Byeview was never really a priority target. Getting rid of Kudder's operation was a net benefit to the world, and burning down the ironworks had a certain symmetry, but mostly I was just there to grab an easy level and push my Strength up to 4. I couldn't go after Kralcit. Not with the future on the line. But I could hurt her. Scare her. I could take away the people and things that she loves. Her and her undead accomplice.

  Port Laci first. I knew the area from gameplay. I sent myself to a picturesque cliff overlooking the city. From there, I took a bearing, and walked the void down to the docks.

  This area was a nonstop bustle, bodies clashing all up and down the strand, voices straining ever upwards. The smell was a lot. It was hard to deal with, especially blindfolded. I pushed the leather mask up my forehead, off my eyes, and reached out to the nearest person that looked like he was still getting his land-legs back. "You," I said, holding him with a steel-channeled grip. "Harbormaster."

  "Me? I ain't the harbormaster," the man declared. "Preh sure thaharbormaster is sober."

  I sent him on his way, and grabbed another. A constant stream, just pluck the next. "Oi. Where's the harbormaster?"

  "In his office I s'pose," this one snarled. "Get yer hands off- shit, you ain't half-strong, is ya girl?"

  Fine. Random sailors won't work for me. Dockworker next. "I need the harbormaster," I told a stevedore.

  "Does she need you?" he asked, and sidestepped me.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If I started throwing black holes into the crowd, it would be a bloodbath, and that's bad.

  "Tell me how to find the harbormaster's office," I demanded from the owner of the next arm I grabbed.

  "Hah!" he laughed. "Girl, that's four people in a row you ain't tried to bribe. You slow of learning?"

  I turned on my heel, put my hips into it, pivoted through the shoulders and threw him overhead. He yelled loudly the whole way out, and splashed into the ocean thirty feet out.

  "The bribe is staying dry!" I yelled. "One of you better fucking tell me where the harbormaster can be found!"

  And that's when a couple of guards in helmets and tabards that were made with the Port Laci crest and a small ship-shaped badge stepped out of the crowd, smacking billy clubs into their hands. "Miss, I think you better come with us."

  "Where?" I asked, readying myself for a fight.

  "To the harbormaster," the larger guard said, threateningly.

  "Oh thank fuck," I said. "Yeah, let's do it. C'mon, hup hup. Which way? Either lead on or keep up!"

  It was more of a harbormaster's gazebo. The sides were almost entirely open, with some safety rails. Clipboards with pages flapping were on every flat surface. The massive desk had a glass top, with papers held underneath it to keep them flat and secure but still held open to read. The ceiling inside was painted in a map of the harbor and docks. The side had rolled canvas at the top, evidently to let down and tie in place during harsh weather, but right now everything was open to give the best possible view of the entire domain.

  The harbormaster was a woman not taller than myself, with a brown braid that was almost long enough to brush the ground. She was muscular, even more tanned than my father, and her shirt was two sizes too small. She looked angry already. She looked at the two guards. "Troublemaker?" she demanded. transferring her gaze to me.

  "Yes'm. Yelling, carrying on and throwing people into the sea."

  "Fine. Piss off."

  They pissed off, leaving me with her. She stalked over, her braid an angry snake that followed her everywhere. "The fuck you are, little girl, making trouble on my docks?"

  "I'm looking for a ship and nobody here is helpful," I said. She was my height, but with her biceps compared to mine, I won't challenge the accusation of being a little girl. "The Glorious Curmudgeon. When I find it I'm not your problem."

  "You're already not my problem," she sneered. "You're posh. I'm gonna break you down to kibble and toss what's left to the next longhauler that I need a favor from."

  "No, you won't," I said calmly. Steel is good for calm. It is steady, strong, and focused. Taking on void made me cold and avaricious, aware only of my needs and wants. Oak is good for patience but is too placid for my purposes. Channeling essence of gold feels good, and could easily be addictive. Another reason sorcerers are banned from learning it. "If the ship's not here, you know its schedule, how often it comes around, where it came from last and where it's headed next. The Curmudgeon. Think."

  "Leather armor aye, well-made and as posh as yer accent," she declared. "But not so much as a belt-knife on ye. Helpless swank around here? Too stupid to live," she declared, reaching for me. I caught her wrist. Her breath caught in her throat.

  I looked her right in her eyes. Chocolate, pretty. "Of all the types of mages," I said, "sorcerers are the least powerful. Wizards cast spells affecting huge areas. Scrivener work can last for decades. But when a sorcerer is in the room with you, none of that matters," I said. My hand started to tighten. "I'll bet these salt-dogs would really appreciate a hook for a hand, it's very thematic, isn't it?" I tightened my grip more, and blood started to ooze from her wrist.

  She gasped out. "Fuck! Pages! There!" and she gestured with her free hand. I walked to the table she was indicating, and dragged her along with me.

  Her hand caught a logbook and thrust it at me.

  I let go of her hand and pushed the logbook back at her. "Tell me," I said.

  Wincing and favoring her arm, the harbormaster looked up the ship and its route. "Not due for two more months. It comes here from Port Noit. I don't know its leg before that."

  I opened a door of unearthly light and stepped through it, disappearing as the door shut.

  In Port Noit things were easy. A stevedore gave me clear instructions, had me repeat them so he knew I had them right, and wished me luck. This took me right to the harbormaster's office. This one was a career bureaucrat waiting for his pension to kick in. He assumed I was a merchant's daughter looking for a shipment, and told me that the Curmudgeon comes in from the A'cava Islands on its route to Noit, and should be there or thereabouts right now. I thanked him and headed out.

  I did not have any kind of reference for the A'cava Islands. Bound to happen sooner or later, I'd have to travel somewhere that had not appeared in gameplay. I did not have any good answer for that. Fine. Kralcit's adopted family lives for another month.

  But I can take away the only thing that matters to her as much as my library meant to me.

  Broghton Broadsheet

  Headline Story

  Mysterious Explosion Enriches Multitudes

  All of the city should now be aware of last Sixthday's events, a colossal explosion that severely damaged the structure and integrity of Sidio's Securities, a major holding vault in the First Quarter. Some mysterious force destroyed an entire wall and the interior of a vault, but recent discoveries by Broadsheet's crack investigative team have revealed that the events of that evening are even stranger than they had appeared at first. Not only was the vault wall destroyed, but now we have learned that the entire cache of gold inside was also missing. Precise numbers elude us, but it is confirmed by unimpeachable sources to have been in the six figure range in golden coats. This terrific fortune was not just a great loss, but an almost impossible one: that is several tons of gold! Sidio's response guards were said to be in the vault looking for attackers within seconds, and yet tons of gold were missing!

  And nobody in First Quarter had any answers, but it seems Fifth Quarter does! While most were investigating the demolished wall and the emptied vault, others were investigating every rooftop, flowerpot and back alley of the Fifth Quarter, especially underneath the overhang from First Quarter. A rain of golden coins had fallen over this poorer district in the night, as if sprayed from above at high speed! Part of the mystery seems to be solved, the thieves that attacked Sidio on Sixthday did not escape with several tons of gold in their satchels, they simply blasted it out over the entirety of Fifth District! This was not a theft of mercenary intent, but a mission of mercy to distribute the riches across Broghton's most needy!

  Perhaps the motive can be clarified further, if and when we learn which specific vault it was that the thieves breached, and emptied! Someone at Sidio knows, and the Broadsheet will certainly know soon as well! In the meantime our editors are confident that half the rents in Fifth Quarter will be paid in gold coats this month.

  I made sure I had a good view when I turned the privately-owned bank into a shotgun firing Kralcit's money all over the city. The best way to make sure she never got any of it back was to put it in so many hands that the fortune could never be recovered. The blast was amazing, I thought the building would tip over from the recoil. Really it was just good luck that the money would fall on the city's poor. If she'd had a different room number, it might have been out over the first quarter, and greedy merchants and petty-genteels scrabbling to find the gold hidden in their roofing tiles.

  The place had absolutely the best security of its kind, probably better than the royal treasury. Not just warrior guards and extensive networks of informants to help foil possible heists before they get started, but also vast networks of scrivening spells to prevent magical assault or trickery. Anyone attempting to breach, scale, or approach the walls by magic would be dispelled, disarmed, incapacitated and captured. Using magic to trick or confuse the guards, or to use illusion or direct magical assault, could find themselves also in a lot of trouble.

  But nobody guards against the impossible. And it's impossible for someone to get into a vault without going through a wall or a door, right? And I did not use magic to smash the wall. I used magic to gather a fuckton of air pressure, and then I released it by shutting off the magic.

  And now the only thing that matters to that bitch, money, is gone. She's got however many thousands of crowns she has in petty cash or business accounts, couch cushions and the bottom of her purse, but the lifetime's worth of savings is gone. She's making more money, she'll replace it eventually, but this is going to stab her in the stomach every day for the rest of her life. Now then, about that accomplice of hers...

  I read the sign over the door four times, and chuckled each time. "Winedark's Scrivenings", it declared. A nice enough little shop to buy enchanted items, candles, conveniences, and even some custom orders. No weapons though, they were not that kind of place! A nice little shop that thrived on word-of-mouth and keeping its nose clean. I walked in the door, and there was a little bell above it. I still felt like I was walking through the swinging doors of a Wild West saloon. Some impressions are universal.

  "Hello young lady!" said the jolly proprietor, a round-cheeked man with an ink-stained apron. "Are you here for some nice age-appropriate jewelry?"

  "I'm good thanks," I said, walking straight up to him, leaning on the countertop. Milk, neat. I considered exactly how to phrase this next part. "His step-children are moving into his old house. He'll see me."

  Boy, if you don't already know what that means, it's cryptic as hell, isn't it? But this man knew who I was talking about.

  The jolly man went very pale, and backed straight up towards a curtain that shrouded the back of the building. I could hear his footsteps thudding on stairs. A full minute later he returned, looking even more scared. "Uh-up," he said, waving me to the curtain.

  On the other side, in the shaded space here, was a stair leading up, and one leading down. I went upwards, but I spent a moment studying the other. The top floor was airy and open, a very welcoming space that was littered all over with the work of an industrious scrivener. Pages and pages were laid all about, as well as various bits and bobs of jewelry, haberdashery and, yes, weapons. And in a chair on the other side of the room, a dead man with glowing eyes glared at me.

  "How in the well-trod hells did you find this place?" he demanded. His skin had dried like leather over his bones, and cracked at the joints.

  "Is that really what's important here?" I asked.

  He sneered with desiccated lips. "I certainly think it's important enough! This is one of the best-kept secrets in the kingdom!"

  "You've already got backups, even more carefully kept than this," I said, almost bored now. "This place is just so anyone working hard to find you will think they've solved the whole mystery." I looked around, taking in the meticulously-drawn runes and symbols. If we had played on the easy difficulty, this could have been me. Scrivening is definitely the most powerful of the branches of magic, so the scrivener's route in the game is easy mode.

  He froze, and the sneer died down. "I obviously have to kill you," he said. "And yet, I'm at a loss. You know too much. You fear too little. And you've attuned to three, three! different essences I've never even seen before!" The jaundice-yellow light in his eyes flared as he spoke. Clearly, curiosity was his Achilles heel, enough to keep him from killing me outright.

  "I was not aware you could see attunements," I said. "What do they look like to you?"

  "Symbols," he snorted despite only having half a nose. "What else is there?"

  Typical scrivener answer.

  "But you.... you're the sorcerer, the daughter," he said. "Known to be strong, but not sophisticated."

  "Better than a reputation for being weak but sophisticated," I pointed out. "Wouldn't you want people to think you're easy to control?"

  He actually laughed at that. I stood at the top of the stairs, I had not yet put one foot into the room. His jawbone clacked as he laughed. He put one elbow on the table, and used one thin finger to wipe at his cheek, a living habit left over from when he had tears to shed. "Oh, gods," he said, "I would kill to have these fools think I was easily manipulated."

  "You'd kill for a sandwich you don't even want," I pointed out. "For this, you'd give up something valuable."

  His eyes flared. "Do you have such a thing, such a method? Some way to give me what I want?"

  "What? No. No, we're just talking," I said to my enemy. "Though, if you want to be underestimated, I may recommend adolescence, it might almost be worth the discomfort."

  He waved that away like a fly. "Pass. Once you've tried being dead, you could never enjoy being alive again. Too much trouble. Now, what are you here for?"

  "Curiosity and revenge," I said. "In that order."

  He snickered, and combed his dried fingers through his patchy beard. "I'm tempted to frustrate you by reversing the order. But, you found me, so I'll humor you. What is your curiosity?"

  "How did you do it?"

  "Living past death?" he sneered. "I'll never-"

  "What? No," I scoffed. "The hubris of you! No, burn down the house."

  "Oh! That's easy. I scribed the interior of the envelopes, and mailed hundreds of them to every member of your household. People read the letters, but the envelopes get left wherever. And at midnight, every one of them ignited at once. It should have lit almost the entire house at the same time. Did it?"

  "Only one or two minutes until it was one big flame," I admitted.

  He pumped a fist in jubilation. "Yes! I still got it!"

  That's why it was in wastebaskets. Every fallen envelope that came in-

  -the mail.

  I delivered the firebombs to the house. It came through my portals, my hands.

  I staggered, leaning on the rail. Oh my god.

  "Well," he said, standing up, dusting his palms against each other. "Let's get to revenge, I guess. How do you-" he started calling eerie flames around his hands and his head.

  "Hey," I said. "Do you wanna know what one of those new essences does?"

  He paused, and considered. "Ah. Your curiosity and then revenge, my revenge and then my curiosity? An interesting bargain. Very well. I know this is a ploy, but it deserves to work."

  "Before I do," I said. "How much damage would it take to kill you?"

  "Psssht. The hubris of you. You cannot destroy me with any means of force. Bones may be broken and flesh destroyed, but my way is prepared to the next."

  "That's what I thought," I said with some regret. I crafted the void. Air whirled, sucked away. Wind pulled through the room, from every corner and crack straight into the tiny point where all matter compressed to nothing. I sent another. And a third microscopic black hole in a different corner of the room, all of them pulling every ounce of air, shaking the rafters, ripping every scrap of scrivened paper and consuming all. A large table near one of them lifted up onto two legs, tilted, and made contact. It was crushed into splinters before it was consumed. Lamps and pens into another. All three were consuming everything around them, and the windows rattled as the interior air pressure dropped dangerously. A high whistling sound started as the room's seams split to let in more air for the black holes to pull into themselves.

  "Hmm," he said, nodding. His voice carried even over the howling gale without any apparent effort. However, he was bracing himself to keep from losing his footing and being pulled along with the rushing winds. "Interesting. And a bit impressive. I can see some real utility to this."

  "You should see what happens next," I said. I curved a portal behind me, and fell backwards into it a second before I shut off the singularities.