Loremaster a progressi.., p.16
Loremaster - A Progression Fantasy Adventure, page 16
“Is it to your satisfaction?” Sloss asked.
“They’re perfect,” Rowan responded.
“Good. I measured your feet earlier. They’re a little on the smaller side, but I should have some boots that will fit. Give me a moment.” A minute later, Sloss returned, a pair of dark brown leather boots in his hands. “Try these on.”
Kicking off his shoes, Rowan slipped his feet into the boots, marveling at how easily they fit his feet. He had been wearing the same shoes since Taureen, a pair of old leather sandals that had to be bound tightly to his feet in order to not slip off. These boots did not have that problem.
Wiggling his toes experimentally within the boot, Rowan nodded at Sloss. “They fit fine.”
“Walk around in them a little, make sure they fit,” Sloss cautioned. “I don’t want one of my customers leaving in a boot that isn’t perfect. Bad for my reputation.”
Rowan stood up, walking a few paces before turning and walking back, rolling his ankle from side to side as he tested the boots. No matter the angle, the boots landed comfortably, producing a pleasant clacking sound as the soles met the wooden floor.
“All good?” Sloss asked as Rowan returned, receiving a nod in response. “Excellent, follow me to the till and we’ll get your payment sorted out. Did you want to wear your purchases out?”
“I’ll wear the boots,” Rowan replied. Although he was loath to part with his new armor, the heat outside would quickly turn such additional layers into a furnace. It would be better to take it off for now.
With an understanding nod, Sloss left, heading for the till as Rowan began the process of removing the armor. After a few minutes of struggling out of tight leather, Rowan finally managed to extricate himself from the armor, piling it into his arms as he made his way to the counter. Sloss was waiting at the register, where a contraption of metal and magic hummed slightly as Sloss prodded it to life.
At the other end of the counter, the cashier seemed nearly in tears as she attempted to deal with the woman in front of her, evidently still not satisfied with the price for the boots she was attempting to buy.
“The total will be three gold Vlends, seven silver, and three coppers,” Sloss intoned, clearly doing his best to ignore the pleading looks his employee was sending his way. “Since you’re a Faebrook student, I’ll knock ten percent off as a student discount, so long as you agree to continue shopping here for any leather equipment you may need. If you agree, then the new price will be three gold Vlends, three silvers, and I’ll knock off the coppers. That sound all right?”
“That sounds fine,” Rowan agreed, his mind running through calculations as he attempted to figure out if it was okay to haggle.
From what he could tell, having checked out the prices at the other leatherworker down the road, Sloss was giving him a fair price for the armor and boots. And with the discount thrown on top… I’m benefitting from going to Faebrook already, Rowan thought happily, conveniently ignoring the fact that he would not be buying anything in the first place had he not needed it to attend Faebrook.
Before he could open his mouth to agree to Sloss’ terms, however, another voice cut in. “Three gold? You can do better than that, Sloss. Cut the poor boy some slack—he clearly needs the money more than you.”
Turning, Rowan saw that it was the woman at the other end of the counter who had just butted in, her eyes alight with mischief as she stared between him and Sloss. Now that he had a better look at her, Rowan could see that she was clearly someone of importance. Her hair was well kept, tumbling down over an expensive shirt, the type worn by eastern nobles, though this one was much more low cut than any Rowan had seen, at least in Taureen. Gems glinted from a golden pendant with exquisite craftsmanship, an item that Rowan felt was likely worth more than the shop they were standing in.
With a critical eye, she observed the items upon the counter. “Sloss can go as low as one gold Vlend and seven silvers on those leathers, and eight silvers for the boots. I would haggle until I got that price, but that’s just me.”
Chancing a glance at Sloss, Rowan could see the man’s jaw clench, the veins on his forehead standing out. From the looks of it, this woman was telling the truth, which made the shopkeeper deeply unhappy.
“Thank you for the input, Sigrid,” Sloss growled through gritted teeth, turning at last to look at the woman he had been studiously ignoring until now. “But I’ll thank you to keep your tongue to yourself inside my store.”
“Now, now,” Sigrid said sultrily. “Is that any way to talk to a customer who just penned a deal to buy more than twenty-eight hundred Vlends worth of equipment from you?”
“All that money and yet you’re traumatizing my worker for life over a pair of boots,” Sloss muttered, crossing his arms as he gave Sigrid his full attention.
Sigrid shook her head, her long red hair falling in waves down her chest. “Those who don’t work for their money are doomed to forget its value. And those who forget the value of money soon lose their own.”
“I don’t think you’re in any danger of losing anything,” Sloss replied sourly. “Now get out of my shop before I lose my temper.”
With an indulgent smile, Sigrid turned to the employee she had been dealing with earlier, placing a few coins on the countertop, several less than the total Rowan had overheard her offering a minute prior. “Here’s the price we agreed on. Could I get those boots in a bag?”
“I, ummm—” the cashier stuttered, turning to Sloss for direction.
“It’s fine,” Sloss said, his arms still crossed as he glared at the unrepentant redhead. “Bag them for her. We can’t afford to lose her business.”
“Always a pleasure shopping with you, Markus,” Sigrid said, happily scooping the bag out of the assistant’s arms.
With that, she was gone, leaving Rowan standing there dumbstruck. Like a whirlwind, she had swept in, angered the owner, obtained a great deal for her purchase, and left. A whirlwind that had lasted two hours, that was. As her mane of red hair disappeared from sight, the assistant groaned, turning to her boss with an exhausted look.
“Please stop making me attend to Miss Sigrid,” she pleaded. “I have no idea how to deal with her. Bartering with her is impossible. Even if I agree to a price, she instantly lowers it again!”
“Just keep dealing with her as you’ve been,” Sloss replied. “She spends more here in a month than you make in a year.”
“But, boss—”
“No buts,” Sloss replied firmly. “Now go stock the backroom. There’s a new shipment in that I didn’t get to inventory yet.”
With a rebellious look, the assistant fled, leaving Rowan standing awkwardly with Sloss. Do I ask for the price she recommended? he wondered. Although he definitely wanted to save the extra coin, it did not appear that Sloss was in a great mood to haggle. If he pushed his luck too far, it was likely he would find himself kicked out of the shop without anything to show for it, and with the carriage leaving in just under two hours, that would leave him without time to get leathers fitted at another shop.
As Rowan grappled with his decision, Sloss turned back to him.
“I don’t suppose you heard any of that?” he asked hopefully. Seeing Rowan’s hesitant expression, he sighed. “Damn that woman. Tell you what, I don’t want to sell them at cost, which is the price she recommended. But I will give you them for ten percent above that, so two Vlends, seven silvers, and five coppers.”
“Deal,” Rowan said immediately. Fishing his coin purse from his tunic and taking out three gold coins, he handed them over before Sloss could change his mind.
“I’d say good doing business with you,” Sloss grunted, dropping a handful of silver and copper into Rowan’s hand. “But I think we both know that’s a lie. You’d better come back here again so I can make some proper coin off you.”
“I promise to come here for all my leatherworking needs,” Rowan vowed.
“I suppose that’s all I can really ask at this point,” Sloss said woefully. "Thanks for shopping at Sloss’ Leathers, have a great day.”
Wearing a bemused look, Rowan left, the bag containing his new armor secure in his arms. For a moment, he just stood in place outside the store, allowing the sunlight to wash over him. Somewhere along the line, this shopping trip had taken a very weird, but profitable turn, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to think of it.
With a shrug, Rowan set off. He had saved some money and managed to avoid becoming beholden to anyone while doing it. All in all, a good afternoon’s work, even if it had been someone else’s work.
Resolving to haggle harder in the future, Rowan let the matter rest, taking out the list as he checked what supplies remained to be purchased. The carriage back to Faebrook would be leaving in just over an hour, which gave him plenty of time to hunt for the last item on the list: a magic ring.
Stowing the list back inside his tunic, Rowan ambled down the street, eager to put his encounter with Sigrid out of sight and out of mind. The street was busier now, patrons crowding on the terraces of restaurants and bars as they enjoyed an afternoon meal in the sun.
Delicious aromas washed over Rowan as he passed by, the tables laden with delicious looking food causing his stomach to gurgle in protest. It had been several hours since his breakfast at the academy, and his body was eager for him to rectify this oversight.
Forcing himself to ignore it, Rowan’s newfound resolve was quickly tested as a new scent wafted by, his head turning almost unconsciously as a nearby stall owner pulled a fresh apple pie from the stone oven on their cart. Salivating at the sight, he forced himself to keep walking. He could reward himself once he was done shopping, not before.
He was used to going hungry anyway. Although, the longer he spent living his new life, the more distant such memories seemed. And it had been so long since he had last tasted the sweet nectar of an apple pie…
As his stomach waged war with his mind, Rowan turned off the main road, heading down a side street to a shop that he had spied earlier while shopping. The shop in question, Magickal Fancies, was nothing special to look at from the outside, at least compared to the two magic shops on the main street. Three stories high, constructed of the same stone and woodwork that many of the surrounding buildings were made of, nothing about the shop stood out upon first glance, which was why it was strange to Rowan that he felt such an attraction towards the place.
Twenty minutes later, he left understanding why. The prices in the shop were fantastic, everything discounted as part of some holiday sale. On his finger sat a ring of rose-gold that would act as his magical focus, purchased for a pittance compared to the regular prices one paid for magical artefacts, though still much more than he was comfortable paying.
Rowan hummed a jaunty tune as he headed back for the main street. His purse was a little lighter than he would have liked, but still heavier than it could have been, and a certain stall-owner’s wares were calling his name. Salivating at the thought, he quickened his step. Apple pie waited for no man.
A warm pastry in his hand, Rowan sighed, happily basking in the sunlight. The pie vendor had been cordial and friendly, eagerly handing over a delicious-looking apple pie in exchange for one of Rowan’s remaining Dirrins. With flaky crust and soft lattice of dough overtop a healthy filling of golden apples, the pastry gave off a heavenly smell that tempted Rowan as he sought a place to enjoy his prize.
What had once been such a rare delicacy was now well within his budget, but Rowan had still almost balked at the cost. In the slums of Taureen, he could have gotten a bowl of soup, a hard loaf of bread, and an only slightly flea-ridden bed for the night—all for the same price. But then he had remembered his old life was dead, and decided his new life should have more apple pies… Far more apple pies…
Eyeing the crowded square with a practiced eye, Rowan’s gaze fell upon an isolated bench, partly hidden in the shadow of a tree. Clutching the pie carefully to his chest, Rowan hurried over, the bag of school supplies thumping against his side as he scurried towards the bench.
With a content sigh, Rowan collapsed onto the bench, allowing the bag to fall between his feet, a strap still hooked over one arm as a precaution against thieves. Although he had noticed it earlier, there truly were almost no thieves or other riffraff present in Northall. Initially, he had attributed this to the climate, as from what he had heard of the northern weather, it would be tough for ruffians to survive on the streets come the winter chill.
After several hours spent shopping in town, however, Rowan now knew otherwise. While the climate certainly did not help, it was not the inhospitable winter that kept Northall so free of petty criminals, but the residents. From adventurers wearing armor with long swords buckled to their waists, to shopkeepers with bulging muscles and eagle eyes, the number of easy marks that Rowan had seen today could be counted on one hand. Even the pie vendor had been alert, his gaze constantly moving and catching the actions of everyone around his stall as he served pies to hungry patrons.
Even if Rowan had pursued one of the few easy marks he had noticed, it was likely that he would be caught by any of the numerous dangerous looking fellows strolling by before he made it ten feet. The town was practically littered with those that he would have given a wide berth back in Taureen, for fear of losing a hand, or worse.
But that was not an issue right now. Right now, he was a legitimate member of society, ready to feast on his hard-earned pie. Raising the pie to his mouth, Rowan was just about to take a big bite when he noticed someone out of the corner of his eye.
Twenty feet from where he sat stood Morgana, the Fae’s expression one of weary annoyance as she cast around for a place to sit, several bags hanging from her pale arms. Clearly, she had not noticed either him or the bench upon which he sat, two thirds of its length still unused.
For a moment, Rowan considered his course of action. On the one hand, Morgana clearly disliked him, though for what reasons, he could not say, and he did not want to devour his long-anticipated pie in the presence of an enemy.
On the other hand, perhaps offering her a spot at his bench would serve as something of a peace offering. Whatever he had done to offend her, surely it could not be that bad, Rowan reasoned. After all, they had only just met a week ago, and he was fairly sure he had never done anything to purposefully spite the girl of a thousand glares. Unless his theory that she hated him for not being of noble stock turned out to be true of course.
No matter what happened, this was probably something that he needed to resolve. As a noble, Morgana had the ability to make his future, both at the academy and in the world beyond, a living hell. While she did not have to like him, he should at least take steps to ensure she did not hate him, as seemed to be the case right now.
Rowan suppressed a groan. Relationships had been far easier to deal with as a street rat. No one was your friend, and nobody hung around unless they had something to gain from you. Guards and nobles were universally enemies, and everyone else only interacted with street trash out of necessity. Simple rules for a simple life.
Unable to make a decision, Rowan changed tack. What would Darm say in a situation such as this? For a moment, he visualized the halfling, Darm’s charming smile appearing in his mind as he considered the matter. Darm would probably say something about how he didn’t need to make friends, but he should at least try to avoid making enemies, especially of heirs to noble houses, however far away those houses might be.
Channeling his inner Darm, Rowan raised his free hand. “Morgana!”
With a puzzled expression, Morgana turned, her eyebrow raising and her mouth setting into a thin line as she beheld Rowan.
Ignoring her expression, Rowan pointed to the bench beside him. “Want a seat?” he mouthed.
After a moment of hesitation, Morgana strode over, tossing her bags to the ground as she took a seat on the opposite end of the bench, as far from him as she could get. Totally fine with this, Rowan smiled awkwardly at her, unsure of whether or not to continue the conversation. He had half-hoped that she would simply decline his offer, but now he had made it this far and he was at a loss for how to continue.
What would Darm do? Turning once more to his friend for advice, Rowan glanced down at the pie in his hand, a sinking feeling filling him as he realized exactly what it was that Darm would do in this situation. As evidenced by his belly, the halfling loved food, and even more than he loved food, he loved sharing food with others.
For a moment, Rowan grappled with the thought. This was his apple pie, and a lifetime spent jealously guarding his few possessions made him loath to part with it. But if a bit of apple pie could avert a future of angry glares, was that not worth it?
Mustering up his most convincing smile, Rowan turned towards Morgana and held out the pastry, doing his best to keep the look of longing off his face as he looked past the alluring apple treat. “Want some?”
For a moment, Morgana appeared lost for words, her normal expression replaced with a confused look as her eyes flitted between Rowan’s face and the pastry.
“No,” she replied at last.
“Alright,” Rowan replied, instantly accepting her response as he looked hungrily at the pastry.
He had offered and she had declined, which meant there was no more reason to hold back. Bringing the pie to his mouth, he took a large bite, the moist apple filling within creating an explosion of sweetness that blended with the soft, flaky crust to produce an indescribably amazing taste.
Across the bench, a pang of regret flashed across Morgana’s face as she watched him bite into the pie, but just as quickly, it was gone. Turning her back on Rowan once more, she busied herself with her bags as Rowan savored his treat, the pastry disappearing all too quickly into his belly.
Patting his stomach gently, Rowan leaned back with a contented sigh. With the exception of the girl quite literally giving him the cold shoulder three feet to his right, everything was perfect. He had been accepted into Faebrook, earned the interest of a potential teacher, and even acquired an apple pie which he had been able to enjoy in the sun, not hunched under an abandoned dock as had been his custom back in Taureen. Life was good.
