6 – Market Square
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” Ward stood in the gateway to the Red Door dojo, having been ushered there by Haley; the Gopah master had agreed to give her instruction on the seventh form, but apparently, it wasn’t something an outsider could witness.
“Yes! I promise. I’m fine.”
Grace stepped closer to Haley, reaching out as though she could touch the other woman. “And you’ll go straight back to the inn after you’re finished?”
“Yes, Grace!” Haley smiled, and it looked genuine, which Ward took as a good sign; hopefully, the master was right, and Gopah would be the answer to Haley’s troubles. “Ward, I wonder, would you please take this back to the inn for me?” As she spoke, she unbuckled her father’s sword belt.
“Yeah, sure,” he held out a hand, but as she passed the sword his way, Haley shook her head.
“No, not back to the inn. Will you please wear it? Considering I can't, I’d be honored if you’d use my father’s sword.”
“I…” Ward wanted to say that he didn’t know how to wield it properly and that he was probably better off buying a nice, stout cudgel, but he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t trying to be practical—this was emotional for her, and he wanted to encourage her emotions. “I’d be honored, Haley.”
“Thank you!” She ducked her head as he took the heavy weapon and slung the belt around his waist—it fit him much better than it had Haley. “Go now; I don’t want to keep the master waiting.”
“Okay.” Ward nodded. “I’ll do some shopping.”
“Wait! I nearly forgot that I had another favor to ask you.”
Ward turned back to her, reaching up to adjust his hat. “Sure. Anything.”
“Will you stop by the inn and get my shares for the copper mine? They’re bearer certificates, so anyone can sell them. Go to one of the larger finance houses—Goldspar’s would be good. They’ll buy them for a percentage, but don’t accept anything less than seven hundred.”
“Seven hundred glories?”
“Yes. Per share. My parents owned forty-seven shares.”
“Holy shit! Seriously?”
Haley smiled again and nodded. “Yes. If you need to borrow some of the proceeds, I don’t mind. We’ll use the funds to pay for our travel to Springsea.”
Grace folded her arms over her chest. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“I told Ward I took the shares from my parents’ safe!”
“Yeah, but when we talked about paying for the trip to Springsea, you didn’t bring it up—”
“Don’t pester her, Grace. She’s gotta go. We can talk about it later.” Ward winked at Haley, then waved and turned, calling back over his shoulder, “I’ll try to get you a good price!”
“Good luck with the training,” Grace said, and Ward had a feeling she would’ve hugged Haley if she could.
He strolled down the sidewalk, heading in the general direction of the inn, and when Grace caught up to him, he chuckled, shaking his head. “If you could hop into her head and leave me behind, you would.”
“That’s not true. I like being with you, Ward.” She smiled up at him, and Ward had a hard time believing the little voice in his head that said she was full of shit.
A few minutes later, back in the inn, he found the fancy, gilded sheets of paper that laid out Haley’s ownership shares in the “Copper Valley Mine Shaft #4 and all its derivative shafts.” They were embossed with intricate seals, stamps, and signatures, making them the most official feeling and looking documents Ward had ever carried, and he’d had his hands on some doozies when it came to court cases. “They just don’t do it like this anymore.”
“Hmm?” Grace looked over his shoulder.
“The seals, colorful wax, and embossed stamps. I guess it’s not practical when you’re dealing with thousands of pages of documents every day.”
“Well, let’s not forget about computers, Ward.” She shrugged. “Let’s go!”
“All right, hang on.” Ward took a minute to secure the documents in his backpack, then led the way downstairs and out of the inn. “Crazy to me that she left these docs in the inn. If I were a thief…” He trailed off as more than a couple of passersby gave him sidelong looks. When he got to the corner of the nearby “Main” street, which led further into the city if you turned left and out to the city gates if you turned right, Ward realized he didn’t know where to go. A uniformed city watchman stood on the corner, though, leaning against a long polearm, lazily watching the traffic.
Ward walked over to him. “Excuse me, sir.”
The guard, taller than Ward by an inch or two, spat a wad of brown saliva onto the cobbles, then turned to him. “What?”
“Can you point me in the direction of, I dunno, a bank or finance—”
“Goldspar,” Grace reminded him.
“Finance house like Goldspar’s?” Ward finished.
The guard nodded down the main road toward the center of town, hardly giving Ward a glance. “Main square. Move on, now! Don’t need a crowd bunching up here!” He spat again, a little too close to Ward’s boots for comfort. Despite his impulse to bark back at the guy, Ward just nodded, tilted the brim of his hat down, and turned to follow the foot traffic into the city.
“What a jerk!” Grace said. “I’m glad you didn’t punch him or something. I’d hate for Haley to have to come and find you in the pillory.”
“Pillory? They wouldn’t do that…would they?” Ward hadn’t considered the various forms of medieval punishment he might come across in his new reality.
“Let’s not find out the hard way.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that as the other half of my brain told me to cuss the guy out. I was more thinking of being tossed in a cell, though.” A woman walking nearby looked at him sideways, but when she saw Ward’s eyes in the shadows of his wide-brimmed hat, she quickly looked away and hurried her steps.
“That woman thinks you’re talking to an evil spirit or something.”
Ward smirked. “Aren’t I?”
“Hey!” Grace punched his shoulder. “I thought we were starting over? Did you black that out?”
Ward rubbed his shoulder and chuckled. “Nah, I didn’t forget. C’mon, teasing’s part of friendship.”
Grace smiled and reached up to smooth the fabric of his coat. “Friendship. Right!”
It wasn’t hard to find the “main square.” It was the first one they came to, and Ward nearly slapped himself on the forehead when he recalled they were walking on Main Street. “Makes sense,” he chuckled, looking around. He stood under the eaves of a building on the corner and watched the traffic moving around the square. The center part was fenced off with pedestrian gates where it looked like city officials were selling tickets. The sign above the nearest gate read, “Open Market.”
The road narrowed but continued around the outer edge of the square alongside wide red-brick sidewalks. Ward counted something like thirty buildings on one side of the square, and many of them looked to be likely candidates for the sale of Haley’s shares. Grace leaned close and said, “I don’t see Goldspar’s, but how about Kent Lending House?”
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“You like the sound of that one?”
“Their logo looks like a hunting dog—dogs symbolize loyalty.”
“So, you like their marketing?” Ward laughed, but when Grace narrowed her eyes at him, he shrugged. “All right.” He hooked his thumbs under the straps of his backpack and merged with the flow of pedestrians, working his way around the square to the three-story, narrow brick building. The bricks were painted black, and the sign Grace had seen was painted with gold lettering. He wouldn’t admit it to Grace, but he liked the image of the dog, too. It reminded him of a Labrador retriever.
When he opened the door, Grace slipped past him to enter first. “Seems nice, doesn’t it?”
Ward followed her in, his boots clicking on the black and white tiles. When he saw a young man wearing a fine, light-gray woolen suit behind the desk in the elegant lobby, he smiled and stepped closer. “Hello.”
The man looked up, delicately setting aside his ink pen. “Welcome to Kent’s, sir. How might I help you today?”
“I was hoping to meet with someone who could broker the exchange of some mine shares.”
“Will the buyer and seller both be present?”
“Assuming your institution buys them, yes.”
“Oh! I understand now. Just a moment, sir.” The man stood, his chair legs scraping noisily on the hard floor, and then walked down a wide, ornately trimmed hallway.
“That got his attention.” Grace hopped up onto the fellow’s desk, her legs dangling. Ward frowned at her, staring at the displaced, spilled ink pot. He wondered how long he could stare, forcing the weird magic that tricked his mind into continuing to—He blinked, and the pot was upright again, the spilled ink gone.
“Huh,” he grunted, and Grace looked at him quizzically, but before Ward could explain, the young man approached, his polished shoes clicking on the tiles.
“Sir, Mr. Kent will see you now.”
“Mr. Kent? As in the name on the sign?”
“Yes, sir. His father is our founder.” He gestured to the hallway. “Right this way, sir.” As he led Ward down the hallway, he asked, “Might I have your name, sir?”
“Ward Dyer.”
“Thank you.” Ward followed him to an ornate, polished mahogany door, which the young man opened. He announced, “Mr. Ward Dyer here to see you, Mr. Kent.”
A jovial voice responded, “Welcome! Come in, come in, Mr. Dyer.” When Ward did so, nodding to the young man as he passed, he found himself in a plush but disorderly office with stacks of papers, folders, and books nearly obscuring the little man behind the desk. He walked around, smiling broadly under prominent, round cheeks. “Welcome, welcome. Hobert Kent, at your service. Here, here.” He gestured to a small round table on the side of the room. “Less mess over here. Let’s have a seat at the table.”
Ward unslung his backpack and sat at the table, doffing his hat and placing it in an empty chair. There followed a lengthy discussion about mines, their booms and busts, the risks involved with their ownership, and how past production wasn’t a guarantee of future value. Still, the negotiations for the share prices were tepid because Hobert Kent’s initial offer was six hundred and seventy glories per share, and it was easy enough to talk him up to seven hundred. Knowing Haley would be happy with that, Ward shook the man’s hand, handed over the bearer documents, and signed a bill of sale.
“How will you take the funds, sir? A promissory note? It’s valid at any seal-bearing financial institution on Cinder. You’d be more protected that way, as your name and thumbprint will be on the note.”
“Thumbprint, huh?”
“Oh yes, sir. Did you know that the lines on a person’s thumb are unique? The major finance institutions employ experts who can read the difference between prints in just a matter of minutes.”
Ward thought about it, considering the risk of carrying around that many glories. Then he thought about Haley and what she’d want and shook his head. “I think I’ll take glories.”
“As you say, sir. Please be patient while I access the vault.”
Ward watched the little fellow leave, then turned to Grace. “I guess they’re learning about fingerprints in this world.”
“Yeah, but there’s a pretty big gap between noticing a difference between a pair and having a database of criminal’s prints.’
“True, but still, it’s good to know.”
“That’s quite a lot of money, you know. It shows how much Haley trusts you. What if you took the glories, took the horse she practically gave you, and left her here? She’d never find you; how would she even know if you took passage on a ship or not?”
Ward sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Grace, that’s the kind of thing that makes me worry about you. There’s no way I’d do that to Haley, and she knows it. We’ve been through too much together. She knows me. You should realize—”
“It was just a hypothetical, Ward! I didn’t say I thought you might do it! I didn’t say you should!”
“All right, all right.” Ward waved a hand. “Forget it.” He glanced out the office window to the busy sidewalk outside. “Where should we go next? Gun store or try to find someplace to ask about Nevkin’s box?” Something about the box’s creepy nature and the fact that it was tangentially related to the same magic that had messed Haley up had kept Ward from mentioning it to the Gopah master.
“Ask Kent. He stands to make some decent money off those shares he just bought, and he’ll want to earn your repeat business.”
“Yeah, I will.” Ward let his eyes wander around Kent’s office, wondering at the sheaves of paper, the stacks of files, and the general mess. The idea of making a living working with documents like that all day almost made him shudder. “I feel like I could have bargained him up quite a bit more on that price. I bet this little deal will have made his week if he can make a decent upsell.”
“Undoubtedly. I could tell you weren’t trying to bargain very hard; you certainly settled quickly for the seven hundred Haley suggested.”
“I’m not a sales guy, Grace. I don’t like bargaining.”
“No, I get that. You’re a doer, not a talker.”
Ward was trying to think of a response to that when the door opened, and Hobert Kent returned, toting a surprisingly small, supple leather bag. “I’ve provided most of the sale price in thousand-glory coins.” He handed the pouch over, and Ward heard the clinks of something that sounded a lot like glass. “Feel free to confirm my count.”
Ward nodded, wondering what the higher-denomination coins looked like. When he opened the pouch and poured some of the contents into his hand, a few heavy, gold hundred-glory coins slid out along with half a dozen deep red, crystalline coins with hundreds of tiny facets. “Shit,” he said softly, “are these cut gemstones?”
“That’s correct, sir—straight from the mint on Primus.” The coins were roughly the size of Ward’s thumbnail, and it drove home the idea that the “glories” weren’t meant only to represent value; they were valuable in themselves. Ward poured the rest onto the table, carefully not to spill any onto the floor. He counted them as he slid them back into the pouch—thirty-two red gemstone coins, eight golden, hundred-glory coins, and then another hundred broken up into silver coins.
“Looks good,” he grunted, closing up the pouch and stuffing it inside his coat’s inner pocket, opposite his personal supply of glories—something like fifteen hundred. “Welp, I guess that does it for us. Say, Mr. Kent, you’re familiar with the shops in the area, aren’t you?”
“Oh yes! I’ve lived in Port Granite my entire life. How can I help?”
“Two things—I need the name of a good firearms dealer, and I’d also like to know if you can direct me to a more…esoteric establishment, someplace I might get some advice about magical objects and runic scripts.”
“Wow! Very nicely put, Ward!” Grace interjected before Kent could reply.
“For firearms, sir, there’s a shop across the square—Harkwright’s—and my father and all the hunting men in my family swear by their prices and quality. As for someone who might help with your more…arcane needs, you might try Raskin’s Alchemy. They employ a sorcerer in that shop, and the establishment is well-respected in the city. You’ll find them just a few blocks from the square on Twelfth Street.”
Ward stood, scooping his hat up from the empty seat beside him. He stretched out a hand, and Kent shook it firmly. Ward smiled and put his hat on. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”
“It’s mutual, so please remember me for your financial needs. As you know, a business is only as successful as its reputation is good. I hope you’ll let your acquaintances know about our fine service.”
“Of course.” With that, Ward showed himself out of the office and out to the busy market square. He looked at Grace. “Since we’re already at the market, let’s check out that gun store first.” As she nodded and started walking, leading the way, Ward adjusted the sword belt on his waist; it was going to take some getting used to. Back in Kent’s office, he’d kept catching it on the chair and had almost stood up to take it off in exasperation.
He followed Grace around the market, moving with the flow of pedestrians as they crossed the street at the corner, and then, as they rounded the other side, he scanned the businesses until he saw one with an ornate, wrought-iron sign that read, “Harkwright’s Alchemical Armaments.” “I’ll be in your head,” Grace said, “You know, until I’m sure no one in there can see me.”
“Right.” Ward nodded, climbing the steps and pulling wide the door. Inside the narrow shop, his boots echoed on the wooden planks, and everything seemed dim, nearly dark, after walking across the bright square. He was instantly struck by the scents of oil and wood shavings and inhaled deeply, enjoying the heady aromas. He noted a hat rack to the side of the door, so he doffed his hat and hung it there, and when he turned to look at the wares on display, he practically began to drool.
A long counter ran the length of the right-hand wall, and behind it were hung hundreds of obviously custom-made firearms or, as the sign had proclaimed, alchemical arms. Polished hardwood stocks, carved in fanciful yet ergonomic and graceful swoops supported barrels of all types. A rifle with a cylindrical firing chamber about ten times larger in circumference than his old revolver caught his eye, and as he chuckled in admiration, he let his gaze wander, settling on a blunderbuss that looked a lot like Velvet, Marshal Aldiss’s beloved weapon.
He was so taken by the beauty of the custom weapons that he hardly noticed the woman standing behind the counter until she cleared her throat. “Welcome in, sir! You’ve got perfect timing; we were just about to close up for lunch, but I don’t mind staying open for a gentleman in need of a weapon.”
Ward looked at her and noted the apron stuffed with delicate tools, the brass-framed, red-tinted spectacles, and the tidy ponytail holding her curly black hair away from her face. She looked friendly, and he smiled and nodded, walking toward the counter. “I’m in the market for a decent, um, alchemical pistol or rifle. Heck, maybe both. Do you have time to answer some questions?”