“Attached is your requested materials and a form to send back with accompanying research notes. We are eager to hear back from you regarding this project…” Flip let out a hiss of air that was equal parts contempt and confusion. “Office of the primogen, authorized Habitha Dotelle and Her Ladyship, Prestige Erma.” Flip was relieved that he had not made a greater fool of himself upon the realization that he had in fact used an effective charm spell on a member of nobility. Possibly a baroness. Thank goodness it wasn’t something more obnoxious. Royalty could be so… foolhardy.

Flip placed the letter to the side and addressed the package proper. It was a small wooden crate, thoroughly sealed and nailed shut. Flip could tell it had not been tampered with, a nosey deliverer might have found themselves in a bad spot if the materials within found their way into the wrong hands. Flip made a note to pay the same delivery boy better next time, should he be sent to his tower again.

Though it required the use of tools not commonly handled in Flip’s tower, the crate was soon opened by way of chisel and hammer to pry the top panel free. An envelope was adhered to the inside of the top panel, which Flip ignored in favor of the contents of the crate; a mixture of sawdust and straw concealed a lead cylinder. Flip placed the cylinder on his worktable and discarded the remainder of the crate. It would make useful kindling for the stove later.

The cylinder had a slight sloshing sound to it, thicker than water, but thinner than a tar or animated ooze. It was fortunate that the cylinder was still sealed, otherwise the contents—assuming they were what had been requested—would have caused quite a bit of trouble. The runes around the section that, Flip assumed, would unscrew and open the container had a very faint black glow to them, indicating a very practiced locking spell. The glow seemed to be waning, which probably meant that the lock was intended to dissipate after a short amount of time.

“All things fade with time, let this too.”

“And risk further danger, I think not.”

Flip turned to the open hatch that lead up to the ground floor of the tower, climbed the first few rungs of the ladder and pulled on the rope to fully close the area off.

“Sound and fury, be not here.” Flip pointed his index finger and little finger to the ceiling and moved his arm in a circular motion as he recited the shortened incantation of his silencing spell.

“And no soul near or far may hear.”

Flip turned again to his worktable and placed his right ring finger directly on the middle of the standing cylinder. He gave the runes another careful inspection before beginning the next incantation.

“’Knock, knock’ comes the ticking of the clock.” A loud knocking sound reverberated out from the cylinder, like a strong fist against a great wooden door, and the runes faded.

“Enter safely by the crest, into sanctuary where treasures rest.”

“Enough of you.” Flip muttered into the darkness of the subterranean room around him.

There was no response. Silence reigned as Flip set to work unscrewing the lid from the cylinder and pouring the contents, a reddish-purple slime, out into a glass tumbler set in a metal stand and lit the candle that sat beneath it. Flip retrieved his other reagents from their respective pouches on his person or storage compartments at his worktable; powdered satyr horn, lily root ash, and disintegrated dire beast barb. Unusual ingredients, not usually in harmony, though through disharmony they were most useful.

The slime had begun to foam slightly, a signal that it had reached an ideal temperature. Flip emptied the tumbler carefully into a small lead lined cauldron, taking care not to spill any, and then one by one sprinkled in odd amounts of the other ingredients, taking occasional breaks to stir them together with the thin glass rod he had purchased for that exact purpose. Though the cauldron was not heated, the mixture bubbled and roiled until the final reagent was added, at which point it grew calm immediately and took on its final appearance; a very dark purple, almost fully black, ink.

“Did I lie to you?”

“Would you like me to test that, or trust you enough to allow you live?”

“Do as you wish.”

Flip turned back to his worktable again and laid out a piece of parchment prepared for charms; high quality paper that would adhere on one side when wetted. It had to be weighed down with a small block of wood on the top and bottom to prevent rolling while the charm was being written down, though that wasn’t common. There was only so much ink and Flip wanted to make every drop count. He began with a light charcoal trace, and then, once he was satisfied that the runes on the paper were accurate, he searched for his brush. It was horsehair brush cut to a very fine tip, which Flip wetted along his tongue before giving it a gentle twist and dipping it into the fresh pot of ink. There was a slight sulfurous smell as the hair touched the ink, almost as if it was burning, but there was no trace of smoke or vapor.

The smell caused Flip to pause before continuing. This was an unexpected reaction, and as such required care. Flip rested the brush carefully on the lip of the cauldron, taking the time to be sure of its balance, and retrieved a long cloth from the rack by the ladder to wrap around his face to protect his mouth and nose. Along with the cloth, Flip retrieved a pair of riding gloves he had adhered a tree sap solution to the fingertips of to maintain a good grip when wearing them.

Protected, Flip continued. The stencil work was slow and methodical, the horrible sulfurous smell filling the room as he went. Were the runes simpler, the work would have gone faster, but the runes were alien and twisting in ways that made them hard to trace without lifting the hand from the paper a dozen extra times. But when the first was complete, it was clear to see that it was functional. The air around the drying ink had a faint chill to it, and upon inspection through an arcane lens there were evident fluctuations in the magic that flowed around the paper. Though it was unclear what the charm did exactly based on any inspection.

Testing was required.

Flip turned back to the dark half circle of his tower basement. He had not seen the far wall in some time due to the obscurities that had been placed in the middle of the room to divide it.

“Perhaps we will see how honest you are, know that I have no doubt that you have done something. Though what I cannot say.”

“Test as you will. I will be gentle.”

“I will not.”

Flip took in a long breath of filtered air before pulling back his face covering just long enough to lick the back of the now dry charm. With a light press it was stuck on the rafter to which his other, older spell was carved. Nothing changed.

With another long, slow breath, Flip waved his hand and dismissed the barrier that divided the basement workshop in half.