Swamped

You suppose you can always offer to look for drawing materials. But right now doesn't seem the best time - not when the focus is on the attacker. You'd like to keep it there.

"Do you have any idea what they wanted?"

"Well, they sure as the hells seemed determined to keep that poker on me for a good three minutes, so I'd guess they were trying to draw something. As to what it is, or why they picked me to be their canvas, can't help you there." They sneer a little. "Maybe you can ask the gods about that."

"Perhaps you were just passing by when the idea entered their head?" you suggest. "Wrong place at the wrong time?"

"The freak came bargin' into my workroom at the winery, so no, I think they had their eyes on me. Or at least on someone who worked there."

You knew the injury had happened at the winery, but now it's out in the open. So you don't have to pretend you don't know that.

"Wait. How did they even get in, then? And what happened afterwards?"

"Don't know how they got in, but what happened was I screamed until someone came and pulled them off. Then I passed out and woke up here." They start groaning. "They said I just wore myself out with the screamin' along with the blood loss. Though now it seems I was out long enough to throw off my sleepin'. Like I needed another goddamn problem right now."

"Sounds like you had it worse than me," you say gently. "Well, I was knocked out too, but I don't know for how long. But I know reading has helped me pass the time, and since that doesn't work for you, I'll see if I can't find you something to draw with."

"Nah, don't trouble yourself on my account," they reply. "I can put up with it."

"It's no trouble. I'm not really doing much else anyhow."

Well, not yet, anyhow. You slip over to the office, and grab some blank paper and a pencil. Then you sneak over to the leaf box and slip one of the sleep leaves into your pocket. You even have some nice paper to keep around it.

You take a quick glance at the doctor to make sure he's still asleep, but right after you do that, you realize that something has changed since you were last here.

The window is open!

There's a breeze. It's faint, but you definitely didn't feel it before.

And the reason for it is clear: the window's not closed all the way. Was it open the whole time, and you only noticed because the wind picked up? Or did someone open it?

It's not open very wide. If someone slipped in through it, they must have tried to close it afterwards. Or perhaps they only slipped a hand through to grab something next to it?

But if there was anything near the window, it didn't catch your attention before. All you see there right now is a clock.

Wait a moment. You don't know what time it is. If you had seen a clock, you would have made note of the time. You aren't that forgetful.

You see the hands cross at midnight. Then you hear a loud noise, and see nothing at all.

You step away, confused, and your vision returns. Then you realize that was the time magic triggering again. You didn't use a spell, though...

But you have an idea about what may have set it off. Your ether sense confirms it - there's a large quantity of fire ether in the clock. And it's currently reading two minutes to midnight. You need to act fast.

If you get any closer, though, it could trigger the time magic again. And even if you were willing to spare the ether and risk being pulled back early, it could easily disorient you and thwart your efforts to stop the clock. So you'll need to make your move from a distance, preferably without casting a spell.

You could try to knock it out the window, but there may not be a safe way to do that without using magic. And at that point, maybe you should just cancel out the fire ether with some other ether.

The window overlooks the paved street. Fire ether, like real fire, needs to be fueled, and the clock isn't big enough to start the full blaze on its own. The paving stones should stop it from going further.

The question is how to move it without magic. You could call out for help, but with only two minutes, you can't be sure anyone would be fast enough. And the doctor is asleep until whatever's in the leaves passes through his system. You don't know how long that will take...

But a little time magic can make it happen in an instant. You'll probably have some explaining to do afterwards, but you don't see many alternatives. You apply some time ether to him and hope you can make it work somehow.

He looks up, confused. He's probably no less confused when you yell at him to throw the clock out the window, but he goes along with it. When the clock's gone, he turns to you.

"Now what in the world is this all about-" he begins, but he's interrupted by a loud noise.

You both look out the window. There's a pile of ash on the paving stones outside. It's still red.

"Better question," he says, after composing himself. "How did you know it would do that, and why didn't you just toss it out there yourself?"

M.. Magic?

Well, you don't need to tell the whole story. Still, you feel it's better not to try to bluff about everything.

"I'm a wizard," you explain. "I could sense magic in it. But I was a bit worried that I might not be in full control of my own magic right now, so I thought it was better not to get too close."

"Oh," the doctor says. "What do you mean, not in full control?"

"I was found unconscious, and I still don't entirely know what happened. I'm worried I might have had a spell go wrong. But it's going to be hard to be sure for a while."

The doctor glances down at the form.

"That sounds like it could potentially endanger the other patients," he mutters. "I should probably note that on your record."

"I'd prefer to keep it confidential. Even from hospital staff. It should only be a problem if I get near magical items..."

"And if someone brought an exploding clock here, we can't be sure they won't try to sneak in something else, can we?" he snaps back.

Well, you know that you never found out about the wizard in the hospital on your first day, so you've really got to convince him to keep quiet somehow.

There's no time for taking notes! The culprit can't be far... they probably waited around within visual range of the hospital to observe the outcome of their nefarious deeds. We've got to catch them, or at least identify them!

Before you can think of an answer, one is provided for you as you spot a shadow rushing by outside.

"At the least, I think chasing down whoever that is might be a better use of our time right now. And you're probably faster than I am."

The doctor turns around, and catches a glimpse of the shadow. He rushes to the window and opens it.

But he doesn't get any farther than that. The shadow turns and points at him, and he falls to the ground.

You rush next to him. He's still breathing, which is good. Your first thought is a sleep spell hit him, but there's no sign of any ether affecting him... there is a small needle of some sort in his neck, though.

He should be all right. But the assailant is running away. This might be your only chance to catch them... but you aren't sure you can manage it without magic. And you've still got matters to take care of in here.

You'd best make your decision quickly.

It might be worth expending a little magic just to see if you can get a glimpse of the assailant's face, even if you can't stop them. Then you could cross reference that with information from the artistic patient.

It occurs to you that this time magic surrounding you could help you identify the assailant, which is your best choice outside of capturing them. You look outside, and expend a little ether to look into the recent past.

And you manage to see them much more clearly. Unfortunately, they're wearing a hood and cloak. But you can clearly see them firing a blowgun, and the shadow under their hood isn't strong enough to obscure their beard.

Hopefully, they won't think to shave it. Even if they do, though, there's another thing that catches your eye before you dismiss the vision. Something hanging around their neck...

A breather mask. And it looks like a quality one. In the time you came from, masks that good are reserved for military use; going as far back as you have, it's unlikely anyone would be able to get a mask at all without military connections.

You feel like you know less now than when you started. And in the time you spent doing that, they've gotten further away. You've definitely got no chance of catching up without magic now.

So you might as well follow other leads for now. You help the unconscious doctor into his chair, though. No sense letting him lie down here. Maybe if you're lucky, he'll conclude the whole thing was a dream. Otherwise, you'll deal with it when he wakes up.

You make your way back to the artist, and give them the paper and pencil.

"Huh. Didn't really expect you to come back," they mutter. "You did make lying awake a little more interesting, though."

"I also grabbed a sleeping aid." You hold up the leaf. "It seems fairly effective."

The patient looks thoughtful.

"Put it on the table. If I hide this stuff, they might take it away. If I can at least get a good picture or two first, though, who cares if they confiscate it. I'll sleep when I'm done here."

As you put the leaf down, you see they've already started outlining a face. You can tell they're taking great care. But they pause, suddenly.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, just tryin' to get down my attacker. I know the face well enough. Thing is, there was something hanging around the bastard's neck, and I can't quite remember what it was. Looked weird, though." They grumble. "And I'm just havin' trouble laying it out until I figure out how that fits in."

Well. You have a guess, given what you just saw. But with breather masks being as rare as they are right now, you aren't quite sure how to explain it.

You could show them your mask, but how would you explain it? You're not a plague doctor, fumigator, sponge diver, or marine infantryman....

Although maybe you could pretend to be entering the sponge diving business with your experimental new mask.

In any case, you can start listing possibilities to help them work out what it is... Amulet, scarf, kerchief, mask...

You do have the mask that came here with you, but that still doesn't really address how to explain it. You're not sure you would have even realized what it was if you hadn't seen breather masks before.

And if they somehow do know what it is, they'll wonder if you have military connections. Which is an angle that seems more than a little odd.

Maybe making some suggestions would be best.

"It's not a necklace?"

"No, something was hanging off it. Didn't look like any jewelry I'd ever seen, either."

"So... not a scarf, then?"

They pause.

"Might have had a scarf. Yeah, hang on... they did, but this was hanging over it."

"A bottle, perhaps?"

They frown.

"Now, I think that was my first thought, because it was see-through. But then I thought it was a funny shape for a bottle. And there was something in it that I couldn't make any sense of."

"Oh! I think I saw something like that. Hold on for a moment."

You run off and return with the mask. The patient looks at it, startled.

"That's it! Well... without the purple bits, but it really looked a lot like that. What even is it? Where'd you get it?"

"They found it with me when I woke up. It's not mine, though."

The artist starts sketching furiously.

"Well, whoever it belongs to, it's good enough for me to get an outline down. Now I can work on fitting the face in. Surprised they didn't cover it up, but then, who knows what they were thinking."

A few minutes later, they show off their work.

"Very nice," you say. "Oh! But if they find it, and see the mask in there, they might start questioning me. Since it looks like the one I was found with."

"Wouldn't want to get you in trouble," they say. "Think that cleared my head good enough, anyhow, so you can hold onto it."

They hand over the picture.

"And now I can't draw your picture for the same reason. Eh, but I'll find something. Thanks again."

You suppose that's all you can do for now. You glance at the picture, but it doesn't really suggest anything immediately. Though, as this attacker is clean-shaven, it's unlikely to be the same cloaked figure you caught a glimpse of tonight.

Well. That leaves you with one other matter to investigate right now: a name that caught your attention.

You head on over to the bed where one Jonathan Flame is resting.

The injury report was rather vague. All it mentioned was that he broke an ankle at the blacksmith's. The other Flames had similarly vague reports, though their injuries sounded more severe.

You wonder what could have happened there. Another of these strange attacks, perhaps?

All you know about Flame from your own time is that he's an inventor who's made a modest amount of money, and had some kind of involvement in the ship's voyage. You overheard him at the launch saying that he expected to make a tidy sum with his latest creation.

Here, though, he's just a seventeen-year-old. If he's taken an interest in inventing, he hasn't made a name for himself yet.

He's awake, though. But when you take a glance through the curtains, he seems preoccupied with something.

A glove?

It looks like a glove. Used in some sport, you think. Maybe the young Flame is a fan.

Then again, the way he's staring at it so intently suggests there's more to it than that. He keeps holding up individual fingers, and then glancing at his hand. As though he's trying to figure something out.

"I'm all right," he says suddenly. "I know it's late, but it's not insomnia. I'm just thinking. Feel free to get on with your rounds."

He doesn't even look at you. But he must have realized someone was nearby. Strange that it took him two whole minutes to say anything, though.

You wonder if you should approach him, or just leave him and let him believe you're a member of the staff. He's not an adult yet - and he wasn't the only one in the accident. Perhaps you can ask one of the other Flames.

But then he turns the glove around in his hands, and you get a good look at the palm. And based on what you see, you think you'd best speak to him after all.

That's not the family crest, is it?

There's a symbol on the glove that looks a bit like a flame. You remember seeing that symbol before, on a cloth. You assumed it was his family crest.

But why would that crest be on a glove, while he's still so young? Most families that have a crest don't just put it on everything. A sports glove seems an odd choice.

That's not all, though. You didn't really pay it much heed at the time, but the person who ran off earlier had gloves like that. And a quick glimpse at the picture you've got in your pocket confirms similar gloves on the artist's attacker. No sign of the palms, though.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," you say. "I'm trying to get back to my bed, but the doctor isn't around. I was wondering if he might be attending to a patient."

"Haven't seen him in about three hours," the young Flame replies, not taking his eyes off the glove. "If you happened to take note of your bed number, however, I can tell you how to find it. I noticed the markers when they were carrying me in and had little better to do than work out the pattern."

Interesting.

"Not very helpful if you can't read the markers, though," you reply.

"Well, given that I've been advised not to walk for at least another two days, I'm afraid I can't help you with reading. You'll either have to find it yourself or ask someone else who's awake. If you do find a guide, however, I'd be happy to explain the system to them, though if you don't know your bed number I suppose that won't help much."

"Sorry for bothering you, then."

"It's no trouble. I've noticed this place is understaffed. Hardly surprising that patients have to take care of themselves."

Well, now's the time to move the conversation.

"It's truly a shame. Well, I'll leave you to your fishing glove, then."

You know full well it's not a fishing glove. But there's no way someone with this boy's attitude will let that stand.

"It's a tossball glove," he says, with just a hint of indignation. "My uncle had it made specifically for me. Probably trying to get me interested in the fool sport."

"Oh. My apologies for the confusion. Can't say I know much about tossball."

"I know far more about it than I'd like. Except, that is, how this glove works. It's supposed to improve throwing distance by about ten percent, and my own tests support that conclusion, but I don't see what parts of it actually contribute. For a while I thought it was magic, but I ruled that out..."

He suddenly stops.

"Sorry. I have a habit of talking too much. I shouldn't be keeping you."

So the glove increases throwing distance. But the strange assailant at the hospital used a blowgun, not a throwing weapon. Perhaps there was something else they wanted to throw?

You also find it interesting that Flame's uncle apparently produces these gloves. Or at least pays someone who does enough to put the family crest on them. You wonder if that has anything to do with the cloth you found back on the ship.

But it doesn't seem to have anything to do with your immediate problem. So you suppose it's time to check on one of the other Flames in here. Maybe they'll add to your understanding of all this.

The next bed you look for is Leonard Flame. Forty-three years old. You suppose there's a chance this is the uncle Jonathan was talking about, but you can't say for sure.

What you do know is the injuries he was brought in with. Two broken legs and burns on both his hands. You'd guess that something heavy fell on his legs, since there's plenty at a blacksmith's that could qualify. As for the burns... well, your only guess is that he grabbed something right out of the forge. But you don't have any clue why.

When you find Leonard, his eyes are closed, but he's clearly not asleep. He looks to be in great pain. Understandable, considering his legs are suspended in the air and he's got ice packs on his hands. He doesn't look like he can do much to take his mind off it.

You wonder if a conversation would help him, or if it would be better to leave him alone. But you don't get much time to think about it before he suddenly cries out.

And it's not just a scream of pain. He's saying something, and it sounds important.

Something about the... swamp?

"Not the swamp!" he screams. "No, no! I can't go there, not now!"

You'd heard a few stories about this. People waking up terrified and crying out about the swamp. When they were lucid, they admitted they'd felt a strange longing for months, but had ignored it. And it had only gotten worse.

The only treatment that had ever worked was to actually take them there. That's most likely what poor Leonard Flame here has to look forward to.

"I can't," he mutters. "The Guild needs me!"

And that makes it more than just curiosity.

You don't know much about the Guild, but you do know they've never had much presence here. There are plenty of nations eager for an excuse to go after them, and all those nations send ships through this port.

But it's clear they do have members here. Members who might hire people to attack winery employees or blow up hospitals. Or at least who would make a point of knowing who those people are, just in case.

Which means it might be worth your time to ask Leonard a few questions. Assuming he still has the clarity of mind to answer them.

Where should you begin?

The easiest question to ask is the obvious one his last outburst suggested.

"For what?"

Leonard's eyes open and he sits up, panicked.

"Who... Who are you?"

Well, you've got his attention. Now you need to work out what to do with it. Is it better to calm him down in hopes he'll answer more clearly, or to leave him worried in hopes that he's careless about what he lets slip out?

Perhaps you'll get a better sense of which way to carry it if you keep the conversation focused on your own questions.

"What does the Guild need you for?"

He looks up, and awkwardly pulls his hands together. He's praying. Though you've no idea to who.

"For peace," he says finally. "So many of our members only think of themselves. It takes careful guidance to help them work for the benefit of us all. Petty grudges threaten to consume them otherwise, and all that we've built will fall apart."

Well. You can't say you were expecting that answer. So it takes you a moment to think of how to follow up.

Was it a petty grudge that burned your hands and broke your leg?

"Petty grudges," you say to yourself. "Would those be what brought you here?"

"I suppose, in a manner of speaking," he mutters. "Perhaps if not for my predecessor's failures, that damned smith would have been willing to listen. Though I can't say Mortimer's recklessness helped matters any."

Mortimer. Another of the Flames staying here.

"It may already be too late, in any event. I may still bear the Oak Crest, but if no one obeys my orders, what does that matter? A few swords won't change that."

You aren't actually sure why he's talking to you so freely. Does he think you already know this? Does he no longer care?

Or did he actually get a sign from his god?

He suddenly lowers his head, and glances at the bedside table. There's a wooden symbol of some sort hanging by a string.

"Well. Elaine can do what she will to me. All I hope for now is that Jonathan and Mona grow up without having to deal with any of this unpleasant business. Perhaps that is why Brume sent you to me."

And without another word, he lies down again and shuts his eyes. He's still not actually asleep.

Brume, though. That's another name for Nual. Not in common use, but he does seem to be responsible for your presence here. And as best as you can tell, he instructed Leonard to let you have the crest, whatever its importance.

You pick it up. And as soon as you do, you see a strange vision.

Monsters... Made of metal?