“An academic should not let themselves be distracted from practical knowledge.”

  -Avestan Zend, A Sabbelah founding Arch mage.

  Komena Siri had decided at dawn’s that the rest of today was to be wisely spent reading, popping figs into her mouth and sipping tea in the room that served as her office. She had the curtains open for just enough light to read by. It didn’t take much to illuminate the small room, but it only took a little more to make it unbearably hot. She had a few old, fraying cushions thrown around a low table. It was meant for paperwork but served as dining place well enough. She had already laid most of the pillows out beneath her.

  Saying that “Komena & Associates Investigations” was facing rough times implied two things, both incorrect. Firstly, that there had ever been prosperous times. The company had always been small and struggling. There had never even been any associates. She had named the company that to seem more reliable to merchants and shipping companies. None of them would bring their issues to a lone independent, no matter how petty those issues were. Secondly, it implied that “small and struggling” wasn’t Komena’s preference. The alternative in her mind was “large and stagnant”, which in her experience quickly became “dead”. Famous investigators tended to get over their heads investigating equally famous mages. They ended up as skulls on shelves, analyzing an eternity as a thinking paper weight. In contrast, small time investigators spent their time mostly looking for stolen objects, missing shipments and evidence of romantic infidelity. Worse paying work, but with significantly lower stakes. It allowed for times like this, waiting for the next case or performing favors for old friends and fools.

  Without cases, there were only two papers on the table. The duel form, filled out with the results from earlier, and a newspaper she’d bought on the way back. The form could wait until evening, though she was hoping the two of them would barge in to talk her out of submitting it. Unlikely, but she didn’t have anything to do but wait and read.

  The newspaper was printed out on a long scroll. When she was done with it, she would put it outside, where it be collected before night fall. The spell work to make paper was complicated, especially at an industrial level, but the biggest issue was always raw material. Every night the scrolls would be re-pulped, re-pressed and re-bound, before being sold again.

  There weren’t any interesting stories inside, just the usual tragedies and triumphs that marked a day in the city. A few ships from Veldeti had arrived at port, prompting the usual blathering opinion pieces about shipping policies with the other continents. She ignored them. There was an official announcement from the Faculty of Transmutation that the rations of sand wrought grain would be increased. Either a political move against the other faculties, or a way to deflect from some failure of their own. Komena didn’t care enough about university business to read and find out which. Instead, she focused on the results for the race she’d missed. Badhan hadn’t needed her encouragement. They had come out very cleanly in the contest all on their own. That was a piece worth reading.

  Partway through a description of vessels making sharply curved tacks into the race’s second leg, there was a long series of taps at one of her windows. Could be birds. There weren’t many in the city, but those few were all stupid enough to ram a window as a flock. Komena looked up and didn’t see birds.

  Peeking through the curtain was a bulging fly’s eye, half the size of her fist. It was socketed into the face of a small monkey. She couldn’t clearly see it, but she knew its body matched its face, except hairless and with two sets of fly wings on its back. The entire creature was formed from an iron-grey metal, too dull to gleam in the sunlight. The creature moved fluidly, like any other trained animal.

  Komena sighed, got up, and opened the window. Without the curtain in the way, she could see the imp had a satchel strapped to its front. She grimaced as it pulled a folded scrap of paper out and held it out to her. She had hoped to hear about her next case in person with the client. But deliveries like this weren’t unprecedented.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The creature didn’t fly off as she took the note. Instead, it crouched and waited for a response to return with. She cut off any demands from it by unfolding the note. She blanched even before she began reading. Water marked behind the letters; she saw the mark of the Sabbelah University. She made herself focus on the writing.

  “Komena Siri. You are summoned by the Deans of Sabbelah. Present yourself to the Council by the end of the day or face the consequences.” She looked back up to the window. The Imp had already left, either to make other deliveries or report back. She shoved the invitation into a pocket and started to change back into her streetwear. A long white robe that came up in a head wrap and some dusty shoes A knife hung from her belt, and a few smaller ones were hidden in pouches and up sleeves. Not the most formal wear, but the best she could do on this little notice or budget. Far from satisfied, she made her way out into the city.

  ***

  If an outsider wanted to describe Sabbelah, they would start at “unique”. To begin, it was the only city on the continent. Every expedition sent out to explore the rest of the land, no matter how well equipped and or how far they traveled, found nothing but the same desolate sands one could see from the city walls. A few generations ago, it had been held as fact that it was the only city in existence. A bastion built to stand against the frequent, sudden sea gales and sandstorms. Kept alive by sailors harvesting a verdant sea and the mages spell work.

  Originally, it had started been a small camp of tribes based around the desert’s only known oasis. This camp grew, attracting merchants, mages and travelers desperately looking for an escape from the desolate sands. By the time there were enough people to call it a city, the University of Sabbelah had existed for a century, pushing against the desert with research, magecraft and hired labor. The city that sprang up simply adopted the name of the organization that directed it.

  Then they managed to contact the other continents and found themselves not to be the only civilization in the world. They were, however, the most advanced. A history of desperate research to survive had made them the academic capital of the world. They were rich enough in knowledge to compete and trade with the other nations, which had been blessed with actual riches. It was an industry Komena had grown up in, and she couldn’t imagine the city without it. In exchange for a few texts and a hint of spell craft, there was food beyond gruel and salt fish on her table. There was reliable wood to build ships with, instead of sand held in place by a sailors will as the sea swept away at it.

  The university claimed that knowledge was so important to the city, that it was only sense for it to be led by its greatest academics. The Deans of Sabbelah, each head of their own faculty and providing essential services to the city. Each unquestionably the most powerful mage of that faculty. Any potential questions about that were settled with efficient brutality in Khalid’s preferred manner.

  Drawing attention from figures that powerful was the last thing Komena had ever wanted; and a direct summons meant she had drawn more attention than a legion of bootlickers and brown nosers. The frustrating part was she couldn’t imagine what she had done to get their notice. The most she’d done for the last month was find a small den of smugglers, no more than five people and a small ship. The operation had been so small time that stopping it had probably lowered her standing more than anything.

  Regardless of why, the fact remained that Komena had an appointment with the Deans. Traveling through half the city on foot to reach them would be good for little more than collecting dust, enduring pickpocket filled crowds and being late. Even if those windbag tyrants evidently enjoyed the idea of her rushing in a blind panic, it would do nothing but leave them all unhappy. Instead, Komena focused on flagging down a ride. There were plenty of options: small rickshaws pulled by a single runner, richly decorated palanquins covered silky veils and floated through the streets on the spells of uniformed teams, a man renting large, raptor like birds to ride around. But the first one to notice Komena was a Veldeti woman with a cart pulled by a single camel, her dreadlocked hair tied together at the back of her head. She gestured for Komena to climb on.

  “The Grand Auditorium, please.” Komena said. The cart driver silently flicked the reins, setting the camel off on a languid march through the streets of Sabbelah.