Nathaniel reached a heavy door, its ornamental knocker obtuse and grotesque. It was shaped like a horseshoe, wrought in black iron - though eroded, rusted, and somewhat smelly. The scent triggered a memory of a bizarre evening abroad, locked in a cage by a woman who claimed to love him and a husband who most certainly did not. Nathaniel snorted at the memory, rubbing a white line on the back of his right thigh.

Cautiously, Nathaniel lifted his hand and allowed the horseshoe to drop. A knock of surprising magnitude echoed through the oaken door. He waited. His eyes fell on the sign hanging on the brick wall beside the door. It read:

"The King’s Registry"

"God-given, God-granted"

Nathaniel knocked again. His foot began to tap against the floor. Those passing by in the street started to watch with distaste as he absentmindedly tapped his foot against the door itself, none brave enough to confront him. Finally, a loud clang sounded from within the building, indicating a lock being removed from the inside. As the door slowly creaked open, Nathaniel caught sight of a knee-high creature clearly struggling with the weight.

‘Oh bother, oh bother,’ the mole-like creature started, voice slow and self-piteous. 'Apologies for the wait, sir?’

The occupant of the building looked up at Nathaniel, crying out before letting go of the door. He would’ve been squashed to nothing if Nathaniel hadn’t caught it with his hand.

‘No need to be a nervous fucker,’ Nathaniel said as the creature walked backwards. ‘You’re from the north? I recognise your type.’

Still backing away, the store particularly dark, the mole nodded. He squinted, struggling with the outdoor light and holding an arm up to shield his eyes. He lowered the brim of his hat to help.

‘Y- yes, Captain,’ he said. ‘Near the hills of Helford.’

Nathaniel didn’t wait to be admitted; he walked through the door, shutting it behind him. ‘I ‘member passing through. You fuckers couldn’t see past your noses outside. Excellent in the dark, though. Fucking brilliant.’

Nathaniel’s eyes adjusted quickly. The building was obviously large, but the entrance room was the only part that he’d ever see. He could see offices hidden behind the counter, as well as a large storage room to the right. Soft light emitted from each room, glowing from behind the door frames.

‘The king has a mole working his land and estates?’ Nathaniel asked, dubious. Still, he recognised the branded hat on the mole's head. ‘Last time I was here, a fella named Stickler was in charge. He was a nasty fucker, to be true.’

The mole slowly stepped towards the counter, panting quietly and lifting himself up a tiny set of stairs, finally settling with his claws upon the wood. He looked at Nathaniel properly, his dark eyes intense. ‘Stickler and the rest - he’s called them to him. A necessity. I work in filing.’

Each word was chosen deliberately, as though they cost too much breath to speak. Nathaniel calmed a rising storm within his chest. ‘I was keen to spend my coin today, friend.’

The mole brightened, looking with wide - well, wider eyes at him. ‘I - I can help. Where in the city?’

Nathaniel laughed. ‘This old man wants to be as far the fuck away as can be permitted, if you understand me. Show me your plots in the Dawn Heights.’

The mole pointed back to the storage room, then turned pleading eyes to Nathaniel, who grunted. ‘I’ll do your work, but I expect a fucking discount.’

----------------------------------------

An hour later, and after many tedious trips back and forth into the store room, Nathaniel had his three choices set out in front of him. The mole had warned that no plot there had been sold in the past century, and roads would be overrun. Clean-up might be harsh, but the land was visited once a year to ensure no bandits were occupying it.

Nathaniel used that to his advantage. The three plots in front of him had been reduced by a heavy amount. According to the mole, who revealed his name to be Grittle, they would’ve been worth five platinum each before the residents had left. Now, a hundred years into their abandonment, they were worth only a single platinum each.

Nathaniel considered. The plots were all beside each other: plots 52A, 52B, and 52C. They had caught Nathaniel’s attention thanks to the hefty terrain surrounding it - terrain that couldn’t be inhabited.

Plot 52A had been a large farm, the only real plot of value to him. Grittle described it as Nathaniel explored his options. Nathaniel subtly supported his breath, his own strength flowing to the mole. It was risky; he hadn’t used his power in a long, long time, and some things were best left in the past. However, as the mole’s speech became less laboured, Nathaniel’s concern began to ease.

‘The Dawn Heights are beyond the settled land of the city, five leagues away. The journey would be simple if not for the incline of the mountains; they seem steeper each year. Your chosen plots are sheltered from the northern winds, with steady sunlight from dawn to dusk.' His claws trailed along the map, highlighting each of his comments. 'Plot 52A is a series of rolling hills, with four to five decently sized fields. I’m not sure you know how large an acre is, Captain?’

‘It was described to me before,’ Nathaniel said, ‘back when there were no hairs on my chest.’

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

‘Hm,’ Grittle murmured. ‘This plot is around twenty acres large, if that helps.’

‘Enough to keep a single man busy,’ Nathaniel nodded.

‘Yes!’ Grittle exclaimed, as though they were both on the same page. ‘Its sister plot sits to the east of it, here.’

Grittle pointed to Plot 55B the map. Nathaniel nodded in consideration.

‘This plot overlooks the land to the east. It’s almost the tallest point in the area, before you head further west of course. If the city were nearer, you’d see us.’

‘You most of all, I’m sure, my small friend.’

The mole smiled, claws tapping away on the counter. ‘It’s a smaller area, but mountainous. Ten acres, maybe. It says here that there are springs, but I’ve not personally explored them before.’ Grittle considered for a moment. ‘The hills might be good for some mining, I suppose. The university is always looking for fossils.’

‘No surprise there,’ Nathaniel mused. ‘Those fuckers are older than me.’

‘Plot 52C sits along the southern edge of the two. It’s long and thin.’

I’ve heard that before.

Nathaniel shuddered, his heart racing. ‘Oh fuck.’

That voice… That chilling, disembodied voice whirled through his mind, the musky air around him thinning and cooling. Those words had come from nowhere, yet the voice echoed all around him, hot breath prickling the skin of his neck. Frozen in place, Nathaniel began to push his power away, easing its use.

‘Captain?’ Grittle asked, reaching to him.

Nathaniel waved him away. ‘Carry on, lad.’

There was nothing Nathaniel could do. He suppressed his terror, focusing on the maps spread before him.

Grittle seemed wary, but continued. ‘A steady river flows along, fresh water from the mountains. Again, the land is likely overgrown, so I see little reason for you to have it ahead of Plot 52A. That’s surely the only land required if farming is on the horizon?’

Nathaniel knew the mole was right, but he had a feeling. The Dawn Heights were as close to the perimeter as he could get, without causing trouble - if trouble could indeed be caused. If the land was good, he had no idea how well his venture would fare. However, the three plots together would increase his chances. The fields may see better results for his crop, and if not, he can plant other food there. The mountainous range might work well, and if not, it would certainly provide plenty of amusement. And the land with the river? Well, that was just necessary. Plot 52A had plenty of water, it seemed, but a river? That was surely essential.

Grittle looked at him. Nathaniel looked back.

‘Can the price go lower?’ Nathaniel asked.

The mole sighed, looking at the three plots, and then began to consult a large binder. He flicked through it, ominously peering at numbers and statistics. He closed his eyes and began to move his hands in front of him, as if imagining an abacus, or so it seemed to Nathaniel.

‘The three could be bundled for two platinum pieces, Captain. That would require the okay from Stickler, though.’

Nathaniel snorted. If Stickler were here, the price would be three each, he was sure of it. Stickler could sniff out a man and his wants. Nathaniel was easier to read than the clouds in a storm. He wanted those plots, and he’d get them.

‘What about a deal with you, Grittle,’ Nathaniel asked. ‘Stop being a kind fucker and tell me what’s what.’

The mole looked nervous once again. ‘Two and a half. Two platinum and fifty gold pieces.’

Nathaniel nodded. That would be enough to make sure he could still buy some supplies, clear the place up, and hire a hand or two when needed.

He held out his hand. ‘Before Stickler gets back, if you don’t mind.’

The mole squealed in delight.

----------------------------------------

Nathaniel wrapped up his exchange with Grittle in a speedy fashion, exiting the building as a bell chimed in the distance. It was from the university, signalling midday in the city. Nathaniel, storage box in hand, headed towards the drawbridge. He could stay another night in The Laughing Hog, but the open road was much more enjoyable to him. It had been a successful day: the sun was shining above, the city smelled reasonably neutral, and he had the deeds to three plots of land. His dreams were about to unfold.

A small hand tugged on the bottom of his cloak as he walked.

‘Tinton, you fucking little shit,’ Nathaniel began, turning around.

‘Oh,’ a small voice squeaked. ‘Miss Mugs would wash your mouth out with soap if she heard you say that.’

Nathaniel slapped his forehead and swore an apology. As if Tinton would have been in the city. Idiot!

‘Shit, sorry, lass. I know only one person brave enough to tug my cloak like that.’

The girl looked up at him, her eyes narrowing in judgement.

‘Hold on,’ Nathaniel said, stepping to the edge of the busy street and lowering his face to hers. ‘Mugs? You were in the bakery this morning, weren’t you? You disappeared. Did I frighten you?’

The girl shook her head, almost disgusted. ‘Nobody frightens me, old man. Mugs said she’d seen you the night before, so when I saw you in the morning, I had to go and tell her. She told me to hide.’

‘She - she told you to hide?’ Nathaniel asked, a pit in his stomach. He’d never hurt a child in his life.

‘Yep,’ the girl said. ‘She said she needed to see who you truly were. I thought that meant she wanted sex, but apparently that was wrong. And rude. And incorrect.’

Nathaniel chortled. ‘What can I help you with, little miss?’

The girl rolled her eyes again. ‘My name is Limona, old man. Never, ever call me ‘Little Miss’.’

Nathaniel laughed. ‘Cheeky fucker. I’m not known as ‘Old Man’, either. You know my name, don’t you.’

She looked at him. ‘I do. And you know what I want, don’t you, old man.’

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

Oh-ho! I know what she wants, you dirty old man.

Nathaniel’s back chirped in shivers for the second time that day. He shook the feeling off, blinking at the girl. ‘What do you want, Limona?’ he croaked.

‘I want to be a captain, Cap’n. I want to be your apprentice.’

Nathaniel paused for a very long time, his stomach dropping. Then, he sighed. His trip would have to wait until the morning. ‘Let's go and talk to Mugs, shall we?’

She grinned happily. ‘I’ll lead the way.’