Chapter 7: The Self-Writing Quill

“It must be Mr. Webster who sent the delivery,” Javier stood up and said to Dr. Kelandir, “You have to set off early tomorrow, so get some rest.” Then he turned to Joan: “You’ll stay here tonight. After breakfast tomorrow, I’ll have a carriage take you to register at Leyden College.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose,” Joan hurriedly stood and said, embarrassed. “I have a place to stay, so I won’t trouble you.”

“Don’t be so polite with Javier. Staying here overnight is far cheaper than spending money on an inn. Javier’s got a good few coins—eating two meals here won’t bankrupt him. So don’t refuse,” Kelandir smiled, encouraging Joan to stay.

Javier laughed heartily and pointed at Kelandir. “You’re welcome to eat and stay here, but please don’t ruin my tobacco. It’s the finest cut from Kitland, specially brought all the way from the Far East. Every puff reminds me of home.”

“But Javier, from an apothecary’s perspective, your hometown’s tobacco doesn’t have any special ingredients compared to the local Yarflheim tobacco. I have to suspect your taste buds are off, or maybe homesickness has made you overrate your native tobacco,” Kelandir teased.

“All right, all right, my dear friend Kelandir, please shut up. I don’t want to start an argument over this again,” Javier grumbled.

Dr. Kelandir shrugged and muttered something about it being unscientific before heading downstairs to bed.

Joan, hearing Javier mention a new batch of magical devices recently arrived at the shop—carefully ordered by him, combining beauty and utility—felt intrigued. A little shyly, she asked if she could go along to take a look.

“Of course! Come with me,” Javier replied readily, leading Joan to the shop on the ground floor. He stayed to talk business with the supplier, leaving Joan alone to admire the magical devices freshly unpacked and not yet placed on the shelves.

Each device came with an exquisitely illustrated manual, neatly stacked on the counter, giving an air of luxury and refinement.

Joan picked up a manual and flipped through it, then found the corresponding device—a quill pen emitting a faint glow.

According to the manual, this was called an “Automatic Quill Pen.” It could replace manual labor by copying spell scrolls on its own, freeing the caster from tedious transcription work.

Here’s how it worked:

The pen’s owner first prepared a book or several scrolls, then copied the contents once with the quill. The pen recorded every stroke it made. Later, the owner could command the quill to reproduce the text on its own, perfectly mimicking the owner’s handwriting down to every detail.

The automatic quill could only be activated once per day. It would stop copying after completing the task or if forcibly interrupted, then lie quietly on the desk awaiting its owner’s return.

“Ea,” Joan tried pronouncing the activating incantation in the Elven tongue.

The quill, resting quietly on the counter, sprang to life, hovering tip-down above the surface like a lost little sprite, circling about in confusion.

There was no book or the quill’s essential companion—a bottle of ink—on the table, so this poor little thing couldn’t proceed with the copying.

Suppressing a smile, Joan repeated the spell. The quill lay flat and silent again.

As a mage, Joan knew well that the most tedious part of the craft was copying spells—either transcribing spells from scrolls to spellbooks or vice versa. This chore consumed immense time and energy every day.

With this magical quill, the time spent copying could be saved for more valuable study and research.

Joan was fond of the quill but baulked at its steep price of 2,000 gold Dukas, ruling out the purchase. Instead, a cunning idea formed.

Though she couldn’t afford it, she could attempt to analyze the quill’s enchantment, understand its spell construction, and master the core techniques behind it. When the time was ripe, she could try crafting one herself.

Feeling a bit like a thief, Joan glanced around swiftly. Mr. Javier was chatting and drinking tea with the supplier, and the shop assistants were busy attending to customers. No one was paying attention to this quiet corner.

Seizing the opportunity, she acted immediately.

Joan quickly took out her stationery and spellbook and began inscribing the fourth rune—Ansuz—onto the automatic quill, analyzing its magical composition.

She had done this countless times before, becoming quite skilled, and soon unraveled the quill’s secrets.

Crafting the pen itself was not difficult; the key was that the maker must be proficient in copying skills. On top of that, the pen was enchanted with a second-level spell, “Lesser Animate Object.”

This spell temporarily animates an object no larger than four feet in any dimension, transforming it into a construct that obeys its master’s commands.

By applying “Lesser Animate Object” to an ordinary quill, combined with magical crystal powder and other enchanting additives to solidify the effect, one obtains an automatic quill.

Working backward through this process, Joan understood why the quill could copy text independently: the spell granted it limited intelligence and vitality, while the maker’s knowledge endowed it with copying skills.

With an intelligence of 22, Joan possessed an almost photographic memory. She quickly reviewed the extracted incantation, then took up her pen and began copying. In less than half an hour, she had transcribed “Lesser Animate Object” into her spellbook.

Unfortunately, she could not yet learn this spell. Once she advanced to a level 3 mage and gained access to second-level spell slots, she would be able to use this spell to craft her own automatic quill.

While copying, Joan did a rough calculation: the cost to make the automatic quill did not exceed 1,300 gold Dukas, with most of the expense in the two ounces of magical crystal powder required for enchanting. Retailing at 2,000 gold Dukas, the profit margin was impressively high.

After finishing “Lesser Animate Object,” Joan picked up a second manual and found the corresponding magical device.

This item consisted of a pair of iron bars two feet long and one inch wide, connected by numerous parallel metal rungs, resembling a small ladder. Its purpose was a mystery.