Page 9 of A Tower of Half-Truths

“Er, I’m still a bit cold from the outside.” The sweat pooling on her forehead betrayed her lie. “I’ll keep it on.”

The wizard—Aventus, the man downstairs had called him—pushed aside a stack of books on the sofa and motioned for her to sit. He then navigated a path that snaked around the piles of books, leading to what Mavery assumed was the kitchen.

She wasted no time scoping out the room.

The walls were decorated with a few maps and paintings—all cheap reproductions, at first glance.

There was a rather alarming number of empty wine bottles scattered about.

A dust-coated one lay on the tea table. Directly below it, a purple stain marred what had once been a vibrant Maroban rug.

Aside from the book collection, Mavery could identify nothing of value here. If Aventus owned any rare artifacts, they were hidden beneath the mess. It would take some digging—maybe literally—to uncover them.

Clinking porcelain announced Aventus’s return from the kitchen.

Mavery vaulted over a stack of books and sat on the sofa, as though she hadn’t just been snooping around.

He balanced a tray atop the books on the tea table, then lowered himself into a well-worn armchair—the only surface that was completely free of clutter.

While his living space was chaotic, his approach to tea-making was the opposite.

He spooned loose leaves into the pot and then filled it with steaming water, spilling not a single drop.

“As I said before… Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Mave Reynard.”

He blinked at her as though he’d misheard, but then nodded. “Mave, apologies for the misunderstanding. That newspaper ad was placed by mistake—one that I will rectify immediately after you leave.”

“Who placed it, then?”

Aventus stiffened. “Someone who, I’m certain, was looking out for my best interests. But that someone failed to realize that I prefer an…independent approach to research these days.”

He strained the tea into a pair of teacups.

The teapot had a hairline crack down its side, the cups were chipped in several places.

This set wasn’t a valuable heirloom, handed down through the generations.

Another sign that his real valuables—Mavery was still optimistic they existed—wouldn’t be left out in the open.

“Cream or sugar?”

She shrugged. “However you take it is fine. I’m not picky.”

In Osperland, even the lowest of low-end taverns served tea, but it wasn’t the kind worth sitting down and savoring.

More often than not, it looked and tasted like dishwater.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cup of something even half-decent.

Whatever Aventus was preparing, it was bound to be luxurious, despite the state of his tea set.

He added a single sugar cube and a generous splash of cream.

He stirred the liquid until it turned the color of old parchment, then passed her the cup upon its matching saucer.

She took a sip with as much poise as she could muster, not wanting to look too obviously out of her element.

The tea smelled strongly of bergamot and was warm, earthy, comforting.

“Does it need more sugar?”

“Oh, no,” she sighed. “This is perfect.”

She drank heartily as he prepared his own cup.

“Since you took the initiative in coming here,” he said, “I will at least do you the courtesy of passing along your information to my colleagues at the University.” He glanced at Mavery’s pack. “I assume you brought some application materials with you.”

“Such as?”

“Letters of recommendation, university transcripts, any spell tomes you contributed to…”

She should have known a wizard would prefer written evidence. She sipped her tea, buying herself a moment to craft a response.

“Oh, I left Burnslee in such a hurry, I’m afraid I didn’t have time to gather all my, er, papers. How about I deliver everything to you verbally now, then I’ll mail them to you the first chance I get? What do you want to know?”

“Your education, for starters.”

“I attended Atterdell College.”

Beneath his mess of hair, his eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Only… Well, Atterdell’s reputation in the wizarding community is, shall we say, short of prestigious.” If he noticed her frown, he made no mention of it. “Anyway, which Schools did you study?”

“Gardemancy, of course.”

“Gar-duh-man-see.”

Didn’t I just say that?

She forced a smile. “I’m also studied in alchemy, shadow magic—I mean, Ambermancy—and Souder—”

“Ahm-bruh-man-see and Soo-druh-man-see.” He articulated slowly, as if he were speaking to a child.

Her smile fell. “Right, well, some of those terms have gotten a little rusty. I’ve been out of the academic circles for a while.”

“Personally, I don’t mind if you use colloquialisms, but some of my colleagues are sticklers for using the proper terminology. Before you meet with them, you’ll want to brush up on that—as well as your Dauphinian, by the sound of it.”

Over a thousand years ago, the First Reforms had established Dauphinian as Tanarim’s language of law, commerce, and magic.

Even the names of the months and days of the week originated from Dauphinian.

It was the closest thing the continent had to a common tongue, though Mavery had never been capable of wrapping her own tongue around it.

“Do you know any foreign languages?” Aventus asked.

“I can speak Fenutian well enough.”

He uttered a small sound that Mavery could only interpret as disapproval.

“What is it now?” she demanded.

“To paraphrase one of my colleagues, anyone can speak Fenutian. All that’s required is stuffing a sock in one’s mouth and speaking Osperlandish at half-speed.”

While he lowered his gaze to his teacup, she gave him a hard glare. She’d also picked up some Nilandoren from Neldren, though none of it was suitable for polite conversation. The way this conversation was heading, it wouldn’t be long before she introduced the wizard to some of her favorite phrases.

“What of your field experience? Have you ever assisted any other wizards?”

“Look, we could talk about my qualifications until nightfall.” And you’d likely disparage each one. “But shouldn’t the fact that I’m sitting here be enough evidence of my skills? I managed to break through your wards, and that was some of the most intricate magic I’ve ever Sensed.”

“Fair enough. Even the University’s best Gardemancers couldn’t—” He stared at her over his half-raised teacup. “Wait. When you say ‘Sensed,’ you don’t mean—?”

“I can see magic. Taste and smell it, too.”

“Y-you’re a Senser?” he asked. When she nodded, his eyes widened. He placed his cup on the table, then raised a finger. “Wait there just one moment.”

He stumbled over the blockade of books between his armchair and his desk, then riffled through the stacks of papers.

Mavery watched him with a satisfied smirk.

She’d had a card hidden up her sleeve—one that even a pompous ass like Aventus couldn’t disregard.

He returned to his chair, opened a notebook, readied a fountain pen.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take some notes.”

“Not at all,” she said cloyingly.

“When did you first develop arcane hypersensitivity? ‘Sensing,’ if you prefer.”

She relaxed into the sofa. “Since I first showed signs of magic, I suppose. When I was a child, I described it as seeing colors and shapes. For the longest time, everyone in my family thought that was normal. I was the first mage in my family in at least four, maybe five, generations.”

“Were there any Sensers in your family before then?”

“No idea. Neither side of my family kept many records. Any that did exist are long gone.”

“Still, that’s consistent with the current body of research.

” He tapped his pen against his cheek, leaving behind a black smudge that he didn’t seem to notice.

“When a magical bloodline skips several generations, the next mage’s arcana tends to be exceptionally strong.

Most often, that takes the form of uncontrolled bursts of magic during the developmental years. ‘Magic surges,’ if you will.”

“Oh, I had plenty of those, too. Still do, on the very rare occasion. But, as I said, everyone around me thought random outbursts were normal. We had no one in living memory to compare me to, and we didn’t leave the family farm very often.

Once I started school and met other mages, I learned that few people experience magic like I do. ”

“That’s putting it lightly. There have been only a dozen or so Sensers in the past century.”

“In Osperland?”

“Across the entire continent.”

Mavery gaped at him. She’d always known her abilities were rare, but no one had ever told her they were that rare.

“The last Senser in Osperland,” Aventus said, “was Deventhal the Fifth, and he died about thirty years ago. He was a reclusive one, even by wizard standards. He rarely left his tower, never hired a single assistant. So, to have a Senser show up at my door, you can see why I’m eager to ask questions. ”

“Then ask away.”

“What do you Sense, exactly? Colors, scents, anything. The more specific, the better.”

Mavery began by explaining how she’d identified the different wards on his door by color, before delving into other Schools of Magic.

She spoke for nearly half an hour. Aventus feverishly took notes, only stopping once his fountain pen ran dry.

At that point, he paused the interview to return to his desk and search for his inkwell.

As his search progressed, paper-shuffling and drawer-slamming grew increasingly more frantic.

“I swear I left the blasted thing here,” he grumbled. “Can’t find another pen, either.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Mavery asked. Here was an opportunity if she ever saw one, but she couldn’t sound too eager. He gave up on his cluttered desk and turned to her.

“Yes?”

“I know you said you weren’t looking for an assistant, but from what I can tell, you could use a little help around here.”

Aventus slowly gazed around the room, as if noticing its disordered state for the first time. Slouching his shoulders, he groaned.

“Loath as I am to admit it, you’re right. The ‘independent approach’ to research hasn’t been very fruitful—unless my goal was developing a book-hoarding habit.” He laughed flatly. “If that were the case, I would say I’ve been a resounding success.”

“Believe it or not, I can relate to that.” Mavery gave him a small smile. “May I ask why you don’t have an assistant? Not to be crass, but is it a matter of money?”

“No, not at all. My reasons are…personal.”

He picked his way across the piles of books and slumped into his armchair. As he scratched his bearded chin with his blackened fingers, Mavery could almost see the thoughts buzzing inside his head. A moment passed before he spoke again.

“If your goal is to become a wizard, I should warn you: I’m one of the last people you’d want to work for. I’ve barely the capacity to conduct my own research these days, much less be any sort of mentor for yours.”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all. I’m not looking to become a wizard. I was thinking I could tidy up your books, and you can ask me anything about my Sensing abilities.”

“A tempting offer, though one I can’t help but notice weighs heavily in my favor. What would you gain from this arrangement?”

“Remember how I said I’ve been out of academic circles for a while? Well, I’m looking for a way to dip my toes back in. Seeing as I’m a natural Gardemancer—”

“Innate,” he corrected.

“An innate Gardemancer,” she said through another forced smile, “this seemed like a good fit. And, of course, I wouldn’t work for free.”

“Nor would I expect you to. I paid my last assistants eighty potins per week, if that sounds reasonable.”

“Very reasonable.” She hadn’t a clue if it actually was, but for that amount of money, she could overlook the wizard’s lack of social graces.

“Well, then, I’m open to giving this arrangement a trial run. Let’s give it a week. I’ll even pay your wages in advance. Take some time to get settled in Leyport, then return here on Onisday at, let’s say, nine in the morning.”

He stood up, and Mavery followed him to the desk.

From one of the drawers, Aventus retrieved a billfold and counted out eight ten-potin notes.

She pocketed them without hesitation. She had expected a cheque, which would leave a paper trail in the event she didn’t fulfill her end of the bargain.

By paying her upfront in cash, he either trusted her completely, or he didn’t care about losing his money.

Assuming he had something worth stealing, he was shaping up to be the perfect mark.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he said, opening the door.

“Until then.” She gave him a nod and, by virtue of the eighty potins in her pocket, a smile that was almost genuine.