Tom stepped into the dimly lit shop, and moved to one side at once to make room for the women to follow him. He looked around at crowded shelves and counters, piled high with a wide variety of things. Piles of fabric, stacks of arrows, artwork, elaborately decorated knives, even a shield mounted on one wall that made Tom itch uncomfortably just standing near it. There were jars containing unknown materials, some with written labels and others not. He even saw one of those stupid little magic wands.

The aisles were narrow enough that Tom had to be careful not to knock over shelves or piles whenever he moved. It was an amazing assortment of junk and treasure. Diavla and Varga started talking in Elvish when they saw some items that apparently were of elven make. They didn't seem terribly impressed with most of it.

Tom actually enjoyed this sort of shop, though he had never had money to spend in one, before. The prices ranged from dirt cheap to numbers that would make a noble pale in shock. He liked poking through things, wondering where in the world some of them had come from and how they had ended up in there. When you had to pinch coppers, the lure of a potential bargain was strong.

The women were clearly a bit surprised, and wondering why he had brought them in here. Still, Tom took his time, perusing the strange wares, gradually working his way to the back, where shelves holding more valuable items were set behind a counter. A wiry man with a perpetual frown and thinning brown hair slouched over the counter, idly spinning an odd little toy over and over.

Tom made his way over. “Excuse me.”

The man lifted his head and briefly looked Tom up and down. He didn't seem impressed. But then his gaze fell on Diavla, and he straightened up at once. “Ah! Good sir, welcome to Morgan's Curios. My name is Turner.” His glance jumped from Diavla to Varga, and back to Tom.

Tom nodded. “Walker. I heard from Edge that I should come speak to you.”

“Ah, yes. Edge was asking about equipment for slaves. Do you have particular needs in mind?”

Tom hesitated. “What do you have to offer? Some items in here are obviously worth far more than others.”

“I might have something for a man with special tastes and deep pockets.”

Tom fought down a sense of revulsion. Better find out what he's talking about. “I will admit to some curiosity.”

“Excellent, good sir. I wonder, though, if I might impose on you to have your slaves wait outside while we discuss matters? Some topics are not meant for their ears.”

Tom frowned. “Will they be in trouble standing around in this neighborhood?”

“Oh, fear not, good sir, I will attend to that at once.” Turner actually came out from behind the counter and led the way to the entrance. He opened the door, stepped out and gave an odd whistle, somewhat like the call of a silverbird. Tom followed, and the elves trailed outside with his gesture, playing along. From where he stood close behind Turner, Tom could see a rough-looking man step out from some shadows a couple of doors down the street. Turner pointed to one side of his storefront, and the enforcer nodded. The man's eyes raked over Tom and the elves, then he turned to stand guard facing away from them, watching the rest of the cul-de-sac.

“Clement will keep trouble away, good sir, while we conduct our business.” Turner headed back inside, and Tom gestured to the elves where to stand.

“You two stay here,” he said harshly. In the barest mumble, Tom added, “Please,” in Elvish, confident that the women could hear him. Diavla gave him the barest nod, and moved meekly to obey. Varga followed Diavla's lead. Grateful to them both, Tom turned and headed back inside.

What followed was a lesson Tom could well have done without, on different tools for punishing slaves, but nothing was particularly shocking. Some of them were likely illegal in Baria, given the rules for decent treatment. Tom was about to excuse himself when he recalled the comment about “deep pockets,” and decided to probe a bit.

“I'm sure your wares are fine, Turner, but these are ordinary items, in the end. Is this all Edge sent me to you for, or was there something special he had in mind?”

“Ah, good sir, Edge is a fine fellow to make friends with, but he does not need to know the details of private transactions. I did not tell him about the special item that I have for you.”

“And what might that be?”

Turner leaned a bit closer. “A slave collar from the Eastern Empire.”

Tom frowned. “They are already wearing collars from the Eastern Empire.”

Turner gave him a smile that was equal parts bragging and sadistic. “Ah, but sir, there are collars, and there are collars.” He scurried off behind a curtain, and there were a number of noises like mechanical locks working. Tom braced himself, ready for whatever he was about to see. Probably something that inflicts horrible pain, magically.

Turner returned with a box of wood so white it looked like ivory, and laid it on the counter. Releasing the catch, he opened it with a flourish. Tom squinted, trying to see better.

The collar revealed looked far more like a rich woman's necklace than a torture device. Resting on velvet, it appeared to be mostly crafted of silver, made of scores of pieces wired together with four gems running down the centerline. A silvery wand also lay on the velvet, as if it belonged there. The wand had four gems, matching the ones in the necklace.

Tom could just barely make out that much, and only because he had gotten good at seeing fine gradations of color when nothing else was clear to his sight. The gems looked like tinted pearls, and the metal wasn't uniform. Most of it had the luster of silver, but…

“Is part of that mithril?” Tom asked in astonishment, dropping his voice instinctively.

“Indeed it is, good sir. But far more than what it is made of, is what it can do.” Turner's face twisted a bit into a nasty, hungry grin.

“Now, of course, discretion is of the utmost importance here. This kind of device is rare even in the Empire, and its use is somewhat frowned upon here. Most of the slaves around here are humans, and no one would turn a blind eye to such a thing as this being used on them. But elven slaves, on the other hand, like the ones you possess, good sir…I'm sure the right coins in the right palms would clear away any difficulties that might occur.”

Tom's soul raced as he tried to weigh options for warning the City Guard about this thing immediately, but he needed more information first, and he definitely needed not to spook Turner lest he hide the item somewhere. “All right, let's say I'm interested. What does it do?”

“The more important question, good sir, is what the slave does.” Turner leaned even closer and lowered his voice further. “When you wield the wand, and the slave wears the collar, the slave is magically compelled to obey your every order.”

“Command magic.” This thing was what Tom had feared when he wore a slave collar to earn the elves' trust. While probably not completely illegal, its allowed victims were likely restricted to prisoners and criminals.

“Oh, yes, good sir, but that is only the beginning. The crafter of this item was a true connoisseur. Do you see the four gems on the wand and their matches on the collar?”

“Yes?” Tom was exerting his will, acting appropriately to get through this conversation.

“The first gem compels obedience to commands. The second gem, oh, that one gives any physical sensation you command. Pleasure, pain, heat, cold, and more, in any combination you wish. You command them to feel it, and they feel it as if it were actually happening to them.”

So, it is a torture device. Not surprising, but this thing is powerful. Tom knew the man wasn't done. As expected of him, he prompted Turner to continue. “And the third gem does what? Both?”

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“Oh, the second gem does both, good sir. The third does both, and also enables you to command their reality.”

Tom's blood ran cold. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, you could tell them that there was a bear in the room about to eat them, and they would truly believe it! You can change their very world around them, toy with them endlessly in countless ways.” The evil man was almost giggling at the thought, and Tom had to hide his desire to plunge Sir Kurt's dagger into Turner's throat. Would Lord Rivermarch or Captain Hayward even mind if I ended this worm? Tom controlled himself, mostly for the sake of protecting Diavla and the other elves.

“And the fourth?” Tom couldn't stop the harsh edge from slipping into his tone, but Turner apparently mistook it as eagerness or lust. Gods, release me from this nightmare.

“The fourth, good sir, is the final treasure. The goal all who work with magical control dream of. The highest fantasy. The fourth, oh, good sir…the fourth commands their soul.” Tom's eyes widened.

“How?”

“You can command them to love you…and they will. You can command them to hate their closest friend, and they will. You can demand they give themselves to you utterly, body and soul, and they will. This masterpiece is the finest work by Kwelkorm the Mad.”

Kwelkorm the Mad. Even Tom had heard of him. He had hoped that the legend of the insane dwarf artificer was only a fable… Tom pulled back and squinted at Turner.

“You are a skilled storyteller, Turner, but you do not persuade.”

Turner smirked as if he had expected the reaction. “No story, good sir, no fable. I have seen it work with my own eyes.”

“Kings would fight over such a thing—either to destroy it, or keep it for themselves. How could someone like you obtain such a twisted treasure? A man could conquer an empire with such a device, if it were real.”

“You are a man with vision,” Turner said with admiration in his voice, and Tom repressed a shudder. “Alas, you force me to reveal the weakness. The changes end when the collar is removed. So, no, you cannot enslave man after man, woman after woman, and amass a loyal army. No. You would need one of these for each person you controlled. As for how I obtained it…let us say that I saw an opportunity, and had the nerve to seize the moment.”

“And you have used this?” Tom asked, almost calmly, as he stood in judgment over Turner's soul.

“Oh, yes. Foolhardy, I know, but it was a matter of sweetest revenge. I haven't dared take it out again for years. I decided to leave such adventures to younger men in the future, and to sell this incomparable treasure when opportunity arose. Are you that opportunity, good sir? Do you see the incredible value of what I am offering?”

“Yes. I do.” Tom had barely started to reach for his dagger when Turner lifted one finger in warning. Tom stilled, instincts screaming at him to be cautious.

“I have, of course, taken precautions …good sir.”

The title was mocking, this time. He thinks I want to kill him out of greed. Tom smirked, and moved his hand away from his dagger again. “I was wondering how you had managed to live this long while holding such a thing. How much for it?”

Turner's smile got perhaps a touch more genuinely respectful. “Three times I have shown this, good sir, and you are the first to have the wit to deal.”

And the others ended up dead. Tom trusted his instincts. Turner wasn't bluffing. It would not be so simple to kill Turner—not here and now, at least.

“This is, of course, a unique and exquisite treasure. It is worth hundreds of gold pieces, if not thousands.”

“But you could never sell it for that much.” Tom started haggling instinctively.

“True. Can you offer me enough to convince me to part with it?”

“And how could I use such a thing?” Tom said in a slightly accusing tone. “Not in front of anyone I want to live.”

“Oh, but you could, young sir. You could walk down the street with one of your lovelies wearing it, and everyone would think you simply an indulgent Master gracing a favorite slave with a gift.”

Tom shook his head. “The other slaves would know.”

“You have power of life and death over them.”

“Yes. But some might choose death, so long as it brought me down with them. I have not survived this long by luck, either. And since the effect is temporary, I would have to dispose of any slave I put this on, lest they warn others. Your ‘treasure’ is a treasure for a king only.”

“Could you not keep one slave separate from the others?”

“I am traveling.”

“You will someday stop traveling.”

“And until then, be at risk, every day, of the item being identified by a thief or a nosy Mage? No. Limited enjoyment, and a small chance of a very high cost. I can see why you have not been able to sell this item. How long did you say you've been holding this? Years?”

Another thought occurred to Tom. “Does this need to be recharged by a spell caster?” The sour expression that flickered across Turner's face gave Tom his answer. “It does. Another liability.”

“Some men would sell their body and soul for a single night of using this on their chosen victim.”

“I am not one of those men. Being found with this could cost me my head, or you, yours.”

“If that is a—”

“It is simple truth,” Tom cut him off. “Let us not lie about the dangers. I am interested.” Interested in taking this thing and destroying it at the earliest opportunity.

“Would good sir grace us with his bid?”

Tom frowned in thought. “In the worst case, I might have to throw it into the fire to escape discovery. The materials alone would be worth…what? Five gold?”

“Ten, at least, good sir! Remember the gems!”

“Gems I might not be able to salvage. You're trying to hand me an unstable magic formation that could explode in my face. Yes, it has its appeal, but I am not a fool.” Tom pursed his lips, eyeing the magic collar and wand. “Ten gold.”

“Good sir! I could get a thousand in the capital—”

“Then, why haven't you? Hm?” Tom shook his head. “Make a reasonable ask and let us negotiate.”

“Two hundred.”

“Nay! I am traveling, I don't carry that kind of coin on my person. Try again.”

“One hundred gold.”

“Better, but my point stands. Twelve gold.”

“Ninety.”

“Let us not take all day. Twenty gold.”

“Eighty.”

“You reach too far. Let us be frank, you will take much less and be happy and relieved to be rid of this item.”

“Seventy.”

“Not even close.”

“Sir, you shall bankrupt me.”

“No, I will not. Nor will you bankrupt me. Twenty-four gold.”

“Sixty gold. Good sir, you know the worth of this treasure!”

“It isn't worth the risk and that kind of price. How many times will I get to use it? Once? Twice? And then melting it down to recover perhaps ten gold of the cost?”

“I cannot sell for twenty-four gold, good sir. Better for me to keep it.”

“No, it isn't,” Tom said confidently. “And you know it.”

“I could part with it for fifty gold.”

Tom shook his head. “Twenty-five gold.”

“Forty.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Good sir! I cannot sell for that.”

“Then our business is concluded. Worry not, I believe we both are interested in discretion here. I will not mention your trinket, when I have my next discussion with Lord Rivermarch.” Having dropped the name and seen Turner's eye twitch in alarm, Tom turned and headed out of the shop.

“Wait!”

Tom stopped, and sighed dramatically. “Yes?”

“Would you give thirty, good sir?”

“No.” Tom started walking again.

“Wait! Twenty-five gold, here and now.”

Tom stopped, and considered. “I don't have twenty-five on my person,” he admitted. “And I don't spend that kind of money on a whim. I'll think it over, and if I haven't reconsidered, I'll bring you twenty-five gold within a week.”

“Then the price goes back up,” Turner warned.

“No. It doesn't,” Tom told him confidently, and left the slimy man behind.

Outside, Tom snapped his fingers as he walked past Diavla and Varga. “Follow.” He heard their footfalls as they hurried to catch up. Tom exchanged nods with Clement, who stepped back into shadows again. He stalked out of the alley and started uphill towards better neighborhoods. He didn't stop until they were blocks away and had turned another corner. Then he stepped out of the way of foot traffic, faced the nearest blank wall, and shuddered with his eyes shut.

“Tom?” Diavla murmured. “What is twenty-five gold?” As he had expected, the elves had heard the last part of the negotiation.

Tom grimaced. “A slave collar.”

“Twenty-five gold?” Varga asked, incredulous.

He opened his eyes and turned to face them. “Bad, bad magic.” He counted on his fingers. “I say, you body do. I say, you body feel. I say, you soul do. I say, you soul want. Kwelkorm the Mad make.” He looked for their reactions.

Diavla's expression was blank, but her face was already pink and rapidly shading towards bright red. Tom expected her to explode into an angry rant in another heartbeat, but it was Varga who spoke up first. The redhead let loose with a torrent of Elvish, her tone carrying amazement, outrage, and confusion. Tom waited until she had calmed down enough to use words Tom's soul could reach.

“Tom, you get guards?”

“No. Turner very smart. I very think. Maybe, when we go no Rivermarch, I tell Captain Hayward. I think.”

Diavla was still staring at him, an odd expression on her crimson face. “Maybe…not all bad,” she murmured.

“Diavla?” Varga prodded, sounding confused.

Diavla is smart, Tom reminded himself. What is she thinking of? What good use could the collar have? That isn't completely immoral, even? His soul turned it over as he stared at the wall, ignoring the byplay between the women, who were having a quiet and emotionally charged discussion in Elvish. Force someone to feel things…? Force someone not to feel things…? OH.

Tom sucked in a breath. “You're right.” He turned and looked at the elves, who were both staring at him now. Diavla's soul was racing behind her amber eyes, and Varga was clearly shocked. “But, I no have twenty-five gold,” he pointed out.

“I help,” Diavla said at once. Varga turned her shocked expression on her friend.

Tom nodded, impressed. “That's very generous of you, Diavla. But we should think hard about it before we spend that much gold. Um…Good. We think. Maybe buy, no now. Now, we go.”

Tom led them towards their next destination, feeling nervous about the magic collar. There were advantages besides the obvious. The collar would be well-hidden, and they would be carrying less gold on the road. It might also be an important trump card to play at the right moment, if his guess was right. Balanced against that was the expense and great risk. So many things could go wrong with this.

Tom thought about the horrible things someone might do with the magic item. I'd have to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. But it would be so easy to abuse it when I try to use it.

Are my hands even the right ones?