Her spreadsheet is huge. It has rows for runes (page number and letter orderings) and columns for meanings (all the dozens of them). Sorted correctly, it will provide lists of options and their amounts in each meaning for everything on their consensus list.
"You start with 43-B and I'll start with 77-A and we go from there?" she suggests, indicating the most important meaning and two runes that are stronger in that than anything else.
And she gets to work starting from 77-A. It covers two meanings she wants and four she doesn't; she will need to add some things and subtract some things... Scribble scribble.
This takes a long time, much consultation of the spreadsheet, and routine use of May's calculator.
"At least once we have a working spell we can just copy it," she remarks.
"Yeah. If we had to do this from scratch every single time... well, I'd probably still learn it but I wouldn't build my life plans around it."
"Maybe there aren't a lot of wizards because even this is enough complexity to put most people off."
"But I think it should be possible to automate almost the entire process. Maybe not with a spreadsheet alone, but still. And this wouldn't have been possible before, so the field languished, but maybe we are in fact catching the early stage of its possible revival."
"...The modern world is a miraculous place." Pause. "I wonder if recorded incantations would work."
"Ooh, good question! Lemme see if this thing came with any recording software, you copy out a water boiling. I don't have the kettle anymore but I forgot to unpack the teacups so I have those."
"I actually brought the wax tablet, just in case," he says a little smugly. "Let me have one of the teacups so I can fill it again."
She hands him a cup, pecks him on the cheek, and then hunts through her applications for something to record her voice.
He resists the urge to cup his cheek and grin like a loon. Instead: water. He fills the grooves in the tablet, wipes off what little excess escapes, refills the teacup and sets it on the tablet.
"...I'm not sure how to record myself without accidentally casting," she says. "I guess I can just... try... not to? No big disaster if I accidentally boil it."
"Possibly I should have waited to fill the tablet until you were done recording," Kanimir acknowledges. "But no particular harm done, no."
"It'll be good to know, anyway. And then if it does boil I can try again from farther away."
"Well, presumably you're going to be recording whether it goes off or not..."
"Yes, but if it turns out I can't just not cast by trying not to, then I want to check how far I have to be from scrolls before practicing an incantation, you see?"
The water does not boil.
She plays the recording back, and it continues not to boil.
"Okay, so I can not cast by trying not to cast and recordings don't work."
"If you can not cast by trying not to cast, there might be a difference between a recording of trying-to-cast and trying-not-to-cast. Not that I'm optimistic, but it's possible."