Sworded Affair

Chapter 19: Three Days Grace

Emma’s first instinct, after picking herself up, was to fast travel back to the Dungeon then sprint home from there. She didn’t though, because she wasn’t sure her dad was actually headed home. It seemed a reasonable assumption, but given that a mistaken assumption was the root cause of the current debacle, Emma decided not to take anything for granted.

“That’s not the news I wanted, but thank you for letting me know,” Emma eventually replied. “Even if dad's not there though, I think it's best that I still visit his office. If any of his coworkers are around, maybe they can tell me why he left in such a hurry.”

“In that case, I’ll invite myself along as well.” Amal grinned, raising himself up on a walking stick that definitely wasn’t there a moment ago. “Your father gave me a real fright, shooting past as I tended to my front garden that morning. Could be, he simply needed to be elsewhere in a hurry, but come to think of it, I haven’t seen anyone else leave since then, at least not for a day or two. Maybe he was running from something, rather than heading anywhere in particular?”

“Some backup sounds nice,” Emma agreed easily enough, before glancing at Epitaph. “You might want to stay back though, if there’s trouble. My fights tend to get a bit hectic.”

“I’ll let you take the lead,” Amal chuckled. “I find I do my best work at some distance.”

They headed for the door straight away, Emma not having anything to pack and Amal presumably already having everything he needed in his own inventory.

“How much can you store in an inventory?” Emma asked, a step ahead of Amal as they returned to the rainy outdoors. She immediately noticed that the raindrops didn’t touch the old alchemist, instead sliding off his clothes and skin whilst leaving the man perfectly dry.

“It varies according to the practitioner,” Amal replied. “The folded space starts small after the initial invocation, but the space available will grow in tandem with the strength of your True Will; more commonly referred to as the soul. As a general rule of thumb, most objects you can easily hold in a single hand will fit, whilst anything bigger than yourself will not. No living beings either, unless their soul is sufficiently attuned to your own. The same applies for tools of magick; those you personally craft are fine, but there will be an adjustment process before you can fit any items purchased or acquired from another source. Naturally, you should in all circumstances avoid filling your inventory with items of malefic nature, live explosives or volatile reagents. If only I didn’t have to spell that last bit out, but alas, if there’s anything a long career in education taught me, it’s that common sense isn’t actually all that common.”

Emma laughed at that, briefly recalling a boy who’d tried to smuggle fireworks into school hidden in his pants. Her curiosity satisfied, conversation fell to a lull as the pair made their way down the old village road, heading for the estate her father worked at. They were already most of the way through the village when Emma realized Amal had never once asked for her name.

[Practitioners don’t live to old age by being careless. I haven’t detected any mental intrusion, but even without that, it’s a fairly safe bet he can see your name much like you can see his.]

Good to know, Emma thought back. Any other advice on magic while you're here? Because I never knew it existed before this week, and judging by Amal’s age, and the age of my armor come to think of it, magic has clearly been around for a long, long time.

[I could tell you, but then you’d die.]

Really?

[Really. Cognitohazards are dangerous, and not only restricted to the realms of science fiction. Spoilers at this point would be problematic, as you’re not yet strong enough to defend yourself from what would follow.]

“Here we are, the boundary between public property and private land.”

Amal’s voice brought Emma’s attention back to the road; to find herself staring at a wrought iron gate, the only one visible in the fence surrounding the estate. She stepped aside as Amal approached, anticipating an alchemical answer to the obstacle, only for him to pull out a lockpick and set to work with surprising agility.

“Best to avoid magick when possible,” Amal explained thirty seconds later, as the gate clicked open with one final flick of his wrist. “Most practitioners place means to detect foreign workings as a matter of course, whereas few bother extending that to include mundane methods.”

Taking the lead again, Emma stepped into a well maintained front garden; neatly trimmed bushes framing the smooth stone path from the outer gate to the front door, interspersed every few steps by a pair of clay pots boasting flowers blooming every color of the rainbow. The manor itself had seen better days; red brick fading into spotty patches of white, the legacy of long exposure to the sun and the elements. The structure itself was entirely intact however, the front door recently repainted red with not a single spot out of place. A guardhouse sat next to the door; conspicuously empty, with a bolt-action rifle resting against the window. The nearby parking lot caught Emma’s eye as she approached the door; over a dozen vehicles in silver or black, their number plates marking even the newest at well over a decade old, and many approaching their second or even their third.

None of those have onboard electronics, Emma realized, peering through a few front windows. My dad never liked those either; he always refused to upgrade to a newer car, saying it just wasn't right for him. Is that why they were spared? A certain threshold above which any technology too advanced would be destroyed?

Amal knocked on the door, predictably receiving no response. He tried the doorbell next, a mechanical chime sounding once, twice and thrice, to be met with nothing yet again. He waited thirty seconds longer, in case the occupants were merely occupied, but after that he returned to his trusty lock-pick. Even easier than the outer gate, the front door swung open within moments, granting Emma her first look at the manor's interior.

[Private Military Contractor - Level 2]

Epitaph blurred into motion; catching the incoming bullet and deflecting it into the ceiling. A gauntleted fist drove into the shooter’s stomach before he could fire again, doubling him over as his breakfast performed an emergency evacuation. Even as Emma moved to secure the man, an eerie hum began to fill the air, making her hackles rise as she felt an unpleasant sensation of ice upon her back.

“This is the creation of the world, that the pain of division is as nothing, and the joy of dissolution all.”

The unnatural cold abruptly faded at Amal’s words, Emma glancing towards him just in time to see his eyes glow a momentary white.

[Spatial blockade enacted. Inventory disabled. Fast travel disabled.]