Mark of the Fool

To say that the living quarters were in an even worse state than Alex had feared would be an understatement…Troy hadn’t been exaggerating. Dust clouds rose in mounds, provoking fits of coughing and sneezing as the baker led him through a doorway that was covered in suspicious looking stains in the alleyway, then up a flight of stairs that creaked so badly, Alex had Claygon wait for him in the dining area.

Cobwebs reached for him, clinging to his face with each step that he took —and as light poured up the stairwell—he spotted masses of black dots fleeing through cracks in the wood and stone. Cockroaches, their stink so putrid, that Alex––resembling a robber—wrapped the tail of his cloak around his face as they climbed the stairs.

The rickety door to the living area smelled of wood-rot, and beyond that…

“Oh, by the Traveller, save me,” Alex murmured as Troy waved him forward into the townhouse and the sea of disaster that had overtaken it. He gagged from odours far worse than roach stink, then tripped on pieces of debris as they stepped over the threshold.

“I tried to warn you,” Troy grunted. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong, and that’s the truth,” Alex muttered, surveying the mess while trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Old legends came to him: of dragons decorating their dark lairs and sleeping pads with hoarded stores of treasure. There was a hoard here alright, but not the kind those legends spoke of.

Instead of gold, pearls, precious stones, magical items and other priceless treasures, this hoard was piled high with mouldy food scraps, old containers, stacks of broken furniture and other debris. There was enough of it that it formed its own landscape: hills, valleys and even mountains of trash; oozing foul liquid mingling with the stench of death and decay while emanating sounds of vermin scurrying through its depths.

“Okay, we’re not taking a step further without precautions,” Alex said, drawing two flight potions. “No way I’m fighting monsters and demons just to get killed by some sort of filth fever.” He handed one to Troy. “If you don’t have any objection, I’m going to cast a spell called Orb of Air over our heads to protect us, and if we drink these flight potions, we can float above the trash.”

“I’ve only ever flown in sky-gondolas before,” Troy said, looking a little nervous, and pointing at the endless rubbish pile. “There’s a small path through this mess. We could just weave our way through it.”

“No, I’m not taking any chances and neither should you.” Alex pushed the potion into Troy’s hand. “Here, we’ll stay close to the ground, it’ll be safer than wading through all this stuff. Suppose something jumps out and bites you?” As if to illustrate his point, the pile moved. Troy pulled the stopper from the vial and downed it, levitating above the mound. A huge smile took his face as Alex cast Orb of Air.

The two men floated through the townhouse, freely taking stock of the ruins without suffering the foul air and adding everything in their bellies to the mounds.

“The last tenant had a bit of a problem,” Troy explained as they floated past a tower of decaying books. “Never threw anything out: For years he kept talking about keeping it ‘just in case’. I think he lived through some sort of famine in the southlands: so he got it into his head that if he let anything go, he’d miss it when ‘things turned bad’. I never got involved, and we didn’t know how bad it had really gotten until a couple of years in. He kept paying the rent, though, so the boss didn’t do anything about him. Sometimes I wonder where he is now.”

“Hopefully, somewhere cleaner,” Alex murmured as they flew up another flight of stairs, inspecting the next floor. “I’d be worried about disease.”

“And well you should be. You’d be wise to be on your way,” Troy said. “Any fool who buys this place will live to regret it.”

“I assume your boss will have it cleaned up before showing it to people,” Alex pointed out.

“I heard something of the sort, but I’ve yet to see any labourers hired,” Troy snorted. “He’d best not expect me to do it. I need the job, but there’s some things even I won’t do.”

“I hear you, but…if one had the right labour, or spells…” Alex stroked his beard. “There’s a lot of potential here.”

As they flew through the townhouse, Alex called on the Mark, focusing it on the task of ‘evaluating property’. It wasn’t something he’d ever done directly, but the Mark still had plenty of images to show him. All of his spelunking through dungeons, examining the temple in the Cave of the Traveller—looking for hidden passages—and the construction work he’d seen being done to the Research Castle came to him, providing scores of useful images.

The Mark guided him, pointing out similarities between those structures from his past, and the townhouse he was floating in.

And he actually liked what he was seeing.

Even filled with garbage, the townhouse seemed well and carefully built. The inside spaces were wide with plenty of glass windows to allow the light in on Generasi’s many sunny days. Or, they would, once the years of grime was wiped away.

The beams were solid, and though some of the wood finishes needed replacement, in general, the building didn’t seem to be in need of major renovations. And as for the amenities?

They were solid.

Very solid.

Above the bakery, the living quarters consisted of three floors, with a kitchen, three bedrooms, a bathing area, sitting rooms, a sewing room and a study. There was even a balcony off of the topfloor, with the tatters of an awning overtop a rooftop garden and a sitting area.

It was more than enough for Alex’s small family with plenty of room for even Brutus and Claygon, though—in the latter’s case—Alex would have to reinforce the townhouse’s stairs.

The more he looked around, the more excited he became: this was a project he could really sink his teeth into once the trash was gone, and the vermin sent packing. When the work was complete, it would make for a fine living space…at least, until he could buy something grander.

And…there were no ghosts.

None so far, at any rate.

As they finished the tour, Troy seemed convinced that he’d talked Alex out of buying the building, not realising that what he’d actually done was ensure a sale.

Depending on the asking price, Alex had an idea of how he might get it for cheap.

“When did you say you were going to put that sign up?” He asked Troy.

“Sometime next week. I think the boss is getting things in order. There was talk of a clean-up crew coming in to make the place look a bit nicer. A lick of paint and moving the trash out was mentioned.”

“I see,” the young wizard thumbed his chin. “Maybe, you can—”

“Troy!” A voice bellowed from the bakery below. “Troy, where are you? Did you—argh! A golem? What in all hells is going on?”

Troy gave Alex a resigned look, sighing deeply. “That would be the boss,” he grumbled. “And I can tell he’s in a grand mood.”

“Well, we’ll see how grand of a mood he’s in after a few minutes of conversation.” Alex whispered, grinning wickedly and dismissing their Orbs of Air.

‘The Boss’ was not a very tall man: if he’d stood as straight as he could with his head held high, spine rigid, and chin up, he might come up to the bottom of Alex’s neck. However, the way he held himself and moved…was like he thought he was a hundred feet tall.

The skinny man ran his hand through greying hair, scratching his head and watching Claygon while the golem closely examined the spread of baked goods across the counter.

“Boss, you’re here,” Troy said, his voice losing life by the instant. His shoulders fell and he soon looked more corpse-like than alive.

Meanwhile, Alex was sizing up ‘the boss’, noting his body language, measuring his mood, and looking for weaknesses. The man squinted at the young wizard with red, pig-like eyes, and it didn’t take Alex long to reach one very important conclusion.

Judging from the way he was swaying and squinting against the bright light pouring through the front door, ‘The Boss’ was at the very least, hungover.

‘He might even still be drunk,’ Alex thought. ‘This might be easier than I imagined. I’d better catch him off-guard first.’

“Hello there. Alex Roth,” he abruptly thrust out his hand, startling the man as he held it out for a handshake. “I understand you’re in the market for a buyer?”

“Huh? Wha?” ‘The boss’ gingerly shook Alex’s much larger hand. “How do you know—” The smell of stale booze drifted from his breath.

“I can see why you’d want to be paid as quickly as possible,” Alex looked around clinically. “This place is falling apart and—between you and me—it’s easy to see why you’d want it in someone else’s hands just in case the guild makes their way over here suddenly to check up on things.”

He chuckled as the man started to pale. “I get it, you don’t want somebig boss to come looking in on you, telling you to clean up your toys. After all, this is your business and you want to run it however you’d like, am I right?”

“Um, yes,” ‘the boss’ murmured, looking at Alex closely. “Are you…erm, interested, young man?”

“Oh very interested,” Alex said, putting a note of naivety in his voice, sounding for all the world like someone who’d spend all his worldly wealth to buy a single piece of trash.

And the man’s pig-like eyes lit up instantly. “Well, well, then have a seat! Have a seat and welcome! Troy! Go get us some hot cider. And—” He paused, noting a cockroach skittering in front of the counter. “—and uh, you’d better make it quick.”

“Erm, right, boss,” the baker muttered, glancing at Alex like the young man had lost his mind.

The boss and the Thameish wizard sank into two wooden chairs at a small table near the door–the shorter man glanced at Claygon. “Erm, the golem’s yours, I take it?”

“Yes. Yes, he is,” Alex said smoothly, watching the man’s eyes predictably light up.

Golems were not cheap, which helped solidify the image that Alex wanted to project: a young man with a lot of coin and perhaps measurably less brains. A young man who would be the perfect buyer for…for…

“Um, I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage,” Alex said. “You know my name but I don’t…”

“Govert,” the bakery owner said proudly. “Govert Beerensteyn, Son of Heinke and Sanne Beerensteyn, may they have found peace in the afterworld.”

“May they have found peace,” Alex echoed. “And you kept things running after they were gone?”

“Indeed, I have, but…in truth, it has been a burden,” Govert confided. “A difficult thing to juggle alongside my own personal work.”

What personal work? According to Troy, this man didn’t hold another job, and judging by his clothes, Alex was inclined to believe the worker, not the boss. Govert’s shirt, pants and boots were well-made and would have cost a fair sum at one time, but now they were threadbare in spots, looking like they’d need at least a half-dozen patches in another season of wear.

He’d obviously hit upon hard times.

But, he didn’t need to know that Alex knew that.

“Yes, I can understand that,” the young man nodded in feigned sympathy. “Running a business on top of another job is a difficult thing at the best of times.”

“You know how it is.” Govert gave a smile so oily, it could have fuelled a dozen lamps. “But you are young, you might have more energy for it than I do. Tell me, are you a baker yourself? And how did you hear about my little sale?”

“Well, I am something of a baker myself: mostly amateur, but I thought I’d make a go of it as a professional,” Alex lied smoothly. “And as for how I found out about the sale? Well, it was pure luck. I saw your worker painting the for sale sign and had to pop in and take a look.”

“Ah, that is a bit of good luck for you!” Govert laughed. “You see, this place has an excellent reputation. It has built in customers and it’s a very nice building with an upstairs living area that would be good for you, your family, or any renters you decide to take on. It’s a good family property and a good investment. Plus, the area is very desirable!”

“That it is!” Alex said. “Which makes me think that somebody will buy it quickly.”

“Precisely.” Govert nodded with glee. “No, I don’t expect it will be on the market for long!”

Alex laughed easily. “I have a feeling that its time on the market will be very, very short.”

“Then we are on the same page,” Govert’s enthusiasm shifted to practicality. “Ahhhh, no offence, but you are quite young, and I don’t expect to part with this place as an act of charity…would you be able to pay? I’m afraid I would expect to be paid up front.”

“Well, I do work for Toraka Shale across the street,” Alex said. “She can front the funds.”

“You do not have them yourself?” The man frowned.

“Let’s just say my star is currently rising,” Alex said. “And a lot of my wealth is tied up in other matters at the moment, if you know what I mean.” He nodded to Claygon.

“Aaaaahhh yes,” Govert said. “It is troublesome when capital is tied up in properties and investments…but for this deal, I’d need proof that Mrs. Shale would be kind enough to trust you with a loan of this magnitude. The building will not be cheap.”

“I could have proof in hand in the morning,” Alex said. “But why don’t we go over the price…now.”

“Hmmmm,” Govert looked at Alex’s golem, seemingly torn. Eventually, though, he seemed to succumb to the idea of an easy sale. “Alright, we can agree on a price now—”

“In writing,” Alex insisted.

Govert shrugged. “If that will make you more comfortable. But any deal we make will expire at midnight tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Alex said, smiling broadly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Excuse me for a moment.”

He concentrated, conjuring Wizard’s Hand after Wizard’s Hand until six of the glowing spells were floating around him. Flying into his satchel, they took out a length of blank paper and several pens, writing up a contract right there on the table’s stained surface, leaving a blank line for the price, and spaces for two signatures: his and Govert’s.

The older man watched nervously. “Wow, I didn’t expect things to be going so fast.”

“Well, while we hesitate, others eat, as they say,” Alex smoothed out the paper. “So…let’s talk about price, shall we?”