The following morning was hectic. I'd left my clothes out overnight, but fortunately there'd been no rain or even dew. I scrambled out of bed when I realized that almost all my clothes were out there, and quickly got them off the line. Now running a bit behind, I hurried through a quick breakfast of leftover slightly stale bread with some milk, and rushed off to the store.

Oneday working with Henrig passed quickly, but with no real opportunity for skill growth in the areas I was hoping to get. The walking skill had slowed to a glacial pace after breaking into the next level. Not much call for flame bursts or electro snaps in the general store, but the ability to quickly heal minor damage was handy. Getting a splinter or two was pretty common during the uncrating and stocking of the canned goods, not to mention assorted bumps and dings on my hands and fingers. Since splinters are trivial to fix at this point, I avoided using gloves, since they made it harder to hold onto the cans, and just healed out the splinters whenever I got them. The bumps, bruises, minor lacerations, and small strains were all generally simple to fix on the spot or whenever I could find a moment of “alone” time. As long as nobody had seen the injury clearly, I could either mostly heal it if it might be noticed, or even make it disappear completely.

On Twoday, I got an opportunity I couldn’t pass by.

“Grint, I’ve got to go to the station to start trying to track down a missing shipment for Mrs. Blakrout. It’s been on order for a full tenday past when it was supposed to come in, and I just got a letter back saying it was shipped a tenday before that, so I have enough to take this up with the railway shipment office.” He paused to check his pocket watch. ”If I leave now, I should be back by lunch time. You mind the store, I’ll be back soon.”

“Yes, sir. Good luck with the inquiry.” I warmed a bit inside, knowing he was leaving me in charge of the whole store.

He nodded, then headed out the door and up the street to the station at brisk walk.

That was more responsibility than I’d had doing the research assistantship. I wouldn’t let him down. I might borrow the use of a few things, but I wouldn’t be doing anything foolish while he was away.

Yes! Now I could test my telekinesis using the shop’s scale and get a much more accurate picture of what kind of force I was putting out. Even better, I could get a feel for the drain to force ratio and figure out if there were any major discontinuities or inflection points where the costs rose sharply. Plus, I could hopefully get a chance like this in the future, so I could compare my notes with skill levels and power cost estimates and force, to see how that math worked out! I know not everyone gets this excited over the opportunity to do math, but that’s their problem, not mine.

I wasn’t greatly surprised, but if I didn’t try for much control, I could push about 6 to 7 pounds. Since I couldn’t maintain it for much longer than a second, the spring scale tended didn’t fully stabilize, so I can’t be certain where in the range it fell. At what felt like about half the effort, I could sustain 5 pounds long enough to get an accurate scale reading, so about 3 seconds before I got the initial drain chills. At half of that effort level, I could sustain 3 pounds for roughly a 10-count. I maintained 1 pound for more than a minute before I had to stop because of an approaching customer. This job would be perfect, if it weren’t for the freaking customers taking away from my research time!

Henrig returned, about an hour later, looking mildly flustered and frustrated.

“Everything OK, Grint?”

“Yes, sir. Only a couple of new customers, a couple of regulars, and no special orders.”

“Thank goodness for that. Small blessings. Railway office will 'look into it' but they weren't all that helpful.”

He retreated into his office, and only came back out at the end of the day to lock up.

“Sorry about leaving you alone this afternoon." He turned and locked the door after we exited.

"Grint, the wife’s been after me to have you over for a meal. She’s happy about not having to help out when the store gets busy or I have to track down shipments like today, since she’d rather work on her garden and such. Anyway, would Eightday work for you, after we close? Nothing fancy, just good plain fare, so we could just walk over from here.”

“Um… that sounds nice, I’ll let my parents know, so they can cook half as much.” A grin took over my face.

He laughed gently, “We had kids your age once, so we’re aware of the bottomless belly. See you in the morning.”

He checked the door, then waved goodbye and turned to head down the street.

“Good night, sir.”

“Night, Grint.”

"It's Henrig."

"Of course, sir," I replied with a grin that he didn't see, but could probably hear in my tone.

He laughed again, pleasantly, as he walked away.

On Sevenday, I did finally receive the letter of recommendation from the Omniology, but I no longer really needed it. It did feel good to read the nice parts about being trustworthy and good with numbers, but I’d already proved that on my own to Henrig. It might not be as respectable or fancy as jobs go, but it was useful, appreciated, and indoors. While I no longer fear the big burning ball as much, that didn’t mean I wanted to deal with it constantly either.

I took the opportunity to try something a bit bold and perhaps too forward, but I had no other alternatives. I wrote a letter to Lunette, using the return address to send it to her, in the care of the Department of Magical Research at the Omniology.

Ms. Vedlimdt,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that your analysis of the test work is proceeding apace. Please find enclosed a page of preliminary analyses that I have generated from my memory of the testing results.

Having returned to Pleichston, I’ve found a regrettable dearth of people interested in magical research, and have made a few odd discoveries of my own. I would be delighted to hear more about the results from the test as you are at liberty to do so. I could also perhaps be kept abreast of such other life events and happenings at the Omniology as you would like to share. As you have shown keen interest in such matters in the past, I wondered if you might like to exchange some correspondence on these various issues. Should you wish to do so, I have also enclosed an envelope, stamped and addressed to me, for your use.

As to the particulars of my life, I have found employment again here, working at the local emporium. While it is not as erudite a position as the research posting, it is good, honest work that keeps the townsfolk supplied with all the sundry essentials and not a few luxuries.

Your colleague,

Grint Coddlestahl

It was a bit stiff and formal, but that was probably for the best. I was already pushing the bounds of propriety more than just a little bit, as this was an unsolicited letter from a mere acquaintance. By signing it as a colleague, I could skate by.

As I told her in the letter, I enclosed my page of notes and a folded, stamped, and pre-addressed envelope for her to use to send back any reply. I was torn between calling that a way to reduce the burden of a reply or a way to increase the perception of obligation to respond. Since we’d spent less than a season even on conversational terms, we’d never talked about her financial situation. I had lodging covered here with my parents, I was making plenty of money for a few letters, so it was worth the risk of a stamp. I’d rather not ask for something that will cost her more than time.

I posted it on Eightday during a break, so possibly I’ll hear back in a tenday or so. A few days to deliver and a few back made any earlier reply unlikely. I suddenly missed email, for the first time in this life. Even if I’d wanted to make it faster, using the telegraph-like equipment that was being strung along the railroads, it was expensive and very limited. A simple message like “Lunette, please write to me. Grint.” sent along with my address would run several hours’ wages for me. Worse, I can’t imagine that would work, with our shared history so short, it needed the more personal touch that a longer and slower letter would bring.

At the end of the day, we closed up shop and headed out to Henrig’s home. First dinner with the boss and his wife, at least I’d met them both. Of course, in my head was a constant refrain: don’t screw this up.