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Morning came soft and gray. The cat on the shed roof stretched, yawned like a door, and blinked at the new light. In room three of the Bent Penny, John woke before Fizz. He lay still for a breath, checked the steady line inside his chest, and felt it hold. The bad weight from the night was lower now. He could breathe without the tight taste of iron.

Someone knocked, two short and one long.

John opened the door. Edda stood there with a basket and a plain hood. She smelled like clean air and hot bread.

"Peace," she said. "Breakfast."

Fizz popped up from the pillow like a cork shot out of a bottle. "Bread?" he gasped. "Is that bread? Warm bread? In a basket? For me?"

"For both of you," Edda said, and lifted the cloth. Inside lay a round loaf and four small rolls rubbed with butter and sprinkled with something that flashed like salt and smelled like garlic.

Fizz drifted close, paws pressed to his cheeks. "I take back two of the rude things I said last night," he announced. "Only two. I must keep a few in case you ring a bell again."

"No more bells," Edda said, dry. "Only rolls." She handed the basket to John.

He set it on the table and nodded. "Thank you."

They ate hot bread with their fingers. Fizz made small holy sounds for each bite, like a priest of lunches. Edda watched the window and the hall and the edges of the room the way all careful people do. John ate slow and thought fast.

When the last roll was gone, John wiped his fingers and looked at Edda. "We have today," he said. "One day. After that, we move into the academy dorms."

Edda nodded once. "I heard the same."

"You will be my eyes and ears," John said. "In the city. You will listen. You will watch. You will bring me what matters. I will contact you when I need you. You will not come to the academy unless I call. If you see the Aqua crest, you walk past like the road is more interesting. If you smell a trap, you leave it for men who like traps."

Edda's mouth made the smallest smile. "Clear."

She reached into her cloak and brought out two stones the size of walnuts. They were gray, veined with pale threads, like clouds made heavy. Each had a tiny hole drilled through, and a short leather thong ran through the holes to make small loops. She set both on the table. The stones looked like twins.

"Communication stones," she said. "Two-way. Paired. If you hold one and warm it with your mana and tap twice, the twin warms where it is. You can talk into it. I will hear you. If I talk, you will hear me. Close them by removing the mana. Range is the city and a little more."

John picked one up. It was cool, then warmer, then it pulsed once like a heartbeat and went back to cool. He turned it in his fingers. The stone felt like a tool, not a toy. He liked that.

"It will carry only voice," Edda added. "No pictures. It does not keep. Words go and then they are gone. That is safer."

"Good," John said. He slipped the thong over his wrist and let the stone rest against his palm. "Thank you."

Fizz leaned in. "Does it have a snack setting," he asked. "If I ask for 'cookie' into it, will other people from the cookie shop hear? Will they bring it?"

"No," Edda said. "Only I can hear it."

"Flaw," Fizz sighed. "So outdated stone."

John glanced at the small pouch on the shelf. He knew what was inside: the gold coin from Brann's coat, heavy as a promise. He had not decided what to do with it yet.

Fizz floated closer to the shelf and did not even try to pretend he was not looking at the pouch. "John," he said in a sweet voice that meant danger. "Dear master. Bright star of my morning. Give me the gold coin. I want my coin. Today I must go shopping with my new… assistant." He pointed a paw at Edda and gave her a very official nod. "She has earned a trial."

John lifted a brow. "Already? It has not even been a day. What will you buy."

Fizz put a paw on his chest. "Snacks," he said without shame. "Then more snacks. Then a small snack to honor the big snacks. And perhaps one very tiny, very secret, very important thing that I will not tell you about yet because surprises are the spice of life."

John stared at him for three slow heartbeats. "We have work," he said. "You have jokes."

"I can do both," Fizz said. "I am gifted."

John looked at Edda. "She might have work," he said, nodding at her. "You will not keep her from it."

Edda cut in before Fizz could make a speech. "I will gladly do what Lord Fizz asks," she said, dry mouth, straight eyes. She lifted a shoulder. "Trust goes two ways. He trusted me last night. I will take him where he wants to go."

John sighed. He knew what the sigh meant: he was outnumbered by chaos and bread. He took the small pouch, counted nothing, and handed the coin to Fizz.

Fizz lifted it with two paws and held it up to the light like a priest lifting a holy thing. "Behold!" he cried. "My first gold in the capital. I will treat it with care and carelessness in equal measure."

"Care first," John said.

"Fine," Fizz said, but he was grinning. He stowed the coin in his small bag, then flew in a small circle. "Edda, take me to the place with good stuff. The kind that is hard to find. The kind behind doors. The kind behind the doors behind those doors. You understand?"

Edda's eyes said yes before her mouth did. "The under market," she said. "Underbridge. Backstairs. Deep Row. Different names, same place."

Fizz clapped. "Good. We go. John, do your boring things. We will return with stories and crinkly paper and crumbs."

"You will not tell John what you buy?" Edda asked, testing.

Fizz tapped the side of his nose with one paw. "Secret," he said. "Our secret. For now."

Edda nodded once. "As you like."

John rubbed his temples. "Do not start a fire," he said.

Fizz put on a very offended face. "I never start fires in public."

"That is the problem," John said. "You start them in private."

"Private fires are polite," Fizz said primly. "Come, Edda. Show me the city's secret pantry."

They left to a sound only John could hear: twin light taps of the new stone against his palm, like a bird hopping on a windowsill.

He stood in the doorway a moment and watched them cross the yard. Fizz bobbed like a small orange lantern. Edda walked like a woman who knew how to be invisible even when the sun was looking right at her. The gate shut. The day began.

John turned back into the room. He put the second stone in the small bag, set the token where he would not forget it, and cleaned the crumbs from the table. Then he went downstairs to be useful because being useful is a way to keep your mind from eating itself.

The Bent Penny had a list every morning. The list did not write itself, but if it had, it would always begin with "floor, hinge, barrel, oven." The tavern owner woman —her name was Penny, of course it was— was already up, sleeves rolled, hair tied back. She had that look again: strong, tired, glad to keep moving.

"You look like a boy who can hold a hammer without teaching it bad habits," she said.

"Penny," John said. "Today is the last day. Tomorrow I will leave. But I will visit you when I am free. Today I want to help you with your work."

"Where will you go? Did you run out of money? You don't have to pay me if you are short. I will make a credit account for you."

"It's nothing like that. I will live in the student dorms starting tomorrow." John replied.

"Congratulations. So, you are selected. You will become a strong mage from Heart magic academy. Don't forget us when you are famous."

"I won't," John said.

"Good," she said. "Pim!"

The boy burst out of the back like a cork again. He wore a shirt one size too big and pride two sizes too big. He had a smudge on his cheek and a plan on his face.

"What," he said, already ready to argue.

"Show John the hinge on the back door. Today he will help us," Penny said. "Then fetch water and do not spill it like yesterday, because the floor remembers and so do I."

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