Alden's hand slipped into his pocket and emerged with a heavy pouch. He pressed it into Samuel's hands, the coins clinking softly. Samuel's eyes widened in surprise as he accepted it. With focused intensity, Alden outlined their next steps, ensuring Samuel understood every detail.
Samuel vividly recalled the day Alden came to him with the plan. Bewildered and sceptical, he initially dismissed the idea. Yet, on a whim, he accepted Alden’s offer. The subsequent events were astonishing. Never before had he beheld a silver coin, let alone three. Clutching the coins felt like a promise of something grand beyond his mundane life. When Alden presented him with a list of items to purchase, Samuel was at a loss because he couldn’t read. To compensate, he committed the items to memory and diligently questioned Alden to clarify each entry. However, the experience of making soap transcended his wildest dreams.
Samuel had always sensed Alden was extraordinary, but his recent feats elevated him to the realm of unparalleled genius. Disguised as an ordinary lad, Alden possessed an intellect far beyond his years. As Samuel turned restlessly in bed, anticipation for tomorrow ignited a newfound sense of purpose within him.
Dawn painted the sky in soft hues as Samuel stirred from slumber. After a hasty farewell to his mother, he sprinted towards the farms, gathering a selection of soaps before heading to the bustling heart of the village. The early rays of the sun cast a warm glow over the cobblestones, illuminating the vibrant colours of the merchants' stalls. The morning plaza was quiet, with only merchants and stall owners setting up. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh produce and the earthy aroma of spices.
Samuel slipped into a discreet corner, covered his face with a long cloth, and approached a stall. The vendor regarded him suspiciously. "Best not be causing trouble this early," he gruffed.
Samuel took a deep breath. "No, you don't get it, sir," he said, slapping ten copper coins onto the table.
The man's eyes lit up at the coins, but he still looked wary. "What do you want?" he asked.
Samuel shoved a bar of soap across the counter. "This is yours if you do what I say," he said quietly.
The man's eyes narrowed. Samuel leaned in. "I know that's a week's pay," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Just think about it."
The man hesitated, a scowl creasing his brow. Finally, he sighed. "Alright, what do you want?"
"It's easy," Samuel said, quickly outlining his plan. He placed five coins on the counter. "That's upfront. The rest is yours at the end of the day." The man grumbled but nodded, stuffing the coins into his pocket.
Samuel worked his way through the market, repeating the same pitch to nine more stall owners. When he was finally done, a rush of excitement and fear coursed through him. The bustling marketplace, now awakening with life, was filled with a sense of anticipation. Merchants chatted animatedly among themselves, their voices a chorus of optimism and curiosity about the day's prospects.
Jones Quickhand, a member of the prominent Quickhand merchant house, strolled through the market, his eyes sharp with curiosity. Silverfield Barony was a speck on the trade map, a place he'd never given a second thought. But the rumours of their revolutionary tools had piqued his interest. They claimed the baroness was the mastermind behind these inventions, a story he found hard to swallow. Four groundbreaking tools in a few short years? It didn't add up. Something was off, and that something smelled like opportunity.
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Hailing from the prestigious Quickhand merchant house, ranked among the top 100 in the Ignis Empire, Jones was the third child and also a practising mage, though far from a breakthrough into a novice mage. Despite his position, his knack for identifying lucrative opportunities had earned him significant authority within his house. At fifteen, he was already a rising star in the mercantile world.
Jones was impressed by the market's vibrant energy. Silverfield had been reborn. New shops and stalls lined the streets, and the air crackled with prosperity. The economy was booming, and it was clear that Silverfield was on the rise.
Finally, he arrived at Mr. Tolland's workshop. Looking up, he saw a big signboard with “Mr. Tolland’s Woodwork” written on it. Inside, the space was open and inviting, filled with intricate wooden pieces. The sweet scent of wood polish hung heavy in the air. An elderly man stood behind the counter. "Good morning, Mr. Tolland," Jones greeted warmly.
"Morning, Jones," Tolland returned, his smile warm. "What brings you by?"
Just dropping off some goods, so I figured I'd stop by," Jones replied.
"Good work," Tolland nodded. "How's it going?"
"It's incredible," Jones exclaimed. "The place has changed completely. The market's packed, and business is booming."
After a pleasant chat with Mr. Tolland, Jones stepped out into the bustling market. His attention was immediately drawn to a crowd forming around a nearby stall. A cacophony of excited murmurs and gasps reached his ears. The crowd's energy was palpable, a contagious excitement that pulled him in. He had to see what all the fuss was about.
"Behold, this miracle of cleanliness!" the stallkeeper cried, gesturing to a man lathering his face with the soap. With a splash of water, the man rinsed, revealing skin as bright as the morning sun. "Feel the freshness!" the vendor exclaimed, holding the man's hands up for all to smell. "A delightful fruity fragrance to accompany your spotless hands!" He'd been putting on this show since dawn.
The crowd pressed forward, their eyes wide with wonder as they watched the transformation. Gasps and excited murmurs filled the air as the soap worked its magic. Intrigued, Jones leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "What sorcery is this?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the commotion.
The owner grinned, his eyes sparkling. "This magical potion," he boasted, "is a miracle worker! It banishes dirt like magic, leaving your skin soft and glowing."
A flurry of questions erupted from the crowd, each eager to know more about this wondrous soap. The owner, basking in the attention, answered patiently, his voice filled with pride. Some asked to buy the product, but he shook his head with a mischievous grin. "Not yet, my friends," he teased, "but it won't be long."
As the crowd finally thinned, Jones stepped forward. "I'm Jones Quickhand of the Quickhand House," he said, his voice carrying a hint of authority.
The owner's eyes lit up. "Mr. Quickhand, I presume?" he replied, a hint of respect in his voice. "How can I be of service?"
"How did you concoct this wonder?" Jones asked, his curiosity evident.
The owner chuckled. "I didn't invent this, young man," he replied. "But if you're truly interested, head to the merchant guild tomorrow. Ask for the confidential chamber. You'll find what you need there."
He'd answered this question countless times, but his mission today was clear: steer the most prominent merchants towards the guild.
Jones left the stall, his mind racing. He'd seen similar displays throughout the market, and a pattern was emerging. Whoever was behind this had a plan. Anticipation pulsed through him. This could be the golden opportunity he'd been searching for. With renewed determination, he turned away from the market, his thoughts consumed by the untapped potential and hidden secrets of Silverfield Barony.