Ben suggested politely, “Please, after you, comrade Alphonse,” motioning for Al to enter first.

  Al grunted and boarded the carriage.

  Ben followed behind him. The carriage had two benches, front and back, facing each other. Ben moved to sit opposite Al when the cattleman squeezed his way inside, forcing the two of them to sit next to each other while he sat opposite them with the claymore resting across his lap.

  Ben looked at Al, ready to ask another question, but he found the dogboy reclining with his eyes closed. Al appeared either uninterested in talking to him or tired from the trip, maybe both.

  Ben then turned to the cattleman and attempted to engage him in conversation. “Comrade, I never did get your name,” he said.

  The cattleman quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

  Realizing that the cattleman wasn’t inclined to answer, Ben shifted to a different question, “How long have you attended Mancer?”

  No answer.

  “Or are you a guard?”

  Still no answer.

  “That is a nice shield. Do you know, is it lair made?”

  And still no answer. At that point, Ben gave up, realizing the cattleman wasn’t interested in answering any of his questions, and he didn’t want to force it.

  The carriage rocked and swayed as it wound its way up the mountain roads, taking four hours to cover the distance. Eventually, the trees thinned away and revealed a startlingly perfect landscape of rolling hills framed by white stone walls. Atop a hill was the majestic academy; its towers were tall and proud, and ivy cascaded down its walls in vibrant shades of green and yellow. The gates were open wide, inviting visitors inside. As they neared the entrance, students hurried along pathways in twos or threes, their faces filled with determination and focus.

  When they finally reached the Academy, Ben thought that was the end of the ride, but no. They spent another hour climbing the mountain to reach their dorm. It really put into perspective just how big this city really was and just how high they were.

  “Out,” the cattleman ordered when they finally stopped, climbing out first himself and holding the door open.

  Ben gave Al a light elbow and the dogboy started, his eyes popping open and immediately honing in on Ben. He whipped a silver pistol from its holster and cocked it with shaking hands. Ben froze, his fingers hovering near the knife tucked into his belt. Fearing for the worst, he spoke slowly, giving Alphonse a chance to think instead of react with action, "We're here, comrade."

  Finally, the grip on the weapon loosened and Al lowered it before quickly holstering it again. His pale face was twisted in embarrassment as he apologized and then scrambled from the carriage, leaving Ben alone. Ben watched him go with a furrowed brow -- that reaction wasn't normal. Years living in the slums had taught him to recognize the signs of paranoia in people, and he worried that Al might just be like them; dangerous.

  “Keep that pistol in your apartment. Gunpowder weapons are not allowed on Mancer Academy grounds without special written permission from the dean,” the cattleman warned gruffly.

  Ben stood and straightened his clothes again, adopting a proper stance and marched from the carriage. He needed to make a good impression on anyone who might be watching him.

  He overheard the loud cattleman saying, “Third floor is yours,” to Al as he passed him a key, allowing the dogboy to grab it and rush inside.

  “Second floor is yours,” the cattleman said, handing Ben a different key, which he accepted. He looked up at the house that was to be his home for the foreseeable future. It was a yellowish-brown building with several windows on each floor, their frames painted white. Ben couldn’t tell how far back it went but guessed it couldn’t be that large. Still, it looked picturesque. The front door was bright red and had an iron number two nailed to the frame. He quickly mastered himself and went inside.

  Through the front door, there was a stairway leading up and a door on his left with an iron ‘A’ nailed to it. Ben looked up the stairs and saw Al had already passed the first landing and was almost to the second with his key in hand. The steps were constructed higher than he expected, and he marveled at how high the ceiling must be in order for the stairs to rise so high.

  Ben climbed the stairs to the first landing where a door with an iron ‘B’ awaited. His key slid into the lock, opened with a gentle click, and he entered.

  It was opulent. Not on the level of his Handler’s manor, but still opulent. Ben had heard they called such a layout a loft. The entire floor was one large room. To his left and towards the back of the space was the bedroom area with a large bed and tall armoire. At the very back was a small area he believed to be a bathroom.

  Directly across from the room door was the kitchen. It had everything he could have asked for. There was a stove, a sink with a spigot, and it looked to be stocked with pots, pans, utensils, and dishes, though he saw no food. However, he did see one surprise. A cold pantry. It was the size of a small closet, but it would be more than enough for his needs. And in the middle of the room was a tall butcher’s block table with four tall chairs placed next to each other on one side of it.

  To the right was a study and living area. There was a large desk situated just in front of the windows, empty bookshelves against the walls to the left and right on the desk. The sitting area was set up before the desk. There was a long couch set against the wall next to the stairs. A low standing table was just in front of it. Across from the couch was a pair of luxurious and very comfortable-looking armchairs. Ben was already planning to spend most of his time reading in one of those chairs.

  He smiled as he took in his new home. It was more than he’d ever had. He could see himself with a home like this one day. As he looked around again, he made a mental list of things he needed to do. He needed to unpack his clothes and the books he brought with him from the manor, even the Mystic Shadow book. His Handler said he should as he wasn’t hiding his Mystic skills, just some of his less than reputable skills.

  Once that was done, he needed to go shopping. Ben fully intended to stock his kitchen to the brim. He wanted beast meat, fresh fruit and vegetables, and seasonings. He needed lots and lots of seasonings. And in a city like Mancer, he bet he could find some he’d never even heard of or that he couldn’t get living in Aulido.

  So off he went, eager to explore his new surroundings.

  The crisp mountain air rushed into Ben's lungs as he stepped out of the apartment building, a peaceful silence falling over him. He couldn't help but admire the city, its cobblestone pathways and old-fashioned architecture, not to mention the sparse crowds on the cold afternoon.

  He followed his nose, searching for something inviting and familiar. He could just make out the faint smell of roasting meats and freshly picked fruits, leading him to an old warehouse in the corner of the city. Its facade contrasted greatly with the surrounding structures, standing out from its surroundings with its unique and vibrant colors. Ben detected flags from several nations on the walls of each building; Aulidoan and Rugirian flags hung side by side on one of them. Fascinated, he wondered for a moment what story could have led to such a peculiar sight.

  Ben reached the building and stepped inside. The sweet aromas of spices and delicacies from all over the world overwhelmed him. The soft chatter of customers, the vendors' excited calls to buy their goods, and the clang of coins hitting the counter filled the air. There was an incredible array of foods representing an array of cultures. Mancer had certainly not failed to impress; it was time to go shopping.

  He stocked up, getting ingredients to make typical Rychanian, Abbaion, and Blokena foods, but also acquiring a plethora of others. He filled the cold pantry to the brim with all manner of beast meat, milk, butter, and cream. There were also many cheeses, ranging from a gentle mild cheese to something called Limburger that stank so horribly he thought he might die from the scent alone. But there was also flavor there, so he bought a little.

  After stocking up, Ben finished his evening as he usually did, practicing his Mana Circulation followed by a bath and sleep. He knew that someday he would learn that skill. At this point, it was his stubborn determination that pushed him forward to learning it.

  He didn’t know what the coming days would bring, but he was excited to find out. With possibilities running through his head, he eventually drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 5 – A New Companion

  Ben awoke with a start, the sound of banging on the apartment door echoing. He blinked a few times and groaned unsure for a moment if he’d just dreamed the sound. Light was just starting to come through the windows at the front of his apartment. He pulled his blankets over his head and snuggled into the absolutely luxurious bed.

  Bang, bang, bang pounded on his door again, harder this time. He threw his covers back and groaned, “Why?”

  With a massive effort of will, he rolled out of the bed and found his trousers on the floor. He pulled them on as more banging came from his front door. He stumbled a little as he moved toward the source of his irritation. When he got there, he took a moment to stand straighter and remind himself of who he was supposed to be. He was Burion Belov. He was a Rychanian youth. He was proud of his family and of his people. He was here to represent his nation. More importantly, he was here to ensure the Hero did not end up in the hands of Rychania.

  The pounding started again, and this time he opened the door swiftly. It was the cattleman from the day before.

  In Blokena, and with a lot of attitude, Ben demanded, “May I help you?”

  “Evaluation, meet me downstairs in ten minutes,” the cattleman ordered, then turned and began back down the stairs, his booted feet thudding heavily with each step. He clearly wasn’t happy to be there.

  Ben grunted in irritation then slammed his door shut, fulfilling his role of an overly proud youth. Meanwhile, his mind was running a kilometer a minute. What evaluation? He had heard nothing from either his Handler or the Agency about an evaluation. Were they going to test his skills? In what way?

  Still, he rushed through his apartment, shedding his dirty trousers, and digging into the armoire for a set of clean clothes. Then he was into the bathroom, slicking his hair back with copious amounts of pomade. He took a minute to preen and make sure he looked perfect before he gave a nod of satisfaction and headed for the door, grabbing his magic satchel off from the hook next to the door and slinging it over his shoulder as he went. The last thing he did was put on his beast fur lined hat and long coat. Fully ready, he opened his door and stepped into the hall, nearly running Al over in the process.

  “Ah, comrade Alphonse, you too?”

  Al scoffed, “Apparently.” He looked utterly displeased to see him, which made Ben smile internally.

  “Well, we should not keep the rude cattleman waiting, agreed?” Ben said, brushing the creases of his shirt and slacks, then pivoting to take the stairs first. As he descended the steps, he heard heavy thumps behind him as Al followed close behind, stomping each foot down hard on each step as if to make a statement.

  Outside, the soft morning air was chilling, but the city was already alive with activity in the early morning gloom. He could smell the baked breads and breakfast porridges as they cooked in people's homes. Crowds of people filled the wide cobblestone streets and spilled out of the taverns and shops, laughing and talking loudly. As he stepped off the stone stairs, he could hear several conversations at once: a man in a dark leather jerkin selling wool from his cart to a woman in a skirt as long as her legs; two men arguing over the superiority of one breed of cattle over another; an old man showing a six-year-old how to juggle wooden balls.

  On the sidewalk, the armed cowman shifted impatiently as he stood next to a wooden carriage, a figure beside him had his back to Ben but the hunch of the shoulders was a short, squat build.

  As he saw the figure turn and trundle towards him, he noticed the dogman had a smooshed face and labored breathing. He wore a standard white chef’s apron over striped shirt and trousers, and a short, white cap on his head, a bit of sweat soaked into the brim. He smelled of salt, pepper, garlic, shallot, sherry, and beast meat. He held out a hand and wheezed, “Hello, hello. You must be my housemates. I am Esteban.”

  Ben recognized the Aulidoan accent and the clothes of a sailor and guessed the dogman must have been some kind of galley chef. He’d had a chance to see and even work with several on the boat trip to his Handler’s estate. They were fond memories, but Ben forced an arrogant grunt from himself as he ignored the proffered hand.

  Alphonse took the squat dogman’s hand. “I’m Al and this fellow here is Burion Belov. He’s one of them high minded Rychanian fellows.” He leaned in and said much more quietly, “He thinks his shit don’t stink.” Esteban chuckled and Ben had to turn away to keep the two from seeing him struggle to stop himself from smiling.

  “In,” the cattleman ordered, opening the carriage door, and motioning for them to get in.

  Ben did as ordered, sitting on one side of the bench. Al took the other side which left Esteban to sit between them, looking very uncomfortable.

  The carriage began to move, and Ben kept an eye out the window, not that he could see much with his poor vision. It was a few minutes before Esteban broke the silence. “So, you’re from Rychania? What’s it like there?”

  Ben considered continuing to play the annoyed aristocrat, then decided to reprise his recruitment act, indirectly reminding Alphonse of his offer at the same time. “It is a beautiful country, comrade Esteban. The architecture would certainly impress you. Also, the dogwomen there . . . they would certainly love to meet you,” he said, repeating a similar line as he had the day before when it was just him and Al.

  Unlike Al, Esteban seemed quite interested, “Really?”

  Ben nodded. “Are you or are you not attending the Royal Mancer Academy? My country honors and lifts up those skilled as we are. You would do well there indeed.”

  Esteban blushed slightly.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Al stepped in. “He tried giving me the same pitch yesterday. I’m sure it’s just something his government ordered him to say to as many of the students as possible.”

  Esteban furrowed his eyebrows, but Ben instantly defended the honor of his country. “A proud Rychanian would never say such things because he was asked. I am honored by my nation. Proud of our accomplishments. Just because you are shortsighted does not mean you are in any way correct about what I feel about my nation.”

  Al snorted. “I’m sure. I’m also sure you weren’t told to try to get close to me. Not going to try to lure me in with all kinds of promises for power because of who I am?”

  Ben quirked an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “You are a student at the Royal Mancer Academy. Are you saying you are . . . somehow more important than that?”

  Al flinched. “No, I’m not all that important. Just a student like you said. That doesn’t mean I’m wrong about you and whatever orders your country may have given you.”

  Ben frowned and was going to retort when Esteban interjected, “Please don’t fight, guys. We should be trying to get along. We’re at Mancer. This is the second most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.”

  “Second?” Al asked, showing interest in Esteban, and ignoring Ben. Ben thought that was good. He had driven Al to disliking him, and it seemed like he already had a level of distrust for Rychania. Maybe this mission wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

  Esteban grinned and nodded. “So, just after my Job Day, I was hired to work on a pleasure galleon, the Concepción. We were sailing along the coast of the Aulido Empire,” he started. Then he talked about meeting a fugitive of the empire, only they hadn't known he was a fugitive and had let him work in the galley, and then how the Imperial Whispers came on board to find him. How his shipmate had hid on the ship and eventually made an escape. “And I never saw him, or Chef Alma again.”

  Ben, keeping in line with his cover, scoffed and said, “Sounds like a fool to me. He was probably caught.”

  Esteban looked offended then sad. “He’s still alive, I know it. My boon tells me as much.”

  “Then he’s rotting away in prison. You are better off without such despicable kin in your life. Anyone chased by government agents is a traitor. Traitors deserve no quarter or compromise. In Rychania, we learn young how vital our government is. It is only through good and strong leadership that a nation may thrive.”

  Ben saw he was upsetting Esteban and he hated himself for it but knew it was necessary for the sake of his cover identity. Thankfully, Al interrupted, “Leave it be. I’m sure his friend had a good reason. Not all governments are good to their people.”

  Ben frowned and folded his arms, turning away slightly to stare out the window.

  Al continued his conversation with Esteban, “Sounds like an exciting story and your friend sounds like someone I could be friends with.”

  Ben may have been frowning externally, but inside he was happy. The two dog-kin continued chatting amicably as the carriage trundled higher and higher up the mountain. While they talked, Ben listened for any pertinent information.

  “Oh, Wheaten! I’ve never met someone with the Wheaten curse of breed,” Esteban exclaimed, getting a wide grin from Al.

  “Yeah, I’m a little too smart for my own good. Clever, stubborn, and mischievous,” Al explained. That was probably the most valuable information that came from the two of them talking.

  Ben was happy when he heard Esteban’s reason for being at the academy. “I unlocked Magical Cooking not too long ago. Got invited straight away.”

  “I’ve heard that’s really hard to learn,” Al commented.

  Esteban smiled a little sadly. “My instructor, err, Chef Alma, she believed that the key to learning Magical Cooking was a skill called Synesthesia. I was able to learn it a little with her help.. Not much later I understood why she thought it was so important. And not long after I figured that out, I figured out Magical Cooking.”