The Merchant's Guildhall was by far the largest of general guildhalls. Simply put, it was a shopping center. While I'd never been to Wilton's, the spiral wheel-like layout was similar all around the world: the 'bronze' open outermost ring of street vendors, varying the most widely between branches; the 'silver' mainstay middle ring of official stores, occupying multiple floors and the bulk of the space; the 'gold' exclusive inner ring requiring bank-bags, storage items, or other proofs of wealth to access; and finally, the 'platinum' central hub for VIPs, meaning the guild's very important clients and equally top-tier members.

"How does that make sense?" Bessie asked as we traveled one of the pathway spokes inward. "Doesn't everybody have to pass bronze, so the cheapest sellers get the most advertising?"

"You can't see it from this side, but there should be plenty of space for driving or walking directly into silver," I answered, "And maybe gold. Platinum can also teleport in... or so I've heard. Um, I thought you shopped here often?"

"Tom took over the groceries."

"And then I'm always thinking of food," he said. "Don't stick around."

"Well, shall we try browsing first?" I offered. "Bronze lacks quality control, but we might find some really good deals, especially if we bargain and buy second-hand." In fact, some sellers were bronze only to avoid the silver fees, paperwork, and oversight.

"And you have the Skills to avoid getting cheated," Bessie said shrewdly.

"That too."

"We're sold," Tom said. "Let's take a look."

The sellers had clearly made some effort to group like products together for customer convenience, but the open-air market still appeared to me as colorful chaos. Stalls of varying sizes and shapes were stacked up against one another, some in seeming danger of tipping over and others that might've been misplaced storefronts. I saw more than one merchant or aspirant who'd simply thrown down a carpet and laid out their wares.

Worst and cheapest were those seeking to peddle in person. "Don't catch their eye," I warned after hurrying my friends away from one such encounter. "And whatever they ask or offer, just move on. Don't engage."

They both looked at me oddly but agreed. There were more people than I'd expected to see so early on a workday, mostly older women carrying reusable grocery bags, and I thought to add, "Also, careful with your coins. Some pickpockets have Skills." Maybe I should have said something before we all brought our savings out with us.

"Careful how?" Tom asked, eyeing an old lady hobbling closer warily. "Do we just avoid everyone we can?"

I thought about this for a moment and suggested, "Stay close to me? I should be able to sense them."

We all breathed easier after escaping the crowded produce stands. Bessie's attention was instantly caught by the knickknacks now on display, causing her to practically skip through the market inspecting merchandise. She was so delighted I tried to refrain from commenting, but finally my curiosity won out.

"What are you doing?" I asked as she inspected a superficially pretty vase with one neat trick: the wraparound image shifted from desert to beach and then ocean as it was filled with liquid. Despite his efforts to seem unimpressed, Tom helped slowly pour the water out; we all watched the painted sand creep back up. "I don't believe you have the coin for such frivolous purchases? Or the room for such clutter?"

"I know," Bessie said, "But just looking is fun! You don't think so?"

"No. I cannot help but note all the flaws, however minute or painted over." I'd lowered my voice, embarrassed to say something so uncharitable where the merchant, owner, or artisan might overhear.

"Huh." She skipped over and linked arms with me. "Say Rena, do you think you can find some hidden treasures and get rich quick?"

"My Skill is helpful for not overpaying," I said, "But nobody sells treasure for a song, I fear."

"And if some idiot did try to pawn their family heirloom by mistake, you probably wouldn't even take advantage," Tom said, sounding somewhere between accusing and approving.

I winced just at the image, admitting, "Probably not."

We walked a few more paces, and Bessie whispered, "Blue cloak ahead. Keeps looking at us."

I stiffened and must have appeared painfully obvious when, spotting and sensing the thin-faced man in the blue cloak, I abruptly started steering us around the next corner. Forgoing all subtlety as well, he loped right towards us, calling out, "Pretty lady!" He smiled at Bessie, who'd stopped, forcing me to do the same. "What are you looking for? Allow me to assist."

His voice was rich and warm, but it still surprised me when Bessie answered lightly, "Mage gauntlets."

"A lady who knows what she wants! Perhaps I might interest you instead in magic beans?"

She laughed girlishly. As I stiffened, she said, "No thanks!"

"Truly? I have three--"

"You know," I interrupted, "It is illegal to use a mind-influencing Skill on another person without their consent."

Three astonished sets of eyes turned in my direction. Instead of feeling fear, dismay, or anger, the peddler only grew more interested, chuckling. "Do you find me that charming? I'm flattered, really. Might I know your name?"

He sounded so sincere, I stared in confusion and for a moment nearly doubted myself. Why else would he prefer me, the harder mark, instead of focusing on my friends? But then I realized: "Oh! Train your Skill elsewhere!"

He continued smiling at me patronizingly. "You must be mistaken--"

"Which Skill is it?" I cut him off again. I didn't mean to be rude, but letting him speak was simply illogical. "[Persuasion]? [Charm]? [Silver Tongue]?" There, a briefest internal flicker. I sighed in relief. "Oh, that's not so bad."

"Really, Rena?" Bessie said. "You just said he messed with our heads!"

"I just meant, relatively speaking... where are you going?"

He didn't respond, walking away fast. "Should we stop him?" Tom asked.

I hesitated, glad to see the back of him, and the moment passed. "I don't know," I admitted. "Since no actual harm was done, I don't think we could charge him with more than a misdemeanor? And Skill training can be a mitigating defense." Or so it was in Bhizdom, at least.

"What?" Bessie swelled up with righteous indignation. "Even training a mind-altering Skill?"

"No Skills are illegal in themselves," I reminded her. "Thank mana, or mine might be regulated." I thought that universal policy dated back to when people worshipped Skills, once upon an ancient time.

"How can it be legal to have a Skill, but illegal to use it?" Tom asked.

"I mean, it's not always illegal to use. You can't just cast [Fireball] at someone..." I paused and glanced at Tom. "...without their consent, either."

"Oh." Bessie deflated. "Well... I guess that makes sense. Anyway, you were amazing just now! I had no idea you could be anything but nice!"

I flushed. "Um. It's just... I could feel his ill intent."

"You can sense evil?"

"No, it's hard to explain..."

How did anyone describe feelings? Those nebulous things, lighter than air and heavier than lead. We spun words to try to scoop them from our brains and pin them in place, and sometimes we succeeded in large or small ways to express the ineffable.

But more often words seemed inadequate. I did not think I managed to make myself understood, but I could hardly mind, since we were having such a pleasant time. It felt strange and lovely to stroll along arm-in-arm, taking in the displayed offerings whilst conversing freely, both in the flowing crowd and our own bubble. By mutual consent, we started drifting towards the building entrance, having seen plenty of foods and fabrics and nothing we really wanted to see.

"I didn't realize it would be so difficult to search for something," I said, sighing.

"Looking for something?" Another peddler approached, his arms draped with cheap necklaces.

I ignored him, but Bessie said, "No thanks. Unless you know where to find mage gear? Wands, staffs, gauntlets?"

He stepped closer, suddenly more animated. "Yes, yes! Happy to help!" Leaning forward with his arms outstretched to better present his wares, and incidentally resembling a weeping willow, he implored: "Five coppers? For a friend?"

I didn't feel an ounce of sincere recognition from him and shook my head. Bessie scowled and repeated, "No thanks."

When we tried to move on, he blocked our path. "Four coppers! Or spare a copper for a brother. I can show you around! Wands, staffs, anything you like!"

"I said back off!" Bessie's aura flared, and the man stumbled back and drifted away, mumbling to himself.

"How do these people actually make a living?" Tom wondered aloud.

"Sorry," Bessie said as we continued forward. "I know you said not to engage."

"No, your way works for you." The whole ordeal gave me an uncertain and unclean feeling, but I couldn't help everyone and certainly not with money. Knowing Bessie also felt more uncomfortable than she was letting on, I added honestly, "And I think you're amazing."

"Aw, thanks... Oh that feels so good."

This last referred to the blast of warm air as we stepped indoors. Leaving bronze for silver was like entering another world, one that firmly shut out the winter chill, clamoring bustle, and morning crowd. Here we were greeted by color coordination, wide-open walkways, and a crossroads sign efficiently directing visitors.

We gathered and lingered by a large map, which presented all ten floors of the Guildhall. Working from the first floor up, these were labeled: '1F Groceries,' '2F Clothing,' '3F Accessories,' '4F Handicrafts,' '5F Furniture & Appliances,' '6F Artifacts & Innovations,' '7F Health & Wellness,' '8F Services,' '9F Entertainment,' and '10F Dining.' However, each major shopping category included several smaller sections, and I was pleased to see 'Arms & Armor' grouped under... Handicrafts? Fourth floor, then, but I found Bessie and Tom still staring at the map in open astonishment.

"It's ten floors!" Bessie exclaimed. I refrained from calling this Guildhall small to medium-sized; I'd been in a sprawling twenty-floor Merchant's Guildhall with conveyors whisking shoppers over and between floors. (That wasn't even mentioning the floating stores.) "It doesn't look that big from the outside?"

I shrugged. "Wilton's zoning guidelines?"

"They really have everything here, don't they?"

"Merchants," I said. "They specialize in making money, after all. That means keeping customers here and happy, convincing us to spend our hard-earned coin, and enticing us to come back." If I sounded cynical, well, that was how the Guildhall had been explained to me: as a one-stop shop rewarding customers for loyalty, sometimes literally.

"But where's the actual guild? I mean, how do you talk to them?"

"Customer service. See, there's a station on each floor, or you can reach management on the eighth." Bessie was still boring holes into the map with her intensity. Tom had craned his neck back to peer at the high ceiling suspiciously, as though it might be a mirage. I suggested, "We can look around after we're done shopping?"

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

We took the lift up, whereupon the foot traffic abruptly dropped further off. Unlike our previous slow-and-stop progress, here we took the middle fast-paths, with the added advantage Bessie wasn't distracted by the shiny sale items conveniently far away behind glass. Rather, she was distracted by the fast-paths themselves, jumping and running along them to feel the speed boosts, which was something I thought only children did. She looked back at us, pouting, as she hit another speed bump. "They keep cutting off before I can really have fun!"

We knew we'd arrived when the scenery abruptly transitioned into two rows of stores displaying adventuring equipment. Bessie gasped in delight; Tom let out a low whistle. I counted up to eleven likely relevant stores total, including one that was quite new, judging from the mana residue where space had been shifted to accommodate its addition. I was particularly hopeful regarding three stores advertising cheap prices, used gear, and special pre-holiday discounts respectively, but before I could suggest optimizing our time Bessie marched into the nearest store.

This one had five mannequins in the display window geared as a full adventuring party with two warriors, one in medium-heavy armor bristling with weapons, the other in a full suit of armor carrying a tower shield. I found Bessie already in the mage area inside, inspecting a pair of gauntlets. "How much?" she asked a hovering sales assistant.

"One gold." Seeing something in Bessie's face, the woman said ruefully, "These are our only pair, I'm afraid. Perhaps you would consider a wand or other focus instead...?"

"Sure, for my friend." Bessie gestured at me and added, "I can almost afford these. At this point I'm less than a large silver short."

"Oh, I can--" I started.

But Tom shook his head. "Don't bother."

"It'll just be so much more satisfying if I buy my gear with all my own money, you know?"

I bit my lip, well-aware she'd been busy saving for over a year, but I'd won enough to buy these gauntlets twice over in a single silly bet. Then again, she also took adventuring classes every single day. The assistant returned just then, cutting off my rumination; as expected, the store had far more wands and staffs on offer, but honestly, I couldn't help finding the quality mediocre. "Thank you," I said, "But I'd like to keep looking."

As we stepped outside, Tom said, "Still seeing flaws everywhere?" I nodded admittance, to which he said, "Well of course, it's not like these are made by Master Artisans."

"I don't expect the best materials," I argued, "But if I'm paying gold, I at least expect worthwhile craftsmanship."

My friends exchanged glances but said nothing, and we entered the next store, specializing in mage equipment. However, I'd dismissed all my many, many options while Bessie was still trying on her third pair of gauntlets. She'd found ones she could afford, but after some deliberation she decided to wait and save. "I could be using my first pair for years," she said, "And one day that extra quality might save my life."

Privately, I agreed with her choice; I'd held my tongue in the store, but if she'd actually planned on buying that inferior workmanship, I probably wouldn't have been able to help myself.

So continued our dispiriting shopping spree. It took me an embarrassingly long time, or more specifically all the way to our fourth store -- when I referred to my Skill -- to recall I'd only had [Intermediate Appraisal] my last time in a Merchant's Guildhall. More than anything, the credible explanation for my present difficulties filled me with relief. I'd started to worry Wilton's branch might be objectively terrible!

Now my eyes had been reopened, I took the chance to inspect the arrows on display. Happily, I found them comparable to Hannah's prior to her field-forging upgrade. But then these stores only sold mass-produced arrows off the shelves, and we didn't enter any shops dedicated to archers or rangers. Eleven was more than enough visits for a morning, thank you very much.

I felt a renewed burst of energy in our sixth store, as I discovered gauntlets Bessie might be proud to wear... though still out of her price range for now. She was inordinately cheered by this nonetheless, confusing me until she said, "Sure I can't afford them yet, but a girl can dream. You know what they say, all adventurers can make Gold."

"So long as we don't die," Tom supplied.

"Anyway, I would hate to save and save and still find nothing you could recommend! Better to have a noble goal to aspire to. Er, not noble. Grand, great, glorious."

"My judgment hardly deserves such descriptors," I protested, but she continued to insist she would buy nothing without my stamp of approval.

"How stupid would it be to ignore your Skill? I just hope we both find something that passes your strict standards."

In the ninth store, I indeed found a wand of exemplary quality for its cheap material, but said cheapness capped both its mana storage and power amplification. (Incidentally, this was the store advertising the lowest prices.) Like Bessie, I wavered before deciding to wait for something better.

In the last store (which had also been on my originally prioritized list), the shopkeep offered to buy old equipment or accept them as charitable contributions, showing images of happily equipped Bronze-Rankers who might otherwise have become desperate Mercenaries. I wondered how the sales rep had so accurately determined Bessie and Tom's identities at a glance. They both fervently promised to return first thing if they outgrew their gear... but we once again left empty-handed.

"It's fine we didn't find anything this first shopping trip," Bessie said. "Better than buying and regretting, right? Anyway, shall we break for lunch?"

"You're not upset?" I said in surprise as we headed for the lifts.

She shrugged. "Not really? I don't mind the excuse to return. Yes, I know we're all very busy, but next time we can skip bronze."

I thought back to the assistants who'd assured us new merchandise was coming in. One had been particularly impressed -- and secretly suspicious -- over my [Advanced Appraisal], promising to ask his manager to shift some foci from their gold partner-store. Here I was ready to feel disappointed and despondent, but Bessie was like a beacon of optimism that stayed firmly rooted in logic. By the time we reached the top floor, my spirits were similarly lifted.

After our less-frequented stores, I was somewhat shocked by the packed crowd seated inside and waiting outside seemingly every restaurant in sight. Given the choice between joining hour-long waitlists or a less-popular eatery, we opted for the latter, and soon we were seated with menus at a communal table while the harried waitstaff blurred around, leaning hard on their service Skills. New guests were already waiting outside as we had. Spurred by decency and our appetites, we quickly coordinated to ensure we all chose different dishes and were pleasantly surprised when our server reappeared nearly the moment we were ready.

"I bet this place seems less popular simply because the service is so efficient," Tom said. "Sort of backwards, isn't it?"

"No, we still had to wait ten minutes," Bessie said, "So they're doing well enough. Actually, did you see that other fellow try to flirt with our waitress?"

"People-watching." Tom nodded.

"What?" I straightened. "Who? When was this?" I didn't mean to be a nosy gossip, but... how was I so comparatively unobservant?

"Green robes by the wall," she said. "I mean, I don't know that's what he was doing, but he nearly fell from his chair talking to her, and then he sort of sagged after she left."

"Hmm." I focused, and: "He does feel really embarrassed and a little gloomy."

"Oh, I totally forgot about your cheat! It works even in this crowd?"

"It's difficult to filter out the noise, but so long as I concentrate, I can usually..."

Speaking of which, now I was noticing something else, but I couldn't tell for certain and... no, I must be imagining things. As our server reappeared, I put it out of my mind... or I tried.

"...Rena?"

"Hm? Oh, thanks." I accepted a bite off Bessie's dish and offered her my own, still somewhat absently.

"So I was wondering," Tom said, "How are you so familiar with all this? If you don't mind saying."

"With...? Oh, the Guildhall? Um, I knew a great merchant."

"Great as in?"

"Richer than those nobles."

"Rena!" Bessie nearly spat out her water. "You can't just drop a bomb like that! Who is this merchant, and why can't they help us out?"

I looked at her in confusion. "First, he's in Bhizdom, and second, he isn't a friend or anything. He'd need a good reason to help anyone. Like a lot of money."

"Can't he just introduce us to a merchant buddy? He doesn't need to go out of his way or anything."

"Bessie! I can't just ask him like that."

"Why not? Does it hurt to ask?"

"I don't understand you," I complained. "You're eager to ask for help from a stranger, but you refuse to use my SES when I offer?"

"That's different. It just feels... Like, look, Hannah considered giving you a commission on her fancier arrows, but she didn't want to make things uncomfortable, you know, by mixing friendship and business. And you're pretty well-off now anyway."

That... was new information, and it had only raised more questions. "Spending time on someone," Tom spoke up, "Is not the same as spending money."

"Yeah!" Bessie brightened. "Well said. I know you think your time's more precious than money, but when you spend it on people it's not just one giving and one taking, see? When we're in Duni together we're there to help you, but it's rewarding in its own way."

Was that it? Why it was easier to extend a helping hand to Nailla and Duni than those peddlers? I didn't think of myself as a cold person: I was willing to spend my time, rack my brain, and open my heart for strangers. But hawkers only wanted my money, the cold currency of a one-sided transaction.

And no, I had my limit even as an Empath. I could not, would not give that.

"Anyway, maybe this merchant will ignore your letter, but maybe he'd be happy to reconnect if you just give him a chance." I grimaced, and Bessie noticed. "Wait, is this merchant why you dislike merchants?"

"What? I don't!" They both gave me disbelieving looks. I amended, "It's complicated." Feelings were complicated, but saying so aloud might prompt unfortunate misunderstandings obliging me to explain further. In any case, I thought it was only logical to be wary of the self-serving, greedy merchant class.

Conversation halted as we resumed eating, and my mind wandered back to a certain direction. That couldn't be... could it?

"Can you believe they've already started decorating?"

I blinked back to Bessie in confusion. "What?"

"Come on, you must have noticed the cute snowflake napkins?" She gestured to the dispenser at our table. "The silver and white everywhere?" She laughed as I started to look around. "Oh Rena, I would love to walk a day in your shoes."

I did see what she meant, now I'd had it pointed out to me: garlands of icicles were draped across the ceiling, from which hung the occasional winter-themed lantern. But how often did people look up, anyway? And also: "I thought the silver colors were for the silver section."

She gave me a patient look. "And all those ads for gifts?"

"Um." I flushed. "I didn't notice any, but also, I've never bought one before? Should I?" That was right, weren't the winter holidays supposed to be a typical time for gift-giving?

"Someday, sure, but not now." Bessie shrugged. "Good gifts are given because you want to. And also you can afford to." From her slightly nostalgic air, I thought she might be repeating somebody else's advice. "And actually, since we still haven't found our foci, I was thinking we could try the Artisans. You know, for their Year-End party?"

She looked at me expectantly as I avoided her eyes. But then Tom ordered dessert, crashing my hopes we'd leave and forget this topic. I said, "I don't like parties."

"How do you know? Have you been? Since, you know, becoming a free woman?"

"I don't have to try a party to know I don't enjoy them. Also, my classes were turned into some? Remember?"

"Doesn't count," Tom said. "You were working."

"We can chat up Artisans for their foci directly," Bessie said in a persuasive tone. She might gain [Silver Tongue] herself one day. "And there'll be a raffle, all sorts of fabulous prizes."

"I doubt it's open to the public," I said, clutching at straws.

"The three Smiths can each bring a guest." Bessie flashed a triumphant smile. "And I doubt Blake's coming."

The reminder reignited my curiosity and diversionary hopes, and I blurted: "Do you know he's here?"

Ah, judging from their reactions, I supposed not. "Please tell me you've suddenly gained a strange sense of humor."

"Is he looking for us?" Tom asked.

"No, he knows where we are."

He lowered his fork and said, like he was playing along, "Then why not come say hi?"

I shrugged. "He's stalking us?"

Apparently this answer was unsatisfactory. Bessie eyed me with keen suspicion. "I'm surprised you seem so unsurprised."

"Well, you know how he likes trying to sneak up on me."

"He does what?"

I blinked, confused. "He doesn't mean any harm. It's just, he takes my ability to sense him as a challenge. Using this crowd for cover is smart," I added half to myself. "He probably followed us all the way through bronze... I should really pay better attention so I don't overlook these things."

"You're complaining about not noticing? How do you think we feel to discover our teammate's a repeat stalker?"

"And neither of you told us?" Tom said. Bessie glanced at him askance. "Well, she clearly knows and doesn't mind, so I think that's what really matters here."

"But why would we? I didn't think it worth mentioning, since hiding is who he is."

"Leaving aside for the moment how weirdly fine you are with all this, where did you say he is again? Right outside?"

Eyeing her sharp smile, I felt a twinge of concern. "Um... sort of but not exactly? Bessie, what are you planning?"

"Why, just a little friendly payback. You done with dessert?"

----------------------------------------

The operation began as soon as we'd finished and paid. I tried not to feel like a perfect fool as I delivered my lines: "Bessie! Wait up! Does she have to look in every store we see?"

"What does this place even sell?" Tom managed to sound bored. "Aromatic candles?"

I could feel Blake trailing behind us, could track Bessie hunting the hunter from behind... and then there was a mini-explosion of emotions, determination and exultation from her, aggression halted by recognition from him. Stopping short, I turned and ran to find the two facing off, Bessie apparently delivering some lecture with her hands on her hips, completely unaware of that passing moment of danger.

Blake only felt simmering annoyance, speaking up just as we came within earshot: "Why not? This is a public place and I'm not harming anyone."

"That's not the point, you don't just... and are you saying you never follow anyone who has no idea? Or go where you shouldn't?"

"Not so anyone finds out."

"Argh, that is so not the point!" She lowered her voice when people turned to stare. "Anyway, what if you're caught one day, huh?"

"Don't live by what ifs."

He turned and started off, or tried to, but we were now bookending him in the hallway. I thought we probably looked quite comedic from the outside, with him wearing his rogue's outfit under the bright lights, and us confronting him in casual clothes.

"Where are you going?" Bessie said.

"You caught me."

"Oh, no." She caught the back of his hood, which I thought only worked because his back was turned. "You don't just run off now you're caught. We're not done yet."

"I don't think he will be caught by anyone else," I said, sensing the rising tension. "And if he is, he can claim Skill training, which should let him off lightly. Um, so long as his target isn't anybody important."

"Well, that's... nice. But not enough. You don't just say you're not coming and then stalk us while we're shopping! As your penance, I've decided: join us."

We all stared at her blankly while she huffed out her breath. "You have to spend time with us in public like a normal person, Blake. No skulking in shadows, no dangling from the ceiling, none of that ninja stuff. And yes, I know the thought of having a good time like this is foreign to you, but you know what? Rena is trying. You could stand to make an effort too."

We all paused to consider this 'suggestion.' Tom said, "And have you eaten anything? You really should."

Blake wasn't sure what he was feeling, so I couldn't be either. But I offered him a hopeful smile and words. "Sometimes trying new things can be fun! And never better than with friends." We were only missing Hannah.

The silence stretched, heightening my nerves, until Blake spoke. "And if I hate it?"

"Oh easy." Bessie chuckled evilly while I relaxed. "Don't worry, it's only shopping! But next time... just don't get caught again."