I felt shivers running through my skin. This thing had been watching me sleep each night since I arrived. My hairs stood on end. I felt an eerie sense of danger. I looked around, extremely wary. I was prepared to kill anything that moved — anything that seemed to make noise. My senses were sharpened. The beats of my heart rose, and I could hear each one in my head.
The owl kept fluttering its wings, unable to die or think. I asked it, with a voice that shook slightly, ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I could feel the pressure on my throat as the cold wind brushed past me. ‘Who are you?’ I kept staring into its eyes. ‘The bird’s hooting… how clever.’ The hooting was the way they kept affecting me with magic. That sound affected my tired mind. ‘Right before I went to sleep.’ I gave a nervous chuckle as shivers kept spreading throughout my body. The mind is vulnerable and very susceptible to suggestion when alone and on the verge of sleep. ‘The last thing you experience before going to sleep will remain in your mind — like a trace of poison. While asleep, the mind will unknowingly keep processing that information.’ My voice was grim. These attempts were very deliberate and planned. They exploited my weakness. I asked once more, ‘Who are you?’
Having a mage see me constantly was eerie enough, but this was something far more alarming. These attempts were a work of genius. A mage who can affect someone’s mind… That was nothing short of frightening. It was a field in Arcane Knowledge that I did not even think of fiddling with. And they used an owl? Someone who could control a bird so freely? They passed magic through the bird? How? So many questions rose through my mind that I was desperate to find, but the owl simply kept fluttering its wings, albeit a little slower than before.
I kept looking into its eyes, wondering if they could still see me, and dispelled my magic. The branch left the foul bird’s skull, letting it struggle a little before falling to the ground in a bloody mess. I saw the light fade out of the bird’s eye as it kept twitching. I could tell at this moment that I was dealing with someone far superior in skill than me. The world of mages is one of mystery and discovery. But unfortunately, we are people. And people have faults and will. We have aspirations. And no blade is as threatening as a man with aspirations. What do you aspire to? I wondered, looking at the dead bird.
The night was chilling, and I had questions aplenty. Can I even sleep today? Was I willing and able? I doubted that. I cast my magic. The ground began to move little by little. As if a wok was being stirred, soil kept leaping onto the carcass of the owl. In no time, it was buried well. I looked at the spot and wondered, Were you the only one? Unfortunate thing. An owl — what a choice. These creatures do not even make a sound when they flap their wings. And, they are nocturnal.
With blood pumping so fast, I could no longer wish to have a good night’s sleep. I felt the urgency.
I left the little backyard and went back to the window. Mrs Parkinson will be surprised. I went in through that mess and pulled the curtains. I did not want any insects to enter the place. I left my bedchamber and walked up to the first floor. I opened one of the doors. It led to my study. I locked the door, drew the curtains and lit the lamp. The room was fairly lit now, and I could do what I had meant to since this morning.
I took the quill and the ink pot placed in one of my drawers and retrieved a clean white paper. Dipping the tip in the pot, with a handwriting that many admired, I began writing in the light of a flickering flame that coloured my page a murky yellow.
1. Mr Thompson
2. Ms Anne
3. Ms Rosa Vistaria
4. Mr Milles Crawford
5. Jerry the chauffeur
6. Mr Elliott Ruth
7. The black-haired man
8. Dean’s Assistant
9. Dean Wallace Heinz
10. Lady Alisha Fritz
11. Mr Joseph Hillary
12. The clerk at the clothing store
13. Mr Mark Smith
14. Mrs Katrina Parkinson
15. Ms Malory Parkinson
16. Ms Veronica Orchard
These are the persons I came in contact with since arriving at the capital, I thought. All of them I met before the event of losing consciousness. I read them one by one and began the elimination process. From the obvious ones to the least obvious, I began evaluating them.
Ms Veronica Orchard. I crossed Ms Orchard’s name. She had been most accommodating and cared far too much to hurt me. I was affected by the magic even before I met her. She had the least amount of leeway to affect me. I even confirmed it after the incident. She was not involved. I absolved her of any suspicion.
Next came the Dean’s Assistant. I didn’t know her name, hadn’t spoken with her, and hadn’t touched her. I had only made brief eye contact. That was not enough to affect me. I crossed her name.
Ms Malory Parkinson — my first student. I hoped it wasn’t her — I dearly hoped. She had a plethora of opportunities, too many. She cooked my dinners and warmed my water. She even did my hair and helped me with my attire on the very day. It pained me to think of that hospitality as a way forged for manipulation. She is young. Yes, she was far too young to have learnt magic so well that she surpassed me. And, I did not believe that her not knowing how to read was an act. She was meek by nature but became excited when I vowed to teach her. She is diligent. I crossed her name. There were far more likely candidates.
Mrs Katrina Parkinson. Definitely not. The woman is in her forties and bears no sign of malice. She is motherly. The daughter and mother were together at work. If Ms Parkinson was exempt then Mrs Parkinson should be too. It was not the most convincing fact, but my intuition kept telling me that she and her daughter were not the culprits. She could not be a mage. She even told me to be careful of other professors’ gossip. An unlikely candidate. I crossed her name with slight hesitation.
Mr Mark Smith. The blacksmith had been doing his work for a very long time. He had the acclaim and trust of many. A person capable of forging that thing. I did not even shake hands with him, only spoke. The contact was brief. The man had the blood of Sailing Barbarians, brutes that know no cunning. Their kind never is sly. He didn’t seem like a mage from any angle. Mages have a keen air that the man, just like Mrs Parkinson, did not have. I crossed his name.
Mr Joseph Hillary. I liked the man. He was courteous and had grace. A refined air of elegance could be felt from each of his movements. Very keen on clothing and aesthetics. A proper gentleman. I didn’t think he would do such a thing. But his air, that bearing, was similar in some ways to mine — a mage. We did shake hands. We spoke and made eye contact. That should be good enough to make him a candidate. I hesitated. I hesitated a lot, but in the end, crossed his name. I remembered something. He had handed the measuring tape to his clerk. He did not measure me himself. Why pass such an opportunity if you wish me ill? I thought of it and absolved him of suspicion. The shorter the list the better for me.
I took another page and wrote down the final names along with a few short notes.
Mr Thompson — Stayed in the same cabin for three days and three nights. Touched, spoke at lengths, made eye contact, and ate with. Presumably, still at Celbrun. Ms Anne — Stayed in the same cabin. Touched, spoke, made eye contact, and ate with. Showed unnerving amounts of interest in me. Kissed my cheek. Presumably, still at Celbrun. Ms Rosa Vistaria — Stayed in the same cabin. Touched, spoke, made eye contact, and ate with. Handed me her address. Moved to Celbrun. Mr Milles Crawford — The first man I met in Celbrun. Spent a whole day with him. Fell asleep abruptly in his company and once more after he left. Carries a duffel bag and does not tell what it contains. Touched, spoke, made eye contact, and ate twice with. Lives on the academy grounds. Is stout and has a funny moustache. Jerry the chauffeur — Travelled with him on two occasions in a single day. Touched a little, spoke a little, made eye contact, and ate once with. Do not know much about him. Lives on the academy grounds. Mr Elliott Ruth — Night watch means awake at night on the academy grounds. Plenty of chances to keep an eye on me. Security means exempt from suspicion. Touched a little when frisking, spoke, made eye contact, and waved back. Went through my belongings. Lives on the academy grounds. The black-haired man — Know nothing about. Suspicious. Scary. Always watching me. Made eye contact. Lives on the academy grounds. Do not like him. Dean Wallace Heinz — Hired me. Access to anything on the academy grounds. Has a refined air, like a mage. Touched when handing the watch, spoke at length, and made eye contact. Lives on the academy grounds. Did not send a train ticket. Lady Alisha Fritz — Wears a ring that is neither an engagement ring nor a mage’s ring. Touched while handing the papers, spoke, and made eye contact. Does not disclose her marital status. Lives on the academy grounds. The clerk — Greeted me. Took measurements. Spent some time in the loft before coming down. Know not much about. Presumably, new at work. Lives in Celbrun.I leaned back with a sigh. It took half an hour to recall little details and pen them. I felt my shoulders. They were a little stiff. The day had been hectic, and the night did not allow respite for this young soul. I looked at the paper, feeling satisfied. These ten names were my suspects — the most likely candidates. One of them may be the perpetrator. I felt the shivers once more. I had met these people and had never suspected a thing. I had played cards with some, ate with others, and even felt grateful for their praise. To think I must suspect them. My emotions were complex. They collided with each other like waves against some remote rock. They were clashing fiercely. On one hand, I felt urgency and suspicion, and on the other, I felt guilt for suspecting someone that may be innocent.
The Dean had only been kind to me, and here I was, suspecting him of being a colluding mage. My cabinmates had shared a journey with me that I cherished. Mr Crawford had been most hospitable; how could I betray him so readily? Lady Alisha had encouraged me. I was grateful for that. The chauffeur had helped me to places; Mr Ruth was friendly. These people mattered, and yet, here I wrote them.
I granted myself a few minutes to gather composure and thought, after which I cleared my head and burnt the old paper with crossed names. I folded the new list and safely put it in a hidden compartment in one of the drawers of my study table.
Wondering what I should do now, I cleaned my quill and closed the ink pot. I placed them in their drawer and walked up to the bookcase on the wall behind me. There were a number of books there. Novels, biographies, fiction, and research — so, so much. I did not want to fall asleep that night, not until Mrs Parkinson was there to take care of the broken window.
This is… Skimming through the titles, I found a book that I had only ever heard about. I retrieved it and set it on the table. Treachery in the Court of Sacrament the II — the book’s title. It was a story romanticised.
The night turned from quiet to quieter, and in front of the flames that created freakishly dancing shadows throughout the room, I sat reading a story about poison and treachery.
I felt shivers running through my skin. This thing had been watching me sleep each night since I arrived. My hairs stood on end. I felt an eerie sense of danger. I looked around, extremely wary. I was prepared to kill anything that moved — anything that seemed to make noise. My senses were sharpened. The beats of my heart rose, and I could hear each one in my head.
The owl kept fluttering its wings, unable to die or think. I asked it, with a voice that shook slightly, ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I could feel the pressure on my throat as the cold wind brushed past me. ‘Who are you?’ I kept staring into its eyes. ‘The bird’s hooting… how clever.’ The hooting was the way they kept affecting me with magic. That sound affected my tired mind. ‘Right before I went to sleep.’ I gave a nervous chuckle as shivers kept spreading throughout my body. The mind is vulnerable and very susceptible to suggestion when alone and on the verge of sleep. ‘The last thing you experience before going to sleep will remain in your mind — like a trace of poison. While asleep, the mind will unknowingly keep processing that information.’ My voice was grim. These attempts were very deliberate and planned. They exploited my weakness. I asked once more, ‘Who are you?’
Having a mage see me constantly was eerie enough, but this was something far more alarming. These attempts were a work of genius. A mage who can affect someone’s mind… That was nothing short of frightening. It was a field in Arcane Knowledge that I did not even think of fiddling with. And they used an owl? Someone who could control a bird so freely? They passed magic through the bird? How? So many questions rose through my mind that I was desperate to find, but the owl simply kept fluttering its wings, albeit a little slower than before.
I kept looking into its eyes, wondering if they could still see me, and dispelled my magic. The branch left the foul bird’s skull, letting it struggle a little before falling to the ground in a bloody mess. I saw the light fade out of the bird’s eye as it kept twitching. I could tell at this moment that I was dealing with someone far superior in skill than me. The world of mages is one of mystery and discovery. But unfortunately, we are people. And people have faults and will. We have aspirations. And no blade is as threatening as a man with aspirations. What do you aspire to? I wondered, looking at the dead bird.
The night was chilling, and I had questions aplenty. Can I even sleep today? Was I willing and able? I doubted that. I cast my magic. The ground began to move little by little. As if a wok was being stirred, soil kept leaping onto the carcass of the owl. In no time, it was buried well. I looked at the spot and wondered, Were you the only one? Unfortunate thing. An owl — what a choice. These creatures do not even make a sound when they flap their wings. And, they are nocturnal.
With blood pumping so fast, I could no longer wish to have a good night’s sleep. I felt the urgency.
I left the little backyard and went back to the window. Mrs Parkinson will be surprised. I went in through that mess and pulled the curtains. I did not want any insects to enter the place. I left my bedchamber and walked up to the first floor. I opened one of the doors. It led to my study. I locked the door, drew the curtains and lit the lamp. The room was fairly lit now, and I could do what I had meant to since this morning.
I took the quill and the ink pot placed in one of my drawers and retrieved a clean white paper. Dipping the tip in the pot, with a handwriting that many admired, I began writing in the light of a flickering flame that coloured my page a murky yellow.
1. Mr Thompson
2. Ms Anne
3. Ms Rosa Vistaria
4. Mr Milles Crawford
5. Jerry the chauffeur
6. Mr Elliott Ruth
7. The black-haired man
8. Dean’s Assistant
9. Dean Wallace Heinz
10. Lady Alisha Fritz
11. Mr Joseph Hillary
12. The clerk at the clothing store
13. Mr Mark Smith
14. Mrs Katrina Parkinson
15. Ms Malory Parkinson
16. Ms Veronica Orchard
These are the persons I came in contact with since arriving at the capital, I thought. All of them I met before the event of losing consciousness. I read them one by one and began the elimination process. From the obvious ones to the least obvious, I began evaluating them.
Ms Veronica Orchard. I crossed Ms Orchard’s name. She had been most accommodating and cared far too much to hurt me. I was affected by the magic even before I met her. She had the least amount of leeway to affect me. I even confirmed it after the incident. She was not involved. I absolved her of any suspicion.
Next came the Dean’s Assistant. I didn’t know her name, hadn’t spoken with her, and hadn’t touched her. I had only made brief eye contact. That was not enough to affect me. I crossed her name.
Ms Malory Parkinson — my first student. I hoped it wasn’t her — I dearly hoped. She had a plethora of opportunities, too many. She cooked my dinners and warmed my water. She even did my hair and helped me with my attire on the very day. It pained me to think of that hospitality as a way forged for manipulation. She is young. Yes, she was far too young to have learnt magic so well that she surpassed me. And, I did not believe that her not knowing how to read was an act. She was meek by nature but became excited when I vowed to teach her. She is diligent. I crossed her name. There were far more likely candidates.
Mrs Katrina Parkinson. Definitely not. The woman is in her forties and bears no sign of malice. She is motherly. The daughter and mother were together at work. If Ms Parkinson was exempt then Mrs Parkinson should be too. It was not the most convincing fact, but my intuition kept telling me that she and her daughter were not the culprits. She could not be a mage. She even told me to be careful of other professors’ gossip. An unlikely candidate. I crossed her name with slight hesitation.
Mr Mark Smith. The blacksmith had been doing his work for a very long time. He had the acclaim and trust of many. A person capable of forging that thing. I did not even shake hands with him, only spoke. The contact was brief. The man had the blood of Sailing Barbarians, brutes that know no cunning. Their kind never is sly. He didn’t seem like a mage from any angle. Mages have a keen air that the man, just like Mrs Parkinson, did not have. I crossed his name.
Mr Joseph Hillary. I liked the man. He was courteous and had grace. A refined air of elegance could be felt from each of his movements. Very keen on clothing and aesthetics. A proper gentleman. I didn’t think he would do such a thing. But his air, that bearing, was similar in some ways to mine — a mage. We did shake hands. We spoke and made eye contact. That should be good enough to make him a candidate. I hesitated. I hesitated a lot, but in the end, crossed his name. I remembered something. He had handed the measuring tape to his clerk. He did not measure me himself. Why pass such an opportunity if you wish me ill? I thought of it and absolved him of suspicion. The shorter the list the better for me.
I took another page and wrote down the final names along with a few short notes.
Mr Thompson — Stayed in the same cabin for three days and three nights. Touched, spoke at lengths, made eye contact, and ate with. Presumably, still at Celbrun. Ms Anne — Stayed in the same cabin. Touched, spoke, made eye contact, and ate with. Showed unnerving amounts of interest in me. Kissed my cheek. Presumably, still at Celbrun. Ms Rosa Vistaria — Stayed in the same cabin. Touched, spoke, made eye contact, and ate with. Handed me her address. Moved to Celbrun. Mr Milles Crawford — The first man I met in Celbrun. Spent a whole day with him. Fell asleep abruptly in his company and once more after he left. Carries a duffel bag and does not tell what it contains. Touched, spoke, made eye contact, and ate twice with. Lives on the academy grounds. Is stout and has a funny moustache. Jerry the chauffeur — Travelled with him on two occasions in a single day. Touched a little, spoke a little, made eye contact, and ate once with. Do not know much about him. Lives on the academy grounds. Mr Elliott Ruth — Night watch means awake at night on the academy grounds. Plenty of chances to keep an eye on me. Security means exempt from suspicion. Touched a little when frisking, spoke, made eye contact, and waved back. Went through my belongings. Lives on the academy grounds. The black-haired man — Know nothing about. Suspicious. Scary. Always watching me. Made eye contact. Lives on the academy grounds. Do not like him. Dean Wallace Heinz — Hired me. Access to anything on the academy grounds. Has a refined air, like a mage. Touched when handing the watch, spoke at length, and made eye contact. Lives on the academy grounds. Did not send a train ticket. Lady Alisha Fritz — Wears a ring that is neither an engagement ring nor a mage’s ring. Touched while handing the papers, spoke, and made eye contact. Does not disclose her marital status. Lives on the academy grounds. The clerk — Greeted me. Took measurements. Spent some time in the loft before coming down. Know not much about. Presumably, new at work. Lives in Celbrun.I leaned back with a sigh. It took half an hour to recall little details and pen them. I felt my shoulders. They were a little stiff. The day had been hectic, and the night did not allow respite for this young soul. I looked at the paper, feeling satisfied. These ten names were my suspects — the most likely candidates. One of them may be the perpetrator. I felt the shivers once more. I had met these people and had never suspected a thing. I had played cards with some, ate with others, and even felt grateful for their praise. To think I must suspect them. My emotions were complex. They collided with each other like waves against some remote rock. They were clashing fiercely. On one hand, I felt urgency and suspicion, and on the other, I felt guilt for suspecting someone that may be innocent.
The Dean had only been kind to me, and here I was, suspecting him of being a colluding mage. My cabinmates had shared a journey with me that I cherished. Mr Crawford had been most hospitable; how could I betray him so readily? Lady Alisha had encouraged me. I was grateful for that. The chauffeur had helped me to places; Mr Ruth was friendly. These people mattered, and yet, here I wrote them.
I granted myself a few minutes to gather composure and thought, after which I cleared my head and burnt the old paper with crossed names. I folded the new list and safely put it in a hidden compartment in one of the drawers of my study table.
Wondering what I should do now, I cleaned my quill and closed the ink pot. I placed them in their drawer and walked up to the bookcase on the wall behind me. There were a number of books there. Novels, biographies, fiction, and research — so, so much. I did not want to fall asleep that night, not until Mrs Parkinson was there to take care of the broken window.
This is… Skimming through the titles, I found a book that I had only ever heard about. I retrieved it and set it on the table. Treachery in the Court of Sacrament the II — the book’s title. It was a story romanticised.
The night turned from quiet to quieter, and in front of the flames that created freakishly dancing shadows throughout the room, I sat reading a story about poison and treachery.
