The Unusual Mayor Marheart: The Cassie Black Trilogy, #4

THE UNUSUAL MAYOR MARHEART

A NOTE BEFORE WE BEGIN...

Just a little housekeeping before we jump into Cassie’s new adventure…

First, although this story begins just a couple of months (August, to be exact) after the third Cassie Black book (The Untangled Cassie Black), it was written about three years after that final book of the trilogy.

As such, there might be some minor inconsistencies between the summing up bit at the end of The Untangled Cassie Black and things at the beginning of The Unusual Mayor Marheart. These should be only a few, very minor inconsistencies, but I just wanted to mention them to (hopefully) avoid any angry emails.

Second, The Unusual Mayor Marheart is the start to a completely new Cassie Black trilogy (Trilogy 2.0).

Yes, it’s still set in MagicLand, Real Portland, and London. And yes, it features Cassie, Mr Tenpenny, Morelli, Alastair, and loads of other characters from the first trilogy, but this new trilogy is a separate story in itself, not a continuation from The Untangled Cassie Black.

What that means is, if you haven’t read Trilogy 1.0 yet, you should have no problem enjoying and understanding Trilogy 2.0. Although, reading the original trilogy first will give you far more insight into how the characters got to where they are now and how MagicLand works.

And if you have read Trilogy 1.0? Then thank you! I’m so glad you’re back, and I hope you enjoy seeing all those familiar faces and what they get up to in Trilogy 2.0.

Alright, let’s go see what trouble Cassie is falling into these days…

PROLOGUE - A SQUISHY, SQUIDGY MEETING

You can never have too much sugar.

—Jodi Taylor, Lies, Damned Lies, and History

* * *

Wordsworth would like to speak to you, Rafi told Olivia, his dark eyes glancing respectfully away from the involuntary shudder that danced across his boss’s shoulders.

Why is he here? I thought he’d wriggled off to that Magical Book… Olivia fluttered her slim hand …whatever-it’s-called.

The Magics’ International Library Consortium Conference. And he’s back. Just returned.

I don’t need this now, Rafi. I really don’t. Olivia, who always carried herself with posture so perfect that Rafi often wondered if she slept with her shoulders back and head held high, slumped in her swivel chair. Doesn’t he need to go sniff the library books for food stains or something?

Already has. That’s why he wants to see you. Rafi started to pour Olivia a cup of tea, then thought better of it. If you were going to deal with Wordsworth, you needed something stronger. He snapped his fingers over the mug, instantly changing the ruby-brown Earl Grey into a crystal clear gin and tonic.

When Rafi slid the drink across her desk, Olivia, director of Magical HeadQuarters, didn’t hesitate to take a sip. She then downed the entire cupful in three deep gulps.

Send him in. Indicating her mug, she added, But have another one of these ready for me when he leaves.

Rafi nodded then opened the massive oak door of Olivia’s office — a stone-walled, tapestry-lined space within the Tower of London — and told Wordsworth that Olivia could see him now.

Finding no Dutch courage in the gin, Olivia sought strength in the framed photo on her desk. It was of herself and Runa at the Harry Potter theme park in Los Angeles. It had been such a wonderful holiday that, even before they’d returned, they’d made plans to visit the one in Osaka.

Like someone unable to avoid gawking at a car wreck, Olivia’s gaze drifted to the reports on her desk. If they were correct, that Potter-themed trip to Japan was going to have to wait.

Still, there was Wordsworth to deal with, and the only way to get through a meeting with him was to cling to her happy, Runa-filled memories as tenaciously as a spider clings to its web in a hurricane. Olivia looked once more at the photo before she stood to greet her guest.

Wordsworth, how was the conference? Olivia asked with forced warmth before begrudgingly offering her guest a seat.

The lumpy, squishy, and squat creature stretched himself upward, causing two or three segments of his body to extend until he was at a height where he could slither onto one of the two designer chairs before Olivia’s desk. When he sat, the segments contracted again with a rather slushy sound. Olivia tensed every muscle in her upper body. It was the only way to keep from cringing.

It was awful, the Tower’s head librarian stated.

I’m sorry to hear that. Were the talks not to your—

The talks were perfect. Being in the company of other bookworms was perfect. What was not perfect was the state of my library upon my return.

This was news to Olivia. At Wordsworth’s request, she had closed down the library during his absence and had seen to the protective spells on the locks herself. She’d gotten no sense of the spells having been broken. Although, she had been spending a lot of time with Runa up until these latest reports had reached her. Since then, she’d been occupied with their possible implications.

Still, if there had been a breach, surely Chester, the Tower’s most dedicated security troll, would have noticed, or the surveillance gnomes, or even the cleaning pixies.

The state of your library? prodded Olivia.

It’s very upset, the Bookworm said gravely.

The beads at the end of Olivia’s braids clicked against themselves as she shook her head in exasperation. The library might be full of magical books, some of which could be rather lively, but for Wordsworth to believe the library itself had feelings… well, maybe it was time for him to consider retirement.

Upset? she asked dubiously.

You would be too if a book was missing from your collection.

One missing book? But otherwise the library is okay?

Wordsworth extended three of his upper segments as he leaned over Olivia’s desk, his muddy-green eyes fixed on hers. A piece of the collection went missing while I was at the convention. I would hardly call that okay. Think how you would feel if you woke up tomorrow morning to find one of your limbs gone.

The segments contracted, jiggling like something from a gelatin commercial, and the Bookworm eased back. But only slightly.

"Now, Wordsworth, please don’t take this the wrong way. You have been the librarian here at the Tower for longer than most Magics have been alive, and you are very… dedicated to your work. An observation Olivia could hear Cassie Black calling the Understatement of the Century. But can you be sure this book is missing? Perhaps it’s been checked out. Or misplaced."

I do not misplace books. I have no record of the book being checked out in decades. It is indeed missing. And before you ask, yes, I am certain.

How? Olivia might run Magic HQ, but she honestly had no idea how the Bookworm went about his work. She doubted anyone did. Likely because they were too afraid to ask.

Because I can sense the weight of the library is off. It is what we do, he said, emphasizing each word. Perhaps you should attend the next Magics’ International Library Consortium Conference to enlighten yourself on these matters.

The very idea of being in a room— No, an entire building full of bookworms was enough for Olivia to believe there really was something worse than what was in the files on her desk.

That’s a very generous offer, but perhaps we should stick to the issue at hand. This missing book, do you have any idea how it went astray?

For the first time in Olivia’s memory, Wordsworth’s face slackened with guilt.

My fault, I suppose. I should have known to keep the book with me at all times. Any item removed from the library should be treated with all the attention of a visiting dignitary.

You took it to the conference?

It was a request. Given there’s only a few copies in existence, most librarians have never seen one. Rather than transport it home in my luggage— It is rather large, you see. Olivia nodded in understanding. I sent it on ahead with the courier service the conference provided. When I got back, I assumed it had been re-shelved. Then I noticed the— the Bookworm sucked in a shaky breath through his broad nostrils, then struggled to speak the final word —absence.

Is there anything I can do?

You must take on the responsibility of finding it. For a moment, Olivia had actually felt sorry for the Bookworm. But her compassion died a quick death at the return of his imperious, demanding tone. Or, if need be, obtain a replacement. I cannot have the collection compromised.

Rafi stepped forward, for which Olivia was grateful. First, even if she had the time, she had no idea how to locate a missing book. Second, she was teetering on the edge of an overwhelming desire to scream at Wordsworth, and with the drop of banshee blood in her veins, that scream would be the last thing Wordsworth ever heard. A problem solved, but the pixies would complain to no end if they had to clean up a dead bookworm.

If I may, Rafi said, full of the obsequious deference he was so good at feigning. There is someone who could help you find your missing item. Or a replacement.

Who? the Bookworm asked peevishly as he peered at Rafi over his half-moon spectacles.

Cassie Black.

Olivia brightened at this. Rafi was a genius. Cassie was a detective, or would be soon enough. And despite her anti-social attitude, she was keen to prove herself. For a brief moment Olivia wondered if it was fair to heap her own problems onto someone else’s shoulders, but she would do anything to get Wordsworth out of her office.

Yes, Miss Black has— Olivia began.

The one who blew up a commercial kitchen, melted a girl, snuck out of the Tower through an illegal portal when you were trying to keep her safe, and who has yet to obtain her library card for the Magic collection? Wordsworth added as if this were the worst fault in Cassie’s list of misdemeanors.

Olivia closed her eyes. She should have had two gin and tonics before letting this pest in. She inhaled through her nostrils and deep into her belly. Thankfully, Rafi spoke first.

That was all just a little misunderstanding. She’s very good at what she does. Rafi then paused as if considering the accuracy of his words. Well, she will be once she gets some practice in.

She refused to follow the rules. I don’t think this is someone I can work with. There must be order. Respect is mandatory. Things need to be in their place, and that includes people.

The Bookworm slipped off the chair, and Olivia half-expected to see a trail of slime left behind. Rafi eyed her pleadingly over the Bookworm’s lumpy head.

What can I do to convince you that Miss Black is the best person for this job? Olivia called.

Well, Wordsworth said, in a rather calculating manner to Olivia’s ears, there is something.

Olivia agreed to the creature’s demand. Really, she’d have promised him the moon to be done with this meeting.

As soon as Wordsworth had crossed the threshold and the office door was closed once more, Rafi snapped his fingers. A fresh gin and tonic popped into Olivia’s hand.

You’re sure she’s able to handle this? Olivia asked after downing the drink.

How hard could it be to find an enormous book? Olivia gave him a look that spoke volumes about how impossible she thought it could be. Rafi responded by tapping the file on Olivia’s desk. You’ve got other matters to deal with. Leave this to me.

Once Rafi had slipped out of the office, Olivia dragged her finger upward along the empty cup to fill it again. She put Wordsworth and Cassie from her mind. Rafi was right, there really were far more troubling issues to deal with than a missing book.

1 - HE IS THE WALRUS

Three weeks earlier…

How could I have been so stupid? It was a simple Ink Shifting Spell. A spell I’ve done... well, I probably shouldn’t incriminate myself by saying how often I’d done that particular bit of magic. Let’s just say, enough times that I knew I had a natural talent for being able to simply flick my fingers to alter the existing words on any page.

And stupidly, I’d just performed a few of those handy flicks during a test at the Academy. That would be Rosaria’s Magic Academy of Detective Science, one of seven law enforcement and detective training schools across the world’s magic communities.

Really, though, that pop quiz? No one in class had been prepared for it. Also, for a pop quiz, it had been asking some pretty advanced questions. Like final exam questions. So, yes, I’d panicked, peered over at Tobey’s paper during test time, and done a little answer-changing magic. It hadn’t been the first time. In fact, I’d done it during every pop quiz, unit test, and weekly exam Tobey and I had been given since joining up a few weeks ago.

Trouble was, this time, Inspector Oberlin, chief of police and head instructor at the Academy, had been paying close attention to my every move.

Which is why it was next-level idiotic of me to do anything against the rules during that pop quiz. And why, at the barest whiff of my magic in action, Oberlin had ordered me to put down my pencil and wait for him in his office.

Detective Inspector Wesley Oberlin sported a thick bristly mustache, had weirdly large front teeth, and carried a fair bit of extra weight that spoke more of hours at the all-you-can-eat buffet than hours at the gym. He was also the bane of my magical education existence. But don’t worry, the feeling was entirely mutual. And since I’d recently compared him to a certain sea mammal, I’d earned myself a spot at the top of his Least Favorite Students list.

I’ve never been the teacher’s pet. Far from it. Pair my disrespect for authority with a mouth that will whip out a phrase such as a pregnant walrus suffering from heat stroke would make a better teacher than you, and I’ve seen the inside of plenty of teachers’ offices.

Like the one I was in now, these offices always came with agonizingly stiff-backed chairs, the faint smell of dismay and musty gym socks, walls painted taupe (even if they didn’t start out that color, they somehow always managed to fade to it), and posters meant either to warn or encourage.

Oberlin had opted for the warning variety.

To the left of the room’s only window was a reminder that 'Not Every Witch is to be Trusted,’ featuring the snarling, green face of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz. To the window’s right, you had a mugshot of a vampire of the non-sparkly variety stamped with ‘Tolerate But Never Forget’ in deep red boldface. Flanking the ornately framed diploma behind Oberlin’s desk were two more mood-boosting pieces of wall art. One, an image of a headstone carved with the words ‘Magic Meth is Death.’ The other, a red placard stating ‘Keep Calm and Carry On… With Handcuffs, Warrants, and Backup.’

I twirled my finger, changing that particular placard to read ‘Keep Calm and Hug a Cat.’

Unable to tame my curiosity, I turned the frame perched on the corner of Oberlin’s desk to see a photo of him, his wife, and Rosaria’s new mayor, Matilda Marheart. Oberlin looked so displeased to be standing next to her, I considered what I could do to liven up his portrait. Surely a toothy grin complete with walrus tusks wouldn’t go amiss.

The door’s latch clicked. I hurriedly returned the frame to its place and jerked back in my seat. My spine went rigid, driving the rails of the chair into several vertebrae.

Oberlin marched over to stand behind his desk. He didn’t bother to sit. Speaking from experience, this is never a good sign.

After giving me a hard stare that was probably meant to be intimidating, he flipped open the file he’d carried in.

Miss Black, you were caught cheating on a test. Do you have anything to say for yourself?

I considered reminding him about the evil wizard I’d defeated, of telling him I’d recently faced more harrowing events in a handful of weeks than he probably had in his entire career, of insisting that his training was merely a formality I had to endure to get my badge and officially join HQ’s Magic Detective Squad.

But I didn’t. Because even though I had a good reason for doing so, I had cheated.

No, sir, I said stiffly.

And to think you came highly recommended.

That’s right, I did. See evil wizard comment above. Did I mention I also helped save the world? I mean, really, that alone deserves—

Oh, sorry, he’s not done scolding me.

Which is why I put up with so much from you these past weeks. But cheating will not be tolerated.

Should I have explained? Should I have told him the truth? No, that would only drag more than just me into this office. And it would still be considered cheating. Besides, I could handle the punishment. How bad could it be? A failed class? A fine? A delay in graduation? I was Cassie Black. I had a medal from HQ for my service to Magics and Norms alike. This walking walrus couldn’t possibly—

—I’m dismissing you.

Wait. What?

Sorry? I asked, meaning for him to repeat himself.

"It’s too late for apologies, Miss Black. I have no choice but to kick you out of the Academy. And don’t think your little friends at HeadQuarters can pull strings this time. My decision is final. Regardless of recommendations.

You may collect your things from your locker. After that, you will not be welcome back into this building. He eyed me levelly, a slight smirk underneath his brushy mustache. Not as a student, anyway. Farewell, Miss Black. You will not be missed.

Oh, I would be.

Especially the next time he handed out a pop quiz, unit test, or weekly exam.

* * *

With my satchel full of the few items I’d had in my locker, I exited the Academy’s main doors and trudged down the entry stairs.

Even though the whole building is referred to as The Academy, it’s only the top floor that’s dedicated to education. The other two floors serve as the police station for MagicLand — my name for Rosaria, the other side of Portland. A side accessed through enchanted doors, closets, and mail slots. A side the magically challenged (aka Norms) are completely unaware of.

I was nearly to the pavement when I was half blinded by a flash, causing me to stumble down the last step. Another flash pierced through my eyelids as I righted myself, but by the time the bright floaty things cleared from my vision, the photo snapper was loping down the street.

Six foot, slim build, dark hair, human-shaped, my Academy-trained brain rattled off.

I considered a Stunning Spell, but throwing attack spells on the street without just cause is illegal, and I figured, just this once, I should avoid falling under the ire of Inspector Oberlin twice in less than an hour.

Instead, I headed in the opposite direction with no idea of what to do or where to go. It took exactly twenty-three paces for the shock of realization to stop me in my tracks.

I’d been kicked out.

I wouldn’t graduate.

I wouldn’t become a detective.

What Oberlin had said was true. I had come highly recommended, as had Tobey Tenpenny, who’s not only a pain in the backside but also my cousin to some degree I still wasn’t able to sort out.

After defeating the Mauvais (that would be the evil wizard mentioned above) Tobey and I were on the road to becoming future detectives who would eventually serve Magic HQ under Busby Tenpenny — former dead guy, Tobey’s grandfather, and my uncle, again to a degree my genealogically challenged neurons struggle to untangle.

Following the whole Mauvais thing, Busby had spent a month mentoring me and Tobey, putting us through our paces to get us up to speed on legal procedure, magic police tactics, and all manner of sleuthing stuff. I thought that was it. That once he deemed us trained up, we’d get a certificate and a badge and be sent on our crime-solving ways.

I know, what kind of delusional dust had I been snorting?

Because one day, Mr T says, I think you’re ready.

I brushed down my Ramones t-shirt and pointed to where he could pin my badge. What would be my first case? Cracking down on illegal flying cat races? Rooting out an underground pixie powder trade? Thwarting a goblin gang’s extortion racket?

Cassie, come along. Inspector Oberlin is waiting, Mr T had said impatiently as he and Tobey headed toward Mr T’s garage door — one of the portals that lead from Real Portland to MagicLand.

Where are we going? I asked, thinking that perhaps there was a ceremony this Inspector Oberlin conducted for new detectives. Maybe that’s when I got my badge?

I can’t believe you don’t know, said Tobey in that condescending tone he seems to reserve especially for me.

Well, excuse me, but I have only known about Magics and all this for, what, three and a half months now?

Yeah, but Grandad told us about this next step last week.

He did? Maybe I’d been distracted by doodling my very own badge design.

Next step?

According to Tetchy Tobey, Mr T’s mentorship had only been to catch us up to Oberlin’s current cohort of student recruits. To become an official detective and handle cases for HQ, you had to attend and graduate from the Academy.

Why, you might ask, couldn’t HQ simply hire Tobey and me based on our stellar performance at defeating evil? Because Magics, in addition to thriving on gossip and sugary treats, also require a steady diet of paperwork, rules, and bureaucracy.

Oberlin wasn’t thrilled about taking on two students who he claimed hadn’t done the grunt work of basic training. Even though Mr T reasserted his recommendation and explained the rigorous work he’d already put us through, Oberlin muttered complaints about fairness, entitlement, and bias. But, since Mr Tenpenny is pretty high up at HQ and outranks Oberlin by a mile, guess which two newbies got into the Academy even though the current cohort was nearly two-thirds of the way through their curriculum.

Despite Oberlin’s grumbling about privilege, Tobey had quickly become the teacher’s pet, while I… well, let’s just say I did not. Having a lifetime of experience of withstanding others’ vitriol and disdain, I had no trouble ignoring Oberlin’s unfair treatment. Besides, I only had to complete a few easy weeks of schooling that would culminate in a final exam, after which I would finally be dubbed Detective Cassie Black.

You know, with a badge and everything.

But since the universe loves using me as the birdie in its badminton game, here I was, standing dumbstruck at the corner of the Academy, booted out and badge-less. And since the Academy pays its students a stipend, I was also out of a paying job.

Not wanting to risk a loitering citation, I lumbered down the block to get away from the building. Two blocks later, I dialed Alastair’s number.

Zeller’s Magical Mechanisms, he answered. While he worked, his attention was always on the mechanical doodads he handcrafted, and he never bothered to check the caller ID.

Hey, just me.

Hey, Cass, how’s school? He then cursed. Not at me (I assumed) but at something that was squawking with a mechanical twang. Hold on a sec. I heard the snap of fingers and the noise immediately stopped. Sorry. I’ve been trying to make a rooster timer, but the thing has decided it wants to be a blue jay.

We all have dreams, I suppose, I said, rather dejectedly, if I’m being honest.

What’s wrong? Oberlin being a jerk today?

You could say that. He kicked me out of the Academy.

He can’t do that. You’re smart, you’re clever, and you’re one of the strongest Magics I’ve ever met. Not having received much of it in my life, I wasn’t exactly good with praise, and a big lump of emotion filled my throat at his indignant confidence in me. Wait, you didn’t call him a pregnant walrus again, did you?

Not today. I got caught cheating.

But you were only—

I know, but I can’t tell him that.

You’re really going to take the full blame for this?

Already have. Taking one for the team, I guess.

That’s why I love you. You want to go drown your sorrows at Spellbound?

Despite the temptation to plop my face into a slice of molten lava cake for the next hour, I didn’t want to pull Alastair away from his work. One of us had to keep bringing in a paycheck, right?

Maybe later. Besides, I’ve got an appointment with Runa soon.

How much longer—? The squawking came again and then the sound of something metal crashing to the floor. Pablo! Sorry, Cass, your cat has found his way into the workroom again, and he’s— No, Pablo, not the wings! Gotta go.

The phone went silent. At least I wasn’t the only one getting into trouble today.

2 - SAMPLES AND SWEEPERS

Propped up on an easel near the door to Dr Runa Dunwiddle’s clinic was a sign reminding everyone that it was time to get their annual RetroHex Vaccines. When I stepped into the robin-egg blue interior of the pharmacy that fronted MagicLand’s medical clinic, Runa herself was at the cashier’s counter taking payment from a tiny, twenty-something Japanese woman with purple streaks in her hair.

The stout doctor, her glasses diving back into the breast pocket of her white lab coat, handed the patient a tube and told her, Use it twice daily, and the rash will clear up within the week.

The lady, shamefacedly not meeting my eye, scurried out the door, flinching at the ting-a-linging of the bell as she went.

I gave Runa a quizzical look. It was probably rude to want to know what had caused the woman’s rash, but her guilty behavior had my morbid curiosity running as out of control as an unleashed labradoodle who’s just scented a squirrel. I wasn’t sure about doctor-patient confidentiality rules in MagicLand, but if it was something too personal, I was sure Dr Dunwiddle would remain tight-lipped about it.

Mrs Kawasara, Runa explained. She meant to conjure a honeysuckle for a trellis in her garden. Problem is, she’s new to gardening and doesn’t really know what honeysuckle is, so she ended up conjuring a tangle of poison oak instead. I told her, next time, just go to Gorgon’s Garden Center and pick up the plant she’s after. Runa glanced at her watch. Why are you early? You’re never early.

I was in the area, I said, the statement rising into a question. Runa crossed her arms over her ample chest and gave me her most out-with-it look. I have suddenly found myself with some free time.

Because…?

Because I got kicked out of the Academy.

Runa barked a laugh. I’d have thought you’d be kicked out long before now. Were you—? Knowing about the adjustments I’d been making during test time, she waggled her fingers. I nodded. Well, at least you tried.

I need to do more than try. I need a purpose here. I can’t just roam aimlessly around MagicLand being known as nothing more than the Starlings’ kid, the person who brought Busby Tenpenny back, the girl who defeated the Mauvais.

You do realize there are people who would kill for that resume?

You know what I mean. I need a profession, a place here, not to mention a paycheck, since Morelli still expects rent every month.

You really want a job?

I perked up. Did Runa need an assistant? I didn’t have any training in witch doctoring, but I’d be more than willing to learn.

I know it’s not glamorous, but there’s this. She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. It was stuck to my window this morning.

Once I’d unfolded it, I arched an eyebrow questioningly. Runa’s glasses wiggled out of her pocket to hover an inch in front of her eyes. Her face pinched, and she snatched the scrawled note out of my hand, wadded it up, and threw it in a blue recycle bin.

Every year I put up with the same handful of idiots claiming the RetroHex Vaccine leaves people unable to perform defense spells. Ridiculous superstition. Runa dug in her pocket again and glanced over what she’d pulled out before handing it to me. It’s a job, and look here, she tapped a finger on the listed requirements, it uses your skills. So? Ready for your checkup?

No, I said, grudgingly slipping the notice into my bag.

Good. If you started looking forward to these appointments, I’d think something was wrong with you. Go through.

Knowing the routine by now, once in the exam room, I hopped onto the table. I hated this. I thought once I’d been trained, once I’d gotten my magic under control, I’d no longer feel like a freak. But it wouldn’t be the first time in my life I’d been wrong.

See, back in the spring, not long after I’d been dragged into the world of Magics, Runa had drained me of most of the magic I hadn’t even been aware I possessed. Soon after, I sucked up a whole hunk of power, including some of the evil variety, from an enchanted watch. Not long after that, I was drained again. This time, the job was better done, leaving me running on a completely empty magical tank. But, thanks to people liking me more than I ever expected, my magic had been restored.

Needless to say, this yo-yo dieting isn’t something most Magics go through. As such, ever since getting my tank refilled, Runa had been keeping a close eye on my magic levels. Which had all been perfectly stable and quite top-notch, I’m happy to report.

But there was a second reason for Runa’s close scrutiny: She was transfusing regular donations of my magic to my parents. Sort of like a magical booster shot to restore the power that the Mauvais had slowly sucked out of them over the two decades he’d held them captive.

Find anything wrong with me yet? I asked as Dr D removed the first vial, the test sample, from my arm and attached ten more for donating to my parents.

You want me to lie?

Why start now? Because Runa, if nothing else, has