Friday morning, I found a notice pinned beside the academy's east gate. It announced an inspection of the practice halls, a revised schedule for defensive-magic classes, and a temporary restriction on equipment loans. Someone had underlined the last item three times.
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Students squeezed past me into the courtyard while I read. Equipment inspections happened every term, just not this early. The notice offered nothing beyond “updated safety requirements.”
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“Are you waiting for the paper to explain itself?” Marcus asked behind me.
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“It might, if I look disappointed enough.”
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He leaned around my shoulder. “Oh. That's going to annoy Venn.”
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“Why Venn?”
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“He's promised three visiting instructors demonstrations next week. Apparently the academy has decided he needs permission to borrow its own equipment.”
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I glanced at the date. The inspection would begin Monday. It had nothing to do with our barrier unless someone decided all defensive work belonged in the same locked cupboard.
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“Do you know what prompted it?”
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“Ask Halden. He was arguing with an administrator before breakfast.” Marcus adjusted his bag. “I didn't stay to learn which one won. I value my mornings.”
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Halden was in his office with Nessa and a man I recognized from the equipment desk. They had a ledger open between them, and nobody looked pleased.
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“The shared exercise on Friday is still approved?” I asked from the doorway.
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Nessa looked up. “Today's? Yes. Next week is uncertain.”
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“I'm not here to complain. I need to tell Lina and Tomas whether to come.”
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“Tell them we'll confirm Monday,” Halden said. “And don't promise them access to the testing apparatus.”
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The equipment clerk closed the ledger. “It isn't personal. The central office wants a full account of every defensive crystal issued since the exhibition.”
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“Why?” I asked.
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“Because there are fewer in storage than the last account shows.”
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Nessa caught my expression before I said anything.
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“Missing on paper,” she said. “We haven't established that anything was stolen. A few transfers weren't entered properly. We're checking.”
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The clerk nodded, apparently grateful someone had said it before I could ask another question.
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“Fine,” I said. “I'll use the ordinary practice room today.”
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Halden pointed at my folder. “And the proposal?”
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“Evelyn has the revised drawing. The indicator plate needs a second support measurement.”
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“Bring it when it's ready. Not before.”
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I left them to the ledger. An inspection wasn't an adventure, and I had no desire to turn a bookkeeping problem into one. But if our next experiment depended on equipment nobody could account for, it could wait.
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I met Evelyn outside the lecture hall. She had two notebooks in her arms and an expression I couldn't place.
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“Did you hear about the inspection?” I asked.
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“Yes. One of my practicals has moved to the smaller hall.”
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“Halden says we may have to delay the indicator test.”
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“Then we'll revise the method without the apparatus.” She shifted the books. “I answered my father. I'm going tomorrow.”
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“I remember.”
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“I know. I just wanted to say it out loud.”
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We walked a little way before she added, “He sent another message this morning. He'll meet me privately before supper, as I asked.”
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“That sounds promising.”
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“It sounds like he read the letter.”
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There was a difference between the two, and I heard it. I was about to tell her that Mira had saved the drawing when the bell rang. Students poured out of the hall, forcing Evelyn to step aside.
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“Come over tonight?” I asked. “Mira's been waiting to show you something.”
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“I'll come after my last class. I may not stay late.”
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“You don't need to.”
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She touched my sleeve before going inside. I watched her disappear through the doorway, then headed for class.
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The revised defensive-magic class was held in a room too narrow for the number of students assigned to it. I wasn't teaching; I'd come to return a borrowed reference book to the instructor. Instead I found half the class waiting outside while a porter carried benches into the corridor.
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“What's happened?” I asked.
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“Nothing dramatic,” the instructor said. “A ceiling bracket came loose. We're moving the lesson.”
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One student held a small brass fitting in her palm; another had chalk dust in his hair. The bracket had fallen near the back wall, nowhere close to the practice circle, but the instructor had stopped the class anyway.
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“Could you help move these?” she asked.
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I took one end of a bench. It was heavier than it looked, and the porter had to remind me to lift before we turned the corner. By the time the smaller room was arranged, I was late for my own class.
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The instructor thanked me and sent the students in. I noticed the girl with the brass fitting still standing by the door.
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“Do you need to give that to someone?” I asked.
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“She told me to keep it until the inspector comes.”
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“Then keep it somewhere safe. Don't put it in your pocket with your crystals.”
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She moved it to a separate pouch. I went to class and spent the first ten minutes thinking about the bracket anyway.
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At lunch, Marcus found me in the courtyard with a page of calculations balanced on my knee.
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“Tell me you aren't working through lunch again.”
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“I'm eating.”
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He looked at the bread in my hand. “You've developed an unusually generous definition of eating.”
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I folded the page. “A bracket fell in the west hall.”
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“I heard. Nobody was hurt.”
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“No. The instructor stopped the lesson.”
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“Good.” Marcus sat beside me. “Why do you look like you expected a different answer?”
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I hadn't expected a different answer. Not exactly.
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In the novel, the academy had kept operating while the kingdom moved toward war. Shortages, inspections, administrative orders—they had been background obstacles for the original protagonist, easy to skim past when I was only reading about them. I couldn't remember whether an equipment ledger had mattered at all.
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“I keep noticing things I used to ignore,” I said.
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“That's what happens when you start paying rent.”
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“Probably.”
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He took a bite of his lunch and didn't ask again.
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Lina and Tomas arrived for the shared exercise with their own practice crystals, exactly as I'd instructed. I explained the inspection and told them Friday's arrangement might change next week.
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“Is it because of our last session?” Tomas asked.
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“No. It's academy-wide.”
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“Good,” he said, then winced. “Not good that there's an inspection. I meant—”
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“I understood.”
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Without the larger apparatus, we worked on timing. Lina demonstrated the reset she'd finally learned to wait for. Tomas copied her, then asked why his third channel still flickered. She started to answer, stopped, and used the diagram instead of repeating the explanation I'd given her.
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I let them work it out. When Tomas got it right, Lina looked more pleased than he did.
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At the end, they asked whether they could practice together without me. I told them they could use approved low-power exercises in an assigned room, but neither was to improvise an impact sequence or borrow equipment under my name.
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“We weren't going to,” Lina said.
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“I believe you. I'm saying it anyway.”
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She rolled her eyes. Tomas wrote the restriction down.
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I collected Mira as the afternoon rain began. She insisted Sir Flopsy could walk home under his own cloak, which meant I carried him by the hand while she held mine. We reached the apartment damp but not soaked.
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“Mommy's coming?” she asked as I shook out our coats.
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“Yes.”
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“Today?”
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“Yes.”
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“Before supper?”
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“I don't know. You can ask her when she gets here.”
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Mira fetched the drawing of her grandfather and placed it on the table. Then she moved it to the windowsill, decided the light was wrong, and brought it back.
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“You don't have to make it perfect,” I said.
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“It's not perfect. His nose is too small.”
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“Does he have a large nose?”
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“No. I drew it too small.”
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I left her with the drawing and started the soup.
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Evelyn arrived while the soup was still simmering. Mira met her at the door with the drawing held in both hands.
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“This is Grandpa,” she announced. “He keeps presents in the little room.”
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Evelyn crouched to look. “You remembered his coat.”
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“It's his garden coat.”
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“He has a garden coat?” I asked.
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“He does,” Evelyn said. “He insists his other coats aren't suitable for the roses.”
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Mira pointed to the square beside him. “That's where he puts things.”
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Evelyn's smile changed, but only a little. “May I keep this?”
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Mira considered it. “You can show him. Then bring it back.”
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“I will.”
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Evelyn folded the drawing once along an existing crease and slipped it inside her notebook.
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After supper, Mira took Sir Flopsy to the bedroom to prepare him for Saturday. Evelyn helped me clear the table. She was quieter than usual. I let the silence stay where it was.
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“I may tell him about Mira tomorrow,” she said at last.
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I stopped drying the bowl. “All of it?”
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“I don't know how much. I won't pretend she doesn't exist, but I don't want him questioning her before we've decided what she needs.”
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“Agreed.”
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“He may not believe me.”
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“I didn't believe her at first.”
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“You let her stay.”
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“She was six and standing at my door. Believing the story wasn't a requirement.”
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Evelyn took the bowl from me and set it away. “I wish I knew which part to tell first.”
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“You don't have to decide it tonight.”
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“No. But I do have to decide what I won't agree to.”
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I put down the towel. “If he asks to meet Mira, I'd like us to discuss it first. Even if the conversation goes well.”
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Evelyn looked at me for a moment. “Yes. I was going to say the same thing.”
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I picked up the towel again.
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When Evelyn left, she took the drawing but not an overnight bag. Mira watched from the window until the carriage turned the corner, then asked whether Grandpa would come to our apartment.
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“Maybe someday,” I said. “Not tomorrow.”
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“Why?”
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“Your mother is visiting him first.”
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Mira nodded.
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Then she asked whether Sir Flopsy could have another button for his school bag.
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I found one in the sewing tin and let her choose where it went. Outside, the rain had stopped. The academy would inspect its halls on Monday. Evelyn would go home tomorrow.
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The main story I remembered hadn't even begun. The Saint, the heroine, and the protagonist had yet to enter the academy. I remembered pieces of what came later, but not whether any of them had anything to do with my death.
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And now there was Mira, who might have come from the future, and Evelyn, the story's villainess, who was also my girlfriend.
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Beautiful. A good kisser. Potentially capable of killing me someday if things went badly enough.
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I looked at the extra button Mira had chosen for Sir Flopsy's school bag.
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At least that problem was small enough to fit in my hand.