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My jaw dropped. I couldn’t decide whether I was more surprised by the building or by the revelation that Morrow was a member of one of the Black Market guilds. But should it have been so surprising? Theodore Morrow was a professional, perfectly crafting and copying his own scrolls, organizing them in that beautiful card catalog perched above his desk.
This last HQ resembled a library, its exterior a regal, polished wood. Open books flew about the guild’s atrium, using their covers as wings. Scrolls and parchment wove in and out of the great wooden pillars. A great serpent made entirely of a sheaf of documents rippled in the breeze as it flew out of the atrium and in through an open window.
Morrow beamed at me, watching expectantly as he looked from my face to the library and back. So this was what he meant about showing me around. The eagerness in his smile was just another thing to add to the long list of what I really, really liked about Theodore Morrow.
“That’s — honestly super impressive, Morrow. The guild of scribes? I should have guessed.”
“Thank you. We’re called the Thousand Hands. Fantastic place. Scribes, calligraphers, anyone who works with paper and ink, really.”
He stood arms akimbo, staring up at the great library, eyes bright with fondness.
“The guild’s true test is to demonstrate your mastery of your chosen discipline. Calligraphy, illuminating manuscripts, whatever. An initiate must wear a white robe — and only a white robe — while crafting their masterpiece. Not a drop of ink must be spilled. Naturally, you only pass if you walk out with a pristine robe.”
“And how did your test go? I’m guessing you passed?”
Morrow chuckled. “With flying colors. Now, come on. I truly wish I could keep showing you around, but we’ve got places to be.”
I trailed after him, giving the grand library of the Thousand Hands one last look, wistfully imagining Theodore Morrow wearing a white robe.
And only a white robe.
CHAPTER 13
We finally reached our destination, another guild at the edge of the hub, home of the exact jewelry experts that Freyja had hinted at.
Marquise & Empress specialized in the craft and study of ensorcelled jewelry, the art of embedding spells and enchantments in stylish wearables. A brooch to make you less noticeable in a crowd, a set of cuff links that fire lightning bolts — an accredited member of Marquise & Empress can create the perfect valuable vessel for your spellcasting needs.
For the right price, of course.
Their guild headquarters reminded me of a palace from a bygone age, the kind of place that invaders would gladly ransack for its architectural embellishments alone. Like a Fabergé egg, truly, its exteriors gilded and gleaming in the sun, jewels encrusting every available surface, the windows faceted and vibrantly hued like cut gemstones.
How the guild members swanned around while weighed down with so much jewelry was beyond me. I knew that trends changed, that style was cyclical, but this bordered on the ridiculous.
Alexandra Thorpe at the Happy Links Too opening had nothing on these people. Maximalism was in. I thought this one woman was dressed in full chainmail armor until we passed her in the corridor. How many chains, bracelets, and necklaces did one person really need?
The halls of the guild building were suspiciously unguarded for a place that was literally embedded with precious materials. Experience had shown me how to look out for plainclothes enforcer mages, but there weren’t any on the premises.
The closest thing to security they had were crystalline orbs suspended from the ceiling, swiveling and rotating as visitors and guild members alike maneuvered the halls. I squinted at one of them, then blinked. It blinked back.
It was the very absence of defensive measures that meant you had to be especially careful in a place like this. Kind of like the Occultech building, which I’d only recently confirmed had some extremely terrifying wards installed on the premises. Doris had mentioned something about a trap that could blow someone’s legs off. Very violent, very Occultech.
Morrow and I had planned to step into the very first guild member office we found, judiciously avoiding the extravagant jewelry stores that seemed to wait around every corner. Then around the next corner, a man standing next to a stack of leather trunks and suitcases waved us over. This was the last person I expected to represent the guild of jewelers, a muscular middle-aged gentleman who wasn’t at all afraid to remind the world of how well-built he was.
Wearing his vaguely tactical cargo pants with more pockets and pouches than I’d ever think of needing, those rugged boots, he reminded me more of an adventurer than a jeweler or a gemologist. His open vest did nothing to disguise his chiseled arms, chest, and abs, and the grin behind his week-old scruff told me that he liked that I liked what I was seeing.
As we made our introductions I could tell that Morrow was standing a little bit taller, holding his shoulders a little bit broader. I bit back an amused smile.
“Flint Lockstone,” the man said, his chest puffed out, arms akimbo in a heroic pose. “Adventurer, jeweler, and accredited peer to all these other pretentious jerks.” He nudged his head at the cumbersome collection of luggage that stacked all the way up to his shoulder. “Just getting ready for another adventure.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “It’s a steady gig. Keeps me going between expeditions, keeps said expeditions funded, lets me go on plenty of hunts for magic relics and cursed knick-knacks. I mean, the networking’s worth it, and the guild crest on my chest makes me look a little more professional.”
I glanced at his vest, failing to find any hint of a Marquise & Empress emblem there. He clucked his tongue and winked.
“Made you look.”
I tittered like a schoolboy. Morrow scowled.
“Mr. Lockstone,” Morrow said, “we’re here to investigate a disturbing phenomenon that’s affecting our city. A corporation is selling unusual charms to mundanes. These pieces of jewelry appear to be warping their minds.”
