Page 17 of Wizards & Weavers
There had been concerns from the locals about the possibility of a crime wave from the sudden swell of newcomers in Weathervale. “Wouldn’t the town need a bigger night watch?” the people wondered.
The adventurer encampment watched itself, as it turned out. For every bloodthirsty monster-masher among them only looking to hack and slash in the dungeon, there was another adventurer committed to the classical ideals of peace, righteousness, and justice. Adventuring wasn’t just about slaying monsters and defeating evil in search of untold riches.
Not every adventurer would admit it, but no one would mind becoming another Barraban the Bloody, another Wysteria the Wise. If Braiden marched straight up to the Lighthouse and demanded a record of local crime over the past few weeks, hewouldn’t be surprised to learn that Weathervale was just as peaceful before the dungeon appeared, if not more so.
The thought had been sitting in the back of his mind, something his brain had been grappling with since his actual visit to the Lighthouse. Everything in Weathervale had seen an upswing since the dungeon exploded into existence. Was Braiden too silly or too optimistic to see any of the downsides? Why was the Wizard of Weathervale so hellbent on sealing the dungeon?
And then Braiden remembered his mission.
“Say, Elyssandra. You mentioned something about charting the whereabouts of these heroes you follow around. How does that work? How do you track them down, exactly?”
Her lip turned up, her nose scrunching as she suppressed the smuggest of smiles. “I have my ways. Part of it is gossip, of course. You pick up smatterings of information now and again. I’m not the only admirer that the heroes have out there.”
Braiden narrowed his eyes, making a cursory sweep of her outfit. She could be hiding anything under that cloak. Maybe it was some form of surveillance magic. Scrying, perhaps? He’d heard of seers who could see great distances by looking into a bowl of water, a crystal ball, or a polished mirror.
He swished his drink around, watching the dregs at the bottom of the cup, wishing he knew how to scry with leftover orange juice.
“So you’re saying that you can help me find a specific hero.”
“Within reason, of course.” Elyssandra smoothed out a lock of her hair and cleared her throat, trying her best to look serious and professional. Then a wave of softness overcame her features, and she dropped the act. “But you bought me such a lovely meal. I do owe you a favor. So, yes. If it’s within my means, I’m happy to help.”
“Excellent! He can’t have gotten very far. It’s the Wizard of Weathervale. I need you to help me track down Augustin Arcosa.”
Elyssandra waggled a single eyebrow and smirked. “I knew you’d become one of us eventually. It’s okay to admit you’re a fan of his work.”
Braiden sat back with a start. “I amnota fan of Augustin Arcosa. Let me just make that clear.”
“Sure, that’s what they all say. But everybody gets it eventually, you know.” She gazed upward, counting off on her fingers. “Maybe it’s his mastery of magic, or maybe it’s his sense of style, or maybe — you have to admit — it’s because he’s quite good looking. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Braiden rose from the bench. “All right, let’s not go overboard. That’s not why I’m looking for him. But you’ll help me, won’t you? I promise, it’s important.”
She gulped down the last of her apple juice and nodded. “A chance to help a new friend out, and a chance to run into Augustin Arcosa again? Of course, I’ll do it.”
A new friend, she’d called him. Braiden told her the shop’s address, which she dutifully copied down on a bit of paper.
“Meet me there tomorrow morning. I’ll make us breakfast.”
She clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Yes. I’ll see you there.”
They waved goodbye as they parted. Braiden hadn’t made it a single block before Elyssandra came running up to him again.
“Is something wrong?” Braiden asked.
“Not at all,” she said. “But I’d be careful about those Il-venessi dragons in your coin purse. Very rare. Someone might try and steal them from you.”
Braiden stared at her with his mouth wide open. How could she have known? Without another word, Elyssandra shrugged and pointed at her ears.
And here was the sharp-eared rogue he was worrying about the entire time.
Chapter
Seven
Braiden weighedthe jars of white powder in his hands, pretending he was a balancing scale. He squinted at each one with suspicion. Gods, but he could never remember whether pancakes called for baking powder or baking soda.
Good thing he could always count on Granny Bethilda’s recipe cards. An entire stack of them lived in the kitchen, all held loosely together by a clip. He smiled as he ran his thumb along their weathered edges. The house, Braiden could give up. But Granny Bethilda’s little flipbook of wisdom? This was priceless.
Birds twittered outside the window, chirping their lovely song as Braiden worked. He’d left the window open to let the kitchen air out while he cooked, but also so he could listen for Elyssandra’s arrival.
