In the end, since he couldn’t find one to purchase, Jason commissioned a craftsman to make a high-quality, non-magical telescope. The unusual request had taken time, however, and by the time it was completed, Jason was living the busy life of an adventurer. As such, he’d picked up the item and left in his inventory with the ten-foot pole, the rope ladder and his various other pieces of adventuring kit.
“No time like the present,” he said, pulling out the telescope.
It truly was a fine piece of craftsmanship, but he didn't stop to admire it, putting it directly to his eye. First, he picked out the thief, moving across the water. Once he spied where she was heading, he looked to the far shore, in search of a shadow.
Clive looked around the interior of the brick shed. His ability to see magic let him pick out what were the otherwise invisible magical marks, drawn onto the bricks of the wall to shield it from magical detection. It had taken him time to seek out, using flaring rituals to find the magical deadspot. If Jason hadn’t told him the right area through his voice communication power, he likely wouldn’t have found it at all.
Examining the work, he saw the principles involved were basic, making of use of fundamental magical theory. The application, however, showed a comprehensive understanding and was highly innovative in execution. If it weren’t for criminal purposes to which it had been put, he would admire it.
“Who am I kidding?” he asked the empty shed. “I do admire it.”
The shed clearly didn’t see a lot of use. Almost everything had a thick layer of dust, except a section of the bench and a pair of stools. Jason and Clive had considered whether or not the thief had one or more accomplices, and it seemed she did.
Whoever this accomplice was, they had taken their tools but didn't have time to clear off their magical workings. Presumably, they were relying on the magic being invisible and the distraction of the fleeing thief. That left Clive with a good chance to extract an aura trace from the magic.
Moving outside, he balanced out the ambient magic with his mana equilibrium racial gift, then took out a book and used his enact ritual essence ability to start placing a magical circle around the shed. A line of shining gold energy appeared where his finger pointed as he drew out a sophisticated circle, referencing the book as he went.
“What are you doing on my lawn?” an affronted voice called out.
“Adventure Society business,” Clive said, not looking away from his work.
“Again? Who do you people think you are?”
“I’m Adjunct Assistant to the Deputy Director of the Magic Society, Greenstone branch,” Clive said.
“Is that something important?” the man asked uncertainly.
“Do you really want to find out?”
The magical circle completed. From inside the shed, the previously invisible magic lit up in blue and red. A vaguely human image appeared, flickering in and out in the middle of Clive's circle. Clive took a tracking stone from his storage space and shoved it into the middle of the image. The image was drawn into the stone, like being sucked into a void. The gold light of Clive’s ritual and the red and blue from the shed then dimmed to nothing. Clive looked at the tracking stone in his hand, which now had an internal light pointing in a very definite direction.
“Got you.”
Sophie’s solitary essence ability made her fast, and by spending mana she could run up walls or over water. The breakwaters at each end of the straight between Old City and the Island made the space between calm and easy to run over. Reaching the Old City port, she ran right up the side of the dock and onto dry ground. For a fleeting moment, she thought she was free and clear. Then she saw a shadowy figure standing in her path.
The person was shrouded in what looked like the night sky—not just black but dark and deep, with distant stars twinkling within. Under the cloak were dark, flowing robes, with a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other. A bandolier with what looked like throwing knives went from left shoulder to right hip.
The port was busy, as always, and the two unusual figures staring each other down caught the attention of the dockworkers. Sophie looked around as people quickly gathered.
“Don’t make me go through you,” she told the dark figure.
“Don’t make me use my abilities,” the figure said. “They’re for killing, not catching.”
It was the same voice as the person who ambushed her when she tried to rob the wagon. The one who fought like her. She launched herself forward, confident that she was better. They clashed, then broke away inconclusively. This repeated a second time and a third. She was landing hits, but nothing conclusive. She absently noted that the dockworkers had started taking bets.
Their fighting styles were the same, but they used them very differently. She was all speed and efficiency, using the versatility of the style to adapt and pressure opponents. He was deceptive and manipulative, seemingly full of openings but more than once she thought she almost had him only to realise it was just the opposite. He also used his cloak to mask his movements, making him hard to read. She had some near misses, but the more she pressured him, the more she figured him out. His methods were dangerous, but he didn’t have a complete handle on them yet. So long as she was cautious and stuck to fundamentals, she knew she could take him down.
So, apparently, did he. He withdrew the dagger from his belt. The bone blade, with its slight curve, made it looked like a fang. It was almost certainly magical. She drew the knife strapped to her thigh, not magical, but well-crafted.
“We can still end this here,” he said. He sounded earnest but resigned. She lunged again.
A knife fight was a messy business: fast hands, fast blades too quick to intercept. Even against an amateur, accepting a knife fight meant accepting wounds, if only superficial ones. The difference in outcome between Sophie and the shadowy man was a matter of equipment. Her knife slid off his thin-but-strong cloth armour, while his knife cut through her camouflage clothes to leave shallow cuts on her arms as she used them to guard more vital points. Breaking off again, she realised he wasn’t even going for real hits, satisfied to inflict minor injuries. Either his dagger or his abilities likely inflicted poison.
“Now you see your situation,” the man said, having noticed her realisation as she looked at her wounds. “Your choices now are to come with me or die.”
Sophie glanced back, considering leaping back off the dock. In her moment of distraction, he made the first move for the first time in their confrontation. She evaded, but his free hand grabbed at her. She slipped away, but his fingers closed on her mask, pulling it free. As her silver hair spilled out, he saw her face. His own was hidden in the hood of the cloak, although she had seen it back at the wagon.
The situation suddenly shifted as a half-dozen people broke through the circle of onlookers. There were dressed all in black, with masks like she had been wearing. The shadowy figure said a word she didn’t recognise and was immediately attacked. She took the opportunity and ran. Even as he fought off these new opponents, she heard him chant an ominous spell behind her.
“Your fate is to suffer.”
Belinda was in line at the Broadstreet Bridge, waiting to hand over her permit before crossing to Old City. In both dress and manner, she was indistinguishable from the many servants likewise heading to Old City on household errands. She noticed a slight commotion in the line, looking back to see a man walking down the line, looking at something in his hand. He was tall and lanky, with the uniform of a Magic Society functionary. The men on the wagon Sophie had attempted to rob had the same uniforms, but this wasn’t one of those men. Unless they changed their faces with magic. Sophie and herself had tried that from time to time, but it was unreliable and prone to wearing off early.