Chapter 26: We're Rich, My Sister
“It’s not important,” Jared said, taking the dagger back from me with a dismissive shrug, his eyes already elsewhere. “Even if it was an assassination, what does it matter to us? The games of powerful men are not our concern. Survival is.” He had a point, a brutally simple one. Yet the elegant, blood-stained knife still felt like a dangerous loose end, a secret that could unravel our precarious existence.
“Besides,” Jared continued, a grin returning to his face, a flash of white in his grimy features. “This isn’t even the best part. Look at this. This is the real prize.” He produced a heavy, bulging leather pouch, stained with something dark I didn't want to look at too closely.
“Is that…?!” I knew what it was instantly. I couldn’t believe his speed, his sheer, breathtaking audacity. In that chaotic, bloody scrum, amidst the screams and the struggle, he had managed to lift the factory owner’s money pouch.
“That’s right,” he said, his eyes gleaming with a feverish light. “His coin-purse. It’s what I was after from the very beginning. The assassin just… made things a little easier.” He untied the drawstring and, with a flourish, upended the pouch. A cascade of gold and silver coins tumbled out onto the dusty rooftop, a river of forgotten kings and dead men's fortunes, glittering greedily in the pale, hazy sunlight.
“God’s teeth…” Even Jared, the seasoned thief, was stunned by the sight. “So much gold… I’ve never… I’ve never stolen this much in my entire life!” He had clearly expected a handful of copper pennies, a prize in itself. This… this was a king’s ransom.
I picked up one of the gold coins. It was thick and heavy, with a satisfying weight in my small hand. Like the ancient coins from my old world, one side bore the profile of a king, stern and noble, his features worn smooth by time and countless transactions. The other side was stamped with a complex, almost unreadable coat of arms. The design was intricate: a crowned shield at the center, draped with an elegant mantle. On either side of the shield stood a winged angel, one hand holding a banner, the other resting on the shield itself. A flowing ribbon, its motto long since worn away, encircled the entire crest. The coin was too small to capture all the fine details, but one image was perfectly, strangely clear: three flowers, emblazoned on the shield, the banners, and even etched into the crown itself. I didn’t recognize the flower, but it was clearly a symbol of great importance.
I examined a few more coins. The designs varied. Some depicted castles, others shields with snarling lions or regal eagles. Even the kings’ faces were different, a gallery of long-dead monarchs. But the most common coin was the one with the three flowers. The silver coins were even more diverse, their faces stamped with images of knights in armour, strange, craggy landscapes, and fantastical beasts like griffins. I recognized none of them. The style, however, was unmistakable. It was all very much like the coinage of old Europe, with a ruler on one side and a symbol of their authority on the other. The variety likely meant the coins were from different eras, or issued by different lords, kingdoms, or empires. To me, they weren't just money. They were history. They were clues.
“We’re rich! We’re rich!” Jared was still lost in a daze of golden wonder, running his fingers through the pile of coins. “Do you know what this means, Parula? Those factory workers, they’d be lucky to earn four or five of these gold pieces in a whole year of back-breaking, soul-crushing work! And there are twenty here! Twenty! And all this silver! We can do anything! We can eat meat every day!”
“Brother Jared,” I said, using the old, affectionate term from Parula’s memories to snap him out of his reverie. “Do you know who made these coins? What they’re called? Who are these kings?” Money was the lifeblood of a nation. If I could understand the currency, I could begin to understand the society, the history, the power structures of this strange new world.
“Eh? How should I know?” he said, shaking his head, finally looking up from the glittering pile. “They’re just gold coins to me. I don’t know who any of these old blokes are.” Of course. Expecting a guttersnipe thief to be a numismatist was unrealistic. “Oh, wait!” he said, his eyes lighting up with a sudden memory. “I did hear a merchant once. A fancy one, with a fat belly and a silk waistcoat. He called them… Castilian coins.”
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