"I've been busy this morning," Cecelia said over her shoulder. "Besides the shopping, I mean. I needed to find somewhere to stay that wasn't your bed. I think I've managed it rather nicely."
"Already? In just one morning?"
"Less than that, really, but I got lucky." Her aunt turned down a narrow street Jane didn't recognize. "It's a room in a couple's house, near the docks on your side of the lake. They had a spare bedroom, since their children are grown and gone, and they seemed happy enough to rent it to me. The man claimed he was ‘used to magic’, which I didn’t expect."
Jane had an inkling of which person in town might claim to have had a chance to get used to magic, and poked a little to see if her guess was correct.
"What kind of couple?"
"Oh, lovely enough people. He's a fisherman, and she's a housewife who takes in laundry on the side. Very practical folks, and exactly the kind of people I like to be around these days."
What are their names?"
"The man is Frank. The woman is Deborah." Cecelia glanced back. "I take it from all the questions that you know them?"
"Frank was one of the first people to welcome me into town. He gave me a boat ride around the lake just the other day, actually. He was very kind about it."
Allen had been quiet through all of this. Jane reached over and squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him. It would be hard for her aunt to get to know him if he wasn’t willing to give her anything to get to know.
"This is the place," Cecelia announced, stopping in front of a two-story building with a faded sign showing a fish jumping over a mug of ale. "The Leaping Trout. Have either of you been here before?"
Jane shook her head. Allen finally managed to get a few words out, though.
"I've seen it. Never actually gone in. It's supposed to be where a few of the older craftsmen drink. People like my grandfather's friends, back when he was alive."
"Perfect," Cecelia said. "Old craftsmen are excellent company."
She pushed through the door without waiting for agreement.
The interior of the Leaping Trout was dim, lit by sunlight streaming in through narrow windows and a low fire burning in a massive stone hearth. The furniture was solid and wooden. A handful of patrons sat scattered around the room, talking and drinking like they’d been there all day and intended to be there until it was time to go home.
A few heads turned as they entered. Just like at Ashley’s restaurant, Jane braced herself for being recognized. And, again, every eye instead went straight to her aunt and stayed there.
Cecelia settled onto a stool and gestured for Jane and Allen to join her.
"Three ales,” she told the man behind the bar, a thick-armed fellow with a gray beard. "And food, if you have it.”
"We've got stew," the barkeep said, his gaze filled with more curiosity than wariness. "And bread. Fresh this morning."
"That'll do nicely. Thank you."
The barkeep moved off to fill their order, and Cecelia swiveled on her stool to face Jane and Allen.
"Now then. I believe I was promised a chance to get to know my niece's young man." She fixed Allen with a look that Jane recognized. It wasn't hostile, exactly, but it was assessing. "Tell me about yourself, Allen. What do you do?"
"I'm a tinker, ma'am." Allen's voice was steadier than Jane expected. "I make things and fix things. Whatever’s needed."
"A craftsman. Good. Honest work. How did you meet Jane?"
"She came to my shop in the Underbridge Market. She needed supplies to set up her bakery."
"And you just happened to fall for each other?"
"Aunt," Jane protested.
"I'm asking questions. It's what aunts do." But Cecelia was smiling now, the sharp edge of her assessment softening. "I'm teasing, mostly. You want to know a secret?"
Allen looked perplexed. “Sure?”
"It’s not really any of my business who my niece chooses to see. Unless you were dangerous to her in some way. There are only a few kinds of men who could threaten her, though, and you aren’t them.”
Allen had just a second of relief before Jane’s aunt unleashed her next volley.
“Of course, I already know you spent the night in her bed. It would be hard not to know, the residual magic being what it was.”
“Aunt!”
Allen glanced towards the door like he might actually bolt. Jane wouldn’t blame him if he did. She would probably go with him.
Stolen story; please report.
“It wasn’t like that,” Allen stammered. “I swear.”
“Oh, calm yourself, you two. I’d know if that happened, too. And if it had, I wouldn’t say a word about it. I disapprove of very different kinds of things than you two seem to think I do. That’s not one of them. I’m just here to see my niece and be happy with her. And, hopefully, to make a new friend.”
The barkeep returned with three mugs of dark ale and a promise that the stew would be ready soon. Cecelia lifted her mug in a small toast.
They drank. The ale was strong and slightly bitter, with an aftertaste of something Jane couldn't quite identify. Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.
"Now," Cecelia said, setting down her mug. "I would like to keep busy while the food gets ready. No serious talk yet, though. Something fun.”
Cecelia looked around the room. What fun there was to be had seemed to be a pleasant mixture of drinking and talking. Eventually, however, she spotted something propped against the far wall.
"Boulders.” Cecelia pointed towards the weathered wooden board. It had several holes cut into it at different heights, each ringed with faded paint. "I haven't played in years. Do you know the rules, Allen?”
"I know them," Allen said, showing the first real sign of relaxation as they all stood and headed towards the far wall. "My grandfather used to play. You throw the bags through the holes, in sequence. Right?”
"Exactly right." Cecelia picked up the stack of beanbags at the base of the game. Her hand started to spark with magic. “I’ll just get warmed up.”
"That hardly seems fair," Jane protested. "Allen can’t use magic. You were going to cheat to beat a man you just met?"
Her aunt successfully pretended to be wounded. "I would never. It's just a friendly game."
They set up at the painted throwing line on the floor. The barkeep brought their stew over and placed it on a nearby table, seemingly unsurprised that the Grand Archmage of the Kingdom was about to play a pub game in his establishment.
Allen threw first, his bag sailing through the air in a clean arc that dropped neatly through the middle hole. Cecelia arced her eyebrows and hit the same target clean. Jane was impressed. It wasn’t Cecelia’s first time in a pub, though, so she’d probably had plenty of practice.
Jane took her position next, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the bean bag in her hand. She had played games at the academy, of course, but they had all been magical in nature. This was something different. Something normal.
Her throw went wide, bouncing off the board and falling to the floor.
"It's all in the wrist," Allen offered. "You're throwing with your whole arm."
“I’ll be fine.” Jane picked up another beanbag. "I know how to throw things."
"Do you, though?"
Jane's second throw was better. It clipped the edge of the bottom hole before tumbling through. One point. She'd take it.
She stuck out her tongue slightly at Allen as her aunt lined up for her third shot.
The score was much more even by the end of the game. Jane wasn’t going to win, but at least she was competing. They were tied at eighteen points apiece when Cecelia paused mid-throw, her expression shifting from playful to thoughtful.
"We're going to have to do more investigative work around that spot," she said, still holding her bag. "The one where Allen found the contamination."
Allen lowered his own bag. "What did we miss? Jane seemed like she found what she was looking for."
Jane set down the bag she'd been about to throw, recognizing the shift in her aunt's tone. This wasn't idle conversation anymore.
"The water itself is only telling us that something’s wrong,” she told Allen. “We can’t tell what. We need a more detailed record of what’s going on. Think about what happens at a waterfall. The water doesn't just fall. It breaks apart. It sprays everywhere. All that mist and vapor… it carries whatever's in the water with it."
"Including the magic," Allen said slowly, working through the implications. "Is it like paint? Where you could scrape away layers and see what colors a house has been over the years?"
“That’s remarkably close.” Cecelia put down her beanbag and sat. “Smart boy. We need to get to the wall behind the waterfall. That’s where the layers will be.”
"The wall behind the falls?" Allen glanced between them, suddenly concerned. "How are you going to do that? You can't exactly walk behind a waterfall."
Cecelia finally threw her bag, not even rising to do so. It was an impressive shot and probably meant she had been taking it easy on them the entire time. She didn't seem to care.
"You probably don't want to know," she said, turning to face him fully. "I promise it will be safer than it sounds. The important thing is that I'll need Jane's help, and I'd rather she be rested and ready than worn out from running her shop."
She looked at Jane then. Something in her expression reminded Jane that this woman was the most powerful mage in the kingdom. Whether she meant it to be or not, what came next was close to an order.
"Keep tomorrow free," Cecelia said. "All of it. We have work to do."
—
Walking Allen home, Jane tried to be conversational. It was hard. There were suddenly a lot of things going on.
A few days ago, I was just a baker. Oh, for such simpler times.
Allen was turning out to be a remarkably sensitive young man, Jane found. It only took a few minutes of watching her scowl before he seemed to have her inner state figured out.
“I’m sorry things have gotten so weird for you,” he said. “I wish there was more I could do to help. I feel useless.”
“You aren’t, Allen.”
“I don’t know. What have I really done to help? I got you dinner and took you to a couple watery places. That’s it.”
Jane smiled and gripped his hand tighter. He really was a good man. It took her a moment to find the words to explain what she wanted to get across, but he was also good about giving her that time.
“Those things are what I have to lose, Allen. They are the things I might not have time for, now. But that’s not bad. You and Bella and the others are the ones who have given me a life worth worrying about losing in the first place. That’s all help.” She tightened her grip even more, till she was afraid she might be overdoing it. “This helps. I promise.”
They stopped at the top of the stairs back down to Allen’s workshop. He leaned down and kissed her gently. She let him. It was nice.
“Look at us,” she said. “We can almost do that like it’s normal.”
“Yeah.” Allen smiled. “It’s like we’ve been doing it for years.”
“I wish. It’s only been a few days.”
“Well, we have time.”
Allen kissed her again, then swung away, keeping a grip on just her fingertips. “I’m sorry I have to go so soon. You’ll be fine?”
“Of course. I’m sorry for taking you away from your work so much. You must be terribly behind.”
Allen looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“Remind me to tell you how my work goes, someday. I hardly have bills, Jane, and the work I do take on pays plenty. Don’t worry about my time. I could take a month off without any worries, if it was for something worthwhile.” He squeezed her fingertips one last time. “In case there’s any confusion, you are very worthwhile.”
Jane more or less floated back to her house. It was while she lingered on her stoop, sitting and dreamily watching other people go about their business, that she finally saw the little wrapped package on top of her dinner hold box, complete with a note.
Hi Jane,
I was thinking how you’ve had me over twice now and I haven’t done a single nice thing for you yet. Bella told me you aren’t allowed to open up your bakery. From what I know of you, that’s going to drive you crazy. I decided to give you this just in case you were going to spend some time practicing. I figured they couldn’t keep you from doing that.
Your friend,
Emily
Inside the box were a few dozen eggs, some flour, and a few other ingredients that Emily or some helpful shopkeep had thought it was possible she might need. There was enough for a good night’s baking, even if Jane was incredibly wasteful with it.
She clutched the box to her chest and stood.
Well, I suppose I know what I’m doing tonight.