Requiem

Anna was almost carried away by the cacophony of voices. Wizards and witches, clad in brightly colored, whimsical robes, hurried through the streets, and Anna could barely make out their faces. The carriage whisked her away from the scent of spices and freshly brewed potions. Only scattered fragments of other people’s lives drifted past: an old woman, her hair dusted with the ash of age, carefully arranging glass vials on a shop counter; a street musician perched on a barrel, with instruments spinning in the air around him, responding to every wave of his conductor’s baton. “Extra! ‘The Wand of Truth’ newspaper! The Magic Council is launching a raid on the Lower City!” cried a very young lad, brandishing a bundle of newspapers, before vanishing from view. The carriage jolted as its wheel hit a stone – Anna bounced on her seat. Clutching the edge of the seat, she turned to the coachman. The word “raid” felt like a death sentence. Have they caught something? her thoughts raced. Her fingers involuntarily tightened on the hem of her robe, beneath which she could just make out the silhouette of her wand. No, they couldn’t. Tony would have warned her. Or… would he? Suddenly the city around her seemed not noisy, but hushed, like an animal before it pounces. Every glance from the crowd now felt like that of a Council spy. “Is it true? A raid? Have they arrested someone again?” the coachman asked, looking back then refocusing on the road. His hooked nose cut the air, and his graying, greasy hair whipped wildly in the wind. “Why should I know,” rasped the driver in a voice like the creak of old wheels worn by time and long roads. “My ears are for listening to the wind, not other people’s talk. And you, wherever you’re heading, best keep your questions to yourself. These days even walls and buckets have ears.” He snapped the reins sharply, and the carriage lunged forward through the narrow streets with unprecedented zeal. The street they turned onto was more of a slit between two time-darkened hulks. Timbered beams on the façades creaked in the wind like the bones of an ancient giant, and from lacy wooden balconies overloaded with clay pots of wilted geraniums hung fresh laundry drying in the air. The farther the carriage sped, the cleaner and more majestic the streets appeared. Buildings blackened by age gave way to neat structures that looked woven from moonlight. Each building rose higher and higher, its spires slicing into the sky. The streets themselves grew noticeably wider and cleaner. “Upper City,” announced the coachman, and the carriage came to a stop. Anna fumbled in her robe pocket for a few silver coins and handed them to the wizard driver, then climbed down. “Gerberus at your service!” he called cheerfully. She gave the old man a slight smile and nodded farewell. Her hand reached out to the enormous creature – like a carriage in size – whose flexible, padded paws clomped loudly on the cobblestones of the avenue. The beast resembled a large, muscular cat. Anna’s fingers traced along its side, smoothing its coarse fur. Instead of a purr, she heard a low, nimble growl. She patted the creature’s flank and set off on foot. A wide, long avenue flanked by well-maintained buildings led straight to one destination: the Magical Council’s headquarters. Like the heart of the city, it stood out in the cityscape with the inexorable strength of frozen time. The edifice was a citadel of pale marble veined with black obsidian. Nine needle-sharp towers pierced the low-hanging clouds. Every pattern, every stained glass window, every plaster relief on its walls reflected the long, dust-covered history of the place. As Anna approached the Council’s enormous building, each step made her feel smaller and more insignificant. The irony pressed down on her more heavily than the marble itself: at the foot of this symbol of absolute power, the most human, temporary bustle reigned. Pushing through a crowd of clerks in dusty gray robes, she made her way toward the main entrance. Two burly men in dark robes flanked the towering double doors riveted with metal. Their black breastplates glinted in the sunlight, visible beneath their slate-colored mantles. One of the men struck the stone floor with his staff, and the doors swung open, allowing the crowd to pour inside. The Council’s hall buzzed like a disturbed beehive, though magic muffle it to a businesslike murmur. The air smelled of floor wax, ancient parchment dust, and ozone, as if after a silent discharge of spellwork. Above the wizards, letters rolled up like scrolls, skimming along invisible rails like paper swallows, delivering messages precisely on time. As the throng deposited Anna toward one of the hall’s long corridors, she quickly pressed herself against the wall, letting another group of messengers pass. “Take this to the archives,” ordered a middle-aged witch in a commanding tone, her modest heels clicking on the stone floor. She strode purposefully ahead. The young wizard beside her, fatigue etched on his face yet burdened with helpful intent, eagerly nodded, quickly grasping a heavy stack of documents in his arms. Anna immediately stepped away from the wall and followed the man. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her robe as her eyes snapped to each face that hurried past. The meeting that awaited her among the dusty shelves of the archives was not just a mystery – it was no doubt another test from Antonin. Who was this mysterious correspondent she was to meet? Perhaps someone he knew. A friend? A superior? The corridor the young clerk turned into grew narrower. The air thickened, filled with the scent of old parchment, wood glue, and dust that was not mere dirt, but powder of ages. Trying not to appear too curious, Anna slowed her pace. As soon as she stepped under the low stone archway leading into the open archive section, all sounds from the outside world ceased. Not just quieted – they seemed to never have existed at all. Footfalls, whispers, rustling paper – everything was swallowed by a magically charged silence. Anna stood in the middle of endless rows of shelves fading into gloom, the ancient tomes on each shelf seemingly staring at her with their spines. The silence, broken only occasionally by passing visitors, was not oppressive. Anna straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, as if to steady herself. She drifted between the bookcases. Neatly arranged in precise rows, the books and the stern-faced librarian glancing at visitors over the frames of her narrow spectacles – almost drooping on the tip of her nose – all carried Anna back to a not-so-distant past. It reminded her of her school library. Feeling once again like a very young, carefree student, she gently tugged on the spine of one of the books. Her fingers closed around an old volume titled History of Magic. The wrinkled dark-green leather cover beamed at her with its golden edge patterns, so desperately reminding her of long school lectures about the Council, about magic, of uncomfortable wooden desks and ill-fated quill pens that constantly left embarrassing ink blots. A faint smile curved on her lips. She was just beginning to feel the weight of the old school robe on her shoulders and remember her old friends when a painfully familiar voice sounded behind her: “Careful. That’s a first edition,” said the familiar voice, in its usual strict, calm tone, compelling her to spin around. The face she saw behind her hadn’t changed one bit – and just like before, it brought her to a halt. Dark lashes framed a pair of deep navy-blue eyes that locked onto her. His expressive features – the high cheekbones, the strong jaw, the aquiline nose – were just the same, as if they had last seen each other yesterday, not several years ago. “Professor Kane,” the words slipped out on their own. The title on her lips drew a slight grin from the man and a disapproving shake of his head. A lazy flick of his hand was enough to send the book flying from her fingers and slipping into the abyss between two others on the shelf. “That’s in the past,” he corrected her, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. His gaze was intense, almost hypnotic. It didn’t alarm her – it made her want to listen. “I-I didn’t know,” Anna blurted out, not allowing the silence to linger more than a second, then immediately scolded herself in her mind for the hasty, foolish excuse. Too quick? Too foolish? It was hard to stand up to his pressure: every gesture was so effortless, yet naturally confident. Not wanting to show her confusion, she bottled it up and stared back at him just as firmly. Professor Kane silently raised an eyebrow, giving no answer. Instead, he placed a battered, well-worn textbook into her hands. The title on the cover read The Ten Peculiarities of Divination, Volume I. Anna carefully hooked a finger under the cover’s edge and peered at him over the title. He shook his head in disapproval. Her fingers froze on the book’s surface. “Later,” Kane said curtly. Then, in a lower voice, “I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in Divination. Bannerman will go alone. You mind your own affairs,” he added, motioning again at the book. Everything clicked into place when he mentioned Antonin. Anna, burning with curiosity, pressed the book to her chest and gave the man a dutiful little nod like the student she once was. “I'll make sure he gets it,” she said earnestly. “You will,” he said, cutting her off before she could finish, hands stuffed into the pockets of his austere trousers. “I'll allow myself a moment of weakness, if you don’t mind. Consider it professional deformity, but here’s a piece of advice — learn to pick your people.” “What do you–” “I’m afraid I’m expected elsewhere already. Good luck, Miss Erter.” He ended the sentence abruptly, giving no room for her confusion or questions. Leaving her alone between the long bookshelves, he set off decisively toward the exit. Anna watched him go, holding the heavy tome to her chest. His words remained an unsolved riddle, and each passing second piled more frustration on her. A rebellious urge stirred inside her. She almost wanted to break his instructions and open the book right there and then, but his professor’s tone echoed in her head again: Later. Later, she had to remind herself. With a bitter twinge of resentment and remorse, she headed for the exit, eager to disappear from sight. The familiar corridor sped past in a blur. Driven by the same burning curiosity, she burst into the women’s restroom, weaving between the crowd of visitors and staff. A flowery scent hit her nose the moment the door slammed behind her. In front of a mirror, a young witch swirled a small glass vial containing something pink and glittering. She scrutinized herself from side to side. Noticing Anna enter, the girl turned around. “Is that enough? I still can’t smell a thing!” the girl asked with exasperation. Anna was momentarily stunned. She didn’t know what was more intoxicating: the girl’s airy voice or the flood of floral scent in the air. She shrugged distractedly and shuffled toward one of the stalls. “Just a bit more, and the entire Council building will turn into a flower garden,” she murmured, a harmless sarcasm coloring her voice. With a soft snort, the witch faced the mirror again. Anna locked herself in a stall and sat down on the toilet. She placed the leather-bound book on her lap. Something was making her hesitate – perhaps the annoying teacherly tone still ringing in her mind, or a faint sense that something bad might happen. She inhaled slowly, held it for a beat, then opened the book. The pages, densely covered with notes and annotations, seemed at first glance filled only with dry, boring text. But on page ten she found a blank sheet of parchment carefully tucked in, inscribed in neat calligraphic handwriting. Only a few words were written with ink – no clarifications, no context, no instructions:

“Isidore Lockford. Observe.”

Anna frowned and picked up the parchment. But as soon as it left the page, it crumbled to dust between her fingers. Panic, cold as a breath of wind, skittered across her skin. “Damn,” Anna whispered, shivering and letting the ash trickle through her fingers. “Everything okay, dear?” a voice asked from outside the stall. “Yes– Yes, yes!” Anna nearly shouted, forcing her voice into an overly bright tone as though a nervous smile might make it more convincing. “Alright then,” came the reply, followed by the click of the girl’s heels and the latch on her stall closing. Anna exhaled. Her attention snapped back to the book. She leafed through the pages one by one, searching for more messages. She found one more nestled in the middle of the textbook: a thin folded envelope, sealed with red wax. Without opening it, Anna slipped the envelope into her robe pocket. The stall door opened, and she emerged. Inside her chest, emotions surged: her thoughts raced to Antonin and she burned to tell him everything immediately. Casting a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror – her eyes wide with excitement – she practically ran out of the restroom. No more bustle or crowd could hold her back now. The Magical Council’s building, that center of the universe, was surrounded by several avenues lined with tall, ornate houses of the local nobility – the families of ruling wizards and those whom high society had graciously welcomed into their circles. As she flowed past stained glass windows and fancy moldings, Anna unabashedly stared at the wizards passing by. They paid her no mind, apparently choosing to ignore the out-of-place girl who had suddenly appeared at the right spot. Even the autumn chill in the air felt warmer and gentler here, like being inside an incubator. One figure stood out the most: Antonin. He stood to the side, and when he spotted Anna, he casually raised his hand to beckon her. Clutching the book tightly, she quickened her steps. Dressed like he was meeting Rupert, Tony seemed more presentable than usual. But neither the sweater he wore nor the polished boots on his feet could hide his true nature – it was written all over his mischievous face. “How did it go?” he asked immediately as she drew near. Only then did his hand rest on her shoulder. “It could’ve been better,” Anna replied. “Professor Kane?” Antonin smirked, cutting her off before she could elaborate. Anna rolled her eyes, holding out the envelope. “He said you’d go alone,” she informed him, somehow not mentioning or showing the book. Antonin’s brow furrowed and he gave her a puzzled look. “Why’s that?” he moved closer. His fingers caught the clasp holding her robe at her chest. He adjusted the fabric, then took the envelope from her. “I don’t know. He just said he wants me to keep an eye on Isidore. Is he still at the ruins?” Anna asked softly, stepping aside and watching a passing magister. “Not likely. What would he be doing in the wreckage?” Antonin replied quietly, carefully breaking the wax seal on the envelope. “The farm burned down. No more dragons. Ask Theodore. He knows every scoundrel on the outskirts.” He handed Anna the now-empty envelope as he unfolded the letter inside. Anna balled up the envelope in her fist, her eyes flicking to the parchment that Antonin was scanning. “What is it?” she leaned closer. “Looks like a contract,” Antonin said, running his finger down the text until he stopped at the name at the bottom. “Do you know them?” Anna read the name aloud, hesitating slightly. “Malric Sinclair.” She sounded out the merchant’s name. “Maybe. Is that important?” She looked up at Antonin expectantly. He just chuckled and bumped her shoulder playfully. “No. Off you go, little bird. We’ll meet at home,” he said. Antonin lightly patted her shoulder and planted a quick kiss on the top of her head. Not waiting for him to continue or go, Anna waved goodbye with an awkward little wave and took a step back. Another question, left unanswered, settled like a weight on her chest. It seemed as though everyone was keeping secrets or didn’t think to keep her in the loop at all. “Good luck.” “Luck is for losers,” he winked, crumpling the contract in one hand and heading off in his own direction. The two figures melted into the crowd and disappeared. The farther Anna walked from the Upper City, the more quickly Kaelmond lost its face. The cobblestones underfoot became coarser, the houses lower and darker, and the air chilled as if it had long since lost the warmth of human voices. Beyond the market and the Middle City lay a stone bridge – narrow and uneven – arching over a small river that always lay in shadow. Crossing it, Anna found herself in the Lower City – the part of the city where all things the Upper City preferred not to see were kept. Huddled houses pressed together, their walls blackened with soot and marred by cracks, and the sunlight that fell here seemed dim and foreign. In Kaelmond, everyone knew: if you wanted trouble or adventure, you took the path beyond the bridge. The Lower City would offer both – and collect a price you hadn’t been warned about. This world felt more honest and comprehensible to her than the society of snobs from their polished parlor floors. After all, there’s nothing more honest than poverty – you can’t hide behind it. There’s nothing more honest than the Lower City – here, they know the price of truth. It still wasn’t noon, so the slum’s streets were mostly deserted. There was only one place where she could find Theodore at this hour: the Pixie Pub.