26th day of Fall, 511 AV
Four bells past noon
Leather boot slapped against wet cobblestone for what seemed like an eternity. The sun had traveled across her path in the dull grey sky and rain had started and stopped more times than Seven had cared to count. Hands gathering lint in his pockets, the halfblood hummed tunelessly as the street he tottered down finally opened up to the decrepit-looking structure that an Alvad had described to him that very morning. “It’s about time,” he murmured breathlessly, before breaking into a jog to finish the last few steps of his search.
The Scholarly Abode of Intellectual Pursuits looked as old as its name was pretentious. The wooden door he stood before was dwarfed by yellowed brick and high glass windows. Beyond the dingy span of glass, Seven could see deep mahogany book cases filled to the brim with volumes and pages and the orange glow of a lit hearth. From a worn leather wingback came a stirring, and seconds later the door swung open and he was met with a scowl.
“Yes?”
“Well met. I’m Seven Xu, I was told that this—”
“What are your intentions in coming to the Abode?” A sigh escaped through dry lips beneath a white moustache as the man fell into an obvious rhythm of questions asked a thousand times before. “What knowledge do you possess of Ionu, of the city of Alvadas?”
As the moustache blathered on with question after relentless question, Seven was suddenly very aware that through his afternoon navigating the maze that was Alvadas—he had done very little to prepare himself. He balked. His mouth opened and closed a few times, though no sound emerged. It had no chance to, beneath the hammering investigation pertaining to his knowledge and his faith.
“You look like a fish when you do that, Seven Xu.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Asperenus. Master Doddel Asperenus. Now, do you have any answers for me, or shall I close my door and allow you to finish the afternoon on my porch, sucking in air?”
Seven’s brows knitted together in thought. “Forgive me, Master Asperenus.” Red flicked over the elderly Asperenus and he straightened. “I am not a pious man; I know of Ionu only through books and I’m a foreigner to your city.” There was a shuffle of paper and from a leather notebook, Seven produced a finger’s width stack of vellum, curled and yellowed at the edges. Doddel drew them from the halfblood’s lithe fingers and began to thumb through them.
“These are maps.”
A cascade of white matted over ruby eyes as Seven bowed his head, trying to erase his mind of the scathing look the man was currently burning into the top of his skull. “I’ve been to Lhavit, and Syliras, I’ve mapped the cities and the route between. I’ve also done several accurate charts of the night’s sky, and—”
“This one is of Alvadas.”
“Yes, I was about to—”
“That’s odd.”
Seven’s chin lifted, daring to explore the sudden change in Asperenus’ voice. The man was turning the page with a small sketch of Alvadas’ streets—a section, a fragment—peering incredulously at the lines. “This is a strange arrangement, indeed. You did not fabricate this?”
“No. What? No.” Seven reached for his map, suddenly feeling all together too self-conscious for those sunken and chilly eyes’ critique but Doddel turned, and with his back to the halfblood, stepped wholly into the Abode again. However, the door remained open.
“Come.”
