Ezor is a city drowning in fog and towering Gothic architecture, where the patterns embroidered into clothes tell more about a person than any paperwork and enchanted outfits regularly wander the streets. Tailcoats buying bread, ballgowns delivering letters, a tattered hat stealing apples from an unwatched stall —but someone has to keep track of who can do the enchanting.
Leopold is an overworked scribe for the Enchater's Guilding, the ruling body of Ezor. There, he is plagued by his boisterous colleague, Esmyre. But when Esmyre stops showing up to work, the dull routine of Leopold's life begins to change. Especially after an enchanted coat refuses to stop following him around. He soon finds himself drawn into the deep, forgotten corners of the ancient building he works in, both by the haunting voices in the walls and the coat’s persistent nagging. He unwillingly falls further and further into a mystery he really doesn’t have the time or patience to unravel, but Esmyre isn’t the only employee who has recently gone missing, and Leopold just can’t leave a thread untugged.
It was the kind of day that ate the tops off buildings, the kind of weather that swallowed cities.
And Ezor was a city prone to being eaten by the sky. It towered over itself, black stone structures piled one on top of the other, the whole thing looking like a desperate cluster of charred fingers reaching out from the swamp. Today, their crooked ends and the things they grasped at went unseen, for the fog had rolled in thick and ferocious this morning.
Between these reaching spires, deep in the maze of stone and fog, hurried a scribe. Leopold was running late for work, and Leopold G. Rumis was never late for work.
He stopped to catch his breath under the silver arch of a second story tea shop. This close to the palace, the most frivolous and opulent of Ground architecture was rampant. Every stone was either plated in precious metals carved with the intricate patterns of old embroidery, or threaded through with glowing veins of amber, jade, garnet, and occasionally, obsidian. Every arch was a work of intense artistic grandeur, every bridge made to out-truss the last, every door made to fool you into thinking it a painting, every window crafted to frame the extravagance of the building within as much as the exterior encasing it. There was so much beauty and detail worn into every inch of this part of Ezor that the magnificence of it all overwhelmed the eyes until it blurred together into a single sparkling haze.
The walkways were quiet this early, even around the palace. Considering it was a net day, Leopold hadn’t been expecting to see many out and about. When the fog clung to the world so thickly, Ezor’s stories of stacked walkways, bridges and ralingless platforms became more than a maze. They became a death sentence. Ground wealth guaranteed safe passage anywhere, any day, even on net days. Because that’s what the nets were for, after all. Catching the bodies of the less fortunate, ensuring not that their fall wouldn’t end in their death, but that it wouldn’t end in any inconvenience for those who could afford to traverse Ezor in safety.
What Leopold hadn’t been expecting though, was the sheer amount of hollows the thick fog had unleashed. Once he got out onto the main thoroughfare, they were everywhere, pushing past him in flurries of fabric and dazzling stitching. Long coats with immaculately creased collars shuffled by with parcels under sleeve; beaded gowns twirled through the fog, the smell of saffron and ginger clinging to their ruffles; a scarf whizzed by his head, a bushel of quills and and a pot of ink wrapped tightly in its striped wool; a tattered shawl flapped angrily at glider rats scurrying over a stall set to open within the hour. Everywhere, enchanted clothes materialized out of the gloom, hurrying to complete one task or another before disappearing back into the fog.
Leopold righted his jacket one last time before strolling out into the flurry of motion, weary of the enchanted items at work around him. It was best not to get in their way.
The palace was the ugliest building Leopold had ever laid eyes on, but considering Sebastian’s penchant for enveloping most of Ezor on any given day, he likely hadn’t set eyes on many buildings in their entirety. Either way, the palace was still the ugliest. Just, a truly horrendous mass of gothic architecture drowning in at least a hundred different styles of embroidered patterns spanning countless centuries and even more countless artistic and political movements. The only thing that tied the whole monstrosity together was the blood red stone it was all carved from. What a shame that this was, of all buildings in Ezor, the only one the fog never swallowed away, all thanks to some strategically placed fogquakers and far too much residual magic lying around.
Leopold brushed through the fog barrier and hit the clear air enveloping the palace. He shuddered as he looked up at the palace looming over him. Even without the fog to obscure his sight, he still couldn’t see the top. He scurried into the bowls of the palace, weary of arriving any later than he already would.
He was just pulling out his chair when a voice chimed up from behind him.
“Look who finally showed up.”
Oh great.
Leopold’s least favourite person in the world was here. As usual.
He turned to find a pale figure lounging in the last throne on the right of the dais. Their long limbs were draped over the throne’s carved armrests, slacks a deep navy edged in silver and cobalt brocade, boots a silvery white, black laces tied in unnecessarily intricate patterns. Their long, white hair cascaded over their shoulders, but it wasn’t nearly long enough to cover the assault to the eyes that was their coat. It was patterned to the high hells, like most of what they wore. Today, it was as if they had tried to fit every shade of blue and the entire history of seafaring across the Galavantine ocean onto a single piece of clothing. Pearlescent buttons cinched the coat closed at the waist, the whole thing shimmering like liquified diamond. The embroidery was nearly impossible to read, even for Leopold.
“Esmyre,” Leopold said, unamused.
“Leopold,” Esmyre said with the same unamused tone, but they were grinning.
“What the fuck are you doing up there?”
“No one else was using it,” Esmyre shrugged, swinging their legs off the arm rest. The heels of his boots clicked against the marble. “A perfectly good seat should be home to a perfectly shaped ass, not a pile of overdue paperwork.”
Leopold glanced at the other four thrones, all of which were piled high with the embroidery records from 1075-1077 and had been since last month, when a pipe burst in deep storage. They still hadn’t gotten around to refiling them.
Esmyre bounded down the dais’ two steps and came to stand next to Leopold. Leopold glared up at him.
“Rough morning with Sebastian?” Esmyre singsonged.
“Sebastian can eat my ass.”
“Leopold! Such blasphemy!” Esmyre exclaimed in mock indignation, one hand poised over their heart. “What happened to respecting the weather?”
“I don’t owe anything to the weather,” Leopold grumbled as he shucked off his damp jacket and threw it over the back of his chair.
“Anyone who lives in Ezor owes everything to the weather. We are at her whims.” Esmyre regarded him.
“What’s got you in such a tizzy this fine morning? You’re even more-” they gestured at Leopold from head to toe,”-than usual.”
Leopold thunked down into his chair, relieved it was resting atop solid ground and not welded to some cobalt death contraption. There were quite a lot of papers on his desk. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.
“Do you need something Esmyre, other than to gloat?”
“Halms isn't happy you're late,” he said as he dragged a nearby chair over and plopped down into it the wrong way, arms crossed over the backrest. This man was utterly incapable of sitting in furniture properly. “You missed the brief.”
“It’s a net day. I get points for getting here alive.”
“You have fun explaining that to Halms.”
“Why that man has to make his own misery everyone else’s problem, I’ll never understand.” Leopold turned his attention back to the papers on his desk. There really were a lot more of them than usual. “What’s all this?”
“The brief,” Esmyre said, head resting on one arm as he reached out with the other to fiddle with the nameplate on Leopold’s desk. Leopold G. Rumis, Senior Scribe, it read in stern lettering.
Leopold frowned down at the papers.
“This looks more like a week's worth of briefs.”
“The rugs had a busy night,” shrugged Esmyre as they began to balance the nameplate on the tip of their finger.
“Apparently some big shipment was fast-tracked last minute. The ferrymen were at their wits end trying to load a ship up in all this fog.”
Leopold’s frown deepened. “A ship headed out in this weather?”
The Galavantine was notoriously dangerous to sail on a good day. She was downright murderous when the winds shifted and the fog caked the world so thick you’d think a ship could run aground atop it.
“Right before dawn,” said Esmyre.
“How do you know all this? The rugs aren’t known for being so forthright with this kind of information,” said Leopold. Especially not with lower level Guild members like he and Esmyre. Though --and Leopold loathed to acknowledge this-- Esmyre was technically of a higher station than himself.
“I’m a restless creature, Leopold,” tisked Esmyre, nameplate now balancing on the back of their hand.
“An understatement, I’m sure.”
Esmyre ignored him. “I often find myself wandering our fair city in the early hours of the morning.”
“A very dangerous hour to be out.”
“Only for those poor souls less talented and resourceful than I, which I’m sure you’re more than familiar with.”
Leopold crossed his arms. “Your point, Esmyre. I don’t have all day.”
“And I don’t like to be rushed.” Esmyre raised a single pale brow, a silver stud glinting in the light. “As I was saying, I was out admiring our beautiful Ezor, and I found myself, as I often do, on the Reef. I do like to pay my respects to Old Gallie every here and there, make sure we remain in good standing with one another. Respect the weather, Leopold,” they said, brandishing the nameplate at him. “Anyway, I ran into a couple ferrymen more than willing to vent. You know how they are. Saw the ship leave myself. Took all of a minute before Sebastian swallowed her up.” He tossed the nameplate up in the air. It twirled a couple times before he caught it again. “Those poor bastards better hope that hull is patterned to the high hells or they won’t be laying eyes on land ever again.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t report you,” said Leopold as he snatched the nameplate out of the air as Esmyre tossed it again. “Civilians aren’t allowed out on the Reef. Do you even know how to swim?”
Esmyre shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
“Very, especially when you wear your weight in embroidery. The ocean is known to take pleasure in drowning fools.” Leopold placed the nameplate back atop his desk, straightening it just so. “Don’t think Gallie will spare you just because you dropped round to say good morning every other week. She isn’t known for her mercy. And neither am I. When you drown, I won’t be picking up your slack.”
Esmyre actually had the gaul to laugh at that. “This place couldn’t run without me, dear little Leopold. They’d have scaleworkers scraping the bottom of the sea before they’d try to replace me.”
“I think your sense of self-importance is a tad inflated,” said Leopold as he picked up the first file, hoping that if he started working Esmyre would go away.
“Plus, you would miss me,” said Esmyre, making no move to leave.
“I certainly would not.”
“You certainly would.”
“I would get a lot more work done without you constantly pestering me is what I would do,” grumbled Leopold, pointedly not looking up.
The bustle in the throne room had begun to pick up as a handful more scribes trickled in. More hollows too. They must have gotten reposted here to help cover for those who hadn’t yet shown up, and who possibly never would. The fabric-inlaid ceiling made it so that the chamber didn’t echo the clatter of everyday business back at those working below, but it was still far from quiet. Oh, what Leopold wouldn’t give for quiet.
“Here,” said Esmyre.
There was the sound of something smooth and heavy being slid over lacquered wood. Leopold looked up to find a porcelain mug sitting at the top of his document, its white surface patterned in veins of deep indigo in what amounted to a rather artistic rendition of “keep warm.” Steam rose up from the mug in swirling whisps.
“What’s this?” asked Leopold.
“Coffee, you dolt.”
“Why?”
“Because when the weather hangs this low,” answered Esmyre as they stood with a flourish, “so does your stupid face.”
Leopold didn’t have the energy to wonder where he’d procured a steaming mug of coffee from in the minutes they’d been sitting here. He took a sip and grimaced.
“This is black.”
Esmyre spun their chair back under the desk they’d stolen it from and grinned.
“I know.”
“Don't you have work to do?” said Leopold pointedly.
“Don’t you have work to do?” said Esmyre, eying the towering stack of documents.
“Esmyre.”
“Fine fine, I'll leave you alone.” They proceeded to bow, the shining thread of their endlessly blue coat rippling like jewelled puddles around them. “So glad you didn't plummet to your death so that you may continue to grace us with your sparkling presence, dear Leopold.”
And then they were off. Leopold watched them saunter down the aisles of black desks, turning many heads as they passed. It was like watching a ship coming into port far too fast. You knew it would be a disaster, but you couldn’t help but watch.
Leopold sipped his depressingly bitter coffee, and got to work.
Unfortunately for Leopold, the palace had other plans for him, and in three days time Esmyre wouldn't be around to help him figure out what the tapping in the walls wanted from him.