Mark of the Fool

I am…coming…are you safe, father?

“I am safe,” Alex said out loud.

“Hm?” Shale frowned.

“Oh, sorry, I do that sometimes,” he chuckled. “I was talking to Claygon.”

“Oh?” Toraka Shale’s eyes shone with curiosity. “You can communicate with him from this distance?”

Alex beamed.

The two of them were sitting in her very large, well appointed office. He was sipping her expensive scotch while listening to the gurgle of running water coming from the mana powered waterfall that rose all the way to the ceiling. The water glowed a sea blue and disappeared in a basin below, reappearing at the top to cool the entire room. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much something like that would have cost.

On her desk stood her music golem, about a foot tall and forged to resemble a graceful young woman. The construct ‘blew’ into a golden horn, producing the sound of a full orchestra.

Each piece of office furniture was crafted by the hands of masters—using the finest woods, stone and metal—and her liquor cabinet’s contents alone probably could have funded his little family’s living expenses for at least two years.

But the lavish furnishings merely enhanced Shale’s image: the sheer power and wealth Toraka Shale must wield would have made the Lord of Alric look like a penniless vagabond. From this office, she controlled an army of crafters who built hordes of powerful golems; each iron golem in the shop below would have generated more than fifty thousand gold coins’ worth of profit per sale.

The young Thameish wizard had never seen her house, but if it was anything less than a palace, that would have been by choice, not lack of funds to build or buy one. Meanwhile, there he was: a bumpkin from a small town in Thameland, a student and someone with less gold to his name than the cost of Shale’s desk chair.

In short, he was a helpless lamb sitting in the lion’s den; its place of power.

But with one quick phrase: ‘Oh, I was talking to Claygon’ he’d completely reversed the power dynamic.

Now she was the one looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak and tell her more about the wonderful golem that had captured her imagination.

And just like that, he was no longer the lamb.

“Sorry, for the pause, I was talking to him again,” he lied smoothly, enjoying her excited little flinch. “You asked me if I could communicate with him at this distance? Well, yes. But, I haven’t actually tested the limit on how far we can communicate yet.”

“Have you done any other tests?” She asked.

“Oh, he’s not a laboratory specimen, so we haven’t gone out and performed a bunch of tests or anything like that,” he said. “But I can tell you that he’s a quick learner.” He smiled warmly, like a father bragging about his child. “You should see how quickly his writing’s improving. It’s astounding.”

“...really, now?” Toraka asked, leaning even further over her desk.

“Yeah, his cognition’s really something. It’s stunning to see how far he’s come in the few days since he evolved. Did I tell you his sapience seemed to coincide with his evolution?”

“No,” she said, clearly fascinated.

“Oh yes, I’ll spare you the details of what the trigger was, but I’m wondering if—assuming I can use those circumstances as a model—I’d be able to spark his next evolution intentionally.”

Her lip twitched. “Do you really think you could purposefully cause golem evolution?”

He shrugged. “I’m a golem maker, not a prophet. I leave that sort of thing to priests and—Ah, here he comes now.”

Toraka looked at her office door expectantly as Claygon’s thunderous footsteps echoed down the hall.

‘And so the fishing rod begins to pull,’ Alex thought.

Father…is this the right door?’ His footsteps stopped just outside Shale’s office.

‘That it is, my friend, would you mind knocking before you come in? Gently, now,’ Alex thought.

I…will try to be gentle.

After a heartbeat Shale flinched as a terrific banging came from outside. It sounded like someone had thrown giant rocks at the door, making it shudder on its hinges.

“Erm, c-come in!” Shale called.

There was a pause.

Then the door latch clicked and Claygon gingerly stepped into the room, bowing his head below the door frame. He waited to close the door. A little past him—filling the hallway—were half the staff of the workshop, piling over each other, still gawking at him.

“Oh, come on, really?” Shale scowled. “This isn’t a sideshow at the circus, people, it’s a place of business! Back to work, all of you, back to work!”

Grumbling came from the clot of disappointed staff members.

She looked at Claygon. “Would you mind closing the door?” She spoke softly, as though she were speaking to a friend’s child.

The golem glanced down at the latch and gently batted the door closed, but it banged so hard in its frame, that the wall surrounding it shook. Muffled, startled yelps came from the hallway followed by a veritable stampede of footfalls.

That was loud…sorry.

“Claygon says, he’s sorry about the noise.” Alex told her.

“Hah, they deserved that: gawking like a bunch of children,” she said as she gawked at Claygon like a child. “Ridiculous.”

Alex shrugged at the golem. ‘I guess the door slamming was okay…this time. You shouldn’t normally do that, though. With your strength, you’d destroy any door weaker than a castle gate.’

And that is…bad, right? Grimloch said…that is good.

‘Oh by the Traveller, my baby’s been thinking for less than a week and they’re already trying to corrupt him,’ he thought. ‘We’ll talk about that later, Claygon.’

You say we will talk about many things later…I look forward to it.

‘I’m starting to look forward to it less and less,’ Alex thought about all the many, many things he’d have to explain to Claygon.

“You are marvellous, aren’t you?” Toraka half-rose from her seat, looking as though she wanted nothing more than to charge across the room and examine Claygon with every single device she had.

“Yes, he is,” Alex said.

‘What does…marvellous mean?’

‘It means very good.’ Alex thought.

He felt a flutter of emotions from the golem, ranging from delight to surprise. ‘Father…could you tell her I said…thank you?’

Alex nearly choked up. “Yes, I can Claygon,” he said out loud, turning back to Toraka. “Claygon says thank you.”

“Oh, u-um,” she stuttered, completely off-balance. “You’re very welcome.”

Alex resisted the urge to smile.

With Claygon in the room now, he’d given himself two great advantages.

First, Toraka would be distracted for the rest of the negotiation. Now, every time she tried to outmanoeuvre him, she’d have to waste mental energy pulling her attention away from Claygon. To make things worse for her, her focuswould naturally drift back to the golem over time.

And a distracted opponent was a far less dangerous one; someone who bore a Mark that would pour dozens of images into his mind if he tried to go against it knew that better than most.

The second advantage came from the reminder Claygon’s presence brought: here he was, a unique, powerful, priceless golem made by the very person sitting in front of her desk. A golem she would very well lose access to if Alex were to leave her employ, not to mention losing the skills of the one who’d crafted him.

“Right, sorry for the interruption, we were talking about wages, weren’t we?” Alex brought the conversation back to the business at hand.

“Er, yes, that’s right,” she said, her eyes still fixed on Claygon.

“I’d like to ask for sixty per shift,” he folded his hands over his lap.

That got her attention.

“Sixty?” Her eyes grew wide. “That’s almost double, and nearly what an entry level crafter makes.”

“True, and I also recognize that you said that I have great skills; that the only thing separating me from having the full skillset of a crafter is not knowing a couple of spells,” his voice was even, his tone smooth. He avoided using the word ‘but’, which would have created a subconscious wall between them. “A crafter would only have to take a couple of minutes after their schedule to cast those spells for me when needed.”

He spread his hands. “Just a couple of minutes in return for a junior crafter: someone that can do everything else the job requires at a discounted price.” He did some mental calculations. “Which would net you a savings of about fifteen hundred gold pieces a year.”

That number was nothing compared to the sheer volume of gold that flowed through Shale’s Workshop everyday, but it was enough to show that she would stand to benefit from having Alex do most of the work of a crafter at a discounted price.

And he knew that.

‘Shift the narrative away from her doing you a favour,’ he thought. ‘Bring the negotiation back to a notion of reciprocity. Increase your value. Rebalance power in the conversation. And…’

He noticed her eyes drifting back to Claygon.

‘...take advantage of her distraction.’

“Actually, overall, your gross would go up even more than that,” he said. “Since you’d have an extra pair of hands working on another golem. You’d produce faster.”

‘Show her the advantages,’ he thought. ‘Show her what she’d gain. And now…’

He looked at her body language.

She’d leaned back a bit, crossing her forearms over her desk: a defensive gesture. A sign of discomfort. She was hesitating, but not out of anger…so then, what…

“I can’t go that high,” she said, her tone polite but firm, showing no room for negotiation on that point. “If I gave you that much, it’d devalue the work of every starting crafter here at the shop.”

“Ah, yes. They’d wonder why a ‘junior crafter’ is making a wage that’s so close to theirs,” he said. “It’d breed questions. Maybe disloyalty.”

‘Show understanding, show that you’re not a child. You’re a man who can understand her concerns. A reasonable one,’ he thought.

‘Father…why do you look like you’re in a battle?’ Claygon thought. ‘Do you need me to…protect?’

‘Oh noooo, Claygon,’ Alex thought. ‘I’m juuuust fine. Juuust fine.’

“I’m glad you understand, Alex,” Toraka said. “If I start giving a student—no matter how talented he is—a wage so close to a full crafter’s, it’s going to cause problems…but okay. What about forty-five?”

“Fifty-five,” Alex suggested.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re haggling like you’re in Borgia’s Square.”

“Well, it—”

Father, what is that…sound?

“Hm? What sound, Claygon?” Alex asked, drawing Shale’s attention back to the golem.

Claygon gingerly stepped over to the desk, his enormous shadow falling over Toraka and Alex. He bent down to examine the music golem from close up.

The sound…is a good sound.

“What’s happening?” Toraka asked.

“Oh, he just likes your music golem, is all,” Alex said. “I can’t wait to build a speakerbox for Claygon. It’s expensive, but it’ll let him communicate with everyone, not just me.”

A subtle twitch ran through her lip; more coin would let him build the speakerbox faster, which would let her talk to Claygon and ask him all the questions she was dying to.

“I’m sure he’d love to talk with you,” Alex said. “And let me tell you, there’s loads of folk who want to talk to him. Baelin, Jules, a whole bunch in the alchemy department…I wouldn’t be surprised if half the alchemists in the city would like to have a chat with him.” He smiled at Claygon. “I hope you like the attention, buddy.”

But he didn’t answer, too enraptured by the music golem’s song.

A host of emotions trailed through their link: warmth, curiosity, pleasure and…longing. Alex noted that last emotion carefully. He’d bring it up later.

As for Shale? She fidgeted ever so slightly in her chair, not missing what Alex had just done.

He’d created demand by subtly reminding her that anyone in the city would want to examine Claygon…and they’d likely hire the one who built him in a heartbeat.

She looked at him closely, carefully, then.

He noticed a change in her eyes: she no longer looked at him as though he were a talented student. She looked at him the way an experienced merchant would look at another.

With respect.

He barely resisted the urge to smile in triumph.

And with that? He’d accomplished exactly what he wanted.

Everything that followed would just be a bonus.

“Do you come from a merchant family, Alex?” Toraka asked.

“My parents ran an alehouse,” he replied. “And after they passed to the afterworld, the couple that raised me ran an inn. They had to do their share of haggling with farmers and brewers from time to time.”

He, of course, made no mention of any divinely gifted Marks and their role in preparing him for this.

“Well, they taught you well,” she said. “And my condolences on your parents. What would you say to fifty gold pieces per shift and—” She held up a finger. “If you need a lump sum of coin to buy a place in the city, I could lend you that sum and simply take some of it back from your wage on a schedule. It’d let you establish roots in the city faster.”

A counter offer of more coin, bundled with a devil’s favour: one that would tie him to her business both by way of finance, and gratitude.

But none of that mattered now.

He’d already won, she just didn’t know it yet.

“Fifty is perfect.” Alex extended his hand to seal the negotiation.”

“Excellent.” She shook his hand, throwing him a big smile. “I’ll take care of you, trust me on that.”

‘More than you know,’ Alex thought. ‘Let’s see, that’s steps three and four of the financial part of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension skipped. Now we’re ahead of schedule. I should grab something to eat to celebrate.’

At that thought, his eyes fell on the window beside Shale and his smile faded, replaced by an expression of surprise and curiosity.

Across the street, there was a man doing something near the front window inside the rundown bakery. But, he wasn’t baking, nor was he eating, or even displaying baked goods.

He seemed to be painting what looked like a sign.

And—if Alex wasn’t mistaken—that sign looked like it had two very interesting words on it:

‘For Sale.’