“We don’t see many tools like that out here in the outskirts,” I said, drying a tankard I’d just cleaned. “What are those?”
Caz looked up, startled, as if noticing the food for the first time. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I tend to get so wrapped up in my studies that I forget about everything else around me. It’s the blessing and the curse of being a scholar, I suppose.”
“A scholar?” I repeated. “I’ve never met one of you before.”
“Is that so? I’ve earned my blue cloak and been at the Academy for about four years now,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice. “I’ve still got a long way to go before I finish my apprenticeship, but I hope to become a Master of Study one day.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling a bit lost as embarrassment crept up on me. “What exactly is a Master of Study?”
He chuckled, as if I’d said something amusing. But when my confusion lingered, his smile softened, and I saw it dawn on him. This was a quiet, tucked-away town on the edge of the world. Of course I hadn’t heard of the Academy or what a Master of Study even was. His expression shifted, that bright, warm smile returning.
“Well, to become a Master of Study, you have to be accepted to the Academy first,” he explained. “Most of us, myself included, spend years apprenticing under a Master Scholar, waiting for the chance to test for entry. The Academy only accepts thirty scholars each cycle, so it’s a competitive process. But once you’re in, you choose a field to master. I chose cartography.”
The gods knew I hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant. “Car-to-gra-phy?” I repeated, carefully sounding it out. “That sounds like it’d be hard to learn.”
“Indeed,” he said, nodding eagerly. “Like anything worth learning, it’s challenging at first. But I’ve been studying it for years now, and I’ve found that knowledge follows with patience and dedication. My Master tasked me with traveling to the towns along the outskirts to map the geography here.”
“I see,” I said, tilting my head slightly. “So, you... make maps of places?”
“Yes, exactly,” he replied, pausing for a moment before his eyes lit up. “My last assignment was along the coast near the Miralune Isles. The landscape I mapped there was unlike anything I’d ever encountered. There were jagged cliffs, hidden coves, and shifting shorelines.” He flipped through the pages of his leather-bound book, then heldit out to me. His finger traced a line across a detailed map, each curve and contour carefully drawn. “See here? This part shows a series of uncharted inlets. The tides shift so much that the shape of the coast changes with the seasons. I had to mark the safest routes through them so future travelers could avoid the worst of the currents.”
His voice began to drift as he noticed the confusion on my face.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, realizing how overwhelmed I must’ve looked. “I get carried away sometimes. I’ll shut up now.”
“No, it’s okay,” I stammered, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. “It’s all very interesting. It’s just that… I can’t really understand it. I don’t know how to read.”
Caz’s expression softened as he set the book aside, his smile still warm. I wasn’t sure why it felt so humiliating to admit, but the weight of it clung to me. If he noticed my discomfort, he didn’t show it. Instead, he calmly gathered his papers and pulled the tray of stew closer.
“Something tells me you made this,” he said, picking up the spoon. He looked at me and added, “I’ve got a feeling it’s the best stew in town.”
A flush crept up my neck again, though for a different reason. “Hardly,” I replied. “Fresh vegetables are rare these days, and don’t even ask about poultry.”
He raised a brow, clearly unbothered, and waved off my protest. Then he took a bite. His face stayed unreadable as he chewed, and after a long gulp, his eyes met mine.
“Best stew I’ve ever had.”
“You’re a better liar than most.”
“How’d you know?” He smirked. “Still, it’s decent. My mum always said it’s important to appreciate the cook. Cooking takes effort, and if you hadn’t made this, I’d be heading to bed hungry tonight.”
“Your mother sounds like smart folk.”
“She wouldn’t be too pleased with how I’ve been using her advice,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I learned that a well-timed complimentearned me an extra portion at the Academy mess hall. Who knows, maybe it’ll work on you too.”
“Well, good luck with that,” I chuckled.
I left him to his stew and walked over to help a father and son from the next town get settled. Supper was winding down, and the bar would close soon for the night. I still had plenty to do, cleaning up, checking the stables, and running the inventory. It wasn’t a bad life, truth be told, especially when Griffin was scarce. I’d grown fond of the old man, but his absence gave me the freedom to run the inn on my own, and that suited me just fine.
Once the other guests had retreated to their rooms and I’d gathered their trays, I returned to the bar. Caz had finished his meal and was slowly nursing his ale. His book was in his hands again, and his papers and tools had spread across the counter once more. He scribbled quickly in his journal, his quill moving almost too fast to follow.
“I hate to interrupt, but I’m afraid I have to close up now.”
Caz looked up, quill still in hand, as he seemed to realize he was the last one left. He glanced toward the window, where the night sky had already started to settle in, and checked his pocket watch. “Didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” he said. “I’ll pack up and finish this in my room.”
He stacked his papers, gathered his tools, and moved toward the hallway. Just before disappearing from view, he turned with a smile. “Goodnight, Odessa. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
I found Griffin passed out in his room upstairs, snoring so loudly I half-expected the ceiling to cave in. His beard was a tangled mess, and his hair looked like a bird’s nest. I smirked at the sight and gently draped a blanket over him. As I slid the coppers from the inn into the coin pouch at his waist, he stirred slightly.
