"One thing Tannenbaum mentioned is certainly true," Jamie remarked. "Things are changing rapidly, and they show no signs of slowing."

Hafenstadt was a cauldron of secrets and ambitions, and it seemed to pulse faster with each passing day.

As Jamie approached the tavern, Thomas began to slow his pace. "Boss, I'm heading back to the village. I need to continue the quest."

"Sure. See you tomorrow, Thomas," Jamie replied, as the guard walked away toward the southern gate of the city.

Jamie pushed open the heavy oaken doors of the tavern, the familiar scent of ale and hearth smoke welcoming him home.

Even with all the changes and strange news spreading across the city, for the Golden Fiddle at least, this was the most peaceful time they had ever experienced, especially now that two gangs from the Lower Quarter no longer existed.

It was as though the world waited, holding its breath before the next great storm.

"Boss, are you busy?" Aldwin asked, greeting Jamie as he crossed the threshold into the warmth and chatter of the common room.

"Not yet," Jamie replied, sounding more tired than rushed.

"You've seen what they have for sale in the Commercial Quarter?" Aldwin continued, gripping a folded newspaper in his hand.

Jamie nodded. "I just got back from there. I've had a look."

Aldwin exhaled, half-wonder and half-concern etched on his face. "There's a deep change going on because of it."

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. "Because of the news?"

"No," Aldwin clarified. "The introduction of the new business altogether. We don't know who's behind it, but someone's been going through the Lower Quarter and recruiting children. Nothing seems wrong with the work or the kids. They're getting paid to sell these papers."

Bertram, who stood quietly beside his brother, nodded in agreement, while Camille rested in a nearby armchair, silently observing the conversation with watchful eyes. Light from the tavern's lanterns flickered against her calm features.

"This actually helped solve one of our problems," Aldwin went on, "because these were the same children left to fend for themselves after the Cutpurses disappeared. It's too early to say for certain, but at least today's patrol went smoothly."

Bertram gave another curt nod. "We did run into a few thieves," he added, "tried to take advantage of the crowd down by the market beneath the Arcane Tower, but they were nothing too serious."

"Great," Jamie said, aware that the Lower Quarter still had a lot of issues with the small-time thieves operating independently.

"Still, we need more people," Bertram added, voice tinged with concern. "Even if the few of us can handle everyday pickpockets, once we buy more properties or if any kind of incident breaks out, we'll be stretched too thin."

"Understood and don't worry," Jamie replied. "We'll begin our recruitment in the coming days. This time, we want five more members."

[Member Slots: 05/10]

Even though Jamie had gained a level, he hadn't earned additional slots for his group, so their numbers would remain limited.

"That should be enough for now," said Bertram. With that settled, the day continued uneventfully. Jamie withdrew to his office to finish plans for an upcoming lesson.

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––

By the next day, Thomas returned yet again, bearing a battered appearance as though he had been through hell. His arms showed dark bruises, and his face was pallid, drained of energy.

"Are you sure you want to come along?" Jamie asked, taking in the guard's exhausted state.

Thomas nodded, though his voice was edged with fatigue. "I can manage. I'm nearly there."

"All right," Jamie relented. If nothing else, it might give Thomas a chance to rest between tasks.

Once more, the two made their way to the castle of the Imperial Academy, though this time in the afternoon.

"The director never did mention your schedule," Thomas remarked suddenly, as if recalling a point that had slipped his mind.

"Didn't need to. There were some documents attached to the letter explaining how it'll work," Jamie said. "I'm only required to teach two classes per week, exclusively for the graduating students."

"Only two classes?" Thomas echoed, surprised. "Normally, they'd assign quite a bit more."

Jamie shrugged. "I couldn't commit to more lectures than that anyway. If I had to guess, they're trying not to disrupt the academy's curriculum too much if this experiment fails."

"I see," Thomas murmured, and fell in step beside Jamie.

--

Because there were no practical lessons that afternoon, Jamie's arrival at the academy went by in a quiet lull. Avoiding the usual training yards and bustling corridors, he headed directly to his assigned classroom on the second floor. Along the way, lingering questions nagged at him. 'Who would actually show up for his lectures? Would his classes be mandatory at all?' Jamie made a mental note to ask the director later.

As he approached a pair of dark oak doors that towered in the hallway, he paused long enough to brush the dust and dirt from his standard Golden Fiddle uniform. The light, practical attire worn beneath pieces of leather armor allowed for swift, easy movement. His quick motions scattered a fine haze of dust in the air. After taking a steadying breath, he pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside.

A quick glance out of the corner of his eye told him the room was packed; no vacant seat remained. The sight might have rattled a less composed instructor, but Jamie refused to let it swing his mood either toward overconfidence or into the depths of nervousness. Instead, he kept the same fixed, mechanical smile on his face that he had donned the moment he walked through the academy's entrance.

Thomas stationed himself at the edge of the door while Jamie strolled toward the lectern at the front of the room, allowing himself a moment to study the collected students. Some were the children of nobles, others heirs to merchant guilds, and a few came from the Lower Quarter. Each, in Jamie's mind, had a potential purpose; he quietly inventoried them all, his calculating streak already weighing who might be of use and how.

In the very first row, a translucent cat lounged atop one of the desks, regarding Jamie with bright, curious eyes. Its mouth opened, and in a voice audible to every corner of the room, it announced, "I, too, want to attend this class."

But before Jamie could react, he spotted two familiar figures: the same boy and girl who had shown promise in the combat lesson from the previous day. They also sat in the front row, poised and attentive. Whatever mismatched array of students had gathered, Jamie concluded that their presence hinted at more than simple curiosity. There was an air of expectation and excitement in that room, and as he gripped the edge of the lectern, he silently hoped his meticulously planned lesson would meet the challenge.

"Pleased to meet you. I'll be your instructor," Jamie said, striding across the polished stone floor toward a towering blackboard. "My name is James Froswatch."

He chose to employ his noble name, hoping to command the respect he needed and to emphasize the distance between his public identity as a bard and his new role as a professor. Once he reached the board, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at the students.

"Does anyone know what this class is supposed to be about?" he asked. A few of them exchanged looks; still others appeared perplexed by the question.

In the front row, the girl who had seized his attention quickly raised her hand. "We were told it would be a course in Expedition Planning," she replied with crisp confidence.

"Excellent. Tear up that idea."

Without warning, Jamie swept forward and took hold of the sheet containing the syllabus for the class. He ripped it in half, discarding the pieces in one fluid motion. The girl stared, stunned, her mouth slightly open as a stray golden lock fell across her forehead.

Jamie returned to the towering blackboard and lifted a piece of chalk. In bold, measured strokes, he wrote a single word: "Prince."

"My mission here," he declared, turning to lock eyes with the flustered girl, "is to shape you all into Princes—or, for some of you, Princesses."

The hush that followed was punctuated by scattered whispers. Several students began murmuring in confusion, for to call someone a Prince implied the direct heir of the emperor himself. It was a title far beyond the grasp of any of them, yet Jamie wore a faint smile as he saw their astonished reactions.

Seeing he had evoked precisely the effect he sought, Jamie asked at last, "Any questions?"

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