Don’t Take Life Too Seriously; You Might be the Only One

"Today is the 9th Waxing of 10th term, year 101,254 of our Lunar Lady," Thesro said with the air of a professor denied tenure who would rather be doing research than teaching, marking the start of lessons. Amillia slumped over her desk, once again in her "learning" posture.

As this didn’t even constitute a remedial math class for me, my mind ruminated on how I had been unjustly denied access to Conroy's study, though Brogan wasn’t far off the mark. The key had been only arm's reach away! Sure, it had been behind several inches of hardened steel and an enigmatic locking mechanism, but still! Needless to say, I would need to find another, more clandestine means of entry. Maybe I could "borrow" those lockpicks from the spy's stash, that would still leave the safe to crack though... Even more daunting was Conroy's new—well, apparently old—guard dog, Brogan. I had put up a strong front in the music room, but Conroy had my back. But the way Brogan stared at me with those demonic eyes, as if he wanted to skin me and make me into a pelt or coon skin hat to replace that ridiculous tricorn, had left me feeling like entering the study now would be akin to entering a dragon's den, unwise, even if you knew what you were doing.

"Amillia... Amillia!" A shout broke the relative tranquility. Amillia groaned. "Are you sleeping!?"

Looking over, drool ran down Amillia’s chin, and judging by the size of the snot bubble, she had been out for a while. Surprised it took him this long to notice.

"Amillia! Wake up this instant!" Therso shouted even louder and brought down a notched measuring stick with a thunderous crash. Amillia stirred, awakened by the deafening smack, but remained lethargic. "Sit up this instant!" Reluctantly, she pushed herself up, arms straining as if holding a dam. Unlike Baafa, who respected Amillia's higher social position and treated her with deference, Thesro did not.

"But this is so booorrring. Why do I need to learn this stuff?" The words left her mouth, more a yawn than anything, with eyelids so droopy they would have given the Rock Gym’s Brock cause for concern.

"We have been over this," he said, voice returning to its standard nasally timbre. "The world doesn't exist for your pleasure; everyone must contribute, and that includes you."

Well, it was probably true, even for nobles. Though theirs was more of a token contribution. Surely, society would be better off without them. Even so, I could sympathize. Math was a dry subject even at its best, and Thesro's dry style of teaching did not represent the best.

"Now please answer the problem," Thesro said.

Why did I stick around for such an uninspired and rudimentary lecture when I could contemplate yesterday's failure anywhere?. With Baafa, she drew you into the lectures and every day was engaging with something new to learn—I don't care what Amillia would have you believe. Thesro, on the other hand, was as inspiring as a parking ticket: painful to look at, delivered with the enthusiasm of prison slop. Furthermore, I'm sure he saw me as a distraction. If I had my druthers, I would be anywhere but here. However, when I had tried to excuse myself, Amillia looked at me like I was abandoning her on a battlefield with her legs blown off.

You would think in a world with magic that it would work its way into the science lectures. But no. That kind of thing was now taught twice a week by Lucial, thanks to Amillia's nagging. She tried to turn it into a biweekly social event, despite her initial interest in sigilry, but Lucial, unlike Thesro, brought so much joy and passion into her instructions that even Amillia couldn’t maintain her unenthused frame—I'm sure it helped that her subject was awesome.

Broadly speaking, sigilary was coding for the universe, limited only by your creativity and intelligence... and penmanship. To create these sigils, one only needed to focus their mana to a fine point and draw the sigil. This could be accomplished by pushing it to the tip of your finger, a crude method that created poor results. More commonly, one used a mana conducting stylist. Most creatures cannot project their mana outside their bodies, but certain substances allow you to push your mana through them like an extension of your body. Thus, these stylists allowed one to draw sigils in the air as if with a pen on paper.

And this was as far as we had gotten, as Amillia's handwriting would shame even the most grizzled primary care physician, unable to inscribe even the simplest of sigils. I, of course, couldn't participate due to the collar. Damn thing.

"Olavir, can you answer the problem?" Amillia spoke her final words before collapsing in defeat.

"Sigh, I really don't think your... pet is going to be able to answer—"

"Thirty-eight and three-quarters," I answered, mostly because I don't take well to condescension. He blinked several times before looking back in disbelief at the problem written on the blackboard.

"...Lucky guess."

"Of course," I said, "because the odds are far better that I just correctly guessed a fractional number than I actually know basic math."

"Oh?" Glad to see he picked up on my insincere intonation. "And where would a tree rat like you learn that?"

"We live in other places, too!" I can't stand insults based on ignorance.

Amillia perked up, looking engaged for the first time. Seemed Thesro only needed to enter into a spat to get her attention.

"Is that so?" He said, feigning surprise. "I had no idea you were such a far-flung group of critters." Critters again... I narrowed my eyes.

"I understand." I shrugged. "One relegated to teaching disinterested nobles their multiplication tables, probably doesn't get around much."

"And what does that mean?" He said, frowning.

"It means those who can't do, teach. And those who can't even do that, well..." I gestured with both hands to his young charge. His face reddened several shades. This didn't paint Amillia in a good light either, but judging by her confused expression, she didn’t notice.

"You think you are so clever, do you? Well, then you should have no problem answering this!" He threw up another problem on the board. A completely different kind of problem. I should note that the notation system differed from back on earth, so this problem might have been an issue, if not for the number of Hozenlovian manuals I had perused. As such, I recognized this as a standard algebra problem. Probably not at the limit of his skill, but at the limit of what he could throw up on the fly. He had a victorious smile.

It took several moments to work through the solution. "X equals plus or minus 9.5." I'm sure he thought that square would throw me off.

Thesro looked like he would have an aneurysm as the chalk snapped in his white knuckled fingers. "Well, if you are so smart, then maybe you should take over tutoring!" A childish thing to say, I thought. Amillia's eyes sparkled as her exiled soul began to repatriate.

"Could he?? Olavir would be so much better than Thesro!" She exclaimed, bereft of tact or awareness of his presence. A white dust precipitated from his clenched fist. As much as I took delight in Thesro's distress... I looked over at the beatific face of anticipation from Amillia.

"Did I say plus or minus 9.5? I meant to say giraffe."

[From the Mirror]

[9-1-10-101,254]
The assassination attempt failed. It was a complete debacle; the girl is far too sharp. We put up a job to clear out an old fort of liznaks, and prepped it with poison gas traps. They had no reason to believe that this fort would have any traps, but Sistilla apparently noticed them all the same.

Liznaks had, in fact, taken up residence there, so the gas traps may have just come off as an anomaly. Furthermore, we had a hit team of hardened assassins ready as a backup plan. However, through a skillful use of teamwork and guile, Sistilla's crew somehow managed to turn the gas traps on our strike team, or so they report. Regardless, she survived, and may be getting wise to our plans.

As such, we are moving to the original plan B.

[10-1-10-101,254]
I must protest. With Brogan back, the original plan B is beyond reckless. Just administering it in and of itself would be most difficult, and he has been very thorough with his investigations. I cannot say I relish the idea of being treated to his tender mercies.

[10-1-10-101,254]
Your objections have been noted. Proceed with your instructions. As for concerns with the aftereffects, the poison we left you should induce a kind of madness before causing the recipient's death. Likely, she will have to be put down before it actually kills her. I would recommend keeping a healthy distance for 24 hours afterwards. Even if she survives until the end, the insanity should draw attention away from the poisoning.

[11-1-10-101,254]
Very well, but know I do this with great reluctance. I must ask that you prepare extraction.

[End]

I read over the correspondence for the last several days with a shudder. I thought it safe to say that they intended to kill Lady Sistilla. Of House Uvald, Sistilla was one of the better ones. In fact, the only member I wouldn't have qualms about being straight-up murdered was Conroy, though Brogan would be on that list too, but he wasn't a Uvald.

I could have stopped it all right then by simply revealing the mirror, but then I would lose that source of intel. Was keeping the mirror recon worth the cost? I could try a third option, to undermine the spy's assassination attempts. The operative on the other side had mentioned a poison left at the spy's disposal.

I immediately thought back to the dark bottle I had seen back at the stash. Undoubtedly, it contained the mentioned poison. If I could get to it first, disposing of it would be easy. That would create several problems, though. First, it would expose the stash as compromised. It could even lead to the conclusion that the mirror had been compromised. And then it would only be a small leap to suspect the spy may have been compromised, and then he would be out of here. Which would leave me high and dry. But, Sistilla would live in that case.

The risk case analysis was clear. Do nothing, Sistilla dies; I keep my leak. Do something, Sistilla lives, and depending on execution and luck, I may or may not lose my source. If we say those two things are of equal value, then the latter was the only sensible course of action. Were they equal though...