The Hand That Mocked Them

"Why didn't you wake me?" he demanded, them rounded on Hieronymus. "Why didn't you?" He glared, then stalked over to his work station. "No matter. What can I do?'

"I put a virus sample at your station. Please, put up your wards to avoid contamination and begin the spells you've written for this. One of us 'aught to have written something functional."

He nodded. "The homunculus will have to read the spells out."

"So you have not bothered to commit a single one to memory."

"Need I remind you of my age?"

"If your age has diminished your capacity for your craft so much, then I believe you should consider retiring."

"Ha, see, this is why I have the homunculus! So I don't need to retire!"

"You created a slave to replace you. How...unethical."

Laurean glared at him haughtily. "He is not a replacement, he is an extension! This creature couldn't replace me."

"We disagree on many things."

"Then perhaps you ought to take your cure elsewhere."

"Perhaps you're right."

Hieronymus, alarmed, looked up at his master.
"If you're going to disrespect me continually," Laurean said, "and refuse to let me do things my way--the way I've been doing it for ten years without trouble--then you may pack your bags and leave at first light tomorrow."

Kivvien stirred a now-bubbling mixture with one hand and cast a brief spell with the other, watching for a beat as the mixture stilled before he said, "I'll consider it. Would you like assistance being put back to sleep before I leave?"

"I'm up now," he huffed. "I might as well stay up. I have some things to do before I go back to sleep."