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[Omen of the Witchblade] Chapter 146 - Wolf and Bush
🕑 Added 2025-03-21 10:00:03 +0000 UTCThe permit office was less an office and more a sprawling complex. It reminded Mel vaguely of Capitol Hill in DC with its large Grecian-inspired dome and pillars standing tall and proud as its centerpiece.
Arms swept around a stone courtyard dotted with trees, benches, and, of course, street vendors selling everything you could imagine. And quite a few things even Mel couldn’t until she saw them.
The Magi and Archivists followed after Mel and Charlie like an entourage. Despite bringing the rival Archon under Mel’s team, there was still a division of loyalty within the Order.
Charlie didn’t appear to particularly care about this fact. She extended control over them like a birthright, as if their obedience was a foregone conclusion.
Of course, there was no use bullying the Magi and Archivists too heavily. Even Mel was not so hard-headed to bother going down that road. Despite being an overused reference, comparing them to a bunch of stray cats with magic powers that could blow up at any moment was still accurate.
Mel wasn’t sure if this was going to be a problem with leadership over her own team.
Who am I kidding? It will be. I’m not letting her take over.
Heath practically broke his spine in half, bowing and scraping, frantically trying to acquiesce to both their wishes. It was entertaining enough to ease some of Mel’s frustration over Charlie’s unwavering confidence.
Mel glanced at him as they entered the wide double doors flanked by heavily armored guards in the Seabrim Crater colors of white and blue.
“I’m sorry,” Heath whispered. “It’s the hats!”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to lie to me, Heath.”
He gave her a shy smile. “You know me so well. It has nothing to do with the hats.”
“I know, Heath. I know.”
Mel strode up to where Elian was waiting for them.
He motioned to a bank of portals. “Third on your left, if you’re looking for the cooking permit office.”
“Lots of security here,” Mel said conversationally.
There was a constant flow of people moving back and forth. Some were clueless competitors looking for the right office, others were striding purposefully, and then there were the workers who knew where they were going but were caught up in the press of bodies.
The only clear spaces were around the guards and the Magi.
Even with the guard presence, there were competitors roaming the space that eyed the Magi a little too closely for Mel’s liking.
The two healers drew the most attention. Jacob proved to be a strong deterrent. A heavily armored, stupidly good looking knight on Camilla’s arm served as well as a warding against curses.
He resembled the guards enough that one of them gave him a respectful chin tilt.
The pocket of Magi seemed like a sufficient show of force to prevent any fights or advances from occurring.
One Brawler type competitor gave the Necromancer a hungry look, then squinted and stared at the halo above her head. Mel made sure to keep [Crown of Glory] visible while in public.
Two and two seemed to ever-so-slowly click together in his big head while he stared at Mel’s halo.
Elian glanced at one of the nearby guards who nodded at him in recognition. He looked back at Mel. “It’s highly advised that you use the permit within these halls. Thieves are heavily deterred, but once you’re outside these walls, you’re on your own.” He gestured at the men and women in white and blue regalia. “They also are on the lookout for scalpers. People who–”
“I know what a scalper is,” Mel said. “So people are dumb enough to sell or trade permits here? Right under the guards’ nose?”
That’s my kind of risky.
The High Clerk shrugged. “At least here the only threat is being thrown in jail or fined. Out there…somebody could very well decide to kill you and take what they wanted. There wouldn’t be much the guards could do when two competitors have a squabble like that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mel said, turning to the group. “Anybody looking to buy a permit?” Mel quickly added, “I mean literally ready to buy it right now. You can window shop on your own time.”
A few sour faces met her. Aside from Jacob and Gwen, nobody else seemed inclined to bankrupt themselves for a profession just yet.
“Gwen’s then Jacob’s,” Mel said.
Jacob looked at her. “I could go on my own.”
“Are you a Magi?” Mel asked.
“...Yes,” he said tightly.
“Then you’re coming with.” Mel brooked no argument. She tilted her witch hat at an angle, motioned for Elian to lead the way, and led the group through the portal. Mel wasn’t willing to break up the Magi with so many hungry looks cast their way.
The moment they stepped through the golden portal they were assaulted by a thousand fantastical smells and the cacophony of clanging pots and pans. A hundred knives chopping on thick wooden blocks echoed through the halls.
Baking bread, savory stews, sweet tangy tarts, and warmly spiced sweets filtered through the hallway.
Gwen immediately wandered in like she was captivated by a grand dream.
Elian stepped forward and held up his hands to stop anybody from straying. There were countless hallways and doors leading in every direction. “You are likely hearing the trainees and test takers,” Elian explained.
“Wait, do we need to renew our permits or something?” Mel asked.
“Something like that.” Elian straightened his lapels. “Permits require a basic knowledge in the profession’s chosen craft. You can take a class here to gain that knowledge, for a fee. That’s what the trainees are doing. The others…they’re sitting in on the exams. In order to progress from Novice to Initiate, you only need to work at it until the System deems you are fit.”
A lot of the Magi made faces of displeasure. They understood exams better than most.
“Oh, I like tests!” Sabrina said.
“Screw that,” Sylvie spat, crossing her arms like a petulant child.
“I don’t know,” Shane said nervously. Mel remembered that he wanted to try woodcrafting or something like that. With permits being so expensive, that was going to be harder to do.
You needed the requisite knowledge anyway, though becoming a student here would help with that.
Mel squinted at Elian. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here. And it’s not Charlie’s walking potion dumpy.”
Charlie shot a glare at Mel.
Mel winked at her. Then looked at Elian. “So, what is it?”
“Well,” Elian said. “In order to keep that new profession tier, you need to return here or to any exam center and prove that you possess the requisite skills in order to gain an Initiate permit.”
“But the System already did that!” Sylvie snapped.
“I know, but you still need the next permit to advance. You can forego it if you want, and still craft whatever you desire, but eventually you’ll need to take an exam.”
“So, it’s more of a society bottleneck,” Charlie remarked.
“What if I choose to never take an exam?” Hal asked.
“Then your permit would be revoked in a year’s time,” Elian explained. He raised his hands to forestall an outburst, but they kept arguing and talking over each other until Mel stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled.
“This is our new reality,” Mel reminded them. “We work within the confines of the System…” Mel left the rest unsaid.
Several Magi nodded to themselves. They knew the rest of the quote. It was famous, made by the third Headmistress and went, “We must work within the confines of the Systems we find ourselves in, until we understand it well enough to bend the rules to our will.”
Elian clearly saw something pass between them, but didn’t know what to make of it. “There is a yearly exam to keep your permit renewed,” he went on. “If you do not take another exam, you cannot progress to the next tier. You get one over your current permit, that’s it.”
“So I can go from Novice to Initiate, but unless I take a test to prove what the System already knows to be true, I’ll be stuck as an Initiate?” Hal asked.
“That is correct.”
Hal started shaking his head and grumbling as he pulled out a disturbingly long and curved blade before several Magi got him under control.
Luckily, the guard presence here was slimmer and the knot of Magi was thick enough to hide what he was doing.
Elian eyed Hal warily after that, though Mel gave him a nod of respect. “It…is only a formality, but the System is not the only rule of law here. We are not savages. Permits allow you to practice your profession openly and take in whatever profits you desire. A person without a permit will not have their goods automatically marked with a seal of authenticity. Selling goods without a seal is–”
“Illegal,” Mel finished for him. “Yeah, figured as much.”
“I’m curious what the Second Ring will be like,” Charlie said, watching Gwen mingle with a pocket of chefs and apprentices. “We’ll make it there before long. I do wonder where you’ll be, Elian. Loyal to your current taskmasters, or us?”
His eyes widened. “What…do you mean?”
“She’s not talking about kidnapping you, if that’s what you think,” Mel said. She gestured at the Magi. “We’re not content to stay in one place. We’ll be moving on before long, either to another Ring or Realm or whatever. Let me ask you a question, how long does it take the average person to go from Mundane to Iron?”
The whiplash of topic change had Elian reeling. He answered almost automatically, as if he had memorized the fact.
Knowing him, he probably did.
“New inductees take an average of a year to go from Mundane to Copper,” he said. “Five to ten from Copper to Iron. Warrior class inductees–”
Mel stopped him. “No. I mean for people who were born here.”
It only took Elian a second to answer, “Most adults are Copper. Those who try usually hit Iron within five years of reaching maturity, which varies by race. Warrior class types tend to reach Iron within two to three years, and Houses with sufficient means often cut that down to under a year.”
“And it’s taken us two months in a trial to go from Mundane to High Copper. Many of us are on the cusp of Iron already. Give us half a year and every Magi will be knee-deep in Iron. You think we’re going to stay around in a small playground like this?”
Mel glanced at Charlie, who once again was watching her. Listening to what Mel had to say. She turned back to Elian. “You’ve been a friend to us, whether you meant to be or not. If you continue being a friend, I don’t see why you couldn’t go on being a High Clerk for us. A Mercenary Order needs clerical work just like a government, and you can be damn sure we’ll treat you better.”
Elian looked to be thinking it over until Mel grabbed his lapels and pulled him down until their noses were almost touching, which was a considerable distance considering Mel’s short stature. Every word came out like a dagger stab. “But if you fuck us over. Even once. We’ll make your life a living nightmare. Think wisely before you do something stupid.”
Mel released him and Elian cleared his throat, smoothing down his lapels. “I’ll-I’ll keep that in mind, Mel.”
The cooks had taken a great interest in Gwen. They surrounded the towering Viking like the exotic novelty that she was. Being able to discern so much about ingredients and dishes by smell was not a common talent. Her general likeability was hard to beat.
Some apprentices and chefs struggled to impress the werewolf, while others were showing off tools of the trade or were trying to recruit her.
Mel smiled and gestured to Gwen. “Lead on so we can get our girl her permit.”
“And me!” Shrubley said excitedly. He held up a small purse of coins. “I would also very much like to cook tasty snacks!”
Glancing from Shrubley to Gwen, then to Elian, Mel said, “You heard them. You two could open up a restaurant and call it Wolf and Bush, but use that fancy ampersand instead.”
“That is…” Gwen began, but she was too flustered to speak.
Miranda laughed uproariously at Gwen’s reaction.
Mel turned to Gwen innocently. Too innocently. “Yes? What is wrong with ‘Wolf and Bush’? I happen to like both wolves and bushes. Do you have a problem with wolves and or bushes, Gwen?”
The werewolf ducked her head trying, and failing, to hide her heated cheeks. She hurried after Elian with Mel grinning at her back.
Sylvie walked by and gave Mel a fist bump and a wink.
Of course I’d win over the junior pervert, Mel thought with a chuckle.
