Chapter 186. Tea Time

"Sooo, everything's going according to plan then, right?"

Biggins chuckled.

"Yes," he said, reaching for the teapot between them. "More or less. Though plans do have a way of developing personalities of their own, don't they?"

The pot was new. Or at least, Adom hadn't seen it before. It was glass—impossibly thin glass that seemed to shift colors depending on the angle of the light. Inside, the tea swirled in lazy spirals without anyone touching it.

Biggins poured. The liquid that came out was silver. Actually silver, like molten metal, except it steamed gently and smelled like honey and something else Adom couldn't identify. Something green.

"New blend," Biggins said, filling Adom's cup. "Been working on it for three weeks. Tell me what you think."

Adom had been in Biggins' back room for forty-five minutes now. Maybe closer to fifty. Time did odd things in some of his rooms. The space itself was larger than it should be—the door they'd entered through led to what should have been a storage closet, but the room stretched back into a comfortable sitting area with mismatched furniture and shelves crammed with things that definitely weren't inventory for the sweet shop.

A skull that hummed quietly. A snow globe with a tiny thunderstorm inside it. What looked like a perfectly ordinary rock except it floated three inches above its shelf and rotated slowly.

Adom lifted his cup. Sipped.

The taste hit his tongue and kept going. Down his throat, sure, but also sideways somehow. Like the flavor was reaching parts of him that didn't usually interact with food.

"It's..." He paused. Took another sip. "Bright?"

"Bright!" Biggins clapped his hands together once. "Yes! Exactly! Bright! That's what I was going for!"

Across from them, perched on what appeared to be a cushion made of compressed flower petals, Bennu was eating something that looked like bread but wasn't behaving like bread. It was pale yellow, roughly the size and shape of a dinner roll, and when Bennu tore a piece off, it stretched like taffy before separating.

The phoenix made a sound of pure contentment. A trill that went up and down the musical scale.

"Good?" Adom asked.

Bennu nodded vigorously, already tearing off another piece. "So good," he said between bites. "Which is strange, because you know I don't like sweet things."

"That's high praise," Adom said.

"It should be," Biggins said proudly. He leaned back in his chair—a tall-backed thing upholstered in purple velvet that was definitely too fancy for a storage room. "Took me seven attempts to get it right. The first batch tasted like soap. The second batch was actually soap. Long story. But this version?" He gestured at the roll in Bennu's talons. "All the benefits of sugar, none of the drawbacks. Won't rot your teeth. Won't make you crash after the energy spike. Your body processes it like a dream."

Bennu took another bite. Made another happy sound.

"A bit of alchemy here and there does wonders," Biggins continued, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "People think alchemy is all transmutation But the real art and magic is in the small things. Making something that tastes good and is good for you. Creating tea that makes you feel bright." He took a sip from his own cup. "Making the impossible everyday."

From Adom's pocket, Zuni stirred.

The quillick emerged slowly, nose twitching. His blue quills were standing at attention, all pointed directly at the bread-thing in Bennu's possession.

He made a small, questioning chirp.

Bennu, ever generous, tore off a piece and held it out.

Zuni took it delicately. Held it up to his nose. Sniffed it thoroughly, whiskers trembling with the effort of investigation.

Then he ate it.

His eyes went very wide.

Then very closed.

He made a sound Adom had never heard him make before. A prolonged, vibrating hum that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his tiny chest.

And then—nothing. No zooming around the room. No climbing the walls. No demanding more with aggressive chirps and attempted theft.

Just Zuni, sitting on Adom's shoulder, holding his piece of not-bread with both paws, eating it slowly with an expression of absolute transcendence on his small face.

"How," Adom said, staring at his familiar, "did you make something sweet enough to send Zuni into ecstasy but not turn him into a mad quillick?"

Biggins smiled. "Trade secret. Though I will say that balancing the energy release was the hardest part. The sugar equivalent hits slower. Steadier. Like a gentle tide instead of a storm."

Adom watched Zuni take another tiny, reverent bite.

Incredible.

He set his teacup down. The silver liquid inside was still swirling on its own, creating patterns that might have been meaningful or might have been random. Hard to tell with Biggins' creations.

"Back to the serious matters," Adom said.

The atmosphere shifted. Not dramatically. Biggins didn't sit up straighter or put on a stern expression. But something in the air changed frequency. The humming skull stopped humming. The floating rock stopped rotating.

"The tower," Adom said. "The one in the highlands. It's finished."

Biggins nodded once. "Right on schedule. Four years of careful construction. I assume Thom and his people did excellent work?"

"They did. Thorgen went to inspect it last month. Said it was everything we'd hoped for and more." Adom paused. "He also said it was time. Time to make it the new headquarters. Time to rally our allies there."

"The dwarf's good at knowing when the time is right," Biggins said. “Comes with the territory when you spend your life building foundations.” He said it fondly. "Did he give you the full strategic assessment?"

"He did. The location is defensible. Remote enough that we won't have casual visitors but accessible enough that people can reach it without arousing suspicion. The wards are in place. The infrastructure is ready." Adom met Biggins' eyes. "We can start bringing people in."

"Mmm." Biggins stroked his beard. It was white today. Yesterday it had been silver-gray. The day before that, it had been white with gray streaks. "I'll have Zara coordinate the initial transfers. She's been itching for something to organize. You know how she gets when she doesn't have a proper project."

Adom nodded. "Thank you."

"Arthun can handle the security assessments for each person we bring in," Biggins continued. "Make sure no one's been compromised. Make sure everyone understands the stakes." He tilted his head. "And I suppose it's time."

"Time for what?"

"To introduce you to the rest of them." Biggins smiled. "The ones we've managed to gather, anyway. They know about you, of course. In the abstract. The mysterious Architect. The one with the plan. But they haven't met you face to face."

Adom felt something settle in his chest. Relief, maybe. Or anticipation.

"You said there were four hundred," he said. "Four hundred people with us in the Order?"

"Give or take," Biggins confirmed. "Four hundred and twelve at last count, but three of them are in deep cover positions that we can't risk extracting yet. And one is technically dead but that's his cover identity so it's complicated." He waved a hand. "Four hundred is close enough for us to work with."

"And the other branches?"

Biggins' expression didn't change, but something hardened behind his eyes. "Not to be trusted. We've been over this. The infiltration went deeper than we thought. Some of them don't even know they're compromised. Some of them do and are playing along because they think they can outmaneuver the situation. Some of them..." He trailed off. "Some of them made their choices long ago."

Adom nodded. He’d heard this before. It didn’t make it easier to accept that the organization that had taken three thousand years to build was now reduced to four hundred and twelve loyal members. But reality was what it was.

"These four hundred though," Biggins continued, his tone warming slightly. "These four hundred are good people. Fine people. Specialists in their respective fields. Artificers, strategists, information brokers, combat experts, researchers. Some of them have been with us since the beginning. Some joined later but proved their worth a dozen times over." He leaned forward slightly. "They'll be invaluable for what's coming."

"Good," Adom said. "That's... that's good. It feels good to finally advance on this side of things. To have something concrete instead of just—"

Biggins raised one hand.

The gesture was gentle. Barely a movement. But it cut through Adom's words as effectively as a blade.

Adom stopped mid-sentence.

Bennu looked up from his bread, alert. Zuni's eyes opened, still slightly glazed from his sugar-ecstasy but sharpening quickly.

"What?" Adom asked. "What is it?"

Biggins tilted his head. His eyes had gone distant. Not unfocused—the opposite, actually. Like he was focusing on something very far away, or very close but invisible.

"You know the spell I have in the store," he said slowly. "The one that reads the desires of customers when they enter. Puts the item they want—or the closest approximation—right in front of them?"

Adom blinked at the non sequitur. He glanced at Zuni, who was still holding his piece of not-bread, whiskers twitching with residual bliss.

"Yes?" Adom said carefully.

"The thoughts that drive those desires," Biggins continued, still in that distant tone, "are generally sensed by me as well. Not the full contents, you understand. Just the shape of them. The emotional color. The urgency." His eyes refocused on Adom. "Someone just entered my shop."

A pause.

"And?" Adom prompted.

Biggins set down his teacup.

"They desire help," he said quietly.

Adom blinked.

"Why are you—" He stopped. Looked at Biggins more carefully.

The old dragon hadn't moved. Was still sitting in his purple velvet chair. But his shoulders had changed. Gone rigid in a way that looked casual but wasn't.

"It's just someone wanting help," Adom said slowly. "That's... that happens in shops. People want help."

"Yes," Biggins agreed.

He didn't elaborate.

Adom waited.

Bennu looked up from his bread. Zuni's whiskers twitched.

"Their life," Biggins said finally, each word measured, "is in danger. Immediate danger. The kind that's happening right now."

He stood.

Not quickly nor dramatically. Just rose from his chair like a man who'd remembered he had something to attend to.

Adom stood as well. Looked down at Zuni and Bennu.

"You two stay here. We'll be back in—"

Oh, do take your time, Zuni said. We shall endeavor not to perish from the hardship of your absence.

Bennu made an agreeable chirp. Tore off another piece of bread. His eyes were half-closed in bliss.

Right.

Adom followed Biggins toward the door.

He wasn't worried exactly. Concerned, perhaps. Curious definitely.

The door opened into the storage closet. Then through another door into the shop proper.

And Adom heard her voice immediately.

Thessarian.

"—okay? You're shaking. Here, sit down. Let me get you some water. Mr. Biggins has a chair in the back—"

"I can't," a young man's voice. Thin. Reedy. "I can't sit. I need—I need to find Magus Sylla. He came in here. I saw him. I saw him come in here and I need—"

Adom and Biggins emerged from the back.

The boy saw them.

Went completely still.

He was young. thirteen, maybe fourteen. Wore the new deep blue robes of Xerxes Academy. Third or fourth year by the quality of the fabric and the silver trim. Blond hair, cut short. Green eyes that were too wide.

And trembling.

His hands. His whole body. Like he was standing in a blizzard wearing nothing but his robes.

"M-Magus Sylla..."

Something cold slid down Adom's spine.

Wrong.

This was wrong.

Biggins stepped forward smoothly. His face was open and friendly. The sweet shop owner greeting a customer.

"Good afternoon, young man," he said warmly. "Ms. Thessarian tells me you need help. What can we do for you?"

Thessarian stepped aside.

"He was asking about you," she said to Adom. Her voice was quiet but steady. "Specifically. By name. When I told him you weren't here, he started trembling like—like this. Insisted he'd seen you come in."

The boy's eyes hadn't left Adom's face.

Adom took a breath. Kept his voice gentle.

"Hi there," he said. Took a small step forward, hands visible, nonthreatening. "I'm here. You found me. What's wrong? Why were you looking for me?"

The boy's face crumpled.

Just... collapsed inward.

And he started crying in gut-wrenching sobs that shook his whole frame.

"Hey," Adom said. Kept his voice soft and patient. "Hey, it's alright. Just tell me what's going on. Whatever it is, we can—"

"I'm sorry," the boy gasped out between sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, they made me—they made me do it and I didn't—I couldn't—"

Adom felt it then.

The shift in the air behind him.

Biggins was doing magic. Quiet magic. Adom couldn't see what, but he could feel the shape of it. Contained. Precise.

Thessarian had backed up. Three steps. Four. Was now standing near the shop's front door.

Also wrong.

Adom looked at the boy.

No visible magical devices. No artifacts hanging from his neck or wrists. No rings. No earrings. Nothing tucked into his belt or boots that Adom could detect.

But.

They made me do it. Past tense. Already done.

The boy was crying harder now. His hands were fisted in his robes. His whole body shook like he was trying to tear himself apart from the inside out.

Someone had given him something.

Something dangerous.

Dangerous for Adom—the target.

Dangerous for the boy—who was shaking like he knew exactly what was about to happen to him.

An explosive.

Had to be.

And a potent one, probably. If they were using it against a magus. Against Adom specifically.

Which meant someone knew Adom was here. Had watched him enter Biggins' shop. Had grabbed a student and given him a bomb and sent him inside.

The question was who.

Adom crouched down slightly. Made himself smaller. Less threatening.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The boy hiccupped. Dragged a sleeve across his face.

"C-Calen. Calen Morse. Third year. R-runicology, sir."

"Okay, Calen." Adom kept his voice level. Steady. "My friend here—Mr. Biggins—he's going to take care of you. You don't need to worry. But I need you to tell me something. The people who made you do this. What did they look like?"

Calen gulped.

Smart kid. Knew what Adom was asking.

"There were two," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper. "A man and a woman. The man was tall. Really tall. Had a scar across his throat. Here." He touched his own neck. "Like someone tried to—to cut it. The woman was shorter. Dark hair. Dark skin. Had tattoos on her hands. Geometric patterns. They—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "They stopped me on the path. Between the academy and the market district."

"Where exactly?"

"The alley. The one behind the old theater. The one students use as a shortcut." Calen's hands were still shaking. "I was going to the library. Needed a book on alchemical processes for Professor Mirwen's class. They just—they appeared. One second the alley was empty, the next they were there."

"What did they give you?"

"I don't know. A small thing. Like a stone but not a stone. They put it—" His hand went to his chest. To his sternum. "They put it inside me. I felt it. I felt it go through my robes and my shirt and my skin and then it was just—inside."

Biggins made a small sound.

Adom didn't look at him.

"What did they tell you to do?" Adom asked.

"Find you. They said you'd be at this shop. Said I had—" Calen's voice broke. "Said I had fifteen minutes. That if I didn't find you and get close to you within fifteen minutes, the thing would—would—"

He didn't finish.

Didn't need to.

Adom stood. Looked at Calen. This terrified kid who'd been turned into a weapon.

"It's going to be fine," he said.

Calen made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been another sob.

"Mr. Biggins is very, very good at what he does," Adom continued. "He's already started working on it. You're going to be alright."

He turned to Biggins.

Biggins nodded once.

"Containment spell is active," he said quietly. His hands were moving in small, precise gestures. "The device is isolated. Won't detonate. Won't harm anyone in a three-block radius even if it tries." His eyes flicked to Adom. "But you need to go. Now. If they gave him fifteen minutes, and he said he was on his way to the library..."

"They might still be nearby," Adom finished. "Watching."

"Transportation crystal," Biggins said. "That's what I'd use. Stay close, watch the results, then vanish before anyone can respond. Which means if you're fast—"

"I can catch them."

Adom was already weaving.

[Invisibility].

The spell settled over him like a second skin. The world didn't change—he could still see everything perfectly clearly. But he knew from experience that to everyone else, he'd simply ceased to exist.

He moved toward the door.

Thessarian opened it without being asked. Didn't look at where he was. Probably couldn't see him. But she knew.

Adom stepped outside.

The market district spread out before him. Afternoon sun. Crowds of people moving between shops. Vendors calling out. The smell of roasting nuts and fresh bread.

Somewhere out here.

Two people.

A tall man with a scar across his throat.

A woman with geometric tattoos on her hands.

Somewhere out here, they were watching.

Waiting to see if their weapon had worked.

Adom started moving.