aggie directs Phile’s attention towards a series of targets made of wood, rags, and straw standing between the temple’s side wall and the back of a house. “The air blade won’t get through the barrier I’ve set; just focus on its formation and your target.”

Pitnari’s ears flicker, and he glances my way from where he perched on a stone-shaped bench—its formation left traces of Mana within the stone.

“Sorry to interrupt lessons. Can I borrow you for a minute, Pitnari?”

Pitnari’s muzzle curls, and his ears twitch. “I don’t know. It depends if you’re going to give me back.”

“After that joke, you can keep him,” Aggie quips.

“I’ll ransom him back for information about where to get a coastal map,” I offer.

Aggie gives me a smug smile. “At least we’re a step ahead of you there; we visited the cartographer for you.”

“Even paid full price to let us copy it magically,” explains Pitnari. The storage amulet at his neck chimes to me, and he presents me with a large roll of parchment.

“Do you mind if I borrow the refectory table?” I ask, restraining myself from snatching it from his hands. “I want to compare it with an older map.”

“How old is the map you have?” asks Pitnari, switching to Celestial.

Giving Pitnari a nod of thanks, I claim the map from him and memorise the roll’s song. “The peninsula was charted a few hundred years after their landfall on this continent. Hopefully—when combined with an account from a Celestial—it will narrow things down,” I explain and, ignoring Phile’s curiosity, reply in the same tongue.

“Whose account?” asks Aggie.

“I’m unsure if you met Amrúngwen; she’s the Ljósálfar who defended aunt Am during the trouble at Yngvarr’s house. She wears a chain hauberk and coif all the time, and she’s got distinctive burn scars on her face and arms. The scars are from an abyssal red’s breath weapon; she told me they refused to heal further despite the physical deaths she’s suffered since.”

“I know of who you mean, but I’ve not met her myself,” admits Aggie.

“Glad my description made sense, since there are dozens of names she goes by that I know and probably more I don’t.”

Giving them a wave, I head around to the refectory’s street door, and catch Pitnari following me in completely silent motions. “I didn’t adopt you; staying with Aggie is fine.”

My smart alec comment gets a raspberry from Pitnari, who’d silently followed in my wake. ”I want to see the old map; call it professional curiosity from all the charting of the northern mountains I’ve done.”

Laying the charts out on the table, the difference is dramatically worse than I’d feared but still better than searching the entire stretch from the Isil lands south. The peninsula in my old chart is only a stub, maybe a third of the length of the present day.

“She said they came in sight of land to the north of them the second day after the attack. But since they repaired and tended the wounded, say a day of sailing. How far can a convoy travel in a day?”

“You’d have to ask one of the Isil sailors with knowledge of the older vessels,” advises Pitnari.

“I was planning to poke my nose into some Isil communities and gather information,” I admit, and let unsettled flesh shift. Shifting into a male Cat-folk form, a light down of black-blue fur covers me from head to toe, and my ears move position; between one blink and the next, my eyesight gets better and worse. A Cat-folk’s peripheral and long-distance vision make hunting much easier, but I have to keep a distance from the chart to stop it from blurring. “Think I can pull off the curious cat routine?”

“Bad kitty. I’d suggest you pick another colour; black is good luck among many Basteti communities and catches the females’ interest,” notes Pitnari. “Or at least go back to being female.”

“Is that why you stayed black?” I ask and give an ear twitch to beckon him for info. “Does Aggie get jealous?”

“Brat,” chuffs Pitnari. “It’s not like that at all.”

“You’re blind if you can’t see her feelings for you, no matter the form you choose to use,” I reply, causing his ears to flick nervously even though his gaze locks on mine. Giving him a wink, I revert forms, but my body’s protests are worse from the short respite. “I’ve been forcing myself to stay in my Taurë female form, but it’s getting weird. Not uncomfortable, but weird; not sure how to describe it.”

“I’m listening if you want to try,” advised Pitnari, eagerly embracing the subject change

“It’s like I’ve got my hands clasped together, or a hand in one position, and I have to hold that pose no matter which way I turn. I’ll admit I never considered how much I shifted forms. Now I’m constantly trying to stay in one shape to avoid minor changes being noticed, and I’m feeling fidgety in my skin.”

By the end, I felt like I was rambling and let the hand I’d been waving around fall.

“What’s the longest time you’ve recently allowed yourself in a different form?”

“I stayed in my Anar form this morning talking to the Taurë royal couple,” I huff. “That triggered it; I hadn’t noticed the sensation of being fidgety until I changed back.”

“You’ve got at least two weeks because of Myrto’s and Nikias’ training routine. Sarah mentioned you’d given her control of the hall’s food enchantment. Spend the days poking into the information you’re after and drafting up search patterns for others to review, and shift back and forth to relax a bit,” suggests Pitnari. “You should see if you can get Protean to allow you to set a form template the way Amdirlain does. If you can get that working, there won’t be any differences.”

“The trouble with templates is that it returns you to exactly the same form. People’s hair should grow Pitnari,” I point out.

“You’re a Wizard—they’re always strange. I’m sure they’d think you’re using magic to keep your hair the same length,” refutes Pitnari.

“I’m not that vain.”

“Then why are you worried about people noticing your hair the wrong length?” laughs Pitnari.

“It ruins the details of the disguise, of course,” I huff. “And it’s not about someone else noticing—I’ll know it’s not right.”

“Yes, of course,” says Pitnari, and he only keeps a straight face a moment before he rolls his eyes.

“Thank you for the map,” I say and roll them up together. “I’ll drop by once I’ve got some plans together.”

“Do you occasionally slow down?” asks Pitnari. “Ras told me you’re energetic, but change sweeps around you, Gail.”

“What are you talking about? I am taking things slowly,” I refute.

“I’m not sure you or Amdirlain know the proper meaning of that word,” Pitnari retorts, and I blow a kiss his way before teleporting to the Guildhall. The clerk at the front desk isn’t one I recognise, but with their attention sorting through job cards, I slip past.

In the Guildhall’s training room, Ipy’s attention is primarily on Nikias and Myrto’s sparing. Though they’re both using training weapons, they’ve got their chain hauberks and usual shields. Nanoĸ watching from a seat along the chamber’s wall.

“Just having them spar with each other?”

“For now at least, while they get used to the changes from level increases. It’s a steady exercise with their skills so close to each other. Gives them a decent challenge and a chance of success,” explains Nanoĸ as the pair stop to get pointers from Ipy. “Ipy’s got a different fighting style to me, so we’ve been alternating instructors to broaden their techniques.”

“Did you want to see if some adventurers close to their level might be interested in sparring?”

Nanoĸ frowns and motions to the pair. “Neither are guild members; we’re stretching the rules enough as it is, letting them continue to use the training hall.”

“Then use the hall up at Sanctuary instead,” I point out, knowing the problem with that idea already.

“They’ve set that up as a dissection area, processing the kills out of the annex,” counters Nanoĸ, and he immediately frowns, realising the trap.

I press my point when he grits his teeth instead of acknowledging the situation. “So my space is being used for a function that benefits guild members, but Nikias and Myrto can’t use the facilities here?”

“Okay, fine, it’s a more than fair exchange given all the dissections and butchering,” grumbles Nanoĸ.

“What do you think about me posting some sparring jobs?”

“You could,” allows Nanoĸ, but he drags out the two words, drowning them in reluctance.

“I won’t worry if it’s a bad idea, but I would like to know the problems you see with it.”

“There are just some that would look to show them up, and grudges could develop,” advises Nanoĸ. “They’re not part of the local novices anymore and already have unusual status since they’re adventuring directly with you. The flip side is it would also risk destroying the confidence of a starting adventurer without their benefits.”

“Alright, I see what you mean,” I say, opting to let the matter drop. “Since Ipy’s running this afternoon’s training session, would you be open to coming to the Beastlands’ annex with me?”

The question nets me a look of suspicion. “What are you up to now?”

“Do I have to be up to anything?” I protest with mock innocence.

Nanoĸ snorts. “No, but you always seem to have multiple purposes for everything. Even when you tell us something, it seems you’re always holding back twice as much information.”

“I never leave out information that puts you in danger. I’m just not going to share my full life story or goals; I don’t ask for yours,” I point out.

“Yet you have ways to pry that I don’t,” argues Nanoĸ, his jaw clenching as he bites off each word.

Being reminded of my mother’s chiding has me wrinkling my nose. “I got out of the habit of doing that to people when I was a lot younger. Though I pulled a trick to dig up your name because you were so cagey about it,” I admit.

His grim look turns smug. “I wondered how you knew my name the day we met.”

“You were being a pain. I just wanted to avoid calling ‘hey, you’ if we met later,” I retort. “Anyway, I’d like to do a few things in the annex. First, I’ve not been in it, so I don’t know how big it is inside. The entry point might connect to a pocket area filled with the Beastland’s energy, be a Gate to the Plane itself, or be something else.”

“Yngvarr said he wasn’t sure,” advises Nanoĸ.

Nodding, I continue. “I have options that he doesn’t. Second, I want to put some transfer points in an expanding ring from the door. A mechanism to let people return to the furthest point they’ve been in different directions, so people aren't clashing over hunting or gathering spots close to our entry. Third, it’s a chance for some extra experience if we encounter something.”

“But you can hear what’s kilometres away,” notes Nanoĸ, his suspicious expression not having eased an iota. “What do you mean, transfer points?”

“How remarkable! Can I?” I joke. “Pylons to let people skip between locations they’ve previously reached to hunt or gather further from the entry. Anyway, it’s up to you if you want to progress your classes a bit. Or, if you only want to come for a stroll, we can avoid trouble.”

“Why do you need me?” persists Nanoĸ.

“I plan to use the Adventurers’ Guild token as a key to use them,” I admit.

“That’s useful and an interesting control. So you need me to come to test it out?” queries Nanoĸ.

“I’d prefer that approach, but it’s not like I can’t recreate the one I gave back,” I point out. “However, counterfeiting a new token after surrendering my original doesn’t sit right with me, hence the invitation. Why are you suddenly so suspicious again?”

Nanoĸ motions to his face, and for a moment, I’m hoping he’ll take up my offer to heal all his scars; then his expression tightening quickly throws cold water on that hope.

“I still can’t determine what you get from your healing offer. Or is it you can’t stand the sight of my appearance, your Ladyship?” asks Nanoĸ, and he tries to continue, but I get in first.

His use of a title causes me to huff in displeasure, yet the retort strikes a chord inside me; the way the word itches makes me realise the source of my fidgeting discomfort—I’m getting cooperation from two groups of elves because of my species, not for myself. I want someone to be interested in me for me, not because of family, abilities, or race. Elleth’s right—I cast a shadow. How do you get out of your own shadow so someone will see you?

“We got off to a terrible start. My offer to heal your scars was a gesture of cooperation, not a bribe for friendship or something else where I’m expecting a benefit. You don’t exactly strike me as the type whose respect is for sale.”

“Still, all the fuss about my appearance is typical of an Elf with fancy clothes,” Nanoĸ retorts with forced lightness. “You’ve still not worn anything suitable for the village.”

Playing along, I gasp in mock shock. “Do you think clothing can be ready at the snap of a finger? Are you some haughty noble?”

Nanoĸ gives an unhappy grunt. “Fine, use my own words against me; I now know you can create whatever you need. That is one of the few things I know about you, other than you also have powerful relatives, especially one doting aunt.”

“We’re still getting to know each other. I’ve not asked you questions about your past or family,” I point out. “Not because I’m not interested in knowing more about the team members, but we had a rough start.”

“Point,” allows Nanoĸ.

“Anyway, your choice if you want to come along,” I say and expand the offer. “Take some time to think of some questions. If you can ask them calmly and directly, I’ll give you a direct answer. If they’re something I don’t want to talk about, I’ll make it clear without half-truths or misdirections.”

"Alright," says Nanoĸ, and he stands. "We’re teleporting, I assume?"

I give him a warning grin.

We appear near Sanctuary’s reception desk to find Sarah and Ellother behind the counter, reviewing ledgers with Midyåci. The Outsider’s Human form and apparel look so normal that the dramatic presence of the others lets her blend into the background.

“Having fun?” I ask.

“Midyåci’s records are very different to those I’m used to, but I can see they’re far more efficient,” gushes Ellother, not looking up from the page she’s examining.

Sarah gives me a curious look. “Problem?”

Her question snaps Ellother’s attention from the page.

“Just feeling unsettled with all the focus on me for reasons I don’t care about,” I explain and slowly take a calming breath. “We’ll pop out into the Beastlands’ annex and set up some transfer points. Has anyone reported anything particularly dangerous out there?”

“Nothing someone of your level is going to have trouble with, but it can’t hurt to take support,” replies Sarah, glancing at Nanoĸ.

“That’s what I’m along for, and Gail’s testing a control mechanism for the pylons,” Nanoĸ replies.

“Have fun, don’t do many things that I'd do,” purrs Sarah.

“Please don’t ask,” I hurriedly say and head upstairs.