I sigh and ran my hands through my hair. I’d finally gotten some peace and quiet.

I headed to the desk, and after glancing at the documents and letters scattered about, decided that this called for a cup of coffee.

The downstairs’ kitchen was surprisingly small in comparison to my studio. The ceiling on that floor was lower, and most of the space was occupied by a series of rooms, some dedicated to storage, and others containing empty and dusty beds. I assumed certain staff could live here 24/7, but the thick layer of dust covering the beds indicated that they haven’t been used in a while and were probably not meant for me to see.

The stone staircase continued downwards, into a brightly lit basement. I assumed the only reason why the light was so bright was because of my magic which I couldn’t really control yet. The room was separated into several holding cells. Two of them had bars over them, and were cleaner than the rest, indicating that they had recently been used. One of the cells had been repurposed as a wine cellar, and another contained a table and several chairs. That room was either used for interrogations, or as a ‘party hideout’, since it was located so close to the alcohol reserve.

I picked out a bottle of wine and headed back upstairs. This wasn’t the kind of drink I had in mind but how could pass up the opportunity to taste wine from a different world?

“Although I guess now this is my world.” I said out loud.

It took me a while to find a corkscrew among the many kitchen cupboards. The tool had nested inside a small saucepan, and I was to tired to try and think of a hypothesis of how it ended up there. Wine glasses were not as hard to find, and soon enough I was heading back upstairs wine bottle and glass in one hand, small sachet of some nuts (which looked more like fried corn kernels) in the other.

“Now, let’s see what Emmy has got in store for me,” I started to flip through the documents.

I knew a tax return form when I saw one, but I had never seen one quite so complex. The document kept referencing its own sub-sections, and I really wished a lawyer were here to explain this nonsense to me, or better yet, to do it for me.

“Alrighty, this won’t do.” I decided.

I looked for some blank paper in the desk drawers and started compiling a list of things to do.

To do (Urgent)

find my lawyer or a replacement

Actually, now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I would want to work alongside someone with such poor work ethic as my current lawyer. Yes, they did have an advantage since they already knew everything there was to know about the estate and the land (hopefully), but if they couldn’t be bothered to show up, they seemed extremely unreliable and untrustworthy.

I crossed out the first half of that point.

After a few more minutes of brainstorming, the list presented itself as follows:

To do (Urgent)

find my lawyer or a replacement lawyer fill in the accountant position do background checks on all personnel find more information about this world what is my actual job ? who do I answer to ? what’s with all the magic learn magic ?? get children’s books for history, geography & religion (! to relationship w/ church) learn high-class etiquette find sword-fighting instructor

I added that last point because I was worried someone might ask me to showcase my swordsmanship, which I was not proficient with.

“Oh, and get an actual bodyguard, in case …” I trailed off as I added that point to the list.

The monster situation was worth looking into, but that belonged on another to-do list, one for things of a lesser priority.

I neatly stacked the documents provided by the head maid into a single pile, and put them at the corner of the desk, right next to the now-empty wine glass. Truth be told, I had expected more from local alcohol, something exotic perhaps, not something I could drink without even noticing.

The letters came next, and there were a lot of those. From what I had gathered, the estate had only been vacant for a few weeks, definitely less than a month, so I couldn’t imagine how big the pile of mail that Margaux had deemed unworthy of my time was.

The first letter was a manifest from the Guild of Stonecutters who informed me that the shipment of bricks for the summer residence had arrived.

The second letter was an invoice from the Guild of Glassblowers. Apparently, the summer residence was to be decorated with hand-made stained glass.

The next letter was from the Guild of Fine Carvers. It queried, with a rather worried tone, about the future whereabouts of half a dozen life-sized statues of the defunct duke. I laughed when I read over it. The poor people were worried they’d receive divine punishment, or something of the sort if they did not properly honor the duke’s memory. If there was one thing I had taken away from that letter, it was that the duke’s full name was Emmanuel Lannor Leerba Fernand.

The fourth letter was signed by a representative of the Guild of Chandlers and Lamplighters who did not seem happy with the fact that magic was used more and more often as a means of illuminating buildings and streets. They wanted me to do something about it, such as banning mana-lamps in public establishments. They also suggested I start asking for extra taxes from those proficient with light magic.

I considered throwing this last letter in the trash because I believed close-minded people should stand and fall by their ideologies, but that letter had got me thinking about what kind of an economic system I wanted to achieve.

I put the letter with the other open ones, and after refilling my glass with some wine, headed towards the balcony.

The darkness hit me like a theatre curtain. I had expected to push past it, and admire the city, the cathedral, or whatever else I should have been able to see from my window, but instead, I was only greeted with cold air and scarce dots of light. Stars and lit-up windows mixed together into a single cover of nothingness.

There had been no clouds during the day, so I doubted they were the ones responsible for this scenery, or rather lack thereof. That meant that there were fewer stars in this world, and perhaps even no moon.

I suddenly felt very lonely. I had learned early on that home wasn’t a place, it was a state of mind, and that any hotel room or rented flat could become my home with the right attitude. But this situation was different. Not only could I not recognise a single constellation in the sky, but I could also count all the stars I could see. There were less than a hundred (I had lost count after 84). And for some reason, that was the one fact that made me feel homesick; the idea that I was truly alone in this universe; that there was nothing beyond my life here and now.

“Come on Rose, that’s the alcohol talking.” I told myself and went back inside to check the alcohol percentage of the wine I’d been drinking.

Unsurprisingly, no such thing was written on the label. As I put the bottle down, my eyes fell upon that last letter I was reading, which reminded me of my initial line of thought about political regimes.

“Maybe I should put actual, qualified, people in charge,” I thought out loud.

But I also understood that it might compromise my position as the duchess, and potentially negatively impact the previous owner of this body, if she were ever to come back. Although that did seem improbable since it hadn’t happened so far. And maybe my current predicant was worth investigating, but it could wait until I had sorted out a few things in the fief first.

“Like these endless guild letters or the fact that the roads have more holes than a slab of Emmental cheese.”

There was still a dozen of letter to go through, but I decided to wait until tomorrow. Not just because I was tired, but also because I was hoping my lawyer might show up and help me figure things out.

I yawned, stretched, and headed to my bed where Margaux had left a nightgown. I set a mental reminder to look for some proper pyjamas. I was one of those people who could not sleep in night-dresses because the dress would keep rolling up, and I would always wake up half-naked, hence defeating the purpose of putting on nightclothes in the first place.

I changed, brushed my hair, and rolled under the blanket. I closed my eyes and wished for the light to turn off. So far, wishing for things to happen had worked well enough, but gaining a better understanding of my magic was definitely high on my priority list.

“I should add it to my actual list.” I told myself.

When I opened my eyes, the room was indeed dark. The only light was the one coming from outside, but it was still very faint. I tried wishing for the room to be completely dark, and sure enough, in a matter of seconds I could no longer make out the edges of my bed. The only remaining light source was the open window leading to the balcony. I wasn’t entirely sure how these protective barriers worked, but I reckoned it was very unlikely someone might attack a renowned duchess and war hero in her own bedroom, in the middle of a densely populated city.

I lay in bed and let my thoughts wander. It didn’t take me long to realise that something was wrong with the matrass.

It felt as if one of the springs in it was stiffer than the others. I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. Part of me was outraged at how the bed of a duchess was less comfortable than that of a farmer, but then I remembered the lengthy lecture on everything lacking in the mansion given to me by the head maid earlier today.

“Oh for Christ’s sake!”

I got up, wished for the lights to partially turn on, and lifted the matrass. I saw a grey mass fall from the matrass onto the wooden board below.

“Please let it be anything other than a dead rat…”

The lights fully turned on, and while holding the matrass with one hand, I leaned used it to better examine the thing. Thankfully it was only a felt palm-sized grey sachet. Had I not been uncomfortably spread under a heavy matrass, I would have facepalmed myself. Never before, in any of the holts I’ve ever stayed in, had I ever found a possession of a precious tenant hidden under my bed. Or maybe the sachet belonged to a maid, I couldn’t know.

I was about to call the matter done with, but I noticed a brown envelope laying around the same spot the sachet was in. I picked it up and put the matrass back down. A cursive handwriting on the envelope read:

To my successor, the next Duke or Duchess of Alliarè

The letter wasn’t sealed, and despite my common sense telling me that I should leave the matter until the next morning, my curiosity got the best of me.

Dear successor, welcome to my home.

It is unfortunate that we must meet under these circumstances since if you are reading this, I am likely dead. Or as good as, which given my age isn’t much better. Maybe our paths have crossed before, maybe they haven’t. I have a fairly solid knowledge of my potential successors, so I have no doubt you are highly qualified for your role. Unless we are blood related of course. But then again, if you are here, that must mean you must be at least worth something to someone.

When faced with unfamiliar circumstances, one will seek out certain landmarks. They will look for people they can trust, people they can rely on, people that will obey all their orders and unconditionally follow them to their grave, These people are hard to come by, since loyalty is such a scarce currency. So, I leave you a gift. Something that has been passed down between lords, kings, and dukes. Keep in mind that what I am about to give and tell you is only known to a handful of people, and I suggest you keep it that way, for your own safety.

I came across this artefact of great power during my travels down in the southern Archipelago. The details will likely bore you, so I’ll keep it brief, I saved the life of a princess, who promised to repay me in kind. But I did not wish to marry her, and she did not wish to marry me. Thus, her father offered me soothing else. An ancient artefact of great power. The princess had no notion of its existence. She believed her father traded his life for hers and left the Archipelago with me. In reality he ran away; I would suggest you look into his whereabouts and avoid him as much as possible, it is not unlikely that he might want to reclaim his old possession.

There is a gem in the sachet. I used to wear it as the front cover of my pocket watch, you may do the same or make it into a different ornament. I recommend you keep it on your person at all time, or, I f that cannot be done, hide it in a location only known to you. The gem is a proxy. It cannot be stolen or lost, only given, as I am giving it to you now.

Do you know what a genie is? The spirit bonded to this gem is not dissimilar. It will obey any of your commands, with the only restriction being that it cannot purposefully harm you or itself. It possesses an aptitude to shadow and space magic and can temporarily maintain a corporeal form.

In the past I have used the gem to get rid of my political opponents and other enemies. I know it can also be used for more peaceful purposes, such as acquiring information or certain goods. Although the spirit can remain undetected by most forms of modern magic, certain attuned individuals who are able to see the invisible or communicate with the dead will be able to detect it.

I wish you many fruitful years at the head of the duchy. Do not let all my hard work go to waste, but most importantly don’t lose yourself within the image that you shall present to high society.

Live long, live happy,

Yours faithfully,

Ex-duke Emmanuel ‘Manu’ Lannor Leerba Fernand

Well, that had been an unexpected discovery.

I folded the letter back in half and slid it in the envelope. I then reached for the pouched and emptied its contents into my hand. It had an elegant golden pocket watch, as well as a dark blue-green circular gem in it. I wondered what I was supposed to do now.

“Come forth, O spirit … of the gem?”

Nothing happened.

“Right…”

Maybe I had to rub it like in the story of Aladdin? The gem was already smooth and spotless, and nothing more happened after I rubbed my thumb over it a few times.

A new idea popped into my head. I focused on the gem and tried to channel some of my ‘mana’ into it. The gem turned cold to the touch, and after a few seconds, I felt my head spinning. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with the smell of brine and the unpleasant feeling of humidity on my skin. I hastily put the gem back in its bag. That experience had been too unsettling and unpleasant to repeat until fully rested.

“Tomorrow problems are better left for tomorrow…” I reminded myself of my mother’s favourite saying.

I put the gem and the letter by a pillow in a corner of the bed, and laid back down. This time, unsurprisingly, I could no longer feel that uncomfortable bump in the matrass. The lights turned off, and I dozed off while thinking about the gem and how I could use it.