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The mixture in the pot let off a spout of noxious blue steam and turned green. Robin coughed, covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, and checked the book. Last step. He crushed the lizard egg shells in his pestle and sprinkled them in to the bubbling mixture. He pulled the pot off the fire and waited anxiously until it turned brown. It still smelled like the wrong end of a sick goat.

It had been six months since Robin had inherited the murdered wizard’s belongings and title. He’d spent most of that time studying the wizard’s books. With a little subtle guidance, he’d learned to brew a few potions, and even cast a simple spell or two. He’d packed up the whole place and moved to a new town where no one knew him and opened a magic shop. With luck, it would keep him safe and make enough money to buy him out of trouble.

Robin carried the box of potion bottles out to the front room. He lined them up on the shelf where he’d posted the sign “Plant Growing Potions.” It was right below the “House Cleaning Potions” and above the “Bug Repelling Potions.” He was starting with a ‘household focus.’ Also, those were the simplest potions he could find. He hoped they worked. He knew the cleaning potions worked, because he had used them getting the shop and his upstairs apartment ready.

He took one last look at the front room of the shop before opening his doors for the first time. The wooden floor was clean of dirt. The potions were lined up in neat rows on the shelves. Across the store, many of the little statues from the wizard’s house arranged themselves on their own set of shelves. A cabinet behind the counter at the back held various amulets whose power or purpose he had yet no idea. He’d put a locking charm on the cabinet for safety, but it made for a nice display.

“Time to open up.” He released the lock charm on the door and windows and propped open the shutters, letting in the sunshine, the spring air, and the noise of the village street. The smells from the bakery across the way wasted no time invading his shop, and he wasn’t the least mad about it, other than wishing he could afford to eat there every morning. The ringing sound of hot metal and heavy hammer followed the aroma of sweet cakes. The blacksmith beside the bakery was already at work. The grain mill on the other side sat silent, the water wheel undoubtedly turning in the stream, but the milling stones were not yet engaged today. The buckler next door always slept in. The mercer on the other side was singing softly from within her shop.

The singing was interrupted by a violent sneeze. This was unusual. She sneezed again. Robin leaned out the window on that side.

“Good morrow and bless you, mercer! Are you ill?”

She leaned her own head out the window and waved. “Good morrow, young wizard! Nay, it is the spring flowers that make me sneeze.” She sneezed again, as if to prove the point. “I didn’t realize they were out so strongly this morning.” She withdrew her head and closed up her windows.

Robin walked behind his counter thoughtfully. He pulled one of his magic books from under the counter and leafed through the pages. He was sure he’d seen something about allergies. Had it been a potion? Or a charm? An herbal remedy, perhaps? He found it. A spell, as it turned out, to reduce the effect of allergies. It didn’t look too complicated.

“Egészség,” he sounded out without focusing the magic. Spells could be practiced without applying the magic power, he had learned, which was useful for someone trying to teach themselves! He practiced the hand motions, shaping his fingers just so, and flicking his wrist in the indicated direction. “Egészség.”

He felt that he almost had the casting down when his door opened. The man who entered was easily recognizable, though Robin had never spoken with him. His clothes were of good quality without being luxurious. His boots carried only the faintest trace of dust and mud, likely from walking down this very street.

“Good morrow, wizard. Welcome to Dragon Glen. I am Sir Theodore Penwold, burgomaster of the village.”

“Yes, my lord, I know.”

Sir Penwold glanced in the corner at the crystal ball on a shrouded table full of tarot cards. “Ah, yes, of course.” Robin had no idea how to use anything on that table. Such an important person was easy to spot in town, and had been pointed out to him by his neighbors.

“Well, I come to welcome you to town, of course, and wish you luck with your store, but also to bring you a bit of work.”

“Work?” Sir Penwold had his attention now. Work meant money. It also likely meant using magic. He had not yet enough of either for his comfort.

“Yes, nothing grand or impressive, mind you, sorry. It’s actually a rather mundane task. Our city guard would normally handle it, but we don’t currently have one.”

“I’m sorry, did you say the town is currently without any law enforcement? None at all?”

“Well, I mean, let’s not spread that about, of course!” Penwold moved further into the shop, away from the open door and windows. He lowered his voice. “We’re just temporarily without a captain of the guard, but one should be appointed very soon.”

“What about the guards under the captain?”

“Well, as it happens, by law, only the captain of the guard can appoint the guards, so until he arrives, we are a little short.” He wrung his hands together, and Robin could see his concern hiding under his joviality. “But we have you!” His charming smile returned. “Which brings me back to why I am here. Will you take the job?”

Robin considered himself a quick thinker and astute listener, but Penwold’s speech patterns seemed to jump over important details. “I’m sorry, what did you say the actual job is again?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention? Just some pesky animals on the south side of town. They’re bothering the cattle and sheep and such on the farms. We’d like you to make them go away.”

“You want me to make the cattle and sheep go away?”

“What? No, no, the wolves, my boy.”

“W-wolves?” Wolves were by no means on the same level as dragons, but neither were they field mice.

“Yes, whole pack of them it seems. A couple of our hunters tried to take them down, but the rest of the pack makes that a tricky business. I’m sure the boys will be hunting again in no time. So, how much?”

How much to face a full pack of wolves by himself? He might start with a new pair of pants. His rent was 25 silver crowns a month, so he’d need to make a little over five crowns a week.

“Six silver crowns, my lord.” He was no stranger to negotiating.

“That seems a bit steep for just a few wild dogs, don’t you think?” The charming smile was still in place, but the eyes sized up Robin’s height, weight, and wallet. “I was thinking more five shillings, and a good word about town for any who might need a little magic, eh?”

“I’m the only wizard in town, sir,” Robin pointed out. “As you’re my first customer, I can do four crowns, and I thought you said they were wolves?”

“Yes, wolves, but I don’t think there are very many of them. Perhaps we can do 2 crowns, but they’d have to be well and truly gone.”

“Not many you say?” Robin suspected there would be more than enough wolves. “Would you prefer to pay a crown per wolf, instead? If there are not many…”

“No need to go through the trouble of counting them. Here, I have three crowns right here.” He withdrew 3 shiny silver crowns from the purse at his waist. Robin noticed that the bulk of the purse did not change significantly by removing them.

“Three crowns, and a meal? It’s very difficult to work on an empty stomach.” Penwold’s stomach looked likely to agree with him. A simple meal would only be a few pennies, a shilling or two at most, but he did not want to be seen as an easy negotiator with his very first job. It would not set a good precedent.

“Done. I’ll tell Rose at the tavern to expect you after you’ve handled the wolves.”

“Deal. A pleasure doing business with you, my lord.”

Sir Penwold turned over the silver crowns and left in good spirits. Robin suspected he could have charged more than he’d ended up with, but the good will with the head of the village was no bad price either. Now to figure out what to do about a pack of wily, territorial wolves.

Robin headed upstairs and into the books. He would certainly need some shields. He’d already been working on those. He could usually do them when he was focusing. He’d need some kind of attack, too. The books often seemed to turn to the right pages for him, particularly with the hand bearing the little dragon ring. It had been on his finger since the day everything changed, and he still understood almost nothing about it. But he could feel its influence when he was practicing. He turned yellowed pages and suddenly paused. The open page read Chapter 4: Direct Magical Attacks. The following pages detailed how to apply magic in various ways for physical attacks. Directing air currents, pure magical energy, flame and ice casting, stone conjuration…

“Everything looks so complicated. And dangerous.”

The dragon ring flicked his hand to the edge of the page, and he flipped back through the spellcraft. The page stopped on directing air currents.

“That does sound less dangerous, but can air stop wolves?”

The ring did not respond.

Robin shrugged and set the book on the reading stand next to the dormer window. He read the instructions and warnings carefully. This was the most complicated spell he’d attempted so far. It had an ‘activation’ component, and then a ‘control’ component.

“Loftveldi,” he intoned under his breath and practiced the hand motion. When he thought he had it, he focused, shutting out the world around him, and pushed power into his words and actions.

“Loftveldi.” He felt the air around his hands change. It felt firmer, like moving his hands through water. He held the focused power, widened the blade of his hand and swept his arm across his body. A wind tore across the window in front of him. The book tumbled to the floor and the stand with it. The curtains whipped the wall, one tearing itself half loose. The shutter banged against the latch that held it shut. Robin closed his hand slowly into a fist and then relaxed.

“Wow.” He looked down at his empty hand with new admiration. “So, move slower in confined spaces. Got it.”

He repeated the exercise, this time moving very slowly and gently, and was rewarded with a light breeze in his closed bedroom. He resolved to practice the spell more on his way to the farms. He turned to the section on shield wards and reviewed that exercise before getting ready to leave.

“Sciath!” He waved an arm in an arc in front of him, and could feel the magic form a shield. He said the word again and waved the shield away.

Robin threw his cloak around his shoulders, his hat on his head, and hefted the wizard staff, which so far had been just a walking stick for him, but he was sure it had its own uses. Out the door he went, placing a quick locking charm as he left.

“Loftveldi.” He intoned and stirred little whirlwinds of leaves and dust as he walked. Crossing the river bridge around the corner from his shop, he wondered how he might affect the water and called up the spell again. “Egészség,” he said, and formed the motion with his hand. The air did not change. “Oh, wrong spell. Have to watch that.” He shook his head, mildly frustrated with his error, and tried again. “Loftveldi.” This time, he managed to cause small waves to lap the edge of the river by stirring the air above them. In too short a walk, he arrived at the farms south of town.

The sun was setting on the mountains to the west. Robin walked along the fence that kept the cows in place, looking for signs of wolves. He bent next to the eastern corner of the fence to examine the mud in which a cluster of wild flowers grew. There were prints there, but he wasn’t sure they were wolf prints. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what wolf prints looked like in the first place.

A low growl behind him caught his attention. Success; he’d found the wolves. Robin turned to find a full pack of nearly a dozen toothy beasts. Each one looked like it weighed as much as he did. The setting sun drew their long shadows right to his feet.

“Sciath.” He moved the wizard staff slowly across him with his left hand to create the magical shield. The wolves began to spread out, each one of them keeping two eyes on him. All the winds he had crafted had been of narrow breadth. He didn’t know if he could make a wind that would affect all of them, especially with enough power to drive them away. He would have to try.

“Egészség!” He positioned his hand and swept across the widening arc of wolves. He felt the shield slip as he focused on the spell. He pushed focus back into the shield, and realized he’d never before tried to do two spells at the same time. The wolves looked unaffected. Not even the grass had moved. Then he realized his mistake. Wrong spell again. He’d tried to cure the wolves of allergies. “Stupid stupid,” he mumbled to himself. “Loftveldi!” He again swept his hand in a wide arc, and struggled to divide his focus between the two spells. The grass stirred. Leaves fluttered into the air. The flowers danced in the stiff breeze, and the raised hackles of the wolves fluttered slightly. They didn’t even look concerned, much less intimidated or frightened. It wasn’t strong enough. How could he have thought he could take on a pack of wolves after an afternoon’s study? He was a fool, and in moments, he’d be a bloody dead one.

The pack of wolves had completed the semi circle, trapping him with his back against the fence. The sun was setting, and Robin couldn’t help but acknowledge the symbolism of the scene. The center wolf, the one closest to him, was the largest. It’s shoulders were just above his waist, and the massive grizzled head would have little trouble licking his cheek, but Robin was sure that wasn’t what it had in mind. It stepped forward, and if Robin had doubted its leadership position before, seeing the entire line step forward to follow suite convinced him.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A wolf on his right was rushing forward. He swept his flat hand through the air in an upward arc and the wind surged forward. The wolf was hit in the chest and lifted into the air. It flipped over on its back and scrambled to get back on its feet and return to the circle. Focusing on the wind caused his shield to flicker, and he refocused energy toward it.

There was the sound of scuffed dirt behind him. He couldn’t turn fast enough. The wolves had him flanked, and they knew it. The attacking wolf yelped as it smashed it’s muzzle into the invisible shield, knocking it back onto its haunches. It shook its head and slowly backed up, sniffing the air and growling.

There was a snort behind him again, on the left side, and he turned, facing the center, and whipped his head back and forth, trying to keep all of the wolves in view. He’d no idea where the next attack would come from, and he wasn’t sure how long he could focus on two spells at once.

The leader of the pack suddenly sneezed violently. Robin stared. He hadn’t known wolves could sneeze. The wolf looked rather surprised, too. Another wolf, three members to the right, sneezed. Most of the pack had stopped growling and several were pawing at their muzzles. A third sneeze seemed to settle the issue. The leader of the pack backed up several steps, growling at Robin, and then turned tail and ran. The others followed his example, and the entire pack loped off towards the woods. The sound of lupine sneezes echoed back through the rising moonlight.

Robin watched them run off, bemused. Then he realized; he’d managed to give the wolves allergies instead of curing them. His wind had stirred up the flowers growing under the fence. “I guess better a lucky fool than a dead one.” He would have to tell the farmers to plant the flowers all along their fences. He headed back toward the road, and his well-earned dinner.

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“Tonight,” he told himself as he crept through the dark garden, hiding under the ridiculously large ears of an elephant ear plant, “is going to change all that.”

Naturally, as he attempted to cultivate his courage under the broad green leaves, a small vine from the neighboring blushing philodendron curled intimately around his exposed ankle and began slipping up his trouser leg. He jerked away and swatted the offending tendril, which pulled back, abashed.

He had no idea the plant was called a blushing philodendron, of course, nor that he was hiding under an elephant ear. He had very little training in horticulture or herbology, yet. He merely assumed that everything in the garden was enchanted. He was watchful as he moved through the garden that none of the plants were trying to reach out and grab him again.

“Tonight’s the new moon. The wizard always go into the forest during the new moon.” Robin reassured himself as he moved toward the back door of the wizard’s residence. As expected, it was locked. Robin pulled a pick from the leather pouch at his belt. He rolled his eyes gently as the mark on the tool reminded him of the thieves guild. Buying it had added another 7 shillings to his account with the guild. Nothing compared to the thousand silver crowns he owed them, but just another reminder of the current state of his affairs.

The lock clicked, and the door drifted open. He slipped in and closed the door behind him. He was in the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg flavored the air, along with another spice that smelled exotic and unidentifiable. A small fire in the hearth lit the room. This time of night, it would normally be just smoldering coals, especially in an empty house. Maybe it was a wizard thing. The flickering firelight made the knives and pots hanging on the wall look like they were moving. He watched carefully to make sure they weren’t before moving on.

“You never know with wizards,” he whispered and moved into the front sitting room.

This room was richly appointed with two soft chairs and a couch around a low table, all sitting on a deep carpet that stretched from one wall to the next. On shelves and in glass cases were a myriad of objects. Mysterious bottles, rings and amulets, small statues. A luxurious deep red cloak was draped over the railing of the stairs near the front door. As Robin examined a small lion statue on the shelf nearest him, it suddenly yawned and licked its lips before resettling its tawny copper head on its wide paws. Robin backed away.

“This stuff has to be worth hundreds of crowns, at least.” He shook his head. “’Coins are easy to carry, and easy to spend.’ Thieves Guild lesson ten.” He looked around the room, but saw no obvious chests or bags of money. “Must be upstairs.”

Robin tested each stair as he stepped on it. He reached the second floor and stared at the vast collection of things squeezed into the upstairs living space. There was a simple bed, a single chair, and two tables, but every inch of wall was covered in shelves, crammed with jars and books and bottles, in no discernible order. Robin did know how to read (the Calchester Orphanage had done that much for him, at least.), but beyond the books, he had little idea of what so many of the things here were. There were more of the little statues like downstairs, A variety of small tools for what purpose he could not divine, and one whole table beside the upstairs hearth seemed dedicated to the brewing of - well, of potions, naturally. There were glass vials, and little jars of ingredients, and an entire little basket of corks. On the other side of the hearth stood an ornate full length mirror, perhaps even a bit more than full length. Certainly it was taller than Robin. In front of the window, where tonight’s dark moon would normally stream light onto the pages, was a large, ornate book stand. A heavy tomb laid open upon it. Beside the book were unlit candles on tall holders. Robin carefully stepped through the dim room and pulled a flint and steel from his pouch. He lit the candles, and turned to get a better look at the room.

Robin nearly knocked over the book stand as the candlelight fell on the wizard. The old man was sitting on the floor, propped up against the near side of the other table. A long white beard flowed across the vibrant midnight blue robes onto the wooden floor. His head was uncovered, his hair thinning. On one hand was a green ring, perhaps jade, in the shape of a tiny dragon. The most remarkable feature, however, was the silver dagger jutting up from the bloody wound in the center of his chest. His eyes were closed.

It took a moment for Robin to catch his breath, though he could still feel his heart beating fiercely within his own chest. He crept toward the old wizard. He didn’t appear to be breathing. Robin was pretty sure wizards still needed to breathe. He knelt down beside him.

“Hello?” He touched the man’s shoulder with no response. “Are you, uhm, alright?” The wizard still did not answer. Robin was now fairly certain that the man was not breathing and quite likely dead. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone I could write to for you, is there?” He grasped the man’s near hand, wishing he had paid attention and learned what prayers to say for a dead wizard. In his defense, no one had tried to teach him any such thing.

Beneath his hand, something moved. Robin jerked his hand away, thinking the wizard had wriggled his fingers, but the bare hand lay still. The green ring, however, was now crawling around on Robin’s fingers instead. He shook it gently, unsure how a tiny jade dragon would react to being thrown down. The dragon merely spread it’s wings and continued to explore the unfamiliar territory. After a moment, it laid down along the third finger, curled its wings and legs around it, and grew still. Robin reached out and stroked it softly along the back. The touch was cold stone, and it did not move. It was again the jade ring, with no indication of being anything more than a beautiful bit of jewelry.

Robin tugged on the ring, but it would not budge. With a shrug, he decided he would figure that out later. It could be worth quite a few silver crowns just as a ring. He looked around again. A wooden chest rested on one of the shelves, and Robin stood and opened it. Inside lay a collection of broken egg shells. They had a metallic sheen, but it wasn’t gold or silver, so he closed the lid. He checked the sea chest under the table, but found it full of clothing and blankets. He searched the room and found nothing, until he was standing by the bed. He lifted the bed skirt and looked underneath to find an oak box with iron bands.

He pulled it out and set it on the bed. Instead of a lock or latch, there was merely a symbol drawn on the wood. Yet the box would not open. The little dragon around his finger pulled against him. It was a subtle pressure, but it caught Robin’s attention. Letting the pull of the dragon guide his finger, he traced an intricate pattern over the symbol, and suddenly, the lid opened. Inside, the box was lined with soft fabric. The grand total of the contents included five silver crowns, three shillings, two pence, and a hand written note: “Promise of payment for one hundred silver crowns. -Amarant K.” In short, less money than he would have gotten robbing a maidservant on her way to the florist. He sank to his knees beside the bed, head bowed. “There should have been hundreds, maybe thousands, of silver crowns here.”

It was becoming quite the night of surprises for poor Robin, and the new moon was long from set. The slightly more than full length mirror beside the hearth clouded until there was no longer any reflection at all. From it, came three polite knocks, which quite startled Robin. He stared, never having seen or heard of anything like this before, and uncertain what to do.

He stood and faced the mirror. The dragon tugged his finger toward it. He touched the glass, and the clouds parted to reveal a man with a staff walking toward him in the mist. He grew larger until he nearly filled the mirror and finally, stepped out of it.

The man wore black clothes under a cloak the color of rain. A gold pin held the cloak together across his chest, imprinted with an unfamiliar emblem. The emblem, of course, was only unfamiliar to Robin. The man who wore it, knew the emblem very well indeed, as he was a well respected member, indeed, a representative of, the Wizard Court.

“Good evening,” he tipped his back-swept wizard cap to Robin. “I am calling upon wizard Pierce Keaton. Is he about?”

Robin, wide eyed, looked back over his shoulder at the old man on the floor with a dagger in his chest.

“Oh, dear me! Well, I suppose it is good fortune that I called, after all.” He stepped around Robin to examine the dead wizard.

“Sorry, sir,” asked Robin, “but why is it good fortune?”

“Oh, my apologies! How rude of me.” He turned toward Robin. “I neglected to introduce myself. I am Alistair Shatterstorm, of the Wizard Court.” He tipped his hat with a kind smile. “I am afraid I won’t get to confer with Pierce here as I had intended, but at least I can handle the arrangements. Appears to have been murdered. Did you see it happen?”

Robin blinked twice before answering and immediately worried that the delay would bring suspicion upon him. “No, my lord.” He hadn’t even known there was a wizard court.

“No need with that lordship business. Just call me Alistair.” He waited, his eyes twinkling. “It’s usually polite to offer one’s own name in exchange, don’t you think?”

“Oh! Yes, sir. Sorry. I’m Robin.”

Alistair turned back to the body. “Have you been Pierce’s apprentice long?”

His apprentice? “No sir, uhm, not long at all.”

“That’s a pity. Hope you learned enough.”

“Enough, sir?”

“Well, yes. He’s dead now. I thought you’d noticed that.” Alistair stood up and sprinkled some dust from beneath his cloak across the body. “I’ll just take the body into custody for the investigation.” The dust glowed, and then seemed to cover the body until it was naught but a bright glow on the floor. The brightness in the dim candlelight made Robin blink. Alistair intoned “Pierce Jackson Mansfield Keaton,” and then the body was gone. Alistair turned to Robin. “Always guard your full name, boy, it has power over you, though I am sure Pierce taught you that first thing. Never hurts to be reminded of basic magical security, though.”

“There’s an investigation, sir?”

“Certainly. As I said, he appeared to have been murdered. Unless you happen to know who did it?”

Robin shook his head. “I- just got here.”

“Did he say anything to you about any recent enemies? Threats to his well being, or anything?”

“He didn’t say anything at all to me,” said Robin, “about that.”

Alistair’s look softened. “I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You’re clearly upset at the death of your master, and who wouldn’t be?” He pulled a roll of parchment from mid air and began scribbling on it. “However, I’ve not the time to let you grieve before taking care of things, unfortunately.”

“I’m- I’m alright, sir.”

“Good then. Should have known Pierce would pick a brave lad to apprentice.” He turned the paper around in mid air, and held out the quill he’d been using. It only just then occurred to Robin to wonder where the quill itself had come from. To be fair, he had quite a number of things to wonder about already. “Now, if you’ll just sign your full name here, then you can take possession of Pierce’s goods, and consider yourself a full wizard.”

Robin took the quill while trying to process what was happening. He stopped halfway to the paper. “I’m sorry, what?”

Alistair smiled again over the top of the paper. “I suppose Pierce hadn’t gotten into teaching you about wizard law yet. When a wizard dies, his apprentice is released from the apprenticeship, and inherits said wizard’s belongings, assuming there is no other claim on them, and that said apprentice wasn’t the one that killed him. You said you don’t know who killed him, so that likely precludes you being the one that killed him. Or did you kill your master?”

“Me? No! I’ve never killed anyone.”

“There you go, then, just sign your full name at the bottom.”

Robin hesitated. “I thought you said not to use my full name.”

“This is official paperwork. That’s different. See the Wizard’s Court seal at the top?”

Robin did indeed see the same emblem from Alistair’s cloak emblazoned at the top of the page. Either he signed, pretending to be the wizard’s apprentice, or he confessed that he was actually a thief who had happened upon a murder. He signed Robin Douglas Morgan on the parchment.

“Well done, Wizard Robin.” Alistair rolled up the paper and tucked it under his cloak. “I’ll file this with the Wizard Court.” He glanced around at all the books and objects in the room. “Need any more help with anything here?”

“No, sir, I’m good. This is all really mine now, sir?”

“Call me Alistair. All of Pierce’s things now belong to his former apprentice. I dare say you’ve earned it lad. Pierce was a strict taskmaster last I knew.”

Robin kept his mouth shut.

“Well. Sorry for your loss and all. Oh, being a new wizard, I should mention: If you see anyone using magic that isn’t a proper wizard, do let the Court know. We do not look kindly on impostors. Let me know if you need anything.”

With a final wave of his hand, he stepped back into the mirror, and the clouds closed about him before clearing to again reveal the simple reflection of the room. In the middle of the mirror stood Robin, mouth agape.

“I have to get out of here.” He pocketed the coins from the box on the bed and headed down the stairs. He had just stepped on the soft carpet when there was a sharp knock on the front door.

“Open in the name of the City Watch!”

Robin froze, and slowly looked toward the door. Beside the door was a window, and through the window was the face of a uniformed officer of the city guard. The city guard would be second on his list of The Last People He’d Want to See Right Now.

The dragon ring grasped the cloak on the railing under his fingers, and guided it around his shoulders as he trudged toward the door. Robin pulled the heavy hood up over his rusty brown hair and opened the door.

“Good evening. Can I help you gentlemen?” There were two guards outside.

“Ev’ning, mi’ lord. I’m Captain Ratcliffe. This is Lieutenant Knotley. We’re looking for a thief what’s been reported round here, and we think he may have snuck into your house. Have you seen anyone?”

Robin shook his head under the cloak, hoping it concealed his features.

Lieutenant Knotley lifted his lantern and leaned forward. “You look young for a wizard. I thought it was an old man what lived here?”

Robin thought quickly. “Oh, ah, spell gone wrong. Just a temporary inconvenience. Thank you for letting me know about the thief.” Robin began to close the door.

“Actually,” the lieutenant put a hand on the door. “We’d like to search for him, just to be safe.”

The captain gave the lieutenant an odd glance and then returned his gaze to Robin. “It might be a good idea, if you don’t mind, mi’ lord?”

Robin saw no reason he could object, and opened the door.

“I’ll check upstairs, captain.”

“Very well.” The captain stepped into the sitting room and looked around while the lieutenant trooped up the stairs. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Uhm, thank you. I’m actually hoping to leave soon.”

The Lieutenant came back down the stairs one step at a time.

“Find anything, Knotley?”

“No, sir.” He looked at Robin. “No one up there.”

“We’ll keep looking, then.” They made their way out the door. The Captain tipped his hat. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll find him. Only one proper place for thieves in this city: prison.”

Robin closed the door and listened as the officers walked away.

“You may be up for a promotion, Knotley, but you aren’t Captain of the Guard yet. As long as you’re in my city, I decide when to go muscling into a citizen’s home. That’s a wizard, too, mind…” Their voices faded away and Robin breathed a sigh of relief.

“I have to get out of here.” Robin turned and reached for the doorknob, but the dragon ring turned his hand the other way. He stared at it, then realized it had a point. “Where would I go?” He sat down on the couch. “I can’t pay back the Thieves Guild. The City Guard is looking for me. I won’t go back to the orphanage. I can’t stay here. And now the Wizards think I’m an apprentice.”

The dragon ring reached forward and tapped a book lying on the low table. “Basic Garden Potions.” Robin looked from the ring and the book to the shelves of objects and back to the little jade dragon. “Fine. I guess I’ll try to be a wizard.”

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