"We talked about this. Sergeant," he turned, "could you find padded gloves her size?" He turned back at me. "You wouldn't want to maim me, wouldn't you?"
"A little?" I said.
He kissed me.
"Always loved it when you were so bloodthirsty. But could you just not try to kill me?" he said, stroking my neck just like I liked it.
"If you are nice enough to me," I finally agreed.
After the warm-up, I considered my options. I'm a good fighter, but, admittedly, Jack is right. I always try to win with the least possible effort — so I always use all weapons available to me. But for the training, I had to remove even my shoes. The reinforced tip, heavy boots I always wore, were practical for daily use and could survive both a fight and even being stepped on by a horse. And were great in the lab, too, where I frequently handled corrosive chemicals. And while I respected safety procedures, some of my classmates… didn't.
Without weapons and tricks, Jack had an advantage. He wasn't stronger than me, that's true. But he had more experience in this kind of fight, and he was familiar with this place. And he was taller than I was. Now, sometimes tall people are more awkward, and greater maneuverability is an advantage. But Jack wasn't awkward, his well-trained body equally gracious in a dance and in a fight.
There was only one way to reduce the advantage his longer arms and legs gave him, which was to get really close to him. If he was at my punching distance, then the longer reach of his kicks would not give him the same advantage.
So, as I let the first punch glaze me, I got close to him — and stuck at that distance. It was almost like dancing a waltz — only we were exchanging punches. I did my best — but he managed to break off in the end, finishing me off with a symbolic kick to the head — which didn't hit me, but counted towards the points the sergeant was loudly counting.
"OK," I said. "I admit, you win at this kind of fight. Which is why I don't fight like this."
"Great fight, Detective," the sergeant said. Why did he always have to butt into other people's conversations? "You chose a great girlfriend. She almost won."
"Right," Jack said, hugging me, getting outside the ring. "You didn't let me win, did you?" he whispered into my ear.
I laughed.
"That's even funnier than that play," I told him after a while. "Letting you win! Why fight to lose? That's the most illogical thing I'd ever heard. Or did you think it was too easy? Because I could see that you were struggling, don't deny it."
"I won't. You were great. I can see why you ended up with so many assault charges."
"Which got dropped on mutual agreement," I pointed out.
"They did, didn't they? You always fought against worthy opponents."
"Yeah, we would all beat each other equally, so it was in the interest of all participants to not report. Anyway, it was fun. I'll go shower now," I said, getting out of his embrace.
"Let's go for drinks after this," he shouted at my back.
"Sure," I said.
16
As I started regularly going out with Jack, my absences at dinnertimes became more frequent.
"You seem to be much busier now, Miss Dana," grandpa observed, eating a bite of toast. "Are you spending more time with that beau of yours?"
"Well, yes," I said, taking another bite of bacon. Bettie had started to mix it up with mushrooms and spinach, to make it healthier, so I had to scrounge my plate looking for the tasty bits.
Grandpa nodded.
"He seems like a nice man, for sure. But are you aware that some men who would court you are doing so without sincerity?" he said, buttering up another piece of toast.
"You mean, do I know that sometimes people like me get assigned with spies?" I asked. He seemed so surprised, he didn't take a bite of the toast, looked at it awkwardly, and just placed it on the plate.
"They are not called spies, per se," he said, carefully stating his words. "Rather, 'supervisory advisors' is the term used."
"Yeah, I've heard that term. Nothing new under the sun, right? To recycle terms used by Inquisitors for prison guards."
He sighed.
"If you're aware of it, Miss Dana, then why are you going out with that young man? He certainly looks the type. Policeman, young, no family, with ambitions."
"Well," I said. "As you know, I'm not a mage, and I won't ever become one. While they might not have known about it and thought I was going to become a great mage-alchemist, they know better now. It's not like I've been hiding any great magical talents or anything. So there's no reason to get another spy assigned anymore."
"I wouldn't think I'd ever say that about a dark arall," grandpa said. "But it's a real pity you don't want to become a mage, Miss Dana. You certainly have the talent for that. You seem to have a lot of ideas that could truly modernize modern magic."
"I can do that without becoming a mage," I pointed out. "With your help, Gramps. Aren't you glad of being part of a revolution in magic? Speaking of the revolution," I said, fishing the last bit of bacon out of the mushroom-spinach mix, "I'd like to ask you a few more questions about the spells we practiced yesterday. You see, something just doesn't match between your description and the calculations I made."
"I'll try to explain it to you," grandpa said "but as I've already said, the terms used in describing magic are not very exact. You have to see it to understand what I mean."
"Well, you have to be a mage to see magic. As a magical person, I only ever get a vague feeling of magic."
He stood up and headed towards his office, where we did most of the magic discussion. I followed him.
"Have a nice day, Billie," I said to Billie, who had finished breakfast much earlier than I did, and had just been playing soldiers with the cutlery. "Me and grandpa are going to work. You go play."
"You should come play with me," Billie said.
I ruffled his hair, which started to become grayish. Sometimes I forgot he had a really old body.
"I will," I promised. "Tonight. I'll come, and we'll play with all the trains, OK? Now, go, be a good boy."
After which I run towards grandpa's office. He usually always made sure to say something before he left the table. Acting like that meant he probably had an idea he was thinking through.
The door was slightly ajar, so I didn't knock. Grandpa tended to find knocking more distracting than me entering and patiently waiting for him to pay attention to me. Which is what I did, sitting on the comfy chair I brought to the office and grabbing yesterday's notes off the desk. He was deep in thought, rummaging through his books and folders.
I continued checking the notes, writing the questions I had on the margins. It was never a good idea to distract grandpa when he was deep in thought. It was useless anyway and tended to just anger him.
"No, it's not! You could, with training!" he suddenly exclaimed.
I lifted my head from the notes, puzzled at the non sequitur. What was he talking about?
"Gramps," I said, putting all the notes aside. "I'm sure you've reached a brilliant conclusion to a question you think I've asked, but I don't understand what you're saying at the moment. Could you clarify, please?"
"Well," he said, pacing around the office. His strides were long, so even though the office was ten feet across, he did it in four steps. "You said only mages can see magic. And I remembered seeing some historical references about the times before the Inquisition. Apparently, as becoming a mage was quite dangerous, but seeing magic could still be very useful to avoid spots with wild magic and such, arall were trained to see magic."
Seeing magic would make my research go better.
"Do your sources also mention how this training worked?" I asked.
"They don't," he admitted. "But we can try using the same training methods that are used for those who have undergone Initiation. At least we know it is possible at all to see magic without being able to use it. The mechanism for that could be the same for both mages and non-mages. What do we lose by trying?"
&nbs
p; "Time?" I said.
"We're already wasting so much time with me trying to explain what I am seeing. Explaining the rainbow to the blind is extremely difficult. If we can make you see magic, then we can save a lot of time."
"But I don't want to spend too much time on it," I complained.
"Give me a day," he said. "Saturday. I'll prepare a bit, read some materials, and we'll see what we can do. If you remain unconvinced by the end of the day, we'll reconsider it."
"Deal." It was a long shot, but I could always try. Maybe it would be useful for work, too.
Friday was the first salary day, and I was quite excited. I prepared a report on the work I had done so far and headed to Captain Greggs' office. He hadn't given me an appointment, so I just knocked.
"Come in," I heard, and I entered. The Captain looked up from the documents on his desk. "Ah, Miss Bedwen, I see you are here to report?"
"And to get my first paycheck, sir," I helpfully reminded him. I would have done the work for free, anyway, but I wouldn't have signed any oaths of secrecy.
"There's no paycheck," Captain Greggs then said. Then he pointed towards the chair. "But, before you say anything, Miss Bedwen, let me explain. Sit down on that chair."
I sat, dumbfounded. What was happening? No paycheck? I wasn't going to get paid for my work? What was the point of this, then? If I wasn't going to get anything out of the work — no fame, no recommendations, and not even a paycheck — was it worth it to work on it just for access to secret information?
I had to admit to myself — yes, it was. To work on the secrets of long-lost alchemical civilizations, being able to access secret information (even if it was mostly dull reports on spouses accusing each other of infidelity and witchcraft), was a bit thrilling. But to admit it publicly — to let it be known to others that I was willing to work for free… The cost to my reputation and self-worth that would mean… So I had to get paid. Or I would walk.
"Now," the captain said. "I see by the expression of your face, Miss Bedwen, what you are thinking. But let me explain first. We will pay you for your work. In fact, let me get this out of the way first."
He pulled out his desk's top drawer a thick envelope and handed it to me. I took it and opened it immediately. It was full of cash. I carefully counted the bills. It was the salary that had been promised to me, in its entirety. I looked at Captain Greggs, expecting an explanation.
"As you already know," he said leaning forward in his chair, "this project is secret. We're studying the materials found in Forg island, and trying to decide what to do with them. But there have been many people in the ministry who have been trying to shut down this project, which is why we've decided to compartmentalize it."
"So, officially, I'm not working here?" I asked. This was something I'd only ever read in terrible spy novels. Could it be possibly true?
"Yes. Officially, you're not working for us. I personally destroyed your contract with us; there's no trace of you in our documents."
"So is this my severance package?" I asked, holding the cash envelope.
"No, that's your stipend. Your tax-exempt stipend you don't have to declare to the tax authorities."
"Cool." Who wants to pay tax, anyway? "Will I be receiving more of this stipend?"
"Yes. Monthly basis, as we agreed before."
"So I don't work for you, but you still want me to come to work… And I'd be receiving a stipend for working for you… How will you justify my access to the lab? I have to show a permit to come here."
"Don't worry, Miss Bedwen. We've got it all sorted," he said, sliding a folder across the table.
I opened it, examining its contents.
"Collaboration between the Intelligence Corps and me on the," I read slowly, “Decline of Alchemy in Ancient Yllam and the Legal systems that drove it. That seems to overlap my minor thesis quite well."
"Exactly. That's what we'll be doing. Of course, the results of your research won't be secret. We're merely offering some help in this, as the state of our alchemy is critical for our nation's defense. The decline experienced in Yllam a thousand years ago seemed to be quite sudden and unexpected. Can't have something like that happening in Kalmar."
"So, let me get this straight," I said, drumming my fingers on the desk. "I'll be working for you on the secret project, but I'll also write a report — for free — on a non-secret copy, which you'll submit to your superiors to explain what we're doing here."
"Well, yes. But you don't have to spend too much time on the report. You can just make it part of your overall thesis, a standalone chapter."
Great. As if my workload wasn't high enough. But at least the pay I'd get would let me have a face-saving justification to keep working. I really needed access to the archives.
"I see you've got a report of your work so far there, Miss Bedwen?" the captain asked. I handed him the file, with all the scant information I had collected on the history of the Forg islands, with all the mentions of ancient civilizations I could find. The alchemical analysis of the button was included. A simple plastic, nothing special. Except that it survived for a thousand years, in great shape.
He examined the contents of the folder. It wasn't very long anyway, so he went through it quickly.
"Great work, Miss Bedwen. A lot of work done in a month. I'm glad to have chosen you for this project. Keep up the good work." And he gestured for me to leave.
I left, still trying to digest what had just happened.
I don't know which shenanigans the captain is involved in, but it's not like the research I'm doing involves anything dangerous. It was so bizarre; the cash payment, the secrecy, the cover. All over a button found on an island on the Yllamese coast, thousands of miles away from here. There was no possible use in defense, or offense, for that matter. So I just decided to ignore it all. I wanted to keep access to the archives and being paid was nice.
I decided to not think about it anymore, pushing the issue to the back of my mind. After all, I had more pressing matters to attend to right now.
Such as grandpa's insistence on making me learn magic. Why did he insist so much? I had made my decision a long time ago, and I wasn't going to change now. I was an alchemist, period. If I didn't have it in me to become a mage, so be it.
Becoming a mage brought with it many obligations and responsibilities. The draft. Police control. Need for licensing. I would have to study at university for at least an extra year to get licensed. And then I would need to find a master to apprentice under. The apprenticeships for university graduates are shorter, at just three years, but still. I would have to listen to my master and obey. I would go from being a highly sought out specialist to being an errand girl, working hard taking care of a master. To learn to control magic. I didn't want to participate in that system at all.
So when I came to grandpa's house, I was really skeptical. After I spent way more time than usual eating breakfast (in which Bettie had conveniently hidden the bacon better), grandpa just stood up, full of enthusiasm.
"Let's go, Miss Bedwen. You promised me a day, so no time to lose!"
Why was he showing so much enthusiasm? It was quite suspicious.
17
I never thought learning magic could be this boring.
"Sit down," grandpa instructed me. "And try to feel your magic. It's spread through your body, unformed, at the moment. The Initiation creates the channels and concentrates it within you, making it usable. We aren't going to create magic channels. The eyes don't need a lot of magic. Just start feeling the magic in your eyes. Try to focus it on this," he said, putting a pendant on the floor. "This is an artifact. It's a very simple one, with large magic channels. It's used to train students; you should start to see how it works by the end of the day."
"You just want me to spend the day staring at this thing?" I asked, angrily.
"Not just staring; trying to feel its magic. You can feel magic, can you? Well, try to feel the magic in it; the magic in your eyes; make them interact," gra
ndpa said, taking a few folders from the shelves. "Now, concentrate; I'll work on my lecture plan. Our experiments have taken up much of my free time, I need to do some work."
"You could have said if you just needed some time to work," I grumbled. "Instead of trying to find an excuse to occupy me."
"Miss Bedwen," he usually became more formal when he was annoyed. "If you've got any questions related to this exercise, I'm at your complete disposal. So, what would you like to ask?"
"Nothing."
"Then start trying," he said, cutting off my attempts to slack.
I sat on the mat he had placed on the floor, staring at the pendant. Nothing was changing. I decided to do what he told me to; try to feel its magic. Like I had done with that button several times. I breathed, relaxing.
The pendant was quite easy to feel, alright. A simple artifact, he said? This artifact was an attack weapon, designed to throw fireballs at an opponent. Incredibly simple — and effective only against an opponent who doesn't have a shield artifact.
Unfortunately, the artifact was absolutely legal — you can buy them in any magic shop for a crown — and they were only useful against poor criminals. Which a mage with the age and skills of grandpa could easily defend against, anyway. So it probably was used by a servant — on market days, many undesirable characters filled the city. I couldn’t use it as leverage against him. A pity.
I opened my eyes and stared at it. Now it was a pendant.
"Try to feel and see at the same time, Miss Bedwen," grandpa instructed. Wasn't he supposed to be working on his lecture plan? I guess it was just about torturing me after all.
So I tried to do that. Feel the pendant with my eyes open, that is. It wasn't working — whenever I opened my eyes, I stopped feeling anything, and obviously, I couldn't see anything with my eyes close. Duh.
"The hardest thing I teach my apprentices, Miss Dana," seeing how grandpa was back to informality, he was happy with the effort I was making. "Is to not switch between the physical and the magical. The difference between the two is in your mind. In the world, objects have magical and physical properties, inalienable from each other. Thus, gold, the metal alchemists love so much, as it is easily shaped and purified, is also loved by mages for the same reasons. Ordinary people love it for its rarity and beauty; we love it because it can be used for many artifacts."
The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1 Page 13
