Master. The once-cherished word now leaves a foul taste in my mind. I reveled in the respect and prestige that came with being Lady Evershed’s apprentice. I loved the feeling of security and stability that came along with working under Ember’s direction. I knew for a fact that she would take care of me and always do her best to steer me in the right direction. Yes, she was gruff sometimes, but that's just how she showed her affection.

Working with Scalpel, however, is a completely different experience. She's cold and calculating, brutish and brooding. She doesn't care about me as a person, but only sees me as a tool. I'm a useful extension of her will, much like a notebook or a knife, not a human with hopes and dreams and goals of my own.

Nonetheless, I have committed myself to this course of action, and I intend to see it through to the end. The thought that reverberates through my mind like a prayer is that I hope the cost isn’t more than I am willing to pay. That determination is sorely tested this morning, the day after returning from the hot shop, as I stand at attention in her drab and dreary workshop and report my findings to Scalpel.

Her glower of dissatisfaction hisses and sparks against my senses. I never took her for the emotional type—she always seems so even and dispassionate, driven by her numbers and notes—but it seems like my series of successes with Melidandri have awoken in her a competitive, bitterly jealous spirit.

"You believe you've had a breakthrough in your understanding of mana control, yet you're unable to demonstrate it on demand? That's two weeks in a row that you return with news of wild, barely believable progress, and no proof to verify your claims. And you wonder why I am not in a rush to teach you my craft.”

I shrug helplessly. “I suppose that may look suspicious, but it's the truth. I can’t replicate what I learned just yet. One, it requires more mana than I can handle at the moment, and two, I don’t have a strong enough grasp of the concepts I’m trying to convey.”

Scalpel’s lips twist into a sneer. “Then choose something else as your concept. I know that you have some familiarity with higher order ideas and intent. I have more than enough mana crystals on hand to fuel your attempts at mana-imbuing. It’s not often that I get to learn something genuinely new to me; while I have considerable control over mana, I’ve never learned how to imbue it into objects. Nor have I ever studied the Skill in action.”

I lick my lips, trying to think of an easy way out of this predicament. While I learned a lot from Melidandri, I feel wrung out. “To be honest, I don't think I have enough mental energy right now. It’s not a matter of mana. I need time to think over what I’ve learned and consolidate my experiences and thoughts. I’m tired, but not physically, if that makes sense.”

“I suppose it does.” Scalpel’s skepticism comes through loud and clear even after her words make allowances for my weakness. She flicks her fingers dismissively and gestures with her head for me to get to work with the test subject asleep on the bed to the right.

I shuffle over and take my place by the scraggly looking man, my notebook in hand. I'll transcribe whatever Scalpel narrates while on her delve. She used to write all her own notes, but now she can get more done by moving on to the next patient as soon as she’s returned to her body. While I’m waiting for her to begin her description of what she sees, my gaze is drawn with magnetic compulsion to the key hanging around her neck.

My courage fails me, and I don’t dare reach out and try to lift it from around her neck, but I’m sorely tempted to find out what she keeps hidden in the notebooks under lock and key. I already know what is in the notebook I’m holding because I'm the one who is writing it. This is the journal that she passes along for inspection, but she never seems to even hint that there are other pieces of research in the lock box.

Tempting as it is to dismiss the discrepancy and chalk it up to her paranoia and desire to keep redundant notes. I can't shake the feeling that she's hiding something from the rest of us. Sometimes I think it'd be worth trading my remaining hand just to find out what she's keeping back, but then the rational side of me kicks in and I realize that I won’t be able to make anything at all without hands.

Unless of course I manage to recreate the runes of force and object manipulation I borrowed from Lady Evershed’s temporary Skill. I still haven’t told Scalpel the full story there. I know she suspects that I am holding out since she’s remarked that I lack constituent runes to account for the display I put on in Melidandri’s hot shop. I’m not eager to divulge all my secrets, which I suppose makes me not terribly dissimilar to Scalpel herself.

How can I fault her for hoarding information when I’m doing the same thing?

Still, there seems to be something different about the way she's approaching things. I'm keeping quiet out of a desire for self-preservation, but I doubt she has such simple motives. In fact, I’m almost certain that she's plotting something against Tapirs, and I would rather not get caught in the middle of a firestorm between the [Viceroy] and my grudging master.

Scalpel’s monotone voice cuts through my musings. "Subject shows no signs of advancing. His Skill structure is still bog standard. Consider cutting mana allotment or returning to the mines. Move on to a more promising specimen.”

Dutifully, I write down every word that comes out of Scalpel's mouth, although I wince inwardly at the thought of consigning this man to the mines. He doesn't seem associated with the thuggish band of ne'er-do-wells who bothered me in the mess hall, and as far as I can tell he's only guilty of petty crimes. If he were a murderer or a true scourge on society, then I would have no qualms about sending him to his fate, but he's probably incarcerated for stealing bread to eat. Plus he's always been polite and quiet, strangely mousey in disposition and behavior. Surely, he doesn't deserve the harsh ‘justice’ of another year in the mines. Extended time mining is tantamount to a death sentence, and I don’t want that weighing on my conscience.

Frozen in indecision, I watch my master move on to the next subject, torn between helping and keeping my head down. I’ve already claimed mental fatigue. Will she even believe me if I try to push through and explore new territory?

“What if I try to build up his Skills?” I blurt out before I have a chance to reconsider. In that moment, my path forward crystalizes; I realize that I wasn’t being indecisive, but simply taking a coward’s way out. Mind made up, I speak firmly, meeting her eyes in an unspoken challenge. “You did say that I have the requisite mana control to learn, but you haven’t taught me anything yet. No sense delaying my education.”

“Faltering halfway through will leave his Skills worse off than yours,” Scalpel says, as if banking on my humanity to deter me. I know she doesn’t care. “Best make certain you can see things through, however poorly your first attempt turns out. Are you willing?”

“I can shoulder the burden. Teach me.” Brave words. I hope they’re worth more than an empty gesture.

“The problem is twofold, Nuri: first, your mana retention is abysmal. You’ll burn through a single crystal without finishing the job, and swapping to a new one will have to be seamless if you don’t want things to go awry. Control is superior to raw capacity. Second, you lack any Skills for building out a Skill structure. Nor do you possess a related Class that could help you bridge the gap in power and knowledge.”

“What if we place a finger on the scale?” I ask quietly, deep in thought. “I’ll take a second Class just for this purpose. Let me work with this man. Just don’t send him back to the mines.”

Scalpel scoffs. “You don't even know his name and yet you want to handicap yourself with a second Class? So much energy to invest in his meager foundations. Such misguided notions. Bah. I suppose he is as good a trial run as anyone, if you're determined to see this blunder through to the bitter end.”

He's not a trial run. He’s a person. Alas, I lack the fortitude to express the thought aloud. I settle for a complaint about how long it will take to train and rank up a new Class.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. You still don't have a functioning core. Trying to earn the required Class without one seems like a fool’s errand.” Her head tilts to the side and her eyes stare balefully up at the ceiling, as though the wooden beams overhead are conspiring against her efforts to unravel the secrets of the universe. No sound disturbs the silent room, save for the tap-tap-tap of her long nails on the top of the desk. “I’ve never tested Classing with a broken core. Hmm. Yes. Fascinating. Perhaps you will bypass the original Class and earn new Skills that are pristine and unblemished. Suppose there’s one way to find out.”

“Does this mean you’ll teach me?” I ask, brightening at the prospect of working Skills. I do a poor job hiding my urgency, but she seems to let the excitement slide. A moment later, however, she dashes my hopes.

A sly smile reveals her sharp teeth. “Only if you bring me along to learn mana-imbuing on your next visit to the glass studio. Skill for Skill. A fair trade, no?”

I nod numbly, but something tells me that Melidandri isn’t likely to accommodate this arrangement. What’s a fellow to do, however? After all, I can’t very well refuse my master.