Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Cup of Neverturnal Milks from a Great Pigeon
Yeah, it’s a fake. I suspect all of the yellows are fakes, and that helps me rule things out. My opponent picks up an artifact with confidence and returns to his table, and then all eyes are on me, waiting.
“Do we need to set a timer, fledgling?”
“No, I’ll pick something.” I just don’t know what. I eye the next shelf, worried, and then spot what looks like an ugly, stone-encrusted egg behind a comb and mirror set. I pick the egg up and look for glyphs, as Prellians labeled everything that had a function.
Weight of Crushing. Charges Left: Zero.
Prellian artifacts with a specific set of charges always have a countdown glyph engraved on them, magically updated as each charge is used. Pursing my lips, I turn the egg over in my hands and then set it back down on the shelf as if it’s a fake. I walk toward a series of glassware and pick up an ewer, then say, “Does the artifact need to have charges?”
“What?” Master Tiercel demands, clearly annoyed at the time I’m taking.
I turn, facing him with the useless ewer in my grasp. “Does the artifact have to have usable charges or does it just need to be a legitimate artifact?”
He tilts his head and gives me an annoyed look. “Do you think we would put working artifacts in here?”
I want to say I don’t know, would you? Because some artifacts are absolutely useless other than being amusing at parties. Like the only artifact we have at home that still works—an ewer of delicate water. It makes any water it pours have a light floral taste to it, a nod to some spoiled noble’s taste preference. But I’m probably not supposed to know that and everyone’s staring at me with resentment. I put the pitcher back, intending to head back for the egg when I see the perfect solution.
It’s a small bowl with a glyph on the metal lip, and a pretty red enamel on the edges and the two fluted handles. I recognize that bowl, because my mother gave one to my grandmother long ago. It’s a bowl of infinite olives, another kitchenware nod to some Old Prellian nobility who couldn’t be bothered to make their own snacks. I snatch it up, glance at the bottom to confirm that it is, indeed, a bowl of infinite olives, and then return to my table proudly.
“Finally,” Master Tiercel says. “Next up, choose your artifact.”
Lark heads out for our team, and as she does, I cough and cover my mouth, bending over. As I do, I whisper, “Don’t pick anything with yellow on it. They’re fakes.”
“How do you know?” Mereden whispers back.
Gwenna grabs her hand and squeezes it, then gives Kipp a meaningful look. “Just listen to her, all right? She knows what she’s doing.” Her gaze moves to Lark, who has a bright yellow flute she’s bringing back to the table and purses her lips.
I try not to wince, because everyone knows that wind instruments weren’t popular in Old Prell. It was in the Mancer Wars several centuries ago that flutes became popular in music. But no one’s perfect.
I manage to keep a straight face as Gwenna picks up a knitting hook of some kind that has the domen sign on it, the one of the bird with its wings spread that is a favorite of forgers everywhere. She wouldn’t know, so I’m not going to judge her. Kipp picks a delicate knife and Mereden chooses something that looks like a clasp, and then all the artifacts have been chosen for our team.
Master Tiercel and Archivist Kestrel stroll past our table, picking up each item and then setting it aside. “Fake,” Tiercel declares loudly as he picks up Lark’s object.
“Fake,” he says to Kipp’s blade.
“Real,” to Mereden’s clasp, and she lets out a gasp of pure delight.
“Fake,” to Gwenna’s knitting hook.
He pauses and eyes my bowl, then looks over at his companion. Archivist Kestrel nods sagely.
“Real,” Master Tiercel says in a sour voice. “Two points for Master Magpie’s team.”
I grab Lark’s hand with excitement, and I’m pretty sure Kipp’s tail curls around my boot with delight. Two points is good considering our team has never gone over the finer points of forgery. Or even the less fine points of forgery. Or any points at all, really.
The points are tallied for Master Crow’s team and they only have one artifact declared real. “One point for Master Crow’s fledglings. Let us begin round two. Fledglings, please come and choose.”
Master Crow looks like he could spit nails, glaring at me as I get to my feet. I smooth sweaty hands down the front of my pants and wonder if I need to get a fake this time to seem as if I’m like everyone else, or if I want to score points for my team. I debate this mentally as I continue down the long row of packed shelves. To my surprise, the man opposite me hurries over to the ewer I’d held last round—the one when I’d asked if items needed charges—and snatches it up.