The Maid Is Not Dead

The world was wrought with peril and strife. But never would I have thought a war could unfold under our very own roof.

It was getting late. I was upstairs in the room given to me, reviewing my notes, marking the map, and planning tomorrow's excursion, when loud noise from below captured my attention. A heated argument appeared to have arisen among the host family, audible through the floor boards. I couldn't quite make out the contents of the exchange, only that there was a fairly passionate difference of opinion about one thing or another.

Well, that much was quite normal.

You could say it was the most normal thing there could be.

No matter how close the relations, there were bound to come times when you couldn't see eye to eye, and I would've struggled to name three occasions in my entire time with them that those two beastkin agreed on something. At times, I could have sworn they provoked one another on purpose, though I couldn't see what they stood to gain of such mutually destructive behavior.

At any rate, a simple quarrel was nothing to get worked up about.

In such situations, outsiders were generally better off holding their opinions to themselves and steering clear of the belligerents. Attempting to play peacemaker unsolicited was only liable to drag me into the eye of the storm. It was none of my business.

That said, it was not pleasant to hear such discord either. As a person, I was a devout seeker of harmony. "Equilibrium" was undoubtedly my favorite word in the dictionary. Human beings operating together in understanding and growing stronger for it was ever a thing of beauty. A state worth seeking by any means. This mindset moved mountains and allowed kingdoms to thrive.

Yet, there was sure no peace or understanding to be found tonight. The fight dragged on.

I was making no progress with my own homework, constantly distracted as I was and growing increasingly irritated.

It was not well for a maid to lose her cool. Surprisingly many things could be forgiven for a servant, but blowing up was not one. It was often a one-off ticket straight to the streets. The nobility abhorred nothing more but to be reminded of the working class being also humans like them with human feelings. They did not wish to see that.

I took great pride in my self-control and had learned whole new dimensions of patience during my stay in Faulsen, but a nightly racket such as this was pushing new frontiers. Myself aside, did those two pay no thought at all to the neighbors? What if someone called the guards? It was not good at all. No, even at the expense of putting my nose where it didn't belong, I couldn't let this go on a minute longer.

I put down my pen and descended downstairs. The commotion appeared to be coming from the bathroom, the argument growing clearer as I approached the door. I knew it now. It was one of the common local causes for war: who fills the bathtub.

In the absence of running water, the bath necessitated going out to the well a stone's throw from the house. We had only one intact bucket fit for the task, so multiple trips were necessary. The deed was not effortless for an adult, never mind a child, but rural households rarely gave anyone special treatment based on age.

"It's your turn!" Vera's voice presented. "Had you gone when I first told you, it'd be done and over with already!"

Norn in answer: "Give me a break! It's Monday! It's not even a bath day! If you want a dip a day early, do it yourself! I'm beat! My head's all mush too 'cause of that damn brain-blast Aunt Ria made me read today! I want to sleep!"

"Well, I'm tired too! I had a long day at work and still cooked you guys a damn feast! You're the youngest one in the house, so hurry up and get going! You can sleep all you like when it's done!"

"So what if I'm a little younger!? You're a lot stronger than I am! You could carry twenty buckets where I can carry one! It's not fair!"

"Not fair!? You're not a human kid, why are you acting like one measly bucket of water is somehow heavy for you? Who do you think you're fooling here? When I was your age, it was always my job to fill the bath, and we'd bathe every single day! I'm already spoiling you rotten and all you do is complain to me, you lazy brat!"

"Who's lazy, you troll!? I have to take more steps in a day than you do the whole year! All you do is sit behind a table and fake a smile, what is so hard about that? Even a kid like me could do it, easy! Aren't you embarrassed, doing children's work, though you're an old bag!? I'm too ashamed to tell anyone what my sister does for a living!"

"What did you just say, you cheeky hamster!? Don't talk about things you know nothing about! My work actually takes brains, which you have none! Your head is cooked after reading one short slip of paper! Imagine having to read a hundred times the same every day and putting each sheet in its right place! You have no idea how much it takes out of you! Customer service isn't child's play either! You need to be all nice and smiles, and super tough at the same time! You couldn't do it in a million years!"

"I couldn't? Just how damn dumb do you think I am, huh!? If a super bimbo like you can do it, then I could learn it too, easily!?"

"What did you just call me!?"

"I called you by your own name, dumbo! Moron!"

"Why, you name-calling rodent—! I'll teach you to respect your elders!"

"Bring it, grandmother!"

I hastened to make my appearance in the bathroom, while there was still a bathroom left and a house around it.

"Silence! Water Sphere!"

I held out my hand and released the casting I'd prepared in advance on the way. Conjuring the current maximum output of about thirty gallons, I let the mass of it loose above the earthen bath. The conjuration point was a little too high and the rebounding wave rose tall along the walls of the basin, splashing the pair of siblings in front of it.

The remaining water settled quietly to wallow in its container, and a blissful silence was restored to the residence.

"There, the problem is solved," I told the dumbstruck pair. "Keep your voices down when it's so late. They'll hear you across the mountains!"

The two furians stared at me under a frozen silence, eyes round, wide.

"You…" Vera then uttered. "You can use magic…?"

Come to think of it, I never told either of them. Somewhere along the way, I'd fallen under the illusion that they already knew. I made no active effort to hide my meager skill, but it appeared they had failed to notice the signs. Knowing a Sigil or two didn't make you much of a witch yet, so I felt advertising my talents in this department too loudly would have been deceptive. But that was only my own opinion.

For Norn and Vera, magic, any increment of it, was still a subject of awe—and healthy fear.

"Furians can't use magic," Vera told me with a stern frown. "Apparently, it's the price we pay for heightened strength—or so an adventurer once told my dad. Nobody in our family ever learned any spells."

"I asked mom to teach me once," Norn lamented, "but she said it's impossible…"

"I see."

Maybe it was better that way. It would stir up quite a fuss in the town, if a shepherd started to throw magic around.

The quarrel was laid to rest and we returned to our respective tasks. And I assumed the exotic topic of magecraft would be left at this casual mention, and not come up again…

…Until the next morning in the Guild bureau, where the results of my careless disclosure awaited me.

There could be no action without a corresponding reaction, as the wise had written.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Hi-hi!" Vera greeted me energetically from behind the counter, an unusually wide smile on her face. "Hey, Lu, I've got a small favor to ask of you today. Do you have a moment?"

I couldn't help but sigh faintly, smelling trouble. The sweeter Vera's smile looked on the outside, the more self-interest was usually stacked behind it.

"As soon as I walk in through the door…What is it this time?"

Without a word, my landlady proceeded to pile up a small tower of old, dusty hardcover books onto the desktop. The covers came in many colors and materials from leather to parchment, and the breadth of contents varied no less.

"These are…?" I made a wary inquiry, as the literary pillar kept rising.

"I found these while going through the archives," Vera told me. "You see, adventurers in need of money sometimes leave their stuff here in exchange for a small loan. We keep the items for a set period by which the money needs be repaid, or we'll put up the goods for sale."

"So, as a pawn shop would?"

"That's the idea. The shop side is behind the building, by the way. You should have a look sometime, if you're interested. It's mostly only plain adventurer gear and tools, nothing too useful, or very pricey. I mean, nobody would ask for a loan in the first place if they owned anything of worth. But we don't take useless garbage either. The end goal is still to turn a profit."

"I understand. Then, these books used to belong to my colleagues?"

She nodded. "That's right. I did say the goal was to make money, but the truth is, our storerooms have wound up chock full of weird junk that clerks took in for one reason or another, but didn't know how to price them. Guess they just thought these things could be valuable, and we'd miss out too much by rejecting them. But time passed and nobody cared to have any of it, the original owner included. And they're just not moving anywhere."

"The standard hoarder's dilemma, then?"

"You nailed it!" Vera groaned, ruffling her hair. "The worst offender is arcane goods. We've never had anyone in our staff who knew a damned thing about magic items. Not enough to appraise them. And we couldn't well sell them without knowing how expensive they are, or if they're dangerous. But! Here I was hoping, maybe you could lend us a hand, being such a frustrating know-it-all—I mean, being clearly better educated."

Is that how you ask for a favor?

"I told you, didn't I?" I answered with a disapproving frown. "I'm not a magician. My opinion isn't anything to reference in official capacity."

"Don't say that, partner~!" Vera told me, again with that sweet tone and a smile that suited her so gratingly well. "I really want this garbage out of here, so even a rough estimate is fine! As long as I can blame it on somebody else, if there's been a mistake!"

"You truly are a role model to all Guild employees world-wide."

"Hahaha, aw dang! Spare the silver tongue! I'm not giving you any freebies!"

"I was certainly not flattering you there."

"Anyway. Back to the topic: I dug these books up from a box labeled 'grimoires'. But I don't know, they look kind of sketchy to me. How should I say, I'm not smelling any mojo in this pile, if you get my meaning. It would help me if you could identify which of these are authentic grimoires, and which are just purple prose."

I glanced again at the tower of weathered books with their stained covers, yellowed pages, and rugged edges—and found myself ever so faintly smiling, despite myself.

"Is that all?" I asked. "Then, the task is quickly done. Not one of those books is a true grimoire."

"Huh?" Vera raised a brow and an ear. "Just like that? How can you tell? You didn't even open one? Is it some magic sense thing?"

"There is no need to examine them closer. No supernatural abilities are required, either. To begin with, each book is much too thick to be authentic. A true grimoire only has the covers: the Sigil imprinted on the left-hand side of the interior, and a summary of the concept on the right-hand side. Not one page more. The covers are always uniform black, and blank, save for the name of the sign. Only those who have the capacity to learn the sign can recognize the title. They are also fully stainproof and never show signs of wear or tear, as though fresh from the print."

"Really? How do you know all that?"

"Because I've seen them before. How else?"

The best five maids of their course were given the privilege to take one grimoire of their choosing from the imperial collection. That was where I acquired Aqua. Maester Cassandra was also kind enough to tell us about the history of the magic tomes, which I now summarized for Vera's convenience.

"To begin with, do you know why the alchemists of Parnasso first created the grimoires?"

Vera tossed her shoulders. "To pass on their knowledge? Isn't that why books are usually written?"

I shook my head. "No. For that purpose, teaching disciples personally should suffice. Safer that way as well. If you produce a physical vessel for magic, there is always the risk that it ends up in the wrong hands, and your enemies learn the power you would be wiser to keep to yourself. But they had no choice in the matter. Since the Hermetic Order at the time was—dirt poor."

"You mean…"

"They created grimoires solely to sell them, yes. They had to give away their most precious secret knowledge for no better reason but money. But, at the same time, they didn't want the knowledge to spread without any control. Hence, every true grimoire is equipped with a certain control mechanism. If you read it and manage to learn the contained Sigil, the book will automatically self-destruct."

Vera looked at me aghast.

"Huh? Destruct?"

"Indeed. It will disintegrate without a trace. Only one new reader can benefit from a single grimoire. It cannot be shared nor sold on. Then the original maker may sell the same Sigil again, as often as they need. When the people who invented the magic system put their minds to making money, such was the result. Rather amusing, isn't it?"

"I don't see the funny," Vera answered with a cringe. "Why doesn't the buyer just make copies with charcoal or whatever, and sell those?"

"I am not entirely sure how it works, but a grimoire cannot be copied by traditional mediums. If I were to draw you a glyph here, as precisely as I see it myself, it would only be a strange scribble and make no sense to you, even if you had the potential. The image in a grimoire is magically crafted, and conveys subconscious information beyond what a charcoal can express."

"Huh. But if you can only learn Sigils from grimoires and a grimoire is always lost when it's used, wouldn't that mean that magic will eventually vanish from the world?"

"Professional mages learn how to craft new grimoires, naturally," I said. "It is considered a proof of mastery on Wiseman Island, I am told, where they also keep the world's largest archive of spellbooks. Naturally, Sigils can also be passed from person to person, though it takes much more time and training that way. Magic will not die, as long as there are students who practice the Art. In essence, the grimoire system was the ancient alchemists' gift to the scattered disciples of magic across generations. In case of emergency, they may use the Art for personal benefit. There is no shame in it."

As much lofty beauty as I felt the subject held, Vera's mind quickly turned to more secular fields.

"Okay, so if we had a real grimoire, how much would that go for?"

"It varies. But even the more common Sigils are worth several hundreds in silver. Meanwhile, I heard a particularly rare grimoire was recently auctioned in Astria for over two million gold."

"You're pulling my leg!" Vera gasped. "Millions? Is there even that much money in the world?"

"You'd be surprised. Some states have banned the private sale of grimoires, since limiting the use of magic happens to be in their best interests. Mages may alter the course of battles, after all. Ironically, such countries are most profitable ground for black market sellers. You can always charge a bit extra for things that cannot be procured legally. But, unless I am mistaken, Grimoire trade is still unrestricted in Argento."

"Sure, we'd sell any, if we had even one," Vera said and began to drop the books back into the box she took them from. "If these aren't real, then they're not even worth the paper they're printed on…A real shame."

As she was putting them away, one particular work caught my eye.

Mixed among the otherwise professionally produced books was what looked like a plain moleskine notepad. The experiences and observations of other adventurers were always worth a look, so I picked it up. The pages were stuck together, hard and brittle, ready to come off at the slightest forced tug. The thing seemed to have been in the rain. The contents were written with a feather pen, the hair-thin lines worn pale and barely legible. But the larger title on the first page stopped my breath.

A study of a technique to conjure limitless storage space by means of compounding Sigil effects,

a.k.a. THE GREAT MEMORY VAULT

by Karl Ryndell, a scion of the Order of–(unintelligible)

"Vera."

"Hmm?" My landlady looked up, surprised that I would call her name so seriously. "What's wrong?"

"...Do you think you could sell this work to me?"

"Sell?" she repeated. "I was about to stuff it in the heater. The record says some backwater wizard traded his notes and one 'spellbook' for a compass, but then went and disappeared in the dungeon, and never came back for his stuff. That was over a hundred years ago. The guy won't be missing his scribbles now, that's for sure. It doesn't look like they had other willing takers either. Just some madman's ravings. You can hardly even read it anymore. Just take it away!"

Vera waved at me to go and left to the back room with the box of tomes.

Didn't she insist earlier there would be no freebies?

Deep down, my landlady really was too nice for her own good.