#thebook

There was no response, even though Hussex was meant to be holding office hours. 

“Sir?” Gershom knocked on the frame of the door a second time. The door itself shifted ever so slightly as if to invite them in. Gershom looked at the door, then at Aurion, then back at the door, unsure on what to do. 

“He has a desk, doesn’t he?” Aurion said. “Let’s just leave the letter on his desk.” 

Under his glasses, Gershom’s cheeks scrunched up along with a grimace. “I don’t feel comfortable doing that. This is Hussex’s private laboratory- even wizard professors aren’t allowed in without invitation. It’s an invasion of his privacy.” 

Aurion nudged the door with the toe of his boot. “If it were meant to be private, would the door be left ajar like this?” 

“I suppose not.” Gershom hesitated. It was true that students did occasionally leave papers and spell results on the desks of their mentors and colleagues. Gershom never did- he wanted to ensure that his work was received directly by his professors, with no interference. The safety of this letter left no reflection on Gershom, and as such, it would not be his fault if Hussex was angry towards the intruder. Or if the letter was tampered with. “Fine. You go first. But for the record, I was against this.” 

“Noted.” Aurion smirked, then sauntered past Gershom into the lab. Just a few steps from the doorway, he stopped. With Aurion’s height, Gershom couldn’t see beyond him, but he could see how Aurion’s soft posture tensed, and the way his hands moved from their lazy manner in his pockets. 

Without turning, Aurion backed up, as if retracing his steps exactly. Once he was in the main chamber, Gershom went to look around him and into the room, but Aurion put a hand on his shoulder. “You can look. But don’t go in.” 

The tone struck Gershom as suddenly, incredibly serious. Gershom the Logical was never one to doubt sudden somber moments. Solemnly, he nodded, then stepped forward so he could look into the laboratory. 

Only once before had Gershom had the pleasure of entering Hussex the Ox-Eyed and Munificent’s personal laboratory, though they had spoken a few times beyond that. In his second year of his wizarding studies at MacKraken Tower, along with a group of his peers, Gershom had been invited to witness Hussex the Ox-Eyed and Munificent, Venerable Elder of Konigs, Protector of the Fourth Spire, test a new shielding spell of his own creation. It was magic. A perfect meeting of practice and praxis. 

There was very little in the laboratory now that reflected that day. 

The laboratory glittered. The bright sun shined in through the large windows that made up the room’s eastern wall, and the rays cast themselves onto the shattered surfaces about the room. Broken gemstones, mirrors, crystal balls, and what seemed to Gershom to be hundreds of knives. Thousands. Knives everywhere- in the walls, the bookshelves, the astronomical studies and specimens, in the furniture, and driven into other knives. 

Then were the knives in Hussex himself. 

His body was barely visible, under the avalanche of knives. Gershom, though, was still able to instantly identify him due to the magnificence of his now blood-stained beard. 

Gershom staggered back through the door. The contents of his stomach upended themselves just outside, a bilious mixture of half-digested crackers and tea. Physically, he felt better after, but his head still swam. It wasn’t the blood, or even the disarray that bothered him so. 

It was the look on Hussex’s face, what Gershom could parse between the knives. His open, blank eyes. The way his mouth hung ajar just so, when it was usually hidden by his bountiful facial hair. Hussex the Ox-Eyed and Munificent was a man with great presence and charisma. Being near him made the air thinner and the room smaller. Seeing him reduced to just a… an empty canister, a mound of flesh and fabric… More blood and meat than anything else…

It felt wrong. A learned, powerful man with a twinkle in his eye. A hand extended, even towards Gershom when he proposed even his most absurd of queries. Even after their disastrous final discussion.

And worse still, it seemed that Gershom was the first to find his body. He felt obligated to report on the death of this great man, but Gershom was fully aware of his own reputation. If Gershom reported it, he knew he would become the primary suspect. Even worse, a necromancer would likely be summoned to help investigate the crime after Gershom proclaimed his innocence. 

A necromancer like the Red Lady, puppeting Hussex around. Trapping his thoughts and spirit, extending his suffering…

And then the investigation into Gershom himself. 

Gershom fell to his knees. His head fell into his hands, and distantly Gershom knew his hat was sliding to the floor. With trembling hands, he tried to right it. A wizard was not meant to be outside their rooms without their hat. It was against the rules. It was dangerous. Yet Gershom still could not keep it steady. 

His hat fell to the floor. The top point of it drooped to the side. 

After a period of time that Gershom found himself unable to process, he felt movement next to him. Then a faint, familiar weight back atop his brow. 

“Thank you,” Gershom said automatically. 

“Gotta stay safe, right?” Aurion laughed. It petered out quickly when Gershom did not join in, or even smile. “Though no known protection spell could keep you safe from that many knives shot at that force.” 

Gershom stalked to the other side of the room, his robes flowing behind him. “Hussex is the greatest wizard of this tower. No! Possibly the greatest wizard in all of Konigs! Your friend must be very important indeed to be able to contact him so leisurely. No matter. I will take you to him at once- no need to even check the registry. He resides on the second-highest floor of the tower.”

“A personal escort? You’re too kind. Perhaps I should be calling you munificent instead.” Aurion grinned as he too rose from his chair, then gestured towards the door with a graceful bow, as if inviting Gershom to dance. 

Gershom found himself to be unimpressed. Even if this particular guest had been rude to Gershom, the wizard found himself partial towards the old rules of hospitality. Simultaneously, he could not allow a random sorcerer to roam about, even if said sorcerer did have correspondence meant for Hussex the Ox-Eyed and Munificent, Venerable Elder of Konigs, Protector of the Fourth Spire. “I know where the door to my own office is, thank you. Furthermore, I cannot just leave you unattended. It would be untoward.” 

“We wouldn’t want that,” Aurion smiled, and rose from his bow. “Now, shall we?”

Gershom nodded, then strode out the door, robes fluttering behind him. Aurion made to follow. Then Gershom immediately turned around and pushed past Aurion, back into his office. Gershom opened a box and began to sort through, shifting pieces of fabric around. 

Realizing what was happening, Aurion groaned. “Oh, please no.”

Triumphantly, Gershom pulled one of his apprentice hats from the box. Over the years, Gershom had come to appreciate a brimmed hat, but this hat was a solid, bright red cone. Two embroidered stars twinkled, as if happy to be freed from the box prison. The stars came from a time in which Gershom had been considering studying in the School of Astronomy, gleaning magic from space and stars. It had not kept his interest for long. 

He held out the hat for Aurion to accept. 

“Must I?” He croaked out. To Gershom, he did seem to be something of a vain creature, with his unblemished skin and wavy locks of golden hair. However. 

“You must,” Gershom insisted. Aurion seemed to know it too, the way he steeled himself with resignation and placed the wizard hat on his head. The hat, together with his long, pointed ears, made Aurion’s head look not dissimilar to the Spires.

Gershom nodded, then finally led Aurion to the base of the stairs. He put his hand on the stair rail, then stepped onto the second stair. Indicating for Aurion to step on the first, he pressed the sequence that would take them up to the office of Hussex the Ox-Eyed and Munificent, Venerable Elder of Konigs, Protector of the Fourth Spire. The penultimate floor. Their chosen steps began to move upwards along the staircase.

Looking over his shoulder at Aurion, who was studying the steps with interest, Gershom spoke. “You’re quite fortunate that you came this early in the morning. If you try to use the stairs around lunch, you sometimes find yourself waiting upwards of thirty minutes for your stair to move! On such occasions, I find it faster to go manually, even if it does mean dodging any moving stairs.” 

“Are there no other ways for people to get to higher floors of this tower?” Aurion asked. 

“Aside from the servant’s stairs, no. I don’t believe those have been spelled for ease of transport either. Those who know spells that can make them fly by any means could likely travel through that method as well, though it’s not accessible to those who don’t have such spells in their repertoire.” Each tower tended to have their own special ways of making transportation easier. Gershom had once heard of a tower that had birds spelled to be a hundred times their original size, just to ferry residents from floor to floor.

Aurion considered this, then laughed shortly. “I see now why your tower insists on hats, even for visitors.” 

“Most towers encourage residents and visitors to wear hats, you know,” Gershom said. “Though most do have spells of protection against certain spells, and to preserve the head in case of injury, it began as a sign of respect. Your wizard robes and wizard hat tell people your skills and status.” Gershom noticed Aurion study the embroidery on his robes. He continued talking. “These days, as towers have become academic institutions as opposed to intellectual hermitages, the wizard hat became practical as opposed to simply decorative.” They passed a mid-level floor, as they briefly heard the loud boom of an explosion resonate. “Case in point- that floor has numerous classrooms and labs.”

“Wizards aren’t usually known for their skills in creating explosions,” Aurion pointed out, “unless we consider Ignus the Explosive, of course.”

“Of course,” Gershom conceded. “However, in certain schools, such as the School of Kinetics, explosions may happen by accident. The discerning wizard could even record their movements, so if a mistake is made and a reaction happens, one can see if it’s a newly discovered incident. The wizard presiding over that class could then recreate the circumstance and publish information on a new spell.” 

Gershom paused, then spoke again, this time at nearly twice the speed. “Did you know, historically, the first wizard recorded to professionally wear a hat was Gingkus the Electric? That was before he went mad and used lightning to cleave Mount Valiant into the Valiant Valley. Supposedly, his hat had a plain design, but he wore robes with storm-like embroidery. To reflect his mood, I imagine,” Gershom chuckled to himself. 

“I didn’t know that,” Aurion answered. 

“It’s good to learn at least one new thing every day. Or so I like to think.” Gershom turned around and smiled at Aurion. Aurion smiled back. “Not much longer now until we reach the top. Then you can deliver your letter and be on your way.” 

“Getting rid of me so soon?” Aurion teased. 

Gershom considered that. Aurion had been rude at their introduction, slighting him and his tower. Even still, it had been quite a long time since anyone had been willing to listen to Gershom talk- willing and happily. It was always possible Aurion was just being polite, in fact, that was the most likely reason why anyone would listen to Gershom go on and on about the origin of hats. Though, the origin of wizarding attire was rather interesting…

“Gershom?” Aurion asked, still smiling. 

It was a meticulously kept space- pens and pads in a neat line at the end of his desk, unnecessary items kept in decorated boxes against the wall, artworks of famous wizards hanging on the walls behind clean, polished glass. The only sign of disarray was in the large chalkboard making up the entirety of one wall. It was covered in letters and words, in indiscernible charts and frustrated scribbles yet to be erased. The board was unusual itself- most wizards tended to use concentrated light or dictation to cast words on a board. Gershom, however, found himself enjoying the tactile aspect of putting chalk to board, and word to paper. It was much faster too, which made for an easier time recording notes, quotes, and other thoughts.

He had always been the type to ask too many questions in his student seminars at the tower, and had always loved to create problems for himself. His former mentor, Toadstle of the Gloaming Dream, always loved to share the story of how Gershom had put so many annotations in his copy of Nortootin’s Poem of Spring Rains that instead of calling rain, he called a plague of locusts. Toadstle had lunch for several days, but his other students had fled in terror. 

Though Gershom studied under Toadstle, and successfully graduated from apprentice to wizard, it was readily apparent that the Poetic School of Wizardry was perhaps not the path Gershom was meant to take. His poetic spells were perfectly metered, and always rhymed beautifully, but they underperformed next to romantics like Ofelia the Romantic. They were too logical, lacking in emotional resonance and beauty. At one point in his career, Toadstle had advised Gershom to consider transferring to a mathematical path, or even linguistic, but Gershom had stuck true to the School of Poetics. (At no point did Toadstle suggest a kinetic path, or even worse, forsake wizardry for sorcery or artificiery. Gershom had the mind of a wizard, no one could deny this.) 

There was still debate onto whether or not the style of spellcasting Gershom was slowly inventing was poetic, mathematical, or even linguistic, but none of the schools were interested in absorbing him and his studies, leaving Gershom in a liminal, unliked in-between. 

Gershom seated himself on his side of the desk. His own chair was old and had been patched up numerous times, and would likely be uncomfortable to anyone other than Gershom, with the way it had long molded to his exact shape. The other side of the desk had a cheap, unwelcoming and uncushioned chair that he had liberated from a classroom. 

Aurion made to seat himself in Gershom’s guest chair, then spotted Gershom’s workboard and sauntered over to examine that instead. “And what’s this?”

“Something I’m working on at the present.”

As Aurion’s eyes moved over the board, his expression changed from amusement into something indiscernible and closed off. “And what’s this,” he said again, this time in a low voice. 

“It is unfinished, and none of your business.” Gershom sighed and reached for his spare cloak, then tossed it on top of the workboard. “Spare me your opinions, please. I get enough of them from the other wizards.”

Aurion lifted a bit of the cloak with two fingers. “I can see why. Most wizards aren’t keen to operate around restrictions when they could be reaching new heights.” He let the cloak drop. “But what would I know? I’m no wizard.”

This was true, but as a sorcerer, the work wizards did had a direct impact on his own line of work. Furthermore, he had just been at Palladium Tower, and was meant to be delivering a message to another wizard. However, Gershom reflected, even those who practiced magic but were not wizards tended not to understand the full extent of wizard politics, nor the technicalities behind the scenes of spellcasting. Gershom let it drop. “It’s never too late to resume your studies, should you wish to become a wizard.”

Aurion looked at Gershom through the corner of his eye, then finally settled in the guest chair. One leg was thrown over the arm of the chair, and he leaned back over the other to accommodate the position. “Only if you’d be my mentor.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Tell me then,” he answered, tilting his head so it could rest on the palm of his hand. “Maybe you’re the one I’m meant to deliver this to! Wouldn’t that be something? And it would make my life much easier.” 

“I doubt it is addressed to me. I don’t receive much correspondence.”

“Correct me then.”

“I am Gershom the Logical,” he said. 

Aurion’s smile stretched into a perfect grin. It was roguishly charming, and struck Gershom as incredibly practiced. “I’ve never met a wizard with that epithet before. Clever, dextrous, hard-working, but logical?”

“I am exceedingly logical,” Gershom replied in monotone. 

Aurion laughed in two short bursts. “Maybe I should take lessons from you, then! I’d love to learn more about your unique perspective. I’ve always found logic to be quite dull. My winning smile has done more for me than a practiced argument.” He showed off said winning smile. Gershom studied the line of his straight teeth before he nodded to concede the point.

“Your hypothetical burgeoning career as a wizard would be immediately made static if I was your mentor.” Gershom settled into his own chair, smoothing out his robes as he settled. “Now, what was the name of the wizard you were sent to deliver a message to? I can look it up in the floor registry.” 

In his tenure at Mackraken Tower, Gershom’s chamber and offices had been moved from the middle of the tower, to near the very top, and now all the way down to the very bottom. It was due to this that Gershom often found himself being instructed by the high wizards to manage tasks that more respected wizards could not be bothered to deal with, such as being the first to greet unwelcome guests. 

For example: a man stood in the center of the floor that made up the base of the tower. Gershom found it almost artistic- the way he stood at the exact point of center, looking up at the admittedly rather daunting set of spiraling stairs going up. Aside from the large, wooden double door that made up the tower’s entrance, there were a few other doors on the empty entrance. Two sets led to the floors underground, one of which led to a series of laboratories and the other to an area Gershom had never been- the rooms of the general servants, who did general tasks around the tower’s public areas. 

The tower’s base was one of such public areas. There was no seating, as one was not meant to meander in that hall, but there were some floating lights to illuminate the way, alongside the few pieces of art bordering the walls and stairs. One particularly stubborn flame liked to flit about the nameplate resting on the base’s last set of doors. Those doors opened to Gershom’s office and rooms. 

Gershom stepped from his office, deftly sliding his hat atop his head. He already had on his robe, as it could get cold on the lower floors of the tower. Gershom knew he didn’t make for the most distinguished wizard, even if his robes and hat themselves were quite respectable. To keep his thick, brown curls manageable, Gershom kept his hair short, just curling under the brim of his hat. His beard, too, was kept shortly shorn for practical reasons. He wasn’t particularly short or tall, neither was he fat nor thin- just average. The only particularly interesting thing about him was his eyes- a pretty blue-ish purple which his mother often insinuated came from an unknown goblin ancestor in the bloodline. 

It was Gershom’s mother who encouraged Gershom to pick a majestic purple base for his hat and robes. Not only would it match his eyes beautifully, she said, but it would make the white threads of poetic embroidery really shine. Despite his disgrace, the threads of his accomplishment still shimmered over his back and shoulders, down to his wrists and ankles. They moved in lazy lines, petals dancing on the surface of the water. They were truly lovely, but Gershom knew they did not suit his magic. 

Even still, they declared him suitable to live in the tower, so wore them Gershom did. Furthermore, they declared him fit to speak for the tower on the matters of strangers at the door, including the one looking up the staircase.

“Can I help you?” Gershom asked the stranger around a yawn. 

The elfish stranger grinned in a charming manner, and leaned against the stair rail in a way that strategically emphasized his long, lean legs. They were not obscured by a robe, nor were his eyes and hair hidden beneath a hat. He was tall and aesthetically proportioned and his long auburn hair, gathered up into a tail at the nape of his neck, glittered like gold against the fire-light. “You can. I need to speak to your master.”

Gershom felt his eyes narrow. “I have no master. I am a titled wizard. If I cannot help you, please leave.” He fixed the collar of his robe.

The stranger smiled, and put his hands up. “My apologies then, Master Wizard…?”

Gershom did not give his name.

The stranger’s hands went down. “Ah, you’re right, I should have introduced myself first. I am Aurion, a humble sorcerer. You can’t fault me though- it isn’t often a titled wizard answers the door. Don’t you have any servants or apprentices? Mackraken certainly isn’t low on funds.”

Gershom closed his eyes, finding himself unwilling to entertain after that insult. “No solicitors. If you are looking to hire someone with magic, please contact your local sorcerer’s guild. If you are looking for a potion or amulet, there are several skilled witches in town. If you are here to seek curing of any curses, the closest temple which can give you assistance is one such belonging to Mercy. If you have any other questions for any specific wizards, please reach out to their apprentices or servants to set up an appointment.” 

The sound of slow clapping made Gershom open his eyes. The man had moved from his lean, and had come to crowd Gershom at the door to his own office. “Did you rehearse that?”

Gershom’s fingers further closed around their grip on his door, and he began to push it closed. “If you don’t have any business, leave.”