Polly had left the house, Anna and Zia were in the kitchen cooking, and Jack was walking towards Polly’s room with an old jerky bag filled with spider egg sacs. Despite still feeling sore from the previous day’s fights with a goblin and a rogue, he had a happy bounce in his step.

  Finally, time to enact my revenge, Jack thought, smiling as he pushed open the door to Polly’s room. “Still as messy as ever,” he muttered, closing the door behind him.

  Chaos had spread across the room, clothes littered the floor like incapacitated drunks at a party that got out of hand. One of the tailoring supply boxes lay overturned on the bed, its contents spilling across the blankets. The three costumes Polly had made for her and her friends’ play were missing in action.

  “I guess they’re rehearsing in costume.” He smiled, glad he’d bought his own valet uniform from the washhouse; without it, he wouldn’t be able to anonymously sell spell scrolls.

  He scanned the room. “Where should I hide them?” he whispered, stifling a chuckle. He had over a dozen spider eggs, which could take anywhere from a few days to several weeks to hatch. “Ooh, there’s a good spot for a couple.” He moved towards Polly’s neglected bookshelf above her bed.

  “Urgh,” he groaned, after almost stepping on a pair of his sister’s underwear. “Gross. Put your stuff in the wash,” he complained, stepping around the offending garment like it might lunge at him if he ventured too close.

  He paused to glance over his sister’s so-called book collection; that is, if a dozen unloved books could be called that. Most were on tailoring, and a few looked like they’d never been opened. Polly had never been one for reading. Her strategy for becoming a royal-level tailor was to learn by doing. Jack shook his head at the sheer absurdity of her ‘plan’. Extensive research first, then practice once you understand the subject, he thought with academic disdain.

  He pulled a few of the books forward to create a hiding space for the eggs. “Polly won’t find them there.” He couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered all the times his sister fled from her room due to a harmless spider. “She was such a drama queen. Baby spiders are harmless. This is going to be even better,” he whispered, eyeing how many egg sacs he had. The image of his sister waking up to dozens of tiny spiders raining from the shelf above played in his mind like a beautiful scene from a play. I’ll hide six here. That will be so hilarious.

  After the awful time he’d had the day before, this distraction was what he needed to feel normal again. As he reached to place the egg sacs behind the books, he noticed a small cot on the other side of the room. It was child-sized. “Zia’s bed?” he murmured. He hadn’t considered where the newest addition to the family had been sleeping.

  “Shit!” Jack’s shoulders sagged. He couldn’t hide spiders in here; it might traumatise the girl. “Damn it!” With a deep sigh, he sat down on the bed, only to jolt back up when he realised his hand had landed on one of Polly’s bras. “Urgh!” he gasped, wiping his palm on his trousers like it had been dipped in acid.

  Disappointed, frustrated, and grossed out by Polly’s room. He tucked the half dozen egg sacs back into the jerky bag and trudged back to his room, defeated. With a heavy sigh, he placed the bag on his bookshelf to deal with later.

  He gave the jerky bag a forlorn look. So many potential memories wasted. Shaking his head, he sat at his desk and turned to something relaxing. Something that always calmed his nerves. He began inscribing a chronos sphere spell scroll.

  Less than an hour later, he leaned back and admired the completed scroll, a smile tugging at his lips. “This feeling never gets old,” he murmured, enjoying the moment.

  His ink-stained fingers lifted the silver pen again. The gift from his father, perfect weight, balanced like a part of him, an extension of his craft. He held it for a little longer, reluctant to let it go, as if setting it down would break the moment.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I love this feeling,” he whispered, running his fingers along the edge of the scroll. Good quality paper, smooth as silk yet firm beneath his touch. The scroll was still warm from being inscribed. He leaned in and inhaled, letting the scent of drying ink fill his senses. It was sharp, earthy, and laced with a hint of something alchemical.

  To Jack, it was the second-best smell in the world. Of course, nothing compared to his mom’s cooking. The smell of ink was fresher than rain, richer than any spice, and more comforting than any hearth. Just breathing it in brought a sense of calm, purpose, and quiet pride.

  This is who he was. This is who he wanted to be… a scribe. I wish I could do this all the time, he thought, the joy of creation clouded by the grim reality of his obligations. He had to grow stronger to face the Baron. “Four more years,” he whispered while hoping for a better future, “and maybe I can give up archery… and focus on my craft.”

  Jack studied the scroll anew, taking in the elegant sweep of each rune, the measured spacing, the curling flourishes of his calligraphy. Every mark was placed with precision, every syllable a dance between art and form. The words of the spell, now bound to the page, seemed to hum beneath the surface. Alive, waiting, ready to be imbued with magic and unleashed like a whisper waiting to become a roar.

  This is what I was made for, Jack thought. Not slaying goblins or fleeing adventurers, afraid for my life! This was his true calling, crafting order from chaos, beauty from knowledge, power from ink. A simple scribe… not a vengeful one. He blinked away a tear and stored the completed scroll inside a book before beginning another chronos sphere scroll.

  ***

  Later, Jack entered the washhouse to the strong scent of soap. He’d come to collect the items he’d looted from the rat-faced rogue and the valet uniform trousers.

  “Good day to you. How can I help you?” asked a young woman at the counter. She wasn’t much older than Jack, and her voice was chipper and cheerful.

  Jack smiled and handed her two receipts: one for the cleaned items, the other for the altered trousers. “These items, please.” He couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the absence of the old, flirtatious dwarf. She was funny… in a weird way, he thought.

  The young woman examined the receipts. “They should be ready by now,” she said, gesturing towards the waiting area. “Please, take a seat. I shouldn’t be too long.” Humming a popular bard tune, she disappeared into the back.

  Jack lowered himself onto one of the chairs with a groan. “Ow.” He rubbed the scar on his side; it had twinged again. I hope this doesn’t interfere with my archery practice. He’d already put his exercise routine on hold. Not that he’d started. I’ve got to get fit and good at archery. Fast.

  A few minutes later, the young woman returned with his items, packed into his two packs.

  As Jack headed home, he spotted a small group of young male nobles exiting a high-end restaurant. That’s where Mom worked before Richard was born. He watched the young nobles stride down the road with mechanical canes that could extend into umbrellas with the twist of a gear.

  One of the nobles, a tall hawk-faced young man with blond hair, carried a small automaton monkey on his shoulder, its eyes glowing like tiny rubies.

  “Isn’t that House Greaves’ colours?” Jack muttered as he continued to watch them. He’d noticed the young man’s waistcoat; it looked a lot like the one Baron Greaves wore.

  Nobles, of course, stood apart with their tall top hats, silk-lined coats, and colourful waistcoats. The waistcoat colours were normally related to their noble houses. Jack had always found their top hats absurd. He shook his head and continued on his way as the nobles vanished around a corner.

  ***

  “It’s a real shame this is so small,” Jack muttered, eyeing the repaired leather armour he’d looted from the rogue. The holes had been patched well, and though the quality was average, it was better than nothing. “Ah, well. I’ll sell it along with the spell scrolls.”

  After packing what he planned to sell into the rogue’s pack and his usual scribe supplies into his own pack, he went for a bite to eat before heading back out.

  “Hey, Zia,” Jack said, entering the kitchen. “Where’s Mom?”

  Zia looked up from shaping a tray of biscuits into little animal figures and smiled. “Mom’s…” she swallowed, “Your mom’s getting some herbs outside.”

  Oh, shit! Jack’s eyes widened in panic. The rogue’s bow and shortsword were still hidden behind the shed where his mom kept her gardening tools. “I’ll go see if she needs any help,” he said, already hurrying out.

  It had been a few hours since he’d promised not to leave weapons where children could find them.

  Jack rushed towards the courtyard, his heart pounding.