Murphy swung open the pub door, immediately hit by a peculiar smell that was part liquor, part ink.
He eyed the group in the corner deep in discussion, confirming he was in the right haunt.
With Pepe in tow, Murphy settled at the bar, flicking his fingers to catch the bartender's eye. "Pint of your darkest stout for myself, and... actually, just make it two juices and a side of bread, the softer the better."
The bartender turned, prepping the order, "Look at the hour, mate; soft bread is a dream at this time."
"Just hurry, pretty much starved here. Oh, Sam in tonight?"
That'd be Sam, the voice box of the Southern Quarter. Skinny young lad, hustling between pubs and gambling dens, living off the day's chatter, as likely to go hungry as he was to feast.
The bartender glanced out the window, remarking, “Early yet. Give it till nightfall, he’s a dusk prowler.”
Murphy simply nodded, taking a gulp of his juice before recounting tales to Pepe, so captivating that even the bartender found himself listening in.
When Murphy talked about the little match seller using the family magic taught by her grandma - "Big Nuclear Explosion Technique" - so that the residents of the entire town saw their deceased grandma's ghost, a brisk set of footsteps approached.
The newcomer booted in, plopped down by the counter, and inquired, “Evening, any tidbits to share, mate?”
Used to such abruptness, the bartender shot back, “Nope. But your seeker’s right there,” thumb jerking toward Murphy.
The thin figure beamed at Murphy, asking, "Been looking for me?"
"You're Sam? The mouthpiece of the South?"
"The one and only. Got a message? For twenty coppers, it’ll be the talk of three blocks."
"It’s a different matter. Hear the count’s offering twenty golds for some worthy read?"
Oh, that? You're fancying a go?" Sam nodded towards a table in the corner. "See that bloke with the splinted leg? Thought he penned a masterpiece. Got his leg busted by the count's guards."
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"Take a hint, consider your options," Sam advised, sporting a look of experience.
"Here’s the deal," Murphy said, sliding Sam a pint, "I'm not local. Came when I got wind of this. Got a book of my own, unpublished. How do I get it to the count?"
"You don't know anyone? Got any ins?" Sam measured the stranger with a smile.
"Do you think I'd bother with you if I had?” Murphy scoffed.
"True enough. Even if you did come to me, I'd just be starting the usual chain," admitted Sam, hinting at limited reach.
"Straight up, what’s your price?" Murphy was losing patience.
"Two gold, Deal with it. Give me three days, and your book’ll be on the count's desk," Sam said, now with clear terms. "As for your fate, I wash my hands of that."
Book and coins exchanged hands. "Deal. Make it quick."
"Like your style, brother. Name?"
"Just Murphy." He slapped an adventurer's card with 'Level 18' on the bar; Sam realized he'd hit the jackpot.
"Actually, I misspoke. One gold, eighty silver would have covered it. This is embarrassing..." murmured Sam, regretting his avarice.
"Keep the rest. Just make sure it's done well. I might come back to you," Murphy downed his juice, beckoning Pepe as they left.
Walking back, Pepe whispered, "He took extra, it doesn't bother you?"
"All good, he's the smart sort. Knows when to take money, and when to not."
"So, got yourself a new disguise?"
Murphy glanced at Pepe, "Might say that. The mage, the writer, each a facade. Together, a complete disguise—subtle, not too linked, not too separate."
"And the advantage?" probed Pepe.
"A thrill for one, plus everyone has secrets. Some aims to dig into mine. They ought to find surface truths, to stop them from digging too deep."
Pepe seemed lost, "Master, I don't quite follow."
"Imagine someone buried the count's son and the count's hound could sniff out corpses. How'd you keep the body hidden?"
Pepe thought hard and suggested, "Kill the dog, or even the count."
Murphy laughed, "Clever! Or... bury the boy deep, top it with a thick layer of dirt, then an animal's carcass. Diggers hit the animal, they stop; secret stays buried."
"When they investigate me, those who investigate my identity as a writer will also discover that I am a magician, and those who investigate my identity as a magician will also discover that I am a writer, so they will take their so-called gains and go to their He will no longer wag his tail in front of his master to ask for credit, instead of continuing to dig into the secrets behind the writer and magician.
"I see, still, my plan might've worked better," Pepe confidently stated.
"How often must I tell you, Pepe? I pursue peace, not violence. Keep those young thoughts innocent," chided Murphy.
As Pepe nodded, Murphy cheered up the mood, "Let's hit the snack street then home."
---
Sam, the flesh-and-blood mechanism, charged by Murphy's two gold coins, sprang into action. This wasn't his first rodeo.
By next morning, Sam handed down Murphy's book with a gold and eighty silver to a familiar old customer—a courier for the count.
That afternoon, the customer passed the book, with a gold and thirty silver, to the Deputy Captain of the count's personal guard.
On the third morning, post-shift, the Deputy handed the book, with a single gold, to Seth—trusted butler to Lord Count Reed.
By the afternoon, the count awoke from his three-hour slumber, spotting, beside his window-side view, an unfamiliar novel titled "The Return of the Grand Knight".