“Greetings!”

A bright and overly eager voice assaults me as soon as I step through the door to the prosthetics department the next morning. The young Mender who meets me is nothing like I expected. I figured I’d meet someone like Mender Uttara: stately and knowledgeable, perhaps with a touch of professional pride. Yet here I am, standing at the entrance to the dazzling Mender showroom, talking with a shaggy-haired man whose smile instantly puts me on edge.

“Early for your appointment, I see,” he says, nodding and setting his brown curls tossing all around his head. “Love it. Would you like a new hand custom-made to fit, Sir?”

Sturgi, as he introduces himself, is endlessly enthusiastic and friendly when he speaks, but beyond that I don’t know what to make of him. More of a salesman than a [Healer], he never stops grinning ear to ear. Even when he speaks, his words tripping over each other in a rapid rush, he’s still smiling. He hasn’t taken any measurements or asked me what I need, but he’s kept up a steady stream of suggestions for things I could purchase.

“Ah, of course,” Sturgi says, squinting at me and nodding to himself as a minor Skill goes off. I’m not looking closely, but I don’t recognize it as anything healing-related. “Yes, you need something right away! Are you interested in seeing the base models we have on display? We have multiple options for materials if you’d like to wait for a custom piece, naturally, but that takes time. Nothing is out of the question, assuming you’re willing to pay. May I inquire about your budget, Sir?”

“I haven’t finalized my budget,” I admit. “I’m willing to go pretty high, depending on the features of the replacement. Are all your models basically in the shape of hands? Or do you ever recommend a tool instead?”

Sturgi tuts at me, then returns to his perpetual smile, trying to tell me about the latest advances in prosthetics technology, and why I just have to have them.

“Usually, when you don’t have a firm budget, it’s because you can’t afford much. No offense! Let’s start with a basic hand and see how you like the look. I’m sure you’ll be dignified with a polished wooden prosthetic. What type of hardwood do you like? Walnut, maybe?”

“So you do recommend I stick with a hand? Are there downsides to creative options?” I ask, pressing Sturgi for details.

“Oh, yes! As much as it sounds amazing to have a sword welded to your arm, or some such nonsense, it’s far more practical to stick with what the body already knows. You’ll adapt far faster, and it will be more versatile in the long run. With a powerful enough enchantment, you’ll be able to still do everything that you used to do.”

“Everything?” I say, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m a [Glassworker]. I have strict requirements for dexterity. Are you certain that I’ll be able to do precise work with a basic model?”

“Oh dear, oh dear. That won’t do at all,” Sturgi says, shaking his head. Through it all, his smile never slips. “I understand that your line of work may not be as lucrative compared with most of our clientele. Listen, don’t fret! We have a payment plan in case you can’t pay the costs upfront. Don’t let the number of zeros in the price tag put you off; a great many wealthy people take multiple years to pay for their limbs, so there’s no shame in not paying. We wouldn’t want to deprive Gilead of a talented crafter, after all!”

“No. Certainly not,” I deadpan.

Sturgi doesn’t seem to pick up on my hesitation. He whistles off-key while he bustles me over to a built-in shelf on the other side of the display room. We walk past blood-crystal arms, legs etched with palladium trim, and an incredibly intricate eye of gold set with tiny, glittering gemstones. I shudder, not wanting to think about how the Menders attach—install?—the eyes for their patients.

“I thought I was meeting with a team to assess my best path forward. I’m surprised that we’ve jumped straight to dry-fitting a hand,” I say, trying to figure out his plan.

“Oh, sure, we call ourselves a team, but each one of us is fully qualified to find the right prosthetic to get you back to your full and fulfilling life!” Sturgi says, never losing his up-beat tone and obnoxious smile. “We’re usually busy meeting with people just like you, who are anxious to take back what life’s stolen from them. If you come back for another opinion, you’ll probably meet with one of my colleagues. We’ll take care of everything”

Surreptitiously, I take a peek at his Skills with my Viewing, which is stronger than ever after handling so much raw power back in Natan. I’d feel better if I knew for sure that he was a [Healer]. There’s a thin layer of obscurement over his soul, which makes sense. The Menders are known for being somewhat stingy with giving out their secrets, although they’re happy to bring on new students—for a fee.

Twisting the flow of mana, I manage to skim past the defenses at an oblique angle and take a look. None of the runes look even remotely related to healing; as I suspected, he seems to have more in common with a [Merchant]. This isn’t a consultation, it’s a sales opportunity.

It seems my touch isn’t as light as I hoped. Sturgi stiffens, glancing around in confusion. He shivers, blinking a few times, and suddenly seems to remember that he’s supposed to be charming customers with an ever-present smile. “Ah! Here we are.”

His cheerfulness is back, forced though it may be. “Try this hand. Each part of the finger is individually jointed, just like with a real human hand.” A glimmer of mana passes over his eyes as he activates a Skill. A peek shows me that it’s likely related to assessment, though I’m far from understanding every rune in the complex array. Maybe he’s accessing its details.

Still smiling like his life depends on it, Sturgi gives me a run down. “It’s enchanted for fine control. The fingers are stronger than muscle could ever hope to be, but they also give you an excellent level of tactile feedback. There’s also a revolutionary new model with a sophisticated set of mana sensors, although that’s stored in the back room since it’s so valuable. That might be of interest to you as a [Glassworker]!”

As I slide it onto my arm, and Sturgi helps me strap it in place, a dull sensation brushes my Domain. To my surprise, it’s coming from the hand. I let it in, and awareness of the fingers blossoms in my mind. Whoa! Advanced technology!

I wiggle the fingers, flexing the false hand a few times. It responds to my bidding, much like when I’m using [Glass Animation] and directing one of my animal companion projects, but there’s a strange bit of lag between thought and action. “Huh. Comfortable, I have to admit. It’s not as adroit as I’d hoped, but perhaps workable with practice.”

“Oh! Wow!” Sturgi’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “You picked that up so quickly. I’ve never seen anyone get it on the first try before. Usually, we offer an acclimatization service to new buyers to assist with learning how to control the hand. You must be a natural!”

“How much does acclimatizing cost?”

Either Sturgi doesn’t pick up on my flat tone, or he’s dealt with more cynicism than even I have. My sarcasm doesn’t faze him in the slightest. He hands me a card advertising the service, and taps on the number at the bottom. “We offer four installments of one hundred gold coins per session. Most people get the hang of it by then, but we bundle a fifth and sixth session for the price of only a single training if you need a little more time to practice! Paying up front for a half dozen sessions is the best option, however. For that, it’s only four hundred and fifty gold—a ten percent discount compared with paying individually for the longer training time.”

“Pass,” I say, returning Sturgi’s smile with a sharp grin of my own. Part of me wonders if I could make money by charging people half of what the Menders do just to forge a connection to a foreign mana source. Then again, given their reputation, the Menders might have no problem making an example of me for infringing on their business. They certainly come down hard on anyone who tries to practice healing Skills without Mender affiliation.

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I undo the buckles on the hand, slide it off my arm, and give it back to Sturgi. If lessons for using the hand are that much, then I don’t even want to know how many thousands they’re charging for the prosthetic itself. Come to think of it, the lessons alone are enough to buy us passage back home for my entire team. The hand has to be way more than I’m willing to pay.

I decide to take a gamble, since I’m not going to buy anything from this overpriced shop anyway. “What about self-made limbs? Do you ever help people fit them better?”

“Of course! We offer consults to everyone. We’d never turn someone aside; everyone deserves a chance to return to work and play.”

“And how much is that?”

“Depends on how many sessions it takes. We often have to build a custom set of pads or attachments to help make the fit more comfortable. Most off-the-shelf solutions aren’t as well formed and ergonomic as our solutions. Competition undercuts our prices, but never our quality, you know.”

I should have known. Bunch of cutpurses, disguised as Menders!

“Sounds like it might take a while. Would I have to leave the hand here while you work?” I ask, already suspicious that I know the answer.

“We offer a loaner, free of charge while we make adjustments,” Sturgi says brightly. Now that he’s in familiar territory again, his smile looks more and more genuine. Like he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. He’s not so bad, really. “In the end, the vast majority of people prefer our work and choose to buy a pre-made hand or foot. They’re just more comfortable and practical. What’s a few thousand gold compared with getting your life back?”

I find myself nodding along for a moment, smiling back at Sturgi until I realize that he’s running a Skill to make me more amenable to his suggestions. With a flex of my will, my [Arcane Domain] snuffs out the effects of his Skill, flooding his area of influence with my own mana.

Sturgi staggers, caught off guard. For the first time, his smile not only disappears, but he frowns at me.

“Please refrain from using Skills in the showroom. Enchantments are extremely delicate; I don’t want to damage the merchandise,” Sturgi snaps, his voice growing cold. His hand hovers over his belt, where he’s got a small metal box strapped to his waist. I suspect it’s some sort of alarm that will call for help if he’s in trouble.

“Trust me, any enchantment worth its asking price will hold up against what I just did,” I say cheerfully. “But I believe I’ve seen enough. Good luck with your next sale, Sturgi. Perhaps the next person through those doors will find your mind-magic more acceptable than I do.”

Sturgi freezes, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. He doesn’t reply, just backing up and thumbing the button at his side. Finally his fake smile stretches across his face once more. “Pleasure doing business with you. Good luck finding your replacement hand.”

I leave before Sturgi gives security a reason to find me, not interested in gaining a bad reputation with the Menders. If they want to give me a hard time about it later, then I’ll push back on whatever story Sturgi tries to tell. I have no problem spinning the narrative in my favor, not after the stunt he pulled to try to convince me to part with my hard-won gold.

=+=

While I march away from the Menders campus, my mind runs through my plans. So far, I have yet to see a single shred of actual healing magic from any of the Menders, which raises far more questions than it answers. The closest I’ve seen so far is the Sounding technique from Mender Uttara during my intake assessment, and even that’s only a more advanced version of what I’ve already seen Lionel’s Aunt do back home.

Unbidden, a wave of bitterness overtakes me. Maybe my goal of restoring my core and channels is nothing more than a false promise. Few things are as poisonous as tenderly-held hope that ends up hollow in the end.

“Enough,” I growl aloud to break myself out of my spiraling thoughts. My rough voice startles a mother walking nearby with her young daughter at her side.

The elegantly-dressed woman sweeps up her young daughter, holding her close as she angles away from me in the crowd. She doesn’t even spare me a single backward glance, which makes me wonder how frequent of an occurrence it is in Gilead to run into crazy people.

Maybe only the rich and powerful can afford the mental healing the Menders supposedly offer. The rest are left to their own devices, I guess. If that’s the case, then I need to redouble my efforts to sell imbued glass. I’ll need an absolute fortune to help Avelina. She’s still hasn’t really recovered from the trauma of fighting and killing the enemy [Mage]. I’ll never feel right until I make it up to her.

Thinking of glass makes me wonder how the Linas are doing with finding a studio where we can practice. Surely we can rent studio time somewhere. I’m not sure why it’s so hard for a studio to make a workbench available. I’ll gladly pay for access to glass and tools if I can find a glassworks that’s not so uppity about preserving their “valuable trade secrets.”

Maybe I can sell on my own, using our mobile crafting station. I don’t know if I can pull a stunt like we tried back in Mahkaiaraon when we made glass toys and trinkets in the city square to draw in a crowd. In Gilead, that would likely get us arrested and fined at minimum.

Without a firm understanding of the pricing in Gilead, I won’t know how much to charge for my pieces. Maybe before I track down a glassmaker, I should check an auction house to see what imbued pieces sell for around here. Based on the prices for prosthetics, I’m assuming that there’s a thriving market for magical goods. Prices are probably heavily marked up.

“Excuse me, good sir!” I call out, flagging down a passing gentleman with an ornate hat and a monocle that burns in my mana senses. It’s clearly enchanted, so he’s the best bet I have in this crowd to get the information I’m looking for. “Could you please direct me toward a local auction house or purveyor of fine goods?”

He strides right past me, not even turning to look. When I take a step toward him, two armored [Bodyguards] seem to materialize from the crowd, intercepting me with outstretched arms. One of them puts a hand on the hilt of his sword, and I step away immediately, holding up my empty hand and smiling as calmly as I can.

“No harm meant!” I say, trying to project innocence. “Just asking a question. I’ll, uhh, I’ll see if anyone else can help. Sorry to bother you.”

To my surprise, the second guard chuckles. “Don’t mind my coworker. He’s a bit twitchy with all the unrest lately.” He points toward a street up ahead. “See the sign for that flower shop? Take a right at that intersection. Big auction house is a few streets down. Signs out front. Can’t miss it, guaranteed.”

“Thank you,” I say, genuinely shocked that he would take time away from his guard duty to answer my question. The first [Bodyguard] took off after their client immediately, however, so perhaps they think a single guard is sufficient for this part of town. We are still fairly close to the Menders campus, after all.

He nods in response and ghosts away through the crowd, rejoining his partner in arms as they trail the wealthy man.

For a moment, I imagine what it must be like to have someone looking out for my every move. I could get used to a cadre of [Bodyguards] protecting me. Then I grimace. Nah, that’s a terrible idea. No freedom.

I’ll take my chances on my own over the strange shackles of people always at my heels. I’m far from helpless these days, given the empowering effects of my Domain. I’m not interested in a group other than the friends on my team.

True to the [Bodyguard]’s word, I find the auction house a fairly short walk away. And, as promised, the signs are unmistakable, flashing with garish light that’s overwhelmingly bright even in the light of day. Enchantments line every inch of the building’s storefront, packed in with haphazard density that should cause interference. The fact that they’re all functional speaks to the skill of the [Enchanter], and to the wealth of the auction house. That much work must have taken many weeks. Maybe even months.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer density of the enchantments, I can’t pierce through the walls to scope out the inside. That’s probably intentional—they’re wards against scrying as much as an advertisement of skill and wealth. If I want to get a sense of how glass sells in the great city of Gilead, then I’ll need to head inside the auction house.

I glance up, noting the position of the sun in the sky as a rough check on the time. I’d hoped to get to work creating a prototype of a glass hand today, but that might not be an option if I spend my afternoon wandering around in an auction house.

I shrug. I have as much time as I need. All my limits are self-imposed. Scouting out the glass wares for sales and getting a finger on the pulse of the local economy are worth delaying my glass hand. Besides, I don’t have a solid plan yet for what I want to design, and part of me wants to put it off until I’ve heard about my pending appointment with the metaphysical [Healer].

Surely there’s no harm in perusing some glass wares while I’m figuring out what I want to create. I’ll be better positioned for success if I can fix my core and channels first, anyway. I don’t want to be constrained by the Capacity of my glass cores if I come up with an exciting design that’s beyond my current abilities to create.

Mind made up, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and head inside the auction house. Time to see what the merchants and makers of Gilead have to offer.