Tharn moved warily along the edge of the crowded street. He felt safer close to the buildings; it kept the jostling to a minimum. The crowded streets weren’t as bad as the noise. But even worse than the racket from the workers and shoppers and merchants and soldiers and animals was the smell. One part unwashed people, another of rotting meat, an uneven medley of cooking or burnt food mixed with market animals, and a large serving of raw sewage. Tharn breathed through his mouth, but nobody else seemed to notice the stench. That said a lot about city dwellers, he thought. The founders of Roystille had still known the feel of the wild, but generations of living within the city walls had dulled their senses. Tharn missed the forest.
He paused on a corner and looked about for the special door. Shops and houses curved away in every direction. He looked back towards the lakeshore where he had left the Duke’s residence. He didn’t know where the others in his group had scattered to, and he didn’t really care anymore. He sighed and touched the box in his pocket. Then he saw the shop across the street with the green bottle painted on the door. At the very least he should be able to sell the red gem for a nice profit. Tharn had no intention of splitting the money with his other companions, not anymore. Too much back-stabbing, too many petty arguments, and just too damn much of the constant power struggle. They were good people to rely on in a fix, but he couldn’t live his life constantly looking for the next fight. Tharn was just tired of it. He had decided to find out if the carved gem was really magical and then, one way or another, he would leave Roystille and start traveling home. He could live for quite a while on his share of what the group had collected, and would be able to help his family, too. Some might consider such a life to be frugal, but a ranger really didn’t need much to be happy. Tharn dodged two wagons and managed to cross the street unharmed.
The shopkeeper half-raised a finger at Tharn as he entered the door. He was speaking with a tall woman in a long brown coat. She glanced over her shoulder at Tharn, then stepped to shield the rest of her transaction. Tharn ignored her and looked around the room. The shelves lining the walls were filled with a bewildering assortment of bottles, jars, tins, baskets, and stuffed animals, and a long table near the back was piled with boxes and papers. A small balance scale sat near one side. Several candles were lit, doing little but to add flickering shadows to the confusion. By the table was a closed door covered with layered bundles of dried herbs wrapped in twine. Tharn’s gaze followed the shelves back to the window as the woman turned to leave. Their eyes met and he suddenly became aware of the road-dust that still clung to him. She coolly glanced down and up and a smile briefly flickered as she reached for the door.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
Tharn turned as the old man walked up with a smile. He was about a foot shorter than Tharn, his shiny bald head framed with a white fringe that looped from ear to ear. His red silk shirt was somewhat worn and one temple was blackened from the charcoal stick stuck above his ear. His nose was small and his jaw jutted out to a sharp point above a thin neck. Tharn heard the door softly close. Ah well, he thought, and he pulled out the gray metal box.
“I have something here that I’d like you to look at. I think it’s valuable, but I really need an expert opinion.” Tharn looked at the window. “Do you have somewhere a little more private?”
The shopkeeper considered briefly, then nodded and led him back to the table. They stood with their backs to the window as Tharn set the box down and opened the lid.
The black velvet interior was shaped like an inverted peach pit, securely nestling the red gem. He slipped it out and held it up between two fingers. Smooth as a river pebble, its surface was carved in an intricate series of thin curved lines that seemed to go under the surface and swirl deep into its interior.
The shopkeeper plucked the gem from Tharn’s fingers. He peered at the carvings and held it close to a candle. After briefly turning it back and forth he passed it back to Tharn.
“It may be magical.” He looked up. “But you couldn’t be sure without a spell. Unless you just want it appraised?”
“No. Would you be able to identify what kind of magic it has? I mean, if it is magic.” Tharn returned the gem to its box.
“Well, an Identify spell is very stressful, you know.” The old man shrugged. “I don’t like doing them so much anymore. Makes me oversleep.”
Tharn nodded slowly. “I understand. I’ve…met some wizards before. I can give you two hundred gold pieces.”
The other’s eyes narrowed briefly. “Let’s call it two hundred and fifty.”
Tharn nodded and reached for his coin pouch.
“Oh, give me about half an hour,” said the shopkeeper. “I’ll be closing up soon, and I need to get a few things together.”