-Callia-

  “What do you mean jealous of the platform?” The cultist now looked just as confused as I felt. We both waited in silence, hoping the other would clarify for a moment before I started considering just taking the cultist out to be done with the whole ordeal. The change in my expression must’ve been more visible than I intended, or the cultist was skilled at reading expressions, because he immediately started frantically waving his hands, calling for me to wait.

  “I’m not a heretic, I promise! I just found an instruction book in my second uncle's inheritance. Since he wasn’t a heretic, none of this should be illegal!” I didn’t even grace that explanation with a response; instead, I just lifted an eyebrow while glancing at the clearly questionable decor choices.

  “I didn’t make this place; it was the book club. My uncle's diary talked about a place to meet up and relax without oversight!” I briefly thought back to the entirely manaless entrance. At first I thought it was proof of a high-class, clever design, but on second thought it made sense that uneducated cultists wouldn’t have the mastery to make anything better. If I found a secret, nonmagically hidden compartment in the pope's office, that would be something clever, but a cult built in the outhouse in the middle of a farm? My expectations should’ve been lower. Seeing his earlier explanation had little effect on my mood, he shifted topics entirely.

  “My whole life whenever I looked up, paladins and members of the holy tower would be flying overhead on the platforms, but without a miracle I was destined to spend my whole life in the field, never getting to experience what it was like to fly! I was jealous of the platforms, so I used my uncle's book to find out how to turn the platforms on and off and how to seize control. I just wanted to fly around on a platform for a bit. I swear I would’ve returned it after I fulfilled my dream!” Now I nod as the pieces come together. It was a bit of a strange leap to think he was jealous of the platforms and not the people on them, but sometimes the mind jumps to weird conclusions. The staleness of the evil energy in the room suggests that this secret room hadn’t been put to use in a long time, and despite my earlier dismissiveness of the man himself, I wasn’t getting much in terms of evil from him. He seemed like a naive, idealistic, and somewhat oblivious idiot.

  Despite my initial sentiment and guard lowering slightly, I didn’t fully buy in yet. The weird black robe, for instance, didn’t seem like something someone innocent would choose to wear in normal circumstances. I crouched down next to him, seizing the diary, and cautiously scanned over the contents of the page it was open to. Immediately I noticed three passages marked with leaves acting as bookmarks. The first was a sleeping potion, but the interesting part was that the potion affected mana as well as people, rendering runes and enchantments inactive. I showed the man the passage so I could have his excuse. Eagerly he nodded like it was the most apparent thing in the world.

  “It turns off magic items! That’s the potion I used to remove the platform from the guard barracks in the city gate.” I held out my hand in an obvious gesture demanding he hand over any leftovers he had. Shakily, the man pulled a small blue vial from his robe and nervously handed it to me. I turn back to the book to investigate the second bookmark. I let the pages flip by on my way to the next passage, giving me a general idea of the contents of the book. A lot of it was less actual magic and more like a magic trick enthusiast trying to trick people into believing he had real magic. I really struggled to understand what kind of mentality would lead someone to dedicate their life to creating fake magic tricks when real magic was abundantly available. Finally I stop at the second bookmark and find another potion recipe, but the purpose of this one has my cheeks glowing crimson in embarrassment. A stimulant, a very powerful stimulant, with an in-depth description of the man's use in private with his wife. Since it used ingredients, it also noted that it would function to undo the effects of the sleeping potion on people and items.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “The turn-on potion. I used it to turn the platform back on so I could do the mind control ritual on the platform.” Even before I held out my hand to confiscate the potion, the man was already offering it to me. Instead of delving deeper into the diary, I kept my hand out and stared at the man a bit longer.

  “Hand over anything else you’ve made in the diary.” Three more potions came out from the robe, each with its own introduction and an excuse for why he made it.

  “I needed practice with these potions before I risked the ingredient for the more expensive potions like the off-and-on potions.” He hands me a nearly empty white potion.

  “Invisibility—it's what let me steal the platform without getting in trouble, but I was still nearly caught.” Then came an orange potion.

  “Odor removal—it was the first I made . . . not exactly useful, but I’ve been holding on to it in case someone’s use of the toilets above is particularly unpleasant.” My eyes gleam as I store that potion. I’ll need to have someone other than a crazy farmer cultist verify how safe it is to use, but smell was one of the few senses I didn’t care to practice. Sure, I admired a dog's ability to track, but that didn’t mean I wanted to have extreme sensitivity to all the nasty smells around me at all times. He pulled out the last bottle, which was stored in a dirty wine glass but looked to be a brownish color.

  “Red dye—it's what my uncle used to decorate the door, draw his rituals, and sometimes for his club meetings. It washes off a lot easier than using red paint.” I gave him a deadpan stare at what seemed like a blatant lie. The liquid in the bottle was brown; if it was a red dye/paint substitute, then it should be red. He nervously poured some into his hand and started smearing it like a paste across the floor. Its consistency, which seemed originally on the thicker side, melted into a thinner concentration and shifted into a red color matching the suspicious markings on the door. At this point my hostility had almost completely faded. Despite the outrageousness of his claim to innocence, it seemed that this man might genuinely be innocent.

  I let out a sigh and casually opened the diary straight to the last bookmark. The texture of the paper felt thicker in my fingers, and on one page a large illustration made me recoil. A graphic illustrated guide in dismantling a bound and helpless victim that included reassembly of the butchered parts. The faint evil coming from the page was all the guide I needed to know how literal the instructions were. Immediately I snapped the book shut and banished it, sending it flying out into the distant reaches of the void.

  “Hehe, yeah, the last one was a bit violent, but really, if you read the description, you would’ve found it was a ritual for controlling objects. I’m not sure why my uncle included the terrifying depiction of using it on a dead person, but it should be what I needed to control the platform. Well, that's the theory I was trying this time. . .” I glared over at the platform, which was still straining against the chains. Below it, the poorly drawn circle clearly matched an amateur's attempt at performing the ritual on the platform itself. I can’t help but feel strangely impressed at the absurd mix of stupidity and out-of-the-box thinking that led to the man trying to use a clearly necromantic ritual for controlling dead bodies on a magic floating board. I almost felt bad about shattering the guy's shins at this point, but it really was his fault for doing something like this in the middle of the citadel.

  While I was getting back up, ready to pretend I never saw anything, I felt a nudge pushing me towards the platform. The platform itself stopped fighting the binding chains and lowered itself like it was waiting for a passenger. Considering all the other platforms were under control or surveillance from the paladins of the central tower, a smug smile crept onto my face. It seemed I wouldn’t be spending the next several hours crawling through ash hoping nobody notices me. With perfect timing Callen deposits the first of the weapons I requested. In a smooth motion I slashed out with my new knife, freeing the platform while I stepped onto it.

  “Sorry about the legs! Next time don’t do sketchy cult crap in an abandoned cultist refuge.” I pause a bit and pull out a piece of paper and quickly write a note to give the owner of the paper a day of flying on the platforms in exchange for services provided. Since he seemed so genuine in his pursuit, I felt it was better to give him the chance without having to abduct public transportation in the future. The moment I handed him the note, the platform set off, navigating its way out of the room, through the tunnel, and out the door of the restroom. I crouched cautiously on my new ride as it slowly started ascending into the open air.

  Proverbs 6:6 NIV - Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise!