This gentlewoman's building wasn't really in the middle of the city, nor was it pretty...
Actually it was properly intimidating: half metal and half white wood, looking at the house, one would have the impression of a rust parasite growing, corrupting and devouring the pure wooden fiber with bolts, gears and metal plaques. Barbed wire was on top of every wall and under every window for good measure, in order to trench the “living merchandise” inside the perimeter, one could assume.
If that was not enough, the outer layer had the best protection money could buy, a mana dome that looked like a faint round flame of a color which waved from a tame teal to a pale purple.
The entire estate was covered by the dome, with its radius spreading three hundred meters in every direction.
The Rokian was deeply intrigued by it. Samson, catching a glimpse of his intense look, jumped at the occasion to mock him mercilessly: he flicked his fingers in a pattern, materializing some small electrical insects out of thin air, only to have them slowly charge at the fiery dome.
The poor bugs caught fire violently in mid air with small high pitched heart rending screams before being completely vaporized, leaving no dust or ashes behind.
Samson received a small, warm, cherished dose of delight out of the pain and fear he had kindled inside the Rokian.
The beast had dared injure him: not even a millennium of torture could have quenched his burning anger... Thalers on the other hand, he could spend, so... He was going to take what little revenge he could while he still had time.
The cart stopped. With his own dead rodent charm, Samson barked
-Boy, be useful for once and help me get off this old piece of junk!
Pope hopped off from the back of the cart and hurried over to Samson
-It is your damn fault I got injured, after all...
The old man showered himself with a good dose of self pity, pulling at the strings of Pope's inexperienced heart.
Pope could have argued about whose fault it was, but it wasn't worth the fight nor the retort, so he just stood by Samson's side and let him use him as a human crutch in order to step down.
Samson was still less irate and annoying than Pope thought he would be, which all in all was a generous stroke of good fortune. The crooked trader took the few steps he needed and then closing his eyes, charged his hand with an energy very similar to one the shield brimmed with, cursing under his breath and, lucky for him, not getting vaporized. The answer was a simple, disgusted
-I see... come in.
A female voice had mumbled that half sentence from the estate, but they could all hear it reverberate from every inch of the dome.
Less then ten seconds later, the place's doors opened, as did the barrier, letting them enough time to go through, but closing immediately after they had with a desolate, long, clang.
The wind that day was really flat-lined, leaving the smell of the place hovering and festering right where it was, stale and messy... Pope was in a hurry to leave the “Freaky mansion”, such he called that big sinister place, and his face twitched a little as he caught glimpses of some disgusting details.
He really wanted to be on his way to a healthier part of town as fast as possible. He climbed once more off the cart as soon as they stopped, having to help his partner again. Samson still smiled creepily at the Rokian, displaying the same quivering expression a reformed vegetarian wishing to eat his first burger in twenty years could have. Unsightly, but he was caught in a strong current of clashing emotions and couldn't really control himself.
They were quite close to his favorite part of the job too: the pay-up, which as usual sent him on a “Thalers high”.
Pope had already unloaded a few sacks of trinkets and some mana crystals chunks when the house owner aggressively showed at the front door.
The woman was tall, muscular in an intimidating way, dark-skinned, with sharp features and had a penetrating gaze. Pairing this with her “battle ready” clothing, she looked so fierce she could have made a roaring lion pale in comparison.
She had several scars but instead of hiding them she put them on display, the biggest one on her face, where her left eye had been replaced by a red sight crystal implant.
She still had a beautiful and interesting face, even though at the moment it seemed to scream
“I will murder you and your entire family if you come too close”.
-Sam, you ugly thing, I wasn't expecting any delivery, from you.
Her voice was strong and somewhat hard, but the Rokian couldn't help feel a little warm when he heard her.
-Well, well, well... Madame Boule dearest, am I happy to see you today. You are a balm for these old eyes!
-You know you are actually younger than me... Let's cut to the chase. What do you need “old man”?
-Need? Oh no, Madame: I just happen to have some cargo that, I will not lie to you, is a little hot, so I'm itching to have it taken off my hands. But I can ensure you, is something you need.
-Oh really? You want to tickle a girl's curiosity like that? What is this about?
-Well, I have all the usual black market flimflam that you can sell in a heartbeat and with a good margin, but this article here... is something different entirely. And I recall hearing you say you might want one to add to your “bizzarro” collection Madame... And I also hope you will remember I stopped here first, instead of considering other customers when we are talking price.
Samson was trying to pitch the young male Rokian with his best impression of a decent man.
-Really?
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Madame Boule took a few steps and got to see what was still on the cart. She was greatly disappointed.
-Old man have you gone senile?
It was just a round of the mill Rokian, she thought
-Madame, if you indulge me just for a moment, come and look the little rascal in the eyes and you will know what I'm talking about.
And so she did. Answering to Samson's nod, Pope unloaded the Rokian from the cart. Although, realizing Madam Boule was getting closer to him, he dropped the small creature a good foot to the ground.
The Rokian whimpered his disappointment. Pope cursed: despite his best effort at handling him carefully he had still hurt the poor thing; a laser killer look had flashed on Samson's eyes when that happened.
Intrigued by such a “lively” reaction, Madam Boule searched into the Rokian's deep eyes: they were oddly silver-gray colored, but while uncommon, it didn't make it any special. Then she noticed, the creature was looking back at her, with a little anger. He seemed actually sentient.
-Is... this thing... for real?
-Oh, as real as they come, dear Boule.
Knowing he had her right where he wanted, Samson had lost the honorifics, which still made her rise an eyebrow indignantly. The seasoned trader couldn't help but notice, which made a single droplet of nervous sweat pour from his right temple before continuing.
-He did a number on my leg here and he refused the binding contract too. Little devil bounced the spell right off, no matter how hard we tried. And I think he can also understand speech.
Samson said this last line as slow as honey.
-If what you say is true, this is indeed a really dangerous article. Forget a little hot, this is the whole volcano.
Samson was unscathed by the allegation only in appearance and shrugged his right shoulder like it was nothing, still heavily relying on his crutch.
-And yet, I know something like this you can't just pass by, Madame Boule.
She half smiled, then inched closer to the little thing's face.
-Hey, you! Can you actually understand what I am saying?
The Rokian nodded shortly.
-See? He is a goddamn genius!
He said loudly with roaring pride.
-Doesn't prove anything, you could have thought him that. Hey, do you want me to beat you up until you are dead?
She asked the Rokian with a cheerful and charming tone. The small man looked very perplex, then strongly waved away the proposition with his head.
-Yeah, he seems to be the real deal. How can he, though?
She asked more to herself. Samson secretly sighed his relief knowing he actually had a potentially big deal to conclude.
-Does it matter? I found him on the road some time ago. Do you... Want him?
-If the price is right, sure.
She answered locking her arms in front of her and turning to look at Samson again.
There he was, being sold like a piece of meat and having no chance of escaping or fighting it in any way. The Rokian was not pleased; he stirred and sighed, while Samson and Madame Boule had started going back and forward with prices about his skin. In the meanwhile, Pope had finished his menial job and was brushing off some sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
It should be noted that the street value of a loaf of bread was a single twenty cents dark metallic coin, while a regular Rokian's price varied from ten to fifty Thalers. Uncanny and incredibly gifted Rokians could fetch even more, so getting a price tag now on this scrawny, yet unique item, was quite complicated.
The not-really-friendly negotiation was now verging toward a sum that was far from the one hundred she had started with and the one thousand he had asked at the beginning: six hundred Thalers.
-I'm not going to give you six hundreds just for the Rokian, old man. It is still not good!
Young Pope was resting in front of the cargo, to the right of Samson, still panting: it all happened in a moment. The leathery old man charged a plasma ball in his right hand, and tossed it at his back, sending him to the floor.
-How about I add this one to the lot too?
He asked happily with a thrilled little voice, a nasty smile slowly spreading on his dirty face.
After a moment, he noticed the boy was still twitching in the dust.
Samson arched back while planted to the ground with his good leg and used the hard wooden ball on top of his crutch to knock Pope out for good, hitting him on the neck. The loud “thump” that came from this hit was sickening, too much for the Rokian to handle. After a moment of bewilderment the little scaly creature wormed as fast as he could to the young man side, putting himself on top of him, hoping to defend him or, help him, somehow.
He didn't feel smart nor brave at that moment, just surging with explosive anger: if looks could kill, Samson would have dropped dead to the floor a hundred times.