The man spoke. It was the sound of gravel rubbing together. “What was that for? That was to stop you ruining Zabin’s entire month’s efforts. Come with me before you destroy someone else’s work.”

The man engulfed Niall’s arm in an immense hand and dragged him towards an exit. Niall did not even bother to struggle, the strength in that hand was not something he could contend with. He quickly realised the man had not tried to hurt him properly when he had hit him before. The strength those arms contained would have broken him in half if it had been fully utilised.

Niall could feel dozens of pairs of curious eyes looking at him as they left and his cheeks burned. He was dragged through an archway and out of the courtyard. He found himself in an elegant stone cloister with arched ceilings soaring high above him. A few people walking through glanced at them as they passed. There was no time for Niall to admire his surroundings though, as the man started to speak again.

“So, who are you, and why are you sabotaging my students?” The grey-skinned man released Niall as he spoke and folded his arms again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I felt something tugging at my Spirit. I reached out with it to see what it was.”

The glare on the man’s face intensified. “You just reached out? With untuned Spirit. In a courtyard full of people working on their master pieces? I’ve not seen you before. What idiot are you studying under if they’ve not taught you that’s a terrible idea?”

“I’m not studying here. Not yet. I’m just an apprentice. My master is Devon, Devon Silverfeld. It’s not his fault though, he never told me to do this.”

Niall did not believe the man could look angrier, but it appeared he could. “How dare you use that name? You’re Devon’s apprentice? Rubbish. Don’t lie to me. Devon wouldn’t send someone as unprepared as you to study here. Anyway, he’s already got one Journeyman here. He wouldn’t send two at once.”

Niall raised his hands. “No, I’m not explaining this very well. Devon didn’t send me here to study. I’ve only been his apprentice for a few months. I’m here for Militia Training. Devon asked me to check up on his daughter, nothing more.”

The man’s face finally softened. “I suppose that’s possible; he was always soppy when it came to family. Well, I don’t have any more time to waste on you. You can tell Devon that Egroth Granitebinder sends his regards and that Alyce is progressing well, but he shouldn’t expect her home until the end of the year. Now get out of my guild.”

With that, Egroth accosted a passing man and instructed him to escort Niall out. In short order, Niall found himself back out on the street, the door of the guild firmly shut behind him. He bought a couple of skewers of grilled chicken coated in peanut sauce from a street vendor and sat on the edge of a fountain to compose himself.

That had definitely not been the introduction to the Blacksmith’s guild he had hoped for. Nonetheless, at least he had managed to get an answer for Devon about his daughter. It would have been ideal if he could have spoken to her himself but it was better than nothing.

With some food inside him, Niall felt better and he headed off to his next destination. Once out of the guild sector, the shops gave way to houses and the bustle decreased. The further Niall headed into the city, the more the clothes of the people around him noticeably increased in quality. Not only that, but the streets were cleaner and wider. He took a few turns and found himself in front of a substantial, well maintained, but largely unexceptional town house.

He checked the address Devon had given him. This was the right place so he rapped on the knocker. After a few minutes a woman opened the door. Her long dress was immaculate and her hair styled. She looked Niall up and down. Niall was suddenly aware the clothes he was wearing marked him as a non-urbanite. “Yes?” she said.

“I was hoping to speak to Lucas Towers. I am a friend of Devon Silverfeld.”

“There is no one of that name here.”

Niall looked confused and held out the piece of paper with the address written on it. “I’m sorry, have I got the right place?”

The woman glanced at the piece of paper. “Yes, it is.”

“But I was told Lucas, Patrick’s partner, lived here. Patrick might have died earlier this year?”

“Died? Oh, I say. Anyway, there’s no Lucas and no Patrick here. The Farville family have lived here for over a decade and I have worked for them all of that time. No one with those names either lives or works here. Now, I will have to ask you to leave.” The woman shut the door in Niall’s face before he could say anything more.

Niall stepped back and walked slowly down the street. As he came to a corner, he saw a wizened woman seated at a flower stall. He paused. If today was his day for humiliation, then he may as well embrace it. He took a deep breath.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I was just at that house down there. The Farville’s house? I was looking for Lucas Towers but they didn’t know him. You don’t happen to know anyone of that name who lived around here?”

“Lucas Towers? Dr Lucas and Professor Patrick? That takes me back. They loved their matching carnations they did. But they haven’t lived here for a long time dear. Ten, fifteen years maybe. Where does the time go? Those two were around at the same time as the Richmond’s. Now there was a family that knew their flowers...”

Niall interrupted before the old woman could continue reminiscing. “Lucas and Patrick. You don’t know where they went do you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dearie. I don’t know. I just know they don’t live here anymore. The two of them worked in the History department at the University, though. They may be able to help.”

Niall bought a small bunch of tulips to thank the old lady. He noted the directions she gave him to the University then headed off.

The numbers of people started to pick up again as he approached the University sector. The inns in the area were crowded, often with people reading books or sitting in groups having intense discussions. The quality of the clothing remained high but the people were noticeably younger than elsewhere in the city, with the average age being close to Niall’s own. These streets were far more multicultural as well, with humans only just outnumbering those of different races. Even among the humans, there was a greater diversity than he had previously seen.

The University itself was easy to find, as it dominated this part of the city. Wide gates led onto an open campus with buildings of varying sizes set amongst grassland. Niall only had to talk to a couple of people before he found himself at the History department. It was set in a modest grey stone building.

Niall was again aware he did not fit in, but he was not going to let it stop him. There was something he had always fantasised about trying. This was his chance. If nothing else, he needed to work the embarrassment at the guild out of his system. Timidity was not going to cut it. He squared his shoulders and strode in. As he approached the reception desk, the look on his face suggested he was entitled to be there. At least that was what he hoped.

The man behind the reception desk was busy scribbling. Niall tapped his bunch of tulips ostentatiously on the desk until the man looked up.

Niall gave him the same look the woman at the Farville’s house had given him. “I’m looking for information about Doctor and Professor Towers. I was told they worked here at some point. They may still.” He hoped the attitude would carry the terrible, affected accent he had put on.

“I’m sorry sir, but I don’t know anyone of that name.”

“In which case I will trouble you to find me someone that does. There’s a good chap. They were certainly here a decade or so ago.”

The man behind the desk stared at him.

“What?” Niall raised an eyebrow.

The receptionist stood and went into an office behind the desk. After a few minutes an older man emerged. “I understand you’re looking for Doctor and Professor Towers.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Unfortunately, both of those gentlemen left this Faculty twelve years ago.”

Niall sighed and raised his eyes to the heavens. “I know that, of course. I was looking for someone I could talk to about them.”

“Well, the only person I can think of is Professor Hemming. He’s the head of the manuscripts department in which they both worked.”

“Good show. Where can I find him?”

“Oh, the Professor is very busy. If you want to leave him a message though, I will make sure he gets it.”

“Not to worry. I need to see him now. I’ll just wander into each of the professors’ offices until I find him. I’m sure they won’t mind. This way?” Niall turned and headed toward the stairs at the side of the lobby.

The supervisor bustled out from behind the desk and stood in Niall’s way. “You can’t just go wandering about the faculty building.”

“Well, if you won’t tell Professor Hemming I want to see him then I don’t have a choice, do I?” Niall pushed past him and started up the stairs.

The supervisor came round to stand in front of him again. “Stop. This is terribly irregular. Fine. You wait in those chairs and I will tell him you’re here. I can’t promise he will see you though. What is your name?”

“Niall, Niall Vendra. And thanks awfully. Much appreciated.”

Niall returned to the lobby and took a seat. He ignored the dirty looks the receptionist would occasionally throw him as he waited.

Around half an hour passed before the supervisor came down the stairs accompanied by a very tall slender man. He had a shock of unruly white hair and his skin was the colour of bark. The man walked with the help of a cane but it did not appear to slow him down. As he stumped down the stairs, he looked around the lobby and, without being prompted, came over to Niall. Niall rose to his feet as the man approached but he was still dwarfed. He just had a moment to clock that the man’s skin was not just the colour of bark, it was, in fact, bark, before he started to talk.

“So, you’re the one who wants to know about Lucas and Patrick.”

“Yes, I am.” Niall dropped the affected accent.

“Well, have you come to tell me they’re bringing it back?”

Niall looked confused. “I’m sorry Professor, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. Waste of blinking time.” The Professor turned and stomped off without another word.

Niall called after him. “I think Patrick is dead.”

The man stopped in the middle of the lobby and then turned slowly to look at Niall. “Dead?”

Niall nodded.

“Come with me.” The man snatched the bunch of tulips that Niall was still holding from his hands, turned, and stomped up the stairs without checking to see if Niall was following.

Niall trailed behind the Professor as he marched through a maze of corridors. Eventually, Professor Hemming flung open a wooden door and led Niall into a panelled study. Books, scrolls, and manuscripts filled the shelves that lined the walls and covered the large desk in front of the window.

The Professor plopped the tulips into a half-drunk mug of tea and waved Niall into one of the leather armchairs that sat in front of a cheerfully blazing fire. Given that the, rather eccentric, Professor appeared to be made out of bark Niall found the fire somewhat incongruous but thought it indelicate to comment. The Professor poured himself a tumbler of something from a glass decanter and took a large swig. He did not offer Niall anything.

“So why do you think that old idiot is dead?”

Niall thought fast. He had no plan and was playing this entirely off the cuff. He decided to tell a partial truth. “There was a Bulvine attack. We haven’t found a body, but we don’t think he made it.”

Professor Hemming shook his head. “Stupid, stupid old man. How about Lucas?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about him.”

“So why are you here? I can’t believe you came here just to tell me an old colleague had died.”

“I had hoped to be able to look through some of Patrick’s research.”

Professor Hemming’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you know about his research?”

Niall decided not to try to bluff a university Professor on the subject of research. “To be honest, not a great deal. What I do know is that he was looking into ways of travelling between worlds, or realities.”

“Well, that was no secret. The man was obsessed. He was convinced there were portals that could allow people to move between worlds. The theory’s sound of course.” The Professor had become more animated as he warmed to his theme. “With enough Spirit you can should be able to flex the surface of time and space so two bits of it touch. That would do the trick. Absolute bobbins in practice though.”

“Why is that?”

“What? Oh. Impossible to get enough spirit. Pure theory crafting.”

“Is any of his research still here? I would still be interested in reading it if I could.”

Professor Hemming slammed his tumbler onto his desk, carelessly slopping the drink over his papers. “No there isn’t. Not a bit. He took it all. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, he stole the Penlock Diary. Irreplaceable. Damn thief. If he hadn’t run off, I would have kicked him out myself. No. No. I would have had him thrown in jail. Then I would have him kicked out. Then I would have punched him right in his fat nose.” Professor Hemming held up a thin, goose-spotted fist made of intertwined twigs and waved it in the air.”

“I’m sorry, but what is the Penlock Diary.”

“How can you get to become an adult and not know about the Penlock Diary? Even the dullest post graduate in this department knows what it is. And, believe me, there are some very dull post graduates around here.”

Niall shrugged. “Sorry, but I don’t.”

“Fine. Miriam Penlock was a wool merchant who lived around 170 years ago. Actually, I would argue it was closer to 160 years ago, but that’s not important right now. While she was largely unremarkable, she came to prominence as she had an obsession with finding all of the parts of the Kaldaburg Falchion. You know what that is of course.”

Professor Hemming ignored Niall’s shake of his head and ploughed on. “Anyway, various people have tried to find the pieces before. Why Penlock matters is because, in her travels, she claimed to have discovered where all of the parts were hidden. All of the locations were written in code in her diary. Anyone can claim that sort of thing, of course, doesn’t mean it’s true. People didn’t pay any attention at the time. However, after she died, one of the L’Fae turned up at her funeral and said to the congregation she was right and the diary did in fact show the location of the pieces of the Falchion. Said it, then disappeared. Poof.

“Caused quite a stir. Hundreds of copies of the diary were made and people have been, unsuccessfully, trying to crack the code ever since. The university managed to get hold of the original around ninety years ago. Quite a feather in our cap, let me tell you. And then, Patrick Towers stole the damned thing. On my watch.”

Apparently worn out by his tirade, Professor Hemming slumped in his chair and sipped his drink. “And now you tell me he’s died. No body. Damned convenient if you ask me. How about his house? Has anyone searched that?”

“I’m sorry, Professor. None of us knew where he lived”.

“Well then, you’re a damnable waste of space aren’t you. Get out.”