#carbo writes

[carbo-ships]

Clopin x Ysabel - Chapter 4

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Note: Hello, I'm back! @cupidthewriter wrote such nice comments that I immediately wrote another chapter.

The Court of Miracles grew darker just as they started to prepare for bed. No light from the surface made it down to the underground caverns, but Clopin explained that some of the torches were snuffed late at night in an attempt to replicate the day-night cycle and make it a bit easier to sleep. “I’ll give you a proper tour in the morning, but do you have any other burning questions you'd like me to answer before we turn in?” he asked Ysabel as he returned to his seat beside her. He’d just returned from washing up from dinner in the stream, the bowls and cutlery now resting to dry on the shelf against the wall of the tent.

There was one question in particular that hadn’t left her mind since the previous morning when she’d first seen his face. “How old are you?”

Clopin laughed, clearly a bit surprised by her question. “Really? Of everything down here, I’m what you're curious about?”

Ysabel’s face felt warm. It seemed he was expecting questions about the Court of Miracles, or Alphons’s trial, or her return to the surface, or anything other than that. “I hardly know a thing about you,” she stuttered out in her defense, playing with her hair nervously. “There were so many things I wasn't allowed to know, so I never pried, but now I'm here, of all places, and I just…”

“No, you’re right. I suppose there isn’t much sense in trying to keep our distance any longer, is there?” he said with a sympathetic smile. “I’m thirty-six.”

Nine years her senior. That’s about what she expected. That was actually rather young, she supposed, given that he was king. She would have expected such a role to be held by an elder within the community, and even from her brief walk through the underground city, she could tell that Clopin was far from the oldest person here.

“Anything else?” Clopin asked earnestly. “You may be with us for quite some time, so we might as well get to know each other properly. Find out who you’re really sharing a tent with.”

“You don’t mind? I don’t want to be too nosey.” Ysabel hoped she was successfully hiding just how desperate she was to know more.

“Not at all. Provided that I may ask a question in return for each of yours.” The grin on his face eased some of her nerves. Her predicament was far from ideal, but she was in good company, so she may as well enjoy it.

She nodded in agreement. “Seems fair enough.”

“Wonderful,” Clopin said, propping his elbow on his knee and resting his head in his hand. “I’ll use my turn for practicalities, I suppose. Is there anyone I ought to get a message out to, to let them know that you’re safe? Family, perhaps?”

Ysabel shook her head. “No, my family all lives quite far from here. They won’t notice if I’m away for a while.”

“No lover whose worries I ought to ease?” He had that unreadable look on his face again.

“No, nothing like that.”

She could have sworn she saw the corner of his lip curl higher for a moment. “Good. I would hate to have caused unnecessary panic. Your turn.”

Ysabel thought for a moment. What did she want to know? Where to start? “How did you become such a good acrobat?” That seemed like a safe enough question to start with.

“I was involved in a traveling circus for some time as a child,” Clopin said. Before Ysabel could express her obvious surprise, he waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not particularly uncommon here. Just something we tend to fall into. But that’s a longer conversation for another time. The hard part is keeping myself flexible now that I’m an old man,” he chuckled. “And what of yourself, hmm? What steered you toward becoming an apothecary?”

“My mother was a midwife,” she explained, “I was always a bit too squeamish for that, but I used to help her get everything prepared. We figured I might be good at this side of things, and I moved to Paris to study. There’s more work here than in the village. What about the puppets? Are they from the circus as well?”

“No, it’s just something I picked up when I realized that parents with children are a better paying audience,” Clopin said with a wink. “Running this little operation isn’t cheap, and they fortunately don’t seem to mind that I’m a piss-poor ventriloquist. You don’t seem to mind either.”

“Sorry I never have any money to tip you with,” Ysabel apologized nervously. “Being an apprentice doesn’t pay much.”

“Nonsense,” Clopin assured her with a warm smile. “You know, I’ve sometimes wondered about trying out a new spot on Sundays, but I worried it might be too far out of your way for you to still come every week. I didn’t want to disrupt our little routine. Couldn’t risk losing my favorite audience member to another performer.”

Ysabel was surprised. He’d often told her that he had been hoping she would stop by, or that he had thought about her during the week, but she’d always assumed it was just flattery to make her smile. “Really?”

“Of course.” Clopin paused, his grin turning mischievous. “What keeps you coming, anyway? You must have heard every story in my repertoire five times by now.”

She felt her face warm. Surely he knew. Their conversations had suggested as much. It was almost as if he was testing her ability to come up with a dignified answer without directly addressing it. “No, it’s my turn to ask a question,” she deflected, if only for a moment.

The man laughed. “Alright, alright. What is it, then?”

“What about your family? Are they down here, too?”

“No, they prefer a more nomadic existence,” Clopin answered. “They left Paris quite some time ago. I can’t blame them, really. The Palace can make the city a rather unpleasant place to be at times. I’m just a bit too stubborn to be run out. It’s partially a matter of principle at this point, I admit. Has your intention been to stay in Paris, or have you thought about venturing further afield as well?” Mercifully, he seemed willing to let go of his previous inquiry.

“I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug. “Paris has been working out alright so far – until today, I guess – but I was never certain whether it was where I’d stay forever. I didn’t have any plans to leave, though.” Her turn again. “Is it difficult for you, living underground like this?”

“Oh, not really. I spend most of my time topside, anyway. I’m sure you'll quickly grow accustomed to it as well,” Clopin assured her. “It won't be as odd as you might expect. What about you? How do you find your little attic room? It’s my understanding that your master isn't a particularly skilled conversationalist, if I recall your stories correctly.”

“It’s a bit lonely at times, but some of our regular customers are quite chatty, so it isn't all bad.” Her conversations with Clopin helped to sustain her through the week, but now was not the time to admit that. “Do you have other regular audience members at your spots during the week?” She hoped she didn't sound as insecure as she felt.

He chuckled, seeming to understand why she was asking. “Just children.” Ysabel found it both reassuring that their situation seemed to be unique, but equally embarrassing that she was apparently the only person in town who found him captivating enough to organize their schedule around his. “And are there any other street performers that I'm in competition with?” he asked with a smug grin.

She smiled back. “No, just you. Sunday is my only day off, and I seldom come within the city walls except for when I’m going to church or running errands for Alphons, so I hardly run into any other than you. How long have you been in charge of all of this, down here?”

Clopin thought for a moment. “Four years, maybe five? The previous king, a man named Jehan, asked me to take over for him when he decided he was too old. He’s still around. We may run into him when I show you around tomorrow. Speaking of, we probably shouldn’t stay up too late. Today has been exciting, and you will need your rest. I’m happy to continue our mutual interrogation in the morning, though.”

Ysabel agreed, and the two of them began to prepare for bed. Each removed their shoes, and Ysabel stripped down to her linen chemise to make herself more comfortable. Her kirtle was quite stiff, and the hem was damp again from their journey through the tunnels. When Clopin took off his cowl and gloves and set them aside, she did her best not to stare. She didn’t think she’d ever seen his bare hands before.

“Do you have everything you need for the night?” Clopin asked Ysabel as she lay down on her mat and burrowed herself under the pile of blankets he’d had delivered for her.

“I think so,” she said, making herself comfortable. “Thank you again, Clopin. For everything.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he assured her, dousing the lantern and crawling beneath his own blankets. “I’ll sleep much easier tonight knowing you're safe. Are you warm enough? I know it can be a bit cold down here if one isn't accustomed to it.”

“It is a little chilly,” she admitted. There was a cool dampness to the air.

“Here, move your mat up against mine,” Clopin offered, waving her over. “This old bag of bones may not look like much, but I do run quite warm.”

She stared at him, unmoving. “Are– You don't mind?”

“Not at all. In fact, I insist. It isn't my usual kingly duties,” he joked, “but I am responsible for your wellbeing at the moment, and I would hate for you to shiver your way through the night when there's something I can do about it.” Ysabel still didn’t budge, looking unconvinced. Clopin could sense the source of her hesitation. “This is hardly the place to be worrying about propriety, ma chérie,” he said with a sympathetic sigh, propping himself up by his elbows. “You’re in a den of criminals.”

Her eyes widened. “Is everyone down here a criminal?” Was Clopin a criminal?

“No, no. Some aren't. Most aren't, I suppose. But we don't discriminate. This is a sanctuary for all of our people, whether they're wanted by the Palace of Justice for nonsensical reasons or valid ones. You yourself may even be a criminal now,” he said with a chuckle before pausing. “You're changing the subject. I don't mean to pressure you, mademoiselle. You're under no obligation. That's not what I'm getting at. I suspect we may just be a bit lax about privacy, compared to what you’re used to. We’re quite accustomed to sleeping next to friends, strangers. This doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to, elephant remaining unaddressed and all. Purely practical.” He frowned slightly. “That being said, if my affection can be of any comfort to you, you are more than welcome to it.”

“If you're sure…” Ysabel didn't look convinced.

“I am. I can be a perfect gentleman when the mood strikes, you know. Now, if you're quite finished arguing with my sensible recommendations–” He lifted his blankets to offer her a spot at his side. “Come here.” Behind his jokes and teasing, there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes. She’d had a difficult day, after all. Beyond that, he’d always found her shyness rather endearing – the way she timidly approached his wagon each and every week, how she insisted upon calling him monsieur, her stunned silence at seeing his face for the first time yesterday. Of course he’d developed a soft spot for her.

With a sigh of defeat, she finally relented and pushed her mat up against his. They adjusted the blankets to cover both of them, allowing them to share their body heat. “There we go,” he cooed as they made themselves comfortable. He reached for her, but paused. “May I?” When she gave a little nod, he draped his arm across her waist and pulled her closer until she could feel the warmth of his exhale against her face. She had to remind herself to breathe. Purely practical, she told herself.

Clopin made no attempt to hide his smile. “Are you certain you're not afraid of me, mon petit chat?” he chuckled softly. Her nerves must have been obvious.

“Good night, Clopin,” she said stubbornly.

He laughed. “Good night.”

[carbo-ships]

Clopin x Ysabel - Chapter 1

The church bells sang their miraculous chorus as Ysabel Paget stepped out through the towering wooden doors clad in their intricate ironwork. She shuffled through the crowd of fellow parishioners, her eyes blinking as they adjusted to the bright morning sun. Mass had been nice, she supposed. Forgiveness of sins, scripture, homily, Eucharist. The usual. Unremarkable. No different than one would expect from any other church in Paris – and there were certainly plenty of churches in Paris! Many were a much shorter journey from her home just outside the city walls on the right bank of the Seine. However, none inspired as much awe in her as Notre Dame herself. The architecture, the bells, the organ, all flawless, in her opinion. The Sabbath was her only day off, so she was perfectly willing to walk an extra mile to church if it meant she could make the most of her time. Besides, there were other things to see in the city. Sights, sounds… people…

Ysabel’s feet knew the way to her second stop of the day. Her duties to the Lord now complete, this part was a treat just for herself. She turned to the right after she descended the cathedral’s steps as she did every Sunday. A gust of wind whipped at the skirts of her kirtle, making her turn a cautious eye to the sky. There were dark clouds in the west. Perhaps the sunshine would be short-lived. She was almost tempted to head straight home to avoid getting caught in a storm, but quickly dismissed the thought. She wouldn’t let a little rain interrupt her quest. Through the gates, down the narrow street, into the courtyard, and there sat the colorful wagon. Large wheels suspended the red and yellow wooden structure from the cobblestone path below, its entrance obscured by a deep green curtain. A crowd primarily composed of families with young children was quickly forming, all there to see the man in the wagon window, just as she was. He was dressed in his usual absurd outfit, clad head to toe in blinding colors and dizzying patterns. The bells on his golden cowl jingled as he joked with the children in the front row. She settled into a spot in the crowd then looked up to find that his gaze was fixed firmly on her. Her heart fluttered. His dark eyes twinkled mischievously behind the fuchsia mask that covered the top half of his face as he sent her a toothy grin. She gave him a shy little wave before he winked at her and returned his attention to the clamoring children.

She should not be this excited, she silently scolded herself. She’d been visiting him almost every week for nearly two years. He always parked his wagon right here, always wore that ridiculous costume, and always told one of maybe twenty stories that he had on rotation. Even so, Clopin Trouillefou was always the most exciting part of her week. Her first visit was an accident shortly after she started attending the early morning Masses at the cathedral. His lovely tenor voice had lured her in from a neighboring street, and she had watched his performance with intrigue. She stopped by again the next week, and the next, happily enjoying the distraction from the trials of daily life. The puppets were a bit juvenile for her liking, but his whole performance was still somehow incredibly entertaining. As weeks turned to months, she finally summoned the courage to compliment his storytelling after one of his shows and discovered that the man behind the stories was equally as delightful as the tales themselves. She quickly found herself fascinated by him. Certainly impressed with him – his singing and ability to captivate a crowd were second to none in the city. Perhaps a bit infatuated with him, although she would never admit it. Not to him, at least. Never to him. Although surely he’d figured it out by now. Either way, it was best to leave such things unspoken.

Clopin cleared his throat, and the crowd immediately hushed aside from the excited giggles of a few children. “Good morning, everyone!” his voice rang out, easily heard from every corner of the courtyard. “The bells are beautiful this morning, no?” Ysabel smiled. She’d been to enough of his performances to know that he was about to start telling the story about the mysterious bell-ringer that lived in the towers of Notre Dame. Although Clopin had maintained that the entire thing was true in their conversations, she wasn’t sure she believed it. The whole thing seemed too outlandish. A judge from the Palace of Justice secretly raising a deformed child inside the cathedral? It was certainly a gripping tale that highlighted how the law often operated in defiance of the will of God, but she had her doubts that it was anything more than a fairy tale. Surely whoever was ringing the bells was just another member of the clergy. She hoped so, at least.

As he began to sing, Clopin’s performance attracted even more wandering townspeople into the courtyard. He set up shop in this particular spot every Sunday intentionally, she’d learned. Its location almost guaranteed a steady stream of families who were feeling more generous than usual after the morning sermon. Her role as a junior apothecary didn’t pay much, and therefore didn’t leave her with any pocket change to tip him with, but he never seemed offended. Although it was his job, it was clear he didn’t just do this for the money. He had a real passion for his chosen profession, unconventional as it was, and his eloquence in describing Paris made her fall in love with the city over and over again. She watched in amusement as Clopin bickered with the little puppet version of himself. He wasn’t a master ventriloquist by any means, but he hammed it up so much that it hardly mattered.

The end of his performance was met with cheers and applause. She waited patiently as the families stepped forward to drop their coins in his basket. He thanked each patron gracefully and effusively, his beaming smile never leaving his lips. The townspeople dispersed one by one until only she, Clopin, and his wagon remained in the square. Meeting her gaze once more, he beckoned her to approach with a curl of his gloved finger. “There she is,” he greeted her warmly as she stepped forward, setting his collections aside.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” she replied bashfully as she stopped beneath the wagon’s wooden awning. She could feel her heart beating in her chest.

He chuckled, leaning forward to rest his arms on the ledge beneath the stage window. “Clopin,” he corrected her. It had almost become a tradition between the two of them – her mock attempts at formality, his insistence on familiarity. It was his way of confirming that her presence and attention were very much welcome. “It is an honor to be graced with the pleasure of your visit, Ysabel,” he said just as he did every Sunday. He was giving her that confident half-lidded grin she could never quite read behind his mask. “How are you this morning?”

“Very well, thank you. I liked your story today. I think that’s my favorite one.”

“Merci, ma chérie,” he said sweetly. “I was hoping you would stop by today. I’m glad the storm clouds didn't deter you.” He reached for something within the wagon next to the window. “The little one misses you terribly when you're away, you know.”

The puppet version of Clopin popped its head into frame with a gasp, making her giggle. It covered its mouth with its little mittens. “Mademoiselle Ysabel is here?” came its high pitched voice.

“Yes, won't you say hello?” Clopin suggested.

The man feigned surprise as the puppet suddenly surged forward and pressed its painted face to her cheek with a loud, “Mwah!”

In mock horror, Clopin’s other hand dragged the puppet away from her and restrained it against his chest. It let out a muffled cry and fruitlessly flailed its little arms as it fought for freedom. “My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle,” he said playfully. “The boy has no manners!”

They both laughed as he put the puppet away. Before Clopin could properly launch into his usual flirting (was it flirting? Yes, whether either of them were willing to admit it or not, it was definitely flirting), a gentle tap from above caught Ysabel’s attention. Glancing up, she heard another, then another, and realized it was the sound of raindrops hitting the wooden planks above her head. A moment later, the heavens opened up to a downpour.

Clopin’s smile faltered. “Oh, dear. Here–” He ducked back into the wagon and pulled aside the curtain that covered the entrance. “Come inside. Wait out the rain.” He poked his head out of the doorway and offered her his gloved hand. She hesitated for a moment. She’d never been in his wagon before. Was that… allowed? It felt forbidden, somehow. Too intimate. However, it would be rude to refuse his hospitality. And she was awfully curious… Before she could talk herself out of it, she quickly climbed the small set of stairs and took his hand so that he could help her inside.

The curtain fell closed behind her as Clopin tended to a crank on the wall which lowered the wooden awning, successfully keeping out the wind and rain. The light from the far window illuminated the interior of the small structure surprisingly well, Ysabel noticed as she glanced around. The wagon wasn’t nearly as colorful on the inside. The walls and ceiling were light wood with accents of faded red paint, and the floor was covered in a worn rug. It was a small space, with a roof low enough that the feather of Clopin’s hat tickled the arched ceiling as he stood upright, but surprisingly tidy. Wooden dowels on either side of the now-closed stage window displayed his various hand puppets. Below, a long cushion was pressed up against the wall, presumably to protect Clopin’s knees when he ducked down for puppet shows. A string instrument resembling a lute, or perhaps a gittern, rested in the corner. What other belongings he kept in there must have been stored in the various drawers and trunks that lined the walls. Beneath the far window and atop a wide built-in cabinet was a small cot, although she knew he didn’t sleep in the wagon very often. Clopin had revealed to her some time ago that his home was in the so-called “Court of Miracles”. Ysabel didn’t know much about this seemingly mythical place. In fact, she didn't even know where it was. She wasn't Romani, after all. Clopin was very secretive about its location, and she knew better than to pry. It would be dangerous for both of them if she possessed that knowledge. All she had gathered for certain was that it was definitely real and that it was south of the Seine. She assumed he lived somewhere outside the city walls like she did, but that hardly narrowed it down. However, she had long since accepted that his need for secrecy meant the two of them could never be as close as she wished. She reminded herself that the blame lay with the Palace of Justice, not Clopin. The guards' presence in the city had been steadily increasing over the years, with the Roma and their associates as their primary targets of aggression.

“It’s not much,” Clopin chuckled, drawing her out of her thoughts, “but it’s dry. Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a long wooden trunk along the back wall. Ysabel did as she was told and folded her hands in her lap. He took off his hat and hung it on a peg on the wall, then reached behind his head to fidget with the yellow ribbon that secured his mask. She watched with wide eyes as he removed it and set it in its designated place. When he turned to face her, he found her staring. “Is something wrong?” he asked genuinely, clearly not understanding what had elicited such a reaction from her.

Her face felt like it was burning. “Oh! Sorry, I just– I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face before.”

“No?” he said with a grin, moving to sit beside her. “Not once, in all this time?”

She shook her head. He looked older than she expected, probably almost ten years her senior. This discovery somehow made her feel even more flustered. It was as though she were a young girl again, with a hopeless crush on an older man. 

“Well, I hope it doesn’t disappoint,” he joked. It certainly didn’t. She’d never been able to see his eyes so clearly before, or the way the tan skin beside them creased handsomely when he smiled. Her eyes traced the slope of his long nose, and she realized it was only marginally smaller than the comically large one that was attached to his mask. He stretched out his long legs with a little sigh, hooking one ankle over the other and relaxing a bit against the wall. “How goes your little shop, then, hmm?” he asked, raising one of his dark eyebrows curiously.

Ysabel quickly composed herself. Now was not the time for gawking, no matter how much she wanted to. “Good,” she said with a nod, her voice impressively steady given that she was alone with him in his wagon, gazing upon his bare face for the first time. She had spoken to him on countless occasions, she silently reminded herself. Aside from a slight change of scenery, this conversation was no different. “People always get a bit sniffly this time of year, so we’ve been quite busy.”

“I am glad to hear it. Monsieur Myer still running the place?”

Alphons Myer, the senior apothecary under whom she studied and worked. Their lives had been tightly intertwined for years – she even rented a room in his attic – but she never felt that the two of them were particularly close. The middle-aged man was entirely consumed with his work, even spending most of his spare time poring over various tomes and fringe theories. His latest fascination had been Hermeticism. Ysabel had quickly dismissed the movement as nothing more than mysticism, doubting that Hermes Trismegistus himself had even been a real person, but her disbelief didn’t stop her master from studying the Hermetica more diligently than he did the Bible. She worried sometimes that these fixations of his might get him into trouble one day, but he did good work and seemed well-respected in the local guild.

“Yes, although he’s begun delegating a bit more responsibility to me as he pursues his latest fancy,” she said. “I don’t mind too much, though. The extra pay is nice, of course, and it actually feels quite good to take charge.”

“I imagine a clever girl like you would have no problem running the show all by herself,” he said with a smile that gave her butterflies.

“That's very kind of you to say, monsieur,” she replied bashfully, unable to hold his gaze. Something about him made her so nervous. He was… intense. She’d had his undivided attention countless times, but still found herself entirely unable to handle it with grace. Having some semblance of privacy with him like this only made things worse. They usually chatted in the open courtyard, often with the wagon between them. Now they were in an enclosed space with no mask and no puppets to shield themselves from vulnerability.

“I apologize if this is too forward, my friend, but you seem, well, terrified of me,” Clopin chuckled with a sympathetic smile. “I haven’t made you uncomfortable, have I?”

“Oh, no, not at all!” she said quickly to ease any concern of wrongdoing. “It’s just– I– Um–” What could she possibly say?

He held up his hand to stop her. “That’s all I need to know.” The amused grin on his face said it all. Good heavens, he knew. He definitely knew. Of course he knew. Although having it confirmed was a bit mortifying, she was grateful that he was willing to leave her with a bit of her dignity. “You know, I was just chatting with one of the children…” He quickly changed the subject, much to her relief, and launched into another story. This dynamic was much more comfortable for her – him talking away while she looked at him as though he’d hung the stars in the sky.

The two of them quickly lost track of time, their chatter and laughter blocking out the sound of the rain on the wooden roof. It took them ages to notice when the downpour finally stopped, only regaining their awareness of the outside world when bright sunlight began to pour in through the window. Their excuse for sequestering themselves away had expired. Ysabel was about to excuse herself, not wanting to overstay her welcome, but Clopin spoke first.

“Would you like to go for a walk with me?” he asked. “I've been locked in this box all morning, and I'd quite like to stretch my legs.”

Ysabel could hardly believe her good fortune. Whatever else she’d had in mind for the day no longer mattered. “I’d love to!”

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to change into something more sensible,” he said, wiggling his feet to make the bells on his shoes jingle, “and we’ll be off.”

She stepped out of the wagon to give him a bit of privacy. Before long, he emerged dressed in what appeared to be a more toned-down version of his jester uniform – no more bright colors or flashy patterns, no more bells, just a man in a purple tunic. He quickly straightened out his clothes and returned his signature hat to his head before hopping down the wagon’s stairs. He offered her his arm with a smile. “Shall we?”

Next

[carbo-ships]

Seeker x Yvonne - Chapter 5

First / Previous

Seeker was surprised to find an envelope laying on the floor in front of his office door. This was the typical way to receive one’s post. However, he couldn't remember the last time he’d been sent any. He’d worked at the Temple of the Mentor for decades, and had very few contacts outside of Ank’Harel. Anyone who wanted to speak with him usually just knocked on his door. He bent down to pick it up and flipped it over to see who it was from. Seeker smiled as he read the name. Yvonne. Of course. He’d almost forgotten he’d given her his mailing address when they'd last seen each other two months ago. This must be an update from her recent adventure!

He stepped into his office and kicked the door closed behind him with his heel, carefully tearing open the envelope. Several pages were included. Her handwriting was surprisingly tidy for a woman who primarily kept the company of raccoons, he noted as he sat down and unfolded the letter to lay flat on his desk.

13th of Dualahei

Dear Seeker,

I hope this letter finds you well. Your assistance with the map has proved most helpful. We found the cave in the Serpentwind Peaks southwest of Evishi, just as you said. The trolls in the area were far from friendly, as one might expect, but we managed to get by without too much difficulty.

The “beasts” mentioned on the map turned out to be a pair of drakes, the ancestors of whom had been terrorizing a village on the edge of the Oderan Wilds for generations. The locals were more than happy to tell us the most direct route to their home. The two of them admittedly gave us quite a bit of trouble, but the whole party has fortunately emerged in one piece.

Amongst their hoard, we found a number of artifacts (primarily stone tablets) which the villagers believe may be from highborn giants who previously inhabited the region. The markings on them look similar to the ones on the map you interpreted for us to my untrained eye, but I of course have no idea what they say.

Our group has decided to base in Shammel for the time being, and we will be passing through Ank’Harel in about three weeks on our way there. If you’d like, I could bring you the tablets that we found so you can see them in person. I’ve included some rubbings of them so you can determine if they’re of interest to your research. They’re not of use to us, but they seem like something that belongs either with you or the Cobalt Soul in general. You’d be more than welcome to keep them.

Best wishes,

Yvonne

Seeker spread the remaining five pages out on his desk. On each was a charcoal rubbing of the tablets that Yvonne’s party had found. It was difficult to make out what each said between the weathering of the stone and the slight smudging during the transport of the letter, but these were certainly the runes he had devoted his life to studying. He leaned back in his chair, grinning to himself as he gazed out the window. He could feel his heart beating faster than usual. His imagination had been filling in the blanks as if he’d been on the adventure with her. He could picture the long trek, the battles, the cave, the fear, the joy. He could hardly remember the last time he’d seen a drake! Beneath the pang of jealousy that he pushed back down, Seeker felt a small sense of pride. He’d interpreted the map, after all. He needed to speak with her about this in person and get his hands on those artifacts.

Now, what to say in response? He should let Yvonne know he'd received her letter and that he’d like to have a look at the tablets. Casting the Sending spell would be easy enough, he thought to himself as he returned the pages to the envelope for safe keeping. He’d done it plenty of times. Then why was he feeling nervous? He supposed it was quite… intimate? No, invasive was more accurate. He’d gotten her permission, of course, but inviting himself into her mind without a moment’s notice felt rude. Perhaps he could find a way to tweak this spell in the future to at least give her some warning. However, that would have to be a task for another day. For now, he would use a few of his limited words to explain what was happening and how it worked. It had been several weeks since they'd discussed this, after all. Seeker took a pen and pad from his desk drawer to carefully plan out his message. Twenty five words wasn't very many. He scribbled down a few attempts until he was satisfied.

Seeker stood from his desk and opened the dark wooden cabinet that sat against the wall. His sword was mounted vertically on the left-hand side, and the right had a tall column of narrow drawers that contained his carefully-organised rune rings. His hands knew which drawers to open to find the ones he needed for this particular spell. He returned to his desk and carefully stacked the rings on top of each other in the correct order and orientations. When he gently rested his palm on the top of the little tower, the runes carved in them began to glow a deep blue. The veins of rock in his arm ached slightly, but he ignored it. He cleared his throat and began to read from his notepad.

“Hello, Yvonne. It’s Seeker. I enjoyed your letter. Well done on your journey! Yes, please visit and bring tablets. Talk to reply. Twenty-five words.”

There. That was respectable. Now to wait. He imagined she would need a moment to optimize her response, just as he had. The runes continued to glow, signaling that the connection was still open. Seeker hoped he hadn’t startled her too badly. He knew the experience could be quite jarring the first time. In the meantime, he would return his attention to the rubbings she’d sent. It was so thoughtful of her to send him these. She really was a sweet young woman. He would need to buy her lunch again sometime as thanks. Patches of the images were more legible than others, but he saw what was perhaps the ancient name of the Kaal Mountains. Was there more to learn about the giants’ elemental rune magic in those snowy peaks? Perhaps he would be able to secure funding for a second expedition if he presented sufficient evidence to the High Curator…

Before he could get ahead of himself, a voice sounded in his head.

“Hi, Seeker! See you soon. Will bring tablets. I hope you like them.”

The light from his rune rings faded and Seeker found himself grinning again. He reread Yvonne’s letter and counted in his head. Three weeks from the thirteenth of Dualahei would have her party arriving the first week of the month of Thunsheer. What day was it now? It hardly mattered. He’d be feeling impatient either way. It would give him time to try to decipher more of the rubbings, at the very least. The sooner he could piece together what was out there and where he could find it, the sooner he could put together his research proposal. He collected the rings and returned them to their respective drawers in his cabinet. His eyes landed on his sword which had largely sat unused since his last trip to the Kaal Mountains with Yvonne several months ago. He’d missed the satisfying weight of it in his hands. Soon, he told himself as he closed the cabinet. Seeker turned his attention to his bookshelf, selecting a few tomes that would help him with his new project. Interpreting the legible sections would be manageable. The difficult part would be preventing himself from daydreaming about the prospect of upcoming fieldwork. His mind was already six steps ahead, thinking of the travel logistics and what crew he might need. No, no. Translation first.

Next

[carbo-ships]

Clopin x Ysabel - Chapter 3

First / Previous The location of the Court of Miracles per the film wasn't historically accurate or even possible for a number of reasons, so I have adjusted it slightly and detailed this process in another post.

“Are you alright?” Clopin asked his companion. Ysabel had been quiet on their walk around the outskirts of the city on their journey to safety. They’d been traveling for well over half an hour by that point. It was usually a shorter journey, Clopin had explained, but their decision to circumvent the city walls had added on a bit of time. The sun had sunk below the horizon, making a chill settle over the city. “I imagine that was quite a shock. I’m sorry I didn’t give you much time to process everything, but I wasn’t sure how long the guards would be. I couldn’t risk not getting you out of there in time.”

“I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet, I admit,” Ysabel said quietly, tightening her hold on his arm slightly. “How did you even find out? About Alphons, I mean?”

“I’m in the business of knowing things,” he answered cryptically. “It’s in our best interest to keep an eye on the Palace of Justice. We like to keep our network informed.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose that makes sense,” she mumbled.

“A friend of mine reported the arrest to me when he returned from town this afternoon, and I recognized the name immediately as your mentor,” Clopin continued. “I didn’t want you getting mixed up in that. You’re a nice girl, Ysabel. I couldn’t sit idly by when I knew there was something I could do.”

“Thank you, Clopin,” she said suddenly. She’d been so stunned by the evening’s series of events that she’d almost forgotten to express her gratitude. “I don’t think I’ve said that yet. I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

“It’s no problem at all. I’ll instruct my informants to keep their ear to the ground, so to speak, and we’ll do our best to determine when it’s safe for you to return,” he assured her. “However, you’d be perfectly welcome to extend your stay with us if you find it suits you – indefinitely, if you like. I’m certainly in no rush for you to go back, but I know the way we live is likely to be a significant change for you.”

He had a point, Ysabel thought to herself. She could hardly believe she would be visiting the place, let alone living there for a period of time.

“If you do decide to stick around, I’m of the opinion that our little group could use a woman with your skills,” he continued. “The apothecaries in the city are not always particularly welcoming, you see, so having one within our community would be invaluable. We get by alright on our own, of course, but you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. And to be perfectly honest, I certainly wouldn't mind your company, either,” Clopin admitted with a grin. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. I know it’s much too soon for you to be making any decisions about that. You haven’t even seen the place. We’ll get you safe, get you fed, get some rest, and we’ll discuss our options in the morning once our heads are a bit clearer.”

Clopin was right. There was no sense in trying to make any plans now. It was more sensible to wait and react to the Palace’s movements. For all they knew, Alphons could be found innocent within a fortnight and her life could return to normal. She hoped that would be the case. Before long, the pair paused in front of the worn iron gates that led to the graveyard behind Église Saint-Jacques du Haut-Pas. She’d passed by this church a few times, but never attended their services. It was much smaller than Notre Dame, but still an impressive building nonetheless with a single belltower that stretched four stories into the air. She’d heard it said that the church had been built by a community of Tuscan monks some one hundred years prior, but it was currently no different than any other little Catholic church on the outskirts of Paris.

“Now. Ysabel,” Clopin said as he turned to face her directly, his lighthearted tone slipping. “It is of the utmost importance that you don't tell a soul about what you are about to see. Can I trust you?”

Something was going to happen? Had they reached their destination? Did he live in the tower of this church like the man in his stories? Either way, his secret was safe with her. “Yes, of course.” She made the sign of the cross, signifying an oath before God. That seemed satisfactory to her companion, and they passed through the gate into the yard. She glanced at the headstones in the fading light as they walked. Many had been erected long ago, presumably shortly after the main church building had been completed. Most were quite simple and small, aside from a few angelic statues and some sort of tomb or mausoleum in the center of the yard that they seemed to be making a beeline for. As they approached, she noticed it was attached to a stone sarcophagus with knightly figures etched into the sides. An ornate cross had been carefully carved into the wall over the stone coffin with an inscription underneath in what appeared to be Latin. Before she could attempt to read it, Clopin pressed his hands against the lid of the sarcophagus and shoved. Stone scraped against stone as it slid to the side, and to Ysabel’s surprise, a gust of damp air drafted out from beneath it. She peeked inside against her better judgement. Instead of human remains, she found a set of stone stairs leading down into the depths.

“Come along,” Clopin said, leaving no time for her shock and curiosity. He climbed into the empty tomb and offered her his hand to help her along. She cautiously followed him, beginning to question whether this was a good idea. However, she didn’t have any other options. His hand grabbed an unlit torch that had been nestled in the stone wall, seemingly knowing where to find it without searching in the dim light of the underground tunnel. With a flick of his wrist, it suddenly erupted into flames. It appeared his magic tricks were good for more than entertaining the local children. “Hold this for me for a moment, please.”

She carefully accepted the lit torch from him, freeing him to return the stone lid to its seated position. He visibly relaxed the moment the tomb had been sealed. “Right,” he said, taking the torch back from her and offering her his arm once more. “This way.”

“Where are we?” she asked once they had descended the long flight of stairs, looking around the new environment in the flickering firelight. Everywhere she looked was pale yellow rock – limestone, she would later learn. Large natural pillars supported the ceiling above, the tunnels between them stretching out in seemingly every direction. It was incredibly dark, the only source of light being the light emanating from Clopin’s torch.

“The mines,” Clopin explained. “This section has been abandoned for quite some time now. The quarriers are still quite active in other parts of the city, but this area was bled dry long ago.”

“I had no idea these were even down here.” She was a bit frightened, and the way the shadows danced along the tall jagged walls certainly didn’t help, but she found herself fascinated nonetheless. She could hardly believe this had been beneath her feet the entire time.

“That’s exactly the point. Ah– watch your step, mademoiselle.” Clopin drew her attention to a large puddle on the rough floor of the path. He offered her a nervous smile. He almost seemed embarrassed at the state of the place. “I promise where we’re going is nicer than this. The outer tunnels tend to flood a bit after heavy rains, but the court itself is perfectly dry.” He turned to lead her down one of the narrower tunnels. It wasn’t a tight squeeze by any means, as it was still several meters across, but it was noticeably smaller than the vast empty expanses that sprawled out in the other direction. Before long, the torchlight revealed that the natural limestone walls were slowly turning to stone bricks and reinforced archways. It was only then that Ysabel truly began to believe that there could be an entire community of people living down there.

“So, this place we’re going…” Ysabel said before finding she wasn’t entirely sure what to ask. Her mind was racing to keep up with everything she was learning.

“The Court of Miracles,” Clopin nodded. “I imagine you have questions. We’re not far now, but I’m happy to answer whatever queries you have in the meantime.”

“Do you really run the whole place?” She was still skeptical. It wasn't that she thought he was lying. It simply didn't seem possible.

“Yes. Although we try to keep that quiet topside. Having a target on my back wouldn't quite suit me. It’s much harder to have pop-up puppet shows when you’re a wanted man, you know,” he joked.

“And you live down here?” she asked. The very idea of it seemed grim. No sunlight made it down here, and it was awfully damp. How could he tolerate that for years on end? However, he’d always seemed perfectly perky during their Sunday morning conversations, so perhaps he’d had no issues adapting to living underground.

“A number of us do. Our people started coming down here long before my time, some fifty years ago. It’s as good a refuge as any. Despite all their efforts, the Palace of Justice has never come close to finding this place. Everyone’s done quite well at keeping it under their hat, and I can’t imagine they’d even think to look down here.”

Well, at least that meant he was younger than fifty. She found herself once again wondering how old he really was. No, now was not the time for such questions. There were much more pressing topics to address. “Is everyone there Romani?”

“Yes, just about. But, the circumstances being what they are, I am perfectly willing to make an exception. You need refuge just as much as any of us right now,” he assured her. “Consider it a special privilege of our companionship. I’m much too fond of you to let you suffer the same fate as your master. If anyone questions my decision, they certainly won't be so bold as to say so to my face. You have nothing to worry about in that regard. They’re likely to be curious, of course, but I will handle any questions upon our arrival.”

He must be well-respected, she thought to herself, if he could confidently assert that no one would vocally object to her presence simply by virtue of it being his decision. Although if the community’s exclusivity was primarily for the purpose of safety, perhaps any member vouching for her would be sufficient, regardless of their position.

The corridor was almost entirely man-made now, the walls covered in stone bricks from floor to ceiling. The floor was thankfully much drier than it had been closer to the entrance. “Ah, one moment,” he said quickly before turning his attention to the black void in front of them. “It’s just me,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand to seemingly no one. Ysabel gasped as figures suddenly appeared in the torchlight, clad head-to-toe in black. Four men in total had been lurking in the darkness, and she had been completely unaware of every single one. They nodded at Clopin silently as the pair approached, stepping out of their way to grant them passage. “Our guards,” Clopin quietly explained to her as they continued on their journey. “It’s rare, but we do have the occasional trespasser. They’re usually just lost explorers who got too curious about the mines for their own good, but I don’t take any chances. Best to intercept them before they see something they shouldn’t and run their mouths in town.”

Ysabel was quickly starting to realize the scale of this subterranean operation. Designated guards? This seemed quite organized. “When you say you're in charge…” Ysabel started cautiously. What exactly was she asking? She realized she wasn’t sure. “What… are you? To this group, I mean?”

There was a hint of pride in Clopin’s grin. “King.”

“Oh.” King. She was expecting “boss.” Maybe “head”. Perhaps the scale of this place was a bit larger than she’d originally imagined.

“It’s much less regal than you’re imagining,” he assured her with a small chuckle. “It’s just a title, that’s all. I could just as easily be the ‘chief’, I suppose, but ‘king’ is tradition.”

“I… I see.” His addendum hadn’t eased her newfound intimidation quite as much as he’d likely hoped. She'd always interacted with him under the assumption that they were both a couple of nobodies. Ysabel’s mind was reeling. Alphons’s arrest, underground tunnels, secret royalty… She hoped she hadn't seemed naive or ignorant in their Sunday conversations above ground. However, if she had, Clopin didn't seem to judge her for it. He still thought highly enough of her to rescue her, after all. That alone was reassurance enough.

At first Ysabel thought it was just her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, but she soon realized that there was another light source at the far end of the tunnel around a corner. “Watch your step,” Clopin warned her, motioning to the ground beneath them that was starting to slope downward. The light was pouring through the remnants of a tall iron gate on the left wall that had all but disintegrated with time. “Well, ma chérie, here we are,” Clopin said as he led her out of the tunnel. “The Court of Miracles.”

Ysabel couldn't help but gasp. Before her was an entire underground city. There were hundreds of Romani men, women, and children, all going about their evenings as they made their way up and down the cobblestone streets that were lined with countless colorful wagons and tents. The walls and ceiling of the underground chamber were fortified with towering stone arches, the height of which almost competed with those of Notre Dame herself. It was difficult to tell quite how high the walls went, as the ceiling was barely visible beneath the enormous colorful tapestries that hung between the tops of the pillars. To her left was a wooden stage of some sort that was suspended some twenty feet in the air. On the far side of it was a narrow stream with a makeshift wooden bridge where people were collecting water in jugs. Campfires and torches illuminated the massive space, revealing adjoining rooms and halls that seemingly continued endlessly into the distance.

It took Ysabel a moment to find her tongue. “It’s… beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Clopin smiled, dousing his light and tossing it into a pile of other unlit torches at the foot of the worn gate. “I’m glad you like it. Now, come along.”

The pair descended one final flight of stairs and found that several people had been waiting for Clopin’s return. He shooed them away with a wave of his hand before they could speak. “Some privacy, please – the young lady has had a long day,” Clopin said. “Mademoiselle Paget is my personal guest, so I want you all to make her feel very welcome tomorrow. If what you have to say isn't urgent, I’ll tend to it in the morning.”

The small crowd parted to let him pass. Clopin led her through the underground sanctuary, dodging chickens and goats as they walked. Ysabel could feel eyes on her – not disapproving, just curious. She was aware she likely stood out. She certainly didn't look like she belonged here, and walking arm-in-arm with Clopin seemed to attract attention in and of itself. “I’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow,” he assured her as they crossed the little creek. “You’ve had enough information to absorb for one evening.”

She thanked him with a nod. She was so stunned, she wasn't sure she’d be able to process anything else he showed her at that moment. He led her into a comparatively quiet chamber of the massive mine and stopped in front of a large conical purple tent. “You’ll stay with me for the time being,” he explained as he held open the entrance and ushered her in. She ducked inside and he followed, letting the flap fall closed behind them.

Ysabel glanced around the space as Clopin set down her rucksack and lit a lantern in the corner. The stone floor was covered with a worn red rug. A stack of blankets sat atop a wooden chest. On one side of it was a low shelf with crockery and a number of other mismatched belongings, and on the other lay two bedrolls and scattered floor cushions. “I arranged for an additional sleeping mat and some spare blankets to be brought before I left to fetch you,” he explained. “We can get you your own tent later on, should you choose to extend your stay with us, but I hope this is suitable for now.”

Clopin took two bowls from his shelf. “I’m going to get us both some food. We have sort of a communal soup kitchen, you might call it. I’ll show you tomorrow. For now, make yourself comfortable. What's mine is yours. Will you be alright on your own for a moment?”

“Yes, monsieur,” she said with a little nod.

“Clopin,” he corrected her with a sympathetic grin and a wink. With that, he stepped back outside.

Ysabel sat down on one of the floor cushions and took a deep breath. She was safe. Overwhelmed, confused, and brimming with questions to the point that she wasn’t even sure where to start, but safe. She never imagined that she could be a target of the Palace of Justice. She was usually one to keep her head down and stay out of trouble. However, she knew the actions of the Palace were often far from fair. Alphons’s high standing within the community had not been enough to protect him, and she was guilty by association. More than anything, she couldn’t believe she was here. The Court of Miracles was much bigger than she’d expected, and she certainly never would have guessed that it had been underground. Moreso, Clopin seemed to have welcomed her here without a second thought. She hadn’t considered the two of them to be particularly close, at least not before their walk the previous day. She felt her cheeks warm. Despite the obvious stress she was under, it felt nice in a way that Clopin trusted her like this. Now certainly wasn’t the ideal time to be indulging in her little crush, but the thoughts persisted nonetheless.

He returned before long with two portions of stew, a wooden spoon sticking out of each one. He handed her one of the bowls and joined her on the floor. “I’m honestly not entirely sure what this is,” he chuckled, “but it’s warm. Bon appétit, my friend.” She thanked him and raised the spoon to her lips. It was primarily vegetables and legumes, she guessed, in some sort of broth. Clopin removed his hat from his head and set it next to him before starting to eat as well.

“I know this is likely a complicated question,” Clopin began hesitantly between bites, “but… how are you?”

“I…” She paused. “I’m okay, I think.”

“Good. I know today’s been exciting, for lack of a better word,” he sighed. “I wouldn’t have put you through this if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary. I just couldn’t risk the Palace finding you.”

“What do you suppose is going to happen to Alphons?” she dared to ask. “You don’t think…” She couldn’t force herself to say it.

“Public executions are reserved for undesirables,” he quickly assured her. “The man is one of their own. I'm sure prison is the worst he’ll face. You, however… Well, I would be much more concerned if they'd gotten their hands on a woman of your complexion. Romani you may not be, but you certainly don't look like the average Frenchman, if you don't mind my saying so. And you know how suspicious they are of the fairer sex.” He was right, of course. Her tan skin could perhaps be written off as an effect of the long-gone summer sun, but her tight curls easily identified her as an outsider to the region. It was also hardly a secret that women in her profession were much more susceptible to accusations and convictions of witchcraft than her male counterparts. “He will be fine. You might not be. That’s why I wanted you here – at least until we have a better idea of what you’d be going back to.”

She let out a little hum of understanding. “And you’re really in charge of this whole place? All these people?” Knowing that he was the king was shocking enough, but doubly so now that she saw exactly what he was the king of.

Clopin laughed. “You seem so surprised! Is it really that unbelievable? Yes, I am, and I have been for quite some time.” His expression suddenly turned more serious and he cleared his throat. “It’s, erm… For that reason, I think it best we leave the elephant in the room unaddressed for the time being. I’m aware that you’re quite… vulnerable at the moment, and I'm obviously in a position of power, and I… I want to ensure we both have the freedom to make wise decisions with regard to our… personal matters. Is that alright?”

“Y-Yes, of course!” she stuttered out. She felt embarrassed, but it was strangely relieving to know that she wasn’t the only one thinking of such things under these bizarre circumstances. However, she supposed it was only natural. They would be sleeping next to each other, after all, and the previous day’s conversation suggested that Clopin knew how she felt about him in some capacity.

“Good,” he said, quickly composing himself. “We’ll talk about it, I assure you, just not until things have settled. Although I admit, I’m looking forward to having your company over these next few days.”

She gave him a shy smile. “Me, too.”

Next

[carbo-ships]

Clopin x Ysabel - Chapter 2

Previous

Monday morning found Ysabel with a spring in her step. Yesterday felt like a dream. She would have been convinced it had been one if not for the residual dampness on the hem of her kirtle from the puddles she’d trekked through. Her walk with Clopin had lasted for hours. They'd wandered down streets and alleys arm-in-arm, ducking under awnings and bridges whenever the rain picked up again. Thinking about the way he’d guided her through the Parisian crowds with his hand on the small of her back nearly made her giggle. He’d been so lively, so gentle, so effortlessly confident as he’d taken her to every corner of the city, chatting away about everything under the sun. Ysabel found that she trusted him completely, even though she consciously knew that she probably shouldn’t. Certainly the side of him that she saw was largely a facade. He was a performer, after all, and somewhat of a public figure. Even when he was without his mask, she suspected that part of him wasn’t completely absent. Ultimately, she knew that their lives were far too different for this to turn into something lasting, but she decided she didn't care. Whatever this was, she was perfectly happy for it to unfold however it pleased. He was a friend, and that was good enough for her.

She tied her long twists out of her face with a linen kerchief then made her way down from her attic room. When she reached the ground floor, she saw the hulking form of Alphons packing his satchel in their shared kitchen. He straightened slightly in an acknowledgement of her presence, towering over her despite his subpar posture from spending long nights hunched over his textbooks by candlelight. “Good morning, monsieur,” she greeted her mentor politely.

“Guild meeting,” Alphons said tersely, draping his gray cloak over his shoulders and raising the hood to cover his messy blond hair. “Back later. Look after things while I'm gone.” With that, he exited the building. Always a man of few words, she thought with a sigh. She’d learned long ago that he paid little mind to social niceties. As intelligent as he was, it sometimes felt as though he were raised in a barn. Every now and then she wished she lived with someone a bit more well-versed in the art of conversation. Well, no matter. She was happy to have the place to herself for the morning, free to wear her lovesick smile without judgement as she prepared for the shop’s opening.

She made her way into the adjoining shop and tied her stained apron around her waist. This early part of the morning was for ensuring that the day’s orders and prescriptions were ready before the clients arrived, as well as restocking the shelves with their more popular ingredients: honey, beeswax, various animal fats, mandrake root, incense… She caught herself humming as she did her final tidy, her cheeks warming as she realized it was one of the songs that Clopin would sing during his Sunday performances. She was allowed to have a crush, she reminded herself resolutely. She just wouldn’t let herself get carried away. He was Lord-knows-how-many years older than her, and in all likelihood, he’d taken plenty of other people on little walks like that. There could very well be a whole line of women waiting for him back at his so-called Court of Miracles.

But she hoped there wasn't.

Come to think of it, she didn’t really know very much about the man. Sure, they’d been chatting for well over a year, but there were large parts of his life she simply wasn’t allowed to know much about. Most of the gap in her knowledge revolved around the Court of Miracles and what went on there – seemingly a central aspect of his daily life, yet clouded in so much mystery that she struggled to even make a mental representation for it. Was it a house? A neighborhood? A secret hideout? Where was it? How many people belonged to it? Was it just for the street performers who were avoiding the guards’ aggression, or was all of the city’s Romani population involved with it in some way? All Ysabel knew was that Clopin lived there.

What did she know about Clopin? He was eloquent, funny, good with kids. Certainly an incredible singer. Very flexible, if his antics at the annual Twelfth Night festival were any indication, and by the same logic, not easily embarrassed. He was unpredictable, slightly chaotic, and above all else, incredibly kind to her. He was also quite handsome, she supposed, in an unconventional sort of way. His features all seemed to complement each other perfectly, as she’d discovered the day prior. He certainly wasn’t the tallest man she’d met, although he still stood half a head taller than her. Their conversation yesterday had revealed that he enjoyed walking along the Seine, had lived in or near Paris for most of his life, and although he wasn't much for beer, he quite liked wine on the rare occasion he managed to get his hands on any. Wine was an expensive import from the south, after all, and Clopin was far from wealthy. He seemed to have quite a thriving social life, having told stories that involved many unnamed friends, along with a number of helpers who assisted in moving his heavy wooden cart between various locations. He only parked by the cathedral on Sundays, it seemed, and had several other haunts throughout the week. She wondered if he had any other regulars like her at his other spots.

Thankfully, the bell over the door dinged as the door opened, signaling the arrival of the day’s first customer. She had a job to do. She could pine over that lanky clown later.

“Morning, Ysabel,” the woman said as she stepped inside. She was one of their regular customers, often swinging by to pick up treatments for her sickly toddler. The young lad seemed to pick up every ailment under the sun, as young children often do, catching every case of sniffles, unsightly rash, and mysterious bug bite around like clockwork. “Just you again today?”

“Yes, madame,” Ysabel answered. “Monsieur Myer is at a guild meeting in town this morning.”

The woman chuckled. “I swear, that man’s never here anymore.”

There was some truth to it. Alphons had been spending more and more time on his reading and research. He wasn’t completely absent, but they were certainly lucky that she’d become confident and comfortable with the daily operations of the shop before he’d fallen into his latest fixation. “You know how he gets,” Ysabel replied with a smile and a sigh.

“We’re lucky he has such a good assistant,” the woman said with a wink.

“You’re too kind,” Ysabel said gratefully. “What can I get for you today?”

The evening sun was beginning to peer through the western window, filling the little room with golden light. Goodness, was it that late already? The days were getting shorter, she supposed. The autumn equinox had come and gone quite some time ago. Ysabel shifted to begin her closing duties: sweeping up, taking inventory, the dull and drab that came with running a shop. Come to think of it, Alphons was usually back by now. The guild meetings weren't particularly long, and it was unlike him to stay out until sunset. Perhaps he had run some other errands while in town.

As if in cue, the bell over the door jingled. Ysabel looked up, expecting to see her mentor. She froze when she locked eyes with Clopin Trouillefou. It had taken her a moment to realize the man clad in purple was even him – she was far too used to seeing him in his jester costume and bright mask.

“Ysabel!” Clopin gasped, relief evident in his voice.

“Clopin?” She could hardly believe her eyes. He’d never come to her shop before. She was surprised he even knew where it was. Ysabel instinctively straightened out her clothes. She was entirely unprepared to see him today. “What are you doing here?”

He shut the door behind him, one gloved hand pressed flat over his chest. “Oh, mon dieu, I was so worried!”

“Worried?” she repeated, her smile vanishing. Before she could question him further, his long legs quickly closed the distance between them and he pulled her into his arms to embrace her. Their chests now pressed tightly together, she could feel him take a slow, shaky breath. She was too confused to feel flustered. “What are you talking about?”

He eased his grip on her a moment later, holding her shoulders so that he could see her face while still keeping her close. “Your master, Monsieur Myer,” he said, his voice low. “He’s been arrested on suspicion of witchcraft.”

Her heart threatened to stop. “What?”

“I came as soon as I heard,” Clopin continued. She could see the fear in his eyes. “He was apprehended shortly after arriving in the city this morning.”

The room felt like it was spinning. She tried to calm her suddenly labored breathing. Alphons had been arrested. The reality was still sinking in. It seemed impossible, but it certainly explained his absence that afternoon. Why did it feel so warm in the little shop? Her ears were ringing.

Clopin moved his hands to her waist in an attempt to steady her. “It will likely only be a matter of days before they come to search this place for evidence for his trial – perhaps even tonight,” he continued. “If they find you here, they will undoubtedly arrest you as well.”

Ysabel tried to collect herself. She knew he was right. Apothecaries were often subject to such suspicions, and women doubly so. Alphons had done himself no favors by fixating on these fringe practices. She had quietly worried that he would get himself into trouble eventually, but never imagined he would just be taken one day. “I… I see,” was all she managed to say.

“We need to get you somewhere safe. I’m offering you refuge in the Court of Miracles,” Clopin said before she could spiral further.

Her head shot back up to meet his gaze. The Court of Miracles? The highly secretive place she was very explicitly not allowed to go to? “Are you sure?”

“Of course. For the week, forever, it hardly matters. We can sort all of that out later once you're no longer in danger. Are you coming?”

“Won't you get in trouble for bringing me there?” she asked. The only thing she knew about the Court of Miracles was that up until this very moment, she wasn’t allowed to go there. No one was allowed to go there, or know anything about it.

“In trouble?” Clopin looked at her incredulously. “With whom?”

“I– I don't know, whoever's in charge?” Ysabel suggested weakly. She had no idea how any of this worked, but there were rules, which implied the existence of some sort of power structure or hierarchy. Surely he answered to someone.

He hesitated for a moment, as though he were internally wrestling with a decision, before blurting out: “Mademoiselle, I'm in charge.”

Ysabel blinked at him. “What?”

“It's me,” Clopin insisted. “I run the whole thing.”

She found herself at a loss for words once again. Clopin couldn't possibly be serious. He was a children’s entertainer! As far as she was concerned, the only thing he ran was a puppet show!

Before she could even begin to come up with a sensible response to his admission, he sighed. “I’ll explain later. It’s not important. Now, I know I'm asking you to make a big decision, but we really don't have much time. Are you coming with me?”

What could she say? Alphons was gone. Guards were coming. Clopin, the puppeteer, or possibly the leader of a secret society, was her only lifeline. “I… Yes.”

“Good.” He seemed pleased with her response. “We must move quickly, my friend. You live just upstairs, yes? Good. Gather your things. Pack only what you need, then meet me back here.”

Clopin released her and she quickly made her way back into the residential part of the building before scurrying up the stairs. She grabbed her rucksack and glanced around her small room to determine what was essential: her one change of clothes, her notebooks containing all of her written apothecarial recipes and remedies, and a small doll her mother had made for her when she was a child. Everything else could be relatively easily replaced or wouldn’t be terribly missed. Ysabel stuffed them into her bag haphazardly – there was no point in being tidy under the circumstances – then hurried back down the stairs. On the kitchen table lay Alphons’s books. The Fifteen Stars, Stones, Plants, and Images. The Book of Asclepius Called Myriogenesis. The Holy Book of Hermes to Asclepius. For a brief moment, she considered taking them with her, but stopped. No, the knowledge within those pages had caused her enough trouble already. She settled for picking them up and setting them back on the shelf in the adjoining room so at the very least they wouldn’t be displayed out in the open when the officials eventually arrived. Satisfied, she made her way back into the shop.

Clopin offered her a sympathetic smile when she reappeared, his face cast in harsh shadows by the setting sun. “Here, allow me,” he said, taking her rucksack from her and setting it onto his own shoulder. “We’ll go around the city walls just to be safe. I can't imagine the guards would recognize you as his assistant, but I'd rather not risk it. Are you ready?”

Ysabel nodded, wrapping her cloak around her and tipping up the hood to keep out the autumn chill.

He offered her his arm, just as he had done the day before. “Let’s go.”

Next

[carbo-ships]

Seeker x Yvonne - Chapter 4

First / Previous

The alcove in Seeker’s office was smaller than Yvonne had expected, she noted as she walked through the curtains. It was just over two metres across in either direction. Seeker entered after her and let the curtains fall back into place, giving her a pleasant sense of seclusion. Despite the limited space and stone walls, it was quite cozy. There was another equally-worn rug covering the floor, and an old armchair that was nestled against the back wall. “Please,” Seeker said politely, motioning for her to sit on the cushioned bench beneath the bay window on the left side of the room.

She did as she was told with a little nod, and he stationed himself at the small table against the right wall. It was mostly made of stone, aside from a shallow metal inset in the middle which was filled with coarse sand. On the edges sat a metal cezve with a long wooden handle, a pitcher of water, glass jars of finely-ground coffee beans and sugar, and a ceramic mug. “It is a little ritual I do for myself,” Seeker said as he fished a second mug out of the small wicker trunk on the floor and set it next to the first. “I am happy to share it with you. It will only take a moment.”

Yvonne watched curiously as the man carefully measured out the grounds and water before pouring them both into the cezve. He dragged one finger along a line of runes that had been scratched into the side of the table and murmured something under his breath. The sand briefly emitted a warm dim glow before going dark. Satisfied, he lifted the vessel and settled it into the sand. “It is quite strong, the way they do coffee here,” he warned her with a little chuckle as he added just a pinch of sugar, “so I will not give you too much. I wouldn’t want you to be up all night.”

She smiled. “I appreciate it. I was wondering what was behind the curtain when we first came to your office.”

“Yes, this is my little paradise,” Seeker said with a grin, his eyes locked on his work. “I often do not have time to leave the Temple when things are busy, so I have tried to give myself a little space to relax a bit. I am quite particular about who is allowed in here, as this space is quite sacred to me, so consider this high praise,” he joked.

Yvonne felt her cheeks warm, but Seeker was thankfully too focused to notice. Watching him work was captivating. His scarred hand delicately adjusted the vessel with small, precise movements. He’d clearly had years of practice perfecting his technique. It reminded her of the way he carefully arranged his runes when they had travelled together in the mountains, his figure backdropped by the pastel sunrise as his deft hands meticulously modified his sword. She still wasn't quite used to seeing him in this sort of setting – so quiet, clean, and domestic. He’d been no less handsome when his brow was drenched with sweat and his arms were stained with the gore of monsters, of course. She remembered the charming grin on his face the first time she’d witnessed him invoke the Bladesong, his eyes reflecting the fierce orange glow of his magic. But this suited him. The veins of obsidian and marble that peeked out from under the collar of his tunic seemed to sparkle slightly as they caught the golden rays of the afternoon sun that trickled in through the bay window. Dressed in off-white from head to toe like this, he almost reminded her of the alabaster statues she’d spotted by the palace on her way into town.

Before long, the liquid in the cezve began to bubble and rise. “There we are,” Seeker said, seemingly satisfied with his work. He poured the coffee into the two mismatched mugs and ran his finger back across the runes to stop the heat. “I’ll just give it a moment to set,” Seeker said as he tidied up his station, “... and all ready.” He took one of the mugs and handed it to her, their fingers grazing slightly. She accepted it and thanked him as he took his seat in the armchair.

Seeker swept his long copper braid over his shoulder to prevent it from getting trapped between his back and the chair. During their travels, she’d watched him re-plait it every morning with ease. She’d often found herself harboring the highly-unprofessional wish that he would struggle with the task so that she could offer to help and have a plausible excuse to play with his hair. Alas, or perhaps fortunately, the opportunity never came. “To your health, to your upcoming journey,” – Seeker raised his cup slightly and gave a little nod – “and to our reunion. May it not be our last.”

Yvonne gave him a shy smile. She liked the sound of that. Perhaps they really could have a proper friendship. She’d never expected to see him again when her contract had ended, and had considered this meeting to be a one-off occurrence rather than the start of anything lasting. She took a sip of the coffee. It was bold and bittersweet, with a sort of earthy, chocolatey aftertaste.

“How is it?” Seeker asked. He seemed genuinely invested in what she thought.

“This is lovely,” she praised him. “I can see why you’ve dedicated a space to it.”

Seeker looked pleased with himself, a proud smile on his bearded face. “It has taken me quite some time to perfect it. I am glad you like it. An incentive to come back, yes?” He took a sip of his own. “You will have to tell me what you have found at the end of your journey, if you don’t mind me living vicariously through you. I’m quite curious to see where this adventure takes you.”

“Of course.” She was grateful to have a proper excuse to visit him again. “I wish you could come with us. I imagine your skillset would be quite useful.”

“Believe me, I would if I could,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Perhaps we will travel together again someday, hmm? I will even remember my manners next time.”

She knew he was referring to the way he had practically manhandled her without a second thought to get her out of the way of his fireball spell, leaving them both rather embarrassed after the adrenaline of the battle had faded. Given her height, Yvonne was far from accustomed to being thrown around like that. It had been counterproductive in her goals of restraining her attraction to the man. The thought of working at his side once more made her smile. “Keep me in mind the next time you find yourself needing a security detail.”

“That I will.” Seeker’s eyes lit up. He set his drink down and quickly rose from his chair. “Come to think of it–” He strode through the curtains and back into the main portion of his office. “I understand you are still rather nomadic at the moment, yes?” he called.

“Yes, that's right,” Yvonne responded.

She heard a drawer open and some rustling. He reemerged with a pad of paper and a pen. “If you write to this address, it will get to me,” he said, scribbling something down on the top page. “I know that visiting Ank’Harel is not always particularly convenient, and that it is likely, well, not your preferred environment, but I would like to keep in touch.” Finished, he tore the page from the pad and handed it to her.

She felt her cheeks warm as took it from him. He was serious about wanting to see her. Part of her had been convinced he was just being polite, given that he was well aware of how fond she’d become of him. She gave a little nod and thanked him as she folded the page and stuck it in her pocket for safekeeping.

“I imagine you’re unlikely to have a permanent address that I can reply to, but I do have a little spell I’ve been practicing that should let me speak a few words to you directly,” Seeker suggested as he returned to his seat. “It may be a bit startling the first time, hearing my voice out of nowhere like that, but if you are alright with it, you would also be able to give me a short reply. It only stretches to twenty, maybe twenty-five words each way, so it won’t replace the letters, but it would let me respond to them. Provided you don’t intend to leave this plane, that is.”

Yvonne had heard of a similar spell before. A member of her current party had used it every now and then. Considering the amount of mental preparation she’d had to do to meet him for lunch that afternoon, the notion that Seeker’s voice could pop into her mind at any time without warning was a jarring one. She could already imagine his baritone chuckle distracting her in the middle of a fight. As if her companions needed any more ammunition to tease her with! Spontaneous telepathy was less than ideal, but she would accept it if it meant getting to hear from him. “I’d like that,” she agreed.

“Wonderful,” Seeker said with a satisfied grin, taking another sip of his coffee. “I look forward to seeing your letters on my desk.”

Next

[carbo-ships]

Seeker x Yvonne

Stars were starting to appear in the sky as the party stopped to camp for the night. After eating and discussing their plan for the following morning, each member selected a sleeping spot under the small overhang in the cliffside. The group had established a watch order for the night – Yvonne would be the first, stationed at the edge of camp so she could review her maps and notes in the light of the full moon without disturbing her sleeping companions. Seeker knew this would likely be his only opportunity to speak with Yvonne alone.

It was difficult to get a moment of privacy on an expedition like this, Seeker had quickly realized. There was always something to do, somewhere to go, usually as a large group. How was he meant to talk to Yvonne under these circumstances? He had been waiting for the right moment – or perhaps putting it off – for nearly a week. Now, he couldn’t deny that this opportunity was practically gift-wrapped. He couldn’t delay this any longer. About half an hour after everyone had turned in for the night and Yvonne had taken her position, Seeker silently rose and crept from the camp. He took a deep breath to muster his courage, then approached the younger woman.

Yvonne was sitting on a felled tree illuminated by a beam of moonlight that had filtered through the canopy of trees above, flicking through her worn journal. Her mouth formed silent words as she read, seemingly deep in thought.

“Yvonne?” he said softly so as not to startle her or alert the rest of the party.

She turned her head to look up at him, surprise evident on her features even in the dim light. “Oh, hello,” she responded just as quietly as she closed her journal. “Is everything alright?”

“There's something I'd like to speak with you about, if I may,” Seeker said gently, doing his best to mask his nerves. It clearly didn't work. Suddenly, she was giving him that “startled deer” look he'd grown so accustomed to over the past several weeks – eyes wide, quickly scanning him, seemingly searching for something. The first time he'd received it was when he'd first let his hair down around her, then again after she'd finally seen him in battle. At first, he'd attributed it to the girl just being shy. After all, she didn't exactly appear to be a social butterfly and he knew his size and scars often made him appear rather intimidating. However, it didn't take long for him to realize that he was the only member of the party she looked at that way. Romance had been the farthest thing from his mind for a few decades, but he wasn't dense. He knew a crush when he saw one.

The realization had surprised him. Yvonne had a crush on him. He could hardly remember the last time someone had developed feelings for him. Well, that he knew of. He didn’t have time to even entertain the thought of a relationship, though. With mounting responsibilities within the Cobalt Soul and his own research to develop, there simply wasn’t room in his life for such a thing. He resolutely pushed the thought away whenever it would inevitably float back into his mind. It simply wouldn’t work. But why him? There were plenty of strapping young men in their party. And wasn’t he a bit old for her? It hardly mattered either way. He’d already made up his mind. He was too pragmatic to let such thoughts get the best of him.

The difficult part, Seeker had quickly decided, was determining the most tasteful response to this information. Initially, he felt it would be best to pretend he had never noticed that Yvonne had taken an interest in him. Why put the poor girl through any unnecessary embarrassment? There was no immediate need to address it, and given that she didn't appear to have any intention of actively pursuing him, it would likely be possible to avoid a conversation about it altogether. However, something about that approach did not sit right with him. It was that panicked look she kept giving him. She was clearly nervous around him and ineffectively attempting to hide her attraction. Perhaps it would simply be better to clear the air – he knew, he wasn't upset, and he unfortunately was not in a position to seriously consider a relationship, nor was it in his nature to recklessly indulge. Yes. Although it would be uncomfortable in the moment for both of them, this was likely the more merciful option. This was the thought in his mind that had led him to follow Yvonne to the edge of camp that night, the tension now palpable as she stared up at him from her spot on the log. “Do you mind if I join you?” he requested.

“Oh, um, not at all,” she stuttered out quickly, motioning for him to take a seat next to her and setting her notes aside. He thanked her with a nod and settled onto the log. Even when they were both sitting, he was still a few inches taller than her – something Seeker was quite accustomed to, but that seemed rather foreign to Yvonne. She looked up at him nervously.

“Well, I, uh…” Seeker paused, struggling to look her in the eyes. He'd rehearsed this countless times in his head over the past few days, and even more in whispered tones to whatever bird would listen. Why couldn't he remember what he was meant to say? “I couldn't help but notice that, well... You seem to have taken an interest in me.” That was not the way he had intended on phrasing it, and likely wasn't as clear as he'd wanted it to be, but it was the best he could do at the moment. “Is that correct?”

Yvonne looked absolutely mortified. Yes, it seemed she understood exactly what he meant. Seeker was starting to regret his decision to have this conversation, but it was far too late to backtrack. “I– I am not upset! Far from it,” he quickly assured her. “I am… incredibly flattered. Truly. You are a lovely, beautiful young woman, Yvonne. It's just that, well… This sort of… thing… is not something I have the capacity for at the moment.” Beautiful? That word seemed to surprise both of them. Seeker mentally chastised himself. That had not been part of the original script. He sighed, frustrated by the way he was stumbling through his words. “Am I making any sense?”

"Of– Of course!" Yvonne stuttered out frantically, looking anywhere but his face. "I’m sorry, I– I'd– I never intended to– I mean– I admit, I–" After fishing for her words for a moment, she sighed and looked up at him again. "You're a very handsome man, Seeker."

His ears were burning. Knowing she thought so was one thing. Hearing her say it was another. He couldn't tell who was more embarrassed. Seeker cleared this throat, trying to pull himself together. “Thank you,” he said, successfully keeping his voice steady. Handsome. That was a word he hadn’t heard in quite some time. Didn’t she consider his scars to be a bit unsightly? He certainly always had. Even so, she seemed to like what she saw despite them. Or was it because of them? No, now was not the time for such questions. He was curious, but that was a step too far. He was certain this conversation was uncomfortable enough for her.

Yvonne’s gaze shifted back to her lap. “I never planned to tell you,” she assured him, “or do anything about it, or–”

“I assumed as much, do not worry,” Seeker said quickly, resting his hand on her knee. He was almost starting to feel like he could breathe again now that the topic had successfully been breached. He was no longer confronting, just comforting. “I only bring it up because it seemed to me that trying to hide your feelings was causing you some stress, yes? If I did not know better, I would have thought you were afraid of me! And as I said, I am not upset, or offended, or uncomfortable, or… All this to say, it is alright. I am not particularly available at the moment, but I certainly do not mind if you find me attractive. Okay?”

Yvonne took a deep breath to calm herself. “Okay. Are you sure?” She still seemed quite nervous.

He let out a little chuckle. “Yes, I am sure,” he insisted. “And please, do not make yourself a stranger. You must know I enjoy your company.” Her ears flicked slightly in response, making him grin. It was cute. She was cute.

Wait.

Shit.

Next

[carbo-ships]

Seeker x Yvonne - Chapter 2

Previous

When Yvonne’s companion won that map in a game of dice at a rowdy Marquesian tavern, she immediately recognized the symbols scrawled along the tattered borders. She knew they were runes of the ancient giants, but more importantly, she knew who would be able to read them. As luck would have it, the man on her mind could likely be found a day’s journey away in Ank’Harel. The party was eager to have a few days to rest and plan for their upcoming adventure, and a stop in the big city seemed like the perfect place to do so. This is how Yvonne had found herself standing in the shadow of the Temple of the Mentor deep within the Guided District. The three blue ceramic mosaic eyes above the arched entrance told her they were in the right place. After taking a deep breath to collect herself, she led her party up the stairs and through the tall wooden double doors. She obviously hadn’t told her party members that she was hopelessly infatuated with the man they were about to meet, but she imagined it would likely be obvious soon enough.

Grateful to be out of the hot desert sun, the party took a moment to appreciate their surroundings. The entire ground floor appeared to be a public library. Dozens of long wooden tables hosting diligently-studying patrons formed a central aisle that led to the main staircase up toward the upper floors. Off to each side was a wing of the building with seemingly endless rows of bookshelves, each filled to capacity with carefully-filed scrolls and tomes. The entire library had a low hum of activity – shuffling, pages turning, mumbled conversations – that reverberated slightly off of the pale stone floors and tall ceilings.

One member of the party spotted a large desk off to one side that was attended by several people dressed in matching cream robes. Deciding that was likely some sort of reception, the group crossed the room to them. Yvonne, being the one whose idea it was to come here in the first place, took it upon herself to speak for her party.

“Excuse me,” she said, relieved that her voice was coming out steady. “We’re here to see Seeker. Is he in?”

One of the robed men smiled politely and stood. “I was just about to head up. I’ll send him down for you.” With that, he climbed the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

The party stepped back from the desk to wait, glancing around the room curiously. They would be sure to do some snooping through the collection after their meeting. After a few minutes of waiting, the elven woman Yvonne had been traveling with caught her attention. “Remind me how you know this guy?” she asked quietly.

“I was on a contract with him in the Kaal Mountains last year,” Yvonne explained. “He was doing work on an archaeological site and the team needed someone who knew the area. We, um, got along pretty well, so he told me to find him in Ank’Harel if I ever needed anything.”

She grinned, giving Yvonne a once-over. “That’s all?” she asked, clearly suspecting that Yvonne wasn’t sharing the full story. “You seem awfully nervous to be meeting an old coworker.”

“I– I just admire him, that’s all.” Yvonne insisted. Admittedly, she was nervous. It had been how long? Six, seven, eight months? Would he even remember her? What if he was too busy? What if he had only extended the invitation of his help to be polite? What if–

Oh, gods, there he was. Yvonne had to remind herself to breathe. Seeker’s towering stature made him easy to spot as he rounded the corner to descend the central stairwell. He was at least a head taller than almost everyone in the building, and firbolgs certainly stood out in a city like this.

“Is that him?” her companion whispered curiously as they glanced between the two of them, clearly having noticed the sudden change in Yvonne’s expression. She could only nod silently, frozen to the spot.

Seeker was a sight to behold. The last time Yvonne had seen him was after two months of travel and outdoor sleeping, and she only now realized that he probably hadn’t looked his best during their journey. Now, he was dressed in cream linen robes with delicate blue embroidery that were carefully draped across his broad shoulders. Dark scars peeked out from underneath the neckline and sleeves of his loose, long-sleeve white tunic. Matching trousers obscured the girth of his sturdy legs until they met his tall brown boots midway down his calves. His silky auburn hair was still neatly styled in his signature braid that cascaded over his chest and stopped below his ribs. He paused when their gazes met, his eyebrows shooting upward toward his hairline. The dark veins of obsidian that adorned his cheeks creased as his lips moved to form a surprised smile. “Yvonne?” His pace quickened, and she felt her pulse do the same.

She moved to greet him at the bottom of the staircase, her party trailing behind her. “Hi, Seeker,” she replied bashfully. She was sure she looked like a lovestruck fool as she gazed up at him, but she didn’t care. She was too happy.

When he reached her, he rested his large hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “It really is you! To what do I owe this pleasure, my friend?” he asked her softly so as not to disturb the other patrons who were diligently studying. “They told me I had guests, but not that it was you!” This close, she could admire his well-kempt beard, the darker blue hues across the bridge of his nose left by the hot sun of the Rumedam Desert, and the twinkle in his pale blue eyes that told her how genuinely pleased he was to see her.

“Well,” she stuttered, suddenly finding it difficult to look him in the eyes, “during our travels, my party and I found an old map with some runes we couldn’t translate and I figured that, well, since you’re here, maybe you could help? If you have a moment, that is?”

Seeker was beaming. “You have certainly asked the right archivist!” He seemed quite pleased to be called upon for his particular area of knowledge. “Come, we shall go to my office, yes? We can talk there without disturbing the other patrons.”

After a brief round of introductions, the group followed Seeker up the stairs he had just descended. Yvonne’s mind was racing. It was really him. She settled into a pace beside him with her party close behind.

“It is good indeed to see a friendly face,” Seeker chuckled as they made their way down the hall. Dozens of identical wooden doors lined the walls, which Yvonne assumed were offices. “I admit, it is always a little jarring to be asked for by name.”

“Sorry if we startled you,” Yvonne said. “I hate to distract you from your work. I know you must be awfully busy.”

“Nonsense. You have given me the opportunity to talk runes with a friend. Truly, your visit has brightened my day.” His expression softened. “I am… touched that you actually seemed to be listening to my rambles on our journey,” he continued sheepishly. “I do know I tend to go on a little.”

Of course she’d listened. She’d hung on his every word in those days. “Oh, not at all! I found it all quite fascinating.”

He offered her a tender smile. “You are a sweet girl, Yvonne. It is nice to see you again.” The warmth in his gaze made her heart skip a beat. “I am glad you took me up on my offer. How long are you in town?"

“A week or so. We’re just gathering some information and restocking our supplies before we set out,” she explained.

“Really? In that case, what would you say to the two of us getting lunch together sometime this week?” Seeker asked. “I would love to catch up and hear of your travels since we parted, if you have the time.”

“Oh!” Yvonne hoped her cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt. This couldn’t possibly be happening. He wanted to see her again? Just her? “I, um, I’d like that, yeah.”

“Good,” Seeker grinned. “Tomorrow? My treat. Call for me at midday.” He stopped in front of one of the doors and pushed it open. He and his guests stepped into the small office. It was a narrow space with a bay window at the far end that let some of the afternoon sun into the room. Bookshelves were carved into the right wall, and each worn volume seemed to have notes sticking out between every page. The opposite wall housed a desk and workbench beside a glass cabinet filled with all sorts of ingredients and oddities. An archway in the back right corner of the room was obscured by curtains – Yvonne wondered to herself what was back there. Beneath her feet was a worn green rug that dampened the sound of her footsteps. It was notably quieter in here than the rest of the building. The rug, she couldn’t help but notice, appeared to be singed in multiple places.

“Now–” Seeker clapped his hands together once the party had shuffled into his office, recapturing Yvonne’s attention. Excitement was evident in his eyes. “I do believe that someone perhaps mentioned a map?”

Next