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Commerce Emperor 4: Of Trades and Alchemists
🕑 Added 2023-05-16 08:11:40 +0000 UTCPrevious Chapter
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Snowdrift’s Black Keep lived up to its name.
Overseeing the city from atop its tallest hill like a crow in its nest, the castle had been built as a secondary fortress to Stonegarde; if the latter fell before a beastman invasion from the north, reinforcements could gather in Snowdrift to intercept the enemy before it threatened Archfrost’s heartland. Few could stand in front of its thick, massive curtain wall without feeling a little overwhelmed. Winged horses—the famed Archfrostian pegasi—carried knight patrols above the fortifications. Five watchtowers oversaw a courtyard filled with wooden barracks, stables, and glass gardens.
I paid the most attention to the latter. Cages of glass and steel protected a wealth of plants from the weather and frost alike. Such constructions were common in the Riverland Federation’s pleasure mansions, but it surprised me to see one in a military-minded fortress like this one.
My charm had earned Saraseo and I an audience inside the castle’s core, a colossal drum tower protected by formidable battlements. We had been asked to wait at the so-called Lady Alaire’s pleasure in a small room on the third floor. My fellow hero sat on a blackwood chair tucked in a corner of the room, her fingers digging into the armrests. The two guards overseeing us had confiscated our weapons, and Saraseo clearly missed her sword. I doubted she felt vulnerable—she was the Monk after all—but its absence unsettled her the same way an amputee missed their severed arm.
Rather than counting the time, I preferred to observe. A sturdy oaken table and its chairs occupied the center of the room, alongside a desk filled to the brim with scrolls, quills, and ink. A tapestry representing the emblem of House Brynslow—the same winged horses as those flying in and out of the courtyard—was the only touch of glamor in this dreary chamber. The place alone told me much: this was a room for scribes, not for nobles. Either Lady Alaire believed in humble work, or more likely she didn’t consider us worthy of a more public audience.
“We have had to wait for hours,” Soraseo complained in annoyance. “It is disrespectful.”
“It is,” I agreed. “It’s how nobles here show power over their lessers; by making them wait.”
“It is a poor idea.” Soraseo frowned in disdain. “No one has won a battle by being late.”
“Is it different in Shinkoku?” I asked, curious. I heard many tales about the distant country, but half of them sounded a bit too outlandish to be true. “Doesn’t your nobility enjoy wasting time?”
“To lose time is to lose life,” Soraseo replied. “Lateness is weakness.”
No wonder they proved so difficult to defeat in the last war. If only this country’s rulers could show the same diligence…
Our long agony of a wait came to an end when the wooden doors opened. Saraseo bolted out of her seat while I straightened up.
Two noblewomen walked into the room, alongside a small armed escort. Though both appeared around my age, the two couldn’t be any more different from the other. The first was a lean, athletic ball of stress radiating more tension than an overworked slave. Her hair was a black mane barely tamed into a thick braid falling over her left shoulder. Her pale gray eyes were as cold as the winter sky. She was beautiful in a wild sort of way, but her eyebrows were curved up in frustration. She wore chainmail, and a bastard sword hung from her belt. She was no delicate flower.
The other was more ladylike and regal, though smaller, slimmer, and less impressive. Her most striking features were her long silver hair and lilac eyes, telltale signs of the Everbright Empire’s nobility. Her facial features were soft, with a small chin, a pointed nose, and an air of mature seriousness. A red ribbon tied her hair and meshed well with her red wool mantle and mittens. Whereas her armed companion appeared almost angered to see us, she greeted us with a smile.
The black-haired woman fit the description of Lady Alaire Brynslow, the count’s granddaughter and heir apparent. The other woman was probably her lady-in-waiting. Imperial nobles often sent their sons and daughters to be fostered abroad, both to cultivate alliances and protect them from their bloody brand of politics back home.
“Sit,” Lady Alaire ordered with a tone that brook no dissent.
“No thanks,” I answered.
I could already tell how this meeting would go from the utter lack of courtesy. No welcome, no greetings, no politeness. Just ‘sit’, as if we were wasting her time already. Flatteries and kind words would lead us nowhere, so I dispensed with them.
“Then you can walk back to the door,” Lady Alaire said with a terse tone. “You would do well not to waste my time.”
Her sheer nerve caused Saraseo to glare at her. “I have spent two hours waiting,” she said with impatience. “I will not leave without having my letter.”
“You will leave with nothing if you keep speaking to me with that tone,” Alaire replied, unimpressed.
“Alaire, where are your manners?” her lady-in-waiting chided her with a melodious imperial accent. She immediately offered us a short bow. “Our apologies, dear guests, the morning has been rough.”
I could tell, I thought. Lady Alaire radiated such fury, and her hand brushed against her sword’s pommel so often, that I wondered if she had murdered someone on her way here. I better skip straight to business.
“It’ll take only five minutes Lady Alaire, if you don’t waste them,” I replied as politely as I could manage. “We’ll be on our way afterward.”
“Five minutes?” Lady Alaire crossed her arms. The look in her eye told me how little she expected from them. “I’m counting, stranger.”
“I can cure the count of the disease that affects him,” I said with confidence. “For a trifling price.”
“I’ve heard that before.” Lady Alaire’s lips strained into a sneer. “What will it be this time? A miracle elixir that will cure death for five thousand gold coins? A miracle spell? Come on, make me laugh.”
From her tone, she had seen her fair share of charlatans and false hopes. The fact she still gave us the time of a day meant she hadn’t entirely given up hope though. “Can your grandfather answer yes or no, Lady Alaire?” I asked. “Or at least write it down?”
She squinted at me. “Why?”
“Because if he can’t, then I can’t grant his wish.”
“Oh, another false Priest.” Lady Alaire snorted. “Will you petition the Artifacts to save my grandfather? So far, they haven’t listened.”
“What my dear friend means is that we already have a hero tending to Lord Brynslow,” her lady-in-waiting said. “With little results.”
I blinked in surprise, as did Saraseo. Another hero was in Snowdrift? Damn it, had our entire generation gathered in the city?
“Therese!” Lady Alaire scolded her companion. “Don’t share that information with strangers!”
Her companion shrugged and held her ground. “We should. It would reduce the number of time-wasters, don’t you think?”
“I assume they must be a vassal class,” I guessed. A few could potentially help with a disease, whereas great classes like the Mage or the Priest probably would have cured it by now. “I can do better.”
Lady Alaire scoffed disdainfully. “Your time is up,” she said. “Back up your word with action or get out of my castle.”
I removed my glove and unveiled my mark.
Lady Alaire’s eyes widened slightly, while her companion covered her mouth with a hand. The guards exchanged looks in silence. I didn’t like to reveal my true identity, but if another hero had indeed told Lady Alaire they couldn’t help her grandfather, then nothing else would convince her.
“That’s the Merchant’s mark,” Lady Therese said.
“Prove it,” Lady Alaire ordered immediately. “Prove us it’s the real one.”
I pointed at her chainmail armor. “Sell me your armor for a copper coin.”
“Deal,” she answered without hesitation.
Her chainmail instantly teleported off her chest, revealing a blue tunic underneath, and reappeared on mine. The armor was a bit too tight for me, but Marika could loosen it. Lady Alaire and her fellow noble stared in shock at the copper coin that materialized in the former’s hand.
“You speak the truth…” To her credit, Lady Alaire immediately bowed before me in penance, as did her lady-in-waiting. “I apologize for my disrespect, Lord Merchant. Your vassal just informed us he couldn’t cure my grandfather’s disease, and it… it ate at me.”
“I would never bear a grudge against such a beautiful steel flower,” I replied with a wide smirk. To my amusement, Lady Alaire returned it. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t share the news of my presence within the city. I prefer discretion to fame.”
Lady Alaire nodded and turned to her guards. “If word of the Merchant’s presence in the city gets out, you’re all going to the dungeon.”
“Yes, my lady,” one of her guards answered immediately. From his fearful tone, his mistress was likely to follow through with her threat. “Your secret is safe with us, Lord…”
“Robin, though you can spare me the lord,” I replied before waving a hand at my fellow hero. “This is my companion, Saraseo.”
Saraseo removed her helmet, revealing her own mark; perhaps for the sake of honesty or solidarity.
“The Monk too?” Lady Alaire’s anger left way to embarrassment, and she swiftly shook our hands. “I am Alaire Brynslow, heir and acting regent to my grandfather Count Brynslow. The lady next to me is my dear friend, Therese Delaluz.”
I froze. “Delaluz?!”
Even Saraseo recognized the name. “House Delaluz is the imperial family.”
“My elder Isabel is the current Everbright Empress,” Therese replied with a blush. “Fret not over it, lord heroes; I am far, far down in the line of succession.”
“Still…” I crossed my arms, unable to hide my astonishment. “I didn’t expect to see an imperial princess in Snowdrift.”
“I have been fostered here since childhood.” Therese chuckled lightly. “But we can discuss that latter, Lord Robin. I believe you came here to heal the count, not for my sake.”
“How do you intend to do that?” Lady Alaire asked. Her eyes betrayed both her hopes and fears. “If you had been the Priest I would have rejoiced, but… what can the Merchant and the Monk do?”
“That’ll depend on his current state,” I replied warily. My power did require consent. “Can you lead us to him?”
Lady Alaire immediately nodded and invited us to follow her. Guards escorted our group through the cold, gloomy halls of the Black Keep. I pondered the other hero’s identity and immediately came to the obvious answer. The Merchant had two vassals. Since Marika was still at our forge, this could only leave one other option.
The Alchemist.
Lady Alaire led us into an opulent solar on the third floor. Count Brynslow’s apartments were oddly modest in terms of decoration, though large enough to house a hearth, a desk, a blackwood dinner table, and leaded glass windows giving an incredible view of the city outside. Tapestries picturing tumultuous events from Archfrost’s history—the War for the Winter Crown, the Death of Koshro the Conqueror, the Fall of Xernobog, and the Siege of Stonegarde—adorned the walls alongside the mounted heads of various monsters: a horse-like nightmare, a wyvern, and even the skull of a young stonetusk which beastmen chieftains rode in battle. Saraseo observed the collection with great interest, and a hint of respect.
I paid more attention to the lord of Snowdrift and his attendants. Count Brynslow agonized alone in a king-sized bed, with two apothecaries force-feeding him medicine. The man was gaunt, terribly gaunt; his wrinkled skin hardly hid the bones underneath. His thick mustache and cropped hair had turned white as milk, like his eyes. The white, however, frightened me less than the black spots staining his cheeks, throat, and chest. I recognized these symptoms all too well.
The two apothecaries tended to the count, with each of them on opposing sides of the bed. One was a middle-aged woman with a gentle smile and a peaceful presence. Her blonde hair, swept into a loose bun, was streaked with white threads, while her vibrant green eyes showed shades of gray at the edges. Her practical woolen blue apron, cinched at the waist by a leather belt adorned with satchels of concoctions, smelled of herbs. Her wrinkled hands held onto the count’s own, as if to soothe him in his final moments.
The other… was a specter of death, a plague doctor wrapped in a purple, hooded cloak and a green leather uniform protecting every inch of his body from the outside world. Sturdy gloves reached all the way to his elbows, so clean they glistened in the light. His utility belt included a dozen pouches, pockets, and flasks to transport medicine, alongside an array of scalpels and a small notebook. However, it was his mask that haunted my nightmares. That crow-like beak and yellow contraption, those glass eyes devoid of warmth surrounded with heartless steel… I had come to associate this mask with death. Unlike his gentler colleague, that doctor offered no words of comfort; they filled a syringe with liquid and all but stabbed the count’s arm, targeting one of the black swollen areas.
But this person felt familiar, and not only because I’d seen his kind at my parents’ deathbed. I recognized the unique silver symbol scratched on his mask’s forehead: a flask bound inside a snake eating its own tail and marked with the Erebian number for sixteen.
The masked man’s head snapped in our direction. I couldn’t see anything past the glass goggles, though the voice that came out of the beak was undoubtedly male. “Ah, fellow colleagues,” the plague doctor said with an odd air of joviality. “Welcome, welcome. I would appreciate your help in treating our patient.”
“Colleagues?” the woman apothecary examined us with a warm, curious gaze. “You do not look like apothecaries.”
“They aren’t.” Lady Alaire glanced at her grandfather with worry. The old man whizzed so loudly that I wondered if any air made it to his lungs. “Is he… improving?”
“He’s stable,” the plague doctor declared. “I can weaken the symptoms enough to try experimental treatments.”
“The cures you suggest are more likely to kill him than the disease, Colmar,” his colleague replied with a frown of disapproval. “Your purgeleaf serum will dehydrate him to death.”
“If nothing is done, Florence, he will die anyway,” the plague doctor, ‘Colmar,’ pointed out. Lady Alaire scowled at his remark. “Purgeleaf will reduce the blood swelling and maximize the effectiveness of healing concoctions. Your balms do little other than lull him to sleep.”
His fellow apothecary sighed. She didn’t appear too optimistic about their prospects. “At this point, soothing his pain is the best we can do.”
“Those are the words of a defeatist.” Colmar removed his syringe from the count’s arm. The nearest black spots diminished in size, though not by much. “So long as the patient breathes, the battle is not done.”
“Well said,” I replied. The count looked half-dead, but it was the other half that counted.
Lady Alaire nodded in agreement before making presentations. “Lord Robin, Lady Saraseo, let me introduce you to my grandfather, Count Bjornimir Brynslow. Florence is a traveling apothecary from the Arcadian Freeholds, who has tended to the count’s ills many times in the past. The man is Colmar, the new Alchemist.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Florence greeted us warmly. “Alas, unless you are heroes, I’m afraid you arrived too late for the count.”
“They are heroes,” Colmar replied offhandedly, much to his colleague’s shock. “What kind though, I cannot tell.”
Florence observed Saraseo and I with a mix of wariness and surprise. I glared at Colmar for his indiscretion. “I would appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself,” I said. “I’m not interested in advertising.”
“Why?” The doctor looked at me in confusion. “How would people who need our help know to ask for it otherwise?”
“Our enemies will also have the knowledge of our location,” Saraseo pointed out.
“I would rather take the risk if it means saving more lives.” Colmar pointed at the count. “Like him. If your powers can help this man, I would appreciate that you use them.”
“Can’t yours make a difference?” I asked.
“Unfortunately not,” Colmar replied with annoyance. “Not in his current state at least.”
That didn’t bode well. I grabbed a chair and sat at the count’s bedside. The old man had enough strength left to turn his head in my direction with a wheezing sound. His eyes struggled to look at me.
I felt a pang of compassion for him. I had seen my father in a similar state once, a prisoner of his own soon-to-be corpse. My parents were long dead, but I could still save this man. “Can you say yes or no, Count Brynslow?”
He answered with a drop of saliva drooling from his lips. I took that as a no.
“The count suffers from facial paralysis,” Florence explained with sorrow. “We had to force-feed him potions.”
Damn it. That complicated things greatly. “What can you tell me about the symptoms?” I asked the apothecaries. “The more details you give me, the better.”
“The Purple Plague is magical in nature,” Colmar said. “Where most diseases are content to infect the flesh, this one contaminates the victim’s essence. It is… intelligent. It can lie in wait, delay its own symptoms, and then wake up when it’s most convenient. The plague keeps the victim alive just long enough to corrupt the lungs into producing the purple miasma that spreads it.”
“Thanks to our treatment, the disease has entered its slumbering, non-contagious state,” Florence explained. “But the damage is done. The disease is now deeply rooted in his organs. The count’s blood swells in places, causing extensive paralysis, constant fatigue, and severe dehydration.”
So, to cure the count, I needed to do more than buy the disease; I also needed to buy the symptoms mentioned. It would require a written contract to detail everything… and all the aforementioned troubles would transfer to me. I was in better shape than this old man, but it would take weeks for me to recover even with medical care. If only there was a way to transfer the plague and symptoms out of the count’s body without transferring them to another human being.
I glanced at the flasks around Colmar’s belt. It would be so much easier if I could simply transfer the disease in liquid form and seal it in glass. Unlikely. Plagues and paralysis were intangible curses, not a poison to extract.
Unless… an idea crossed my mind. I had successfully traded away physical goods and intangible assets, but never both at once.
“I can’t buy fractions of it,” I muttered out loud. “But can I buy a package?”
“What is your meaning, Robin?” Saraseo asked in confusion.
“I have a plan.” I locked eyes with the count. “Can you move an arm?”
Thankfully, the old man was lucid enough to understand me. He struggled to raise his right hand. “Excellent,” I said. “Lady Alaire, I will need a quill and a scroll.”
“For what purpose?” Lady Therese asked with curiosity. Lady Alaire, in her case, immediately fetched the goods from her grandsire’s desk without question.
“We’re going to settle this as adults,” I said as I began to write down words on the scroll. “With a contract.”
I had no idea whether my idea would work or not. If my power refused to validate the deal, I would have to buy the disease the old-fashioned way. If it did back the sale though… then my options considerably broadened in scope.
“Count Brynslow, here is my generous offer.“ I put a copper coin on the man’s lap and then read him the contract. “You agree to sell me back your Purple Plague and its symptoms, including the body paralysis, fatigue, and the blood clots damaging your vitals, alongside the copper coin I just gave you; all for a lock of my precious, precious hair. All your goods, intangible and physical, will form an inseparable package deal.”
Alaire squinted at me in confusion. “A package deal?”
“Ah, you’re the Merchant!” Colmar scratched his mask as if it were an actual beak. “Fascinating.”
“The Merchant?” Florence scowled at me with concern. “Wait… Lord Robin, if you can indeed buy the count’s illness, then you will suffer from it. Are you certain you wish to try it?”
“Has cowardice ever changed the world?” I put my quill into the count’s hand. “I’ll take the risk and bear the consequences.”
My boldness and confidence did not reassure Florence, but they convinced the count. After a few seconds of loud wheezing and breathing, he managed to raise the quill. His fingers trembled as he signed my contract document.
My mark glowed beneath my glove, and a copper coin materialized in my palm. A lock of my hair vanished from my skull and reappeared atop the count’s balding head; a single streak of red in a sea of white.
I couldn’t suppress a smirk of victory as everyone around me gasped in surprise. The count returned to life before their eyes. The black patches on his skin shrank to nothingness, returning his skin to a white wrinkled landscape; his mouth gasped for air, his lungs cleared; his paralyzed face regained its lost vigor.
“It worked!” I gloated right before waves of tiredness hit me. “It work… ed…”
My world was suddenly thrown off balance. My vision blurred at the edges, my heart slowed down to a crawl, and a sudden sense of numbness washed over my limbs. I tried to rise to my feet, only for my legs to turn heavier than stone. I collapsed in silent panic, unable to even call for help.
“Robin!” Saraseo jumped to my side in a blinding dash of speed and caught me before I hit the floor. Her strong hands managed to lift me up; mine were so weak that the coin slipped out of my fingers.
My strength returned the moment the copper ceased to touch my skin. The curse that had taken hold of me was suddenly lifted. Colmar greedily grabbed the copper coin, studied it in silence… and then swiftly applied it to Florence’s cheek.
“Ah!” the woman recoiled in surprise, a black spot appearing on her skin. It immediately vanished when Colmar removed the coin, though it did little to alleviate her anger. “Colmar, how dare you?!”
“Fascinating, deeply fascinating!” Colmar’s voice shrieked with excitement. He didn’t even bother to answer his colleague’s indignation. “It appears whoever touches this coin unprotected manifests the count’s disease and symptoms, but only so long as they remain in physical contact! Truly fascinating!”
“Do you want to buy it?” I asked him after Saraseo helped me sit up again. “It’ll cost you a gold coin.”
Lady Therese chuckled in amusement. “Who would buy a cursed copper coin for a golden one, Lord Robin?”
“Any man of science worth their salt!” I replied with enthusiasm. I had rehearsed that pitch in my mind while drafting the contract. “Imagine what you could do with it! You could study the disease’s progress in a safe, controlled environment, allowing you to test out cures and potions! How can one call themself an apothecary and not buy this coin? It’s worth a hundred gold, not one!”
“Indeed!” Colmar grabbed a golden coin from one of his pouches and shoved it into my hand. “I’ll take it!”
“And a friend swore I couldn’t profit from selling a disease,” I mused in triumph. Poor Marika, her debt to me had grown by ten coppers. “Robin Waybright always wins his bets.”
Lady Alaire paid us no mind. She immediately moved to her grandfather’s side, holding his hand and watching him breathe with concern. “My lord?” she asked with deference. Her eyes brightened with hope. “Do you feel better?”
“Better?” Count Brynslow’s voice was little more than a mutter, but at least he could speak. “Oh, my dear Alaire… I’ve woken up from a month-long nightmare.”
“Your recovery is astonishing, my old friend,” Florence said before checking the count’s body temperature. “But you are not out of the woods yet. You’re underfed, dehydrated, and in dire need of rest.”
“At least I can feel my legs again…” The count turned his hollow gaze on me. His eyes had regained most of their lucidity. “You have my thanks, Lord Merchant. To think I would live long enough to be rescued by one of the seven heroes… I should consider myself blessed.”
“I’m glad my power could save your life, Count Brynslow,” I said sincerely. The Purple Plague had reaped too great of a toll already. “But I am the Merchant, not the Priest. My friend and I came to you with a purpose in mind.”
“Ah, of course…” The count managed to rise up enough to rest his back against a pillow. He observed Saraseo and I, his sharp gaze betraying his experience as a politician. “What assistance can I provide, oh heroes?”
I turned to Saraseo, silently inviting her to make her case. She respectfully bowed before the count before asking for her boon. “I have need of going to the Deadgate,” she declared. Her demand drew a frown from the count and whispers from everyone else. “I ask that you help me walk through Stonegarde.”
“I see…” The count nodded slightly. Most would have advised Saraseo to change her mind, but he did not question her choice. Perhaps he believed she could survive the journey, or that it wasn’t his place to question a hero. “I will send an official request to Lord Sigismund for a letter of passage. Return to me in a few days… I should have it then.”
Saraseo smiled, her gaze alight with hope. “You have my gratitude, Lord Brynslow.”
“I wish you luck on your quest… wherever it leads you.” The count turned his attention to me next. “What of you, Lord Merchant? What boon will you request from me?”
A big one. “I’ll go straight to the point, Count Brynslow.”
I sat in front of him, joined my hands together, and locked eyes with him.
“Sell me Snowdrift,” I said.
A heavy silence followed. Lady Alaire looked fit to gag, while Lady Therese’s eyes widened in shock. The count, more experienced, kept his composure. “Why?” he asked me. “Why Snowdrift?”
“Have you looked out of your window lately?” I shrugged. “That city is so deep under, it’s slowly transforming into a Blight as we speak.”
“We know that,” Lady Alaire replied with a hint of anger. “Do you imagine we stood idle while our home deteriorated? We’re doing our best to turn things around.”
“Your best isn’t enough,” I replied, my tone harsher than I intended. To see my hometown reduced to such a state filled me with anger. “I’m sorry to say this, but Snowdrift needs bolder leadership if it is to thrive.”
Lady Alaire’s jaw clenched. “You believe you could do better?”
“Yes,” I replied with confidence. While Lady Alaire struggled to keep a straight face, her grandfather listened to my words without a sound. “Count Brynslow, I am willing to pay you a fair price for Snowdrift. I can bargain for more than gold.”
“I must refuse.” The old noble straightened up in his bed. “This city is my granddaughter's birthright. I shall not sell it to another… even a hero.”
I expected as much. I never intended to buy the city outright—the count would have to be mad or truly desperate to agree—but by immediately starting with an audacious proposal, I could negotiate down to a compromise that would favor me. Besides, opening with a strong price attested to the strength of my resolve.
“Then lend it to me,” I haggled. “Give me one year, and you won’t recognize the place.”
“A year… I wonder if I will live long enough to see that.” The count let out a long, tired sigh, his chest barely rising. “I know… I do not have much time left in this world. You brought me a few years at most. Where the plague failed, age will succeed.”
“I can sell you years of life,” I replied, trying to test his defenses. “If you want time, I have some in reserve.”
The Count’s old lips strained into a thin smile. “Your accent… you’re from Snowdrift, aren’t you?”
“I am,” I confirmed. “I love this city. My parents rest in it now. I want to see it prosper and thrive.”
“So do I… and so does my Alaire.” Count Brynslow studied my face carefully, as if trying to determine how far I would go. “Lord Merchant… if I assent to your wish… would you swear to assist my granddaughter in these difficult times? To take care of her when I’m gone?”
I would kiss her, bed her, and marry her if that was what it took. “I swear it.”
My words reassured the old man. He turned his head toward his granddaughter. “Alaire?”
Lady Alaire held onto his hand. “Yes, my lord?”
“You took the reins of this castle as an emergency measure… I failed to prepare you for it… it must have been stressful… yet in spite of the difficulties, you did your duty admirably.” Count Brynslow smiled warmly, though he was missing a few teeth. “I… I am proud of you. You honor your mother’s spirit.”
“I…” Lady Alaire cleared her throat. She appeared unused to praise. “Thank you, my lord.”
Count Brynslow patted her on the palm before answering my demands. “Lord Merchant… I will not sell my granddaughter’s birthright, but… I offer a compromise… I shall name you Lord Protector of Snowdrift and Counsel to my Heiress… with emergency power.”
I crossed my arms. I had never heard of a Lord Protector. “I would act as your daughter’s prime minister and chancellor? Is that what you say?”
“In a way… you will both speak with my name… so long as you work toward saving Snowdrift.”
I didn’t hesitate for long. That outcome wasn’t the best—I would rather have full powers with little to no accountability—but it opened me many doors nonetheless; if Lady Alaire proved reasonable. “I accept.”
“Good…” Count Brynslow closed his eyes. “We will draft a proper decree… after I sleep a bit.”
“You’ve heard him,” Florence said while immediately mixing her herb satchels. “Out with you. He needs rest.”
“I will keep an eye on your grandfather for you,” Lady Therese promised Alaire. “I’m sure Lord Robin and you will have much to discuss.”
“Seems so.” Lady Alaire appraised us heroes with cautious optimism. “Come with me.”
We left the count to his apothecary and Lady Therese’s tender care, though Colmar decided to leave with us. He seemed to trust his colleague to handle their patient on her own.
“You can remove your mask, you know?” I told him on our way out. “We aren’t contagious.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Colmar replied. “I suffer from a condition that makes exposure to unfiltered air dangerous to my health.”
“I could buy it,” I pointed out.
“I’ll politely decline.” Colmar shook his head. “This is no common disease but a lifelong condition I’ve suffered from since birth. It is part of me. Removing it might have unforeseen side effects.”
“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t?” I mused. Considering his evasive answer, I guessed he had his reasons. “Well, if you change your mind, my offer will remain open.”
“Thank you.” Colmar nodded politely, his silver mark glowing on his mask. Now that I thought of it, it was quite strange that it manifested there rather than the skin below… “Speaking of purchases, I would love to see if our abilities can synergize. I’m sure the goddess designed vassal classes to complement their superior.”
“I’ve reached the same conclusion.” And I suspected the Artisan and the Alchemist also shared some form of chemistry. “What can you do?”
“I can transmute one matter into another on touch.” Colmar raised his infected coin and bathed it in light. The copper brightened and shrank to a third of its previous size, but it also turned to gold. “Lead to gold, wood to stone… I haven’t yet explored all my options.”
“Why has the coin lost its growth?” Saraseo asked with a frown. “Gained smallness? Which is correct?”
“It has shrunk,” I replied. From our previous experiments with Marika’s power, I ventured a guess. “His power doesn’t change the object’s mass.”
“Excellent guess, Sir Robin.” Colmar put the coin back in his pouch. “Gold is thrice denser than copper, so the coin became smaller and lighter in turn. Turning a wooden beam to iron also caused a roof to collapse on my head from the shift in weight distribution.”
I could already see the synergy between his ability and Marika’s. “When we’re done here, you’re coming straight with me,” I said with enthusiasm. “We’re going to push our powers to the limits of science!”
Colmar proved even more enthusiastic than even I. “I daresay we can push them back even further!”
We were going to get along swimmingly.
Lady Alaire led us back into the waiting room and invited us to sit around the table. The guards closed the doors behind us, letting the countess-in-waiting alone with us heroes.
“Lord Robin.” Her eyes set on the chainmail on my chest. “I would like to have my armor back, if you please.”
“No, sorry.” I gave her a contrite, insincere smile. “I follow a strict ‘no take backs’ policy.”
Lady Alaire glared at me. “A copper coin can’t buy chainmail.”
“Can it buy back hours?” Soraseo asked. Though the count’s promises put her in a good mood, she still held a grudge. “Two for me, two for my friend.”
Alaire blushed at Saraseo’s answer. “I brought this on myself, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Alaire…” I stopped myself. “Since we’re going to work together closely from now on, can I call you Alaire? All this lady and lordly nonsense is wearing on my nerves.”
“Careful with that sharp tongue of yours, Robin.” Alaire returned my smirk; she did have a playful side after all. “You strike me as too bold by half.”
“No one honors the timid.” I hung back into my chair. It was surprisingly comfortable, even in the absence of pillows. “If we are to work together, you will have to get used to taking risks.”
“At this point, I am willing to consider all options.” Alaire sighed. “But unless Lord Colmar is willing to turn this city to gold, I fail to see what else can be done.”
Colmar immediately crossed his arms, his back tense as a bowstring. “I have vowed to heal the sick, not fill a city’s coffers.”
“The latter will help you achieve the former,” I pointed out. “More coins mean better hospitals and healthcare.”
Better hospitals also meant that sick people would come to the city to receive treatment, and then spend their hard-earned coin in Snowdrift. With my power, I could buy diseases and seal them into items to guarantee the treatment’s success. Everybody would win.
“Though I agree it would be a bad idea,” I said. “Creating gold from nothing would only devalue it. Snowdrift needs better legs to stand on. Infrastructures, trade, people…”
“We are lacking in all of them,” Alaire confessed. “My grandfather managed to keep the treasury afloat and avoid debt, but that’s the best thing I can say about our finances.”
“That’s already more than I expected,” I said with optimism. “Could you provide me with ledgers and reports about the city’s situation? Fiscal reports, a census, anything would help. I would also need authority over the city’s trade guilds and its garrison.”
“As Lord Protector, you carry as much authority as my grandfather. The city’s institutions will answer to you.” Alaire frowned. “Why would you need the garrison? Do you need to arrest someone?”
“Mayhaps.” I turned to face Saraseo. “Can I count on your assistance too?”
“You have fulfilled your part of the bargain, and I shall do the same,” Soraseo replied. “You will have my help to hunt the demon.”
Her words startled Alaire. “The demon?”
“We suspect a demon’s presence in the city,” I explained. “It might be linked to the Blight and the death of your exorcists.”
“That would explain a few things.” Colmar scratched his beak. “I autopsied the latest exorcist. He supposedly slipped and drowned into the river due to being drunk, but I couldn’t find any trace of alcohol in his veins. I found that a bit suspicious.”
“So it’s true… the Demon Ancestors have indeed returned.” Alaire’s eyes faltered a bit, before widening back with new understanding. “Snowdrift is Stonegarde’s rear and its main weapon supplier! If it falls to a Blight, then our northern defenses will suffer.”
I had suspected as much. The beastmen in the north descended from the Demon Ancestors’ defeated armies, or so the scriptures proclaimed. It made sense for mankind’s enemies to coordinate. “From what I understand, destroying the demon won’t prevent Snowdrift from transforming into a Blight,” I said. “The city must regain its footing before it can purge the corruption from itself.”
“I suppose you have a plan in mind?” Alaire joined her hands. “Where should we start?”
At long last, I could put my grand strategy in motion. “Have you ever heard of banks, Alaire?”
“You want us to loan money?”
“Not just money.” I smirked. “Skills.”
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Next Chapter
Comments
mhaj58
Loving all the characters and the dynamics with Robin and everyone else. Hope that there’s a Tamer with a cat in the story LOL
Sol
God that last exchange about a bank had me grinning. God I love this story
