In which there is a pigeon loose in the Arcanum.
“How did your sister even send you this thing?”
Vuzree skidded to a halt alongside Keszriin at the end of the corridor. She shushed him, glancing frantically up and down the junction. He shoved his hair out of his face and tried in vain to catch his breath. They’d been chasing the stupid bird for what felt like hours, according to his low cardiovascular health. He wiped his sweaty hand on his thigh with a grimace.
A clatter of wings to their left—Keszriin grabbed his arm.
“There it is! Come on!”
Up until now, Vuzree had never truly appreciated just how similar the corridors of the Arcanum were. All the dark stone was the same, every sconce identical, all enchanted so not even the glow differed from floor to floor. He felt he was running in some unending nightmare, where the only reward would be getting pecked to death by a—
“What is this stupid creature again?”
“A pigeon, Vuzree, now keep up!”
A pigeon. Some ratty little surface bird Keszriin had—for reasons known only to herself—smuggled into the recreation room, all pretty dark eyes and gentle cooing, adorable until it had gotten loose and gone streaking off into the Arcanum at a frankly unsettling speed. Keszriin had been after it like a shot, tailed by Pella and Dresvan’s twin cackles. Vuzree had gone after her mostly for damage control—Keszriin on a mission usually resulted in high collateral.
He sprinted around a corner, swerving past two alarmed looking first-years—then again, first-years always looked alarmed; you could tell the most recent arrivals by the perpetual wide-eyed expressions. But he could see the pigeon now, making a fair bid to break some sort of speed record as it streaked along about a foot from the ceiling. Despite being built for sunlight and open skies, it was performing considerably well underground.
Vuzree would have put fair money on it being a polymorph at this point.
“Keszriin, if you don’t catch it in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to zap it.”
Keszriin threw an affronted glance over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare!”
He raised a hand and spiralled white sparks around his fingers, making his rings glow. Keszriin swore at him and increased her pace. Vuzree huffed after her. All those petticoats and in heels, how in Mystra’s name was she so fast! The unfair advantages of having spent her youth twirling about as a priestess in the Shrine, he thought sourly. Some of us are simple wizards, Lady Eilist’tra, give us a fighting chance!
The pigeon banked hard right, and dived down a staircase. The two of them leapt after it, plunging into the well and scattering those drow trying to levitate within it. A chorus of complaint followed them down—they were going too fast for apologies. Keszriin suddenly hit her levitation and vaulted over the guardrail. Vuzree fell another floor before he caught himself, and scrambled to get back up after her.
The dining hall doors loomed ahead now, the corridor absolutely packed. Even if he hadn’t been able to see the pigeon, Vuzree could have tracked its progress by the shouts of alarm and amusement. It shot into the dining hall and out of sight. Keszriin was already on its tail, elbowing her way through the crowd, leaving Vuzree to duck and weave and flounder in her wake.
He burst into the dining hall, engulfed at once by the cacophony of cutlery and chatter. He saw the pigeon streaking low over one of the tables, and hopefully the lack of height meant it was tiring, but where was—
“Nine bloody Hells!”
Up on the table, sprinting after the pigeon, hair flying out behind her and was she laughing? Vuzree raced along, fighting to keep pace; he’d had just about enough of all this. He hurled the magic missile with a shout—it was reasonably well formed, given the circumstances, if a little ragged around the edges. All three bolts missed the pigeon, because of course they did, and slammed straight into the Master at the end of the table.
Or they would have, if said Master hadn’t flung up a shield. The arcane bolts scattered into a pathetic shower of sparks as Keszriin skidded to a halt. Vuzree finally caught up to her, panting.
“I am so sorry, Master, I—”
“Apprentice Abbyn’tyth,” said Master Velkon’yss. The shield dissipated, and he brought his unamused gaze to bear on Keszriin, who was still on the table. “And apprentice Eilist’tra. Why am I not surprised?”
“There’s a…” Keszriin swallowed. “Pigeon.”
Master Velkon’yss uttered an arcane word, and the thin yellow bands of an earthbind spell shot up, neatly snagged the pigeon, and brought it to the ground in a flurry of feathers. Keszriin hopped down off the table and picked it up, cradling it to her chest.
“Remove that bird somewhere more appropriate,” Master Velkon’yss said. “Then the two of you will report to the message runners hub—since you enjoy tearing about the Arcanum so much, you can assist them for the rest of the tenday.”
“Yes, Master Velkon’yss,” they chorused, neither daring to meet his eye. Vuzree was painfully aware of the entire dining hall staring at them as they made their walk of shame back out into the Arcanum. The pigeon lay quietly in Keszriin’s arms, dark eyes closed. It had gone to sleep.
“Keszriin?”
“Mm?”
“Next time Phyrra sends you a present,” Vuzree said, “do us all a favour and send it back.”