§103 Avimore III (Patreon)

That evening, Taylor went fishing in the river branch running through Avimore. The waterway was as desultory as the rest of the lower city, bricked in on both sides, forming a deep channel twenty-five feet wide. The water had a slight stink and loitered on its way through the capital. He didn't hope to catch any fish, and wouldn't eat any if he did. For that matter, he wasn't even using bait. He had a large hook on the end of his line, below a heavy weight, and his pole was a praxis capable of hauling large fish out of the water.

All he had to do was toss his line anywhere at all, reel it in a little bit, and he snagged onto something heavy every time. One after the other, Taylor hauled up tangles of metal wire, snags of rope, a half-decayed wagon, a sack weighted with rocks and bones (not human), a surprising number of iron-shod wheels, a crate of defective wands, rusted swords, mats of soaked leather, another sack of bones (human), and every other thing people wanted to discard and forget about.

"Excuse me, sir, but I have to ask you to stop what you're doing." A warden of some rank had crossed the bridge to talk to Taylor, with several more behind her. They came armed with pistols, magic devices that could duplicate a Rock Shot spell. 

"Am I breaking a law, Madame Warden?"

"You're littering."

"I'm littering?" Taylor laughed. It wasn't aimed at the warden, but surely she could see how absurd the claim was. The woman shot a gimlet eye at the pile of refuse behind him.

"Oh, that. One second." Taylor opened his satchel and sucked everything into his monster-material compartment. He didn't want the trash mixed in with his valuable monster parts, but he wanted it mixed in with his books even less. "Is that better?"

"It will be, if you stop fishing."

"I think we both know I'm not trying to catch fish, Warden … "

"Hill. Warden Hill. If you're not trying to catch fish, then what are you doing?"

"I'm finding out how dirty the river is. I'm wishing now I hadn't asked."

"Then you won't mind stopping."

He considered the woman. Had she come here of her own accord, or had her superiors made the absurd request? Either way, she looked deadly serious in that practiced way of someone used to using their authority. He could continue to banter with her, or just keep fishing and see what happened, but did he care enough to find out? 

"I'll stop. I learned what I wanted to, anyway. It's pure filth, but you already know that." Taylor cleaned the rod and line with magic and stowed it in his satchel. He bit back a few choice comments about fishing up old skeletons, but it would cause more hassle than he had time for. He had a major quest line he was stuck on, people to teach, rifts to close, and an eight-pound gemstone he was supposed to grow but didn't know how to yet. He couldn't do all of that and keep up with his own training. 

Mata'ari was a great spirit. He had people. If he wanted his channel cleaned badly enough, he could find a way.

"You can go," Hill said to her followers, and they dispersed in pairs. She watched them leave until they were beyond hearing. When they were alone on the bridge, she asked, "Why is the Divine Envoy fishing up trash from our river?"

"Why is your river so full of trash?"

The warden stared at him hard, with a look of impatient authority. "Wen-Mata'ari asked me to take a look at the channel and maybe organize a cleanup." To her questioning stare, he explained, "Mata'ari is the great spirit of the Sunglaze River."

"You know the great spirit," she said in disbelief. "You just happened to be talking one day, and he asked you to clean up the channel?"

Taylor shrugged, as if it could happen to anybody. "But if it's going to turn into a big political issue and get me involved with imperials, I'll tell him no. I literally have more important things to do. Imperial city, imperial problems." He looked out over the sluggish water. "May I ask you a question?"

"I don't promise an answer."

"Why are all the trees cut down in the lower city?"

"Blight." She stood next to him and watched the river plod its way through Lower Avimore. "The city used to be famous for its trees. In spring, they bloomed with these bright yellow flowers. The pollen got everywhere and turned the whole town yellow. For a few days, all the trees dropped their flowers at once, and we had mounds of petals. That used to be a festival week for us.

"One year, a few trees were blighted with some disease soldiers brought back with them from Restoration. The leaves turned brown in summer, and the trees never recovered. By the next spring, they were dead. It was just a few that first year. It was a lot more the year after that. The city kept cutting down the infected ones, but it was too late."

"The blight was in the soil. And you only had the one kind of tree." Under those conditions, it didn't surprise Taylor that every one of the city's trees would die.

"We had some others, but the city cut them all, 'to be safe.'" 

"And you haven't planted different trees because …" 

"Because the minister of agriculture would cut them down. He's convinced that if we plant anything in the lower city, the blight will rise up and infect the farms, which would be a far worse disaster."

If Taylor lived in Lower Avimore, he would do something. About all of it. The corruption, the trees, and the channel. They were all solvable problems, but someone had to deal with the inevitable resistance from those who liked things the way they were. The corruption was relevant to his main line of work, but the other issues were optional. As much as he wanted to help people, he didn't have time for this. If he continued digging into the city's woes, he would discover more problems. There'd be no end of it.

"They like it like this, don't they? The uppers?"

"It sure seems like it," Warden Hill admitted. "Gives them something to sneer at."

"Well, you can assure your bosses that I'm staying out of it, but not because I think the lower city is unworthy. It's not my city, and I have too many responsibilities already."

"It is the imperial city," agreed the warden, "it should be the imperials' problem."

The woman was nigh unreadable. He couldn't tell if she was relieved, disappointed, or didn't care.

There was a surprise waiting for Taylor at the hotel: a card from Rasmusen. He wanted to meet at an upper-city restaurant for a late dinner. "Intimate gathering, nobody you need to be afraid of. This is important. Dress to impress. Bring a guest." 

Taylor didn't know what guest he could possibly bring, other than Rasmusen, who would already be there, or a spirit. He sent a query across his bond with Saria, asking if she felt like coming over, and if she would dress in the kimono gifted by Mata'ari. She was the only spirit on his roster he could talk to across worlds, so far.

Saria came early to help him into his annulus robes. He changed his mask to white and stuffed his satchel into his personal inventory so its utilitarian appearance wouldn't spoil the effect.

The restaurant was in a historic mansion in Upper Avimore, built by a wealthy wine-making family. Its ground floor was now occupied by an elegant restaurant, with an open dining room in one wing, and a series of private dining rooms in the other. Patrons in the private areas could keep their curtains open to look out onto the wide city streets lit by magic lamps and be seen in turn, or close them for privacy. Live music played softly among the diners.

Saria and Taylor exited their hired coach and swished up the stairs to doors that opened for them magically. He didn't even need to say who he was or what party he was with. The greeter bowed a shade too deeply and walked them to the private dining wing. Instead of a street-facing room, they were shown into a more private room facing the rear gardens. The wards on the door and the room's interior were elegantly carved, but as subtle as castle walls: the room was heavily fortified to protect its occupants.

Taylor halted on the threshold. Inside, there were three people he recognized: Domine Rasmusen in white, Princess Marielle in silver, and her attendant Eterine in black. Miss Wibbles knew all three, but Taylor was only supposed to know the priest.

"We have arrived," he declared, to cover his sudden awkwardness. 

"I can see that," drolled Rasmusen, and made the necessary introductions. Taylor and Saria bowed to the princess, as they were supposed to, while both of them pretended not to know who she was. 

"Turn around, you two, let us see what you have on," Ras urged them. Taylor and Saria spun obligingly, to much admiration. Saria skillfully put off Mariella's queries about their robes by saying they were gifts, while Taylor filled Rasmusen in with what he'd learned. They traded information over a dinner of small courses sculpted into graceful edifices, each one delicious. Salads arranged in sunbursts, meats that fell apart under a spoon, and soups that revealed themselves by the spoonful.

"That matches what we know about the patients in the clinic," said Ras. "They were all from that part of town. Palace workers can access the clinic for their families."

"What about workers who got sick and didn't have family in the palace?"

"I haven't looked into that yet," Ras admitted, "but I'll find out."

"Thank you for the purification circle," added the princess. "You saved a lot of lives."

"I'm glad it was useful."

"How did you hear about our plight, exactly? Did one of your spirits tell you?"

"Something like that. You must be the princess who summoned a slime."

"You mean Miss Wibbles. She was surprisingly helpful."

"Astonishing, really," added Ras. "I didn't know they existed. When I looked them up, the books say they're rare, but they're the most basic of creatures."

"They start out that way, but they grow. I have a few on my roster, and none of them are weak. Though the ones who can speak prefer the term amorpha. They're not actually slimy, unless they want to be."

"She tried to show me something today. It was most curious. She seemed to think that a magician could learn innate magic. Which is ridiculous, of course."

Taylor glanced at Ras, who responded with a wry smile and an elevated brow.

"As you say, Princess, it is quite impossible." Mariella's expression didn't change, but her shoulders tensed. "Unless the magician has mana sensing and handling. Then it's entirely possible."

She turned to Rasmusen. "Are you sure he isn't joking, or pulling a cruel trick?"

"I'm quite sure, Your Highness. If he were going to lie, it wouldn't be with wild ideas. He'd say something boring and sensible. I've caught him at it."

"Only because you pry into my business after I tell you not to," accused Taylor.

"Can you cast silent spells?" Saria asked the princess.

"Is that a requirement?"

"No, but it's a useful step. When you stop saying the words to spells out loud, you learn that what's important isn't in your mouth, but in your head."

"And if I learn silent casting, then I can learn innate magic?"

"Innate is a bad word for it." Taylor gave her the three-minute lecture on the nature of magic systems and non-systematized magic, which left her slightly dazed. That was generally a good sign, since it meant someone was thinking hard enough to realize what they thought they knew might be shockingly wrong. An idiot would think they understood, or deny what he was saying without thinking about it at all.

After two more elegant courses, eaten mostly in silence, the princess asked, "If she knows so much magic, why won't Miss Wibbles speak to me? She seems smart enough. And she can make noise."

Saria offered a sympathetic smile. "Replicating speech without mouths or lungs is very difficult. Most amorphae don't bother with it unless they have alternate forms. Instead, they learn to write. Have you tried giving her a pen and paper?"

"That never occurred to me!"

"If she continues to be reluctant, try speaking to her in Arcaic. For most of us, it's our preferred language. I think you will find her much more expressive in the future."

Thanks a lot, Saria. Now she'll have me penning hours of meaningful girl talk.

You're welcome, Miss Wibbles. She was far too amused for his liking.

When the meal was over and the dishes cleared away, and all that sat before them was herbal tea and spoon-sized orbs of iced fruit puree, Rasmusen grasped the threads of all their concerns and put them into order. The church had the authority to pursue sources of mana corruption and could shake the necessary information loose from imperial bureaucrats. Princess Mariella would take charge of finding and healing anyone suffering from the illness. 

For his part, Taylor was going to stay as far away from Avimore as he could. But if Rasmusen found a decent lead, Taylor would chase it down and purify the source that was causing so much trouble.

At Ras's suggestion, Taylor parted with one of his precious books on Permutation, the original version with divine symbols. Since Mariella was bound for the church, Ras wanted her to have the full system. She promised to keep it safe.

Princess Mariella

"So, what do you think of our envoy?" The carriage was stopped at the Avimore Priory, but Ras hadn't left.

Mariella considered the question carefully. "He is decently mannered, but Aria has better graces. He loves magic. And he goes out of his way to help other people. But he is hiding his true intent. In fact, I would say he is hiding a great deal. Nonetheless, he is essentially a kind person."

"He is very kind. But listen to me, Mariella, because this is important. Don't become his enemy. Don't corner him. It's hard to tell over the dinner table, but there's a steel core beneath all that squishy niceness. He's prevailed against ancient magicians, great spirits, massive monsters, a third-tier paladin, and even his own father. He's never killed anyone that we know of, but I don't put it past him.

"The empire needs him on the right side. So if you're going to associate with him, even indirectly, don't ever give him a reason to think of you or the empire as an enemy."