Episode 4 – A Hand Shrouded in Vines
Crescent began her morning ritual. She looked into the mirror, at the face that still wasn’t quite hers, at the face that had once belonged to another.
Blue eyes—all blue, with neither pupils nor whites—stared back at her. Whatever had been the original eye color of her body had long since been stained azure by the flower nestled in her blond hair. Her face, her arms, her legs—all was covered by a network of vines; fern-green lines even spiderwebbed across her body, signifiers of the vines beneath her skin. But, it wasn’t really her skin, nor was that really her face, nor really her hands, nor her hair. The only thing that belonged to her was the twisting mass of vines.
It was important to her that she carried the memory of her Root, the person whose body she used. Even if the Root was dead and Crescent had little memory of her, it was important to remember that her body had once belonged to someone else. She wondered what kind of person had first held her body. In the few of her Root’s memories that she had glimpsed, Crescent has seen wind and water, marble and spices, gold coins and stately halls. There wasn’t much, only impressions.
The one piece of her Root’s life that she had in full, was her Root’s death. Her Root had fallen from the bow of a ship, sinking into cold deep water. Her Root had reached upwards, but the waves pushed her back down. Water filled her lungs and the darkness claimed her. It was Crescent who awoke on the beach. There she was greeted by the Tivour that had sired her.
Crescent didn’t trust the ocean.
She knew little of other Tivour’s relationships with their hosts—their Roots always felt so private. But Crescent had always felt that it was some duty of hers to carry her Root’s memory, to pay her respects. Sometimes when she did this she saw faint visions of her Root’s life. On that day, she saw nothing.
But Crescent couldn’t be lost in her revelry forever. She had more mundane issues to worry about. Abraxas and Valeria had paid for a room for her for five nights. And the time when she would be kicked out was fast approaching. She fiddled with the Dinrow in her pocket. She could pay for another night, perhaps two depending on how persuasive she could be. However, with the influx of new people to Verdant and the resultant lack of housing, Crescent was doubtful. Likely, she would need to look for a more permanent solution.
Chill spring air flowed around her like ribbons as she exited the Herald’s Spoon. The village was quiet, but she could sense the slight unease that permeated the atmosphere. As she made her way through the deserted streets, she saw people with frightened eyes, their faces etched with worry and fear. They clung to each other tightly, seeking comfort in the familiar touch of loved ones. Others wore painted smiles on their cracked faces to mask the gnawing anxiety that lay within. A few went about their work seemingly as usual as if oblivious to the crumbling world around them.
As she descended the village’s central hill and followed the winding path towards the outskirts of the town, Crescent’s eyes caught sight of Hearthrawl bridge. She drew closer and her gaze caught the water below. And she had a faint flash of memory, falling from a ship over dark churning water. She did her best to ignore it, crossing the sturdy bridge over the thin crystal-clear stream.
She made her way to the Magistrate’s house which looked like a miniature reproduction of the palaces of Caespen Ru. It could be years before she would see such palaces again.
Crescent knocked on the ornate oaken door and was soon let in. She looked about her and it seemed that the first floor of the building was host to a sitting room as well as offices for a few attendants and minor officials. She didn’t have time to look for long; she was soon ushered away to talk to someone about housing.
Crescent had prepared herself to offer her services to the government, to imply that she would be able to help quell the unrest. But, she momentarily lost her script when she saw the person that she was to meet. It was the Magistrate himself. She took a deep breath and straightened her dress as she was led into his office.
The Magistrate looked up from his desk as Crescent entered the room. “Good afternoon,” he said, gesturing for her to sit down.
Crescent studied the Magistrate, trying to get the measure of him in a few brief moments. He wore all green and earthy tones. His hands were clasped on his lap in the same regal manor of the lords in Caespen Ru. Though he sat upright with a strong posture, his head drooped slightly.
She smiled as she took a seat. “Thanks for seeing me, Magistrate. I’m surprised you were able to make the time.”
As a Sculos, the Magistrate had no facial expressions that Crescent could watch, but she caught a glimmer of weariness in his voice. It was gruff, choked with stifled emotion. “It’s important for a leader to be connected to those they lead, especially in times such as this.”
Crescent raised an eyebrow.
The Magistrate forestalled her with a raised hand. “I know you’re not originally from this community; I know both of the Tivour that reside here personally. But, you’re a part of Verdant now, I suppose. I don’t know when or if you’ll be able to leave. It seems that there are rather a lot of new denizens of Verdant. I would like to meet some of them. How may our settlement be of service to you?” The last sentence was said with a touch of irony.
“Well, I was hoping to find myself a place to stay. The inns are filling and prices are increasing. It now costs more than four marked dinrow for a single night in an inn.”
She added a hint of desperation to her tone. “I won’t be able to afford my room tomorrow.” She’d be able to, of course, but her resources were dwindling. She hadn’t yet been able to build networks or find decent marks to con.
The Magistrate shook his head. “I’m unable to make special accommodations for anyone. There are many people in need of housing. My advisor Galba is already detailing the numerous issues we have dealing with unrest among long-time citizens of Versant. I wish I could, but you aren’t the first person to come to me for aid in this manner.”
He paused for a moment. “If you’re really in need of money and a place to stay you could try and join the work camps the lumberjacks are trying to build some make-shift shelters for some of them refugees. It’ll be hard work, and it’s ten to a room, but it’ll be something.”
“No thanks,” Crescent said brightly, “I wouldn’t be good for that.”
“I suppose not.”
Crescent leaned forward and lowered her voice. She watched as the Magistrate leaned just slightly closer as well, unconsciously mirroring her. “I’m sure that I could put my talents to good use in exchange for a place to stay. It wouldn’t be just charity, I could be helpful to your administration.”
The Magistrate’s voice grew harder. “I’m afraid that I cannot accept special requests from every newcomer to our town. I have the welfare of all of my people to think about.”
Crescent leaned back in her chair. “I understand,” she said slowly. “But is there anything I can do to prove my worth to you? Perhaps there’s a task I could undertake?”
Reluctance lined the hard edges of his voice as the Magistrate spoke and his glass skin seemed to take on a greenish tint. “A trader, his name is Merc, has become quite outspoken against the refugees from Willowbrook. He’s been blaming them for our recent problems. There’s also been a break-in in one of his storehouses and Merc has made sure everyone knows who’s at fault.
“Still,” the Magistrate continued, “we’re going to need the help of everyone we can get if Verdant’s going to make it. If he insists on fighting other people when the forests are crawling with literal monsters… well then I don’t know what to say. He’s been insinuating that the refugees will bring the aberrations here. There have been a few scuffles but I’m worried that it might turn to bloodshed. If you can take care of that issue then some of the issues in the northern section of Verdant might ease.”
Crescent smiled. “Consider it done.”
The Magistrate studied her for a moment then nodded slowly. “It appears that we have a deal. If you complete the task, I’ll make arrangements so that you have a place to stay. Otherwise, I wish you the best in finding your own accommodations. Stars know that so many people need that around here.”
Crescent’s destination was a tavern bearing the charming name of ‘the Eyesocket.’ It had a reputation for the uncouth and unwashed nature of its clientele, being a more rowdy place than the Herald’s Spoon. Merc likely wouldn’t be there but she would be able to gain useful information while there.
She pushed open the heavy oak door to the dimly lit bar, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden change in light. The sound of clinking glasses and raucous laughter filled her ears. She made her way to one of the sidewalls, trying her best to blend in and go unnoticed.
As she surveyed the room, she couldn’t help but notice the weariness etched on the faces of the patrons. There were farmers, laborers, and merchants, all seeking a moment of respite. She watched as they nursed their drinks.
The conversations around her had an air of forced mundanity, centering on the weather, crops, family, life. But the day wore on. People entered; people left. The alcohol flowed more freely. The chatter grew louder and more revealing. Crescent heard whispers of supply shortages.
There seemed to be a consistent undercurrent of worry about the aberrations. Stories abounded, especially of the events at Willowbrook. Some of the stories were accurate; many weren’t. There seemed to be a creeping worry that Verdant itself would be attacked, that the people might find their homes all broken and burning.
One patron, a Sculos, caught her eye. He sat by himself eating a sparse meal, far removed from the weekly feasts that marked Sculos life. Often, he would turn his head about the tavern, eyeing each of the patrons. He looked strong and he reminded her of some of those employed by some of the gang leaders in Caespen Ru.
Eventually, he got up to leave.
“Hello,” she said as he passed her on his way out.
He turned to her, scanning over her quickly. Though she’d made sure that she was quite unobtrusive, he hadn’t been startled by her talking. Either he had noticed her earlier or he wasn’t perturbed easily. Both were important qualities in a person.
“Hello,” was his clipped response
“How are you doing? You’re the one that collapsed in front of Verdant, correct?” Crescent pulled up a chair, but the Sculos remained standing.
“I’ve been better. But, I’ve certainly been worse.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m Crescent.” She extended her arm.
He inclined his head. “Malik.”
He didn’t try to shake her hand. Crescent had met people like that before, and she supposed she respected his caution. “What brings you to the Eyesocket?”
“I’m just passing through.”
Crescent raised an eyebrow. Doing when one’s every movement was puppeteered by vines demonstrated a mastery of fine motor control, she felt. It was a shame that others didn’t notice; it had taken her a few years to get to that point.
“You sure about that?” she said, “I don’t know if any of us will be leaving Verdant.”
“That’s my business.” He made a motion as if to leave.
“Wait, I was wondering if you could tell me about Merc. I’d like to hear your assessment of him.”
“What do you want with him?”
“Well, that’s my business isn’t it?”
There was a slight heave to Malik’s shoulders and faint splotches of yellow swirled across his glass. “I suppose it is. Alright, I’ll tell you and you’ll owe me a favor.”
Crescent nodded her assent and Malik continued speaking. “Merc owns the largest general store in this section of the settlement and so is entrenched in the local economy. People don’t necessarily like him, per se—he’s got an abrasive personality–but they listen to him.
“Right now, he’s been talking about how the outsiders are at fault for any shortages. He’s made a show of not allowing any of the refugees from Willowbrook into his store because his priority is the people of Verdant. It’s gone some way towards helping to build up his image. Although, with the price of his wares, most of the refugees wouldn’t be able to afford any of his stuff anyway.”
“He increased his prices significantly then?”
“After the break-in, he said that he’d need to raise prices due to the loss of his stock. And he says that if prices are too low, too many people will buy and they’ll run out. It doesn’t help any of us right now though.” The last part was muttered, perhaps a bit darkly.
“Couldn’t people buy from other merchents in Verdant?”
“Both of the other shopkeeps have increased their prices in tandem. It seems all are running out of supplies. But things are hitting everyone hard. It wouldn’t kill them to be a bit generous, at least, not any faster than it’s killing the rest of us.”
“That’s true. But everyone’s favorite pockets to line are their own.”
“I’m aware,” he said.
He stood up to leave.
“I’ll see you around then.”
“Of course, you still owe me the favor.” Almost as an afterthought, he said “If you need anything and can’t buy it, talk to Hildegard. She looks out for people.”
Malik departed.
Unlike many of the other vendors in the market, Merc owned a building. Whereas the other shopkeepers and purveyors of various goods presided over different market stalls, Merc’s general store was a wooden building, walls lined with an abundance of items. The building’s modest size was just large enough to comfortably hold the more than ten or so people therein, all patrons looking over Merc’s wares.
Crescent stepped inside and began to peruse the various shelves. Her already-still heart seemed to stop for a second time as she saw the prices on the items. A small sack of grain sold for a halfmoon, a week’s wages for many people. She hadn’t quite realized how bad things had gotten on that front; it was no wonder that the people had been looking for someone to blame.
She was broken from her thoughts, however, as she heard a shout from the counter at the back of the store. “We don’t sell our goods to outsiders.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You do now. So leave. I won’t have you stealing any more of my stock.”
“It seems I was leaving then.”
“Don’t try and come back in. The people of Verdant have it bad enough as is.”
And so Crescent stumbled out into the street, mildly perturbed. She hadn’t learned much from that interaction and it appeared she would need to venture elsewhere if she were to complete the task given to her. She hadn’t expected much better, but she had hoped to glean more information.
Before she departed, she was stopped by a woman with brilliant red hair. “I’m sorry about my father’s actions,” the woman said without preamble.
“You’re Hildegard.”
The woman shrugged, then nodded somewhat awkwardly.
“Well, don’t worry too much about it. You weren’t the one that threw me out of the store.” Crescent was just talking to give her mind some time to catch up. She needed to pry the information out of Hildegard, although she wasn’t yet quite sure how. Crescent would need to feel for the best way to… encourage Hildegard to give her the necessary information.
“That may be true. But I’d still like to help. If you’ll come with me back to the storehouse, I can get you situated with something. It’s my way of helping.”
“Why go against Merc?”
“My father… cares about Verdant very much. But he has a rather self-centered view of himself and the importance of his store. He does what he feels is best. But, we’re all people, aren’t we? I worry that we’ll need all the help we can get before all of this is over—if it’s ever over.”
“Well, then, take me.”
“Follow me. But hush and act natural.”
Hildegard led Crescent on a slightly circuitous route around Verdant, even going so far as to pass by the Eyesocket. Crescent noticed that the red-haired human lingered for a moment as she passed by the stables. But they didn’t tarry for long and were soon at a set of steps behind the market square.
Hildegard unlocked the door with an iron key. She then led Crescent down the steps, into a basement carved under the earth, lighting a torch as she did so. The pattern of gemstones on her forearm softly glimmered as she manipulated the smoke away from their faces. “What were you planning on buying, anyway? You don’t eat anything.”
“Oh, I was hoping to buy a small oil lamp. I don’t want to be caught in the dark with the monsters out there, do I?”
They were at the bottom of the stairs. The torch held in Hildegard’s hand cast a scarlet light on a small dark room filled with shelves, a few holding cloth, still fewer holding spices, and the majority of them holding bags filled with grain. The air is filled with the earthy scent of stored goods, of the work and toil of human hands.
Crescent noticed then, tucked on a shelf on the far end of the storehouse, a few miniature statues, all intricately carved. Crescent thought that she recognized some of them as well-known pieces. It was a strange thing for her to witness. She made a vague gesture towards them and shot an inquiring look over to Hildegard.
“Oh, those are some of my father’s collection. He considers himself a patron of the arts and pays attention to notable sculptors. You should see how he gets whenever he receives a new statuette.”
“Interesting.” Crescent thought she had some such sculptures in her bag, all pieces of various schemes in Caespen Ru.
“Quite.” Hildegard smiled. “Well, I’ll get you your lamp. Just wait right here.”
While the woman busied herself by the shelves, Crescent noticed a ledger resting near the entrance. Upon opening it, she saw written various goods, each paired with the date. It was a catalog of every item that had left or entered the storehouse. The most recent pages detailed the amount of stock that Merc had sold. It was a fair amount, and she found herself playing with the coins in her pocket.
There was a lot of wealth for one person, especially for someone benefiting from a crisis. It should have gone to someone else, namely her.
A page earlier, however, detailed a large influx of goods that had entered the storehouse on the 17th of Ador, just over a week ago. Much of it was grain; some was cured meats. Something about that notation seemed off to Crescent. But before she had any time to realize what she had noticed, Hildegard had returned. She held a miniature oil lamp, as well as several torches.
“These are for you. If you need any more, go to Rueben Waxwright. He’s one of the better candle makers in Verdant and is likely enough to help you. It’s probably safer than coming back here.”
“Thank you again.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Crescent would need to do something about Merc. But, in the meantime, while she worked on her plan, there were other things that she could do. Even after Merc recounted his statements and hopefully lowered his prices, the fear would still be there.
And so, Crescent stood in the market square at the small tent that she had set up. It wasn’t ostentatious or noticeable, just as she intended. Instead, it sat somewhere off to the side. It wasn’t hidden in a corner just… off-center. On the front of her stall, she placed small charms and necklaces with a variety of glyphs engraved on them, supposed protection from evil. For whatever reason, people were more predisposed to believe in mysticism when it came from Tivoru.
It was a crude plot, without the elegance of a long, drawn-out con. But she hoped that it would have some impact and position her to learn more about the inhabitants of Verdant. It would ingratiate herself with the already established citizenry. She had a solution to some of their worries, and providing it would cast her as a hero. People wanted to believe the things that made them happy. And they would want to believe in her. It would make them more pliable later on.
Her first customer was a little boy holding his father’s hand. The dad, a man with green eyes and tangled brown hair, looked slightly as if his son had dragged him to her stall. The pink-faced boy looked somewhere between 10-13, though Crescent wasn’t sure. Being an unaging Tivour made determining people’s ages difficult. Still, the boy was young enough that Crescent thought she’d be easy to persuade. She turned her attention to the child.
“Hello there! How can I help you?”
“We were just wondering what you were selling,” said the dad.
Crescent directed her response to the young boy nonetheless. “These glyphs are meant to ward off evil. When these glyphs are set at one’s threshold, no monster shall enter.”
The man sighed. “Gurt, these things don’t always work. You shouldn’t put much faith in these things.”
“You might not trust these glyphs, and you may not ask for their protection. But they do provide aid. I swear on my life that it will help protect your son.” Crescent had sworn on her life many times before; she assumed that one day she’d just be struck dead, everything catching up to her all at once.
Gurt eyes sparkled as he ran his fingers across the carved glyph. “Shouldn’t we get one, just to be safe?” He turned to his dad, presenting the carved glyph to him.
“You want to get her one?”
“She says she wants to go on missions like Valeria. I want her to be safe.”
“Alright, I’ll get one for each of us then, so that we’ll all be safe.”
Crescent could tell that the man wasn’t wholly convinced. That was how this scam worked most of the time: people were doubtful but still bought in just in case. Each time they weren’t targeted by monsters would serve as evidence justifying their wise purchasing decision. Indeed the man shifted uncomfortably but paid the requisite 16 Ceren. Crescent had priced the glyphs at four Ceren, which was just expensive enough for them to seem important without being out of the average person’s price range, or so Crescent hoped.
His son picked it up and then held it tight. The dad smiled at this despite himself. And, for a moment, Crescent believed that perhaps the glyphs could be magic.
Many more people bought from her stall, more than she had expected. One of these people was dark-skinned and without a left arm. He had a rapid way of speaking that almost caught Crescent off guard.
Crescent put on her most winning smile, the one she used for all her customers, as she spoke to him. “I was part of the group that went to Willowbrook. And I carried one of these with me on my journey. I ended up unharmed.”
The man she was talking to picked up one of the squares of wood, carved with a strange symbol. As the man did so, Crescent manipulated a bit of vapor, the gemstones on her forearm desaturating slightly. The vapors in the air warmed, providing a respite from the chill that still clung to the air. It was an old con artist’s trick that helped make a target more relaxed and more easily persuaded.
“So, you think that I can use this to protect me from the beasts? How’s that supposed to work?” The man said, talking very quickly.
“It worked for me,” Crescent said simply, before lowering her voice, drawing the man in closer. “The Tivour that sired me said they were from some old and forgotten piece of magic. She said that if I could carve these symbols in just the right way, I’d be safe. If you line the entrance of your house with one of these, no evil shall enter.”
“Fascinating! How much is it?”
Crescent smiled. “Well, the construction of these things is a trade secret, they can be quite powerful when they work. And I’ve only made a few left.” She gestured to the handful of carved glyphs on display. “But, I don’t want to take advantage of this tragedy. You can have it for four ceren.”
“I see. Well, I’ll take two then. One for me, and one for my fiance Pret. Do you know her?”
“No?”
“Well, she lives in Penomier. I haven’t been able to see her at all since all this stuff happened. I haven’t even been able to receive any letters from her recently; our last trader from Penomiers was, gosh, like two weeks ago. Still, I have faith that I’ll see her soon. And now I’ll have a present for her!”
It took Crescent just an extra second to process everything the man had said given the rapidity of his speech. But one thing stood out from among everything. “It’s been two weeks since any traders have made it back to Verdant?”
“Yep. Sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s only been two weeks.”
Something was growing inside Crescent’s mind. The last anyone in Verdant had had contact with the outside—including the exchange of goods—was over two weeks ago. This meant that the large influx of stock into the storehouse couldn’t have come from traders from Aersede. Instead, the most likely origin of the items was the break-in that was purported to have happened. Either it was nowhere near as bad as Merc had claimed, or it had never happened at all—almost all of the stock had simply been moved to the storehouse underneath his shop.
“I’m sorry, but something’s come up. You can have this one on me”
It was late, near sundown. The customers had all left Merc’s shop and Crescent watched as the man exited his front door, off to run some errand or another. She approached him, head tilted, a stupid smile carved upon her lips. “Do you have any goods that you might be able to spare me?”
“I don’t talk to the outsiders or the undeserving.”
“That’s not nice.” It was a trite phrase, hopefully emblematic of the just slightly off-kilter Tivour that she wished to portray.
“I don’t have time for this.”
“What about a trade of some sort? I’m sure I have something from my travels that will please you.” She began to rummage through a drawstring bag.
“What if I gave you this?” Crescent pulled from the pouch a rock she’d picked up by the Magistrate’s house and presented it to Merc.
“Leave me.” He strode away more quickly.
“Ah, my mistake. You’re right: that would be too precious a thing to give out. This rock was found by a waterfall, it was. Of course, I couldn’t part with it.” She stowed the rock back in the bag, adding a mental note to dispose of it later.
“I’m not selling anything to the dregs like you. I’m putting Verdant first. It’s because of you lot that the storehouse burned. Now I don’t know how I’ll provide for the people that are supposed to be here. There’s no guarantee our stores will last us until we receive goods from Aersede. If I waste it on the thieves and the parasites that have congregated here, then all of Verdant is at even more risk of starvation.
“What if I gave you this?” Crescent pulled a small sculpture from her satchel. A dark, abstract, winged shape was perched atop a human figure. “I’ve heard this piece was carved about five decades ago, to commemorate stories of the Crowwatcher, a woman who supposedly knew every little detail that went on in Caespen Ru. This statuette was well praised for its use of form, the elegance of its carving.”
She then drew from her satchel a small emblem bearing the Magistrate’s seal which she had swiped from his desk. “I’m not asking for myself, of course. I wanted to put in a bulk order. Magistrate had business and asked me to do some of it. The Magistrate would like to procure a number of items for a discounted price, perhaps the old rate? I hope that the statuette is acceptable since I wasn’t able to offer you my new lucky rock.”
Merc looked upon the Crowwatcher with greedy eyes, accepting the item with outstretched hands. He held it in delicate fingers, turning it around in his hands. Crescent, had she needed to breathe, would have held her breath for fear that Merc would reject the item as false. He did not.
“How much do you want?”
“About four bushels of foodstuffs.”
“That’s a hefty amount. What’s it for?”
“I think the Magistrate is planning on sending a few expeditionary forces.” This was built on rumors she’d heard so it should be believable.”
“Oh, of course.” Merc smiled knowingly, probably wanting to seem well-informed and important. “I would expect payment upfront.”
“Of course, I should ‘ave thought of that. If you pass that back to me, I’ll be sure to get your money on the morrow.” She made a motion towards the statuette.
Merc took a step backward. “Actually, I’ll trust the Magistrate’s good word on this.”
“As you wish.”
It was the next morning and Crescent now stood by the place where the people from Willowbrook were set up. Behind her stood Valeria. It had been a bit of work to persuade the woman to aid her, but Crescent hoped she would add an air of legitimacy to the affair. Many people crowded around them. Their leader, now healed, stood at their head. If Crescent remembered correctly her name was Hamartia.
“I can get you supplies,” Crescent said to the crowd. “And I’ve been able to get it at a discounted price. The Magistrate and I have made a deal with Merc.” Here she pulled out the Magistrate’s emblem.
“How much money would you be wanting from us?”
“It should come to about 800 ceren, and I’ll be able to get you four bushels, mainly of foodstuffs.”
“We would be handing the money to you I assume?” Hamartia raised an eyebrow.
“Not at all. The money will be held by my compatriot, Valeria. She led the evacuation of your village.”
“I see.” Hamartia nodded towards Valeria, a sign of respect and ascent to the agreement.
It would be a fair of money, but spread amongst a village it should be manageable. This act was not a scam. Taking money from the poor was too often satisfying, offering too little reward. Instead, this would be a first stepping stone for her.
“I’ll have procured the items in just a moment, and I’ll be handing them out at my stall in the market square.”
Crescent was handing out the supplies to those who came to partake. There were children dressed in rags. Parents came, holding their young ones. So many had dirty faces and arms caked in grime. One boy, with tangled red hair that obscured his blue eyes and a scar that wound its way across his side, snatched the loaf of bread offered to him before he disappeared into the crowd. It might have been enough to break anyone’s heart. But, of course, Crescent had no heart, not one that was still beating, anyway.
A Sculos woman bustled towards Crescent.
“Hello!” Crescent said, proffering a loaf of bread.
The woman’s voice was breathless. “Where did you get this stock?”
“Merc, in his generosity, decided to sell to these refugees at the old price. Isn’t that lovely?” Crescent thought she knew what this woman was, and indeed, her hopes were soon confirmed.
“I- I need to go.” The woman stumbled backward, mumbling something about broken promises and a ‘restraint of trade.’ Crescent suspected that the other shopkeepers would lower their prices quite soon, to remain competitive in the changing market.
As the Sculos left, she brushed against the Magistrate who had now entered the busy market. He seemed surprised to see Crescent doling out food, a pink tint appearing faintly on his fingertips. The Magistrate couldn’t quite reach her, however, held back by the weight of the crowd. So instead he turned to the man exiting his shop, the one drawn by the commotion. Merc was now laying eyes on the scene, his brow knit, face reddening.
The Magistrate turned to him, yellow contentment now appearing across the Sculos’s skin. “Merc, I don’t know what to say. Thank you for doing this. It will go some way towards ensuring peace in Verdant. I’d like to offer you a personal commendation.”
And then the Magistrate knelt and placed his palm over Merc’s wrist saying, “From hand to heart.”
There was a faint blue pulse as Spirit flowed from the Magistrate to Merc. A stillness swept throughout the crowd.
And then Merc whispered, “From soul to deed.”
It was an honor to be given Spirit by the Magistrate. And after this had been done so publicly, Merc would be unable to take the supposed actions of his back. He would be forced, by inertia, to continue selling items to the people of Willowbrook, and at the discounted price.
This would be especially true after he found that the other shopkeepers had lowered their prices.
Again it was evening when Crescent approached Merc for the second time. The market square was awash in crimson, even making the deep blue of the flower atop her head seem as though it was stained violet. “Ah, Merc! Here’s the money I owe you.”
Merc stepped forward, half of a frown knit across his face, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to feel“Why did y-”
She decided to head him off. “By the way, I found the storehouse where the arsonists must have moved all of your goods. You should have enough stock now! I think almost everything is still left, so everything’s fixed now. Isn’t that pleasant? You should find everything in an old cellar just by the stables.”
It was with a slightly befuddled look on his face that Merc caught the bag filled with coins that Crescent tossed him.
Night had turned to morning and Crescent again knocked on the Magistrate’s door. Again she was ushered into a room where she was to wait. And then, like before, she was ushered into an office, though a different one. There sat a man. Crescent knew, from word, from rumor, that his name was Galba.
He looked deathly white as if there was no blood inside him. His emerald eyes stared into hers. Galba smiled, and it was genuine. That was what gave her pause more than anything. Hands rested on the table before him, eyes pierced her heart, as a genuine smile played across his lips.
“You have my deepest apologies, that the Magistrate is unable to meet with you at the moment. But I am happy to speak with you. Please, sit.”
Crescent smiled. It was a friendly, confident smile she hoped. But she remained standing.
Galba nodded as if accepting her decision. “The Magistrate had promised a position for you if you could fix the issue of Merc. And it seems that thanks to your efforts, he has begun to let the refugees into his store and decreased his prices to more reasonable levels.”
“Thank you. I did what I could.”
“I was especially impressed by the sculpture you gave him.”
“Thank you. I’d heard he collected them, and well, I decided that helping Verdant was worth the price of the statuette.”
“Have more respect for me than that. It was quite a clever reproduction, masterfully done, but it wasn’t the original. The cuts aren’t as clean as they should be. And my friend Otho in Caespen Ru has the original. Still, when Merc showed me the sculpture, which he claimed was worth far more than he would lose from the dripped prices, I almost believed him.”
“He showed you the statuette?”
“I have Merc’s ear. We are… close friends, in a manner of speaking.” He said the words as if he found them distasteful. “He was quite proud of getting what he saw as the better end of the deal.”
Crescent tensed.
“I didn’t tell him, of course,” Galba said.
“I appreciate that.”
“Merc, for all of his dedication and devotion to Verdant—there is some of that within him—is short-sighted. He saw a break-in as a chance to enrich himself while stopping our resources from being drained by the refugees. But his work served mainly to inflame tensions. It was inelegant. We can’t have infighting, not now. I would have stopped him myself if you hadn’t put a stop to him for me.
“Your work was quite well done, I’d quite like to see what you get up to once you’ve established yourself a network. Where did you get the reproduction of the Crowwatcher anyway? Did you make this?”
“No, not me. I knew someone skilled at such reproductions in Caespen Ru”
“Very nice.”
“Thank you.”
“If you work for us, we’ll pay you enough for you to afford that room in the Herald’s Spoon.” He paused. “I think that it would be for the best if you reported directly to me. We understand each other.”
Crescent nodded and then left. Galba seemed calm, collected, and most of all shrewd. He welcomed the asset with a curved smile. She knew that he would do what he thought necessary, and Crescent respected that. He was like her in those ways.
You couldn’t trust people like that.
If you liked this, please leave a comment below! It would be greatly appreciated. Since we’ve now gotten full POVs for each main character, why not say which is your favorite?
Also, instead of another chapter, next week I’ll publish a short recap to give people a chance to catch up with the story as well as take a tally of what’s happens so far.
Thank you so much to all of my readers, till next time, have fun!
