Chương 18: Chapter 013 Lessons For A Little Thief

Jack paused at the intersection of a busy road next to a market, looking for a suitable place to change. He became distracted when he noticed one of the new sanitation automata cleaning the streets.

"Hey, I remember those," Jack muttered with a smile. He was watching a compact, bug-like road sweeper that rolled along on aether-powered wheels. Emitting soft brass chimes, it scrubbed the pavements clean while puffing out pleasant-smelling spent aether-steam and whistling cheerful tunes from embedded gramophones.

"It's a shame they never caught on." Street orphans had learnt to pry out the aether capsules to sell on the black market, and disgruntled unemployed street cleaners sabotaged the stations that recharged them. Despite their efficiency, the project became untenable long term. It's too busy here. He'd remembered he was looking for a place to change. Wasn't there a rarely used… His thoughts were interrupted by a tug.

"What the fuck!" He'd felt a clumsy hand tug at his coin purse. Jack grabbed the thief's wrist while drawing his dagger, pressing its cold edge to the pickpocket's throat. Big brown eyes stared back in shock and fear. The would-be thief was a filthy little girl who was no more than ten years old. He swung her around and dragged her out of the flowing crowd with the dagger blade still held at her throat. The little girl squeaked as she was pulled along and tried to pull her wrist free from Jack's grip. She failed.

A small group of middle-class women wearing long, modest dresses, brass-buttoned gloves, and laced boots passed Jack and the dirty little thief. They stopped not fifteen feet away to admire a florist's window, where the flower displays automatically changed. Flowers shifted in colour and position via gear-operated turntables and concealed illusion charms. No one at the market cared that a teenager had drawn steel on a little girl.

Men in suits and bowler hats, women in conservative dresses, didn't give Jack and the girl a second glance before continuing on with their day.

"You should be careful who you try to steal from, child." Jack shook his head in disappointment. It wasn't the first time young children had attempted to steal from him. The trembling girl looked at him with wide, panic-stricken eyes.

"I-I." She tried in vain to wriggle free. She's probably an orphan. Jack gave a relieved sigh, relaxed his grip, and sheathed the dagger. Didn't I bump into her yesterday? There were plenty of orphans in the city. Many were the children of soldiers who had fallen in battle. Orphaned children often found themselves living on the streets as beggars, thieves, or much worse. The Kingdom of Mercia didn't look after its lost children.

Jack looked at the thin girl; she wore a dirty dress, and her hair, likely blonde beneath layers of filth, resembled the matted fur of a dog bound with a scrap of cloth. She looked like she hadn't eaten properly in days. Recalling his own close brushes with starvation, he knew what that desperation felt like and experienced a surge of pity. Poor kid, she needs protecting. Kneeling to her height, he smiled.

The girl, still trembling and still trying to prise his hand from her thin wrist, listened as he said, "If you wish to be a thief, don't go grabbing at your target's coin purse like a drunken ogre." He used his free hand to display his own coin purse attached to his belt by a cord.

"Do you see the problem?" The girl stopped trying to escape and nodded, the panic receding from her face.

"First, check if there's anything in the purse," Jack chuckled.

"No point risking your life to steal an empty coin purse." He shook his purse to reveal that it was empty.

"If you wanted to take this, you'd have to stealthily cut the cord. Do you understand how difficult that is to do without being caught?" After explaining, he released her wrist. She didn't run.

"C-could you t-train me?" She rubbed her sore wrist.

"Sir," she whispered, looking up at him with a sliver of hope in her eyes. Jack's eyes widened in surprise and pity.

"I'm no thief, child. It's a choice that will likely see you dead in a ditch one day." Though he'd read about the art of thievery, his training had been provided by a drunken old rogue in a tavern. A demonstration on how to lift a coin purse undetected for the bargain price of a few tankards of ale. His knowledge remained theoretical, as he'd never needed to steal a purse. At his refusal, the little girl looked up at him with teary eyes, much like a lost puppy at the onset of a thunderstorm.

Helpless and forsaken, as if abandoned by a cruel master to a terrible fate, with Jack being the terrible owner who just put the dog outside in a storm. Jack's heart twanged as he stared into the dejected, sad brown eyes of the wannabe thief. The little girl reminded him of his younger sister before she became annoying. He sighed.

"I'm so going to regret this," he muttered to himself, shaking his head at what he was about to say.

"Do you know of the food vendor called Arman on Royal Library Square?" The girl looked confused for a moment and shook her head.

"He's hard to miss," he added.

"Bald head, really friendly. Says yes and no a lot. Makes the most delicious street wraps you've ever tasted." The orphan licked her lips, but still shook her head.

"I-I've not been h-here long." Jack explained where Royal Library Square was, how it was hard to miss the colourful awnings, the delicious smell of wraps, and what Arman looked like.

"When you find him. Tell him young Jack sent you and to give you one … no, three. Tell him to give you three free wraps." He held up three fingers.

"Tell Arman to put them on my tab." He tapped his chest a couple of times.

"Tell him I'll pay him in a few days after I manage to climb the stairs. It's important to say ' climb the stairs.'" He searched the young girl's eyes to see if she understood; she still looked confused.

"If he asks about me, don't mention the dagger. Just-just describe what I look like and say I felt sorry for a hungry orphan. Okay?" She nodded and turned to run. Jack grabbed her by the wrist before she could dart off. He understood that kindness often came at a price and feared she might take advantage of him.

"Do not abuse my generosity, child." He raised his eyebrows before letting go of her wrist. He felt a sudden urge to protect her. An intrusive thought flashed through his mind. Protect the girl. She's important. He pushed it aside. The girl nodded once more and bolted towards the Royal Library like a young deer chased by the hunt. Jack shook his head as he watched the little orphan disappear back into the crowd.

"I bet she'll be ripping aether capsules out of street cleaners a few months from now." Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. He sighed. I'm definitely going to regret sending her to Arman.

Jack ducked into a quiet alley and changed into the valet costume. Tucking away his dagger under his uniform, he patted his stomach.

"I really should lose a few pounds," he grumbled, noting that he'd had to leave his trouser button undone. The waistcoat and jacket concealed the slight gap. He then stashed everything except the spell scrolls in an extra bag, hiding it in the alley before preparing to exit.

"Damn. My hair." Jack remembered his messy locks. A valet of a noble would take more care. He shoved his hair under the hat and sighed, "I'm glad Polly made a hat, even if I do look ridiculous." Chuckling at the idea of bumping into his sister and her friends while in the costume she made, he resolved to keep an eye out for them, uncertain where in the city they might rehearse their play. Jack pushed open the heavy oak door, triggering the soft chime of a bell overhead.

The Barker and Harker Spell Scroll Shop stood before him. Situated just a short walk from a dungeon often visited by novice adventurers, it attracted many seeking their first purchase of spell scrolls. As the shop was located farthest from his home and the Royal Library, it offered him a welcome degree of anonymity. The spell scroll shop's interior consisted of rich, dark wood panel-lined walls and sturdy glass display cases, each one arranged to highlight a popular spell scroll.

Stepping inside, he allowed himself a deep breath to enjoy the pleasant aromas of new and old parchment, fresh ink, and a hint of polished wood. The smells stirred happy memories of countless hours spent translating ancient texts with his father at the Royal Library. A few customers browsed among the scrolls, and Jack caught a snippet of conversation at the counter.

"…[Frost Breath] and two [Fireball] scrolls." A middle-aged adventurer clad in high-quality leather armour was buying spell scrolls at the counter. The old shopkeeper smiled.

"That will be 37 silver and 50 coppers for three [Frost Breath] and two [Fireball] scrolls. Will that be all, or may I suggest a [Solid Ground] scroll for the swamp area?" The adventurer shook his head, handed over his payment, and left with his purchase. Jack grinned as he calculated, That's 7 silver and 50 coppers per scroll. Maybe I can get more than 2 silver each. Approaching the counter, he greeted the shopkeeper with a smile. The old shopkeeper returned the smile with a frown.

"What can I do for you today…" He quickly glanced at Jack's attire, then towards his other patrons.

"Young man?" Placing his pack on the dark wood counter, Jack said in his most formal tone, "My master has tasked me with selling a sample of his unimbued spell scrolls." He then revealed ten scrolls from his pack. Four [Frost Breath], four [Fireball], and two [Solid Ground] scrolls. He was hoping to sell these for at least 20 silver. Adjusting his silver-framed glasses as he examined the scrolls, the old shopkeeper nodded.

"These are fine work." He looked at Jack with a discerning eye.

"May I ask who inscribed them?" He grinned. Jack had anticipated the question.

"My master is a new Apprentice Scribe who plans to create spell scrolls to level his skills." He smiled while hoping the shopkeeper wouldn't press for his master's name.

"My master is looking to supply spell scrolls to the city's best spell shop." A new Apprentice Scribe could spend years just inscribing spell scrolls to level up, so the story made sense. The old man nodded, accepting the story.

"Usually, we don't buy spell scrolls this way." He spread his right arm to indicate inside the shop.

"If your young master is planning to sell regularly and in reasonable quantities, we might be able to come to an agreement. There is a shortage of scribes creating spell scrolls in the city." The merchant frowned.

"We lost some good people to the army recently, and many of the more experienced scribes feel it's beneath them to perform such work," he shook his head in disappointment.

"Of course, at Barker and Harker we pride ourselves on protecting our suppliers' identity." Jack understood the problem. As an Expert Scribe, his father would be overqualified to create apprentice-level scrolls.

"My master informed me that he plans to produce at least twenty-five and possibly over fifty spell scrolls per week; depending upon other commitments, of course." At forty-five minutes per scroll, twenty-five scrolls would take him a little under nineteen hours to craft. If he put ten hours per day into just creating spell scrolls, he could produce over ninety scrolls per week. In his previous life, he'd worked even longer hours to afford the 550 gold for the drow blade and poison.

The old man scratched his chin in thought.

"We pay 2 silver and 50 coppers for [Frost Breath] and [Fireball] scrolls." He smiled.

"We'll purchase as many as your young master can create." He tapped one of the [Solid Ground] spell scrolls with his arthritic index finger, a subtle sign of the many years he'd spent in trade.

"As for these, our need isn't as urgent, but we'd take up to ten per week for the same price per scroll." Jack nodded with satisfaction.

"I believe my master will be pleased with this agreement." Instinctively, he extended his hand to the shopkeeper to seal the deal. It was something his dad had taught him as a child. Although not required, his father had always maintained that a handshake signified honour and mutual respect between those who do business together. The old man returned the handshake with a warm smile, creasing his weathered face as he acknowledged the polite courtesy of a young man.

"My master knows these three spells. Are there other spells you'd be interested in?" Although Jack wouldn't level his [Inscribe Spell] skill rapidly by crafting easy spell scrolls, he'd eke out more experience if he could vary the type of scrolls created. The old shopkeeper chuckled.

"Of course, of course. Your young master would benefit from variety." Still chuckling, he reached under the counter and pulled out a piece of paper with a price list of spell scrolls.

"These are the scrolls we stock and the prices we sell at." Jack scanned the list. Most of the spells sold for 7 silver and 50 coppers, but a handful went for over 20 silver and a couple for over a gold. He nodded in understanding. The old man continued, "We pay approximately one-third of the sale price to the scribe." He pointed out items underlined in red, indicating high demand or limited supply.

"We'll buy as many as you can supply." Jack nodded while taking the price list. The old shopkeeper placed the ten scrolls Jack had sold him beneath the counter and passed him a small pile of coins.

"That's 25 silver for four [Fireball], four [Frost Breath], and two [Solid Ground] unimbued scrolls," he explained while adjusting his glasses.

"As a supplier to Barker and Harker, your master enjoys a ten per cent discount on all purchases." He then gestured towards the display of scribe supplies and handed Jack a card adorned with a small image of a spell scroll and the embossed name Barker and Harker.

"Just present the card to receive the discount." Tempted to spend his earnings, Jack reminded himself he was playing the role of a noble's valet, and, more importantly, he needed to save up for a bow.

"I'll let my master know," he said with a slight bow.

"Thank you on his behalf." Before leaving the shop, he looked at the prices of scribe supplies. Their prices aren't too bad. With the discount, I should at least buy blank scrolls and ink here. Jack left the shop with a bounce in his step while the old shopkeeper shook his head and chuckled. He made his way back to the alley where he'd hidden his clothes. I wonder if I could get a bow today for 25 silver, he thought, eager to begin his archery training. It's worth a try.

As he changed into his usual clothes, he recalled that he was supposed to be doing strength exercises. Damn it. I forgot to work out this morning. I did wake up with a bad back, though; stupid sister, he grumbled, cursing Polly for derailing his plans, which in truth he was glad to forget. Since he was near the novice dungeon, he examined the nearby stalls and shops to see what they offered. Being close to a dungeon, these establishments tended to provide items suitable for adventurers, including bows.

A bronze clockwork automaton assistant stood outside a shop, repeating the same offer in a cheerful monotone voice: "Small aether capsules on sale; 4 silver each. Buy three, just 10 silver. Guaranteed charge retention; one full year."

"Hmm, good price," Jack muttered, glancing at the gleaming blue aether capsules in a rotating display.

"Prices skyrocket whenever there's a mine incident." He rubbed his chin, recalling a dungeon breakout in the main aether crystal mine that served the city most of its power.

"Was it spiders? Big ones?" His memory flashed to a past event. An undiscovered dungeon within the main aether crystal mine had a massive monster breakout. Whatever the creatures, it had delayed mining for months. Prices had surged. 15 silver per small aether capsule at one point. The prices never quite fell back. I could earn a small fortune if I had coin to invest. He shrugged.

"Yeah, if." When a dungeon wasn't cleared on a regular basis, the monsters within would flood out. This particular event resulted in the mine being closed for months until the monsters were cleared. This resulted in a shortage of aether crystals and a large price hike for aether capsules. After half an hour of browsing, he came to the conclusion he wouldn't be getting a bow worth buying for under 60 silver, so he went home disappointed.

"I'll spend today exercising and making more scrolls. I'll get a bow tomorrow or the day after," he muttered.