THE SCRIBE'S DISCOVERY

Marcus woke to Tom shaking him urgently, his cousin's worried face hovering above him in the dim light of Room 47.

"Marcus, what happened?" Tom demanded, his voice tight with concern. "Aunt Elara said something about you coming home with bruises. What happened to your face? Do you have anything broken?"

Marcus touched his tender cheek where the Blackstone Brother's blow had landed. The swelling had gone down, but the discoloration was still visible.

"Unplanned success happened in an unprotected, primitive, unlawful, magic-filled world," Marcus said bitterly, his frustration getting the better of him.

His outburst drew the attention of everyone in the crowded room. Family members stopped their morning routines to stare at him with varying expressions of concern and confusion.

Marcus took a deep breath and moderated his tone. "Sorry. It's just... first, new laws and guild regulations came down, changing everything. I know why they came. They don't want us having hope of getting out of here. They wanna block everyone from working outside their precious mines."

Tom's jaw tightened with anger. "This wouldn't have happened if I'd been there. I'm quitting today. From now on, I'm your bodyguard."

"No, Tom," Marcus said firmly. "One of them was a fire mage. We can't do anything against that kind of power."

"I don't care," Tom insisted, but Marcus could see the conflict in his eyes. Tom didn't wanna abandon his father and uncles in the dangerous mines, but he also couldn't stand the thought of Marcus facing threats alone.

"I'll figure something out," Tom muttered, though Marcus suspected his cousin had already made up his mind.

Marcus walked to the shop through streets that felt different now. More threatening, less hopeful. He was deep in thought about how to restart their business while navigating guild regulations, local politics, and apparently the king's advisors working against them.

When he reached the shop, he found Sara methodically cleaning up broken vials and splintered wood from the shelves, humming softly as she worked. Her cheerful demeanor seemed remarkable given the previous night's violence.

"Good morning, Marcus," she said brightly, though he noticed she was careful not to turn her head too quickly, probably still sore from the slap she'd received.

"Where's Aldric?" Marcus asked, looking around the unusually empty shop.

"He went out early to inquire about permits and how to obtain them," Sara explained. "He's also visiting oil merchants to see if anyone will sell to us without payment upfront."

As they discussed their limited options, the shop door opened with a decisive push. A young woman entered, holding several worn advertisement papers in her hand. She was perhaps twenty years old, with the confident bearing of someone accustomed to academic environments, and her clothes marked her as neither wealthy nobility nor common working class.

"Excuse me," she said with crisp authority, "but I need to speak with whoever created these." She held up the soap advertisements, her eyes bright with excitement.

Marcus's heart sank. "Oh no, what now?" he thought.

"My lady," Marcus said carefully, "we are currently closed and not producing anything. We're selling only oils from my business partner's ancient family oil business. Been going for generations and generations." He shot a meaningful look at Sara. "Nothing else, right Sara?"

"Yes, my lady," Sara confirmed quickly. "We only sell oils. Please don't give us any more fines."

The young woman looked confused. "What oils? Fines? No, no, I'm not here for that. I'm here for this." She waved the advertisement papers. "My name is Alice Brightshield. I work at the Academy as assistant to the Head Scribe."

Marcus's attention sharpened at the familiar surname. "That would be me. You are... are you the sister of Sister Korra?" He stood up straighter. "My name is Marcus. Marcus of Millhaven, and this is Sara."

Alice's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Where do you know my big sister? She's always on the road with her military assignments."

"She was the one who evacuated us from our village, along with Captain Cain," Marcus explained. "We talked during the journey, and she mentioned you."

"Me? Why would she mention me?"

Marcus chose his words carefully. "Well, I was studying the language and other subjects, and she said that for further education, I should visit the Academy and speak with Master Khymon. She said you could help, since you work there."

"Thymon," Alice corrected automatically. "And that doesn't sound like my sister. She's usually focused on military matters, not academic recommendations."

Marcus reached into his pocket and withdrew the embroidered stone that Sister Korra had given him. "She also gave me this to give to you. I was waiting for my business to be stable and my language skills to be more advanced before visiting."

Alice's eyes widened as she recognized the object. "This is one of mine! I gave this to her so she could send me messages." She looked at Marcus with new interest. "I guess this counts as a message."

She reintroduced herself more formally. "I am Alice Brightshield, Assistant Scribe of the Drakmoor Academy of Arts and Sciences."

"You said you made these papers," Alice continued, returning to her original purpose. "Will you show me how?"

Marcus hesitated. After the guild troubles, he was wary of revealing trade secrets to anyone connected with official institutions.

"These are... proprietary methods," he said diplomatically.

"Please," Alice said earnestly. "You have no idea what you've created. Do you know how much work it takes to create usable paper? Sometimes we don't have any available, and we have to write on dried leather. This could revolutionize record-keeping!"

Despite his caution, Marcus found himself intrigued by her enthusiasm and her connection to Sister Korra. "All right," he said finally. "But Sara, please keep watch upstairs. If Aldric returns, send him down to us."

He led Alice to the basement workshop, where his improvised printing equipment was still set up. He showed her the large knife and cutting mechanism he'd built to shave thin layers from wood blocks.

"When we dry these shavings, we can use them as paper," Marcus explained.

Alice stared in amazement. "You know what you've invented, don't you? This level of innovation..." She trailed off, examining the paper-making apparatus with the eye of someone who understood its implications.

"Oh, but you can't use this for books," Marcus warned. "It's still wood. After a couple of days, the sheets become brittle and break. You can't bend them like real parchment. This is just for one-time printing."

"One-time what?" Alice asked, confused.

Marcus picked up the carved wooden plate they used for printing and showed how it matched the lettering on the advertisement papers.

Alice let out a small scream of excitement. "You didn't hand-draw all of these? What is this machine?"

Just then, Marcus heard footsteps on the stairs. Aldric returning. He quickly gestured for Alice to stay quiet and signaled upward, indicating they should go back to the main shop.

"I can't actually show you the complete process," Marcus said as they climbed the stairs. "These are trade secrets."

"Trade secrets?" Alice protested. "You don't understand! With these methods, we could produce endless books and distribute them everywhere. The democratization of knowledge would be unprecedented!"

Upstairs, Marcus introduced Alice to Aldric, who looked tired and frustrated from his morning inquiries.

"You must come to the Academy tomorrow," Alice said excitedly. "I'll arrange a meeting with the Head Scribe. No, wait. I'll arrange a meeting with Master Thymon himself."

Marcus thanked her and agreed to the visit, though he wondered what new complications this might create.

After Alice left, Aldric looked at Marcus curiously. "What was that all about?"

Marcus explained the connection to Sister Korra and the potential opportunities at the Academy. "If it goes well, we might have another avenue for business."

"We'll need all the opportunities we can get," Aldric said grimly. "I asked about the permits today."

"How much do they cost?" Marcus asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"Ten silver for anything considered 'new innovation,'" Aldric replied. "But if there's any 'foreign assistance' involved, it's fifty silver per month."

"Foreign assistance?" Marcus protested. "I'm not foreign. I'm a citizen of Valdris."

"According to the guild officials, anyone who wasn't born in Drakmoor and proposes innovations counts as 'foreign assistance,'" Aldric explained with bitter irony. "Those are the conditions."

Marcus felt anger building in his chest. The system was designed to crush innovation and keep refugees dependent on the established order. But maybe, just maybe, the Academy connection could provide an alternative path forward.

"Tomorrow's meeting with Master Thymon might be more important than we realized," Marcus said thoughtfully. "Academic institutions sometimes have different rules than trade guilds."

It was a slender hope, but it was the only one they had.