When Eliza went to check on the boy the next day, she’d been preparing to, gently, break it to him that the Sylvan book was a hoax.
She didn’t know what to say, not exactly, but she knew why he wanted that book. It wasn’t to be a monkey or even an eagle. The memory of the boy holding the dress up to himself, it hadn’t looked like he was playing, or he was curious. He’d looked sad and depressed.
It wouldn’t feel right, pressuring him into admitting anything. She wasn’t a Church confessor. She’d just have to give him time and hope he would trust her. He almost had, hadn’t he? When he asked about being turned into another person, there was only one spell that did anything like that.
But first she’d have to figure out if she could even do it, the gender spells were, quizzically, the last in the book. It seemed to have something to do with the concept that gender is, at some level, more fundamental than species. After all, even insects are divided male and female.
Of course, if that were the end of the story, Oliver should have been happy with the way he was. The fact that he wasn’t, well maybe that’s why the spell had been created in the first place. No one who was hungry would shrug their shoulders, say ‘That’s just the natural way to be,’ and then starve to death.
They’d eat some damned food, she thought, and then she walked in to find a chimpanzee quietly sleeping in Oliver’s bed. Eliza gasped—then chuckled, realizing she’d told him monkey, not ape, and hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed.
The chimp opened his eyes.
“Oliver?” she asked.
Climbing out from under the covers, the chimp plopped off the bed with a thud. Then struggling to pick himself up, he fell over his own legs and tripped on Oliver’s night shirt before he gave up and just sat in the middle of the room.
Staring at this animal, Eliza’s brain couldn’t quite register it as being Oliver. She felt silly as she spoke, “You know, I’m beginning to think that book might be real. So, I guess you’re—we’re—going to have to get used to this, just for a bit, until I’m ready for the next spell.”
Still in disbelief, she found herself wondering if he was going to reply in perfect Norian or grunt like an ape. Instead, he made a sort of slurred growl, “Ow, Ooh Eags,” in the same cadence as, ‘Yes, Ms. Scaggs.’
Eliza lost it in a giggle fit as the chimp stumbled to the mirror. He examined himself, making that frustrated scrunch face that Oliver did sometimes.
“Just remember, this is only for a little while,” she said to reassure him… and herself. “You do seem the same size, so I think matter was preserved.”
The chimp shrugged back.
“I know, I know, it’s not the most pressing issue to you, but if you weighed any more or any less now than you did before… Well, it would have strange implications. Conservation of matter and all that. Whatshiznam’s dragons stayed the same size too.”
“Erp epp. Erp, ah,” said the chimp.
“Oh,” she sighed. “I think you’re going to be writing a lot of notes, but first, how about some breakfast?”
? ? ?
The chimp glared at her from across the kitchen table.
“Would you like a banana?”
He let out an annoyed huff.
“Oh come on, it is a fair question. Actually, I’ve been wondering how much you’d change mentally. I’m guessing not at all?”
The chimp shook his head, then picked up a roll, pulled it open, and buttered it with a knife.
After breakfast, they went up to the library where she sat him at the desk and watched him attempt to use a pen. It shot out of his fingers several times, and several more times he ripped right through the paper.
“A bit clumsy, is it? Makes sense, sometimes when kids hit a growth spurt, it takes a while for them to get used to their new proportions. I might have some experience with that. But I can only imagine what this must be like for you.”
The chimp nodded.
“Well, keep at it, but I wouldn’t force it. Every few hours try writing again and see if it gets any easier. Oh, and don’t forget to scrub the blast chamber. Do not think this gets you out of any chores,” she added with a hint of snark.
“Ow, Ooh Eags,” grunted the chimp.
? ? ?
It wasn’t any less weird the second day. Oliver wasn’t acting like a chimp at all, and while this reassured her that he was still himself, he didn’t appear to be having fun with it either.
Around noon she checked in on him as he was cleaning the blast chamber, and realized he was back to using a mop and bucket.
“Oliver, use your spark.” She approached him.
He made his scrunch face, angrily mopping at the wall.
“Are you having trouble with your spark?”
He nodded.
Worry hit. She tried not to overreact, scared of scaring him. “Interesting… I’d be shocked if it was anything besides the transformation. But keep trying, and if you get it to work, let me know straight away, all right?”
In the back of her mind lay the possibility, the fear, that the transformation had somehow extinguished his spark the same way it happened to adults who neglected theirs. It wasn’t really justified, given that this was Sylvan magic, but the sooner she had evidence she hadn’t harmed the boy, the better.
There was a knock at the door, loud and confident.
“Can I help you?” she asked, opening it, and groaned once she saw who it was.
“You certainly can, and you certainly must. I’ve come to make good on our arrangement,” said Thelemule, dressed in an electric-blue suit. Then politely removing his jaunty top hat, the old wizard gave a bow and tried to walk right in.
“Now’s not a—very good time.” She held up a hand, and he plowed into her, bouncing back.
“You don’t expect me to wait while you hide all your good books, do you?”
“Good point,” she said as he tried to push past her again. “Nevertheless, I’m with someone.”
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow. “A man or a woman?”
“A client, and we’re dealing with a very delicate matter.”
“I’m not sure whether I believe you.” Thelemule glanced past her.
“And normally I’d be offended—but it’s you. Look, I swear, I’d let you in, except I’ve got someone here who didn’t agree to you poking around in their business. I’m sure you understand.”
And when she tried to close the door on him, he jammed one of his legs in. “Tomorrow then,” he said.
“That’s not—”
“Tomorrow then. And I expect to have the run of the house.”
She couldn’t really blame him. She would hide everything if she could, but what he very politely hadn’t said was ‘tomorrow then or he’d bring up the matter with the council of wizards.’ And given her status with them…
“Tomorrow then,” she groaned.
“Bright and early.” He turned and left.
Oliver was cleaning the blast chamber, hanging off the edge of a stone in the wall, which reminded her of a chimp she’d seen in the circus.
“Getting the ‘hang’ of it?” she asked.
To her surprise, he didn’t give her the slightly annoyed look that had been on his face all day, but nodded and dropped to the ground, landing perfectly on his feet… or paws?... or… whatever?
“And your spark?”
The chimp moved close to the wall, pointing his palm at it, and despite scrunching his eyebrows very hard, nothing happened. Then a few seconds later, tiny specks of ash flitted into the air. Much weaker than normal, but it was something.
“That’s a relief. What did I tell you? Just temporary.”
The ape looked at her with great concern.
“You’ll be fine. Hey, it looks like we’re going to have company tomorrow. We need to talk. How’s the writing going?”
Stolen novel; please report.
Oliver nodded, and she led him up to the library desk.
“First of all, how is everything, any problems?” she asked.
The chimp clutched the pen like a hammer and very slowly, very carefully scrawled, ‘OK.’
“Is it fun swinging and grunting and everything?”
‘CAN STAND DONT LIKE,’ he wrote.
“Awwww, sorry about that. Do you want to do the reversal? It might take a day or so, or… we can keep going?”
‘KEEP GOING,’ he scrawled.
“All right, but we have a problem. I owe Thelemule a day in my library, which he is dead set on collecting tomorrow. Actually, he tried to make it today, but if he saw a chimp doing chores… Well, I didn’t want him messing with you.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “I’m about ready for the next spell.”
His ears perked up.
“We have a couple of options. I was thinking it might be good to do something inconspicuous, because, you know, Thelemule.”
The chimp nodded.
“So, I could turn you into a hound…?”
He made the scrunch face.
“I mean you’d be a big dog, the same size as you are now. And that way I might even be able to take you into town?”
‘WHAT ELSE?’ the chimp scrawled.
“And you could even be around Thelemule without him suspecting a thing.”
The chimp underlined ‘WHAT ELSE?’
“Or a cat…”
The chimp motioned her to continue.
“Of course, it would be a very large cat, roughly the same size as a person.”
‘WHAT CAT?’ he wrote.
“Something called a snow leopard.”
He circled, ‘CAT’
“Are you sure? I mean it’s not like I could—”
He grabbed her hand and pointed the pen at ‘CAT’ again.
“All right monkey, that’s what I would have picked too.” She tousled the fur on the top of his head. “But we’re going to have to figure something out about Thelemule.”
? ? ?
That night after putting the chimp, soon-to-be-snow-leopard to bed, Eliza set to work transforming herself, albeit in a different fashion.
Scrutinizing her own reflection once she was done, her eyes darted from the low-cut peasant dress, to the red-painted lips, to the gold ring around one finger.
She practiced winking at herself, but it came off looking more like a facial tick, so with a shrug and a sigh, she headed out.
She’d been spending two or three hours each night at the docks, and while she didn’t want to be mistaken for a prostitute, she did need to blend in. So she’d taken the persona of ‘Lizzy,’ a sailor’s wife out to have a ‘good time’ while waiting for his return.
Oliver had said his stepfather usually went by ‘Messer’ and his ship was ‘The Snipe,’ but also that the man switched aliases often enough that this wasn’t exactly useful information. That, and Messer claimed titles at random, everything from sergeant to viscount, but most often baron.
So, after a long walk through several dark back alleys—practically daring someone to mug her—she was at the Spitting Dolphin, chatting up one of the barmaids. And though Eliza had had a bit more to drink than she was used to, having acclimatized to the bookish lifestyle, some of her old habits were returning as ‘Lizzy.’
She was sitting on the quiet end of the bar while the barmaid, a young blonde, leaned against it, edging ever closer.
“So, when does your husband get back?” The girl, she’d forgotten her name, twirled a lock of golden hair around one finger.
“Maybe in a week or two?” ‘Lizzy’ looked away, her cheeks warming. Was she actually blushing?
The blonde’s eyes glistened as she stepped in closer, brushing shoulders ever so slightly. “I could never marry a sailor. I’d be too lonely.”
Quivering at the touch, Eliza reminded herself that this was a distraction, that she really ought to get back to the task at hand, and—then the girl nudged her with her hip.
‘Lizzy’s’ heart fluttered. “Um…” She squirmed in her seat. “What do you think of the fire witch?”
“What, old haggsies Scraggsies?” The girl reached over and began twirling a lock of ‘Lizzy’s’ hair. “Why do you want to talk about her?”
Eliza closed her eyes, giving into pleasure as the blonde picked at the waist of her dress, pulling at the fabric and then releasing it, tickling her ever so slightly. Then the girl’s arm slipped around her waist and drew them together.
“It’s just, I thought she might be able to help me with my husband,” ‘Lizzy’ said and, trying to regain control, Eliza reran the blonde saying ‘old haggsies Scraggsies’ over and over in her mind. She pushed her drink away and straightened up, so that the girl’s arm no longer rested on the small of her back. “Maybe make him afraid to go out on the ocean.”
The blonde slid a hand up ‘Lizzy’s’ side, then along her collar until it rested on her shoulder, while gently bringing a thigh into place between ‘Lizzy’s.’ “Now why would you want to do that?”
Breath came hot and fast—It really had been too long. Trying to snap out of it, she thought of chimp Oliver asleep in his bed…
“I get lonely without him,” ‘Lizzy’ whispered.
“There are ways around that,” the girl whispered back, touching ‘Lizzy’s’ ear with her lips.
Imagining what those lips would feel like on other parts of her body, she conjured Master Gregory’s face into her mind: His bald head, his salt and pepper beard. He frowned at her from two decades away.
Eliza reared her head, staring the girl down. “Ease up, would you? I’m trying to have a conversation here.”
The girl blinked and straightened up.
“Look, maybe we can do all this later, but come on, the night’s still young.” Eliza winked, though it looked more like a facial tick.
“Oh… okay. If you really want to know about the witch, ask Miranda.”
“Who’s that?”
“See the redhead at the end of the bar?” The girl pointed to a woman drinking alone. “One of her regulars has a son, works for Scraggs.”
Eliza plucked the blonde’s hand off her shoulder, held it longingly, and let go. “Hold that thought,” she said, and then she went to talk to the other woman.
“Buy you a drink?” Eliza asked.
The redhead looked up from her mug, revealing a black eye, swollen shut. At first, Eliza couldn’t stop staring at it, but then when the woman opened her mouth to speak, all she could see was her broken front tooth.
The redhead pulled back, lowering her lip to hide it, and dropped her gaze back down to her mug, expecting the conversation to be over.
“What are you drinking?”
“Just ale,” muttered the woman.
Eliza motioned to the bartender. He sat a mug in front of the redhead, who looked up and said, “Thanks.”
“Well, I do want something in return, if that’s okay? Information.”
“About what?”
“The blonde, she said you have a client who knows the fire witch?”
The woman trembled. “Messer… he did this.” She pulled her lip up, just for an instant, exposing the broken tooth.
“Why?”
“He was drunk. Said I was the dumbest…” she trailed off in shame.
“You know, I don’t like him either.” Eliza patted her on the shoulder. “He owes me a debt. I don’t suppose you know where he went?”
The woman shook her head. “All he said was that he was sailing east.”
There were any number of trading towns that way and three nations within a few days sail. “That doesn’t narrow it down much. Any idea when he’ll be back?”
“No, but I think he left his son here.”
“You know Oliver?” Eliza felt her eyebrow arch.
“Ollie? No, him I kind of like. I meant Rafe, his older son.”
“Did he kick him out? Rafe, I mean.”
The woman shook her head. “Doesn’t seem like it. He comes by here, always has coin.”
“Know what he’s up to?”
“No.” The woman looked down. “He won’t talk to me anymore. Not since…” She ran her tongue over her broken tooth.
Given the stakes, Eliza should have pressed, but it seemed like she was having a tough enough time as it was. “Thanks.” Eliza nodded, and the woman quietly got up and left the room.
Taking this as a cue to be heading home herself, Eliza got halfway to the door, then let her attention wander back to the blonde. As their eyes met, the girl licked her lips.
The blonde approached, hips swinging. “So, where were we?”
“We were… are very, very flattered.” Eliza exhaled. “But I have a sick boy at home, so I really need to be going.”
“Oh.” The blonde relaxed, breaking the seduction. “Come by when your son’s feeling better, okay?”
Hearing those words, ‘your son’, disarmed her… but she had taken him in, hadn’t she? He wasn’t just some boy she paid to clean the lab… but then, what was he? She nodded blankly and stepped out the door.
On the pier, the red-haired woman from inside was sitting on a barrel, saw her, and turned away. In the harsh amber light of the overhead spark lamp, her eye looked like a black pit.
“I’m sorry about what Messer did to you.”
The woman huffed, shoulders clenching. “A guy gets drunk, and leaves me like—like—for what?” She bared her broken tooth.
Reminded of the stockings she wore to cover the burn scars on her legs, Eliza thought of how her spark protected her, of how without it… Well, she wouldn’t be so chevalier about taking back alleys.
She felt under her skirt and reached into her pockets. There were ten gold sovereigns there. Did her money make her feel like she was better than regular people? Better than this woman, Miranda, crying over a broken tooth?
As she pulled it out, Miranda’s eyes darted to the gold.
“There’s a dentist, a craft mage, on Crowning Street.” She held out the coins, waiting for the woman to raise her hand. When she did, Eliza laid them there. “He’s a real miracle worker. But don’t tell anyone, all right?” She gave a toothy smile.
Miranda stared at the gold in disbelief. “Who are you?”
“Would you believe, I’m horribly ugly Witch Scraggsies?” Eliza snapped a finger, sparking a flame in the palm of her hand and—
—A flash, bright as the sunrise, came from out on the water—
In the harbor, orange light blossomed from a ship, tendrils of fire entwining a vessel, then exploded.
A wave of pressing heat filled the air. A low rumble reverberated off the water.
“Bastard’s Verse.” Eliza’s jaw dropped.
“Wait, so you didn’t…?”
“No!” Eliza glared at her. “I was just going to, you know, show off a little. Parlor tricks—not that. I don’t do that sort of thing.” But she did, didn’t she? What else could the flame bloom possibly be for? Her arms dropped as she took in the burning hulk.
People flooded out of the tavern, pointing and swearing in awe, speaking in words only a sailor would use, in voices that sounded like scared children.
And in the distance, screams died in fire.
? ? ?
Eliza returned home to find a man sitting in the lotus position on her front stoop while glowing stars connected by fluorescent lines, constellations, rotated around him.
“Scaggs, thank Songs for you!” said Drake and, rising to his feet, the constellations faded from existence.
“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling queasy.
“I’ve been running around all night. Surely, you must have heard?” He seemed excited.
“I just came from the docks.”
“So, you saw it? The ship, I mean.”
She nodded her head, then shook it. “A lot of people died tonight. Innocent— ”
“No.” Drake waggled a finger. “Not innocent. First things first, did the ship get away?”
“It was… incinerated.” Shock hit home as she spoke the words.
“Good. Look, I’m not supposed to talk about this. But, seeing as you’re probably very confused and have a lot of questions, we had a break-in at the guild tonight. We’re still investigating, and even if we do find out what happened, we can’t share everything with you. But your project, along with others, was stolen. If anyone died, it was the thieves.”
“So, I killed a bunch of thieves?” Eliza asked, still depressed.
“I’d think of it more like this: A bunch of terrorists stole a shipload of weapons, and before they could harm anyone, they blew themselves up.”
She relaxed a little. “That’s great Drake, but I don’t know if I have the nerve for this.”
“You saved lives tonight.” He forced a smile.
“It sure doesn’t feel that way. I don’t know if I want any part of this. I don’t know if I can keep… working on ‘it.’”
His eyes flinched before softening. “Understandable. I’m not trying to force you into anything, but don’t do anything rash. Take some time off, think things through. That, and rest well. You may have just saved the empire tonight.” He flourished a finger. “But don’t expect any medals, because, you know, we can’t talk about it.”
Eliza let out a tired breath and, before she knew it, Drake had stepped forward and was giving her a warm hug. It felt awkward. She wished he would stop.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“You looked like you needed one.” He pulled away, smirking ever so slightly. The whole hug felt disingenuous, but that was Drake for you. “Just do us, the guild, one favor?” he added.
“What?”
“Be ready to return to work, as soon as you decide it’s the right thing to do. We may need you.”
“All right… can I go to bed now?”
Drake nodded, bowed deeply, and sauntered away into the night.
Doing the math in her head, it was a twenty-minute walk between the docks and her house, and about a forty-minute walk from Drake’s. Did he leave for her place before that ship blew up? And if so, how long was he waiting?
But… he had said he’d been running around all night, so maybe he’d been nearby? She had to imagine he had ways of communicating with the rest of the higher-ups at the guild, and maybe some magical way to travel? That or he’d just taken a fast carriage.
Regardless, it was a relief to have someone tell her she wasn’t responsible for that ship, even if she didn’t quite believe it.
https://discord.gg/fQtFt2sYdf (There is some exclusive content on Discord, but it's best to read the entire book first)
What would a fitting punishment be for Messer?
