Date: 7-8-164

  How can I win Nadine over to my side?

  I’ve thought of little else besides this question. Her attitude towards me has remained unchanged these past two days; if she knew that I overheard her conversation with Olrick, she did not care to reveal it.

  I’m sure you would have convinced her of the righteousness of our cause by now. You always were the charming one. It’s not a talent I’d ever cared to develop—my older sisters married well enough, and father was content to leave me to my magic studies. I had a pronounced disinterest in the social side of life.

  It does occur to me, however, that there once was a man who hated me, and I won him over so completely that he decided to marry me.

  I hope, love, that you do not mind if I take this moment to reminisce over our first meeting.

  I had taken a position as assistant to Professor Ye. He was an unpleasant fellow to work with, yes, but he had once been a brilliant thinker, and the income meant that father wouldn’t pressure me to enter service at the local shrine.

  You didn’t even notice me that first time you arrived at his office, did you? You strode into the entrance room of his chambers at the university, looking this way and that, and then loudly requested a meeting with the venerable professor. It was a question made to the entire room, though I was the only person in it.

  “Tell Professor Ye that Hei Soong has a proposal that he will want to hear,” you said when I informed you that Professor Ye was unavailable. “I will return tomorrow.”

  And you did return the next day. I admit I was rather surprised that you decided to wait after I told you that Professor Ye was still not taking any meetings.

  The day after that, I told you that Professor Ye was uninterested in hearing any proposals for the time being. That was the first time you looked at me, and, oh, what a terrifying glare you gave me.

  (It was also a thrill to have such a handsome face view me through such cold eyes. Oh, I must sound like a foolish young thing!)

  On your fifth visit, you accused me of hiding Professor Ye from you. That was rather irksome, especially since I couldn’t tell you the truth. Professor Ye had given me express instructions to let no one disturb him under any circumstances, and I was just as desperate to keep my employment as you were to see him.

  You kept that up for, oh, how long? Three or four weeks? I felt like we had fallen into a sort of rhythm, me copying over Professor Ye’s notes while stealing the occasional glance at you, you kneeling in one corner acting for all the world as if I wasn’t there. As distracting as it was, I couldn’t help but feel impressed by your determination.

  And then, you finally handed me a copy of your proposal and begged me to get it to him. Honestly, you should have done that from the beginning. It would have saved you so much trouble. But if you had, perhaps I wouldn’t have handed the proposal back to you the very next day—complete with detailed annotations about your plan.

  You spent the next hour hunched over in the corner, quietly muttering such things as “I never would have considered that” and “Professor Ye is so insightful.”

  You didn’t want to believe me when I explained that Professor Ye asked me to throw your proposal in the trash. You were reading my annotations.

  But that’s what made you notice me. I was useful.

  Is there some way I can be useful to Nadine? If I were, would that convince her to let me come along when she meets with Lord Valia?

  All I have to offer is my service as a scholar, and, to that end, I need to gain literacy in Panzean. Fortunately, I had my second lesson with Jacque today.

  It was a particularly difficult session, but I did manage to drag some insight out of the bullheaded man.

  ***

  He arrived shortly after our noontime meal. He wore the same blood-red coat from the previous lesson, and his hawkish eyes had fully regained their haughty cast since our last encounter.

  I looked up from my book. I’d hoped the sight of me reading would garner some reaction, but, to my disappointment, he didn’t seem all too impressed. “Good morning, Mister Jacque,” I said. “Today I would like to learn about read and write.”

  This drew a reaction from him. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, slowly sinking into the seat across from me. He set his tablet on the table between us before replying.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Mister Ordine. ‘Mister’ is [used with?] the family name,” he corrected. “You’ve been practicing your pronunciation.”

  “Yes,” I said. It wasn’t precisely a lie—my improved pronunciation was the result of hours spent refining my language spell, which is perhaps more useful than practice. There may come a time when I will learn to speak without magical aid, but, for now, this is my surest way to fluency. “Can you teach read to me?”

  “Reading,” he said. “Read is the [???] form. You say reading if you mean it as a noun.”

  Every time I believe I’m making progress, I’m confronted with a new nonsensical rule or deviation from proper, logical grammar. “Teach goes with noun?”

  “Teach takes a noun as its [object], yes.” He cleared his throat, then changed the subject. “You wish to practice your reading today?”

  I nodded, and he placed his hand on the tablet. “Do you know your [letters]?”

  “What is [letters]?”

  He closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. With a tap, rows of characters appeared on the tablet’s surface. “[Letters],” he said.

  “Oh!” I compared the letters on the tablet with the letters on the open book before me; they seemed to be the same writing system. “No, I do not know it.”

  “We shall begin with the [‘alphabet’], then.” As he spoke, he propped his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his hand. This was, I surmised, his way of telling me that these lessons were an utter bore, but he would entertain me nonetheless. He pointed to the character in the top left. “This is [A], and it makes an ‘ah’ or ‘ay’ sound.”

  “Oh, so it is represents sound!” I couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of excitement. My hypothesis was right! “I thought that might be the way it is.”

  “You thought letters might represent sound? What else could it be?”

  “Well, for the example, we have letters that means whole words, or ideas.”

  “‘We’?” He no longer looked bored. “Who is ‘we’?”

  In my excitement, I had forgotten that my origins—the existence of Guntao and whole other systems of writing—were meant to be secret. My insides froze as I realized my mistake.

  “There is no we,” I said evenly. “It is just a saying. For the example.”

  His eyes narrowed for a second time, but he simply said, “For example. You don’t need ‘the’, or any other article.”

  (Articles are these wretched little words that were designed specifically to torment me, as best as I can tell. I would not trust any language that uses them.)

  At my insistence, we pressed on, taking each letter one-by-one. He kept shooting me suspicious looks throughout, but, mercifully, he kept his opinions to himself. For a time, at least. Once we had worked our way through all the letters, I raised my finger to silence Jacque.

  Naturally, I had cataloged each letter as we went, and, after a few minutes of tinkering, I prepared a rudimentary reading cantrip. I returned my attention to my book—one of Nadine’s medical tomes—and began.

  “Foe-reward. [Collected] in these pages are the [combined] [learnings] of Hee-lee-nee Combay-oh-ax, Sammmnnnuh-uh-ehl Mah-aye-ehr, and Corin-nee Horncrow.” It certainly wasn’t right, but it was something. Even if what I was reading sounded like nonsense, I could feel that I was on the cusp of understanding. A few more adjustments to my spell, and…

  Jacque clapped his hands together, seizing my attention. “That was quite the [show?],” he said. “I can tell that you have put a great deal of effort into this [facade?]. The [rapid improvement/advancement] of your [linguistic?] abilities. Your [admittedly??] impressive grasp of mathematics. It all comes together to [portray?] the image of the poor, amnesiac [genius].”

  He clucked his tongue chidingly. “But don’t you think this was a little too far, Miss Why?”

  Something about the way he said my name irritated me. Everything he said up to that point certainly didn’t help.

  “You think I’m lie?” I asked.

  “Lyi—” he began to correct. Catching himself, he breathed a string of indecipherable utterances before continuing at a more comprehensible pace. “You’ve [tipped your hand???]. I don’t claim to understand why you’re lying, but yes, you absolutely— What are you doing?”

  I held a hand over the table, holding it out at an odd angle. “Tipping my hand?” I asked. “It means lying?”

  His mouth gaped open for several long moments; all of the heat and vitriol was suddenly gone.

  “No, it’s—” he stammered, hands flailing as though trying to grasp some—any—point. “It means you revealed the truth. By accident. You made an error.”

  “But you said I am lying. Now you say I am telling a truth?”

  “Not [intentionally]! You were trying to lie, but you were doing so badly.”

  “Ah, so it is like there is a truth in my hand, and then… Oops! I tip it!” I held up my palm to illustrate.

  “No, no, it’s a [reference] to [???] games…” He stopped himself abruptly, his face twisted into a grimace as he tried to regain control over the conversation.

  “I think,” I said, calmly but firmly, before he could get back to his accusations, “maybe you can call me a lying one. But what does that help? Instead of doing that, let us keep doing lessons, and maybe, oops, I will tip my hand.”

  Jacque frowned as he worked through my proposal. “You suggest we continue the lesson—pretend I haven’t [accused] you of being a [liar]—and I try to [trick] you into revealing the truth?”

  Jacque was not so dull as he sometimes appeared.

  “I am not a liar,” I said. “But you can try to trick.”

  He offered an irritated grunt in reply, but our lesson was soon underway once more.

  ***

  I maintain that I am ill-suited to social situations, but I do feel some pride at deflecting Jacque’s inquiries. It is a short-term solution, no doubt, but both he and Nadine share a certain scholarly disposition that I know well. When confronted with a puzzle, they must solve it; when they come upon some obscure knowledge, they must share it; when the opportunity to show off their intellect presents itself, they must seize it.

  Then again, I may have only made my situation all the more tenuous. Nadine tolerates me out of some mixture of pity and curiosity, but if I inadvertently antagonize Jacque, he could turn her against me.

  (But then again, Jacque’s entire personality begs to be antagonized, so maybe she would not take such a thing seriously?)

  Time will tell if my actions today were a masterstroke or the beginnings of my own destruction. Whatever the case, my path is set. I must find a way to make myself useful. If I can show Nadine that I provide some value, perhaps some edge in her competition to become the lord’s physician, then surely she will come around to the idea of introducing me to Lord Valia.

  I wish you were here to guide me. Or even just to sit and listen to me talk.

  I love you.

  I miss you.

  I wish you hadn’t died.