The sun has only just risen when I enter Swyndale, but the streets are filling quickly already, as they do every day. Street vendors set out their goods to catch the first tourists of the day. Workers walk to the wealthy houses or local businesses that employ them. City guards patrol the streets with sharp, wary eyes.

I head to the library. That cute librarian mentioned a census. Someone as important as an Ephraxa will certainly be in the records. All I need is an address to get me started.

The library is near the city gates. It doesn’t take long to walk there. I wonder as I open the door whether the redhead will be here. What was her name? Started with an M…

I glance around when I enter, but see no sign of the librarian. Only a single person browsing the shelves is nearby. I walk to the back desk. Still no sign of the redhead, or anyone else.

“Hello?” I glance around, peeking between the shelves I can see from here. Nothing.

I try again. “Anyone here?” No response.

Guess I’ll do it myself. The census can’t be that hard to find. Just look for giant matching record books, right?

I wander through several of the back shelves before I find any census records. The first one I pull is several decades outdated. I walk further down the shelf, running my fingers against the rough, dusty spines of the books, and try a different one. It looks to be in better condition.

Three years ago. This must be the most recent. The book is too big to maneuver while standing, so I sit on the floor. I adjust my skirt around my legs before opening the book on the floor in front of me.

It doesn’t take long to find the record I need, with the latest address of the Ephraxa family. The household includes two heirs; apparently Asher has a sibling. Must be young if they aren’t a mark, or possibly not well suited as an heir. A scandal in the family, perhaps? I smirk at the thought. Wouldn’t that be fun.

I remove the assignment scroll and a small inkhorn and quill from my bag. I copy the address down on the blank side of the paper and give it a moment to dry. Once the information and writing tools are tucked back into my bag, I return the heavy book to its spot on the shelf and exit the library. Shame that librarian never showed.

I don’t recognize the street address, but I know the part of Swyndale where the wealthier homes are likely to be. I walk in that direction, wandering more slowly than usual. I weave between vendor booths and duck into the occasional shop. I buy a pastry at a bakery and bite into the warm, flaky crust as I walk. The buttery flavor dissolves against my tongue.

To both casual observers and keen-eyed city guards, I am just another tourist. I make one last stop near the end of the street market to buy a nice woven scarf, dyed blue with a yellow design on it. Something with a bit of color and careful handiwork will make me less noticeable in the wealthy district, where color and style are needed to blend in. I’ll probably give it to Kanoni when I’m done here.

I wrap the scarf around my shoulders decoratively. Before moving on, I smile at the vendor. “Pardon me. Could you tell me where Grace Street is? I know the area but I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with that street.”

The weathered man points away from the market, toward the wealthy district. “Do ya’ know the courtyard where all th’ scholars chatter?”

I nod. Swyndale isn’t known for philosophy, but a small group of the wealthier families’ heirs have fancied themselves a bit too highly in recent years and formed a new sort of club. They meet in a pitifully small but well-groomed bit of greenery near the center of their part of town.

“Walk past that two blocks an’ take a left. Another four streets’ll get ya to Grace.”

“Thank you, sir.” I place a small coin on the wooden counter of his booth.

The walk to the scholars’ yard is easy. The roads are more even and less crowded in this part of town. Homes are significantly larger and more ornate, with large expanses of ground between them. A thin breeze dances between buildings. I follow the scarf man’s instructions — two blocks, a left turn, another four — and glance each way.

The street is mostly lined with fenced, groomed grounds. I can see a long expanse of a fruit orchard to my left. The nearest building is to the right. I walk in that direction.

A large, dusty path curls away from the street and leads up to a grand estate, beyond which stretches quite a space of trees. I would guess the grounds reach all the way to the nearest portion of city wall. I had no idea an estate so large existed within the city. My experience before today has largely been within walls of government buildings and official residences in the heart of the city.

I glance further down the street, but it looks like the grounds of this house must cover the rest of Grace Street. This has to be the Ephraxa home.

Another glance in all directions confirms I am alone. No one appears to be close enough to see me. I step off the street into the wooded area and stand behind a thick tree. I close my eyes, inhale a steady breath, and gather my energy. I breathe the word as I exhale. “Unseen.”

Invisible, I walk along the edge of the dusty path up to the house. Once I reach the house, I continue walking around the perimeter. Eventually I find what I’m looking for. A simple door, tucked away from view and easily overlooked, marks the servants’ entrance.

I wait, standing just beside the doorway. Even invisible, I can’t risk drawing attention by a door mysteriously opening on its own. Several minutes pass. The chill of autumn is much sharper here, away from the heat of a tourist-laden city, but the foliage of the wooded grounds is thick enough to break any strong winds before they can reach the house. Still, I suppress the urge to shiver.

Eventually my patience is rewarded. Two young men walk out of the door. I slip inside before the door falls shut. Immediately, I press myself up against a wall. I may be invisible, but I still have physical form. The dodging is unnecessary, though. No one else is walking this hallway at the moment.

I walk carefully down the hall, listening for anyone coming near while taking note of any open rooms I pass. I smell rosemary and something smoky from a nearby kitchen. Some pantry and storage areas have no doors, or doors left ajar, and I can see various jars and dry goods on shelves.

Any information may be useful later, but right now I need to find more relevant parts of the house. Offices, libraries, ballrooms, the family quarters. Thankfully the servants’ stairs are located at the end of this hall, without a door to worry about.

I take the stairs up two floors. The first is almost certainly the servants’ quarters, and there will be no way to get out from there to other rooms on that floor. The second floor leads out, as hoped, into the family’s living quarters.

Where to begin? Bedrooms are likely to yield the most information, but they’re a much riskier place to be caught. It is far too easy to get trapped for hours should someone show up. I can only keep the unseen spell up for so long.

An office may provide some valuable information, but the real gold would be human sources. Perhaps I can track down worthwhile eavesdropping material.

The living quarters are quiet as death. I walk down the hall, enjoying the ease of stepping silently on long imported rugs, and reach the family’s staircase. I take the steps down one floor. I pause; still no voices to be heard. The office it is, then. Certainly the head of the Ephraxa family must have something useful on his son.

I enter the first door. An empty sitting parlor. Out, down the hall, into the next. A powder room, empty. Try again.

The next room is equipped with shelves of books and sturdy wooden desks, but it appears to be a general library, not a private office. I turn to leave.

“Oof!” My breath is knocked from me as I collide with someone. 

Caught off guard, my energy is disrupted. The unseen spell slips away.

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