• Frix noticed that a custodian had turned off the lights of the bathroom. ********], he thought, opening the door of the supply closet. He stood up and stretched, cracking his back. How long had I been there? He walked over to the window and looked outside. It was pitch black, stars glittering in the sky. A good six or seven hours. Urgh. He rummaged through his pockets and located what he was looking for: a stone, a bit larger than an egg, smooth and oval. He rubbed it with the side of his hands for a few seconds, and then it began to glow with a bright silver light. He put it on the ground, and sat next to it. He unfolded a piece of paper, and observed it in the soft silver light of the glowstone.

    It was a map, crudely drawn with ink and stained in a few places. Frix was in a bathroom, he knew that; but which one? He peered out the window and saw a courtyard beneath him; probably this one, he thought, circling a bow marked 'RESTROOM' with a claw. He followed with his finger a black line, following a direct path from the main entrance to room 59. He was nearly there; just a few dozen feet to the left and then directly down the right hallway. He folded the map and put it back in his pocket.

    He slowly made his way to the entrance to the restroom, and put his glowstone his pocket. Frix stood completely motionless for a few seconds; it could be disastrous if a bored custodian came across him sneaking around a university at night. Satisfied that there were none close by, he took out the stone and continued down the hallway.

    It was quite a nice school. Busts of famous scholars lined the halls, peering down at him. He wasn't extremely well educated, but Frix still recognized some of them. He passed Broon Hallsbern, then ancient man who started the practice of rune carving; there was Genata Nel Juttas, whose studies on the property of containing magic ushered in the era of wands and brought magic to the masses; and he recognized Harnlow Chessmellow, the inventor of many items, such as the glowstone. Frix grinned and whispered a thank you to the statue.

    Finally, he came to the room he was looking for: 59. He tried twisting the doorknob; it was locked. After delivering a swift kick to the door, it flung open and crashed against a wall. Frix cursed under his breath. s**t, someone else must have heard that. I gotta be quick.

    The glowstone bathed the class room in silver light. Frix produced the map again, and read the small words written on the back of it: 'between the windows, hanging and tall and spooky.' He preferred that his clients wrote out what they sought in a simple riddle, obscure enough that no one else (such as a law enforcer) would suspect it was an item of value, but simple enough to be deciphered easily. Careful not to bump into anything, Frix made his way across the room, to where the two large windows were.

    Staring down at him was a human skeleton, hanging in between the two windows. A skeleton? he thought. How the hell am I supposed to sneak a skeleton out of here? It fit the riddle well. He climbed up the wall, cut it down with his dagger, and laid it gently on the floor. He was expecting something typical that would want to be stolen from a university, something like a rare spell book or a vial of a particularly difficult to find substance or something along those lines; in other words, something small. This'll cost a bit extra silver now, he thought, grinning.

    After a minute or two of searching the room, Frix found a large waste bucket. This'll do, he thought. He emptied the contents of it onto the floor and filled it with the bones of the skeleton.

    ***

    This was how the janitor spent most of his working hours: sitting in the library, pouring over spell books, sitting in his chair, and practicing magic on the trash he collected. The arcane arts had always been interesting to Jare, but he was not wealthy at all, and a bit on the lazy side, eliminating his chances of getting into a magic university like this. He finally found the job where he had access to every magical thing he ever wanted, without wasting a copper piece. He chuckled at the irony. His plan was that, by mastering magic, he would be able to execute his job completely via magic and effectively get paid for sitting on his a** all day, all the while mastering the arcane arts. In contrast to what most would think, he possessed above-average intelligence; he was just simply lazy.

    This night, he was reading through an ancient book on offensive spells, when he heard what sounded like a door crashing. He slammed the tome close and bolted upright. This was the first time he had heard any disturbance of any kind in the university. Jare scurried over to the entrance to the library, listening for any other noises. He was breathing heavily, and sweat was forming on his brow. What the hell am I gonna do? he thought, frantically.

    His eyes fell upon the book he was reading.

    ***

    Frix was cautiously lowering the bucket of bones out the window with a bit of rope when he heard footsteps in the doorway behind him. He froze in place.

    "Who are you...?" a voice said, rather meekly. "Turn around." He did. Facing him was a small man, neither young nor old, wearing a janitorial outfit. "Drop the rope," the man said, and Frix complied.

    Frix grinned. "I'm sorry," he said, "But I have to leave. Bye!" He leapt towards the window and hit his head on the glass. It was open, I know it, what the hell, it was just... He turned his head towards the janitor, and saw that his left hand was faintly glowing red. Damn it.

    "No," Jare said, "I don't think so." He waved his hand, and a chair flew across the room and smashed down in front of Frix, showering him with splinters. "Turning a robber into the guard could get me the raise I've been looking for." Besides, he thought, I can't stand lizardmen like you.

    The custodian pointed at Frix and began babbling a few words. He couldn't understand what the human was saying, but knew it wasn't good. As Jare chanted, Frix felt his consciousness being poked at from an outside force; he clutched his head in pain and hissed. Fight it! he thought. The invader twisted and churned in Frix's mind as he attempted to get it out, in a kind of mental arm wrestling match. Finally, the invader got past his defenses and held his mind in a choke-hold. Frix stood erect.

    Jare smiled. "I was just dying to test that spell out. I'm glad to see it works! Now, let's see if that new book is worth anything..."
    His right hand was clenched into a fist, maintaining the lizardman's paralysis. He lifted his left hand and pointed his pinky and ring fingers at Frix; the ancient tome he was reading described a potent spell that, if pulled off correctly, would reduce its target to dust, and he was anxious to test it out.

    Frix's body was completely still, but his mind thrashed about. He called the janitor every vulgar word he, pleaded with him to let him go, and realized that his days were about to come to an abrupt end.
    The spell was finally complete, and Jare felt the energy swell up in his body with a warm sensation. Success! Finally, he unleashed the energy into the world.

    And promptly burst into dust.

    Without an outside source to take hold of his consciousness, Frix returned to his body. "MY GOD," he shouted, tears streaming down his face, "PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! GOD DAMN IT, I DON'T WANNA DIIIIIE!! I DON'T... wanna..." He opened his eyes and saw that he was back in control of his body. The janitor was also gone. He wiped his eyes and scanned the room for the spellcaster janitor: he was certainly gone. Deciding that it would be best to get the hell out of here before more come, he hastily turned back to the window, got the bucket to the ground, and scrambled down the side of the building.

    ***
    A tall, gaunt old woman walked into the library the next day. During her early morning inspection, she noticed something out of place: an old spell book was laying on one of the chairs. She picked it up, scowling, and read the cover. Who was reading this? she wondered. Probably one of the custodians. Imbeciles.

    She stalked over to her desk and looked up where the book belonged. It was scheduled to be destroyed today; a student who had attempted to cast a spell from it was killed on the spot, and after a series of tests by several professors, it was determined that the book was, in fact, a cursed spell book, designed to kill those who attempted to use it. She dumped it in the waste bucket, and continued her inspection.