After a few days of trading and bargains, The Demon now had a firm hand in the local wool and paper trades. As well as most of the securities of a small Magic Guild and it's shops in Hapsburgs Lower West Corner. It was rather, understandably, cheap. The Guild and it's one shop had been struggling for some time now, trying to compete with the other major guilds in the city.

"Enchanted shoes? A novel concept. I wonder how well the actually work?" He whispered to himself, holding a pair of red dancing clogs in his hands, also eyeing a pair of tall black boots with a fanciful gaze.

The Golden Finches started out as guild for Cobblers, and when certain merchants were given the privileged right to magic, the original Guild had found itself undisturbed at first.

At first, that changed when certain charms made so a cheap beggar's shoe was now tougher than an entire army battalion. But they still need cheap boots to put the charm on. And thus a flood of low-quality goods flooded the market.

To stay on top, the Guild had nearly sunk itself by short cutting the middle man and producing both in a stroke of efficiency, reducing cost, without sacrificing their current workers.

Problem being, they had just set foot into a much bigger world of Magicians and Wizards, which their professions did not prepare them for.

Somehow, through legal means that even He couldn't make much sense of, the City and its officials agreed that only eight Guilds would be allowed to continue producing magical items for popular enjoyment. Limiting the rest to creating "mundane goods" for the public.

It was simply amazing the volumes of information people could call upon when trying to convince you of a bad idea. Never ceased to amaze him.

Which brings him to the actual cobbler's shop, and getting fitted for a lovely pair of new boots. Soft interior, hardy exterior, choice of black or brown polish, and options for a boot dagger concealed inside.

Obviously, he paid for the boot dagger. Actually, he bought two, just in case.

The cobbler doing the fitting was larger than one might expect, with thick sideburns and moustache across a handsome square face, sat atop the broadest of shoulders. But with ironically tiny hands.

"How's that fit sir?" the cobbler asked, dusting his hands of something as the Devil stood and moved about in his new shoes, tall brown walking boots tied with a pair of straps not laces. He could feel the heel knife pressing against his shins reassuringly.

"They fit wonderfully, my good man. How much?"

"Seven and two." the man said with almost a buttery voice. This large cobbler was just full of tricks, voice like that belonged in a singing group.

He payed the man graciously and move on, resolving to return at some point and ask about which spells they could affix to their products. It seemed they only really had two or three, but Even that could yield surprising results. But he wasn't ready for that yet. He was still checking in on all the investments he'd made in the recent days.

The Paper mill was interesting. He hadn't bought them out completely, but did have enough money invested that he could, occasionally, remove some of the excess stock they had and gift it to himself.

Besides that, he had no interest in changing anything. It was a nice 3rd generation family business after all; they knew what they were doing. Also gave him a finger to the pulse of the publishing world. Newspapers ordered extra when ever a scandal was about to break.

A good chunk of change went on towards buying up loan debts. An odd habit, but one he actually enjoyed. it was an easy source of manpower, desperate souls and all that. He'd put them to work finding things, particularly sending them to a certain laundry to rifle for lost charms and gossip that could prove useful.

The rest of them were doing the same across town in various other places he considered inconspicuous. save for one.

He wipped his boots on the new mat outside his door and tapped to have it open. What greeted him was his new house keeper, Pauline Hampton. A nice girl, mostly rounded with a face that cries too much and if only a tad girlish despite her age.

"Ahh, Mister St.Helmut, welcome home. Ah I just finished dusting your library and was about to make some lunch if you'd like any?"

He handed her his coat and tried to ignore the black ink splattered across her apron.

"Thank you Miss Pauline and try to remember. My name is St.Zachary, not Helmut." he said walking entering the house and squeezing past Miss Pauline.

"How is, uh, business Mister St. Zachery?" she asked as the two bodies forced past each other, he was dead-set the hallway could be expanded if he knocked down one of these walls. The exterior was supposed be round after all. Something for the list of projects, he supposed, Room Expansion.

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"A tad trivial, I was merely checking in on things. Also, I now know for certain that the Triple Serpents are aware the Dancing Flowers and Silver Bull guilds are conspiring against them. They simply refuse to admit it. Which will come as shock once they lose the next season of Military Contracts."

He made it to the stairs with less effort, once past Miss Pauline. She blinked at what he'd been saying as her hand drifted away from her flippant heart.

"Does that count as good news then?" she asked. He paused about halfway up the steps.

"It means opportunity, Miss Pauline. It's an opportunity. Anything beyond that is circumstance." he answered and finished his climb into the living area.

Now in a room with at least some room to breathe, he made his way to the kitchen.

Much to his frustrations, he still hadn't found a means of creating cold or preventing food rot. But what he did have was a half decent stove and pantry that was fitted to his liking. No need for a stove. The pans could heat themselves with a minor enchantment. Emblazoned with a guild logo like a corporation product. The previous owner had warded the pantry against pests, a minor miracle that one; bought it for cheap at an auction, a bank selling repossessed object to pay for a defunct loan, lots of goodies there.

A tile countertop made from a simple gray clay. It was mostly just somewhere to put the pans on when waiting for them to cool or come to heat. No less a fire hazard, so these kinds of tile were easy to buy.

By the look of it, Miss Pauline had been in the middle cooking a few sausages and canned greens when he'd come in. He grimaced at the greens, tasted horrible when canned. He preferred fresh greens, if any. The taste of tin and solder was a pain to get out.

The taste of metal was almost as bad as listening to rain, but at least he could spit the tin out.

He huffed and gave the pan another charge to keep the food sizzling before making his way up the second, shorter flight of stairs into his study.

Miss Pauline had indeed been cleaning. All his books were out of order and he had to set them right on the shelf once again. Then continued up the stairs and into his workshop.

He looked about and saw all his tools were still in place, a locked cupboard where he stored his more pricey materials when he wasn't using them. He had a separate Black painted cabinet for items that he was cautious of, unfinished charms and dangerous little toys he'd made for himself while trying to repurpose some of the dark magics left to him by their "Previous Owner."

He felt for the hidden latch to the black cabinet and it opened with a soft click. The door was a single piece of flat wood, but once opened, the back of the door revealed a little item experts would call a "booby trap." It was a crude trap, made of wire loops of fine silver in a shape resembling a four-leaf clover. But it worked a treat as a humble trap.

The shape was such that any Pneuma passing by it would set off the sigil and cause a "twist" for lack of a better word. He tried it once, set off his little duster charm, and it almost melted in his pocket. He tried it with other charms and they all had similar reactions, short of flying across the room.

It wasn't great, but it meant if you wanted to take anything from it, you'd best not be a wizard of great power. He used a pocket handkerchief to grab a particular item and remove it from storage on the third shelf of five, placing the little bundle on the workbench and closing the trapped cabinet.

He'd taken a small brass object, a ring with a square face. He wanted to make something that would keep the rain off during storms. The premise was to have the air above him form a fast moving disk that would deflect the rain to the side, then trying to limit the noise it made.

Instead, he almost went deaf to the sound of the air moving around him. Having achieved both an Undesired effect and going too far with it as well.

It was almost as terrible as his trial run with the Dust attractor. He'd run into other problems with that thing, no longer at risk of exploding , just at risk of making hundred pound billiard balls crashing through the floor, or trying to pull in something other than dust.

This ring had similar issues. He figured if he incorporated something similar to the Dust charm's limit on mass and weight, but then he'd need a bigger ring to fit all that inside of. It also gave him a disturbing image of trying to compress a substance renowned for its incompressibility.

Maybe later, when he room for a blast chamber, or a deep hole to hide in from the inevitable blast radius, or any enemy he was desperate to kill in a quick and cruel fashion.

In the meantime, he continued to tinker with the settings on the ring until he was sure he wasn't about to die in a cruel and unusual manner, like having all his water shoved to one side or sucked out of his body.

His stomach alerted him of the time with a growl. Sighing, he put down his tools and picked up the ring gingerly with a cloth and made his way to the secure cabinet, before stomping down into the kitchen.

Miss Pauline was there, brushing up after something and muttering some curse about rodents.

"Nasty little things, I wish I could just snap my fingers and be rid of them." she said absently, the Devil on the stairs laughed to himself.

"I can think of five different ways of doing just that Miss Pauline, but all of them involve a certain level of danger to my house and property."

Miss Pauline jumped in her skin, hearing his voice coming down the stairs. "Oh, Mister St. Zachery, I didn't hear you coming downstairs. Anything I can do for you? uh, Sir?" He gave a simple smile and waved his hand.

"No, I just came down to fix a meal before continuing my work. Tomorrow I plan to find a buyer for some of the minor projects I've been working on."

"What sort of, projects?" Miss Pauline asked. He waved her off.

"That is my business. Yours is that of this house and it's cleanliness. I won't bore or concern you with details you don't need." he then stopped a moment on the stairs to add something.

"Besides, I'm not ready to talk about them yet. Still a work in progress you see."

Miss Pauline's eyes fluttered a moment as she blinked at what he'd said, "Oh-Of course. Yes, Mister St. Zachery. Excuse me." she moved to grab a rag and start working on a particular grease stain that caught her attention before stopping again.

"Oh, silly me, you said you wanted lunch Mister St.Zachery, well Dinner by my reckoning. I'll fix up something fast and have it up to you in-"

He stopped her with a hand. "A wizard never eats in the workshop. I am not some slob who eats with one hand and attempts dangerous magical formations with the other. I will eat at the Table, as is proper."

"Of course Mister St.Zachery. Just a moment while I prepare." She turned back towards the counter as the familiar clank of dishes and open cupboards played like a corner band.

He sat down at the table and glanced at a small stack of papers at his elbow.

"Thank you Miss Pauline. Now, any mail I should know of?"