Mirabelle enjoyed her job.
True, working as a receptionist wasn't what her parents wanted her to do. It wasn't what she wanted to do, either. And as a graduate of the acclaimed Royal Institute of Mages, she certainly didn't lack for career opportunities.
But she didn't just work as any receptionist.
She worked as a receptionist for the Adventurer's Guild. And at the royal capital branch, no less.
Still, it was certainly no career.
Or at least, that's how she felt at first.
Because as prestigious as the Adventurer's Guild was, she knew there was little progression from this position. And so Mirabelle intended on treating it as an opportunity for a working holiday in the lakeside capital of Reitzlake while she stayed with family, visited friends and volunteered at the cat shelter on Portside Road.
After all, she was a talented mage. She'd scored in the 95th percentile. And that opened doors. While she knew that receptionists at the guild were required to identify and imbue rings, that was a task which even freshly inducted adepts could accomplish.
And so Mirabelle had accepted the position when asked, knowing that her memories of the Adventurer's Guild would likely sail by like a ship in the night when she left. There were arcane towers to reside in. Archaeological expeditions to join. Even the Mage's Guild had a direct entry scheme for graduates of the Royal Institute.
Mirabelle certainly had no intention of staying on.
Although she held no negative opinions on adventurers, she knew that others of her calling did. Few mages ever climbed the Oldest Ladder. It was far easier and profitable to climb the ladder of court intrigue–an option that was open to all who could bend physics like a troll could bend accounting numbers.
The work wasn't beneath her. But she desired something more fitting for her skill set. Imbuing rings and handling light paperwork wasn't why she'd graduated with distinction from the Royal Institute. In her hands was the power of the elements, ready to shape or carve mountains as required.
And that meant either field excursions or a research tower.
She would never have an opportunity to broaden her talents while patiently sitting and smiling behind a receptionist's desk. But that's fine. Because this was just temporary.
That was almost two years ago now.
“[Feather Cloud].”
Mirabelle raised her hand, conjuring forth a fluffy wisp of white to cushion an adventurer who'd blacked out from drinking directly from the ale keg again.
“[Flame Sprout].”
The dying embers beneath the communal stewing pot burst to life, feeding off wood that had long blackened to ash to keep the stew bubbling and the food sanitised.
“[Siren's Calm].”
Two adventurers in the motion of trading blows came to a sudden and abrupt halt. They looked at each other's fists in confusion, then fist bumped and pretended that it was what they'd planned all along.
“[Minor Icicle].”
A glass of highball whisky made a satisfying splash as several ice cubes dropped into the bottom.
That one caused Mirabelle to take in a deep breath.
Remote conjuring a [Minor Icicle], reconstituting its shape, inversing its trajectory and then fracturing it into conveniently sized ice cubes to fall at natural speed was her most impressive feat yet–today.
Yesterday, she'd identified and removed a curse where an adventurer's footsteps would permanently squeak. Amusing in the guild hall. Fatal when stalking a grounded aboleth horror. Now that was impressive. Too much so. A cleric from the nearby chapel had visited to complain. Mirabelle had to apologise. It was not the guild's place to draw away paying patients from the healers.
And yet the effort had pleased her still.
Although she never voiced her excitement at having to twist and modulate her spells on demand, the fact remained that ever since she'd begun working here, her technical command of magic had increased substantially.
Now she could mix, pour and serve piña coladas without leaving her seat.
She intended to write her postgraduate dissertation on that. She knew for a fact that the professors at the Royal Institute would be intrigued at her ability to compound simple levitation with Heinrich's Principle of Fluid Dynamics in Magic to perfectly devise a crisp yet creamy piña colada with just the correct amount of thickness.
Thus, Mirabelle continued to sit behind the receptionist's desk, smiling politely, imbuing rings and deepening her magical abilities. And at no point did she expect anything to change.
Not even when all the voices in the guild hall suddenly hushed.
A tall figure accompanied by a lone maid swept out from the guildmaster's office. He wore a full cloak with his hood up, but that alone wasn't enough to shield the identity of the heir to the kingdom. Nor did it intend to.
It was simply to show that he was in a rush.
His brisk pace took him to the exit in moments. An adventurer read the mood and opened the door for him, thus being the only person in this hall to earn a nod from Crown Prince Roland Contzen. He would continue recounting this day for many years to come, each time slightly altered until he'd personally rescued the heir from a leaping assassin hiding in the bottom of the stew.
When the Crown Prince left, his maid in tow, the chatter returned as an overwhelming clamour of noise. Drinks slammed against tables and boasts were exchanged as each person in the hall claimed to have the measure of their future king.
Few of them stopped to ask why he was here.
There was, after all, little need. They were the Adventurer's Guild. And the people in this hall were tasked with two things.
Rescuing lost cats and killing things with lots of teeth.
They fully expected their coming task to be one of them.
“Mirabelle.”
The receptionist nodded and smiled as a greying man with a frail appearance approached. He was almost invisible, but Mirabelle knew it wasn't due him fading to the sweeping aura of the Crown Prince.
Despite this man's thin stature and expression wrinkled with a kindly smile, the guild hall quietened with respect when he finally chose to make his presence felt.
Only his gait stood out. He walked as though shunting forward on one good leg. Mirabelle knew they were both fine. He'd had it healed the week she first started working here. Some wounds, however, took more than magic to heal.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Quinsley,” said Mirabelle, only remaining sitting because she'd been expressly told to. “I've completed this week's liaison report with Guild Headquarters. Would you like to read it now?”
The guildmaster of Reitzlake's branch waved away her query.
“You can leave it in the usual spot. I have more important matters.”
“Understood.”
Mirabelle picked up the report she'd worked tirelessly to complete by today's deadline, then pretended to throw it in the rubbish bin. She'd replaced the liner with a sack that now contained all the documents the guildmaster didn't wish to read, but would eventually have to.
“It's been ten years since that boy last visited here,” said Mr. Quinsley, nodding towards the door. “Still kept trying to sneak a glance at the artifacts in my office, though. He hasn't changed a day.”
Mirabelle nodded, knowing she wasn't expected to respond.
“He came here hoping to give a commendation to one of our adventurers. A girl named Juliette. I explained to him that we've no one by that name in our branch, but that I'd convey the gratitude of the kingdom to her once I discovered who she was and where she was registered.”
The receptionist blinked.
All of a sudden, she saw the face of a girl clearly in her mind.
How could she not? Everything about her had been unusual. Her appearance. Her origin. Her speech. Her sword laden with enchantments, clearly visible to Mirabelle's eyes. And most of all, the clockwork doll serving as some manner of attendant by her side.
“Juliette?” she queried, just to be certain.
“Juliette.” The guildmaster nodded. “Apparently, she's caused quite a scene. Multiple witness testimonies claim that she defeated the entire Smugglers Guild with a single A-rank skill. How I wish I was there to witness that. I thought my last chance to marvel went when Thomas did.”
For a moment, Mr. Quinsley paused at a memory only he knew. He brushed it aside and looked pointedly at Mirabelle.
“See if you can discover who this girl is. It was claimed she bore a guild ring. If true, then questions need rightfully be asked. Someone is keeping their cards glued to their chest if they hope to keep an A-rank adventurer from the rest of us. That is unacceptable. Make your inquiries. Use my name as you see fit. I want to know who this girl is.”
Mirabelle failed to respond.
It was very unlike her. She prided herself on her professionalism. No matter the query or the request, if it was within the scope of her job, she would do it with efficiency.
The guildmaster did not fail to see this.
“She was here,” he said, his face wrinkling as though all the years had suddenly caught up to him. “When?”
“Yesterday,” replied Mirabelle. “I was the one who greeted her when she arrived. She was a newly inducted member without any commissions completed. F-rank.”
“What? Who inducted her? Which branch?”
“The Rolstein branch.”
Mr. Quinsley let out an unseemly curse.
“Cedric.” He paused, voicing the rest of his displeasure in his mind. “That rookie. What does he think he's doing, hiding someone like that from us? That man is far too audacious if he believes he alone can keep such a powerful find under his books. And he sent her here? To Reitzlake? To my city?”
The guildmaster looked like he was torn between rage and despondency. And yet after a few moments, he merely settled with an old smile instead.
“The daringness … he certainly lives up to his youth. It's a relief to know that Cedric Halls isn't content to merely waste away in the pages of the Golden Hogs' history book. Especially if he means to secure influence so overtly with headquarters. What did this Juliette do, after Cedric sent her into my own city?”
“She came here to inquire about the War of the Streets. She wished to know the whereabouts of the leaders of the Thieves Guild and the Smugglers Guild, and mentioned something about a national soap making rehabilitation programme.”
Mr. Quinsley let out a long sigh.
“A newly inducted member asking about something far beyond her remit. If only it weren't such a common occurrence, we could have noted her then and there. To think that Cedric has the jump on us. If another Snow Dancer has appeared, then we must not allow her to slip through. Others will bloody themselves to claim her. We must take her under our wings. Make her an offer. Anything. The Adventurer's Guild cannot lose her.”
“I understand. What would you like me to do?”
“We need to find her. Where is this F-rank adventurer now? I take it she's no longer in the city?”
“While she wasn't specific, I believe that's likely the case.” Mirabelle paused. “Additionally, she's E-rank now. I promoted her.”
“You what?”
“She completed the dryad commission. I saw fit to promote her. Especially after confirming with the Rolstein branch that she was responsible for solving the Withering.”
The guildmaster almost fell over. He instead leaned across the reception desk, palms slamming against the edge.
“That was her?” he said, stunned. “Why didn't you say?”
“I did,” replied Mirabelle, picking up the rubbish bin. “It's in the report buried beneath our quarterly health and safety inspection results.”
Mr. Quinsley groaned.
“Just defeating a dryad is a noteworthy accomplishment. But to best all the criminals in Reitzlake and the foul magic in the lowlands as well ...”
His words tapered into silence. But not for long.
“I accept full responsibility for this,” he said, gritting his teeth as he took the rubbish bin from Mirabelle's hands. “We … I was too lax. To think that someone so powerful has emerged. And that they were operating in Reitzlake. Do you know anything about this girl? Anything at all?”
Mirabelle considered the image of the well-spoken girl with the sword far beyond the dreams of any true F-ranked adventurer.
“I believe from her demeanour and dress that she is nobility. However, neither she nor her ring indicated from which family she was from.”
“Nobility?”
The lines of shock were evident on the guildmaster's face once more. Mirabelle felt guilty about doing this to someone his age, even if often acted older than he truly was.
“Then we have no time to waste. If she's nobility, then that is a sure road for the kingdom to claim her. That cannot happen. If the royal guard gains possession of an A-ranked heroine, then that will greatly diminish the relevancy of the guild.”
“If I may ask, would she not have joined the royal guard if aiding the kingdom was her sole intent?”
“The younger nobility still hold adventuring in high regard, Mirabelle. It is a fleeting fancy born of storybooks and fairytales. If we wish for this Juliette to remain, then we must endear ourselves to her sentiments, whatever the cost.”
Mirabelle could only see the guildmaster wincing at the expenditure he was predicting. He would likely have to pay even more. She hadn't mentioned the enchanted sword yet.
“We must find her,” he repeated. “Did she give any indications as to where she went? What she's doing now?”
“I believe she mentioned that she was saving the kingdom.”
The guildmaster took a step back, wincing as if blinded by what he'd just heard.
“... So even her words match her actions. Such virtue of spirit can only be admired.”
“Should I contact Rolstein?”
“No.” Mr. Quinsley shook his head. “I will speak with Cedric personally. But not until we've wrested this adventurer from his influence. I know where she will be.”
His eyes closed for a moment. When they opened again, it was with the glint of self-assurance.
“North. Where the greatest source of turmoil is to be found. The Duchy of Aquina is a cauldron ready to explode. The Wovencoille is beset by magical snow. Trierport is blockaded by corsairs.”
Mirabelle nodded, waiting for the guildmaster to continue.
“This adventurer–she must be found,” said Mr. Quinsley, the resolve hardening on his face. “Because if she's truly powerful … then we cannot allow the other branches to claim her. Only Reitzlake has the resources to bargain. Cedric Halls has missed a key opportunity. But I won't.”
“I understand. Should I send for our highest ranking adventurers to speak with her?”
“No. That is not enough. They do not have the authority needed to negotiate with her. More than that, they do not have the correct acumen. Good as they are, I wouldn't trust a soul here with anything which didn't involve saving or killing.”
The guildmaster looked straight at Mirabelle.
“I do, however, trust you.”
“Hm?” Mirabelle tilted her head slightly, her polite smile taking on a confused hue. “Thank you, but I don't quite … ?”
“Ride for the Duchy of Aquina. It is nearest. Locate this new adventurer if you can. The Tournament of Crowns invites all the strong towards it. I do not believe this girl to be an exception. Not when civil war may emerge as the victor.”
“Mr. Quinsley,” began Mirabelle, shocked at not only what she was hearing, but also the fact she was suddenly rather attached to her desk. “I'm a receptionist.”
“You are a senior representative of the Adventurer's Guild, a prodigious mage, and the only one here to know this girl's face. Go wielding my full authority. Ask, plead, beg. Do what must be done to ensure she remains committed to the cause. And to the Reitzlake branch.”
For a long moment, no motion disturbed their conversation.
And then–
A freshly made piña colada floated over to the desk.
Mirabelle drunk it, admiring her own handiwork. Then she stood up.
She was a receptionist for the Adventurer's Guild. And if she was asked to perform a task within her capabilities, she would.
Mirabelle would finally have her field excursion.
Mirabelle enjoyed her job.
True, working as a receptionist wasn't what her parents wanted her to do. It wasn't what she wanted to do, either. And as a graduate of the acclaimed Royal Institute of Mages, she certainly didn't lack for career opportunities.
But she didn't just work as any receptionist.
She worked as a receptionist for the Adventurer's Guild. And at the royal capital branch, no less.
Still, it was certainly no career.
Or at least, that's how she felt at first.
Because as prestigious as the Adventurer's Guild was, she knew there was little progression from this position. And so Mirabelle intended on treating it as an opportunity for a working holiday in the lakeside capital of Reitzlake while she stayed with family, visited friends and volunteered at the cat shelter on Portside Road.
After all, she was a talented mage. She'd scored in the 95th percentile. And that opened doors. While she knew that receptionists at the guild were required to identify and imbue rings, that was a task which even freshly inducted adepts could accomplish.
And so Mirabelle had accepted the position when asked, knowing that her memories of the Adventurer's Guild would likely sail by like a ship in the night when she left. There were arcane towers to reside in. Archaeological expeditions to join. Even the Mage's Guild had a direct entry scheme for graduates of the Royal Institute.
Mirabelle certainly had no intention of staying on.
Although she held no negative opinions on adventurers, she knew that others of her calling did. Few mages ever climbed the Oldest Ladder. It was far easier and profitable to climb the ladder of court intrigue–an option that was open to all who could bend physics like a troll could bend accounting numbers.
The work wasn't beneath her. But she desired something more fitting for her skill set. Imbuing rings and handling light paperwork wasn't why she'd graduated with distinction from the Royal Institute. In her hands was the power of the elements, ready to shape or carve mountains as required.
And that meant either field excursions or a research tower.
She would never have an opportunity to broaden her talents while patiently sitting and smiling behind a receptionist's desk. But that's fine. Because this was just temporary.
That was almost two years ago now.
“[Feather Cloud].”
Mirabelle raised her hand, conjuring forth a fluffy wisp of white to cushion an adventurer who'd blacked out from drinking directly from the ale keg again.
“[Flame Sprout].”
The dying embers beneath the communal stewing pot burst to life, feeding off wood that had long blackened to ash to keep the stew bubbling and the food sanitised.
“[Siren's Calm].”
Two adventurers in the motion of trading blows came to a sudden and abrupt halt. They looked at each other's fists in confusion, then fist bumped and pretended that it was what they'd planned all along.
“[Minor Icicle].”
A glass of highball whisky made a satisfying splash as several ice cubes dropped into the bottom.
That one caused Mirabelle to take in a deep breath.
Remote conjuring a [Minor Icicle], reconstituting its shape, inversing its trajectory and then fracturing it into conveniently sized ice cubes to fall at natural speed was her most impressive feat yet–today.
Yesterday, she'd identified and removed a curse where an adventurer's footsteps would permanently squeak. Amusing in the guild hall. Fatal when stalking a grounded aboleth horror. Now that was impressive. Too much so. A cleric from the nearby chapel had visited to complain. Mirabelle had to apologise. It was not the guild's place to draw away paying patients from the healers.
And yet the effort had pleased her still.
Although she never voiced her excitement at having to twist and modulate her spells on demand, the fact remained that ever since she'd begun working here, her technical command of magic had increased substantially.
Now she could mix, pour and serve piña coladas without leaving her seat.
She intended to write her postgraduate dissertation on that. She knew for a fact that the professors at the Royal Institute would be intrigued at her ability to compound simple levitation with Heinrich's Principle of Fluid Dynamics in Magic to perfectly devise a crisp yet creamy piña colada with just the correct amount of thickness.
Thus, Mirabelle continued to sit behind the receptionist's desk, smiling politely, imbuing rings and deepening her magical abilities. And at no point did she expect anything to change.
Not even when all the voices in the guild hall suddenly hushed.
A tall figure accompanied by a lone maid swept out from the guildmaster's office. He wore a full cloak with his hood up, but that alone wasn't enough to shield the identity of the heir to the kingdom. Nor did it intend to.
It was simply to show that he was in a rush.
His brisk pace took him to the exit in moments. An adventurer read the mood and opened the door for him, thus being the only person in this hall to earn a nod from Crown Prince Roland Contzen. He would continue recounting this day for many years to come, each time slightly altered until he'd personally rescued the heir from a leaping assassin hiding in the bottom of the stew.
When the Crown Prince left, his maid in tow, the chatter returned as an overwhelming clamour of noise. Drinks slammed against tables and boasts were exchanged as each person in the hall claimed to have the measure of their future king.
Few of them stopped to ask why he was here.
There was, after all, little need. They were the Adventurer's Guild. And the people in this hall were tasked with two things.
Rescuing lost cats and killing things with lots of teeth.
They fully expected their coming task to be one of them.
“Mirabelle.”
The receptionist nodded and smiled as a greying man with a frail appearance approached. He was almost invisible, but Mirabelle knew it wasn't due him fading to the sweeping aura of the Crown Prince.
Despite this man's thin stature and expression wrinkled with a kindly smile, the guild hall quietened with respect when he finally chose to make his presence felt.
Only his gait stood out. He walked as though shunting forward on one good leg. Mirabelle knew they were both fine. He'd had it healed the week she first started working here. Some wounds, however, took more than magic to heal.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Quinsley,” said Mirabelle, only remaining sitting because she'd been expressly told to. “I've completed this week's liaison report with Guild Headquarters. Would you like to read it now?”
The guildmaster of Reitzlake's branch waved away her query.
“You can leave it in the usual spot. I have more important matters.”
“Understood.”
Mirabelle picked up the report she'd worked tirelessly to complete by today's deadline, then pretended to throw it in the rubbish bin. She'd replaced the liner with a sack that now contained all the documents the guildmaster didn't wish to read, but would eventually have to.
“It's been ten years since that boy last visited here,” said Mr. Quinsley, nodding towards the door. “Still kept trying to sneak a glance at the artifacts in my office, though. He hasn't changed a day.”
Mirabelle nodded, knowing she wasn't expected to respond.
“He came here hoping to give a commendation to one of our adventurers. A girl named Juliette. I explained to him that we've no one by that name in our branch, but that I'd convey the gratitude of the kingdom to her once I discovered who she was and where she was registered.”
The receptionist blinked.
All of a sudden, she saw the face of a girl clearly in her mind.
How could she not? Everything about her had been unusual. Her appearance. Her origin. Her speech. Her sword laden with enchantments, clearly visible to Mirabelle's eyes. And most of all, the clockwork doll serving as some manner of attendant by her side.
“Juliette?” she queried, just to be certain.
“Juliette.” The guildmaster nodded. “Apparently, she's caused quite a scene. Multiple witness testimonies claim that she defeated the entire Smugglers Guild with a single A-rank skill. How I wish I was there to witness that. I thought my last chance to marvel went when Thomas did.”
For a moment, Mr. Quinsley paused at a memory only he knew. He brushed it aside and looked pointedly at Mirabelle.
“See if you can discover who this girl is. It was claimed she bore a guild ring. If true, then questions need rightfully be asked. Someone is keeping their cards glued to their chest if they hope to keep an A-rank adventurer from the rest of us. That is unacceptable. Make your inquiries. Use my name as you see fit. I want to know who this girl is.”
Mirabelle failed to respond.
It was very unlike her. She prided herself on her professionalism. No matter the query or the request, if it was within the scope of her job, she would do it with efficiency.
The guildmaster did not fail to see this.
“She was here,” he said, his face wrinkling as though all the years had suddenly caught up to him. “When?”
“Yesterday,” replied Mirabelle. “I was the one who greeted her when she arrived. She was a newly inducted member without any commissions completed. F-rank.”
“What? Who inducted her? Which branch?”
“The Rolstein branch.”
Mr. Quinsley let out an unseemly curse.
“Cedric.” He paused, voicing the rest of his displeasure in his mind. “That rookie. What does he think he's doing, hiding someone like that from us? That man is far too audacious if he believes he alone can keep such a powerful find under his books. And he sent her here? To Reitzlake? To my city?”
The guildmaster looked like he was torn between rage and despondency. And yet after a few moments, he merely settled with an old smile instead.
“The daringness … he certainly lives up to his youth. It's a relief to know that Cedric Halls isn't content to merely waste away in the pages of the Golden Hogs' history book. Especially if he means to secure influence so overtly with headquarters. What did this Juliette do, after Cedric sent her into my own city?”
“She came here to inquire about the War of the Streets. She wished to know the whereabouts of the leaders of the Thieves Guild and the Smugglers Guild, and mentioned something about a national soap making rehabilitation programme.”
Mr. Quinsley let out a long sigh.
“A newly inducted member asking about something far beyond her remit. If only it weren't such a common occurrence, we could have noted her then and there. To think that Cedric has the jump on us. If another Snow Dancer has appeared, then we must not allow her to slip through. Others will bloody themselves to claim her. We must take her under our wings. Make her an offer. Anything. The Adventurer's Guild cannot lose her.”
“I understand. What would you like me to do?”
“We need to find her. Where is this F-rank adventurer now? I take it she's no longer in the city?”
“While she wasn't specific, I believe that's likely the case.” Mirabelle paused. “Additionally, she's E-rank now. I promoted her.”
“You what?”
“She completed the dryad commission. I saw fit to promote her. Especially after confirming with the Rolstein branch that she was responsible for solving the Withering.”
The guildmaster almost fell over. He instead leaned across the reception desk, palms slamming against the edge.
“That was her?” he said, stunned. “Why didn't you say?”
“I did,” replied Mirabelle, picking up the rubbish bin. “It's in the report buried beneath our quarterly health and safety inspection results.”
Mr. Quinsley groaned.
“Just defeating a dryad is a noteworthy accomplishment. But to best all the criminals in Reitzlake and the foul magic in the lowlands as well ...”
His words tapered into silence. But not for long.
“I accept full responsibility for this,” he said, gritting his teeth as he took the rubbish bin from Mirabelle's hands. “We … I was too lax. To think that someone so powerful has emerged. And that they were operating in Reitzlake. Do you know anything about this girl? Anything at all?”
Mirabelle considered the image of the well-spoken girl with the sword far beyond the dreams of any true F-ranked adventurer.
“I believe from her demeanour and dress that she is nobility. However, neither she nor her ring indicated from which family she was from.”
“Nobility?”
The lines of shock were evident on the guildmaster's face once more. Mirabelle felt guilty about doing this to someone his age, even if often acted older than he truly was.
“Then we have no time to waste. If she's nobility, then that is a sure road for the kingdom to claim her. That cannot happen. If the royal guard gains possession of an A-ranked heroine, then that will greatly diminish the relevancy of the guild.”
“If I may ask, would she not have joined the royal guard if aiding the kingdom was her sole intent?”
“The younger nobility still hold adventuring in high regard, Mirabelle. It is a fleeting fancy born of storybooks and fairytales. If we wish for this Juliette to remain, then we must endear ourselves to her sentiments, whatever the cost.”
Mirabelle could only see the guildmaster wincing at the expenditure he was predicting. He would likely have to pay even more. She hadn't mentioned the enchanted sword yet.
“We must find her,” he repeated. “Did she give any indications as to where she went? What she's doing now?”
“I believe she mentioned that she was saving the kingdom.”
The guildmaster took a step back, wincing as if blinded by what he'd just heard.
“... So even her words match her actions. Such virtue of spirit can only be admired.”
“Should I contact Rolstein?”
“No.” Mr. Quinsley shook his head. “I will speak with Cedric personally. But not until we've wrested this adventurer from his influence. I know where she will be.”
His eyes closed for a moment. When they opened again, it was with the glint of self-assurance.
“North. Where the greatest source of turmoil is to be found. The Duchy of Aquina is a cauldron ready to explode. The Wovencoille is beset by magical snow. Trierport is blockaded by corsairs.”
Mirabelle nodded, waiting for the guildmaster to continue.
“This adventurer–she must be found,” said Mr. Quinsley, the resolve hardening on his face. “Because if she's truly powerful … then we cannot allow the other branches to claim her. Only Reitzlake has the resources to bargain. Cedric Halls has missed a key opportunity. But I won't.”
“I understand. Should I send for our highest ranking adventurers to speak with her?”
“No. That is not enough. They do not have the authority needed to negotiate with her. More than that, they do not have the correct acumen. Good as they are, I wouldn't trust a soul here with anything which didn't involve saving or killing.”
The guildmaster looked straight at Mirabelle.
“I do, however, trust you.”
“Hm?” Mirabelle tilted her head slightly, her polite smile taking on a confused hue. “Thank you, but I don't quite … ?”
“Ride for the Duchy of Aquina. It is nearest. Locate this new adventurer if you can. The Tournament of Crowns invites all the strong towards it. I do not believe this girl to be an exception. Not when civil war may emerge as the victor.”
“Mr. Quinsley,” began Mirabelle, shocked at not only what she was hearing, but also the fact she was suddenly rather attached to her desk. “I'm a receptionist.”
“You are a senior representative of the Adventurer's Guild, a prodigious mage, and the only one here to know this girl's face. Go wielding my full authority. Ask, plead, beg. Do what must be done to ensure she remains committed to the cause. And to the Reitzlake branch.”
For a long moment, no motion disturbed their conversation.
And then–
A freshly made piña colada floated over to the desk.
Mirabelle drunk it, admiring her own handiwork. Then she stood up.
She was a receptionist for the Adventurer's Guild. And if she was asked to perform a task within her capabilities, she would.
Mirabelle would finally have her field excursion.
