For Madam Druce’s office, Demetrius would need all of his supplies. He spent perhaps a few moments more than necessary gathering the brushes, powders, water and gloves into a small wooden cart. The entire time his heart was beating so loud in his ears, blood rushing far too hard through his thin chest, but not loud enough to drown out Cyndy.

“Ohmygod Fiona is such a badass! Did you know that she has a tower in the ocean? She does not take shit from anyone. She was even telling Pseudopolis off, you know, when she could. She holed herself up real good.”

Demetrius looked up quizzically, “Who is Fiona?”

Cyndy giggled, “Professor Regan, my oh-so-formal friend, the esteemed director of Research and Development.”

He gasped, gaping and wide eyed at that. “Professor Regan has a tower? No one’s to have towers! No wonder Director Lane was so angry with her.”

“Oh not yet, silly!” Demetrius tried to ply her for more information, but all he got from her was repetitions of “No spoilers!”

So, he walked, wheeling the squeaky cart down the hall, and knocked five times on Madam Druce’s door. A pleasant old voice chimed, “Come in, Demetrius.” In he walked.

The room was large and brightly lit, with many devices and much clean glass. Little vials and flasks of all shapes, tubes longer than his arm, and all sizes of rod glittered on the long, clean countertops. A solitary glass cup stood over a small flame, happily fizzing a bright orange. Madam Druce was seated next to it, face buried in a spectroscope. Demetrius smiled. The calm and silence was penetrating, and was unlikely to be broken as he cleaned and sanitized the floor and countertops.

He set about his work, silently holding his finger to his lips whenever Cyndy started buzzing in his ear. Finally, in a huff, she said “Well, if you’re going to ghost on me, I have a police box to find.” and flew away, popping into nothingness a few inches from his face.

The room slowly filled with the smell of the pungent powder Madam Druce had given him to sanitize the floor. The only other sound was when she would write something carefully on a thick, organized sheaf of paper. She was wearing shiny black boots with white cloth tied around them, so as not to track anything into the laboratory. This was technically her office, but she told the Dean that it had the best foundational stability for her experiments, where the other buildings blew in the wind and brought odd things on the drafts. Demetrius always took great care when coming and going from this room, it was his favorite place in the whole University. He was also wearing the little cloth covers over his shoes. He would wear them everywhere if he could, and he wished fervently that it would make a difference in most places.

Halfway through the final disinfectant rinse, there was a tentative knocking on the door. Demetrius had been cleaning this room for the past three years, and had only been interrupted once. It was for a safety drill, and Madam Druce had not moved from her experiment, so Demetrius had continued cleaning as well. So now, hearing the knock, he almost cried out. It’s not Director Lane. It can’t be.

Without looking up, Madam Druce said in her never-perturbed voice “Enter.” The door opened with a small puff of air, and in walked a slender young woman with dark skin who Demetrius recognized as being a fifth year student from her robes. At least she’s wearing the shoe slips.

“Madam Druce, I need to talk to you.” The girl had a raspy, syrupy voice that held a lot of affection, but Demetrius resented the intrusion.

The old woman stopped what she was doing and set down her quill. “Abigail, what do you need, that you are not in class?”

She gave a wide-eyed, frightened look and said “Class was canceled, because of the protest.”

“It is always a bad sign when people start listening to the mob. What can I do for you?” Madam Druce spoke, a comforting smile on her lips that didn’t reach her ancient eyes.

“They said,” The girl’s voice started to hitch, and tears welled in her eyes. Demetrius felt awkward, and looked down at his mop. The girl spoke through a choked sob, “They said that they were going to shut down the University!”

Madame Druce rose from her seat, it was a painful and slow process, Demetrius watched her from the corner of his eye. She walked carefully, one hand on the table to support herself, and when she reached Abigail she placed her other hand gently on the girls shoulder. “I’ve been through many hardships in my life, child. Would it really be that bad for you if they did? What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

Abigail burst into violent sobs, her voice was a harsh and terrible screech, “I’d have to go back home!”

Madame Druce smiled, and hugged the girl, “No one can make you do anything. If this silly school shuts down, why would you go home? There’s more than just this school keeping you from home.”

“What do you mean? I don’t even have my license.” The girl was speaking into Madame Druce’s shoulder, “I can’t make my way into the world without a license.”

“Child, if there’s no University, there’s no licensing board,” She laughed and it was a soft sound, like leaves falling, “You are an expert Alchemist. Top of the class, you’ll do fine. Just fine.”

Abigail seemed to pull herself together, “You really think so?”

“Alchemy is a proper trade, not like Enchanting or all of the gods forbid, Philosophy.”

The dark young woman laughed at this, “Well, if the school does shut down, where will you go?”

“Honey, if this school shuts down then I’ll go back to my home. This place, it’s just a place. There’s nothing special about it. Don’t let these puffed up blowhards ever tell you any different either.” She pulled herself away from the girl and looked her up and down, “I’ve got work to do, and so do you. No class just means you’ve got time to focus on independent research. If anyone tries to keep you out of my lab, you just tell them to come and talk to me.”

The girl thanked her mentor, and left again. Demetrius was grateful. Madame Druce shouldn’t have to put up with this. Demetrius thought, surprising himself. The rest of his work in Madame Druces office went by without incident, and when he was done he trundled the little cart back to the closet, and returned to her desk. It was a ritual that she and Demetrius had developed in the time he had been cleaning for her. She always insisted on thanking him for his work.

“I’ve finished for today.” Demetrius spoke with his eyes down, waiting for her to acknowledge him. It was a few moments of her adjusting the slide on her spectroscope before she finally made a few more notes, and looked up at him.

“Demetrius, how old are you?” She asked, and Demetrius felt a little exposed. Normally, she would just thank him, and occasionally she would offer him a piece of some strange fruit or vegetable.

“I don’t exactly know, I’ve been working here for eleven years though, and I must have been at least five or six when the headmistress brought me in.” He wanted to ask her why she had asked him, but he didn’t want to step over his bounds.

“You are a bright lad, those two books you have of mine, just keep them.” He waited expecting her to say something else, but it seemed that she would not.

“Are you sure you’re not going to need them?” Demetrius had a foreboding feeling, like a weight in his chest.

“I am almost two hundred old, Demetrius. I won’t need them where I’m going. You’ve grown into a fine young man. Follow your instincts Demetrius, hard times are a coming for us all, and I’m tired. You run along now, I know you’ve got work to do.” She spoke wistfully, and Demetrius felt sad and worried.

“Thank you, Madame Druce.” He said turning to leave.

“Oh!” She called out, “I almost forgot, this is for you. It’s called a dragon fruit.” She produced a strange looking fruit, all bright pink and green, and handed it to him with a trembling hand. “Be careful of the company you keep in the days to come, Demetrius.”

He stared at the strange looking fruit, thanked her again, and desperately wanted to ask her why she was telling him all of these things. He had never had a very long conversation with her before, but she had always been more than willing to loan him her books, even though he wasn’t actually a student. With a heavy heart, he left her office, sealing the door behind him.

Demetrius returned to the supply closet, and gathered up his feather duster and his step-ladder. The directors of Material Science and Magical Linguistics both had office filled with paintings, and all he usually did for them was dusting. He left the dragon fruit in the supply closet.

The director of Material Science was a middle aged man with stooped shoulders who seemed to perpetually have bags under his eyes. His office was neatly kept, and did not reflect the work that he did the way Madame Druces did. There was a large, very well made desk, and several comfortable chairs in front of it, as well as a massive one behind it.

The most interesting things in the office to Demetrius were all behind glass. Directly in front of Demetrius as he walked into the office was a long and beautiful table that ran the length of the entire wall. The table was built with a glass case attached to the top, and beneath the hinged glass lid were innumerable trinkets, everyone marked with a little plaque describing what it was. Demetrius had cleaned this office for years, and the objects beneath the glass changed with great regularity, but one thing that never changed was the massive painting on his right that encompassed almost the entire wall floor to ceiling.

“Mornin’ Demetrius.” Director Fletcher sat behind his desk in his overstuffed chair, fingers tented and his chin resting on his thumbs. He looked even more tired than usual, and stared at the painting though it seemed as if his mind was miles away.

“Good Morning Director Fletcher.” Demetrius made his way over to the long glass table, and began dusting it from top to bottom. The glass was covered in fingerprint and smudges, and Demetrius was shocked to see that many of the objects that should have been there were missing. The little etched plaques sat there with very obvious voids behind them. Demetrius kept looking over his shoulder at the director, and the man stared seemingly without blinking.

The glass table was easy to clean, and once he’d dusted it he polished the glass. The smudges seemed like they were on the other side, which was unusual. “Director, do you want me to clean the inside of the case today?” Demetrius asked tentatively, unsatisfied with the state of the glass pane.

“I don’t care what you do.” Fletchers voice was a low rumble, and he spoke without removing his chin from his thumbs.

Demetrius felt abashed at this. He had left his step-ladder out in the hall, and decided that he would just dust the frame around the painting and be done with it. He opened the door to the hallway, and saw the director of Philosophy and Ethics hurrying down the hall, his long brown hair flapping behind him like a flag. He looked scared.

Demetrius returned to the painting with his ladder, and very carefully stepped up to the top rung. The painting was beautiful, it was a true masterwork. It showed a lovely young blonde haired woman sitting beneath a tree in the setting sun with two little blonde girls upon her lap. They were all smiling and joyous, and Demetrius always thought the painting was a stark contrast to director Fletcher’s usually grumpy behavior.

Once the frame was clean, Demetrius climbed back down, and looked over at the director again. “Well, it doesn’t look like your rubbish bin needs to be emptied, so unless there’s something else?”

The director said nothing, he just stared. Demetrius felt uncomfortable in the silence, fearful even. He grabbed the ladder and made his way back out into the hallway. Once the door was shut behind him, he leaned on it for a moment trying to gather his thoughts. His introspection was ruined however when Cyndy burst into the air in front of him.

“What’cha doing?” Her voice was shrill. She was wearing some new sparkly outfit he’d not seen before, that seemed to be almost metallic.

“Uhm, I’m cleaning the administration building. You know, it’s my job and all.” Demetrius picked up the ladder and began making his way back down the hall. “It’s Fireday.” He added, as if that explained everything.

The next office was the director of Philosophy and Ethics, and Demetrius tried the door handle. Cyndy buzzed around his head, and then said, “He’s not in there. He’s not even on the grounds right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Timey-wimey.” She said these nonsense words matter-of-factly as if they explained something.

Demetrius sighed, and knocked on the door. No one answered. He had seen the director running down the hall, but he thought he was just going to the washroom. Maybe he’s still in the washroom. Demetrius sighed and picked up the little wooden step-ladder again. He walked down the hall, and strangely Cyndy buzzed around his head without saying a word. The rectangle she carried with her always was close to her face, and she was poking at it with her hand.

The door to the next office was a work of art in itself. It was inlaid with gold trim and beautiful filigrees. There was a knocker in the center of the door that was shaped like an owl with gemstones set in its eyes, and above the knocker was a plaque that read “Professor Gretchen Helstrom III, Director of Thaumatological Linguistics, Esq.” Demetrius heaved a heavy sigh, squared his shoulders, and ever so gently rapped the owl shaped knocker against the door. The sound that rang out was like a thousand tiny windchimes of the finest crystal clattering against each other in a gentle breeze. It was a sound that always made Demetrius’ skin crawl.

A melodic and perfectly pitched voice called out, “Permission is granted, that the office may be entered.” Demetrius sighed, and gathered up his ladder, opening the door and stepping inside. There was a picture window behind the desk, and the sun that filtered through was bright, falling upon rows of the most delicate looking crystalline and jeweled eggs.

“As it has always been, the office is to become clean. The surface of each egg will be rid of dust, the hardwood desk polished. These things will happen, and when it is done you will have worked in silence. Our conversation will not be interrupted.” Professor Gretchen Helstrom III, Director of Thaumatological Linguistics, Esquire, spoke in a very melodic, lilting voice.

She was the single most beautiful woman Demetrius had ever seen. Left eye a brilliant jade green, and her right eye a smokey grey. Skin the color of chocolate, perfect complexion and a figure that she had no qualms about parading in the tightest fitting and most expensive looking clothing. Hair the color of honey, perfectly straight some days and curled on others, today it framed her face almost veil like. Dressed today in an almost subdued suit of dark shimmering grey material and a white blouse, that was only half buttoned. Jewels glittered around her neck, all over her hands and bangles sat upon her wrists. Her makeup seemed to change colors as she spoke, always accentuating.

She was also the single most annoying person Demetrius had ever met. Almost. “O. M. G! Her makeup looks so good today! I mean, you read about it, and they certainly tried, but words can’t do it justice! She’s gorgeous!” Cyndy buzzed around Demetrius’ head as he made his way very carefully over the glowing marble tiles of the floor to the pedestal of the first jeweled egg.

Under his breath and as softly as he could, Demetrius said, “You know it’s all an illusion, right?”

Cyndy was unperturbed, “Of course I know! Anyways, it’s not all an illusion, and besides,” she gestured running her hands up and down her body, now also wearing a tiny little grey suit with a white blouse, “You think all of this is real?”

“I don’t think any, of that, is real.” Demetrius spoke without so much as moving his lips. This was a terrible morning so far, and he could not endure a lecture from Professor Gretchen Helstrom III, Director of Thaumatological Linguistics, Esquire. Still, it seemed he would have to endure listening to her voice as she was currently entertaining another staff member.

Sitting on the opposite side of the desk was a man who looked even older than Madam Druce. He was a withered husk of a man, as if all his muscle and fat had slide off over the years, and only his indomitable will carried on. Clean shaven, with wispy white hair only growing above his ears and neck, and flowing ever so gently above the shiny bald patch in between; he sat dressed in a fine black suit that looked incredibly shabby compared to the silvery clothing Professor Gretchen Helstrom III, Director of Thaumatological Linguistics, Esquire was wearing. He was officially Professor Kevin Gaster, Esquire, honorable Chief Justice of the Supreme Thaumatological Court. Everyone just called him ‘Judge Gast’.

Judge Gast’s spoke with a ludicrously loud voice, and Demetrius was cringing trying to pay attention to the egg he was dusting as he listened, “Gretchen, you need to understand! I say, this isn’t the first time that people have brought up the idea, and it won’t be the last! But we already know! We already know what will happen!” He was also banging his hand on the desk as if he was trying to get her attention, though she was only a desktop away.

“The present is not defined by the past.” She spoke in the same beautiful and melodic voice, and Demetrius couldn’t help glancing up from his work to look at her.

“What’s that?” Judge Gast shouted, “What’s that you said girl?”

“The present,” the judge leaned forward in his chair, craning his neck and tilting his ear towards her as she spoke, “is not defined by the past.”

“You’re mumbling! Speak clearly.” The judge shouted across the desk. A terribly unnattractive look graced her face for a moment, and Demetrius shivered, quickly turning his eyes back to the egg her was dusting as gently as he could.

Professor Gretchen Helstrom III, Director of Thaumatological Linguistics, Esquire, began speaking but the words were not in the language of men. Demetrius knew right away she was casting a spell, he’d seen it done so many times in his life that it didn’t even really interest him, but when a few minutes passed, and her speaking stopped, the result of the spell was not what he had been expecting.

She spoke again, and though it seemed she had not raised her voice in the slightest, and the tone and pitch were still perfect in every regard, the words seemed to radiate from everything. The surface of the walls, the desk, the chairs and even the egg Demetrius was dusting were all vibrating ever so slightly. Her voice was everything in the room, Demetrius even noticed that his grey smock was vibrating ever so slightly. At the sound of the first few words, Cyndy disappeared, an angry expression on her face.

“The present,” in a voice like the thunder of heaven, “is not defined by the past.”

“What the seven hells do you think you’re doing!” Judge gast was up on his feet, he was waving his walking stick furiously in the air punctuating his words with it, “What a frivolous waste of magic! Do you even have a permit for such a spell! I can check with Kimbal you know!” Judge Gast seemed to decide that the outrage wasn’t worth the exertion, and slumped back into the chair, “Good man, that Kimble. Now there’s one who knows the damage that magic can do.” The judge was still shouting, but the sudden upset seemed to have taken a lot of his vitality.

“No research that has been done at this University will have define the use of Thaumatological Linguistics as having caused lasting damage, thus it will be understood that the use of a spell is as moral as the user.” Her voice was terrifying. Demetrius wanted to run from the room. It wasn’t loud, it was just all encompassing. “Regardless my permits will be found in my desk should the need become a reality rather than empty rhetoric.”

Judge Gast seemed somewhat mollified at this, and did not seem to be physically bothered by the voice of a million edges. He’s deaf, this must actually be nice for him.

“You’re starting to sound like Marcus, you know I don’t have any truck with the nonsensical Philosophy. Words need to have meaning, that’s how we can define law and enforce it. When you start to twist words, the whole system falls apart.”

She continued as if she’d never been interrupted, “Careers has been made of twisted words by you and all those who have learned you trade. Nothing is benefited by what you teach.”

“How dare you! How dare you! Child!” Judge Gast seemed to find his strength again, and when he rose from his chair this time, both his hands rested on the desk. He leaned very close to her face as he shouted, “I made it possible for you to be here! I made it possible for anyone to be here! This was not a school, this was an enforcement agency working the will of the good king to better the world. We tore down the towers! We stopped the genocide! Your parents weren’t even born yet while I was creating a continent of peace from the fires of chaos! You forget your place, child!”

She smiled as he shouted. Demetrius’ could not look away from the scene. He was transfixed, and in his distraction, he knocked the jeweled egg he was cleaning from its resting place upon the pedestal. He felt the weight of it as it fell, and his eyes snapped back in time to see it smash into the tile, and shatter into infinitesimal pieces. They glistened like fresh snow catching the light. Tears welled up in Demetrius’ eyes. Oh, she was already so angry!

And yet there was no screaming, which Demetrius was fearful of, it would be so loud, amplified as her voice was. Her smile actually widened, and Judge Gast looked at her, seemingly ready to spring on her if she attacked Demetrius. Specks of spittle rested on his chin. The beautiful woman behind the desk very calmly began speaking, and she did not stop for minutes. Five, and then ten. Judge Gast sat back down in the chair, and was panting heavily trying to catch his breath. The spell was amplified, and the words seemed to seep into Demetrius’ mind, and for the very first time in his life, he was feeling what he had read about described in so many books.

He felt the belief that the spell was weaving into reality. The belief that what she said was shaping what was, what would be, and even what had been. She stopped. His heart stopped swelling with her words. A deep part of his mind wished that she would keep going because he finally felt it. The language was finally becoming solid. He had studied so many books fruitlessly, and now they were coming to fruition in the endlessly resonating echo chamber that was this office. The pieces flew into the air, and the glimmering dust that was so much detritus moments before was now a glistening jeweled egg. Demetrius looked at it, really appreciating it for the first time, though he had cleaned this same egg countless times. It was brilliant, white inlaid with gold and silver. Hues of stained glass wrapping around it in red and blue seeming to fade into and become innumerable shades of violet and purple. All of the fear of punishment he had felt quickly faded into nothing.

She leaned back in her chair looking tired, and Judge Gast spoke without shouting this time, almost to himself, “Custom, class A, and I know damn well you have no permit for it, because you just fucking wrote it!” He stood up, and leaned on his heavy walking stick. “I’ll be talking to Kimbal about this.”

He turned as if to leave, but walked with such a strong limp that he’d only made two steps by the time she spoke. “The value of some of the buildings on campus do not add up to the value of that egg.”

Judge Gast turned his head, and looked over his shoulder, shouting, “And you damn well know that we could have issued you a permit to repair it! You can’t just cast a spell like that! Off the cuff! It’s illegal!”

She said calmly “Repair that was harmful to no one,” and with a glance at Demetrius that shrunk his insides, “And this wretch was saved his job. It can not be said that there was any harm in what was done.”

“It sets a precedent, you ignorant child. I’ll have you brought up on charges.” He stumped over to the beautifully carved door, and opened it so forcefully it rebounded off the wall. “Mark my words.” He hobbled into the hall, and Demetrius was left alone with Professor Gretchen Helstrom III, Director of Thaumatological Linguistics, Esquire.

“The services you render will not be needed today.” Her voice was no longer amplified.