Forty hours until the merchants’ strike.
Having discussed the plan with Murphy, Alaric left 2 Clyster Street, hardly able to conceal his grin. While Alaric handled reaching out to his contacts for purchasing stock from the lands around Count Reed's domain, Murphy was tasked with the shop's makeover.
Back home, Alaric quickly rounded up his guys and dispatched them on swift horses, laden with missions and gold, galloping out of every city gate.
Murphy, with Pepe in tow, arrived at the entrance of Alaric's shop and, eying the timeworn sign—'Alaric's Sundries'—and the listless clerk inside, muttered, "Looks more like a junk shop, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, you can tell there’s nothing good inside; kinda suspicious if you ask me." Pepe agreed, making a face.
"Leave it to us," Murphy said, patting her shoulder.
Alaric's shop sat among a row of others, flanked by fruit stands, vegetable stalls, and smithies.
Stopping before a fruit stand, Murphy's eyes danced over the assortment of watermelons. "Hey mate, how much for these melons per pound?"
"Two copper pennies."
"Sheesh, er, I mean, doing good business, you guys?"
The stand owner glanced up, puzzled, "It's alright, you buying or not?"
"I'll buy, but I'm looking to take off your hands the whole fruit stand." Murphy leaned on a watermelon.
The owner, mid-tap on the melon, stopped and said with a hint of annoyance, "You pulling my leg?"
"No, no, I really want to buy your stand. Name your price." Murphy felt like he was back in a past life, needing to jump out of this bizarre situation before it turned bloody.
"You serious about buying?"
"For real. Alaric wants to expand for some big business; this little shop won’t do."
The owner jammed his melon knife into the table, "Flat rate, fifteen gold coins."
"You swindler! That fruit stand isn't worth five gold coins!" Pepe exclaimed.
Murphy quickly pulled Pepe back, "What’s in here, gold melons?"
Arms crossed, the seller shot back, "Take it or leave it."
Grasping the essence of this fruit stand war, Murphy suppressed his irritation, pulled out fifteen gold coins, and said, "Pack it up, boys."
The fruit stand brothers lit up, one counting the money, the other packing up the fruit.
Murphy and Pepe bought out the rest—the vegetable stall, the smithy, and the diner, sending away even a beggar waiting for scraps with two silver coins to find his meals elsewhere.
They spent fifty gold in total and then reserved wooden fencing and canvas at the market, returning to 2 Clyster Street's courtyard at dusk with over a hundred cloaks.
"Going to teach you a summoning spell today, target a hundred mindless skeletons from Lightless Tomb," Murphy said as he drew a magic circle.
Pepe, copying the pattern in her notebook, asked, "Will those skeletons follow orders?"
"Sure, they're mindless and act only on the instincts to obey those above them."
After completing the summoning circle, Murphy funneled magic into its center; a bright flash later, skeletons began to appear, listless, as though compelled to rise early against their will.
Murphy ordered them to don the cloaks, concealing their skeletal forms.
By nine o'clock, the streets were emptied of pedestrians, and the guards had finished their patrols. Murphy gave the command, and a hundred silent skeletons marched towards Alaric's Sundries.
Shrouded in darkness, their black cloaks merged with the night. By the shop’s exterior stood a composed middle-aged man, the awaiting Byron.
Earlier that afternoon, once Murphy’s ordered fencing and canvas arrived at the shop, Byron had circled the encompassing stands with them.
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Byron, spotting the advancing skeletons, pulled aside the canvas to admit them.
Murphy sauntered up, sans the young girl - Pepe was back home practicing the dark summoning spell.
"Now that we have everyone, let's get to it. Quiet like, wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors," Murphy instructed.
The skeletons swarmed like locusts to the crop, the shops dissolving in their wake with hardly a sound, mere whispers of crumbling architecture. By dawn, the row of shops was stripped bare—a skeleton itself, fittingly undone by skeletons.
As the sun climbed and the street filled again, Murphy dismissed the skeletons and revisited the market with Byron for the supplies.
Twenty-four hours to the merchants' strike.
---
Back at twilight, while Murphy's skeletons toiled, Alaric's busy home welcomed an unexpected guest.
The black-robed figure was escorted into Alaric's study and, with the door shut, he lifted his hood, revealing graying hair.
"Mr. Ralf?" Alaric was surprised, his tone teasing, "What brings you to my humble abode?"
Aged under the candlelight, Ralf rasped, "Mind a seat for these old bones?"
Alaric fetched a high-backed wooden chair, seating Ralf across from himself.
"Mr. Ralf, your esteemed presence honors me. Speak plainly. What brings you here?"
"Mr. Alaric, no, Chairman Alaric, I must report! Those merchants plan to strike under my banner the day after tomorrow. They threatened my family, ensnaring me to join them! I had no choice but to pretend to comply, then come to you!"
Deflated like a punctured ball, Ralf slumped into the chair.
"Mr. Ralf, you flatter me. I'm just a chairman, and we're all colleagues here. Why would anyone bother me?" Alaric chuckled.
"Chairman, I swear it's true!"
"Truth? How could it be? The guild meeting records show no such thing," Alaric feigned shock.
"Sir! Everyone knows! We all act behind your back..."
Ralf couldn't continue.
"Alright, Mr. Ralf. Let's say you're telling the truth. What makes you think I'd believe you?"
Ralf's flabbergasted response followed silence, "You don't believe me? After I've done all this!"
"Which is what?" Alaric guffawed, tossing envelopes at Ralf, "Read for yourself."
Ralf opened the first letter with a growing sense of dread.
[Dearest Mr. Alaric,
Greetings,
I'm Rafael, a humble cloth merchant in the western district. Despite our lack of acquaintance and my standing as a law-abiding trader, it's with heavy conscience I report a dire matter:
Former Guild Leader Joel's cohort, City of Gath's nefarious merchant Ralf, has roped us into a strike in two days under threat.
If successful, this plan will wreak havoc on the market.
As a merchant and citizen of Gath, tormented by what I witnessed, I pen this letter amid fears, ready to stand by the city’s market stability.
As a minor player, please forgive my inability to confront Ralf's threats head-on. At this juncture, only you can save us.
I pledge my utmost sincerity, no less than eighty percent of my fortune—eight hundred gold coins—to uphold the market’s steadiness and your just cause.
Again, thank you for your grace and mercy,
Your humble and sincere colleague and friend, Rafael.]
Breathless with panic, Ralf flung the letter away, "Impossible!"
He tore into the others, skimming frenetically.
[...I'm a timber merchant... the devious Ralf threatened us to join the strike or face death by his hands, I had no choice... willing to contribute five hundred gold coins...]
[...as a grain merchant... Ralf, Joel's lackey, wanted us to strike collectively in two days or face... two hundred gold coins...]
[...hope Chairman Alaric convicts the multiple offenses of Ralf...]
[...after hearing your inaugural speech, I felt compelled to denounce the heinous Ralf...]
"No! No!" Ralf collapsed, shaken and spiritless, an old man rather than a vengeful beast in disguise.
There we go, Alaric relished the thought, that's despair.
Looking down upon Ralf, "Are you satisfied with this outcome?"
Ralf murmured from the floor, "I won’t give in! I can't lose! I won't accept this!"
Laughter echoed outside. Murphy burst in, "Just hilarious! You don't give in? You don't accept? Like you’ve got a choice?"
Without waiting for Ralf’s retort, Murphy looked at Alaric, "How's the harvest?"
"Thanks to Mr. Murphy's guidance, netted a total of 2,700 gold from various merchants, and Ralf's fortune is well within our reach."
Ignoring the man on the floor, they started tallying their gains.
"You little runt! Don’t get ahead of yourself!" Ralf stood up, face red, "Without us, your guild is just an empty shell! Be your damn chairman. You mutt!"
Ralf stormed out to his waiting carriage.
After several deep breaths aboard to steady himself, Ralf questioned the driver, "That young man who entered after me, where did he come from?"
"Master, no young man entered tonight, just yourself," the driver replied thoughtfully.
Silenced, Ralf murmured inside the carriage, "It's okay, as long as everyone strikes, even a public farce can dent Alaric's reputation."
"And the young man, he needs to be investigated."
---
Back in Alaric's study.
"Mr. Murphy, my side's on track. How's the shop renovation?"
"Don't fret, I'm far ahead—handle your part."
"About the money..." Alaric motioned to a corner piled with coins.
"Throw it all in, no second thoughts, windfall money, after all."
"I understand."
After a brief consultation, Murphy left in the dawn's early light for the still-busy shop.
---
In Heracles Kingdom's royal palace.
A cloaked figure knelt before the king.
"First trace of the succubus crystal was in Count Reed’s territory, then the capital?" the king furrowed his brow.
"So our investigation indicates," the cloaked one asserted.
"Fetch me the files on Reed's lineage."
"As you command."
The king scanned the scroll, his face a mix of clouds and sun, "Persistent turmoil in the Reed family."
"The current count nears forty without heir."
"And the collateral line?"
"This and the previous counts were only sons. The great-uncle vanished, his fate unknown."
"Good!" The king slammed the table, "Get more evidence, then arrest him. Inform the general and treasurer to see me."
"Understood." The cloaked figure withdrew.
The king pulled from his desk the tax roll, found Count Reed's levy, and a subtle smile flickered across his face.