The Morne Grand Academy was an important institution, attracting nobility from all three kingdoms on the Isles to its classes. Most of the clergy and prominent members of influential merchant families also attended. The Academy offered a wide range of courses and supported many research projects. Although technically situated within Sonem borders, the Academy and its surrounding town gradually evolved into a semi-autonomous city-state. It was the smallest of its kind on the Isles but likely among the most influential.
Even the city’s gate checkpoint reflected this. Outside, Sonem soldiers in dark blue uniforms with silver trim stood on watch, but inside, we were greeted by Academy Town’s own security force. They wore lilac tabards with a golden quill insignia. One guard, a tall mountain of a man, approached with a purposeful stride, scanning us before his face lit up in recognition of Aunt Estrah.
“Ah, Professor Ceedorec, good to see you are back!” he said, his voice full and vibrant as he stepped closer. “Are you staying for good this time, or just here to pick up supplies?”
Aunt Estrah’s eyes narrowed at the corners as she smiled. “My, it has been years, Bastien. Are you sure you don’t have some elven blood in you? You don’t seem to age at all,” she teased him.
“You are too kind, Professor,” he replied, rubbing a sunburnt hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “But alas, pure human stock as far as I know. Just blessed with my grandmother’s complexion.”
“Ah, yes, I remember her well. She was a fine student,” Aunt Estrah said, pausing for a moment to reminisce. “I’ll be staying for a while. Let me introduce my company.” At her cue, Uncle Flo jumped from the cart, landed briskly, and stepped forward to shake hands. “This is Florent. He was a field commander in the Morne Volunteer Corps. I am going to recommend him to teach at the Academy’s knight course.”
Bastien looked surprised for a moment. He straightened up, brought his right fist to his heart, then extended it outward with his fingers spread. “It is an honor, sir,” he said, his voice clear and steady.
“No need for that, not a knight, just did a job nobody else wanted to do.”
Next, Aunt Estrah rested her hand on my shoulder. “And this,” her tone mellowed with unmistakable pride, “is my godson Zar, quite the scholar already. He’ll be joining the Academy next year as a student.”
Bastien’s eyes widened as he looked down at me, even with me still in the cart, damn that man is tall. His weathered face broke into a broad smile, revealing a chipped front tooth. “Nice to meet you, young master!” he exclaimed. His gaze flickered between Aunt Estrah and Uncle Flo before settling back on me. “With such mighty company you’re keeping, you must be planning to take the knight course, or perhaps you dabble in the arcane arts?”
I straightened my posture, trying to appear taller than my modest height allowed. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “I will most likely pursue theology, though if regulations permit, I would gladly attend a magic course as well.”
“Theology?” Bastien’s bushy eyebrows shot up toward his receding hairline, and he let out a low whistle that carried faintly in the stone archway. “Well, now, that is quite the shocker. A wolfkin mage and a priest to boot, not something you see every day.” He placed a large hand on my shoulder, his palm calloused but his touch gentle. “I am sure you will succeed in whatever you put your mind to, young master,” he said, voice softening.
With that, he bid us farewell with a salute. We urged our dappled mare forward along Main Street, where the cobblestones were smooth from years of use. The city was buzzing with life. Human and horsekin merchants argued over prices. Dwarven craftsmen hefted heavy sacks of raw materials. Now and then, I glimpsed the scaled tail of a lizardfolk in the crowd. A scent of fresh bread from a bakery soon hit me, blending with herbs from an apothecary’s store. The experience, compared to what I was used to, was pleasantly overwhelming.
Aunt Estrah’s house appeared as we turned a corner lined with old cherry trees. The three-story brick building stood out among its neighbors. Afternoon light played over terracotta walls, weathered to a gentle rust-orange. A round dormer window on the green slate roof peered like a cyclops’ eye. The house was neither ostentatious nor humble. It breathed the quiet dignity of scholarly comfort. A lacquered cedar door and a brass knocker shaped like an open book welcomed visitors. Rainbow prisms danced across the entry, cast by crystals flanking the leaded glass windows. Those same crystals are supposed to shine with ambient light at night.
Our final destination, however, was at the back of Aunt Estrah’s house. Behind it, in a small courtyard surrounded by a garden bursting with herbs, I recognized some plants: wolfsbane, nightshade, and valerian. Each was meticulously labeled with a tiny copper marker. We guided the cart through a wrought-iron side gate. Once inside, Uncle Flo hopped down, tied the horse to a post, and began untying our bundles. I quickly jumped down beside him to help organize them.
After we finished unloading the cart, we went in through the back door. Inside, the layout unfolded like a book of wonders.
The first floor greeted us with a kitchen where copper pots hung from iron hooks. Their bottoms were burnished from years of use over the massive brick hearth. Beyond lay a dining room with a table of dark, polished wood that could seat twelve. A small guest room was tucked behind an arched doorway. Upstairs, a lounge with soft chairs surrounded a fireplace made of river stones. The library’s shelves were packed with leather-bound books next to Aunt Estrah’s private office. It was a sanctuary of organized chaos, with scrolls and instruments competing for space. The third floor held a master bedroom with a four-poster bed. Two smaller bedrooms, equally charming, flanked it. One soon would be mine.
“Well, here we are. Hope you will enjoy your stay.” Aunt Estrah’s voice echoed slightly in the third-floor hallway as she completed the tour, her fingers trailing along the polished banister. I noticed the place was spotless, which was surprising given how many years she had been absent.
“Professor Ceedorec, are you there?” came a melodic voice from downstairs, the words floating up the stairwell like windchimes. We descended to find a young woman with dark golden brown hair twisted into a practical bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple beige cotton dress. Her short laced apron, pristinely white against the earthen tones of her dress, suggested she was a maid of sorts.
“Hello, dear, my apologies, I don’t seem to recognize you.” Aunt Estrah tilted her head, crow’s feet deepening around her eyes as she squinted in concentration.
“I’m not surprised. Last time you laid eyes on me, I was still a baby.” The young woman’s smile revealed a dimple in her left cheek as she curtsied slightly, her calloused hands smoothing her apron. “My name is Margot, and I am the daughter of your former housekeeper, Gila. People say I have her eyes.”
“Ah, now I see it.” Aunt Estrah leaned forward to study Margot’s face. “What happened to Gila, though? I hope she is still with us and well?”
“She is,” Margot assured her, absently twisting a loose copper strand that had escaped her bun. “But her joints ache something fierce these days. Last winter was especially tough, so I’ve been tending to your house ever since, just as you instructed. She still comes by on sunny afternoons to take care of the garden.” A smile flickered across her lips. “She’ll weep with joy when she hears you’ve returned.”
“I understand,” Aunt Estrah replied, nodding as her silver pendant caught the light. “Your attention to detail shows in every corner. We’ll discuss wages and a new schedule later. For now, this is Florent and my godson, Zar. They’ll be staying, so please prepare all three bedrooms upstairs accordingly.”
Margot nodded and ascended the stairs with the practiced grace of someone who knew every creaking step. We heard her footsteps fade to whispers as she moved purposefully toward the bedrooms.
Aunt Estrah turned to me, green eyes glinting in the afternoon light. “Zar, since we missed the entrance exams, you can only apply next spring. Local forests aren’t good for hunting, so we must find a way to keep you busy since starting tomorrow, Florent and I will be working at the Academy.”
“Already?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You sure move quick for someone who just arrived in town.”
“Can’t do anything about the exams,” Aunt Estrah said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “but sliding Florent into the curriculum quickly is certainly something I can and should do as soon as possible.” Her voice dropped to a more matter-of-fact tone. “That is not your concern, though. I suggest you check the Office of Addresses and Encounters at the Commerce Guild. We passed it on Main Street, a large white-brick building. It offers jobs for anyone willing to work.”
“Ah,” I sighed with exaggerated resignation, “not even a day as a city boy and I’m already put to hard labor. What a cruel world.” The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I shifted my weight, heading toward the door.
“Oh, come on,” Aunt Estrah said, her laugh ringing in the entryway. “This is really about socializing with new people. You can find easy part-time jobs, like being a messenger or doing something else you like. Also,” she said, softening her voice as she fixed my collar, “I’ll pay your tuition, but I know you want to be more independent. You can help by earning enough silver for your Academy uniforms and other study supplies before spring.” She grinned and winked. “Maybe you’ll even save up for a date with someone special.”
“Ha-ha,” I rolled my eyes, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Don’t tell me you already want more grandkids? Sure, I will get right on that.” I responded sardonically as I left through the heavy front door, its brass hinges groaning softly, heading toward the bustling Commerce Guild.
The Office of Addresses and Encounters provided a simple matchmaking service between employers and workers. No registration required. Just walk in, browse jobs on the bulletin board, and apply at the front desk. The Guild took its cut from each new hire while maintaining records to prevent fraud.
Unlike in fantasy novels, this world had no Adventurer Guild. Herb gatherers and couriers worked through the Commerce Guild, while those protecting caravans or hunting monsters needed combat certification from the Mercenary Guild. True adventurers simply cobbled together guild jobs to fund their wandering lifestyle.
I scanned the bulletin board, my finger tracing across notices for chimney sweeps and stable hands. Each one made me feel a bit more discouraged. Some jobs looked interesting, but they meant leaving the city. Then I noticed a cream-colored parchment with elegant writing: “Toymaker seeks new toy prototypes and fresh children’s tales. Inquire at Whimsy & Wonder, Clarity Boulevard.”
Cinderella. Snow White. The Little Mermaid. The stories from my original world danced in my head, begging to be shared. However, paper was expensive, not prohibitively so, but just enough that I didn’t want to risk it for my first job. There was no guarantee they would even take me seriously, given my age. However, I had access to Uncle Flo’s woodworking tools. I could carve a few wooden toys and maybe a board game or two before committing ink to parchment.
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“Excuse me, how would this job work exactly? It sounds almost like a trade deal rather than an employment.”
The clerk adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward. “Ah, that.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Between us, it’s a favor for old Marken. Good man, soft spot for children.” He slid a yellowed slip across the counter. “Take this, haggle your price if he likes your creation, bring back his signature. We’ll record it. Sell him wooden blocks, you’ll get a copper piece or two for materials and labor. Sell him an idea…" he tapped his temple "…you’re talking silver, maybe more. That track record will also help you later to register with the guild as a craftsman, or even an inventor."
And that is exactly what I focused on for the next three days. Aunt Estrah frowned at my ‘shut-in job,’ but I promised to find something more social after finishing these prototypes. My first prototype came easily. The second was a bit harder, since I had never carved a perfect sphere without power tools, and the third was just tedious work. Still, I managed three presentable items for the toymaker.
Whimsy & Wonder, not a very original name, but then again, my comparative framework is out of this world. Literally. The shop displayed an impressive array of magical toys: dolls with moving eyes, self-propelled wooden horses, and swords that flashed red on impact, all powered by mana crystals and runes instead of mechanisms or batteries I once knew. On the downside, they were all pretty expensive.
A portly man with a silver-streaked beard and ink-speckled fingers emerged from behind a counter cluttered with half-assembled toys. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice warm like honey tea.
“Master Marken? I am here about a job you posted with the OAE,” I said, straightening my posture.
“Oh, are you now?” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he wiped his hands on a cloth tucked into his leather apron. “Well, let’s see what you have.”
I reached into my worn canvas bag and withdrew my first prototype. “I call this a yo-yo.” I looped the string around my middle finger, the smooth wood cool against my palm. “You put the thread on your finger and just release it.” The disk descended in a perfect spiral before snapping back to my hand with a satisfying ‘thwack’. I repeated my demonstration a few times from several angles. “You can also do some tricks.” The yo-yo danced across the floor in ‘walk-the-dog’ motion, the wood barely skimming the polished boards. Marken’s eyes widened, following each movement with childlike fascination.
I set the yo-yo aside against the counter next to the toymaker. From my bag came my second creation: a wooden mallet with three shallow cups carved into it, connected by a string to a smooth, red-painted ball.
“Watch this,” I said, letting the ball dangle. With a flick of my wrist, the ball arced upward. It hung suspended for a second before dropping perfectly into the largest cup with an enjoyable ‘tok’. Toymaker’s eyes followed as I flipped the toy, catching the ball on the spike, then tossed it from cup to cup in a rhythmic dance. The string slid through the air as I transferred the kendama from one hand to the other, the ball spinning in a crimson blur before landing precisely where I intended. “It’s called kendama, and it gets pretty addicting the more you fiddle with it. Teaches kids agility and hand-eye coordination.”
Finally, I took out my third prototype: a polished wooden board with a grid of eight-by-eight squares, followed by a small cloth pouch that clinked as I loosened its drawstring, revealing sixty-four circular discs. Each one was painstakingly sanded smooth, then stained black on one side and left natural on the other. My fingertips still ached from the hours of careful carving.
“This is reversi,” I said, arranging four pieces in the center squares, forming a diagonal pattern of alternating colors. “It’s a simple strategy game where pieces flip between black and white depending on who captures them.” I demonstrated a move, my piece clacking satisfyingly against the board before I trapped one of his tokens between mine, flipping it with a theatrical flourish. “See? Children grasp the basics quickly, but adults also appreciate the deeper strategy potential.”
“What is your name, child?” Marken asked, his weathered digits hovering over the board, eyes twinkling with unmistakable interest.
Heat crept into my cheeks. “I apologize for my poor manners. I’m Zar,” I said, straightening my shoulders slightly. “I’ll be attending the Academy next year, if all goes well.”
Toymaker’s eyes lit up like lanterns at a festival. “They will be lucky to have you,” he said, running a calloused thumb over the yo-yo’s polished surface. “All of these toys are simply splendid. And this yo-yo thing, not a trace of mana in it, how does it come back to your hand?”
I demonstrated again, the string unwinding with a soft whir. “Simple inertia. As it rotates, it accumulates momentum that has to go somewhere, right? With nowhere else to go, it simply bounces back up the string.” The yo-yo smacked satisfyingly against my palm.
“Fascinating.” Marken’s bushy eyebrows rose as he glanced at my pointed ears. “I suppose you beastkin folk have to rely less on magic and come up with these ingenious ideas to compensate.” He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. “If only you knew how excruciating it is to recharge all those enchanted toys.”
I bit the tip of my tongue slightly to keep from smiling. Oh, I know. It is like filling a bucket one droplet at a time, but I decided not to correct him. “So, what do you think these prototypes are worth? The materials are inexpensive, you could target commoners who can’t afford magic-infused dolls.” I noticed his fingers traced the reversi board’s smooth grid. “And this game would be perfect for knights-in-training learning battle strategies.”
Toymaker stroked his silver-streaked beard, eyes twinkling with calculation. “I will give you one gold piece for all three prototypes.” He pulled a worn leather coin purse from beneath his ink-stained apron. “I’ll be honest, you can ask for more, but I want to make these affordable to children from all walks of life.”
Tsk, he’s exploiting my sense of altruism, and it’s working. My ears twitched slightly as I considered my options, fingers drumming against the worn canvas of my bag. “Do you have access to cheap paper? Your notice said you’re also interested in children’s stories. I have a few ideas for those, too.” I leaned forward, the scent of sawdust and beeswax polish filling my nostrils. “How about one gold piece and as much paper as you can give me?” I smiled reassuringly, meeting his gaze. “Call it an investment. Once I finish my stories, I’ll show them to you first before anyone else.”
Marken’s bushy eyebrows shot up, then creased in thought. “Hmm, as it happens…” His eyes darted to a door behind the counter, wooden panels worn smooth from years of passing shoulders. “Could you wait here for a moment? I will go get something in the back.”
I nodded, settling my weight against the counter. “Sure thing.”
After a few minutes, a door opened, but not the one I expected. Through the shop’s entrance marched a most curious procession. First came a tall man in shiny chainmail, making a soft clinking noise with every step. He had a big greatsword on his back and two short swords at his waist. Their jeweled hilts caught the light. His weathered face bore a scar across one cheek, and his vigilant eyes scanned the shop's corners.
Behind him, two maids glided in wearing crisp burgundy uniforms with starched white aprons and lace caps pinned perfectly to their hair. They were followed by a grey-haired butler whose golden-buttoned black coat was so immaculate it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Last came a small girl no more than twelve years old. She wore an emerald dress that whispered against the parquet, her golden hair arranged in elaborate braids beneath a matching ribbon. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the shop with the calculating gaze of someone used to getting exactly what she wanted.
“So, young mistress,” the butler said with a bow so precise it might have been measured with a protractor, “please choose any toy you like.”
The girl’s delicate finger jutted out like a rapier. “I want this.”
The butler’s eyes darted between shelves. “The princess doll with the changeable gowns?”
“Nope.” Her golden braids swung as she shook her head firmly.
“Perhaps the hand-carved horse swing set with the real horsehair mane?”
“Nope.” Her rosebud lips popped on the ‘p’ as she extended her arm again. Her finger aimed directly at my chest, unwavering as a compass needle finding north. “This one.”
The butler’s face drained of color so rapidly I could almost hear it happening, like water rushing down a drain. My own cheeks tingled with sudden cold, and my pointed ears flattened against my skull, a reflex I couldn’t control.
“But, young mistress, that is quite impossible,” he stammered, tugging nervously at his cuffs.
“Why?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits, her small hand still extended toward me like a weapon.
“Well,” the butler’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper as he leaned down, “because this is a wolfkin child. See his pointed ears and blue eyes? He is alive, a person with thoughts and feelings. You cannot purchase a person.” He straightened, clearing his throat. “Well, technically, in some kingdoms you sometimes can, but certainly not in Sonem or Academy Town. The laws are quite strict. He is probably a future Academy student, just like yourself.”
“So?” The girl tilted her head, her expression unchanged as a porcelain doll’s.
The butler clasped his trembling hands together, forcing a smile that stretched his face unnaturally. “Young Mistress, there are so many wonderful toys here.” He gestured desperately around the shop. “Perhaps the butterfly that actually flies? The miniature castle with a working drawbridge? Surely there must be something else to catch your fancy.”
“I want this one.” Her voice rang with the absolute certainty of a nobility who had never heard the word no.
The butler's face contorted with panic. “This... ok, just please don’t worry, we will try to figure something out. Just please stay calm.” His polished shoes clicked against the wooden floorboards as he approached me, the scent of lavender cologne wafting in his wake. “Could we step aside to talk for a while, please?” His voice dropped to a whisper that barely disturbed the dust specks dancing in the sunbeams between us.
My ears twitched forward. “Is she normal?” I murmured, watching the girl from the corner of my eye.
“Please, please, let’s step aside a little... there.” He gestured toward a shadowy corner near a shelf of mechanical birds with his trembling fingers. “Yes. What is your name, if you don’t mind?”
“Zar.”
“My name is Gieffroy. Would you be interested in a job, Zar?” His eyebrows arched like question marks.
I cocked my head to the side, my gaze sliding past his shoulder to the weird girl who was now casually dismantling one of the princess dolls, her small fingers working with surgical precision to separate the porcelain head from its silk-clad body. “Do you need a babysitter? Or a witchhunter?”
The butler coughed into his silk handkerchief, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried to mask a chuckle. “Oh, we have plenty of babysitters, myself included.” He straightened his already-perfect cuffs with long, manicured fingers. “What the young mistress needs is companionship, preferably from someone close to her age. Ever since we left the marble towers of Veridia, she has been quite…” he glanced over his shoulder at the girl, who was now methodically snapping the arms off a wooden soldier, “…down. We came here because she will be attending the Academy come spring, but she misses her friends from the capital. The acting out has become rather…” he winced as a small cracking sound came from behind him, “…concerning.”
“Hmm.” I scratched behind one of my pointed ears, watching the girl’s nimble destruction. “What’s the pay? Mind you, I just earned a gold piece after only three days of designing new toys.” I waved my hand towards my prototypes on the table. “I will not do anything degrading, and I’ll keep living with my own family here in the Academy Town, in our house near the Main Street.”
The butler’s eyebrows arched slightly when I mentioned the gold piece. His gaze shifted from my toys to my worn tunic with renewed interest when I mentioned living in a more prominent part of town. I bit my tongue again slightly to keep from smirking. Maintaining my composure was important when negotiating.
“I can offer five gold pieces a month,” he said, brushing an invisible speck from his immaculate sleeve. “Even the Academy’s scholarship students rarely earn that much.” He leaned forward, cologne wafting between us. “And let’s be practical. Those clever little toys of yours? Marken can only commission so many.” His lips curled into a calculating smile that left me no room for maneuver.
“Fine,” I said, extending my hand. “But I want a contract registered with the OAE by tomorrow.”
“But of course.” His handshake was surprisingly firm, his manicured fingers gripping mine with the strength of someone who’d hauled himself up from lesser stations. “Young Mistress, good news, everything has been arranged. The young wolfkin will accompany you home.” He guided me toward the girl with the subtle pressure of his palm against my shoulder blade.
“Good,” she said, her voice tinkling like expensive crystal. "Please pack him."
“I beg your pardon?” The butler’s perfect posture faltered for the first time.
“I want him packed in a pretty box.” She pointed to an ornate chest trimmed with brass and lined with crimson velvet. “This one should do.”
I caught Gieffroy’s eye, my ears flattening slightly. I widened my eyes meaningfully, silently reminding him of our standing agreement about nothing degrading. My tail swished once against my leg.
In response, he silently mouthed the words, his thin lips barely moving: “Two pieces a week.”
“Attaboy,” I muttered, climbing inside the spacious chest. The velvet lining gave off a slight scent of cedar and expensive perfume. One can never be sure how a soul grows, so trying everything at least once will be my new policy, especially when it comes with two gold pieces a week.
