Sarraf suppressed the urge to tap his foot in irritation. He didn’t grumble under his breath, no matter how much he felt the much-longer-than-five-minute-wait deserved, and he resisted the ever-growing desire welling up inside to rap on the door again despite the multiple thuds he could still hear coming from somewhere within the shop’s interior.
Demands never get messengers any favors, and couriers win customers by being polite. The oft-repeated words of Tarra, his guildhead, rolled through Sarraf’s mind as he repeated them to himself in an effort to not think about the other deliveries he had to make today. Three more before sunfall.
The nondescript courier dressed in simple yet fashionable robes cut for swift movement and comfort, glanced at the sky, figured he had at least eight hours of light left, and allowed himself a small, silent sigh.
I’ve got time. He thought, unable to resist yet another glance at the mote-etched sign that was still partially glowing even in the daylight. Such work was expensive to commission, and even more expensive to fix if time or unruly customers marred it by accident– but Sarraf found it hard to imagine anyone playing rough on this particular porch. Not if they’ve heard the rumors.
“Cultivar’s Curiosities”
The name was, by itself, nothing particularly noteworthy even if he shivered every time he read it. Even if each letter was quietly burning with soft purple light scored into a variety of silverwood worth more than an entire month’s worth of his wages. There were certainly other establishments in this section of the Breeze that had paid for similar exterior advertising. Not many whose patrons were so infrequent or secretive, but in Sarraf’s experience those of wealth and power often got eccentric in their habits. It was part of why he had a job at all.
That and my ability to keep my mouth shut. Sarraf thought, patting the satchel slung over his shoulder that was sealed shut with at least three sigil-carved leather straps. That he could see. More were no doubt hidden underneath the nondescript black flap, but he would never dare touch them.
His guild, Whispered Winds, survived, thrived, and died on their reputation. If even one of its couriers were ever caught interfering with a delivery, that would be their end. Given the amount of mana Tarra had made a point of telling him must have gone into securing the satchel against thievery after the guildhead had inspected it, it would likely be his end, too.
Still, not like a man can’t wonder. More thuds sounded out from beyond the door frame, and as they sounded like they were moving his way this time Sarraf straightened. He had been a bit hasty, perhaps, in urging whichever new assistant Melvin Cultivar had helping him to open the door earlier– but in his defense he did have other deliveries to make today. And I don’t want to be on this blasted property one second past what I already have to, but that’s beside the point.
The telltale sound of a latch sliding free sounded out, and the door’s frame shook a moment before opening halfway.
“Come in.” Melvin called out to him from behind the open door, and Sarraf resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man may run a shop with more gossip going around about his wares than most, but he could at least spare the melodrama. Not like I could afford any of what he’s selling.
Still, he was eager to get this satchel out of his hands, so Sarraf nonetheless stepped swiftly in despite the shop’s interior being somewhat darker than usual.
“Sorry to bother while you’re still setting up for the day.” Sarraf said in his best customer-service voice despite not meaning a word of it. Melvin was already behind the main counter, so the courier walked over and set his satchel on it. He looked around, not seeing whichever assistant had gotten the door for him and wondered if one was hiding behind one of the display cases just to mess with him. “Just dropping this off, and once I’ve got the pickup you requested, I’ll be right on my way.”
Melvin stayed uncharacteristically silent, so Sarraf fished the twin contracts out of a fold in his inner robes and slid them over to the man. He tried to ignore the fact that the wealthy owner of the shop he was in was staring at him while openly and repeatedly flapping the neck of his cloak open.
Whatever this is, just pretend you don’t notice. Sarraf thought as he kept a carefully pleasant smile on his lips. He’ll give up and move on when he’s done with his little game, they always do.
Hoping to speed things along, Sarraf kept the conversation moving.
“Nice weather we’re having today, wouldn’t you say? Just a few more deliveries for me after I turn your package into the guild for processing, then I’m turning in myself. I won’t be the one to get it to where it’s going, but your client should still have it by sunfall tomorrow I assure you.”
As Sarraf had expected, Melvin frowned in frustration that quickly eased into a lifelong merchant’s ready smile. One he had no doubt was every bit as fake as Sarraf’s own.
“Splendid weather, of course. I can’t wait to see it myself.” Melvin’s stare broke off as the richly dressed merchant wearing a comically oversized robe finally deigned to look down at the contracts Sarraf had put in front of him. “Now, where do I–?”
“Just need your seal stamped here, here, and… here.” Sarraf explained with clipped, practiced ease, having no doubt the man before him was well aware of what needed done to conclude their business. “The first says you’ve received today’s delivery, the second asserts you’ve inspected it for lack of tampering, and the third is acknowledging that you’ve surrendered your client’s purchase to me as the representative of Whispered Winds for delivery.”
Melvin nodded along with the explanation like it was the first time he had ever read through terms that Sarraf had personally seen the man hash out with Tarra when they were drawn up, before jabbing a finger into the second parchment’s text like it had personally wronged him.
“There’s no description of what I’m supposed to give you.” The merchant said with the air of a man who was asking a question, but really wasn’t. Melvin began looking around the counter, seemingly having lost his own signet ring despite the fact that it was right there on his left hand.
“... That’s because we don’t know what the delivery is for yet. You only sent word that you needed one.” Sarraf responded, keeping his tone polite as he raised his own left hand and tapped it meaningfully where the signet ring was on Melvin’s own.
“Ah, silly me, thank you.” Melvin said, before quickly and somewhat awkwardly stamping his seal into the first piece of parchment. “I’m afraid I… don’t quite recall what it was I needed to have delivered. Perhaps you could come by tomorrow? I’ll look over my orders again, one of my uh… assistants must have taken it down.”
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‘One of my assistants’ my sand-blasted ass. Sarraf thought, feeling like he was finally picking up on what was going on here. A faint, slightly acrid stench drifted up from below the counter where Melvin stood, little wisps of smoke rising up as if something had been recently dissolved below. The smell was something the courier couldn’t quite identify, though it vaguely reminded him of burnt hair.
Unable to help himself, Sarraf looked into Melvin’s eyes once more and– yes, there it was. The faintest flickers of red light dancing behind the otherwise sky-blue irises, more visible behind the white parts now that he knew what he was looking for.
He’s using an ability. No wonder he’s barely paying any attention. What the fuck is he– Sarraf froze as a chill ran down his spine, wondering if he was about to be attacked. What sort of merchant had the balls to–
When no prompt appeared, Sarraf relaxed a fraction. His paranoia must be getting to him. That or all the stories he had heard about what this place actually sold finally were.
He’s probably just verifying the satchel wasn’t tampered with. The courier reasoned as he realized Melvin was staring intensely at the satchel he had placed on the counter. And that smell could be anything. It could be a cleanser for the counters, or some kind of alchemical… thing. Light preserve… Calm down, Sarraf. You’re embarrassing yourself.
“Sorry, got lost in thought there for a moment!” Melvin said, so suddenly that Sarraf almost jumped in spite of himself. The merchant gestured to the door. “Thank you for the package. I’ll see about the pickup mixup and get back to your guild within the week. How does that sound?”
“Oh, well, if you’re sure then.” Sarraf said quickly, seizing an opportunity to leave whatever awkward moment they had just been having behind and only barely remembering his parchment and parting words as he headed for the door. “Be sure to let the Whispered Winds know whenever you’re ready for our services, we never let our customers dow–”
Sarraf froze for the second time in as many minutes as he grabbed the door’s handle, and this time it had nothing to do with the merchant. There were dark stains on the wood, and whatever liquid was coating it that he had just put his hand on felt both cold and slick to the touch. He pulled his hand up to inspect it, finding the color a deep red that grew more vibrant as he rubbed his hands together.
Is that–
“Enjoy your package!” Sarraf said quickly, opening the door and practically bounding out of it. “Let us know when you need us again!”
Melvin said something in response, but Sarraf was already gone. He withdrew a piece of cloth he kept for just these types of occasions from inside his robe with his clean hand and wiped down the other as he strode away, firmly deciding that this would be his last delivery to this particular store.
No matter how high the bonus was.
—--------------------
“Well, he was kind of weird but I think that went well!” Gel said brightly, after the man’s heartbeat faded off into the distance. “We got some information, kept ourselves or our murdered meals from being discovered, and even got a free satchel out of it! Good thing you remembered to hide all those bones. That would’ve been awkward.”
“I’m getting a little too used to what you leave behind when you’re done.” Sean said dryly, stepping out from behind the counter to lock the door behind the deliveryman who hadn’t given them his name. “Can’t believe I almost let him in here with a bunch of fresh bones littering the place. You leave a mess sometimes, you know that?”
“A mess?” Gel echoed, offended. “A mess? I’ll have you know that if I could eat bones and leave nothing behind, I absolutely would. You’re the one that insisted we wear this man’s appalling outfit. You’re lucky I can reabsorb our armor. And that my disguise ability shrinks us down to the proper size. And that he had another cloak just sitting there for us to grab, which was pretty convenient, actually. Though I’m not sure why you insisted on flashing that symbol at him over and over.”
“I wanted to know if he was part of some secret Morian necromancer society or something.” Sean said defensively. “I don’t know how hidden death cults meet up.”
“Neither do I, but I’m pretty sure they’re more covert than that.” Gel’s crimson whip snuck out of Sean’s robes at the neckline to gesture at the saddle. “Now, two questions: How do you want to open this thing up, and should we put our armor back on first?”
“It’s got sigils all over it, just like Barry’s chest did back at the stables.” Sean pointed out. “Are you sure we should even try? Because I feel like we could just wait for the guy’s memories to sink in. Then you could tell us what we need to do without us risking whatever those things are designed to do if something goes wrong.”
“Oh come on, there has to be a way to open it safely!” Gel enthused, practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s a magical satchel mystery delivery given straight to us! Whatever’s inside is definitely going to be worth the effort.”
“Technically it was delivered to this place.” Sean gestured at the dimly lit shop that was still filled with dozens of what appeared to be– but no doubt weren’t– random objects. “Not us.”
“Technically this is our place now, so I’m not sure how that distinction makes any difference.” Gel tapped the table beside the satchel as if checking to see if vibration alone could make it explode. “Now help me out with this, there has to be a way to prove we are who it thinks we should be… so we can get all of its definitely juicy, delicious secrets.”
“You mean like… a signet ring?” Sean asked, slowly raising his hand up to indicate the prominently adorned finger with a meaningful waggle.
“It can’t possibly be that simple.” Gel said, sounding almost disappointed at the prospect before rallying. “But I say we try it anyway! Worst case the bag takes offense and we burn down another building. Ooh, I wonder if that’ll advance your arsonist title?”
Sean rolled his orbs– or was it technically his eyes right now?-- and tapped the former store owner’s signet ring that they had looted off his body against the satchel’s strap. He only recalled Gel’s question about putting their armor back on at the last second but, luckily, nothing happened.
“Well, that was disappointing.” Gel commented, right before a lightshow of color erupted from underneath the satchel’s closed flap. Verdant green, luminescent white, and sapphire blue shone out brightly enough to temporarily light up the entire shop before fading quickly away. The sigils covering the straps sizzled and popped, releasing tufts of thick smoke as Sean took several quick steps back.
“Is it supposed to do that?” He asked Gel, ducking behind the hardwood counter just in case an explosion was actually about to go off.
“How would I know? It’s not exploding though, so maybe it worked!” Gel’s optimism was genuine, but Sean could still feel the tingle of fear the slime had felt through their bond. “Should we go look? I say we go look. Let’s look.”
The pair of them peeked over the counter, Sean’s currently disguised face peering out right beside a pair of eyeballs suspended inside a crimson whip. Several feet away, the satchel was silent. Even the smoke from before was gone.
“Dibs!” Gel shouted happily.
“No, wait for–” Sean barely had time to react, before Gel’s crimson whip slid inside the pack and dug inside. “--me to check it.”
“I already called dibs.” Gel said, clearly proud of himself. “Ooh, and I found something! It’s… hmmm. One second.”
A moment of wriggling later, the slime yanked something thick, black, and heavy out of the satchel. It slid easily along the counter towards Sean, coming to a stop right in front of him.
“It’s a… book? It looks… old.” Sean commented, not quite ready to reach for it yet. His childhood movie-watching experience may or may not have been shaped by a certain desert-undead-themed film whose plot had centered around the dangers of strange, old books.
“Ooh, open it up, let’s read it!” Gel said immediately. “No harm ever came from reading a book, right? Let’s see what it has to say!”