RE: Monarch
Chapter 51: Enclave XXI

I left the building at a brisk pace with Jorra on my heels. He stopped, but I kept walking, heading towards the city center.

“Cairn—er, Sontar, where are you going?” Jorra called after me.

“We’re leaving,” I stated.

“Why?” Jorra asked.

“Because this is ridiculous and not worth our time.” The words were bitter in my mouth.

“I don’t get it.” Jorra said.

I rounded on him, pulling him off the road into an abandoned side-street littered with boxes. “The woman who gave me this job, she’s not insane. She’s just an asshole. She knows I’ll turn this down. She’s just toying with me and wasting my time. In a few weeks, she’ll offer me a smaller task instead and string me a long for a few months.”

A few months I don’t fucking have.

A surge of frustration rose within me and I kicked an overturned crate, sending it skittering down the pavement.

Jorra looked between me and the crate I'd kicked. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know you’re not really the sort to go around robbing places. Especially not for the thrill of it. So, this has to do with whatever you were talking to my parents about, right?” Jorra asked.

“Yes,” I took off the mask and wiped a sheen of sweat on my forehead, leaning against the wall. “It’s... not really something I can wait around for, so at the end of the day, I have to go back in there with those idiots and give this a shot regardless.” I looked at him. “But this is far more dangerous than I thought it’d be. I can’t, in good conscience, bring you along.”

Jorra removed his mask and stared at the ground, considering. “Well that’s too bad.” His lips spread into a wide grin. “I’m terrified of what mother will say when I tell her you took me to meet Persephone.”

I stared at him, feeling more amused than betrayed. “You wouldn’t.”

“You sure?” Jorra peered at me. “Dad says my number one responsibility is looking out for you. Now, I’m not sure how he’d feel about this whole situation in general, but I’m pretty sure that he’d want me to do everything in my power to help. Not to mention the part where I’ve kind of gotten used to you, and it would suck if you died.” He punched me lightly in the chest. “Especially over something as stupid as this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Very noble. I’m not entirely sure how that noble sentiment translates to blackmail, but noble nonetheless.”

“If you die, or if they lock you up, I lose my partner in the sanctum. I’ve invested way too much time in you to risk switching things up now.”

“That’s literally the definition of the sunk-cost fallacy.”

“And you act like a phallus every time you talk over my head like that, but you don’t see me holding it against you.”

The side of my mouth quirked. “Fair.”

There was quiet as we both considered the next few moments. Jorra and I both put our masks to our faces as woman in a frilly dress passed by the mouth of the ally, gawked at both of us, then hurried on her way, her shoes clomping against the stone.

A snort escaped me, and Jorra started to laugh.

“So, what now?” He asked.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Well. First, we go back and tell them we’re in.”

“And then?”

The ideas began to multiply.

“We do what we said we were going to do. We handle logistics.”

----

I let myself through the backdoor of Casikas’s shop, counting my blessings that this was his day off and I didn’t have to explain the bevy of suspicious things I was about to create. The downside of this entire operation was that, if things went sideways and turned violent, I was effectively handicapped from using the most useful magic I had. It would be effectively signing the scene with a violet-flaming brush.

So, barring magic, I’d need to get creative.

There were the usual suspects. Coagulants, painkillers, and an iron-lung potion. The last one wasn’t strictly needed as we weren’t spending any time underwater, but the secondary effects had been extremely beneficial the night of the ambush. It kept me calm and rational despite the world going to hell all around me, and I was certain there were several points where I would have panicked and been easily picked off had the potion’s calming effect not kept me dialed in. It was too expensive to be used for this purpose, but I’d have to look at researching an alternative later.

Thankfully, I was getting better at making the potion, and it only took one try.

The next stage was not nearly so pleasant. With Casikas’s urging, I’d been branching from medicine to general alchemy. He had scolded me for my misgivings on the subject, claiming that as a magician with my level of botany knowledge, it would be a shame not to do so.

I’d been reticent and taken up the charge slowly. I’d inherited most of my strong feelings on Alchemists from Gunther, and by extension, Lillian, and practicing alchemy using the knowledge they’d taught me felt like a betrayal. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ɴ0velFɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

But, like so many other things, I didn’t have the luxury of being choosy. The primary difference of alchemy was that it required a magical catalyst. One did not have to be a magician to be an alchemist—though there were various ways of acquiring a catalyst if you could not create your own, however, it was limiting and prohibitively expensive.

For a magician, though, forming a catalyst was as simple as imbuing a sterile object with element-infused mana. Thankfully, the requisite ingredients were all here, though my tab towards Casikas was growing substantial.

I mixed half a dozen elixirs, trying to keep the magic within my catalyst—a sewing needle—steady and constant. On the seventh, I heard a noise and mistook it for the door opening. My focus slipped for a split second.

The tincture began to hiss and belch out a foul smelling yellow smoke that filled the workshop. The fumes burned my lungs and I choked, running to the window to air out the shop. The noxious cloud was dense and slow to dissipate.

An idea struck me. I called the surrounding air. While I still couldn’t form it into anything that resembled a respectable projectile—I had yet to follow Ralakos’s mandate to work with Bell—it was almost comically easy to push most of the smoke out of the shop. After removing the bulk of it, I began to experiment. With a little additional mental effort, I could shape the air-current itself, encapsulating the smoke and guiding it in long-strand like fingers.

Interesting.

I directed a segment of shaped air towards a specific spot on the wall where the paint had chipped. It was incredibly accurate.

A dozen possible applications went through my head. Things that were limited by inability to make low-grade explosives suddenly became possible.

Oh yes. I could use this.

Unfortunately, that also meant I’d be in the workshop for far longer than planned

----

Breakfast the next morning was fraught with tension. I felt conflicted dragging Jorra into this, but I had made sure he knew the risk, and prepared us as much as I was able. I had dismissed his words from the previous day as naive, but in truth, the fact that we had trained so extensively together was likely why I’d gone to him first.

Still, the idea of taking larger risks because of the resets sat a lot better with me when it was only my life on the line.

Jorra didn't seem to be feeling the pressure. It affected his appetite, but not adversely. The boy was on his second plate. He scarfed the food down silently, as if on a mission to intake as many calories as possible.

Nethtari seemed to notice something was off. She asked a few probing questions about our plans for the day, then seemingly decided to stay out of it. In truth, I’d been especially moody as of late, so the only one acting out of the ordinary was Jorra.

Like some strange pair of masked ghosts, we waited until Nethtari left, then donned our cloaks.

We met in the same building from the previous day.

Steadying my nerves, I reached in a pouch and placed four glass beads filled with water on the table. “We’ll be using these to communicate in the event of an emergency. Keep them on your person at all times.”

Shear picked up a bead and studied it, then rolled one over to Ginger. “Must have cost you a pretty penny.” He picked up on my lack of response, gaze sliding over to Jorra. “Ah. So that explains the kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Jorra said in the same low, strangled voice.

“He’s not your business,” I glared at Shear, hoping he’d pick up on the not so subtle prompt to drop the line of questioning.

“How do these work then?” Ginger asked, tossing the bead up into the air and catching it again. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jorra lean forward with each upward toss, as if he might dive forward to save it should it accidentally tumble out of Ginger’s meaty hands. I shared his concern. We really should have made a spare.

“It’s a simple silent alarm.” I lied. “If you run into trouble, crush the bead. Adage and I will be able to track you and help with the retreat.”

The truth was, the beads served another primary purpose. Ever since Shear had told me the plan, one aspect of it had made me incredibly uneasy: the initial period we split-up to search for the safe. It was an ideal way to handle the situation since the two areas were on opposite ends of the estate, but that didn’t change the fact that it made for an incredibly vulnerable period.

I’d mentally gamed it out instead of sleeping the previous night. If Persephone was looking to screw me, it would be during that initial period. In the worst case scenario, Ginger and Shear already knew where the gem was located. They’d send us to the dummy location, then leave us holding the bag. If we didn’t die in the resulting trap, we’d be left with little more than the name of the enclave underworld’s mythical entity, while Guemon’s security force shook their heads and chastised us for telling such ridiculous tall tales.

Something about it seemed very unlikely. But I had already learned to hedge my bets. Since Jorra could track the water within the beads, we would know fairly quickly if anything was off with their movements. Like, for example, if they reached their destination, then spontaneously left the estate.

It would also work for its intended purpose, but nothing was wrong with a little additional insurance.

I pulled the potions out of my bag and distributed them. Coagulant and painkillers, as well as several philters of molten smoke. Shear took in the legion of bottles on the table.

“Elphion. It’s a theft, not a war zone.” He said. Still, he took his share and placed it into his bag, as did Ginger.

“Logistics indeed.” Ginger chortled to himself

“It never hurts to be prepared.” I said, glancing at Jorra.

“Let’s get this show on the road.” Shear hefted his bag and we followed.

I fell into the character, relaxed and confident, as if I’d done this sort of thing many times before, as if my list of thefts extended beyond the occasional wineskin and occasionally running out on my tab.

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