When their whispered discussion comes to an end, the leader stays put next to the table, but the man sitting in the chair continues to be the only one to address me.
“My man says it was obtained in the capitol, Malscheme, but came from the city of Malnus. No house was declared with it.”
A clever answer. Most things make their way through the capitol. Malnus is near enough to the capitol to have many vassal-houses from the mass of Great Houses in the capitol. It’s about as neutral an answer as could be given without being accused of simply having no idea.
The answer does, however, tell me that they don’t know its real worth. This also means I don’t know its real worth. I can tell it has spells I haven’t studied, but the amount of spells speaks of someone still learning. It will be a gamble either way. Spellbooks are expensive though, so even a blank one is worth something. Even if I never decipher the existing spells, I can use the remaining pages for my own spells, if the price is right.
Before I can decide whether it will be better to start the haggling myself or let them start, the man with missing fingers says, “It’s a fair deal at eighty.”
Eighty gold? That’s actually not too bad. An empty spellbook costs more than that, and the number of spells—even if relatively common—would be worth even more. The real challenge is that I won’t be able to use the spells in it without putting forth some major effort. They’ll have a hard time selling it.
“The book has been warded by its owner. I’ll have to spend considerable resources to even determine which spells are in here. Twenty-five,” I counter.
“But there are spells, you could see for yourself.” He pauses to see if I will agree with him. A common tactic to gain the upper hand in negotiations.
I say nothing.
He continues before it gets awkward. “This isn’t a charity, but we can appreciate that you can’t take a full inventory of its contents. What do you say to sixty?” the man’s tone is polite but firm. Commanding but not threatening.
Sixty isn’t bad, but I think I can do better. “It’s not worth more than forty. It is not full. There are only a handful of spells—some with arcane signatures that are quite common. No doubt from an apprentice still filling out his first tome.”
The burly man grunts and glances at their leader again. Their leader is watching me carefully but makes no expression. The man missing fingers taps the table thoughtfully and smiles at me.
A few moments later he says, “The warding will be a boon, for one such as yourself. To most folk, like the Watch,—”
I note that he emphasizes the word “Watch” ever-so-slightly.
“— it doesn’t appear to be second-hand at all. And rest assured, no one is going to come looking for it. It’s a safe investment, and I’ll not take less than fifty for it.”
I like how he wrapped up a subtle threat inside that logic. A very clever answer. All in all, this crew has shown itself to be professional and organized, and smart to boot. I might buy off of them again.
“Deal,” I say and produce the coin, setting it on the table. I stand and take the spellbook but wait to walk away. I want to see if they appear itching to attack and rob me for everything I’ve got—which isn’t actually much since I just gave them almost all of my remaining money—or if they’re eager to conclude the business.
The man at the table remains seated and pockets the coin, not seeming to be preparing for much of anything. “Pleasure doing business, mate. You know the way out,” he nods and leans back in his chair.
In my peripheral vision, I see the burly man reach into his pocket. All he produces, however, is a tobacco pouch. The wiry man who leads the crew does not give any indication one way or another. He remains quite still, and appears neither tense nor relaxed.
I turn and leave, and am pleased to receive no daggers in the back on my way up the narrow, earthen staircase. I nod to the pawn broker on my way out, who rushes out ahead of me and knocks out a sequence on the door before opening it. The man outside walks in as I go out and I am alone on the deserted street in the middle of the night.
Tomorrow is my last day alone before heading back into the field for the Adventurer’s Corps, so I return to the inn and rest up so I can attempt to decipher this spellbook—and possibly learn a spell from it—before returning to work. I won’t have such leisure while on patrol.
Returning to the inn, I do one-hundred each of squats, push-ups, side lunges, sit ups, and jumping jacks. I meditate and drift off to sleep, my dagger clutched at my waist.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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