ENTRY 012: A SKELETON KEY

Dear Diary,

Sometimes, running this shop feels like trying to outwit the universe, and sometimes… the universe wins.

This morning, a thief waltzed in with a cocky grin and a small, nondescript key dangling from his gloved fingers. “I've got a skeleton key for you,” he announced, holding it up like a trophy. “Opens any lock. Vaults, treasure chests, you name it. Enchanted to work once and then," he made a gesture with his hands, "Poof! Gone.”

The key was legit, and I could already imagine the kind of price I could get for it from a well-paying rogue or a desperate adventurer.

“How much?” I asked, keeping my expression neutral.

“Fifty gold,” he said smugly.

“Twenty,” I countered, knowing I could still flip it for twice that. More, probably.

We went back and forth until we settled on thirty-five gold. Steep, but the potential for profit was undeniable. As the thief pocketed his payment and left, I felt a surge of satisfaction.

This key could open anything. Do you know how many adventurers come through here desperate to get into some ancient tomb or locked dungeon? I could slap a hundred-gold price tag on it, and some rogue would pay it without batting an eye. They’d probably thank me, too, for saving them time picking locks.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Or imagine a noble—some Duke or Baron who’s locked themselves out of their own vault. The kind of person who would pay triple just to avoid the embarrassment of calling a locksmith. I’d ‘graciously’ sell them the key, then sit back and watch the gold roll in.

I could even hold an auction! Announce that I have a universal skeleton key and watch as adventurers, treasure hunters, and shady rogues fight over it. The price would skyrocket, and I wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.

I could practically see the gold coins rolling in.

That feeling lasted until late afternoon.

I was reorganizing cursed trinkets when Korgath lumbered over, his expression its usual blend of annoyance and vague confusion. “Storeroom’s locked,” he grunted.

I frowned. “So... open it?”

“Yeah, that's the thing,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “It's acting all weird. I opened it earlier but now I can't.”

My stomach dropped. “You opened it earlier? With… what?”

“Found a key on the counter,” he said casually. “Used it. Worked fine.”

I stared at him, horrified, as realization hit me. The one-use skeleton key. The thirty-five-gold, opens-anything key. The one I’d planned to resell for a fortune. I stared at Korgath, trying to summon words, but they refused to come. My brain simply couldn’t process what had just happened.

Korgath, utterly oblivious to my horror, crossed his arms. “Anyway, I guess we need to call a locksmith?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again, and closed it for good. I'm not sure even a skeleton key could help me open it ever again.

What was I supposed to say? That he’d just turned one of the shop’s most valuable items into scrap metal? That I’d paid thirty-five gold for him to access our storeroom once?

Instead, I just nodded numbly, turned, and walked away. I didn't even have enough strength for tears.

I’ve learned an important lesson today: when it comes to enchanted items, I should probably keep them under lock and key. Although, knowing my luck, Korgath would just use another skeleton key to open that lock, too.

Yours in profit,

Garren