I woke up exhausted but eager to rise. Yesterday, I’d unlocked three schools of magic and a rare skill, manuscript creation. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so deterred by my lack of progress. What did the others have to show for their time—a +1 stamina helm? With four new skills, it felt like I’d found a purpose.

  Over breakfast, I told Charitybelle how I’d learned to rank up my magic skills with targeting dummies.

  She laughed, blushed, and shook her head.

  I laughed with her, not knowing why she found the news amusing. “What?”

  “It’s funny how you’re adapting to the game.”

  “You wanna join me? We can shoot target dummies together before we hit the library?”

  “How could a girl say ‘no’ to target dummies? Now that you don’t need a magic tutor, are you quitting your library quest?”

  “No way, I’m nearly done. I can almost taste the three-and-a-half-silver.”

  Charitybelle raised her eyebrows. “You’re getting three silver? We’ve only seen coppers dropping from monsters. None of us have seen a silver piece for a quest reward. Everything in town costs copper—at least food and clothes. With silver, you could buy tools and gear or a swanky new outfit.”

  We cackled at the thought of spending silver on fashion. The others would disown me if I bought anything but weapons.

  Money makes everything easier, but I wasn’t doing the quest for the silver. Learning from Mr. Fergus seemed important.

  I could interpret his comments in multiple ways—as if he were engaged in another conversation, one whose meaning I wasn’t privy to. Impressing him mattered to me, so I wouldn’t give up.

  Picking up rare skills like manuscript creation became a reward unto itself.

  Perhaps I didn’t want to admit that I wanted to please my new father figure. Wasn’t I too old to be needy for an adult’s attention? Hopefully, the others wouldn’t suspect this—they only saw me as a dedicated, if not boring, student.

  Casting Heavenly Favor on myself while working on my lettering didn’t address the fatigue I felt from the previous evening’s exertions, but I sustained a suitable level of concentration. Throughout the morning, I penned practice words on vellum while fifty ruled sheets of parchment awaited, untouched since I’d finished making them.

  Around noon, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and could tell that Charitybelle made the sounds. I turned to welcome her before she reached the top. “And where have you been all morning? Natural philosophy books, I suppose?”

  Of course, she greeted me with a beaming smile, but she shook her head. “Guess what! I found a bunch of engineering books with technical drawings and architecture. I found blueprints of watermills?”

  “Watermills?”

  Charitybelle nodded enthusiastically. “My dad works in the army as a civil engineer. That makes me an army brat, but not really. We didn’t move around as much as other families in the service. Dad let me play with his programs. His software used 3D models of landscapes, and I learned how to use it to divert water from one place to another.”

  I listened intently to her personal details. We spoke judiciously about our lives and never asked probing questions. It felt a bit like the gladiator thing, but we also wanted to separate from our previous lives—proving to ourselves and others that we didn’t need grown-ups caring for us.

  Students our age commonly embraced values lying opposite to those of their parents, reaching for fashions that distinguished us from previous generations. Our parents probably did the same to our grandparents.

  In my case, contrariness was genuine. But with Charitybelle, I think she wanted to show she wasn’t homesick. None of us gave our real names, preferring to identify ourselves with in-game monikers.

  Charitybelle studied my vellum while she spoke. “His programs have visualization features that blow me away. My dad showed me how to simulate floods, and that’s how I learned about drainage and sanitation. It’s funny how that memory comes up after finding blueprints of mills and waterwheels. It’s nerdy, but I like how the cogs and cams work with the gears and what simple water power can achieve.”

  The topic ran aground, as it often did after Charitybelle unloaded her thoughts about medieval technology. ArtGirl affectionately called her nerdy rants “Ringing the Belle.”

  In the ensuing silence, Charitybelle furrowed her brows as she read my practice vellum. “I still have a hard time reading this kind of text. The entire library has the same lettering. I hate it. It’s too hard to tell the difference between the letters. The vertical strokes are so heavy they camouflage the words. Why does everyone in Miros write like this?”

  I regarded my vellum. “Maybe it’s easier to read after you practice writing.” I offered my stylus to her in jest.

  She grunted and shook her head. “Right. I’m off to the academy for combat training. They have a class on daggers and short swords at sixth-hour. I was the first to sign up for it. You’re here until dinner?”

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  I nodded.

  “Later, gator.” She wiggled her fingers and stomped back down the stairs.

  The creaking staircase reminded me of another way Mr. Fergus stood out. He made no sounds when he walked. I’d invented a mini-game of trying to walk up the stairs as quietly but could never avoid making noise.

  I kept my mana pool empty by spamming Heavenly Favor but couldn’t always remember to cast it. Doing so every 30 seconds prevented me from concentrating on my work.

  I started a habit of spending ten minutes zapping the training dummies on my way to and from the library and reached the second rank in primal magic the following day. That afternoon, I reached rank 4 in manuscript creation, my sole nonmagical skill. Mr. Fergus checked my work less frequently, which I took as a positive sign.

  At last, Mr. Fergus picked up my vellum. “This is quite good. I think you’re ready for the catalog. The nobles will lament that grouping a book by subject undermines its prestige or value, but I say that’s the librarian’s prerogative.”

  Mr. Fergus beckoned me into his office. When he opened the door, a scent hit me like a punch to the nose—a potpourri of both sweet and unpleasant odors.

  The room’s curious clutter captured my attention, making my mentor’s instructions difficult to follow. Shelves, nooks, and desks filled the floor space. Scrolls, books, gadgets, and animal skeletons layered the lower strata of every horizontal surface. Jars filled with organs and bundles of dried plants cluttered the space. Cobwebs filled with dead bugs cluttered the corners.

  Mr. Fergus produced a list of subject groupings and library locations. He reached midway through his explanation when I finally heard him.

  After blushing, I apologized. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Your things caught my attention.”

  Mr. Fergus held back a smile. “I said that the library can survive without many of its volumes. We can rid ourselves of the decorative folios if space becomes an issue. A book’s ornamentation and its utility share an inverse relationship. Ironically, the valuable ones are the same we wish to purge. We’ll raise enough money to make Belden famous for its library—but that’s getting ahead of ourselves. First, you must make room in each section. We’ll order the books alphabetically by subject.”

  Even through opaque eyeglasses, Mr. Fergus couldn’t hide his excitement. “And each subject will have a separate list. When we receive new books, we need only update one list, not the entire catalog.”

  After a pause, we adjourned to the first floor and discussed restructuring the library after he locked his door. “Any books you pull can go into special collections. We’ll sort them another day.”

  I nodded and got to work.

  Rearranging the shelves required physical labor, so I grew hungrier earlier in the day. I took breaks to eat biscuits and tea and zapped target dummies to and from Formal Hall.

  I expected to finish sorting the books within two to three days. Compiling and writing out a new catalog would take a few more days. By my estimate, an entire month would have passed before completing my quest, but I’d nearly finished.

  PinkFox and ArtGirl showed up for dinner at Formal Hall. They usually visited every few days to check in on me and Charitybelle.

  After relating the good news about starting the library’s catalog, my dinner companions expressed more sympathy than appreciation. They didn’t understand my motives, nor did I reveal my suspicions that Mr. Fergus might somehow give me an edge in the contest. The gang wouldn’t do the work even if I told them—they craved adventure, sport, and exploration. I wanted fun, too, but winning the long game took priority.

  ArtGirl smacked the tabletop with her palms. “Guess what! We’re striking out for the eastern foothills of the Highwalls. This time, we’re going straight into the woods. No paths at all!”

  Charitybelle and I showed that we were duly impressed.

  PinkFox rubbed her hands together. “There’s gotta be better monsters out there. None of us have gained levels in the past few weeks. We just need more game. It’s going to be a two or three-day trip. You guys want to go?”

  Charitybelle sat up straight. “Oh! Yeah, let’s do it, Patch! Let’s go.”

  It dismayed me that my fellow academic wanted to join them. I shrugged. “Can’t. Stacking books.”

  Charitybelle nodded, but her shoulders slumped before turning to ArtGirl. “You guys need to promise you won’t leave me alone with RIP and Fab.”

  Everyone laughed except me.

  When PinkFox saw I didn’t quite understand the joke, she leaned over and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “They’re disposed to public displays of affection. They never leave each other alone. And Arty is pretending she doesn’t want to join in.”

  Louder laughter erupted.

  ArtGirl rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  They acted giddy over their upcoming trip, treating it like a field trip or a spring break vacation.

  The discussion turned to the drier topic of the trip’s logistics, and PinkFox ran through checklists to ensure they had enough inventory space. They pooled their money and bought cooking gear, bedrolls, camping supplies, and lanterns, outfitting themselves with extra bags and packs in case they found gobs of monsters.

  Players reaching level 5 lost the newbie buff protecting us from other players. Anyone leaving school grounds for 12 hours lost it until they returned to Belden University. Fabulosa had already reached that point, so the rest couldn’t be far behind. The implications of a multi-day safari could change the game in many ways. What if they decided not to come back?

  “Are you guys ever worried that someone might backstab someone else?”

  The group exchanged looks as if my question had broken an unspoken etiquette.

  ArtGirl sighed. “You need to relax. Risk is part of the game. Besides, everyone has too much fun to ruin it with betrayals.”

  PinkFox pointed at me. “That’s why we avoid dangerous battles. We keep a loose rule that no one’s health drops below 50 percent. It would take a group-wide conspiracy to knock one of us out—and Fab couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.”

  PinkFox grinned before giving me a serious look. “You’re going to get further in the contest by being part of an alliance. What’s good for the group is good for the individual.”

  Charitybelle nodded in agreement. “RIP is becoming the group’s tank, taunting monsters to keep us helpless girls safe.”

  PinkFox made claw gestures with her fingers. “That means we get to do all the damage. Team Lioness, baby!”

  ArtGirl echoed with a growl and giggles before sobering up. “We avoided dangerous encounters, so errors aren’t fatal. I just wish level-grinding wasn’t so slow.”

  PinkFox rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I gotta do all the tracking while the rest of you get to gab all day. It’s a wonder you don’t chase off all the monsters with your laughing.”

  ArtGirl shrugged. “Yeah, but your survival skill is rank 9. I still don’t know how you got it so high.”

  PinkFox brushed off the compliment and turned to me. “Tracking isn’t like in the movies where actors glance at the ground to pick up a trail. That’s stupid. No one is that good. It takes painstaking work to find a trail. Sometimes, I need to circle for hours to find anything. If you ever decide to level up, the first power you’ll need is Rest and Mend. After each combat, we use it to restore health and mana. Instead of waiting an hour to regenerate, Rest and Mend only takes a few minutes.”

  Before wishing everyone a good night, I warned them to be careful.

  I wished Charitybelle luck one last time and watched her leave until she turned. We shared eye contact long enough to burn the moment in my memory.

  That lingering stare kept me awake at night. Something had happened between us.