The following day witnessed more activity than usual. The Day of the Defense celebrations drew near; citizens from neighboring places who were planning to get the best experience out of the festivities were occupying more rooms. Loose tales from customers moving in told an excited anticipation of the city's, and to a looser extent, the Empire's pride among its many occasions. It was no surprise that every room on the floor was brimming with patrons.

  Light from the autumn sun was gentler than what the usual morning offered: bright enough, though fewer colors from the surroundings popped out. Luminberg’s lively atmosphere took on a washed-out appearance this time of year. The occasional fogging of window glasses made this more noticeable than it should have been.

  Most of the newcomers were families; the occasional sound of children playing tag or a similar game could be heard across the halls. Sounds of laughter broke into running steps, sometimes the reverse. Sometimes, broken speech blended with mirth when someone became the butt of jokes among the group. These children were then led outside by a parent—but nobody could ascertain anything when listening from closed doors.

  The inn had a modest stove for cooking and boiling. Kirk was in charge of the tea; a malty but sweet scent climbed out of the kettle spout. He emptied most of the contents into a teapot, transferring the remaining liquid at the bottom into his cup. On the table lay neutral-scented bread: it was the last batch from the day before, bound to be eaten along with what was left of a small jar of jam.

  Kirk has heard everything that he needed from his benefactor of a prayer lady. She was cooperative enough, and based on Rook’s reaction to some parts of her tale, Euphemia was only telling everything to everybody at this very moment. Had he won the trust of this lady masquerading as a traveler when she was more than ready to tell her purpose of being in this city? His view of her since that encounter in the forest hardly changed: competent she may be, but she would not have gone far on her quest had things unfolded without the monsters and these armed automatons he was yet to see. He would not have believed her story at all if he weren't there to see much of what transpired in the old woods.

  “So you believe your father is taken captive by a group that, as you said, more likely has control of monsters and fighting machines?”

  Euphemia remained straight in her seat, hands on her lap. She reached out for a piece of bread, broke off a small chunk, and nibbled on it. Kirk waited for moments to see the cleric answer with a nod. She swallowed her food and opened her lips to speak, but Rook decided to cut in, saying:

  “Aren’t those your monsters to start with?”

  “Rook, right?” Kirk downed his cup of tea. “I have only a metal bar. It’s a quarterstaff, really, but a stick to the uninitiated. Does that look magical to you, peeping-boy-spyglass-eyes?”

  “Maybe you don’t have much magic power like Euphemia here. Maybe you are gathering more power until you bring out your bigger monster and finally finish us off.”

  “When can I soundly prove that I’m not the ‘monster-caller’ you accuse me of?”

  "Maybe you won't?" The boy looked like he was having fun being annoying to Kirk. "Try begging. Like this: 'Forgive me, O Great and Wise Rook, for trying to feed you and the kind church lady to my evil... evil wolf-creatures'."

  “Boy, you chose the wrong rival here,” Kirk replied, showing off a proud grin before returning his attention to Euphemia. “As I was saying, now you embark on this quest, initially on your own, until you... took pity on this boy, Rook, and picked him up.”

  “There’s a slight mistake there, Kirk.” Euphemia held a cup of tea with both hands, letting her palms soak in its warmth. “Rook asked if he could join me in my travels, and I agreed.”

  “I understand. So you two are roaming around, looking for clues to find your father, and you hope that the works of a man of science accused of heresy and conspiracy can lead you to your parent’s captors.”

  Kirk stood up and walked from right to left, then in the opposite direction. He did not hear Euphemia’s whispered response, but the slight movement of her veil was enough as an affirmation. He returned to his chair, arms crossed on top of the backrest, and spoke:

  “But looking back at how you conducted yourself in front of that old wizard in that old, funny-looking tower, you seem highborn. Shouldn’t ladies like you, even a highborn prayer lady, just sit in the safety of your family’s domain, and let your soldiers or, trusted men, sort this out without bringing trouble upon yourself?”

  “You should see her house in that seaside city.” Rook added, “This whole inn here might only be part of her bedroom.”

  “Thank you, my spying soon-to-be-acquaintance.”

  Kirk caught a glimpse of Rook’s surprised expression, but he returned to Euphemia’s attention quickly enough to deny him his own victory. He continued:

  “I can imagine your family has enough influence to run a city here at least. So why did you leave the safety of your home and decide that going through all this on your own is best for you?”

  “I…”

  Everything Kirk said shook the cleric. The calm stare she normally bore was gone, morphed into alarm. Kirk saw, or swore he did, see a few tips of her teeth bite the left side of her lips. He was staring back at that look: a highborn, no matter where they came from, found displeasure in anyone questioning their frame of mind. Kirk knew the feeling, once upon a time. Closing her eyes, taking a silent gulp of air, and trying her best not to express disapproval, she continued:

  “Because I do not want to sit and wait. And I thought, and still think, I am of better use to my family if I directly helped, contributed to something.”

  “I mean, that forest-erasing light of yours is… uh, terrifying.” Kirk’s tone mellowed out, satisfied with the outcome. “Though I still think you should head home and leave this matter to your country’s authorities. On the other hand, I, even in the few days I became part of your traveling group, know you’ve gone quite far to turn back now.”

  “Doesn’t that mean you’ll have a harder time dealing with us if you mean to send Euphemia back home?” Rook, with a tone of pretend curiosity, broke the silence. “Like what you have said, instead of us two, you’ll have to fight your way through a hundred other men, maybe an army.”

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  “And I thought we were about to come to an understanding about this.” Kirk covered his face with his palms, shaking his head. “But I feel someone has to be the voice of reason in this group. That falls upon me. The faster Rook and I here help you find your father, the better it will be for all of us.”

  ????

  Nothing like a good, long walk, Kirk thought.

  Before stepping into the territory of Kriemreich’s northern holdings was a forested lake. Much of the flora looked maintained; trees bore a nearly uniform height, though their trunks told a story of which of them were old as the city itself, and which plants were introduced only a few administrations ago. The wind carried a mix of mountain air and the smell of pear flowers from a nearby orchard. Pear flowers in the fall? How could Luminbergers harvest pears right before the cold sets in? Bad trees, or maybe this was a city that used magic—even when growing fruit.

  "Pears in the fall?" Kirk followed the direction of the floral yet spiced scent with his eyes. "What sorcery is this?"

  "It is the City of Luminberg's unique produce." Euphemia turned her attention to Kirk. "You'll find that the worse they look, the better they taste. My father taught me a few tricks to get the best fruits."

  "You'll help me pick the tastiest ones when we have time, right?"

  "I'm not letting him hog all the good fruits for himself." Rook butted in, walking closely behind.

  "Of course, Rook." Euphemia stopped by the side of the path. "Everyone should try Luminberger pears at least once in a while."

  There were a few locals around the area, giving their little group the privilege of choosing a pleasant spot to fish. There was a shaded area where the sun touched only the edges, and the ground was solid enough to sit down and reel in fish without being leg-deep in muck.

  Maybe he could ask Euphemia later. For now, it was time to test this curiosity he bought. A fishing implement: a reel with no rod. Would this work? He figured that he could attach this to his staff in case those merchants sold him garbage. Kirk attached a lure to the line: a caricature of a fish, with hooks for fins.

  “How do you cast this thing anyway? I guess I’ll throw it like this…”

  “Up to your habit of collecting curiosities again, Master Kiergaard?”

  “It doesn’t look so bad, right, Macario?” Kirk threw a glance over his shoulder, where he expected the ethereal blue fireball to hover. “I’ve thrown my line far enough. Besides, a great collector I am... when I lost them all back home.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to hope that you’ll get them back one day. Some of them, perhaps.”

  “I would have to give the floor, or ground, to the boy. He’s coming.”

  Kirk heard a weak squish of earth. Rook stood beside him; his eyes were focused on the fishing implement he was using. This boy must know something about rod fishing, at least if he were showing that round-eyed reaction.

  “That’s an odd way to fish.” Rook’s sight followed the line all the way to where the lure landed.

  “Not my invention, I’m sure of it.” Kirk wound the reel twice. “You’re not with the prayer lady?”

  “She’s just behind us.”

  Euphemia chose to be under a great tree whose roots blocked the view except for a small space at the lake’s shore. She held an unfamiliar notebook: one that was too large for mere schedules and lists, but small enough not to be mistaken as a standard-sized school book. She was reading its contents, though the wind was no help in making sense of her spoken thoughts.

  “...transfer to the wielder’s body… what if I do it in reverse…?”

  She practiced magical phenomena after all; it made sense she spoke in jargon, probably gibberish-sounding as far as Kirk’s ears were concerned. He was about to go back to check on her when something in the water tugged his line.

  Of all the times, he had to have a catch vying for attention.

  It was obviously small: a quarter of a meter in length, as Kirk's knowledge of measurements asserted. Now he knew why Luminbergers weren’t so interested in the lake that day. Were they waiting for the fish to gain mass? It did not offer much of a fight, with Kirk quickly reeling the fish closer. A kind of trout, but with more spots than he was used to seeing in the Grand Prettan. He would have to catch up to seven more of these for a day’s worth of grilling or frying.

  “Looks like a meal.”

  Rook went near, looking at the toy-like implement Kirk was using. He picked up a smooth pebble and threw it into the still body of water. It hopped four times before it vanished on the surface, leaving small ripples on its way to the bottom. The sitting fisher followed the skipping stone and glanced at Rook after it sank, saying:

  “Piqued your interest, eh, boy?”

  “It also caught my attention.”

  A third voice: Euphemia’s, though she was nowhere near the two. It sounded less like speech, rather a cross between a melodic hum and the whirring air. Kirk remembered this: one of her miniature stars was the source of the voice. Whatever this was—contraption, ancient artifact, or Kriemreich's secret weapon, Kirk guessed this cleric would come up with more ways to surprise him. He stood up and approached the floating sphere; beyond its brightness was a core a little larger than a pea. It felt warm all around; the ground was also brighter than what light the sun spared.

  “You’re this… ball?”

  “Please don’t be afraid.” The sphere floated around. “I was thinking, assuming this form can help me fill my energy, for magic, much faster. Does either of you feel cold here?"

  "Now that you said it, my hair is standing on end." Kirk looked at the goosebumps forming on his arm.

  "Please, Euphemia, I know that I said I was scared of you with the light thing, but don't kill us with the cold." Rook touched his chin while watching Kirk's catch wet its gills.

  "I think this is enough." The canoness' voice pulsed in its whisper. "This is also my first time doing this, and I might be too nervous to return to my actual state.”

  The tiny ball of light returned to the shade. It was joined by seven others. One flash, and the outline of Euphemia’s dress formed; in moments was the cleric herself was made fully visible. That brightness that made part of the shore sparkle returned to its usual daylight look.

  “Wow. You have to teach me this someday. It’s too… unfair that only you can get to do these things.” Rook, like a boy witnessing a carnival trick for the first time, stood smiling.

  “I wouldn’t be too brazen showing something off like that here.” Kirk didn’t take his eyes off her; his fishing line dangled on his side. “You might scare more people than you should.”

  “I’ll be more considerate next time.” Euphemia nodded, her tone lowered to a near-whisper. “This was the most private space offered to me. I trust both of you can keep this as yet another secret for me.”

  “Prayer lady, you really need not ask.”

  Rook scanned around and said, “You know me, but I want a cool trick to learn too.”

  Not far from them were uniformed workers installing a small rectangular contraption a few meters away from Luminberg’s walls. It resembled an angled pole, though the sharp tip had grooves. They did not belong to the city administration; the logo of a three-peaked mountain on the workers’ backs glistened in the daylight.

  As for Kirk, he looked around and checked if these men were probing them. They were too occupied putting away shovels, picks, and a toolbox that resembled a metal picnic basket. At least he could return to spending the afternoon filling his basket with young trout.