27 March 1686 of the 6th Era, Royal Alchemy Society HQ, West District

  Antony sat in his chair, staring at the rows of numbers in front of him, but no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, the things simply refused to make sense. They danced across the page, mockingly laughing at him, switched places, or outright disappeared.

  He shook his head, and the writing went back to normal, though now he realised that the rows and columns were slightly skewed, which made following the accounts that bit more difficult.

  I should really talk to Mr Reeves about his handwriting, or gift him a ruler for Solstice, he hesitantly turned the page, rubbing his temple. This helped little, and the next page was even worse than the previous one. Antony mindlessly leafed through the document, almost expecting a page or two to be upside down or rotated by ninety degrees. At least that was not the case, but the numbers continued to make no sense. Finally admitting defeat, he set the thing aside and picked up another one, but that one, too, held his attention for maybe a minute before he picked up the next file.

  Usually he had more patience and could tolerate the awful handwriting and the careless ink blots. Even the grease spots on the documents Mr Green submitted to him weren’t much of an issue. Oh, there were so many of those. The man had no concept of napkins or washing his hands after the meal, and requests not to eat while writing his reports fell on deaf ears. Today, however, all of this irritated him beyond measure. Almost enough where he wanted to get up, find all of these people, and give them a piece of his mind with maybe a fireball or two thrown at that blasted sandwich to finally get the point across.

  Oh, what am I even thinking? His hand stopped as he was listlessly turning yet another page. I really should concentrate. Turning that sandwich into coal won’t solve anything. Besides, poor Mr Green is not to be blamed for my own idiocy. If only I kept my mouth shut, or at least thought…

  “Is something wrong?”

  Emerging from his ruminations, he now realised that the room was oddly quiet. Antony raised his head only to find that Lord Blackwater had stopped writing, and probably did so a while ago, and was sitting at his desk, carefully observing him. Almost like a cat watching a mouse, if the cat were concerned with the mouse’s wellbeing.

  “It’s nothing. Mr Green managed to get… I think this is soup,” he squinted slightly, eyeing the suspicious stain. “Whatever it is, it’s covering a large portion of his calculations, and I do not understand where the end sum comes from.”

  “And what angered you so in the previous report?”

  “Angered?”

  “You stared at it for five minutes,” he raised his pocket watch, indicating that he had been keeping time, “and judging by your expression, it somehow managed to personally offend you, your mother, your grandmother, and the Queen for good measure, may the Lady of the Golden Moon protect her soul.”

  “Ah… Nothing, really. Was thinking about something unrelated and got lost in thought.”

  Lord Blackwater raised his eyebrow, “Is that really how it is? And what were those thoughts about?”

  “I forgot to buy groceries yesterday.”

  “Really?” Lord Blackwater indicated with a lofty wave of his hand that there were lies, blatant lies, and whatever this was, and he was definitely not buying it. If anything, Antony’s unwillingness to speak only further fuelled his curiosity. “Had I not known better, I’d have said you’ve finally fallen in love again, or at least met someone you find interesting enough to pursue.”

  Antony cleared his throat, glaring at the dusk elf opposite him. The latter calmly met his gaze and stared back, as if this were some sort of contest.

  The moment your nose picks up a possible gossip, even if it’s about your own secretary, you just can’t help yourself, can you now? Unfortunately, I’ll have to disappoint you.

  “One of these days I’ll really hand over my resignation letter.”

  “You threaten me with that every other week, but I am yet to see a single piece of paper with anything even remotely resembling that,” despite the light-hearted tone, Lord Blackwater’s gaze remained sharp.

  “Don’t try me.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Antony mumbled something else, by far less decent, and put away his quill, then stood up and unhurriedly walked towards the large window overlooking Alchemy Square. Truly a funny coincidence, the fact that the building of the Royal Alchemy Society was situated on Alchemy Square. The place got its name well before the RAS was so much as a concept, and was chosen because of ease of access and proximity to different businesses and institutions. No one even realised this was the case until the grand opening. Or, at least, that was how the story went. Both he and Lord Blackwater liked this urban legend too much to try and disprove it, even though they both knew that it was just that, an urban legend. Something to tell a new hire, or a guest of the city.

  “What’s troubling you then?”

  “I already told you. It is nothing.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Blackwater leaned back in his chair, slightly rocking in it. “And that ‘nothing’ somehow brought your productivity to a grinding halt.

  “If there is something wrong, tell me. You’re my personal secretary, but you’re also my friend, you do remember that, don’t you? And… I’m sorry, I hope that just now I didn’t say something that upset you.”

  He dropped all pretence and stopped smiling, his voice filled with genuine worry.

  “You didn’t.”

  For a while, Antony observed the crowd down below and the two sparrows bickering over something on the other side of the glass. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, but kept going back to yesterday’s conversation.

  While walking Charlotte to the hotel, he accidentally let it slip that he knew a bit more about her condition than he let on. A fair bit more. She instantly caught on to it, completely misunderstanding his intentions at first, then, in turn, she revealed that she, too, knew a thing or two about him that were not in his official files, asking him directly if his involvement with her all these years was truly because he considered her a friend or because he thought her a useful asset for his own work.

  He could only thank the Lady of the Dead Moon that Her chosen was level-headed enough that she gave him time to explain himself instead of freezing him to death then and there. As they talked though, it became painfully clear to him that she did not really believe a single word he said. At least, none apart from those she had confirmed on her own.

  She did not shout in the end, nor send him away, only said that she needed time to think things through, which gave him faint hope in a positive outcome. Still, she did not share her plans for today, and she parted ways with him immediately following that conversation.

  If he could, he would have gladly turned back time and acted differently. No, he could do just that, but the price was… Nothing was worth that price, nothing short of saving the entire universe, and even that was questionable.

  Not that any of it mattered now, seeing that he was stuck in this office and had another dozen reports and letters to go through.

  “I’m just a tad tired,” he finally replied, feeling Lord Blackwater’s unwavering gaze on his back. “Didn’t get much rest for the last couple of days, despite you giving me days off, and,” he vaguely pointed at the skies, “spring, weather changing three times a day, all that…”

  “Do you need more time off?” Lord Blackwater suggested after a long pause. “Say, a week or even two, maybe?”

  “Uhuh, and find the place a burning wreck once I return.”

  “I am disorganised, but not that disorganised, Antony,” he heartily laughed. “I promise I won’t throw out those reports, either, and will attend all those meetings you’ve fought so hard to schedule for me. The ones that matter, anyway… That was a joke,” he quickly added, noticing his secretary’s pained expression. “Really. Mr Rosebloom can cover for you in the meantime. He’s been itching for more work as of late anyway. I’d rather you get some proper rest, even if you spend these two weeks at home reading and rereading Sir Fleming’s novels, than have to arrange for your funeral because I managed to overwork you into the grave.”

  Antony coughed and shook his head, “I’m not at that stage yet.”

  “Then let’s make sure you don’t get to that stage,” Lord Blackwater stood up, too, walked up to Antony and placed his hand on Antony’s shoulder. “You’re on vacation, effective now. Get out.”

  “That’s–”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  “Fine. One week or two?”

  “Let’s make it two,” Lord Blackwater firmly nodded to his own judgement. “Hopefully that’s enough for you to overcome your spring sickness.”

  “Alright.”

  Antony briskly walked over to the coat stand to fetch his belongings, but suddenly paused.

  “Andrew, there’s something I should probably say. I’m not sure what’s going on, but some of the documents I’ve been going through don’t make any sense whatsoever.”

  “Anything specific? Or are we talking little messenger birds?” He made a small, barely visible gesture.

  “I wish. Nothing from that side. More of a feeling, and a few premonitions. Be careful.”

  “I’ll be vigilant,” his tone became serious. “Promise me to do the same.”

  “I will. Also, please tell Mr Reeves that twenty five multiplied by two is… not twenty five. I’m afraid he’ll have to redo most of that report.”

  Antony curtly nodded as he bade farewell and closed the door behind him. But, having taken a couple steps down the corridor, stopped, took off his glasses, and vigorously rubbed his forehead.

  “You know me too well,” he murmured. “Sometimes I feel like you know me better than I know myself.”