Chapter 21:

Joran sat at his wooden desk and stared at the opposite wall. He had spent the whole afternoon trying to logically explain the events of yesterday - to no avail.

He sighed and stared at the ceiling for a change. But the ceiling couldn't answer his burning questions either and just stared back in silence.

“Argh!” Joran ran his fingers through his hopelessly disheveled hair for what felt like the hundredth time.

Until recently, he had thought that nothing could surprise him with his many years of experience in the real estate sector.

Wrong!

The young Kryll had taught him better. Worse still, he had piqued his curiosity, only to happily wander off shortly afterwards, leaving him with burning questions.

On the desk in front of him was the culprit that was giving him a headache.

A small gold bar. Including the innocent embossing of a lost dwarf empire that was only kept alive by myths and stories.

Who on earth is Kryll working for? And how did his mysterious client get hold of this ingot? Joran asked himself for the thousandth time as he stared at the relic of ancient times.

He had been surprised when Kryll had stood at his door and informed him of his client's wish to buy the building, without ever having seen the inside. The purchase price didn't seem to be a problem for him either, Kryll hadn't even tried to negotiate!

Joran had briefly felt offended in his broker's honor and had given in to the impulse to scold the young man for his wasteful handling of other people's money. Until his counterpart pulled a gold bar from a bygone era out of a nondescript pouch and pressed it into his hand with the words “Is this enough?”.

Is this enough?!

“Argh!” Joran ran his hands through his hair again.

The value of the gold was more than enough to pay for the building! A large part of his reserves would have gone on the change if he hadn't made an agreement with Kryll. They had agreed that skilled craftsmen were needed to renovate the house and Joran had the contacts to hire them. The remaining money would therefore be used for his administrative work and to pay the craftsmen.

Joran had concluded a proper purchase agreement with Kryll, handed over the title deed on behalf of the previous owner and drawn up an agreement for further cooperation. And all without any great emotional outbursts on his part. Only a twitching eyelid and a decidedly motionless expression on his face gave an idea of how difficult it had been for him to maintain his composure and close the deal in a professional manner.

Joran congratulated himself again on his professional performance. The shock must have helped me, he thought, staring at the imprint again.

The symbol, which until recently he had only expected to see in old books, shimmered provocatively in the candlelight.

How on earth had Kryll's client come by this ingot? And why did he use it as a simple means of payment, as if it were nothing special?

Did he have no idea what he had in his possession? Or - Joran hardly dared to finish the thought - does he have more such treasures and doesn't know what to do with them?

His curiosity demanded answers and urged him to get to the bottom of the mystery.

Joran sighed and turned his gaze away from the golden riddle. He would have to make do with his questions, he decided once again. After all, he wasn't a young beginner and had already seen many values pass through his hands. And he knew what counted in this business.

Discretion.

Neither the ordinary citizens nor the rich were keen to reveal their sources of income. The only question to be answered in a sale was whether there were sufficient assets.

But wouldn't it be good to pay a visit to the building, it whispered inside him. Just to see what was going on - after all, he was responsible for hiring the craftsmen. And if he happened to bump into the new owner, who could blame him?

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Joran's reason intervened and firmly banished the tempting thought.

And that's how stupid people die.

Joran reluctantly had to agree with her.

He was married and had children, he simply couldn't afford to act stupidly any more. Kryll's client wanted to remain anonymous and was probably quite influential. Spying on such people led to amazing revelations and short lives.

Enough brooding for today, Joran decided and stood up.

He picked up the ingot, took one last look at the embossing and locked it in his safe. Tomorrow he would tackle another problem that was giving him a headache. Hopefully the bank employees were less knowledgeable about the emblems of the past. Otherwise, the visit tomorrow to exchange the ingot for more practical coins would be very interesting.

I shouldn't have accepted the ingot, grumbled Joran. He hadn't thought through the implications of his decision quickly enough and now he was sitting on a bar of gold of mystical origin and had to try to convert it into currency suitable for everyday use.

Joran left his office for home, only to stop a moment later and, after a brief hesitation, head for the inn instead. If there was an occasion for drinking, this was it.

*****

Lord Mitten stood next to Kryll in the middle of the salesroom and inspected his new possession.

White shelves stood haphazardly around the room and were covered in a thick layer of dust. The bare walls called out for a new coat of paint and furniture to make the room more homely. But Lord Mitten's attention was instead focused on a remnant of the previous store in a corner of the room.

“What were you saying again, did the previous shopkeeper sell?” he asked Kryll as he stared at the item.

“Eh, I don't think I even mentioned that,” Kryll answered him hesitantly.

“Then please enlighten me, Kryll."

“What is a life-size dog puppet doing in my store?”

Lord Mitten wrinkled his nose. Were the drooling creatures now even following him into his own property?

“Well,” said Kryll. “The previous owner had a pet clothing store. I didn't think that was relevant to you, so I didn't mention it until now,” he rattled off hastily.

“Pet clothing?”

Lord Mitten screwed up his face. What was wrong with these humans? Was their short lifespan responsible for them turning to the most unusual pursuits to get the most out of it? What respectable cat would voluntarily clothe itself in fur whose quality was nowhere near its own?

“Absurd!” he blurted out.

His companion remained silent, which was probably a wise decision. Lord Mitten turned to the young man.

“Kryll, you've done a good job so far. I would therefore be pleased to be able to make use of your services in the future. Is that also in your interest?” he asked.

Kryll grinned broadly and nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, master! I'm ready for anything!”

“Good.” Lord Mitten nodded with satisfaction.

“Here's your first assignment. Remove this object from my sight and burn it.”

“Burn it?” asked Kryll, confused.

“Can't I just throw it away?”

“Burn it,” replied Lord Mitten. “Things that are thrown away find their way back.”

“But—,” Kryll looked at him with wide eyes, “we're in the middle of the city! Where am I supposed to burn the puppet?”

Lord Mitten paused. Oh, that was indeed a problem.

Tsk.

He would have to get used to urban life again. In the forest, a fireball would have made short work of this object of offense.

In the forest, however, you wouldn't have encountered the doll in the first place, argued the voice inside him that knew everything better. He preferred it when her comments referred to the behavior of others.

“Hmmh. I admit that might be difficult,” he finally replied reluctantly.

After a moment's thought, he came up with a good idea. A really good idea.

“Kryll, you've excelled at making good decisions so far. So I will trust you to find a good solution to this problem,” he said.

Satisfied with his decision, Lord Mitten nodded and left the room and the unspeakable sight to inspect the rooms in the back. How great it was to have subordinates again to take care of all the annoying and monotonous things. He had almost forgotten how satisfying one of his favorite activities was - delegating!

Oh, how magnificent it will be when I rule over my little empire from my armchair, Lord Mitten thought happily as he entered the hallway through the door behind the sales counter.

To his right, a narrow staircase led up to the second floor, while the rest of the corridor served as a lounge for the staff. At least that's what the dining table and the small stove suggested. A small window let some light into the room. To his left, a door led into the small backyard of the house, as he realized when he opened it with his telekinetic abilities.

Acceptable layout, Lord Mitten attested to the building. With the exception of the bizarre remnant, the property had so far lived up to his expectations.

And now to the heart of the building.

With shining eyes, he opened the locked door to the room in front of him and entered. He let his gaze wander through the empty room, a smile stealing across his face.

My back room. The center of my power! he thought with pleasure.

It had been a few years since the last time he had had an ancestral seat.

The idea of sitting like a spider in the center of its web and letting the various delicacies come to him appealed to Lord Mitten more and more.

A really good project!

He congratulated himself once again on his decision to leave Anaholm and settle in Minthral.

I wonder what Glacial Doom would say about the latest developments?

Suddenly he paused.

Oh.

Lord Mitten hurriedly looked inside his pocket dimension. In all the hustle and bustle, he had completely forgotten about the little vixen!