I placed the large cross section of oak on the brackets. They held, good. Next I braced my foot against the doorframe while gripping the metal door pull tightly. I gave several tugs at full strength, the brackets held without any give, excellent. While I’d prefer to have someone ram the door from the outside a few times, this test would have to suffice.

I set the timber next to the door, I’d feel much safer tonight, at least from human foes. That being said, people capable of blasting fireballs wouldn’t be stopped by my new security device, but it would likely stop the door from flying inwards and crushing me, and more pertinently, buy me enough time to prepare a response. It’s like the argument, “Why use two locks? The master thief’ll still break in!” That’s true, but most crimes are not committed by master thieves. And even then, why not inconvenience the thieving bastard that much more?

I made my way to the east wing, first floor, there were two large side rooms down the first main hallway, one marked Epistle Avem with the blue silhouette of a bird in flight, a missive in its beak and coin purse in its claws, the other Epistle Nuncia with a red silhouette of a running man holding a missive in front, coin purse behind. Groaning angrily, I walked into the Epistle Avem, a sole clerk attending to several customers.

He sat at a large, rusty iron bar encapsulated desk in the center of the room. From either side stretched more rusted iron which formed a five-foot tall metal fence that partitioned the room into two unequal halves. In the front were several drab desks, worn papers, splotchy parchments, leaky inkwells, and dilapidated quills and pencils. Behind the fence were tall shelves, packages and missives arranged in no discernable pattern. Several of the bold letters for sorting were backwards, one upside down. Stationary, knick-knacks, and several ledgers of varying sizes cluttered the desk. I walked to the far corner, taking a sip from my flask as I observed.

The first in line, a stout male in green, deposited one large and five small coppers. The clerk, dressed in a stained, crumpled brown shirt put the coins in a box, wrote in one of the larger ledgers, and then handed the man a stamped receipt before calling, “Next.” The second customer, a man in red robes, paid for a letter to be sent to Onyx. The clerk opened the largest ledger, staring at the words on the letter while asking the man the address for added confirmation. He took the letter, handed the man a similar receipt, and told him it would arrive in two days, his voice lacking any discernable interest.

The third and final customer, a woman in blue, arranged to send a few silvers from her balance to her family in Ruby. The clerk checked his ledger, telling the woman that the funds would be sent in six days, to allow for verification. The woman argued that she only had one account, here, at the Spire and that the funds should be verified in four days, not six. The clerk told her that she could bloody well have half a dozen accounts, which was why she would just have to wait, or take her business elsewhere. She huffed before accepting, agreeing to the fee and receiving a receipt that more resembled a list, pressed with three different stamps.

The clerk, a lad around sixteen, had greeted each customer with the same condescending smirk. I remember being his age and answering a customer with that same expression. I also remember my brother backhanding me across the face for such foolishness. A shame this boy didn’t have as nurturing a brother as I did.

I walked up to him, passing a girl standing at one of the desks, a sad, drooping quill in hand. My face struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

“Mathias,” my lip twitched.

“Tome,” he said rolling his eyes, “Still no letters, missives, packages, or anything else. Just accept it, your hometown slut’s screwing your best mate.”

Nah, he’s too busy with that whore mother of yours, I wanted so to rebuke him. I bit my tongue instead; I didn’t have the luxury of making enemies.

I kept expressionless, “Your information was off.”

“Hey, I told you what I heard, I’m not responsible for the truth of rumors.”

“Rumors? I asked you for the rooms of two other worlders, you gave me two different rooms.”

“Yeah, two is two, don’t ‘ya know?” his smirk grew more insolent.

“They were sharing a room, so who the hell was in the other room you gave me?”

He shrugged, “Hey, that’s just what I heard, again, you paid for what I heard.”

Useless sod. I massaged my brow, lessening the headache I now felt.

“What do you know…”

“Ah-hem,” he tapped the desk.

Swiftly I dropped five coppers on the desk. He looked at them disdainfully.

“Really?”

“I pay based on quality, something you’re not familiar with.”

“Well, don’t be surprised if it’s a bit worse this time ‘round.”

I stared at him for a minute, debating. I cupped the coins and slid them off the counter into my open palm.

“I’ll take my business to Nuncia.”

“Heh, you do that! You know we’re the popular choice.”

“Yes, but I’m sure for two large coppers they could serve me far better.”

I swiftly turned, carefully watching his beady eyes widen. It only took three strides before he called me back, lazily of course.

“Oh, come now, for two large ones, I’ll get you any information you want.”

I faced the door, speaking over my shoulder, “And the veracity?”

“What? The hell is that?”

“Accuracy!”

“Well, sure, most likely…”

I sighed deeply. While I could go to Nuncia, a far more competent organization, he was right. Most people preferred the banking and post services here, far lower rates almost compensated for the lack of quality. Also it was likely that the information I was after could only be obtained here.

“Two large coppers, but I need information on one person, and information on the posts of another.”

“Whoa, we at the Epistleary Avem,” I cringed when he couldn’t even pronounce his outfit’s name, “Keep all customer information private like, guaranteed.”

“Fastus Adriogantio, if he gets post from here, I’ll throw in four more coppers.”

“Hey! I said…”

“Three coppers.”

“What, that’s not…!”

“Two, my time is valuable, and you’re wasting far too much of it.”

“You really think…”

I turned a second time, my strides faster. I hated these damn games, why couldn’t we just come to a fair price without playing around?

“Wait, WAIT! Okay, four…”

“Thr...”

“But…”

“Alright, tell you what, four, but next time we do business, five coppers per information/person request, a large one for post details, deal?”

“Savvy,” he quickly replied, his expression still irking me.

I deposited the coins. He picked each one up individually, carefully checking for counterfeits.

“Alright, Fastis Adrogie?”

“Fa-stus, A-drio-gan-tio. What posts has he sent and received, and what can you tell me about him?”

“Hold on,” he pulled a medium sized ledger from under the counter. After six minutes of apathetic searching, he finally found the account. I should’ve brought something to read...

“Fastus Adriogantio, son of Knaius Adriogantio, merchant in Emerald, argentum grade,” his family was wealthy but not near noble or great merchant status. “Fire mage, studying his second year at the Commoner’s Spire, long brown hair, green eyes, emerald, he he! A few small debts, mostly for gold, jewelry, and tailoring, no gambling or whoring arrears. Alright now…”

He put the ledger aside before grabbing the thickest tome on the table. He opened it to the latest page, then quickly skimmed back, going over the poorly written entries. After some time, he highlighted several separate entries throughout the newest ten pages, turning the volume to me.

“In the last two weeks sent two letters to Emerald and received three from there, two from Garnet, and one from Sapphire.”

“Who sent the message from Sapphire?”

“Uh, Fiste.”

Fiste? I didn’t know of any officials or magistrates with that surname. I searched each of the highlights until I saw the one from Sapphire. Fastus’s name and address were written fairly clearly inside the boxes, but other than Sapphire, the address was blank. I cursed at the lack of professionalism here, I wished people would just use Nuncia’s services.

I looked at the name of the sender, the letters looking like the work of a four-year-old. There it was, Fiste. Gods, it looked like someone had written an additional t top of the initial one. I nearly closed the ledger before glancing back at the name. If they did write two t’s the name would be Fistte, which was only one letter... I breathed a sigh of relief, while still bad news, it was far better than what I had imagined.

“If you want me to look back farther, this ledger’s a bit heavy for my arms, a few more coppers and…”

“No, that’s good enough, now, I also need information on Tess, divine mage.”

“Uh, Tess who? You know, occasionally other people share the same first name, it’s an odd habit peop…”

“The mage…who died…yesterday, I need information, no post details.”

“What’re you looking for?”

“Friends and family, acquaintances here at the Spire and especially whoever talked with her before she died.”

“Will take a while, and that last part’ll be tough.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to use that natural charm of yours, or whoever your rats are,” I glared back over my shoulder.

The previous unassuming woman was still filling out her letter or form. Well, pretending at least, that or she was practicing how to work a quill as she never once dipped the ragged thing into any of the dry ink wells at her table. Both Epistles had their own means of collecting information, The Epistle Avem’s were just cruder.

“Heh, heh, don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re reputable-able here, and always trustworthy, that’s why I’m going to personally ask every customer to get you your information. Of course it will be slow, and ineffective, but given enough time I…”

“I’m going to need information in the future, likely lots of it, but if you tell me lies, useless hearsay, or waste any more of my time, I’ll take my coins next door.”

“Oh, please don’t!” He mocked me, wiping away phantom tears, “We both know they won’t give you the information we will, and certainly not at a price you could afford.”

I was prepared, during our fist exchange I had failed to achieve a rapport with Mathias. This time I intended to do better. I took out a large silver from my coin purse and held it in front of his face. He froze for a second, face contorted in shock. Quickly his hands shot forth, making a desperate grab through the in the bars between us. I easily pulled my hand back, avoiding his grubby fingers

“I have money, and I’m willing to spend it. Get me what I need, and I will remunerate you.”

“Remu…?”

“Pay you well, I will pay you well. I’m going to be at the Spire for the foreseeable future,” provided I didn’t die horribly, “I’m in need of an associate, one who could lighten my purse, the weight’s bad for my back, don’t ‘ya know?”

He flashed an amenable grin, his attention never fully leaving the coin.

“Call for me when you have what I need.”

I left, ignoring the two sets of eyes following me out. The Avem was terrible, both in service and reputation. While my family did often use them for information and inconsequential letters, we never used their money services. Letters were guaranteed by law to arrive (or quintuple the price paid by the sender), there was no such promise for money. While the Avem typically transferred funds without issue, the more money sent, the more shady characters in alleyways. All information was for sale.

My request was a fool’s errand, I had no doubt. Mathias would provide me with a list of names, most of which I wouldn’t know, some useless information on Tess’s habits, and other useless trivia. Mathias would think I had more coins than sense, which would better endear his services to me. And that was merely the added benefit to my true goal. I smiled; the best trades are those the other party doesn’t even know are occurring.

Briskly I left the Epistle Avem, and stopped outside the Epistle Nuncia. I had visited both organizations every day, my family still not having contacted me. I knew what they were doing, or at least I hoped I did. The Fisettes being involved complicated the situation, but the family wouldn’t completely cut me off, we were blood, so of course…

No, rationalizing was a waste of time, action was called for, the discrete and cautious kind. Asking directly would be forcing my family to overtly support or disown me, something that would not be forgotten, nor forgiven no matter the response. You sacrificed for the family, an investment repaid with security and help when needed. I felt bad making a request, I was a grown man, I should be handling my problems on my own. But then again, I had made more than my share of sacrifices for house Rimoude, one damned letter shouldn’t have been too much to expect. And what I would request would barely even register on the accounts...

I marched with purpose straight into the Epistle Nuncia. The room was large, a tall desk lay along the left wall, numerous quills, inkwells, and unmarked parchment and paper all arrayed for use. To the right side was a setup similar to the Epistle Avem, center desk, beautifully varnished, a thick floor-to-wall gilded fence separated the well-arranged packages and letters. Beautiful cursive characters and numbers keeping impeccable order.

“Sir Rimoude!” Leandra, the clerk greeted me, “What can we do for you?”

She gave a broad if perplexed smile. Her tidy black button coat with a fur collar the latest and best in style. The buttons were dull, which was how I knew it was genuine. The fakes always had far more beautiful buttons; the finish usually coming off in the first week or two. I smiled back to her, genuinely happy to be in a place that exuded quality.

“I’d like to pay back my loan.”

“S-so soon?”

“Is there a problem? I have the interest prepared as well,” I placed my slip and eight silvers, four large coppers on the counter.

“Why of course not! It’s just that, generally customers take loans for longer than, twenty minutes was it?”

“Debt is the one asset my family avoids.”

“Of course, Sir, one moment.”

She took out her ledger, quickly locating my name. She wrote some notes, carefully checked the currency before putting it away, stamped my slip, and wrote another saying my obligation was paid. While two silvers would’ve interested Mathias’ greed, a large silver was needed if he was going to take me seriously.

I hated wasting four large coppers, but consoled myself that it boosted my reputation. The Avem didn’t give a damn for your credit worthiness, but the Nuncia did. Ranks were given here based not only on wealth and connections, but recorded financial transactions, services purchased, and assurances honored. My family had worked hard to earn an argentum rank, something I had also contributed to ever since I began haggling on my own at fifteen. We were only rated ferrum at Avem, another reason for us not to use their vaults.

“Everything is in order, including the five percent fee. We thank you for your business, Sir Rimoude, is there anything else we can help you with today?”

“Actually I’d like to have a message transcribed and sent as well.”

“Of course, if you would kindly enter through there,” she pointed to the black door in the back, adorned with an exquisitely drawn quill dripping excess ink into an inkwell.

A well-dressed and overly muscled goliath manned the door, knocking on it as I approached and swinging the door open for me with precise timing. Inside was a large oaken table with an impeccably dressed, spectacled clerk behind it. He looked up from the records he was tallying, greeting me with a genuine smile.

“What can I do you for you today, Sir?”

“I’d like you to transcribe and send a letter for me.”

“The post has already been sent, it would save you seven coppers if you composed the letter yourself, Sir.”

“No, I need the letter to be officially transcribed, Epistle Nuncia letterhead and stamp of guarantee.”

“Understood,” the man adroitly pulled a parchment from his desk and dipped a large, plumed quill into the inkwell, “You may begin when ready, Sir, but please list name and residence before your message.”

I nodded, more to myself as the veteran recorder sat hunched over, all his focus on the task at hand.

“To Kirkpatrick, Dermot, Amethyst, Glowers Lane and Dark Road, Handyman and Engineer Corporated.”

The man wrote fluidly, barely a flick seen when he rewet the quill. I paused for a second to make sure he could keep up.

“And the message, Sir?” there was no need.

“I hope you are in good health, old friend. Please prepare three times the last consignment, four medium grade lodestone daggers, blue preferably, best price if possible. Powders and potions restocked, low and medium grade. Four sticks, six if you perfected them, and reagents for aqua regia, a gallon in total. Please pull the funds from the family account, set the reason as personal usage, restocking. Be sure not to use my name.”

The man’s penmanship was as beautiful as it was swift. He was done barely one second after I finished speaking.

“Very good, is that all Sir?”

“A P.S. at the bottom if you would.”

“And?”

“Before withdrawing any funds, send me a copy of any requests from the family, prices not needed but do include quantity. Please also send me any information of note about Sapphire and Amethyst, I’ve been busy with my studies, sadly neglecting such things. You know well how my father would react to such dereliction; your discretion would be appreciated.”

The writing stopped with my voice, “Is that all, Sir?”

“Yes, if you’d allow me to sign.”

He nodded, adeptly turning the parchment, dipping the pen, then handing it to me. Underneath the man’s beautiful writing, I added VEANEF, below signing, Tome Rimoude.

The clerk checked my signature, “Very good, for the transcription and post, thirteen coppers.”

I counted out the coins, he studied them for a moment before putting them in his pocket. He took the parchment, stamped the bottom, folded it three times and sealed it in an envelope with the official Epistle Nuncia wax stamp. He carefully rewrote the recipient, address, and...

“Please leave my name off the envelope.”

“Of course, Sir.”

The clerk then wrote two receipts. I signed both, keeping one for myself.

“The letter will go out tomorrow. It should arrive the same day, mid-afternoon, anything else, Sir?

“No, that will be all. Thank you for your services.”

“Of course, Sir, and thank you for your continued patronage, please come again.”

I returned his bright smile before turning and walking out of the room, the doorman opening the door from outside just as I neared it, I had no idea how he did that without seeing me. Leandra wished me good day as I exited. Once I was in the hall I stopped to check my coin purse, two silvers, one copper. I cursed, wishing I had deposited my gold from the lamia vials before I’d went to see Agrippina.

I had figured that she had no need to steal funds from me, and I wasn’t wrong. Unfortunately, I hadn’t accounted for the etching going wrong, nor a thieving friend/companion. Well, I had considered the etching going awry, but assumed I’d be dead and money the least of my problems at that point...

Of course, even if I had deposited my money, would I have been able to withdraw it? I stared grimly at the Epistle Nuncia sign, new doubts surfacing.

I shut my eyes tight, willing such thoughts away. In a few days I’d know my worth to the family, no doubt down to the last copper.

--------------------------------------------------

I squeezed down on my nose, hard. This damned wooden sign, set up right alongside the main road from Garnet/Lapis to Indigo/Sapphire was a travesty. Ten-feet-tall, eight feet wide, painted with huge haphazard crimson words. Boards were unevenly nailed together, shoddy failing to even begin to convey the lack of skill in its creation.

Even before I could read it, I knew it was either from the Rimoudes or the Fisettes. Two bona fide pillars of the community. One family did their best to monopolize trade, the other to control the best hunting grounds, and they never took losing very well, nor laying down. Both royal pains in my ass. Being the foris magister of a small hamlet I was expected to double as a magistrate, making most of the problems created by the two mine. Including whatever the hell this was.

I looked up, struggling briefly to make out the words before cursing at the absurdity of it all. I looked at the wheat field the sign was marring, yep, Valen Fisette’s land. Next I checked the fencing that had been dismantled to make said sign, yep, Valen Fisette’s property. Carefully I tasted some of the paint, nope, wasn’t blood.

Welp, that settled it, I turned around to go home. While awfully poor in taste and judgement, being spiteful wasn’t a crime. Though I would certainly suggest making it one during the next council meeting…

Written on the billboard, for all passersby to see:

“My wife, Genevieve Fisette, cheated on me with my brother, Paxton Fisette. In my own house, in my own bed. Should you meet them, be sure to applaud the cheating, disloyal, no-good, traitorous adulterers. And do let them know I ain’t bitter, nah, not even a little.”

-Bryon Altol, Foris Magister, Sapphire, Indigo Hamlet.