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“Get a good price for them,” she orders. “They . . . they were my mother’s.”
Guilt flashes through me at the vulnerable confession. I was socareless when I suggested selling her earrings, the only thing of value either of us had. Save, perhaps, her finely made knives. But those are useful and it would be suspicious to suggest selling them. To think that she agreed to sell something of sentimental value, all while I was planning to sell her out . . . well, my integrity doesn’t like that very much.
She’s holding you hostage, I remind myself.There is no other way.
Aloud, I say, “I will do my utmost to get the best price for them.”
With that, we walk into town. We pass both a human town guard and an orc sentinel as we go through the gate. The sight is strange. Humans working with orcs, after being conquered? I would have thought that the orcs would have disarmed the Adrikians first thing, not allow them to stay in positions of authority. But what do I know? Perhaps the guard is a traitor to his people, working with the conquerors. These things happen, people looking out for themselves and not caring about any sort of loyalty.
No matter. First to sell the earrings. I have been to Kingsbury before, though not often enough that I’ll be recognized, and I know where the merchant’s quarter is. I make my way there, occasionally feeling the brush of someone behind me I cannot see, when the crush of pedestrians becomes thick. It is like being haunted by my very own ghost.
Entering the merchant’s quarter, I immediately spy the fine goods merchant’s shop. Looking down, I can’t help but think that my bedraggled appearance will be an impediment to entering such an establishment, but it is the only place I can think of that would have the coin to buy such expensive jewelry. Taking a deep breath, I push forward, entering the shop, accompanied by the tinkle of a bell.
The shopkeeper looks up, all smiles, until he gets a good look at me. Instantly, he frowns, and with a snide voice says, “The mercantile is three doors down.”
“I am here to do business with you, good sir,” I return, undauntedby his condescending manner. I served King Yorian; I have been talked down to before.
At the aristocratic accent of my words, the shopkeeper’s brows raise, though he still looks wary. “And what business could you have with me?”
I walk to the counter where he is standing and hold out the earrings. Thinking fast, I say, “My wife and I were on our way to Grimblton when we were set upon by thieves. We got away with our lives, thank the gods, but all our goods, including our outer clothing, were stolen. Only these earrings were spared, as they were sewn into the lining of my wife’s shift and weren’t discovered by the brigands.”
There. My father would be proud of the lie I am telling. Deception is not my strong suit, but he taught me how to when I was growing up. Preparation for when I took his place on the Council someday.
“Gods! Brigands are back on the roads, even now that the orcs have taken over?”
I nod grimly, even though I have no idea if I’m lying or not. “It would appear so.”
“So, you need to sell the earrings to get the money to keep traveling, is that it?”
“Just so,” I reply.
The shopkeeper looks greedily at the hoops in my hands. Even I can tell that they are finely wrought, with a delicate filigree etched into the metal. When he looks up at me, however, he has an air of calculated disinterest.
“Alright, give them here, and I will look at them.”
I hand them over and he takes out a jeweler’s eyepiece. After a moment, he asks, “And how much do you pay for them?”
I have no idea. “More than I care to remember.”
The shopkeeper sighs. “Well, then, my friend, you were robbed twice. These are forgeries of a design by an elvish maker named Airdan Sardithas. While pretty, they are barely worth the gold they are made with. I will give you two gold pieces for them, andyou’ll thank me for it.”
I would be willing to bet that the orcress’ earrings are originals and the shopkeeper takes me for a fool. I am about to argue with him when I notice behind the counter a key floating in the air, making its way toward the lockbox behind the shopkeeper. I barely keep myself from gaping. What is the orcress doing? The shopkeeper gives a questioning look and starts to turn to see what I am looking at.
Panicking, I declare, in my most haughty tone, “It is you who is trying to rob me! How dare you say that I would buy my wife forgeries.”
The shopkeeper stops turning and looks back at me, all false sympathy. “I can only tell you what I see. You are welcome to find another appraisal, though you won’t find another in Kingsbury.”
Ah, so that’s his game. From my story, he thinks I am desperate and have to take even his hideously low offer. It’s good business, even if it is rotten. Behind him, the lockbox opens slowly, as if the orcress is taking care not to make any noise. Inside, coins wink in pretty, neat stacks. A stack of copper coins lifts into the air and disappears.
Still holding the shopkeeper’s attention, I say, “Can’t you look again? The artisan’s maker’s mark should be stamped on there.” I know this because, though I am no merchant, I have bought expensive jewelry for lovers before. But I’m also sure that he has already seen the maker’s mark and is lying to me.
Sighing like he is doing me a huge favor, he picks up his eyepiece again and lifts the earrings, twisting them this way and that. While he makes his show of looking, the orcress takes a stack of silver coins, then gold, before closing the lockbox and surreptitiously putting the key back on the counter where she found it.
Finally, the shopkeeper says, “No, I don’t see it. Sorry. I can still get you those two gold pieces, though.”
And see the inside of the lock box where he is missing multiple stacks of coins? I don’t think so. I hold out my hand severely andsay, “I would throw them in the gutter before I sold them to you, sir. You are a cheat.”
If my words offend the shopkeeper, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he just hands back the earrings and says, “Well, I’ll be here when you change your mind.”
