The usual Anvil residents’ meeting was held, as always, in the kitchen. Knuckles and I were explaining the new collection of holes in the hall’s interior over cups of tea with milk, while Cap was supposed to report on the smashed jar with the ether spark. However, he decided to keep his mouth shut, sitting there frozen like a statue and not drawing attention to himself – not even crunching on a biscuit, or occasionally sipping his tea.

  I told the whole story, and once I finished, I moved on to my grievances.

  “Harry, how is it that Knuckles has a submachine gun warded against ghosts and a full drum of ether rounds? You said you didn’t have time for nonsense!”

  “This isn’t nonsense,” Harry objected. “The lad doesn’t have magic, yet he’s constantly dragged into trouble with you. He needs a way to defend himself. Besides, stressful situations push sorcerers to grow. You catch fleeting sensations and end up doing things you couldn’t before.”

  “You know, I think I’ve had one of those sensations,” I recalled.

  “Oh? And how did it go? What happened?”

  I’d been waiting for that question and answered with feeling:

  “Nothing good! I charged the spell, but it shattered the moment I pulled it from the page.”

  “Do it again,” the wizard demanded.

  “Harry…”

  “I said, do it again.”

  Reluctantly, I pulled one of the spell sheets from the table and started pouring ether into it until my fingers began to tingle. I shot Harry a questioning look, but he just shrugged. Carefully, I tried to pull the spell off the page, and the ether lines shifted aside, revealing the ink beneath, before cracking and scattering.

  “Something like that,” I said sourly, though I felt a strange satisfaction in the failure – like I’d just proved something to Harry. Then again… maybe I’d done it on purpose, out of frustration?

  “One more time,” I said, this time pushing my emotions aside and focusing completely on the spell. I charged it, pulled… and it broke again. “Shame.”

  “Not at all,” Harry countered. “I’d say there’s progress. Strange that you missed it.”

  “Go on!” I said, intrigued.

  “You did pull the spell off the page. It only broke afterwards. Try using less energy so it doesn’t crackle under your fingers.”

  “But you told me to do exactly that!”

  “I told you to feel it. A light pressure is enough, but you’re overloading it until it bursts from the inside. It’s like steel – the harder it is, the more brittle it becomes. Also, you’re pouring all the energy into one spot. It’s not critical when using a couple of runes or a circle, but in shapes with corners, it creates imbalances in tension.”

  “So how do I…”

  “Don’t overthink it. Only trouble comes quickly; good things take years of practice. Just try to use less energy. That should make the spell more elastic.”

  “Well, progress is great and all,” I said, “but what I really need is a couple of rings enchanted with these spells – long-range ones, not contact-based.”

  “No,” Harry replied flatly.

  “Yes.”

  “I forbid it.” Harry wagged a finger at me. “As your teacher, I forbid it.”

  “I’m starting to doubt your teaching abilities. Next time, he’ll twist my head clean off, and you’ll be one student short!”

  “Master the spell,” the wizard said dismissively. Before I could argue again, he turned to Knuckles and pointed at him. “Explain your actions.”

  “What, like why I helped?” Knuckles asked. “He was trying to snuff Duncan, so I stepped in.”

  “Did Nathan relay Duncan’s order to leave?”

  “He did,” Knuckles admitted, puffing out his cheeks before quickly brightening. “But, see, Duncan’s not my boss, sir!” He grinned. “You said so yourself.”

  “Fair enough,” Harry conceded. “But you left your brother behind.”

  “Harry,” I began, but the wizard raised his fist at me, signalling that the boy needed to answer for himself.

  “Well, uh… There was a ruckus in the house. I mean, the sounds of a fight were coming from inside. No one was chasing the kid, and he could’ve left the estate on his own. Meanwhile, Lord Loxlin might’ve needed my help. And you, sir, had ordered me to look after him.”

  “So you believe you acted purely out of logic when you ran back into the house?”

  “Yes, sir!” Knuckles snapped to attention and barked his reply proudly.

  “Lies!” Harry shot back. “Think it over and give me the proper answer.”

  Knuckles frowned, his brow furrowing.

  “Well, I, uh… got a little scared at first. But then, when I grabbed the gun…”

  “You felt powerful, confident,” Harry prompted, and Knuckles flushed pink with embarrassment.

  “Yeah… yeah, that’s true.”

  “The next time that happens,” Harry said, “use your head.”

  “I’d still have had to run,” Clint objected. “Back to the house. Duncan wouldn’t have managed on his own.”

  “You only know that now,” Harry countered.

  Knuckles scowled again.

  “Speak up,” Harry encouraged him. “I can see you’ve got objections.”

  “Just a second.” Knuckles took a moment to collect his thoughts, then answered clearly, without a single stammer. “I couldn’t know what was happening inside the house, but I did know it was a ghost, and I had a weapon to fight it. It would’ve been stupid not to use it.”

  “And that’s true!” Harry agreed. “But is that what you were thinking about when you rushed to help Duncan?”

  Knuckles frowned even deeper, his face practically contorting. He clearly didn’t like this line of questioning.

  “If I’d stopped to think that much, I wouldn’t have moved a muscle until evening!” he blurted out, then quickly added, a little nervously, “Sir.”

  “Also true,” Harry chuckled. “Being able to make quick decisions will serve you well in life, but at least try to consider the most obvious consequences.” Then the wizard reached into his pocket, pulled out a wallet, retrieved a ten-pound note, and laid it on the table in front of Knuckles. “A bonus. You earned it.”

  His gaze then shifted to Nathan, who shrank back into his chair.

  “So, why did you smash the jar?” Harry asked.

  “Sorry,” Cap mumbled.

  “I didn’t ask for an apology,” Harry said gently. “I asked why you did it.”

  “I got scared,” Nathan admitted.

  “That’s fair,” Harry replied with a dismissive wave. “I would’ve been scared too.” That earned him a doubtful look from the boy, forcing Harry to clarify. “At your age. Well?”

  “I… I don’t know,” Nathan muttered gloomily.

  “That’s unfortunate!” Harry said. “If you’d known, you’d have earned a bonus.”

  “But I smashed the jar,” Cap protested.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Do you really think a piece of glass matters more to me than an apprentice?” Harry waved the thought away. “You acted on instinct, and you acted correctly. The problem is that you didn’t understand what you did. Look: you didn’t have much of a chance against the ghost, so you decided to run.”

  “Duncan ordered me to. But I could’ve run with the jar.”

  “It would’ve slowed you down,” Harry dismissed. “And besides, you didn’t just drop it on the floor – you threw it at the ghost. A week ago, you’d have panicked at the sight of a rat ghost, so this is progress. But you don’t get a bonus this time. Learn to analyse your actions. Let’s leave it at that. Anyone else have business or new tasks to hand out?”

  “Harry,” I began, ready to cast another line about those rings. But the wizard seemed to know exactly what I was about to ask.

  “Duncan, when are you going to finish that first list of ten spells?”

  “Almost done,” I muttered.

  “You’re already a week overdue,” Harry grumbled, downing the last of his tea in one gulp. “Clean up here and get to it.”

  Unbelievable. He doesn’t mind the kid smashing an intricately enchanted piece of glass, but he won’t even give me a simple piece of metal that’s easier to enchant. And he’s way better with metal! Fine, let’s assume the great Harry Smith actually has his reasons for acting this way. Either way, I clearly need to devote a few hours to practising spells – and thinking up some new ones. Time to finally finish that list.

  Harry took Cap with him to hunt ghosts, Knuckles headed off to clean his tommy gun and prepare more ether rounds, and I cleared the table before retreating to my room to sort through the books I’d borrowed from Harry earlier. As usual, my plans for peaceful study didn’t last long: Moody called, promising to arrive in half an hour – with his daughter in tow.

  I set the books aside and began making calls home to figure out the state of my finances and other matters. First, I rang Logan, who was supposed to have raided Grandpa’s safe, but instead, I got Uncle Gordon on the line.

  “Hello, Duncan,” Gordon greeted me. “Care to explain why you need money? And that much, at that!”

  “If only I knew what kind of sum we’re even talking about,” I grumbled. Uncle Gordon could go on for hours about money – its care, its value, its relationship with profit, negotiations, deals, contracts, and every other topic connected to the merchant’s profession.

  “If you mean what grandfather left you, it’s a hundred and twenty-two thousand pounds.”

  My jaw practically hit the floor. I was still busy picking it up when Gordon repeated his question. I’d known Grandpa had left me a hefty inheritance, but that much? A working man’s average wage was near twenty pounds a month, and my Cooper cost seven hundred if you were talking about a brand-new one. But, as Moody had said, urban real estate wasn’t like farmland. Even farmers preferred not to sell their land, leasing it out instead. And in the city, a single plot for construction could cost ten times as much as a full acre in the countryside.

  “Duncan, are you there?”

  Gordon blew into the receiver twice, leaving my ear ringing but snapping me out of my daze. That kind of money was unheard of by current standards, but if I kept spending the way I was now, I’d… I’d burn through it all. And I still had clan debts to pay off, not to mention leaving something behind for my kids. If I ever had any, that is.

  “Duncan!” Gordon barked.

  “Sorry, Uncle, I’m here. Look, here’s the situation…” I told him everything I’d come up with.

  “Damn it, Duncan!” Gordon growled. “Why didn’t you consult me earlier?”

  “Isn’t this scheme going to be profitable?”

  “Profitable? Hell, yes, it will be! You should’ve started this right away! Bloody hell, when’s your meeting with the solicitor? I… I can’t leave right now!”

  “Uh… well, you wouldn’t make it anyway. It’s in twenty minutes.”

  “God, no one in this family knows the value of money!” Gordon exploded. “Alright, here’s how it’s going to work: you do not negotiate the rate per acre! I doubt the plots even add up to an acre. Negotiate per square yard instead. Now, first, you settle on the rate, then the budget. Absolutely not the other way around! Ask them to name their price. Say, ‘How much do you want?’” He paused, then cursed again. “If you’d told me sooner, I’d have a better idea of the numbers! Fine. Start low. One pence per ten square yard. You can go up to one per one if neded, but a pence per two yards is your target. If they push back, tell them they’ll still make money from the paperwork alone. And offer them a bonus. The bonus is essential because no one busts their arse for just a salary. But the bonus should work in our favour – it should be tied to savings. Take the lowest price they offer, then add ten percent of the savings as their bonus. Got it?”

  “Not quite. How am I supposed to withdraw money without being in Avoc?”

  “I’ll take care of the money, don’t worry about that. The budget will be a quarter million, but in return, I get half of the land you buy up.”

  “Deal,” I agreed immediately.

  “God, at least pretend to haggle!”

  “You wouldn’t cheat your own nephew.”

  “Now that’s the right pressure point, well done. Once you settle on the price with the lady, give her my number. I’ll handle the fine details. Tell her to call me around seven. And you – report back to me before then so I know what I’m working with.”

  Gordon grumbled a bit more, alternating between scolding me and offering useful advice, before hanging up.

  I put the kettle on and headed toward the hall, intending to knock on the door, but Harry stepped out first. The wizard looked pleased with himself, and Cap practically glowed.

  “What’s got you so cheerful?” I asked.

  “I caught a ghost!” Nathan declared proudly. “And I banished it! And I even collected ectoplasm!”

  I “put on a face” and politely nodded, acknowledging my fellow apprentice’s accomplishment, though my gaze slid toward the shiny new ring with a large amethyst on the boy’s finger. Really, Harry?

  “Well done. Moody’s stopping by soon. I’ve put the kettle on – could you brew the tea? Harry and I need to discuss a few things.”

  The kid bolted to the kitchen, and we followed him with our eyes.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” I said to my teacher.

  “He’s a child; he gets a pass,” Harry replied, clearly understanding my frustration. “But you – stop relying on crutches.”

  We greeted Harold in the same sitting room as before. The solicitor had brought an entire briefcase full of papers, and so had his daughter – though her briefcase was a bright red one. Moody introduced her as Sophia Potts and insisted I deal with the land matter as quickly as possible. As he put it, that would only make sense if I had at least a couple dozen thousand to spend.

  I promptly assured him I did and proceeded to follow my uncle’s advice.

  "Given that the plots not owned by the duke or the mayor are scattered across the slums in tiny fragments, I think it would make more sense to set the price per square yard rather than per acre. I doubt there are many acres to be had."

  “There is, actually,” Sophia corrected, flipping through her papers. “A little more than a thousand.”

  “Where did that much come from?” I asked, surprised.

  “Some of the land is only nominally owned by the city. For example, heirs haven’t claimed it after the owner’s death, or take this curious case: a bank seized some land for debt repayment, then sold it to the city at an inflated price. There are some questionable transactions here, and if you pull the right strings, you could secure these plots too.”

  “I like your approach, Mrs. Potts.”

  “Thank you. But as I understand it, we only have enough money for a couple of plots, and you prefer the cheapest ones.”

  “Not quite,” I said. “How much do you want?”

  "A thousand pounds would be enough for everything," Sophia joked. "Here are the recent sale prices in Smuggler’s Bay. I wouldn’t recommend relying on them, though – the price drops sharply as you get closer to the slums, and beyond a certain point, land doesn’t sell at all. Even so, no one has sold for less than… Per yard, it’s… three pence. No one has sold for less than three pence. I also looked into land in the City – there, it goes for more than four thousand per acre. A pound per yard."

  "And did you check Rapsy, for instance?" I asked. "This land will never get anywhere close to the City’s prices."

  "No, but in Deep, it’s two hundred," Sophia replied.

  I had no idea where Deep was. Probably one of the outskirts. But even so, the profit promised to be astronomical. I quickly ran some calculations in my head and realized I had more than enough money, though my uncle had brazenly claimed half the profit for himself.

  Alright, to be fair, I wouldn’t have gotten my hands on that money so quickly without him.

  "You’ll get a thousand," I said, noting the spark that lit up in Sophia’s eyes. "We’ll settle at a penny per ten square yards."

  "I’m afraid there’s an error in your calculations," Harold interjected. He meant that it would amount to more at that rate."

  "There isn’t," I replied. "I’m going to buy everything; you can have a fair share. By the way, if the price comes in lower than the stated minimum, you’ll get a bonus – say, ten percent of the savings. But you’ll need to discuss that with my uncle since he’s financing everything."

  I wrote Gordon’s number on a sheet of paper listing the plots and handed it to Sophia.

  "Do these terms work for you?"

  Sophia hesitated, unsure of what to say, and threw a questioning glance at her father, who conspicuously ignored it.

  “And if the price is higher?” she asked. “What if the owner digs in their heels?”

  “Work with those willing to sell first. We’ll deal with the stubborn ones last. And try to keep things quiet – don’t stir up unnecessary attention. My uncle will brief you on the details. Call him after seven tonight.”

  We wrapped up with Sophia quickly; Moody immediately sent her back to the office, and we moved on to the main agenda. The solicitor opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers. He handed two of them to us.

  “This is all I was able to find out about our Cavalier,” Harold said. “It’s not much, but the official information paints him as a man of honour with an impeccable reputation. If this goes to court, he’ll have the upper hand.”

  “And is there a chance it might not go to court?” I asked.

  “Young man, you seem unfamiliar with our judicial system,” Harold replied with a faint smile. “Take it from an old solicitor – more than half of all cases never reach trial.”

  I nodded, still unsure where he was going with this. Then Harold handed each of us a sheet with another name: Lucius Joseph Asquith.

  “Director of an orphanage, member of the city council, philanthropist, benefactor,” I read aloud. “Are you suggesting we negotiate with him?”

  “Asquith has a certain reputation. Those who need to know are well aware that he’s made a tidy profit from that orphanage. And along with him, so have certain other members of the city council. He’s a man who knows how to make deals. From what I’ve learned, the recent audit didn’t uncover anything illegal in the orphanage’s paperwork. Moreover, the Sparrow brothers’ funds were frozen immediately after their escape. The orphanage knew about the audit long before the directive was issued.”

  “That’s… unexpected,” I remarked.

  “On the contrary, young man, it’s very much to be expected,” Harold countered. “And to answer your earlier question – yes, the Fairburns have already come to an arrangement with him. The odds are not in our favour, which is why I must ask: have you considered the possibility of reconciliation with the Fairburn family?”