Belongs to ACADEMIA
ACADEMY RECORD:
Name: Samantha Cavar
Occupation: Psychic (self-certified). Fortune-teller and giver of professional vague answers.
Known for: A crystal ball of unverified provenance.
Method: Unverified. The subject declines all demonstration requests, citing professional discretion.
Warning: Do not ask how she knows. Do not attempt to purchase, borrow, or “just hold” the ball.
Current status: Resident. Attached to the circus troupe, which operates under institutional patronage.
Developed by Crimson Alchemist , Formula available: Basic Plus (normal & trance states)
KNOWN BACKGROUND:
The hamsters somersaulted so high they vanished from sight. The salamanders breathed streams of lava enough to roast a herd of bison. The wagons creaked, and at their head marched a long-legged praying mantis, crying:
“This way, good people! Come to the show! You will see marvels no one has ever…”
Samantha looked around. The central boulevard was full of people, and not one of them looked impressed. Not in the least. And how could they be? Here, in the very heart of the Academia, where every workshop and cellar brewed unthinkable varieties of potions and elixirs and forged every manner of amulet and talisman. Fire, long legs, levitation, the lot. The circus was a relic. Why it had come here at all was a mystery. For the first time. And, probably, the last.
Samantha searched herself for the feeling one is supposed to have when returning home, and found nothing unusual. Her grandmother had claimed their maternal line came from exactly here. Long ago, when these lands were still the Kingdom’s vegetable gardens and the Academia was merely the Kingdom’s most ambitious project.* But then, her grandmother had been a famous fantasist and charlatan. Some qualities, apparently, skip a generation…
“Lovely miss, I should like to extend an invitation,” interrupted a well-dressed rat, bowing. “To a dinner of magic candles. Tonight. In the central building.”
“Who on earth knows of me, that I’m invited to dinners?” Samantha laughed. “It’s not you, is it?” she teased.
“Not at all…” the rat flustered, and pointed upward. “Higher.”
“So: enter the building, go to the highest place. Tonight.”**
“Precisely, miss,” the rat said with relief, bowed again, and left at a brisk pace.
Samantha descended the thousand steps in thought. The candles, she was sure, were perfectly ordinary. The rat, on the other hand, was certainly something magical. A pity he’s only after a working partnership, she thought, and immediately scolded herself. What he had done for the troupe was noble, after all — the circus had all but fallen apart, and Barnaby had secured it a dignified existence. Strange, that he wanted information from her; he didn’t look like a fool. That he knew her secret — how she listened to people through the underground tunnels — was a little worrying; but then, he didn’t look like the talkative type. Most astonishing of all was his curiosity about the glowing rectangles — the ones her ball kept showing. Samantha had no idea what they were, but she answered convincingly, with memorized phrases, as she had always done in the fortune-teller’s trade.
Sunk in thought, she reached her new dwelling without noticing. Her luggage had already been carried in from the wagon and neatly arranged. In the middle of the luxurious burrow stood an enormous bouquet of red roses. There was also a note. If Samantha could read, she would have understood a great deal more. But at this stage in her life, she didn’t care.
* The project later became independent. The two remain close, the way only a founder and its runaway creation can be.
** The highest place in the central building was the attic. The attic was where the rats kept their secrets. And, apparently, their good tableware. See Barnaby Sniffer’s story.
UNOFFICIAL ADDENDUM (recorded by Barnaby Sniffer, Attic Office of Information. Filed later.)
Method (classified, do not cite): The subject does not see through the ball. The subject hears through the walls. The tunnels beneath the central building appear on no map. They appear on mine.
Internal warning: Do not mention the tunnels in her presence. She believes this is still her secret. Let her.
Regarding the glowing rectangles: The subject’s statements remain consistent, memorized, and entirely unconfirmable. My interest is professional. It has always been professional.
Correspondence: Written inquiry delivered to the subject’s burrow, accompanied by a customary floral arrangement. No reply in twenty-two days. The subject is presumed to be considering. The flowers were appropriate.
Patronage note: The circus troupe remains under Academy patronage.*
*(Institutional, not personal. The record insists on this.)
Record closed. T̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶o̶s̶e̶s̶ ̶w̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶c̶o̶r̶r̶e̶c̶t̶.̶ The record is closed.