Unfamiliar Surroundings, Part III

"Well, at least we escaped before she thought to set any inconvenient rules," 24601 murmured to himself, after shutting the door to Louise's room. Turning around, he found himself at the end of a dark hallway, lit only by moonlight streaming in through a window a few feet away. The walls look plain, or at least any decoration wasn't apparent in the dimly reflected moonlight, and there were four doors on each side of the hallway. No lights could be seen under any of the doors, so their neighbors had probably all gone to bed as well.

Better get our bearings first. He shifted his grip on the small bundle of clothing and quietly stepped over to the window to take a look outside. The ground was at least sixty or seventy feet below, and he found himself looking down into a vast courtyard. Stone walls connected massive towers in what looked like might be a pentagon or hexagon, if the building he was in was also such a tower. In the center, connected to the outlying towers via more stone walls - like spokes in a wheel, perhaps - squatted a dome that put the outer towers to shame, easily hundreds of feet across and almost as high. At the top of the top, an elaborate spire rose up even further, widening out at the top. Enough room, probably, for guards to keep watch.

The square-root of about one-and-a-half height for distance to the horizon, isn't it? So if that outpost at the top is three hundred feet high, the horizon's something like twenty-one miles away, right? It'd have to be something like six-hundred feet high to see thirty miles away, but it doesn't look that high. Besides, you can't build hollow buildings that high out of stone, not more than a few hundred feet.

Still, wherever we are, the people here know how to build big.

He turned around and looked down the hall. It was dim on the other end, but a faint glow came from what looked like stairway exits. The ones on the right side went down, he found as he quietly made his way over to investigate, curving to the left as they descended, and the ones on the left went up. They were each lit by a candlestick set into the wall, but instead of a flame the light of each 'candle' was provided by a glowing stone much like the one in Louise's room.

Halfway down the stairs, which were plain flagstones, an opening appeared in the wall on his left. He looked through it to see a small landing. Beyond that the core of the tower was hollow, a well dimly lit from below. There were two similar landings at his elevation, and another three about a story below – and above, although the ceiling was just above that if the gloom wasn't playing tricks on his eyes – and three more landings two stories below, and so on. Each landing had what might be strange letters labeling them. Except that was can't read the labels. But if each landing leads to hallways, and each hallway has eight suites, this tower could have dozens of residents. Comfortably over a hundred, at full capacity. Five or six towers . . . but as big as this place is, five hundred inhabitants isn't hardly anyone at all!

He shook his head. More importantly, we need to figure out how to get back to Louise's room after we handle the laundry. That made him pause. Do we want to go back to her room? She expects us to sleep on straw. Who knows what else she has in mind? Shouldn't we be able to get better treatment elsewhere?

Well, let's at least keep our options open. He went back up the stairs and tilted the 'candle' on the wall to a diagonal, then continued down the stairway until it ended in another hallway opposite another flight of stairs. Guess we can count the flights, too. So that's one. The second flight of stairs down was much the same as the first, but as he neared the bottom-

". . . like at home," came from a tenor voice just below.

"That's so sad! But you know, I'm really good at making a soufflé." And that was a girl's voice.

"You are? Then I'd be delighted to try it, sometime." As he came down the last few steps, the tenor turned out to belong to a blond teen. It looked a lot like he was getting ready to cop a feel on the brunette he was flirting with. What, does nobody patrol the halls at night? Well, as dark as they keep it, maybe not.

"You mean that?" From the stars in her eyes, she clearly didn't mind at all, so this wasn't his business in any way. He could move on, find the laundry-room, and ignore teenagers out courting past their bedtime.

"Why, of course, my dear Katie. When I gaze into your eyes, I cannot tell a lie."

Gag us with a spoon. Any man who . . . but it's not our business, not our business . . .

She – Katie – blushed, but leaned in as her boyfriend started to bend down and-

Paused. "Well, if it isn't the commoner that Miss Vallière summoned."

Oh, now we remember. The fop with the rose, cooing over the giant hairball. Now if we can just walk past them down the next set of stairs-

"You mean at today's ceremony?" the girl asked. "I heard some of the other First Form students talking about that at supper."

Interesting tidbit, but-

"He suddenly fainted, so I had to Levitate him up to her room," Mr. Rose told her, smirking.

Also interesting – why didn't Louise do that? But we need to focus on finding the laundry, and-

"Hold it, commoner!"

Dammit, almost out of sight. He rolled his eyes, but turned back. "Yes?"

"Doesn't the commoner have anything to say to the noble who lent him a hand?"

Aha! You people do self-identify as noble. In that case, plenty, but we're not ready to start a revolution. "I hadn't wished to interrupt your tryst, milord, but I thank you for your graciousness earlier today."

Mr. Rose seemed satisfied, and 24601 made a quick escape down the stairs.

He paused at the next hallway. That's three stories down so far. Hope we hit the bottom soon, 'cause trudging back up these stairs ain't gonna be fun. But when he descended to the fourth hallway, the stairs ended, and what would have been the next flight of stairs instead led to what turned out to be the bottom of the central stairwell. The light illuminating it proved to come through several large holes in the floor, suggesting that whatever was below was much better lit. On the other side of the stairwell, almost opposite him, there was a little alcove, with what looked like a single flight of stairs heading down.

He looked around. How are we supposed to find our way back to this entrance? What can we use to mark- He shook his head, pulled out the same nickel that he'd used to show Louise the bit of legerdemain, and stuck it in a crack between two stones.

The final flight of stairs was about twice as long, and ended in an alcove leading to the spacious, circular room that he'd glimpsed from above. It was brightly lit, the light fixtures on the walls all glowing brightly, interspersed between portraits of people that he of course didn't recognize. A fountain flowed noisily in front of the alcove with the stairs, and tables and purple velvet couches lined the circular wall. On the other side of the room were two exits, which he estimated to be about seventy degrees apart from each other. Not quite at right angles, anyway.

He promptly sat down on the nearest couch, and set Louise's small bundle of laundry down next to him. "Why only one flight leading up to the stairwell? Wouldn't that cause a traffic-jam several times a day?" He leaned back, trying to pop his back, and his eyes landed on the holes in the ceiling. "Unless... that blond twerp talked about levitating me. Can they do self-levitation? If they can, then the stairwell is set up so that everyone can fly up to their hallway, or close enough. The stairs are just a backup. Or for us commoners."

He shook his head. We need to take stock. Figure out if there's been any method to our madness. Louise seems high-handed, but she's not alone in that, if blondie is anything to go by. Better treatment elsewhere might not be possible, especially if she's got a legally recognized claim on us. And even if the room and board is questionable, at least she is providing room and board. It's a place to live while we nail down how things work around here, even if we seem to be stuck at a low spot on the totem pole. As long as she isn't impossible to get along with, we should try to stick it out.

This place seems downright medieval, aside from the glowing stones. Either crystal-tech or magic items, and we already know magic's a thing here. But we need to remember that, medieval doesn't mean simple or stupid. It can be dangerously complicated: The rules about something as seemingly fundamental as marriage can change dramatically in just a few hundred miles, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.

At least we packed with a possible side-trip to Australia in mind. Fair bit of stuff for emergencies if we need it.

But what do we do about Louise? We're already crushing on her a little, but her attitude seems . . . yeah. Noble. Pre-Enlightenment, even. For all we know, by local standards she's being reasonable in how she's treating what amounts to a glorified pet. Better keep the Shaw quote in mind: 'Forgive him, Theodotus. He is a barbarian, and believes the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature.'

So acting butthurt probably won't solve anything, and we can't expect to grind faction rep with our little mistress by just sitting around moping. Time to figure out where the laundry-room is. He stood back up. If there is a laundry-room. It'd suck to have to wash them ourself.

But her hands seemed way too soft for her to have been washing her own clothes, so someone's been doing it for her. Just gotta find them.

First, though, we're a bit thirsty.

A cautious taste revealed that the fountain's liquid was nothing but water. And uncursed, thankfully. He did not need that kind of Gygaxian whimsy on top of figuring out everything else.

Thirst quickly sated, he picked the laundry back up, headed out one of the exits and down a handful of stone steps into a grassy courtyard, and paused to look around once.

The exit he'd taken was one corner of a large triangle, the stone walls rising twenty or thirty feet into the air. The wall on his right was solid stone, but the wall on his left had about a dozen large, arched tunnels leading to whatever was on the other side. The far wall of the triangle also had the tunnels. The solid wall on his right lead to one of the towers, but the other two walls ran into the massive domed building that was the base of the massive central tower he'd seen from the window.

If this were a square castle, he thought, the corners formed at these outlying towers would be obviously sharper than the corner at the main tower, 45 degrees versus 90 degrees. But they're a lot closer to even. Either the castle's a pentagon, making this triangle 54-54-72, or a hexagon, 60-60-60. It could even be a heptagon, which would be something like 65-65-50, although it didn't seem like we saw that many towers. But right now we need to find the laundry. How do we do that? We haven't seen any servants, yet.

Maybe we need to look for somewhere that smells of soap?

It was as good an idea as any, so he headed left, going under the first tunnel to reveal – another grassy courtyard, looking much the same. He shook his head, kept on walking, and the courtyard after that proved to have a gate leading out of the castle.

Once more he looked around. A road led out the gate off into what might be woods in the distance, and there was a cluster of smaller wooden buildings on either side, well back from the road. Beyond all that were fields of grass, and what looked like might be small thickets or groves, close to the walls but not so close that an intruder could climb the trees and jump across. But while he could smell a faint odor of livestock, there was nothing to indicate that laundry was being done anywhere, so he shrugged and started wandering around.

After a little while, a sharp smell of soap led him towards one building on the edge of the left cluster, but then the wind shifted and the smell of dung hit him, along with what sounded like a soft whinny.

"Oh. Horses. Must be a stable." He grimaced. Shot through a wormhole – and we didn't even have to join NASA first! – to what could be a distant part of the universe- he paused, then looked up. Nope, don't recognize any of the constellations. Can't even see the Milky Way. Or Polaris. Wherever we are, it's not close to Earth. Which means dimensional or superluminal travel, and the locals use horses. Horses! How are we supposed to find someone who knows if FTL means time travel, or if it's just another Zeno's Paradox, dammit?

He jumped up and down. Gravity feels pretty close, though, and the atmosphere seems to be nitrogen/oxygen. Let's hope we can digest the food.

The second time he smelled soap, there was also a definite undercurrent of unwashed humans. Dirty laundry, maybe? It led him to a building with two entrances, both dark. The sour reek issued from one of them was strong enough to make him want to gag, so he went around to the other one.

"Hello?"

There was no reply, so he took a hesitant step inside, and around a corner.

Without the moonlight, it was pitch-black in the interior. Wait, what did Louise do with her lamp? He freed his right hand and snapped his fingers.

The lights came on. No, it wasn't a laundry-room. It was a bathhouse, and the accouterments scattered about lent it a distinctly feminine atmosphere. He flushed and turned around, quickly leaving and snapping once more to turn the lights off.

The third time he smelled soap, there were lights on inside, and feminine voices chatting and giggling. He paused. What if it's another bathhouse? But why would the one be used, but not the other? Just to be sure, he opened the door just a bit and peeked inside first, ready to duck away in an instant if necessary.

But the sight of a pair of dressed women, sorting through clothing, reassured him, and he opened the door the rest of the way and stepped inside.

A wave of heat and moisture hit him, and the smell of soap intensified. There were over a dozen women in the room, all wearing simple black dresses, and honestly quite a bit prettier than he would have expected for servants. Three were using poles to push clothing around in large tubs of soapy, steaming water, and the rest were performing other obviously-laundry-related tasks.

Or, at least, they had been. Now they were staring at him, heads turned almost in unison.

He freed one hand from Louise's laundry to give them an awkward wave. "Hello? I'm here to drop off a bit of laundry."

The closest one looked him up and down. "Ain't seen you before, big man. How'd you get stuck carryin' for one o' the nobs?"

"Er, I don't know if you've heard, but there's this little slip of a girl, name's Louise? De la Val-something?"

The speaker nodded. "Those look 'bout her size. What of it?"

"Did you hear about her summoning her familiar today?"

"Heard summat 'bout-"

"I had from Mattie in the kitchen," one of the other laundresses interrupted excitedly, "Miss Vallière summoned an ogre! Twice the size of a man, and-" she broke off, eyes widening. "Don't you be thinkin' to come down here for a snack! We've got contracts, we do, an' they'll not look kindly on it if we start to go missing."

Half the laundresses gasped and moved to cower behind the tubs and whatnot.

He winced so hard his eyes shut for a moment. "I promise, I'm not an ogre, and I suppose I'll eat whatever Louise assigns me. In any event, is this the right place to bring down her laundry?"

The first speaker eyed him narrowly. "Nellie, go an' fetch Annabelle." One of the laundresses took off. "You, ogre-man, you stay right there until we get this sorted."

He sighed. "Fine, fine." Eh, not like we're carrying a big armful, or anything heavy.

A few minutes later, the one called Nellie returned with an older woman.

The older one, presumably Annabelle, looked around irritably. "What's this tale of an ogre come to gnaw our bones?" she demanded.

"Seriously," he groaned. "I'm not an ogre. Familiar, yes. Apparently. Ogre, no."

Annabelle gave him an appraising look. "Ye were the one summoned by Miss Vallière, then? Not ogre, no, nay large enough. Orc-blooded, maybe?"

That got its own fresh chorus of dismay.

He sighed again. "I'm entirely human, as far as I know."

"Hmph. Ne'er seen the like. The nobs summoning us, now?" Annabelle shook her head. "Drop her things in yon pile," pointing at the pile in question, "and be on yer way, familiar-man."

"Well, about that?" he asked as he moved to comply.

"Aye?"

"Can I talk to you outside for a bit? I have some questions."

Annabelle looked at him askance, but finally nodded. "A few questions, aye. Come with me, then."

He followed her outside, where she turned to look up at him, arms folded. It was surprisingly intimidating. "Questions, then?"

"Uh, first one: Where am I? What is this place?"

"Miss Vallière did nay explain? This land is Halkagenia. This country is Tristain. This castle ye were summoned to is the Tristain Academy of Magic."

"Okay." Hell, at least it's not called Hogwarts. "And was this the right place to bring her laundry?"

Annabelle nodded.

"I suppose the other thing I need to know is, what should I lay out for her in the morning?"

"Come back inside wit' me, I'll show you." She made to step past him to the door-

"Wait, one more thing."

"Aye?" The intimidating look was back.

"What, um, what can you tell me about Louise?"

Annabelle frowned. "'Tis nae my place to say, much. A Vallière, naturally, and the youngest, methinks. Turned sixteen this last year, o' course, to be allowed to attempt her summoning, and with ye about she'll be a Second Form. But 'tis nae the place of a servant to speak o' the nobs."

"Fair enough." And at least she is 16. Jailbait, yeah, but that's a hell of a lot less creepy than 12 or 14. And if she had been 10 . . . RUN AWAAAAAAAY!

He followed the senior laundress back inside, and the chatter of feminine gossip broke off again as the younger women all stared at him once more.

"Be about yer business, ye lackawits!" Annabelle scolded them. "Aye, 'tis a familiar, and aye, 'tis a full-blooded man. 'Tis for the nobs to fret o'er, nae for ye!"

The laundresses ducked their heads, and busied themselves in their work.

She then led 24601 over to the pile of laundry he'd dropped Louise's clothes in. "Pay the silly geese nae heed, familiar-man, an' attend t' me."

She pulled out a pair of garments from the pile he'd set down. "These be culottes, an' these be hosiery. She'll be wantin' them first. Pay nae heed if she uses her wand to dress. 'Tis said many do, for the practice."

He nodded, and took them from Annabelle. 'Culottes'? Isn't that a French word for panties?

Except that the phrase 'French panties' – well, 'French knickers' – conjured up images of silk, lace, ruffles, and the penumbra of feminine sensuality that Americans tended to assign to all things French right up until they got a chance to go to Europe and see what the place was actually like.

Louise's 'culottes' were not sexy. He'd been a wee bit distracted by what was being uncovered, and so hadn't paid the removed coverings as much attention, but there wasn't a cute naked redhead – or rather rosecrown, 'cause trying to think of her as a strawberry blonde just wasn't going to work, especially since what little body hair she had was as pink as what was on her head! – present to distract him at the moment. And her 'culottes', sans distraction, looked more like white cotton knee-britches. With friggin' belts built in to hold them in place at the waist and the knees!

It's like they're to granny panties what granny panties are to the regular thing! And the 'hosiery' looks more like tights than pantyhose. And Louise didn't say anything about using magic to get dressed.

"Familiar-man?" Anabelle asked, sounding concerned. "D'ye ken culottes?"

He shook himself. "Yeah, I get it. They look a little different than what women wear as 'culottes' back home, but it won't be a problem."

"Aye? Good for ye, then." The senior, or more likely, head laundress took back the underwear and handed him two more articles. "Nae need fer a brassiere on yer master for a year o' two more, methinks, but she'll want it nonetheless. The undergown next, o' course."

"Of course." Like the panties, the bra looked tremendously over-engineered, once again with belts built into the fabric. The white under-gown, on the other hand, was both diaphanous and silky-smooth. Okay, they must not have modern elastics around here. Probably requires modern chemistry. But linen cloth is ancient technology, goes back to ancient Egypt if we recall correctly. So her blouse and skirt to weather the elements, and her tights and undershirt to keep them from chafing. Okay, it makes sense, it's just a coincidence that this means that our cute little roommate wears tights and a see-through negligee that barely goes down below her almost perfect ass. The universe isn't conspiring to give us a heart attack. That'd be silly.

A long black skirt and a white, form-hugging, button-up blouse were next. They were definitely of sturdier, more practical material, and there didn't seem anything particularly odd about either of them.

"Have ye ever been in the service of a noble?" Annabelle then asked.

"Uh, no," he replied, trying not to laugh at the idea. It probably was a reasonable question, at least locally. "Can't say that I have."

"Then look sharp! 'Tis most important o' all: The sleeves." So saying, she rolled up the left sleeve of Louise's blouse a bit, and held it up for inspection. "The wand goes through these loops, when they're not lookin' t' cast. Ye must ensure that they not be tangled afore she dresses, aye?"

"Aye." Makes sense, especially since her clothes don't seem to have pockets. Explains why the cuffs are a bit wide, too, if the sleeves can be used for quick storage. "Is this how all nobles secure their wands?"

"All?" she repeated, then shook her head. "Nae, but nigh all o' th' students here, 'less they have tailoring done special."

He nodded.

"Miss Vallière wore the brown mantle afore today, o' course," Annabelle concluded, handing him the black mantle that was the final piece of Louise's outfit. "First Form colors. But as a Second Form, she's entitled to the black. Now, if 'tis aught else, 'tis late, and past time for these old bones to seek their rest!"

He quickly nodded again, set the dirty laundry back down, and left, heading back to the castle. The wind, as it picked up, had enough bite to make him shiver, but once inside the castle walls he was protected from the worst of it.

Let's see, wasn't Louise's tower is the second one to the right? He started walking in that direction. So she's sixteen, huh? Federal law aside, almost half the states set the age of consent at 16 under the right conditions. England too, right? D.C. as well, which tells you all you need to know about what goes on between Congresscritters and Congressional Pages. And back in medieval times, nobles sometimes got married even earlier. If the familiar magic has us cooing over each other, like that one guy with his giant hairball, it might not be an issue around here.

Are we okay with that?

N- Ye- No. No. Maybe if we were her age, but no. Too squicky, and Texas puts the age of consent at 17, anyway. We can wait a bit. He shook his head. Besides, we'll probably have to convince the Powers That Be of our obvious merit. Commoner. Yeesh, what if she combines noble disdain for commoners with a soppy attitude? BDSM much? No thank you. Pain hurts.

Arriving at what he hoped he remembered was the right tower, he looked up at the holes in the ceiling. Yeah, those have got to be so people can fly up. Taking that as a baseline, if you have magic, it seems to be easy to use and fairly powerful on the individual scale. Dresden, not Merlin.

So what about us? First Louise says we have familiar powers, then she dismisses them by saying we probably can't do anything useful. Which one is correct? Are there powers every familiar has? Is there a list of known familiar powers? Need to find that out. Be bloody stupid to never be able to do something just because we didn't know we could do it.

He walked over to the couch he'd sat down on earlier, and sat down again, looking up at the holes. What if, as a human, our familiar power happens to be magic? That would be so cool! Elrond rousing the Bruinen against the Nine, Gandalf smiting the Balrog, Khadgar blasting the Dark Portal with an unstoppable pillar of moonfire, magic magic magicmagicmagicmagicmagicmagicMAGICMAGICMAGIC-

Magic is real! It's really real! It's absurd, impossible, and it's REALLY HAPPENING!

He suddenly realized that he was laughing helplessly. He wasn't sure when he'd started.

It took a while to stop.

It took longer to stay stopped.

Finally he shook his head, still with a chuckle on his lips. Not only are we in a no-shit-yes-this-is-for-real, Mark-friggin'-Twain-wrote-this, Connecticut-Yankee-in-King-Arthur's-Court-scenario, but there's magic! Most of our buddies back home would kill for this!

We're suddenly living one of the ultimate geek fantasies! How many lifetimes of luck did we have to spend for that?

There was some more laughter.

What next? Do we find someone who understands the importance of having a good towel? Maybe a madman with a blue box?

He shook his head, then sat up straight. Seriously, though, we need to earn Louise's respect. Upgrade ourselves from sub-par drudge to someone worth listening to, and despite what video games would have you believe, it's not a clear-cut process.

At least she decided to have us stay in her room, rather than minimize contact. More chances for us to figure out ways to impress her. But it's definitely time for the habits of bachelor and dorm living to die a quick and unlamented death.

And speaking of which, we'd better get to bed if we want to be alert for opportunities tomorrow. He stood up, went to the alcove and up the stairs to the main stairwell, and started checking side stairways until he found his nickel. Four flights up, and then the last door in the hallway on the left, if we're remembering it right.

The four flights of stairs had him panting by the time he was at the fifth floor, where he straightened the candle that he'd left crooked. He then made his way to the last door, which did open for him. Inside the moonlight streaming in revealed the form of his little mistress, already asleep. A sudden urge to cradle her to his chest had him stepping toward the bed before he stopped and shook his head. Don't be a fool. She's ambivalent at best toward us right now. Just imagine her reaction, if she woke up tomorrow to find us curled around her like a lovesick puppy.

It was late enough and he was tired enough, that instead of inflating his air mattress, he just pulled out his pillow, changed into the nightshirt and lounge pants that he preferred in cold weather, and laid down on the straw to sleep.

Then, of course, he found himself unable to. If for no other reason than his awareness of the slip of a girl sleeping on the bed next to his pile of straw.

Best hope the whammy was mutual. And ongoing. Been a while since we did any courting, so we're gonna need all the help we can get. Although before that we probably have to establish ourself in the aristocracy. Shouldn't be too hard, right? If we're a familiar, then we have powers, whatever they may be, and therefore we have magic. So by the logic of the locals we ought to be a natural nobleman, right?

Right.

Why oh why do we have the sinking suspicion that it won't be that easy?

Being a peasant is going to suck. We can do professional, casual, friendly, concerned, even helpful. We have no idea how to do servile. Lois Bujold got it right when she had Cordelia reflect that it's easy for egalitarians to adjust to an aristocracy as long as they get to be aristocrats. Adjusting to a position somewhat lower on the totem pole? Might turn out to be a wee bit harder. Dammit.

Note to self: Figure out what options there are for social mobility. But don't be obvious about it. Ambitious underlings are never trusted. We're going to have to be subtle. Somehow.

And if it is all based on magic, then figuring out what 'powers' we have is a high priority. Right behind making sure Louise isn't trying to ignore us on the grounds that we're her servant, and therefore both invisible and barely a person.

Something was scratching his neck again. Some straw had somehow worked its way into the collar of his nightshirt. Wait. Straw. His eyes popped open as he remembered where he was.

Through the window the sky was just beginning to get lighter. It was pre-dawn, and there was just enough light to see by.

Yay for good night-vision, but if they use sunlight during the day we may need to keep our sunglasses with us. On the other hand, we probably ought to adapt back to full daylight, now that we've graduated. All hail the burning daystar!

Louise hadn't given him a time to wake her up, so it was probably safe to assume that she'd do that on her own eventually. Speaking of which . . .

She was snoring gently, hair spread out on the bed. Her face . . . this was his first real chance to study it, albeit not in the best light.

Should we take a picture?

No. We may have brought along solar panels for recharging in the Outback, but who knows how long our phone'll last before it glitches beyond recovery?

A picture would be nice, though. As he'd noted yesterday when he was summoned, she had delicate, elfin features. Well-defined, as opposed to his own rather plain Euro-mutt blend. Asleep, she was lovely, utterly adorable even in the dim light of pre-dawn.

And if we want her thinking even remotely the same about us, we probably need to lose the belly. Women just don't seem to be impressed when your freshmen fifteen turn out to be in kilograms, eh? So we should probably start with sit-ups.

Less than five minutes later he was sweating and wheezing, confirmation that, yes, it was going to take a while to get used to exercise again. High-school PE was just too long ago. As he got his breathing under control, he opened up the wooden armoire, the one Louise had gotten her nightgown from, and looked through it until he had an entire outfit draped over one of the chairs and ready for her. Then he looked out the window. The sky was lighter, but it still wasn't dawn yet.

Hell with it. Time to wake her up and find out what the day's gonna bring.

Okay, she's not a super-light sleeper, otherwise our thumping around would've woken her. But maybe she's not planning to get up yet, so this calls for gentleness. And if you want gentle, hmm. Hard to go wrong with Enya.

"Suddenly before my eyes~
Hues of indigo arise~
With them how my spirit sighs~
Paint the sky with stars . . ."

Louise was blinking sleepily by the end of the second verse, but she didn't complain as he went through to the end.

Then she looked up at him. "Why are you sitting on my bed?"

"Because I was going to start tapping your forehead if the song didn't work. Um . . . we forgot to clarify what time to get up in the morning."

His little mistress looked out the window. "The sun isn't even up."

"True. But, it'll come up pretty soon."

She gave him a sleepy glare. "This was too early," Louise muttered as she pushed her blanket down and sat up. "Get my clothes." She snapped her fingers, and the light came on as she got out of bed.

She did not wave her hands, pull out a wand, or utter reality-cracking Words of Power, and her clothes didn't start floating up from the chair he'd laid them out on as she stood there.

Guess she doesn't know how to do that, yet. "Dressing you won't be a problem. Mostly." He handed her the 'culottes' he'd set out. "You'll have to handle these yourself, however, unless you're not worried about the inevitable gossip."

She took the uber-granny-panties, stared at them for a moment, looked up at him, flushed slightly, and quickly looked back down at her culottes. "You're my familiar. It's not like having a boy in my room."

The hell it's not. "Familiar or not, you think that pack of hyenas from yesterday will draw the distinction?"

"No, they won't, but you'll just have to ignore them." Louise grimaced, and her flush deepened a bit. "And don't complain! If you weren't my familiar, I'd send you to live with the servants."

He tilted his head. "Little mistress, I'm honestly surprised that you didn't anyway."

She scowled as she pulled the panties up under her nightgown.

Wait, does that mean she sleeps commando? That's . . . down, boy!

"I can't," Louise admitted. "Even people who saw me summon you-"

He couldn't tilt his head further, so he raised an eyebrow. "What, people don't think I'm a 'real' familiar?"

She flushed again, this time clearly out of anger, and turned around, raising her arms. "Just shut up and dress me!"

He smiled slightly, pulled her nightgown over her head, and replaced it with the bra. "How did you manage this before?" he asked as he pulled the belts tight in back.

"I did it in front and then turned it around," Louise admitted. "And I told you to be quiet!"

He rolled his eyes as he picked up the undergown. Well, this is a great start for getting her to see us as someone worth listening to.

When he was done, his little mistress pinched the fabric of her mantle between two fingers. "Where did you put my laundry once you cleaned it?" she asked suspiciously. "I'm not wearing it, am I?"

"No, I found where they do laundry in the Academy and dropped it off there," he replied. "Since, y'know, they have the equipment and training to do everyone's laundry all at once."

Louise's eyes narrowed. "You were supposed to do it yourself."

He tilted his head again, looking down at her. "No, I'm pretty sure the Academy has a staff of laundresses precisely so that you, and by extension myself, don't have to do laundry."

"That's not what I meant!"

He shrugged. "Well, whatever use I am as a familiar, trust me, it's not doing chores that other people have the tools and experience to do easier, better, and faster."

Her glare intensified. "Then sit down, and shut up, and try to think of something useful you can do while I study."

She didn't say anything to him for over an hour, as the sun slowly rose. The book she was reading from was completely unintelligible to him – apparently the translation effect didn't cover writing – but the illustrations were colorful, and vivid, and even upside down they were fascinating. He contented himself with studying them, until Louise finally looked up, and he realized he was leaning halfway over the table, staring at an image of a figure riding a massive wave as it was about to crash on an unfortunate seaside town.

"Stop looming like that!"

He backed up. "Sorry. Even if I can't do magic, it's interesting to try to figure out how it works."

She sighed. "Teaching those clockwork minds - is that a scholarly profession?"

"There's something of that mindset, yeah. So, which of those spells are you trying to learn right now?"

She grimaced, and slammed the book shut. "It's time for breakfast. Follow me."

Another door in the hallway opened as they left Louise's room. Out stepped the busty redhead from yesterday's crowd. Up close, she turned out to be quite a bit taller than Louise. Maybe half-a-foot shorter than he was, which would put her somewhere around 5'10". Her skin was tanned, her uniform was form-fitting, the top three buttons of her blouse were undone, and when Curvy McJiggles saw the two of them, she strutted up until she stopped right in front of them.

Whereupon she looked down at his little mistress for a moment, then offered a smug grin. "Good morning, Vallière."

"Zerbst." Louise was not smiling, so he kept his eyes on her. Safer than ogling the other woman's cleavage, and if he was going to take his cue from his little mistress he couldn't let himself get distracted.

"Is that really your familiar?" Zerbst asked, pointing at him.

". . . Yes."

She turned slightly and looked him up and down. "No horns, normal eyes, normal ears, no fangs, no wings, no claws, no hooves." Then she started laughing. "Incredible! Up close, it really is just a commoner! Can it even talk?"

So we're an it? Okay, lady, you're on our personal shit-list unless Louise really likes you. He gave her his best thousand-yard stare. It probably needed work, he'd never been in the military, but at least he wasn't staring at her tits.

Zerbst ignored the stare. Yep. Needed work. "But, then again, what could be more appropriate for Louise the Zero than to summon a nobody?"

Louise's pale cheeks flushed scarlet. "Shut up."

"I'll always treasure the memory of yesterday," The taller mage's grin turned cruel. "A miserable failure by Vallière! And then the house of Zerbst takes the field, and unlike a certain somebody, I was successful on my first try."

"I remember," Louise ground out.

"But then, that was true for everyone else. Of course, I didn't have to settle for anything less than the best. Flame!" Zerbst called, loudly and triumphantly. The charizard-pokemon-thing ambled out of her room and stood by her side. As it approached, a wave of heat, presumably from its tail, hit them all.

"Have you ever seen such a beautiful salamander? Don't worry. She won't attack anyone unless I tell her to."

He couldn't help it. His lips twitched.

Which was enough, apparently, to catch her attention as she preened. "What?"

Aw, hell with it. "Is she going to stay that small? The blue dragon yesterday was a lot bigger."

"You don't know anything, do you?" Zerbst scoffed. "She's plenty big! And with how vibrantly the tail burns, she's clearly from the Eldrwyrm!"

"That's nice," Louise said, her voice bitter.

"Isn't it just? As perfect a match for my affinity as yours is for you!" Zerbst smirked. "Just another proof that I'm truly Kirche the Ardent, the mage of smoldering passion and blazing beauty!" Zerbst – well, it appeared that her first name was Kirche – then thrust out her chest proudly, turning a bit as if aiming at 24601.

Yeah, right, he thought, keeping his face a frozen mask. We learned how to keep our eyes to ourself on a Miami beach during Spring Break. You? Are an amateur. He glanced down at Louise, who . . . was she trying to thrust out her chest as well?

Whatever. When she caught his look she immediately relaxed. "I don't have the time to go around flirting with everything I see, unlike you."

As she stepped around Kirche, and he followed, the tall redhead put a hand on his shoulder to halt him, then flashed him a brilliant smile. "And what's your name?"

Yeah, right. Like we're going to give anyone else our name before our little mistress earns it. "I'm her familiar."

She started to open her mouth again, but he broke free and caught up with Louise. Who suddenly seemed to be smiling. Just a bit.

"I take it that she's not a friend."

"No." She gave him a sidelong look as they descended the stairs. "You don't think Zerbst is pretty?"

"I do, actually. I just don't care." At her slightly puzzled look he elaborated. "My study with clockwork minds? That's supposed to take six years. I managed in four-and-a-half, and I supported myself with a job at the same time. You can't do that if you don't learn how to ignore-" Crap, how to explain RPGs, MMOs, and RTSes? "Um, certain kinds of entertainment, or women who dress-"

"Like whores?"

"I was going to say 'provocatively'."

She gritted her teeth. "Zerbst does that all the time, and no one stops her! And now she's summoned an Eldrwyrm salamander! Argh!"

"I guess that's a big deal?"

"Yes! You can't just buy one!" Louise sagged, before continuing in a mournful tone. "Everyone knows you can determine a mage's true power just by looking at her familiar. Why did that harlot get a salamander, while I got you?"

Wait, does that mean familiars evolve as a mage grows more powerful? Are we going to actually grow the horns and wings that Kirche was talking about? "Hey, being human's not all bad. We're above all the animals, right?"

"WE?!" she exclaimed with a haughty sniff. "Comparing mages and commoners is like comparing wolves and dogs!"

He did his best not to sigh. "Yeah. Anyway. She's 'the Ardent', which seems to mean 'local slut'." His blatant partisanship was rewarded with a sudden smirk from his little mistress, who stopped sagging. "What does 'the Zero' signify?"

Her smile disappeared in an instant. She glared up at him wordlessly for a moment, then stomped off.

Right, he thought to himself as he hurried to catch up. Might be about her bust size. Bad question, you idiot.

The dining hall turned out to be part of the first floor of the massive dome at the center of the Academy. And by the time they showed up, there was a sizable crowd of animals in the courtyard outside the entrance. Most looked like they were straight out of myth, legend, or in some cases(such as an oculothorax floating above the other critters) an RPG or a bad acid trip. Most of the presumed familiars were just waiting around, although a few were tussling with each other, playing like dogs.

24601 looked from the crowd of animals to the dining hall and back again. "So, little mistress, I take it there's a 'no pets' rule for the dining hall?"

She nodded. "Don't worry. I got permission to let you sit on the floor inside."

"The floor?" he repeated in disbelief. "You couldn't hold out for an actual seat?"

"Why would I do that? Be grateful you're allowed in at all!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Right. So, what, are you going to pass me table-scraps or something?"

She rolled her eyes. "I had them set out a bowl with some leftover gruel."

He winced. "I'm guessing you were a bit annoyed yesterday when you made these arrangements."

"Are you questioning your master's generosity?" Louise demanded.

He bit back the obvious response and shrugged. "Eh, what with the shock of arrival I'm not all that hungry just yet. Tell you what: I'll go arrange a few of my things while you eat. Where should I meet you after breakfast?"

She looked up at him with a narrowly considering look, but finally nodded, pointed to one of the towers, and headed into the dining hall.

He sighed as he started back towards the tower, and his stomach let out a loud growl. Glad that didn't happen while we were talking to her. Yeesh. Gruel. Convincing her to see us as her equal and complementary partner is clearly going to take some work. And we may need to figure out how to rustle up our own grub, because I don't care how hungry we are, there is no way in hell that we are letting her treat us like a dog.

A/N: Culottes - modern French word for panties. Back in the late 16th century, they got started as knee-length breeches that men wore.

I'll go into it a little more in the next chapter, but the clothing as depicted in the canon setting just doesn't work. Louise wears what are clearly a modern style of panties (there's a minor plot point involving snapped elastic, which I can fortunately ignore), but you can't have a medieval or renaissance setting with the kind of chemistry that gives you modern elastics.

Likewise, her Academy uniform has the short skirts and long socks of the modern anime Japanese schoolgirl. Which . . . no. Just no. There were times in European history when raising skirts to show a lady's ankles was considered shockingly lascivious. I'm not recreating that, partly because a noblewoman with a wand doesn't need to cover herself from head to toe to avert sexual assault, but in this fic the skirts go down to the lower calves, the hosiery goes up to the waist, and the culottes go down to the knees. Sorry, but there's no flash of upper thigh for viewers to drool over. Not even if they were to manage an up-skirt peek.