Chapter 22: Goldfinger

Far from the most flowery apology I’d ever heard, admittedly, but it was in keeping with what I recalled of his character. Indeed, if he’d gone too much further I’d have suspected someone of putting him up to it, but as it stood, the apology felt genuine, driven by embarrassment and guilt rather than anything more problematic. I still let him sweat for a little bit, because I’m petty like that, but only for half a minute.

“Raise your head,” I said simply. “Injury is always a possibility when training. Better here, with wooden swords and healers nearby, than on the battlefield. Apology accepted.”

Damien did so, a look of relief on his face. Amusingly, his eyes immediately drifted upward, meaning he’d bowed so quickly that this was his first proper look at my name tag.

“Thank you,” Damien bobbed his head. “I’ve been looking for you for days now, I was beginning to think you’d already left town, when I finally heard you were here.”

Ah, right, I hadn’t actually told anybody my plans, as ephemeral as they were at present.

“I probably will, before long,” I replied, entirely honestly. “But I decided I could spare a few days, figuring out what to do with my life.”

Pumpkin purred, making himself known as he rose up from my shoulders, shedding his disguise as a particularly furry scarf.

“Oh?” Damien started, only noticing the cat just then. “You’ve been busy, I see. Made your first purchase as a Merchant already? Or is he more of a pet?”

Damien raised his hand, reaching for Pumpkin, who was less than pleased with that description and bit his finger. Not too hard, given it was still attached, but it certainly sent a message.

“He’s a feisty one,” I warned blandly, entirely too late to help.

Damien was unfortunately unable to reply, being far too preoccupied with prying Pumpkin off of his arm.

—

Five minutes later…

“So, where are you planning to go from here?”

Damien asked, as he wrapped a thick bandage around his hand. Pumpkin hadn’t bitten too deep, not enough for the boy to overcome his aversion to medical treatment. It would probably be fine: humans in this world, I’d already observed, trended towards the tougher end of the spectrum.

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“I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted, in between sips of tea.

I hadn’t had much to do during the recent catastrophe, so I’d defaulted to British tradition and made myself a brew. Granted, it wasn’t a proper English Breakfast tea, more of a mixture of flowers and spices, akin to a mulled wine minus the alcohol, but it still went down well, and merely the tradition was a source of comfort in and of itself.

“There aren’t too many shops in Allensward, and the ones I’ve seen are already well staffed. I could probably get a menial job, as a clerk maybe, but the prospects aren’t great without a route to a genuine apprenticeship, so I was thinking of going further afield.”

In the absence of trade schools and formal employment, that was how shops were passed down; either by blood or from master to student. I had no intention of dealing with either, of course, but Damien didn’t have to know that.

“Off to Gresom then? Or maybe Dreche?” Damien guessed.

They were both reasonable assumptions, the former being the closest city by distance, off to the South, and a regional trading hub for all and sundry, whilst the latter was further West but situated in the most fertile plains to be found in the Kingdom, and was accordingly a behemoth in sectors of food production and export. Personally, were I genuinely in the market for it, I’d have gone for Light’s End to the East instead, which was a considerably harder journey but would lead to Frontier’s singular warm water port, and the cornerstone of maritime power. What can I say? Old habits die hard. I wasn’t really looking however, so I merely hummed in agreement.

“Possibly, though I wouldn’t be going immediately,” I demurred. “Preferably not without some coin in my pocket, and possibly some company. Definitely not now, on the cusp of winter. There are far less painful ways to die than exposure and frostbite.”

This much, on the other hand, was true. Travelling long distances in Frontier wasn’t as simple as hopping on the train: I didn’t own a horse, nor did I know the rare and coveted Teleport spell, so what awaited me was a weeks long journey by foot. Doable, if the weather remained mild as it had been the past week, but also potentially deadly in the event of a sudden blizzard, as often happened as Winter approached. So, I needed a solution, one that Damien might be able to provide, if my hunch was correct, and he wasn’t here solely to make a courtesy call. I didn’t press him on it, though, since that would make him defensive; I merely continued to drink my tea, watching Damien shift uncomfortably in his chair, and waiting for him to get to the point.

“You need money, right?” Damien eventually asked a question, strictly rhetorical, but still better than the previous silence. “What if I introduced you to a man? Keep in mind this, uh, isn’t something the Matron would approve of.”

“To be clear, you’re not talking about prostitution, right?” I didn’t think he was, but better to check now than walk into a big misunderstanding.

Also, it was funny to watch the boy’s face redden as he spluttered out denials: I was doing him a favour, really, making him learn how to properly phrase his offers.

“Absolutely not,” Damien eventually choked out. “No. No. It’s just, I know someone who makes a living off of transporting goods. Legal goods even, just not through the proper channels, and they’d prefer to keep it that way. They’re always on the lookout for men willing to sign up, especially those with a good command of the written word; I know everyone’s supposed to go to school, but that doesn’t mean they all learn. Not like you did.”

Well now, I thought as I turned that little tidbit over, this just got a whole lot more interesting.