Chapter 114: Theft
The shopkeeper had mentioned that the strange flora in his shop were all rare specimens brought over from the New World.
My mind flashed back to the atlas I had seen. A vast swathe of the Americas had been painted in the jaundiced yellow of Iberia. South America, especially, was almost entirely colored in, save for a central region. And the area of Mexico was yellow as well. Recalling the history of my past life, it wasn’t hard to guess that these were all former Spanish colonies. Latin America had gotten its name because its colonizers were from the Latin language family. In this world, they should be called the colonies of the Iberian Empire. But the shopkeeper had called it a Grand Duchy. The feudal title felt jarringly out of place in this age. The practice of enfeoffment should have been a relic of the past, replaced by the more efficient governor system. Why would they install a Grand Duke in an overseas territory? The question was another crack in the fractured mirror of history I was trapped in, but I couldn't ask the shopkeeper without revealing an ignorance that might be dangerous.
“These honeypot ants, you can eat them directly after cutting off their heads,” the shopkeeper was still chattering on. “For medicinal purposes, the honey inside their bodies is the effective ingredient. Three silver coins each.”
The price was extortionate, but I still needed him to tell me where I could buy the other materials. “I’ll take five, then.” According to the witch, the failure rate for brewing potions was very high. Without enough experience, it was normal to fail several times at the beginning, so it was best to prepare several sets of materials.
“Right away!” The shopkeeper selected five of the golden, swollen ants and handed them to me in a glass bottle. Now that his pockets were lined, he was more forthcoming. “Take the third alley on your right. Go until you see a large purple tent with a goblin’s head smoking a pipe painted on it. That’s the shop. Tell him old Hawke sent you,” the shopkeeper said, happily counting his silver coins.
“Thank you,” I said, and eagerly pulled Jared away, the shopkeeper’s voice following us.
“Thank you for your patronage! If you need anything else in the future, you can always come to my shop. Especially for plants and herbs, my goods are much better than old Goldtooth’s.”
The "old Goldtooth" he mentioned must be the shop he had just recommended. It seemed he was still worried that the other shop would steal too much of his business. And he saw me as a potential customer; after all, once one starts brewing potions, the demand for materials is almost endless.
I was a stranger in this labyrinthine market. Without Jared, I would have been lost in moments. The market was a sunken plaza, a wound in the city's foundation, and its deeper passages descended into a subterranean warren that smelled of damp earth and something far less wholesome. The air grew thick and sinister, the weak light from hanging braziers barely piercing the oppressive gloom.
The atmosphere here was different, predatory. The patrons were furtive, shrouded figures, their faces hidden by high collars and deep hoods. In our simple cloaks, Jared and I, for the first time, felt perfectly at home. The shops themselves seemed to warp, their wares growing more grotesque: rows of leathery, dried lizards; jars of mysterious powders and disembodied eyeballs—far too large to be human—staring blankly from shelves.
I saw a weapons stall, but the items on display were less for battle and more for the breaking of men. Serrated scimitars, chained hooks, and long-handled animal traps with sharp, blood-stained claws. They were instruments of torture, not weapons of war. I even saw someone purchase a crossbow, a weapon that should have been strictly forbidden.
Could this be the black market the witch had written of? It was so brazen, so carelessly hidden. The common market above, the black market below. What was to stop some unsuspecting citizen from stumbling into this den of thieves?
Just as I was about to look at a nearby shop, Jared pulled me a little closer. “Parula, don’t stray too far. The deeper parts of the market aren’t safe. I never dared to go too deep in here before,” he whispered, his voice tight.
“Oh? How is it unsafe?” I moved closer, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.
“The people here… they feel dangerous. I’ve heard that many have vanished in the depths of the market, never to be found again. Their families have come to make a fuss, but it always ends with nothing. And I’ve seen a few of my less-discerning colleagues get caught stealing here. The lightest punishment is usually being stripped naked, hung from a tree outside, and beaten half to death.”
“So there are thieves here too,” I said, my eyes darting around warily. But everyone seemed so furtive, so suspicious, that I couldn't tell who was the hunter and who was the prey.
“There are. The highly skilled and daring ones come in. I’ve come in to steal before. It’s quite risky.” Just then, Jared showed me the cloth pouch at his waist.
“Ah!” I gasped. It was filled with coin. Coppers, mostly, but a few silver pieces gleamed amongst them. They all looked a bit old.
I immediately realized I had spoken too loudly and quickly lowered my voice. “Did you just steal all of this?!”
“Yes. You’ve spent so much on materials, Parula. If I don’t earn some extra on the side, even that pile of gold will be gone before we know it. We have to keep earning,” he said, his logic grim and irrefutable.
My God, that’s not scientific. He had been right beside me the whole time. I hadn’t seen him make a single move. When did he do it? Had he just casually plucked the coins from their owners as he walked, a phantom in the crowd?
And I couldn’t even refute his logic. At the rate we were spending, after brewing a few more potions, the factory owner’s fortune would be nothing but a memory.
Just then, Jared’s hand shot out like a striking viper, clamping down on another, smaller hand that had brushed past my side.
“Ah!” A surprisingly delicate cry of alarm. I looked over. It was a girl, strikingly beautiful, with hair like spun silver and skin as pale as milk, also wrapped in a black robe.
She was caught by Jared, a panicked expression on her face. She struggled to escape, but Jared held her hand fast, like a steel clamp, unmoving.
I was wondering why he had accosted her when his voice cut through the gloom, a low, dangerous command: “Hand it over!”
He squeezed, and the girl’s wrist, delicate as a bird’s bone, was forced to open. A few silver coins clattered to the floor.
My silver coins. I looked down. My coin-purse, which had been tied securely at my waist, had been slit open with a razor’s precision.
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