Chapter 56: Protectiveness, Glitches, and Failures

  Tak escorted me to the apartment, which Tess and I would be giving up soon. I couldn’t wait to trade the new free rent—aside from grueling manual labor—for being free of rent. I had better uses for the golds—I’m happy to say that I was square with Tess regarding rent, for the time being. So, the soonest moved the less chance for me to get behind, again.

  //Redundant much?//

  ‘Ignore a lot.’

  When we opened the door, I saw Tess sitting on the couch, a sticky bun half raised to her mouth, her gaze boring a hole in the wall.

  “Hey, Book,” she said but didn’t turn her head, neither raising nor lowering the sticky bun. “Tak.”

  //Good situational awareness//

  “Tess, you good?” I asked, worried about her almost trance-like state. Also, if she wasn’t going to eat that sticky bun…

  “Yeah,” she gave a little shake of her head, awareness returning. She set the bun down and finally looked over to the pair of us. “Book, what the fuck? What happened to your head?”

  Ah, she’d noticed the blood. The cut—graze, really—was still oozing the red stuff.

  “He cracked himself with his own mace,” Tak said with way too much glee for my taste.

  “W-what?” And there was the laughter, yup. “How? Or better yet, why?”

  ‘OK, you can stop laughing now’, I thought. I knew better than to say it, throwing fuel on the fire.

  “He was jumped outside the attic workshop.”

  Tess surged to her feet, all laughter forgotten in the face of a threat. “Who?”

  There was enough menace in the one word I felt a thrill of fear myself. Then I got the warm fuzzies, knowing my best friend was in fierce protector mode. Ride or die.

  “Jhok,” I told her. She looked puzzled, so I offered more information “From Team Nightshade, those thugs we surprised and kicked their asses. You remember.” The last wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah,” put in Tak. “He was alone, so we got lucky. We took him down, again. What did you call it? Kicked his ass. Ha, I like that, it’s one of your better phrases.”

  It was nice, having someone that ‘got you’. Tess let her guard down, trotting over to inspect my head wound. She grabbed me by the ears, pulling and twisting to get a better look.

  “Ouch, Tess! Watch it, OK?”

  “Don’t be a baby.”

  Tak snickered at that. Women, huh?

  //Excuse me?//

  “Men, Tak. They are all babies, am I right?”

  Yeah, I was outnumbered three to one. It was a lost cause, so I shut up.

  “[Heal]ing salve?”

  “Yes. No bandages, though. I should probably start carrying some, I guess.”

  “Yep,” Tess snorted. “If you are going to hang around Book, you gotta know he picks up a lot of boo-boos.”

  “Hey! I resemble that remark.” If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

  //Cliche//

  I was catching it from all sides. Didn’t they know that I was the victim, here?

  //Hopeless//

  “Yeah, you’ll survive.” Tess blotted at the wound with her sleeve, not caring about the blood. “Just how did you do this to yourself?”

  “Uh…” was there any good way to put this? Nope. “He screamed in my ear, and well, I went to cover it and kinda forgot…”

  “That you were holding a deadly weapon,” Tak giggled.

  “Ha!”

  Tak took over the story, going into detail about how we foiled the attack. I didn’t come off too bad; she came off better.

  “Nice work, you two. Teamwork is the way to get it done, when you are outclassed.”

  “And I didn’t freeze.”

  “Tak, dude, you have to let that go!”

  “I know, Tess. It’s hard. Your training has helped, so thanks.”

  “No prob’s. Happy to do it, even it isn’t my ‘job’ as group physical trainer. We need to come up with a name for whatever it is we have going on.”

  “Tricky,” Tak said. “We are not a Guild Team, and we can’t officially have a business, so we have to be careful labeling ourselves.”

  “How about a club?” I asked, thinking that should be safe. We’d moved to the kitchen table, seating ourselves around it.

  “That might work, though that’s usually for kids.”

  “We are young enough,” I said.

  “We could be the ‘Scooby gang’!”

  “Ruh-roh!"

  “Meddling kids!”

  “You two are so odd.”

  We laughed.

  “You have three new scrolls, already?” There was both pride and wonder in Master Alric’s tone.

  It was a new One-Day, a new work week, and I was itching to conquer the two remaining scroll types from my assignment.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “I should have the other two soon, maybe even today, Sir. Unless you have a paying job for me to work on?”

  “No, no. I can handle it today. You work on those others, and don’t forget the correct ink.”

  Was he ever going to let up on that? Doubtful. I needed to explore my flex ink further. Anyway, if I could manage it successfully, that’d be four more *Ding!*s, which, wait…another [Level]?!

  //Uh, no//

  ‘Huh? But, that would be ten new ones, and a [Level] only takes eight, right?’

  //Technically, yes. But.//

  ‘But?’ Take it away, Sir Mix-A-Lot.

  //There are only three slots left under your [Skill]s folders—you only get one folder per [Level]//

  ‘Crap. That means [Spell]s? There is only two slots left for that, too, so…?’

  //The first folder, yes. But you get two more, like [Skill]s, one for each [Level]. Have you not figured that out?//

  ‘Double-crap.’ I’d feared that was the case but put it out of my mind. Denial, you sweet, sweet mistress. ‘So I need at least one more [Spell], dammit. Any suggestions on how I get one?’

  //I’ll work the problem. For now, do your scroll and ink thing//

  Fine, I’ll do my thing. I don’t want to say it, I really don’t…But, ‘What happens to the extra [Skill], will I lose it if there is no room?’

  //I think I can hold it in limbo, for a time. You will be on the clock, however//

  Swell, just swell. Pressure makes diamonds, I guess.

  //You are full of those, aren’t you?//

  ‘Wait!’

  //*Sigh*, yes?//

  ‘I already got six more, and there is only three slots!’

  //Limbo. Do you not listen at all?//

  ‘You didn’t place any of them—you said I still had three to go?’

  //You never checked. I was waiting for you//

  ‘Ahhrg! You never waited before.’

  //My b@d; I thought you might want !nput on your progre$sion//

  ‘That means I need five [Spell]s?! WTF, Sia? And you are glitching, you know.’

  //N-no-o//

  OK, I’m starting to get worried. Sia, stuttering?

  //D-do your work. Give me t!me t-to process//

  ‘Sia?’

  //B-b-b-oo-k-k. T!me!//

  I let it go, what else could I do? I didn’t want to think what would happen if my AI friend fried inside my head. I’m guessing worse than the old ‘brain hug’. Would I be able to smell the burning? And I hope that is figurative, not literal.

  There was nothing I could do, except wait it out with a clenched sphincter. So I pulled out the recipe book and started studying. According to Alric’s notes, petrified tree bat wing was good for both, parchment-wise. Good; cheap. Perfect. The [purify] ink called for hydrochloric acid, aluminum sulfate, and activated carbon—surprisingly enough, easily attainable here. Master Alric had all of them in abundance, residing in his stock room. I ought to know, re-supply being a part of my duties. And none of them came from various creatures, thank the Mother and Bless her Roots. No squeezing slime, yay!

  [Preserve] was a different story, unfortunately. A variety of acids in salt form, easily said and done. Then came the nasty part; more ooze enzyme. There was a variety of ooze that lived in saltwater marshes, called a Red Bog ooze, and they smelled. Sulfur and rot, salt and capsaicin. It needed to be manipulated—squeezed!--by hand, and it burned worse than the hydrochloric acid if it got on you. Imagine rubbing ghost pepper juice in your armpits, it’s like that.

  I waited for a snarky barb, but nothing. Damn.

  I managed to mix a batch of each ink, [mana] infused them, and felt the correctness click in my brain as the [mana] feedback told me they were a success.

  No *Ding!*s; no artificial approval. Was this how it was for every other elf? Going off of a feeling—basically trusting on faith—was unsettling. I’ve always been a validation seeker, rarely trusting in my gut.

  ‘You’ve spoiled me, Sia.’

  Silence.

  I pulled out some tree bat parchments and set to work. I applied myself diligently, doing everything I could to set aside my worry. I didn’t work.

  “Mother’s Bark!” My fourth scroll in a row flamed up in my face. I haven’t had a failure rate this bad in some time.

  “Book?”

  Ah, greaaat. Just what I needed, a nosy Master.

  “Master?” I already knew—no need to make it a question—but I had to observe formality.

  “You sound frustrated, my boy.”

  “Yes, Master. I have mixed the last two inks, correctly, I hope. They feel right, [mana] wise.”

  “Hmm, you question if they are correct? You have always known, in the past.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sir.” ‘Keep the formality and keep your secret’, I told myself. “I’m having an off day, that’s all.”

  “It happens. Still, that was a pretty heavy curse, one I wouldn’t want my customers to overhear.”

  Scolded, and rightly so.

  “Sorry, sir. I’ve burned through four scrolls, no results outside of smoke and ash.”

  “Book, four scrolls are nothing. I have seen you waste far more; there is something else. Tell me.”

  It was hard not to totally unburden at the command, but I couldn’t afford that. “I know, but I should be better by now.”

  He looked at me, confusion written all over his features. I was confused, too, then realized my mistake. I had taken my quick advancement for granted, arrogantly thinking it was my due. I was just that good, or so I’d been telling myself.

  “You are being too hard, Book. Don’t fall into the trap of arrogance.”

  By the Mother, for Acorn’s sake, Mother’s Bark—any and all epitaphs—how did the man constantly read my mind?!

  //Y-your f@ce//

  ‘Sia!’

  “Sorry, Master Alric. You are right, I know. I need to slow down, appreciate how far I’ve come in a short time.”

  “You have been wearing yourself too thin, with all of your extracurriculars.”

  Please don’t tell me to stop, please don’t do it.

  “Take a break…”

  Dammit.

  “…re-center your mind, take care of your body.”

  Here it comes.

  “Yes, I think manual labor is what you need, right now.”

  Huh?

  “Take the rest of the week off, there are no pressing orders at the moment and you need to clear your head. Trying too hard for too long at one pursuit is unhealthy, and I am more than satisfied with your progress.”

  “Are you sure?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was Alric going soft on me?

  “Yes, apprentice, I am sure. I did handle the shop before you came along, I’ll have you know.” His smile took some of the sting out of the words.

  “Of course, Master. Thank you, I think a break would be good.” Not that I would stop trying, but sorting out Sia’s glitch was a top priority.

  //That, and hot water//

  No typos, good news. ‘Obviously.’

  //Certainly//

  “Clean up and go home, Book. Oh, and leave the recipe book here, alright?”

  Caught, I set the book in its usual place on my workstation, out of the way but close by hand.

  “Yes, sir, and thank you.” He briefly placed a hand on my shoulder, then remembered his station, put on a firm look, and headed back to his own desk under the window.

  ‘We have a lot to talk about.’

  //Yes. I’ve figured some things out, but I had to over-clock my processors to do it//

  ‘You OK?’

  //A little—how did you put it? Fried. But I’ll recover//

  ‘Good, I-I was worried there for a minute.’

  There was a long pause, and my worry tried to creep back in.

  //Thanks//