The Maid Is Not Dead

I couldn't get much sleep that night. My consciousness refused to settle, spurred to a wild race by the late wizard's writings.

A magical method to store and carry objects in virtually unlimited quantities—the possibilities this opened were endless.

Consider this: Her Imperial Highness, Princess Anastasia, had in her bed a sheet of four hundred square feet in size. Tidily folded, this clean-white cloth plateau formed a stack weighing over thirty pounds, all in all. That mass was not altogether effortless for women to lift, or deliver to the washing room three floors below, not to speak of arranging its mandatory replacement. Changing the bedsheet alone took a hefty piece of a maid's morning, though it was a task so trivial that one uninitiated wouldn't even think it existed. Yet, it was a task that had to be done, daily. A crown princess had to have fresh sheets under her each night. This was not a matter any labor laws could challenge.

Now, what if the whole sheet of linen could be packed away on the spot as a mere mental image and delivered away with only the trouble of moving your boots?

We were, in my opinion, discussing a wonder that put splitting seas to shame. Walking on water, quelling rebellious volcanoes, slaying titans—what were such distant, violent fables to me? What interested me and my kind was that which lay in front of our noses every morning, above all.

Now imagine an imperial family dinner. A simple four-course service called for a downright parade of plates and pots and bowls and trays and glasses and goblets that a platoon of servants moved to and fro. Now, what if one person could carry all that alone, and with such swiftness and ease that you could still feel the hot breath of the stove on the containers?

No, why stop there? Why not make the whole table hours in advance, pack it away into the magic store, and then take it out in front of the famished diners, the way a trickster pulled a rabbit out of a top hat?

I wouldn't be merely an expert maid then; I could become the very goddess of maids. And then they would say, "The mistress of this goddess is surely a goddess no less, if not twice so!" The very idea lit such a hotness in my chest, I wanted to dance.

Was it wrong to have ambition?

As said, I had pride in my work and sought to progress my career by any means necessary, all the way to its ultimate heights and beyond. No rule said you couldn't use magic to do so, if such was available to you.

Would not anyone do the same in my position?

But we were only getting started. The above barely made up the topmost tip of the mountain of potential. Didn't I dream of such a miracle solution not two days in the past? With this spell, I could bear any pound of loot down from Baloria's halls unencumbered. The scrap iron was hardly worth the effort, as it were, but it became another matter entirely if the physical effort were removed from the equation. Horseshoes and helmets? I could become a supplier of hardware on par with Grosmer's mine all by myself.

Goodness, I was getting carried away.

I had to remind myself that the contents of this journal were little more but a fantasy.

Daydreams had their place too, to be sure. Much like lambs up there on the high hills, the human mind rested best when allowed to roam freely the untamed, evergreen pastures of imagination. But it was better brought back to its enclosure again when the time came, lest it grow outright feral.

At sunrise, I judged I had allowed my over-eager spirit too much fun, and it was better to face the facts again. I had no proof that what I had so eagerly consumed was actually the scientific journal of an ingenious pioneer, and not merely the scheme of a seasoned conman. The theory made sense to me, logically, and looked too detailed to be an outright fabrication, but I was still an amateur at magic and my opinion held little authority.

The story couldn't be verified without obtaining all the three Sigils Master Ryndell had named. He had crafted a grimoire for each sign, apparently, but the fate of the sorcery tomes was not known. They were gone together with their maker a hundred years ago. Even if I came across the relevant grimores for sale somewhere else, they were sure to be well outside a maid's pay grade.

What a pity.

It didn't look like magic would save me from honest work

It was better to put this folly aside for now and focus on the things I could do with my mortal ability.

Somewhat dizzy out of sleeplessness, I pushed myself to an upright position, sorted out my room as if it were the room I had in the imperial palace, and headed downstairs to help Vera with breakfast.

Two hours later, my feet leaden, I made my way to the bureau. My ghoul catches were nothing to brag about, but I was making steady copper and contributing towards my next rank promotion. There was no saying the dungeon rating couldn't be increased again in the future, so it was better stay ahead of the curve, so to speak. I had gotten into the swing of it now, and there was a mysterious appeal in seeing numbers go up.

The guild hall was the same as always.

There were only new hires behind the counter today, but right as I was about to head over to ask if there were any news from the dungeon, Vera appeared from the backroom and beckoned me over without a word.

Was it fine for me to go to the employees-only area, just like that?

My landlady behaved rather suspiciously, I felt, but I made my way over, slightly warily. Even more surprised I was when, apparently dissatisfied with my reserved pace, she grabbed my wrist and dragged me hastily through the back door into the confines of the old building. Her pull was firm enough that resisting was not an option. What was on her mind now?

The matter had not been in my active thoughts before, but there, in the heat of the moment, I realized I was not so accustomed to being held. Not with such vigor. It was a fairly novel experience, receiving such rough handling, and sent mixed signals dashing through my head. I failed to make a sound as I tried to keep up and hold onto my maidly dignity.

Had I perhaps upset her somehow?

Vera hadn't seemed any different from the usual in the morning.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Had something happened in that brief window when we were out of contact, or had she simply hidden her misgivings from me up until now? When she brought me down narrow stairs into the dimly lit basement floor of the bureau, I began to seriously question what she wanted from me that had to be hidden from an audience.

Why didn't I ask her?

The strong hand squeezing my thin wrist—it was hot to touch.

At last, on the cellar floor, she let go of me and went on pick up something from a shelf in the back.

So these were the fabled Guild archives?

I gazed around the dim room with a low ceiling reinforced with red brick. The space had the layout of a wine cellar, except that there were no oaken barrels to see, not one bottle of liquor, only flimsy wood shelves that carried on into the darkness outside the lanterns' reach, loaded full with miscellaneous materials. Papers and parchments, mainly. It was much cooler here than in the hall, cool enough to make you forget it was summer above ground.

Now at last the furian opened her verbal lockers, heading for the shelves by the left side wall.

"Hey, Lu. You were so interested in that wizard's scribbles the other day."

"You could say that."

Was that a question?

"Well, the record mentioned he left a notebook and one spellbook. So I began to wonder what happened to the other one, why it wasn't there in the box."

"Hm?"

"And then I found this a little earlier this morning," she said as she returned to me. "It had fallen behind the other books, and was left wedged between the shelf and the wall. It was covered in thick dust and webs when I found it, but when I shook off the dirt, it was...Well, as you can see."

An uncharacteristic, almost superstitious unease painted on her normally world-weary face, Vera passed me the item, a black, featureless board—no, a slim booklet.

"There's no title on it, but then I remembered your story about Grimoires and...You don't suppose this is one?"

"This is...?"

I took the book and swept the matte cover with the side of my hand. For no practical reason; it was clean as new. But though Vera said there was no title on it, I could very clearly see the word AGORE impressed on it in capitals. The childish thrill that had kept me awake half the night now returned in force like an avalanche and very nearly ruined my trained composure.

"...Yes. This is it."

One of the three missing keys to the mental storage magic.

However, I forced the rising excitement back down, reminding myself I was no longer a child and forgetting my place.

I handed the tome back to Vera.

"Congratulations. It is quite a valuable find. I understand this particular Sigil is very desired among advanced craftsmen. Your superiors are sure to be very pleased by your discovery."

Instead of taking the book, Vera only stared at me, a very strange look in her eyes.

"…I should've known," she said with a smile that was a mix of pity and something I couldn't name. "This is the kind of woman you are."

She laid her hand on the edge of the book and pushed it to my chest.

"You can read it, right? Then take it. You want it, don't you? I can see it in your eyes."

"I cannot afford it," I said. "I am not an expert, but I would estimate this tome to not sell below five thousand gold. I could decapitate every ghoul in Baloria and it would not be enough."

"Is this the time to be so stupidly earnest? What good will it do to make more money for dishonest scumbags? That thing was stuck behind the shelf for a hundred years and nobody ever missed it. If you read it, it'll disappear, right? So who's to say there was ever a book there in the first place? Who knows, I might have imagined the whole thing."

"Vera…"

"Gods! I'm no good with talks like this!" She snappily stepped away from me, towards the door. "If there's no way you can take it without strings attached, then just promise me one thing, alright?"

"...What is it?"

Not looking back at me, her hand on the door, she said,

"Come back home safe tonight. And tomorrow. And every day after that."

In other words, conquer the dungeon and never, ever die.

"… You ask a lot," I said.

"Yeah. I'm a harsh bitch. You should know."

Along with such a crude, self-deprecating grunt, Vera left the room and closed the door after her, abandoning the final choice entirely to me.

I had to take a moment to sit and calm down. I was not in the right mindset to face a magic of this level.

I had considered myself fortunate to have never lived in debt before, but now realized that was not true, if it ever was. Before I knew it, I had become indebted to a point where I could only wonder if I had any means to ever repay it. I was given and given more each day, though I was only a lost servant and could give nothing of substance in return.

But then my mind was made. I would compensate for all this good, even if it took the rest of my days to achieve, and this book would be the start of the effort. Next to Vera's kindness, even a centuries-old sorcery tome was only a book in my hands, and I knew I had the strength. I parted the black covers on my lap and faced the cryptogram carved on the left-hand side, already familiar with the description carved on the right.

Then were my spirit and understanding expanded and tested to their limits.

Agore.

Action. Giving. Taking.

It was not a simple affair at all, living. I never thought otherwise, but just how complicated a business it could get caught me by surprise.

By every action she takes, a human being imparts change unto the world. Existence was, in its basest essence, destructive and disruptive. On every step you took was something else trampled under the mass of your being. Every breath you inhaled was air away from other lungs. You could not draw a line on where conflict began and where it ended; life was a battle from its first to its last. Then were we sinners from the moment of conception? The grim bleakness of the vision squeezed my heart like a cold hand.

But there was no use losing your mind over it.

Hark, and look instead at the good that could be achieved by properly occupying your place in beingness.

Not all change was for evil. A jeweler shattered rock and beat it and cut it and chipped it and shaved it and at the very end produced a gemstone that captivated the hearts of its beholders. And there, at the cost of much time, pain, heat, and sweat were people thrilled and enamoured across the ages, and the joy brought into the world by one hunk of rock by far outweighed the misery of its making.

It was not evil that created this magic, but the earnest desire to polish the work of the Gods and bring out the best of it. Where and how to interfere—that choice was the power of Agore. How this Sigil could manifest yet eluded me, but that was fine. The seeds of it were planted into my soul now, waiting for the right time to blossom. The Grimoire disintegrated in my hands and melted into the thin air.

Well then.

I returned upstairs and headed to work.