Breaking Step, Draft 1, CH 50 (Patreon)

The wind nearly threw Tibs off the roof. He quickly regained control of the air essence around him and it stopped affecting him. He rested against a chimney. Constantly having to hold the wind at bay as he ran was getting exhausting. When had he ever had to keep hold of essence for this long?

He let his control go and counted on the brick chimney to protect him from the worse of the storm. Thunder sounded in the distance, followed, seconds later, by the flash of lightning. He raised his head to the sky and let the cold rain run down his face and under his armor. 

He pushed himself from the chimney and ran again. This wasn’t about enjoying the roofs, it was about getting to the Brokerage to figure out how he’d get in. He could rest afterward.

He stopped well away from the building as he sensed someone on a roof between him and the building. At this distance, the faint essence was a blob and only that it was Life told him it was someone, instead of a weave, or some object that… could normal object ‘radiate’ essence the way people did? Why did people radiate life? Was it something about the element itself?

He went around to avoid them and came across another, then another.

Guards, he decided once he’d walked the roofs surrounding the buildings, keeping watch on this path to the building. Close enough that in the daylight, even in the rain, they’d see each other. On a clear night, they should manage it still, especially with the lantern they had at their side. The flame was strong enough he felt it among the rain one roof closer.

He stopped one roof away from the guards, each huddled under a makeshift awning that used a chimney for a wall. In this weather, he’d be able to slip between them unnoticed. He still used the cover of a strong gust of wind to snuff the lanterns out before running between them.

He made disks of water to cross the distance and height and jumped from one to the other until he was on the Brokerage’s roof. He dropped to his stomach and undid the disks. The rain had clattered on them, and the two guards were yelling between them to be heard over the rain. Tibs couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sounded like questions. They’d heard the clattering and wondered what it had been.

He made a disk of water over him and listen to the rain as it hit it. He changed the composition of the essence, then switched to making it out of air, but short of actively keeping the rain from hitting them, it always clattered on hitting the hard surface. He’d have to add letters to these etching to change them further, and that meant taking time to figure out the combination that would get him the result he wanted. If he even knew the letters that would do that.

There was so much he didn’t know.

He chuckled. He’d add that to the list of things he needed to learn about.

Once the yelled questions stopped without an alarm raised, he crouched and sensed around the roof. He was surprised there were no guards here. He walked the entire roof to make sure they weren’t magically hidden before moving on to the next part. 

He sat and sensed.

Immediately, he sensed something odd about the weave within the top floor’s walls. Trying to come up for a term to what he felt, he settled on frayed. Not the way the edges of his weaves were frayed, as if they didn’t want to stay in place. This was the fraying of an old fabric. The thinning from being worn so long.

Did weaves thin with age? Was this what happened here, or was this the result of poor work? He didn’t know enough about weaves to tell.

He sensed the floor below and that fraying was also there. On the floor below that, it changed. The fraying wasn’t as deep, until, as the next floor started, it was entirely gone.

Was something leeching the weave downward? Was that a thing? He rubbed his temple and added that to the list.

Why ever it happened, it confirmed his entry point, if there was one, would be the top floor. He moved to the edge. He couldn’t see the window below him through the rain, not even the light from the lantern in the room. He knew it was there by the way light essence moved from the lantern and out into the open space. Knowing that, he could make out the way the weave followed the shape of the windowsill. He’d have enough to grab on above and put his toes on below.

If he could touch them without the weave reacting.

It made sense to him that the weave under the roof didn’t react to his presence. Guards had to come up here to check on things throughout the day, but no one had a reason to hang from a window, or climb a wall, other than a thief.

So, how did he go about checking that?

How did he check that without the weave triggering?

What could he do to a weave before it triggered?

He rested his forehead on the edge of the roof. Where did everything have to come with questions? Why couldn’t some of them just be easy to figure out?

Okay. What he needed was information. And he only knew of one person here that might know more than he did about any of this.

* * * * *

Archer stared at Tibs. “What do you take me for? A scholar? You’re the one with the magic. You should know about all that.”

“I’m not even officially Lambda. I shouldn’t know anything about weaves and I can’t ask much questions without my teacher getting suspicious. I thought that with being older than I am, you’d know something.”

“I know plenty. Just not about that. The main thing I know about magic is to do my best not to mess with people who have it.”

“Unless you can force one to do your bidding.”

The man sighed. “This is as much for you as it is for me. Tell me you see that? Tell me you aren’t going to change your mind in the middle of this and hand me over to—”

“Who could I hand you over?” Tibs ask, now curious as to whom could be after the archer. “But no, I’m not going to hand you over to anyone. It would just get that letter you have hidden delivered to the guild. And I do want the attempts to kill me to stop.”

The man shrugged and stretched on the bed.

“What would be needed to get into the Brokerage, normally, I mean. How do people enter it when they need to enter?”

“They have business to conduct with them.”

“Can you arrange to have business to conduct with them? I could go with you as your apprentice.”

The man shook his head. “You don’t just shop up at the Brokerage’s door and tell them you want to do business. You need to be referred, have a plan for what you need from them, show you have the funds to pay them.”

“You have to be able to make them think you have all that.”

“Clearly, you have no idea what’s needed to make that happen. And even if I could. You couldn’t come. Your eyes give you away and putting lens on them to hide their colors would just attract as much attention.”

“I can hide the—” he stopped. If the archer didn’t know he could do that, he wasn’t revealing it.

He left the archer in his room and sat at the bar. Putting a copper down on it.

Sania placed a tankard before him. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“I don’t have enough.” He took a careful sip. This one wasn’t as spicy. “I don’t know enough so I can do what Archer needs me to.”

“That doesn’t sound like him. He usually has contacts all over the place.”

“Not this time. Do you know a sorcerer who’d be willing to answer my questions?”

She stared at him. “I tend a tavern. I don’t exactly get those kinds in here. And with your eyes, why don’t you just walk up to one of them? I’m sure they’d be willing to answer any question you have.”

“My experience if that anyone who had knowledge isn’t interested in sharing it until there’s coins in it for them. And I’m low on those here.”

“Archer should be able to get you into the library.”

“What’s that?”

She stared at him again. “It’s the city’s repository of knowledge.”

“I thought those were universities.”

“Well, yeah. But the library is where the books are kept.”

“And anyone can go there?”

“Of course not.” She chuckled. “Those are for scholars, researchers and sorcerers.”

“I don’t exactly look like one of those.”

“Looks are easy to change.”

“But I don’t know enough to pass myself as…” okay, he couldn’t claim to be someone who belonged in that place, but he was small, and was still confused for a kid when he was out of his armor by those who didn’t know him. Kids had a habit of getting into mischief, and if one was wealthy enough, that mischief was usually forgiven in exchanged for a few coins.

He finished the ale in a long swallow and coughed. Not as spicy didn’t mean it could be downed. Then he ran out of the tavern. He had to get himself properly dressed, and that meant he needed to get coins.

* * * * *

The hall was enormous, and each step echoed. Tibs did his best not to let the stiff clothes bother him as he followed the man and woman through it. He’d slipped behind them as they entered, and the guards had taken him for their apprentice, or son, or servant. Tibs didn’t care which. It had gotten him in.

Now, he had to find the information he was after.

They talked as they walked, and Tibs had no idea what it was about because he didn’t understand the language.

That was going to be another problem. Would the books be written in the one language he knew how to read? People spoke in a variety of languages. Did they only write in one?

He followed through an archway, pondering the question, then came to a stop as he glanced about and saw the bookshelf.

The tall bookshelf.

Then the one next to it and another and another. He lost them in the distance. And there was a balcony over it with more shelves filled with books, and one above that and another one. Six balconies, so long he couldn’t see their end. And they were all filled with books.

He swallowed. Whoever owned this place was rich.

He’d lost the couple he’d shadowed and fought the impulse to run and hide. He was supposed to belong in this place. Or at least act as if he did. He was the son of some noble who’d grown more curious than cautious. He was dressed the part, having paid good stolen coins for the clothes and overcoat. Now he needed to act the part.

He stepped to bookcase and looked at all the spines. They were thick, which meant valuable. It was how it went with the book merchants in Kragle Rock, he’d noticed. The thicker the book, the more coins they wanted for them. If he could leave with just one of them, he’d have enough coins to pay what he owed the guild once he reached Epsilon.

Not that he planned on letting that happen.

And he wasn’t here to get coins, but to fill his mind.

He reached for a think book and a woman spoke. He didn’t understand the words, but the tone held warning, and she was standing right behind him. He’d been so awed by the sight he hadn’t paid attention to his sense.

Again, he fought the urge to run.

He was a noble. He readied himself to tell her he could do whatever he wanted, as he turned, and frown as her severe gaze landed on him. Her eyes were hazel, her hair lighter and short. Her face wrinkled and before he could stop himself, he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Then, he realized she wasn’t Mama and his reaction had given him away.

“Pursatian?” she asked and, after hesitating, he nodded. “We do not often have visitors from Pursatia.” Her accent was lighter than Tibs expected. Every time he’d spoken to a stranger who didn’t speak the language of his city, they did so with a thick accent, unless magic was used. She wasn’t using magic. She didn’t have an element me, or wore anything with a weave in it.

“I’m…” what was he supposed to call himself? “Tiber.”

Her smile stopped him. There was no maliciousness in it, but she didn’t believe him. This wasn’t going to work. She was going to call the guard and get him sent to a cell. Well, maybe not, she did seem kind, but she was going to make sure he was led outside and he wouldn’t be able to sneak back in.

“And what drew you here, Tiber?” she asked, still amused. “We seem rather young to be an apprentice, and I’d expect that if you were here with one of your parents, they wouldn’t have let you wander off to touch anything without the proper attire.” She moved her fingers. They were gloved. A white fabric that had a sheen to it. A quick glance told him everyone here wore gloves. They weren’t all white, but they all wore them.

He hurried to put his hands in his pockets.

“I’m afraid it is too late for that, Tiber. You have already given yourself away.”

He nodded. “What are you going to do to me?” More ashamed at having been caught so easily, than afraid of her answer.

“That depends on why you sneaked in. Are you here to steal a book?”

He shook his head.

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“So many things,” He said, unable to keep the exasperation from sounding.

She chuckled. “Curiosity is a good thing for a future scholar to have.”

“I’m not—” he closed his mouth. Right. His eyes were brown. She couldn’t tell he was a Runner.

“Of course you aren’t, yet. But that you went to the length of sneaking in here tells me you have the determination, as well as the curiosity, required. I’m certain that once you return home, you will be able to convince the university there to take you in.”

Tibs nodded. He didn’t think they’d feel that way once he’d taken his revenge on the men who had killed Mama. “I guess I should go now.”

“Is there some of your curiosity I can assuage, or was it simply about seeing our vast collection?”

Tibs eyed her suspiciously. None of her words had light to them, but he’d broken rules. “Why aren’t you angry I broke the rules?”

Her chuckle was light. “Tell me. Have you ever been told that it is dangerous to want to know things?”

He shook his head. He could hear the exasperation in Alistair’s voice at time, but his teacher had never told him to stop, or why he should stop, other than ‘now isn’t the time’.

She nodded. “Well, I happen to believe that curiosity, with the right application of determination, should always be rewarded. So, tell me. What is the one thing you wish to learn about, now that you are here?”

“Magic.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I am wrong and sorcery is in your future, then.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t go into a dungeon. I just like the stories about it. Those with magical items, and magics on building the hero has to defeat.” He bit his lower lip and tried to construct a story that would help him, but he had never paid attention to how bards sung their stories.

“I heard a bard, once, sing about this hero, and she got into the building because one part of the magic was—” he searched for a word a bard might use. “Old. Is that a thing? Do enchantment grow old?”

She smiled at him and motioned him to a table. “That is a very interesting question, and the answer depends on many factor, for example, how skilled the sorcerers were and…”

Tibs sat and pulled purity out of his bracer. As much as he needed the information. He could already feel the headache getting it was going to cause.