“Ah, Maguerite,” I say, without looking up.

“I was told that you have a task for me from our Mistress?” The vulnerability she had shown earlier is gone; replaced by her standard harshness. That vaguely condescending, aloof attitude has been well cultivated in both of us. It has enabled us to survive these six years. We rarely drop it, even around each other.

I hold up a second crystal, identical to the one around my neck. “This is a copy of the aethernaut’s memories. Alter them so he will not know he was ever here and get him back into M-space.”

“You may tell our Mistress that he shall be gone by dinner, Sorcerer Aldain.” She takes the crystal and curtsies.

The curtsy is important. Coupled with the use of my formal title, it means someone is watching her. Watching us. I quickly stash the original crystal in my pocket.

“Enchantress Maguerite, Sorcerer Aldain. How pleasant to see you.”

So those are the eyes she was warning me of. Gerran. A weasel of man if there ever was one. A short, sickly thin creature with a personality as attractive as his appearance.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you mention the Mistress. Is there some task I may assist you in to help her?”

While Maguerite and I have special duties befitting our talents, Gerran is the highest of the mundane servants. Gerran is slavishly loyal to our Mistress. He tells her everything he sees, Every accomplishment of his, every breach of conduct by anyone else. To tell the truth, he’s more annoying than useful most of the time. Regardless, our Mistress knows the value of a set of eyes and ears among the servants, so she tolerates him.

“Gerran,” I say. I use no honorific; his false smile flickers at that. “This task of ours is of absolute secrecy. Depending on how much you have already heard, your life may already be forfeit.”

Coming from someone else, one could mistake that for a jest. Gerran knows me well enough not to make that mistake. His eyes widen. He stammers.

“But. I. That is. Sor-”

“Enough!” I cut him off. “Go to our Mistress and tell her everything you heard.”

He bows and starts to scurry down the hallway. Just before he reaches the end of the hallway, I call after him. “And if you’re thinking of lying to save yourself, don’t. I’ve seen what our Mistress does to liars. The possibility of a swift death for knowing too much is quite preferable.” I pause for a moment, then add as an afterthought. “And make sure you tell our Mistress that Maguerite says she will have her appointed task done before dinner.”

I wait until he is long gone and out of earshot. Then I turn to Maguerite to find we are both smiling.

“That was cruel,” she says, grinning ever wider.

“It’s the little pleasures that make life bearable,” I respond.

We go so far as to actually allow ourselves to laugh very briefly.

Maguerite’s smile fades, taking mine with it. “I do need to get to work. I’ll see you at dinner, Aldain.”

She turns and leaves me alone with my thoughts and the original memory crystal

As I slip into the pocket reality I left growing earlier, I let my thoughts wander.

I don’t know who’s the worse traitor, Gerran or Maxwell. Maxwell sold out his own people, but in so doing has defied the Elders. He did what he did to avoid slavery. Gerran, meanwhile, has embraced his slavery. His devotion is completely sincere. At least Maxwell is a man; Gerran is just a dog.