His office door latch didn’t have a lock, so Quint decided he would use a wood-binding string to bind the door to the doorframe. Something a wizard could do, he thought with a smile, and since he was the only wizard in the diplomatic corps, his office was secure.
A uniformed servant brought a basket full of newssheets. Quint sighed and began reading. He hadn’t done much reading of current events since a class on the subject when he was twelve. The world had seemed so remote then, but he had experienced more of life than he had wanted to, and even that was a tiny shred of what people lived every day.
He took notes as he read, but Quint decided he would concentrate on military and world affairs. With that as a filter, Quint dived in and spent the rest of his day perusing the information. Quint’s tiny shred of knowledge quickly became smaller as his exposure to external events grew.
Quint noticed the window’s light dimming, and it was time to return to the flat. He had arrived in time for dinner and reunited with his flatmates. He told them about his new assignment, and even Marena, the housekeeper commiserated with him about his position.
“At least you don’t have to empty trash and deliver snacks to your fellow officers,” one of his flatmates said.
“I think I will like learning all about the newssheets,” Quint said. “I’m hoping to explore other subjects in my free time, which at this point seems substantial.”
“Keep up with your strings,” another flatmate said. “Practice, practice, practice. We are told that in our magic instruction, but you have time to do that.”
Quint nodded. “Maybe I can ask to leave my office occasionally to become proficient at offensive spells. I need more black uniforms for the headquarters. My commanding officer likes our black uniforms.”
“I can take care of that,” an officer said.
“And if you need alterations, I know my way around a needle and thread,” Marena said.
Quint smiled. At least the people in the flat tolerated him.
Quint had learned to eat his lunch at his desk. He quickly realized he wasn’t welcomed in either of the two restaurants in the large headquarters building. The Racellian army had no tolerance for hubites, which was no surprise.
Colonel Gerocie, the leader of the military diplomatic corps, tolerated Quint enough to make their weekly meeting every week.
“What have you learned this week?” the colonel asked as she crossed her legs in the hard chair facing Quint’s desk. It seemed she liked to get some exercise and visit him most of the time.
“There are indications of a crop failure along the Racellian and Barellian border. No one knows what is causing it,” Quint said.
“I’m aware of the situation,” Gerocie said. “Any ideas as to why?”
Quint showed a hand-drawn map of the area. “There has been a rush to mine gold in the Levino mountains. The water source for the plains comes from the mountains being mined. Could there be some kind of water contamination? I don’t have enough information about the areas affected, but that is possible. According to other articles, it hasn’t been a lack of water.”
Gerocie stared at the map and raised her eyebrows. “That could alter our relationship with Barellia, making it a diplomatic matter. I’ll get this investigated. What else have you noticed?”
Quint gave her a few more observations, but they didn’t apply to Gerocie’s corps. She added some comments, and Quint felt like she valued his opinion.
“Are you practicing magic?” she asked.
Quint nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I don’t practice the dangerous threads in here, of course. I try to get out of Bocarre to practice those.”
“There is a practice yard on the other side of the headquarters bordering on the council’s gardens. I’ll write out a pass so you can practice there. I was told that a wizard needs to practice to improve.”
“We do,” Quint said. “I may know a lot of strings, but I’m not as proficient as I should be.”
“I read your reports, Tirolo. We mustn’t ignore your talents, although I still don’t know how to use your magic. For a young man, you have a good mind on your shoulders. I can see why Colonel Sarrefo was reluctant to see you reassigned,” the woman said.
“I didn’t know.”
Garocie raised her eyebrows. “I should have known better not to have let that slip.” She winked. “I’ll get the pass sent down. I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can do about your lunches.”
Quint smiled when the colonel left. She was another willot officer who Quint regarded as something close to a friend.
When she left, Quint pulled out his willot materials and continued his studies of the willot language. He had translated half of the willot notes in the Gussellian officer’s strings book, but some words didn’t appear in his materials. He wondered when Colonel Garocie would help him with a more comprehensive dictionary.
His other problem was that he didn’t have an ear for the language. He didn’t know if any pronunciation was correct, but that was a problem for another time.
Quint heard steps and quickly shuffled his willot material into a drawer before the door opened.
“Yesterday’s newssheets. The colonel is adding three more newssheets for you,” the servant said. “She must like your opinions.”
Quint shrugged. “Like isn’t a word I would use. Perhaps she wants a different view. I have nothing to do but write reports on what I read.”
“Whatever,” the servant said dismissively and left.
The new newssheets were in the middle of the stack. They were more like opinion journals. Quint read a few articles and frowned. He didn’t like what he read. They promoted the glories of the central council and boasted about the greatness of the willot race.
He would have to be careful about reporting on opinion journals. There were always asides in the newssheets that boasted about Racellian life, but the bias was never as strong as in the new readings.
Quint found that half of the articles were written in willot. He tried to translate, but there were too many words that he couldn’t find. Perhaps this was the reason he needed some willot textbooks.
Quint opened a message from the colonel included in a delivery of newssheets the following week to meet in her office for their next meeting after lunch that day. After securing his office, he wrote up his observations and emerged from the basement.
“I thought you might like a break from living in your little space, Lieutenant Tirolo,” she said as she closed the door before their meeting.
Quint brought up his observations which weren’t different from the previous week, although he hadn’t reread about the crop situation in western Racellia.
