The patterns of my life were wonderfully constant and unchanging, and nothing was quite as familiar and foundational as my bookstore. Through my time there I came to know every book, every splintering surface, and every spider that ever called one of its hidden corners a home. There was a calm that came over me when I looked over my small, dusty domain. Dusty in a way that used books always are, dusty in a way only well worn books can be.

Of course I didn't spend that much of my time taking inventory or supervising stationary stationary. My certainty in my knowledge was more a testament to how immutable my space was. Most of the time I would read, as befitting a bookstore clerk, and some of the the time I would attend to my plants. Each of the three windows in the shop had a window box where I kept the new seedlings I was growing for my garden.

The window boxes hanging on the outside of the windows served three purposes. In order of increasing importance: to make the store more attractive from the outside, to provide maximum sunlight, and to keep the cycling cast of growing plants out of my bastion of stability.

Today, like most other days, there weren't going to be any customers. Books were a luxury for most, and Lakeside, the town I lived in, didn't have many people affluent enough to be repeat customers. Most of my business was with Travelers or Merchants. Usually they would come in, spend some time perusing the literature, find somewhere between a couple and a dozen books they wanted for entertainment, learning, or resale value. They would come up to me and try to haggle me down on price, and then I would point to the sign saying "three silver pieces per book." They would raise their offer some, and I would point to the sign some more. Eventually they would either reduce the amount they were buying, cough up the full price, or leave. It was a well practiced routine.

I hated it.

Invading my dilapidated sanctuary was one thing, but then to openly and repeatedly ignore the rules I had set, it was infuriating. In truth I saw it less as a sale and more as ritual combat, where we would meet on the battlefield of stubbornness, winner takes coin. I never lost, only ever allowing my opponents to declare a draw by leaving empty handed. Sometimes I fantasized about taking down the signs offering sales and barricading the door, but I wanted the money too much for that.

Looking over the young plants at the windows one last time, I decided I was done manning the shop for today. I locked up and went outside.

The shop was, in truth, a repurposed section of the manor I lived in with my Father. Manor is perhaps a bit too grandiose a term for what in some cities would be considered a rather small house, but here in Lakeside having two floors for one family as well as a private patch of land was more than enough to earn the title of manor with the locals, especially considering my Father's nature as an immortal. Even if considered weak among other immortals, he was treated with a great deal of respect in Lakeside.

While the front of the manor faced a small road which lead to the heart of town, behind the house was where I kept my garden. It had started out with fikid and dreicados, both known to grow easily in local conditions. I had started growing them so I wouldn't have to pay as much for food, which was my primary responsibility. My father took care of most of the expenses we incur simply by living here, such as property tax and repairs. As I was the one in charge of both the bookstore and the purchasing of foodstuffs, I was expected to use the proceeds of one to pay for the other.

Father had long ago shown me all the places where money was kept in the house, spread apart and hidden in case some burglar attempted to raid it during one of our rare outings. There was an understanding that if the bookstore didn't produce enough money to put food on the table, I could borrow from the household finances without asking.

Most parents would probably consider such permissions to be a sign of mild insanity, but my father knew me well. He knew I didn't like to use his money. I understand that it's rather nonsensical, choosing to use the money I make selling his old books rather than the money he already has, and I know many would be angry at me for being so picky about what money I use, but I know it matters to me. I crave independence, even if it's just semantics.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The desire to sustain myself encouraged me to grow my garden into something more akin to a small farm. I began to buy seeds from some Merchants, experimenting with different plants and how to help them thrive on my small plot of earth. I even got my father to help me build a small greenhouse, using his powers to shape the glass. All in all I had a wide selection of vegetables and herbs. With some fish and grain from the local market I was able to make us many a fine meal. Since people knew me I was also able to sell some of my excess produce to those with stands already selling similar goods.

In truth it had been a couple years since I had needed to use the money from the bookstore to buy food, excluding the winter. Most of the money I made from the books I saved in my own special hiding space. Perhaps my greatest act of teenage rebellion was not telling my father about my secret savings. Pretty tame, I know. It's not even that I had some long term goal, some planned escape from my simple life. I was mostly content.

I harvested dreicados as well as a few other plants and placed them in a basket. Dreicados are a bit bland for everyday eating in my opinion, but they were easy to grow and there was always someone at the market willing to buy them off me.

The walk into town was, as it always was these days, noticeably lonely. Just a few months ago, I would have treasured the rare times I could walk for this long by myself, but Pan was gone for good now. My friend had been recruited by a distant order of immortals. Following one of his many whims, we took the tests to see how well our spirits matched their methods, and Pan had done so well that the Immortals had offered him and his family too much for them to possibly turn down. His parents had moved since, choosing to live out their later years in luxury somewhere closer to him. There weren’t many people interested in moving to our small fishing village, so nobody moved into Pan’s house, unless you count Drinker and the other Beggars, who had unofficially claimed the house as their new shelter.

Pan had sent me a couple of letters since he left. It seemed he was thriving. He had always been more comfortable around strangers than I was. A couple times he had stayed with me in the book shop, and on every occasion a customer came in while he was there, Pan would somehow manage to upsell them. He would claim that one of the books was rarer or more pristine than the others, and somehow he always managed to pick out the exact book they wanted most. After some vicious haggling, he would always bring down the price of the purchase from his original demand, but he never went below the price I would have asked. I will never understand why the customers seemed happier afterward, thinking they got a good deal when they ended up paying more than what my ever present sign demanded.

The fun I never admitted I had back then and the bewilderment at his antics came back to me, and so I arrived at the market with a small smile on my face.

The market was of course a place of business, but besides that it was the polar opposite of my small shop. Everything here was ever-changing chaos. Stalls would change location as sellers would set up wherever they felt like each day, and some wouldn't be there at all if they were working on getting more inventory.

Here, at least, I was willing to barter, so I got to work selling what I brought. I got a bit more than I expected so it was with a bit more energy than normal that I approached Kerolu. If you knew Fishmongers well it was generally polite to refer to them by the species they most commonly sold. Kerolu, the species of fish, was my personal favorite, so I knew this seller particularly well. She was one of the few well educated townspeople, so once in a great while she would visit my shop for a purchase. She was among the hallowed few who had never tried to get me to lower my price. Generally, I tried to return the favor. She was older than most of the other people making sales, but she had aged with grace. I gave her a polite smile as I approached, and the one she returned was noticeably weaker than it usually was.

I tried to maintain our routine, “50 copper for 2 Kerolu?” I prompted, beginning to pull out two large brass coins.

Kerolu grimaced, it was clear that she was also uncomfortable disrupting our little ritual. “Actually…” She paused, formulating her words carefully. “It’s on the house today, but in return, could I ask a favor?”

I sighed. I knew she wouldn’t ask lightly, and besides I was fond of her for seeming to understand how I wanted to be treated better than most. Whatever she needed I’d do my best.

“What do you need?”