No. No. Not that one. Not cute enough. Too revealing. Too flirty–wait, isn’t that the same as too revealing?

Fiona frowned and looked at her closet that slowly faded to darkness; the arcane light had automatically dimmed out, because she’d been standing still for too long. She waved her arms lazily while she contemplated a suit for today and the light clicked back on, and Tucker rubbed at her ankle, meowing softly.

She considered her options: she had the long black jacket and the white blouse shirt–it was plain, but professional, which is what she needed to carry the appearance of today. Except, for that cute green tie that she’d procured for the earlier outfit, and it did work nicely against the black vest and white blouse shirt.

“Mrooow.” Tucker rubbed against her calf again, and more than subtly bumped her. She bent down a little to scratch his back, where he arched his spine in response.

“You booger, I know, I’ll make a choice as soon as I can. Choosing an outfit is hard!” The cat responded by leaping up onto the storage shelf just above her head, and walked over to a box filled with a couple of sets of older boots. The cat peered down with a flicker of amusement, and Fiona’s ears laid back a bit.

“Don’t you dare. I see that look, cat! It’s like a universal thing, all cats knock stuff over when they’re bored!” She accused the feline, who peered at her with a glint of amusement in his eyes. Tucker immediately patted the box off the shelf with a nudge of his head and a thrust of his paws, and Fiona had to catch the box with a quick swerve. Tucker started purring as he peered down from his perch.

She gave the feline a silent glare, before going back to matching her outfits. Long black stretchy leggings would finish the look, and she quickly got dressed.

“Man Tucker, even as I lament the lack of TV, and YouTube, or even radio, this place is kind of nice,” she said a short time later. A quick trip to the kitchen resulted in her snagging a slice of freshly baked bread that Granny had dropped off, and she applied some fresh blackberry jam. She dove in and enjoyed that ever so slightly sourdough flavor of the bread, and the sweetness of the berries and let out a dedicated sound of delight. “Mmm. This beats processed crap, though! I've probably never been in better health!”

“Moooow.” Tucker made his commentary known from his seat she'd pulled up for him, at the small table for two. She slid him the other treat that Granny had brought, a tin of salted fish. He squawked in joy and instantly dug in.

“Yes, and you're welcome, goober cat!” She assured as she gave him a quick pat while he devoured the treat. “Mommy dearie has to go get some work done, I'll be back soon!”

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

The palace wasn't the only major municipal building that was in the city, and she went downtown past bustling citizens of all types. A few elven kids played tag as they breezed by her, along the full clanking of mechanized carts in the main lane. Horses still had their place, as the carts seemed to be a tad unreliable at times, and people were slow to change. She felt like it was the transition of horse-drawn carriages to the early days of automobiles, just a little bit. And magical horses could pull heavier stuff than one might believe.

One thing she realized she’d been taking for granted: the lack of smog, pollution, and cars honking was a delight to her. No more having to beat rush hour traffic, when she could just walk there! If she needed long-distance travel, she could just get a ride with Bonnie, who had a cart with pet oxen she kept at a local stable. Or a teleport pad to the other major towns, since that was the primary means of long-distance or critical travel. Mages had it easy! Bonnie said something about it being a utility class.

She guessed that they called careers classes around here? Every time someone asked her what her class was, she shrugged and said ‘monster slayer’, and everyone just nodded like it was the natural state of things.

She pushed those thoughts aside as she came up to the timber and brick building of the municipal office where licensing for the city was housed, along with records keeping and postage. At least Barry couldn't be creeping on her in here. She doubted he'd try to interfere here, but this guy had already tried to legally extort her to the tune of half a kingdom's worth already.

That was so many snacks and cute clothing she couldn't indulge in, for the moment. She opened the door to a rattle of a small bell, to an office of fresh timber panels, a few dimmed arcane lights, and copious sunlight coming in through the small frame windows. A few waiting benches were empty, and stacks of parchment with form writing were there.

Yep. It had all the appeal of a town hall, boring and unlively. The clerk at the front desk was snoozing, and a cup of coffee was sitting on his desk with a hint of steam coming from the mug. A silver bell sat on the counter. The kind people rang for dinner orders.

Oh, there's no way I could not do this. She grinned and clapped her hands together lightly before ringing the bell like it was a train crossing, and the human man with closely cropped hair swerved back in his seat and started tipping over. She grabbed a chair leg before it fell completely, and he looked at her, bewildered.

“Wakey wakey, sunshine! We gotta focus on that big customer support aspect!” She said with a leering smile. He stood upright and smoothed his vest before stammering a few words.

“I-I’m so sorry, I was just–”

“Relax, sleepyhead, I'm messing with ya. But your boss would have probably steamrolled ya! Get some more rest at night, young man, you're too young to be this old looking,” she teased as she dropped off the form for the license application. “I have to take a licensing test to become a merchant.” He rubbed his eyes, and then gasped.

“Wait. You're…you're the hero of Fiefdala! You took out Douglas the Red! You're the talk of the town!” He gasped.

“Eh, that dragon was small-time, he was a big pushover! All roar and no bite, and he smelled like a peat bog! I mean that's where he lived, but still! Swamps need to not smell so stinky.” The man peered at the writing with her quick but legible scribbles, and frowned.

“You want to become a merchant? You could be a hero class! It's what heroes do, this is…just boring!” He said with a groan.

“Buddy, don’t I know it, except I got stuck with moving a lot of the dragon's loot,” Fiona sighed. “Look, King Lack-of-Hugs tasked me with this, so I have to follow the rules.”

“King…Barry? How did that greasy cretin get the throne? I could have sworn Lucy would take it next, if Greybeard had to step down,” the man groaned. “If only to spite her brother. I heard a story from a guy, who knew a maid, who said he was a total little manure stain. He would scheme to get other people in trouble, and blame them for the messes he made! He set fire to his rug, and blamed the maid for not putting it out fast enough!”

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“This sounds like Barry, alright.” She rubbed her temples gently while the man finished reading the form. “So, what else did you hear?”

“Oh, that same maid said he used to run the treasury a few years ago, before Greybeard kicked him out. Probably couldn’t hack it. He put him as a clerk in the tax office, where he couldn't cause trouble. I guess he got caught with his fingers on a few too many purses. But again, just a rumor, I caution you,” Clarke stated in a quieter tone, and motioned with his hands that this was not official information.

Fiona smiled, this really did sound like Barry was a schemer, after all! She just had to find out where to look. And if he was willing to steal from the Kingdom when Dad was watching, he probably would do a lot more, now that he was on semi-retirement.

“Why thank you, I was looking to know the guy! I didn't grow up here, so court intrigue is new to me. Surely as King, he must have been vetted by Dad to make sure he'd be a good ruler–”

The clerk started laughing, and it was a loud kind of laugh. “Boy, did he pick the wrong heir! Lucy is a sweetheart who is level-headed, but she doesn't want the crown, the same as the younger princess! The two older sons are alright, but Edwards is tied up with cleaning up the dragon fiasco, and he’s a military man, through and through. His marriage is with the uniform,” the clerk said with a sigh, and furrowed his brow as he read the last bit. “I don’t see any accreditation here, from a school or guild.”

“I have prior training in another kingdom,” she half-answered. That kingdom was technically a universe away called Massachusetts–no wait, The Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Which sounded like a really stuck up way of saying it was a kingdom, as far as she was concerned. But she wasn’t going to advertise that she was a heroine who hailed from another world. That would garner unwanted attention, most likely. Attention that might include Barry, again.

The clerk nodded and scribbled something on one of the office checkboxes. “Alright, we can work with this, your preliminary questionnaire looks suitable to my trained eye. I will have to administer the advanced test, to ensure compliance with local ordinances, tax codes, and…oh dear, don’t pout.”

He peered up from the paper to see her making her pouty face, and she made it known this was not okay. There were tasks to still finish, she didn’t want to be taking tests.

“Look, mister…um…hey, what’s your name, anyway?” she asked, and examined his desk. There was no name plate.

“Clarke Smith,” he answered. She stifled a laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, a clerk by the name of Clarke, I know. I run the office here most days, the weekends we’re typically closed, but I do have a clerk who takes part time on the weekends in emergencies.”

“Look, Clarke, I have a ton of renovation work, and the sooner I get selling stuff, the better. I ran a business before, I know how to get to net margin and play by the rules,” she tried with persuasion.

He exhaled through his teeth, like he was thinking he didn’t want to deal with the hassle of this one. This guy was one who played by the rules. So shouldn’t she. “But, I understand you have to be impartial, Clarke. Even being the hero doesn’t give me special status; in here, I’m just Fiona Swiftheart, business enthusiast.”

Clarke glanced down at the notes, then back up to her, and tapped a pen against the page. Then he stopped, and made a sound of surprise. “You know what, hang on. I have…hmm…one other option. I can interview you on this effort. Show me your business plan, your assets and liabilities, your risk mitigation strategy, familiarity with local business code, and I can sign a waiver on this effort for this class.”

“Awesome! Alright, here we go.” She began to lay out the details of the business model, the clientele, and more importantly, how to move items and make a vast profit. He did ask about the tax situation, and frowned when she mentioned a lot of the revenue would be going toward paying that debt. But, he did seem delighted about Bonnie’s little shop, which she had a summary of.

“I’m appalled that this taxation was enforced upon you. I’ve been in the municipal office five years, this feels like highway robbery, and you have to pay that off, and incur initial start-up costs? Let me assure you, listen to your friend Gregory, I know him from my university days.”

“Wait, you know him?” she asked, looking puzzled. He nodded proudly.

“Greg didn’t want to rot in a municipal office, he wanted to go private. I understand why, too. He was good in his classes, from what I remember, very sensible. Though he did start later at the academy–maybe another career didn’t pan out. I think he’ll steer you well.”

She pursed her lips for a moment. She had ignored Greg a time or two, and maybe to her detriment. “I like Greg. He’s very up-front about a lot of things. He knows his numbers, and I’ve been trusting him on this one to get this business up and running.” She paused for a moment, and realized…did she really know much about Greg, on a personal front? He’d started being her assistant, dealing with the paperwork portion of the guild, on a recommendation from Jake. Greg had immediately gotten her trained on the art of paperwork, in a world that didn’t quite have a digital age yet.

And yet, she’d only gleaned a few details on him. “You know, he doesn’t talk about himself much. I have poked him a few times on that, he sticks to being strictly on the clock. In fact, I think when he came to McFly’s place earlier in the week, might be the first time he’s hung out with me and Bonnie, off the clock,” she conceded. “So, Mister Clerk–I mean, uh, Clarke,” she hastily corrected, even as he chuckled softly.

“Relax, that happens to me a lot. I got used to it. It’s mildly funny. Almost as funny as a man called Smith, becoming a smith,” he added with a wry smile. “Look, Greg’s always been a closed book about himself, even I couldn’t pry much out of him. I think he might have differences with his family. His clothing, mannerisms and his etiquette suggests he was upper class family, and yet…he struck out on his own. I wonder if he's related to the Lockheeds."

"Are there more than one?" Fiona asked.

"Well, yes. But not all families are the same, let's say," he said cryptically.

She twisted her lip, and decided to follow up on it later. “I should ask him about it. Anyway, are we all set here?”

“Oh, just a few more questions. Where was this school for business, again?” he asked.

“It was uh…Windsor,” she answered after a pause. He raised an eyebrow at this. “It’s pretty far away. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s uh…well, it’s out of this world, you could say.”

“I must say, I’ve never heard of it. But, well, we’re in a world where people come from places that can’t be put on a map. All I can comment on, is that you do have a knack for business, based on your answers,” Clarke answered warmly.

“But no joy out of it. It was boring,” she groaned. “Look, I’m only doing this because there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of me looting enough grotesque monster parts sold to back-alley organ donations, or making creepy skin armor, to pay off this tax. Greg’s working on getting the big number down.”

“I might know an appraiser. Not tied to the treasury or the tax office. Anyway, I’ll sign this waiver, no questions asked, you know enough of the code of business here, that I doubt you’d be willing to risk reputation or liability should you err.”

“Oh, got a copy of it? I have an older copy of the recent laws, but I want to make sure Sir Raspbarry doesn’t get more ammo to throw at me,” she said with a sigh. “So, that’s it? I’m a merchant now?”

“Yes indeed, you certainly qualify and have the aptitude and drive for it!” he declared, then frowned before snapping his fingers. “Oh, hang on. It has been a while. I forgot the most important part, to set it in stone! Or, paper I suppose. The Contract. They used to use stone, but someone got cheap with ceremony stuff.” Clarke pulled out something from a locked drawer–some kind of rolled up paper with gold foil? It seemed to even glow slightly? “Here it is. The Contract.”

Doug the dragon hadn’t scared her. Barry hadn’t scared her. Her own death hadn’t scared her.

This unsettled her.