The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

Coin and Elijah set off from Wheat Valley only a few days later, with the wagon freshly loaded for provisions to be sold to the nearby village of Coilroad. And from there, over the next few weeks, the two men ventured hither and thither, with Coin getting to see many towns and villages across the southern expanse of Arcadia.

Elijah was seemingly always making deals, each delivery swiftly being followed up by a new pickup from a different client. He had said to Coin, quite bluntly, that every trip was to be an opportunity. There was always someone looking to do business with the Mercantile Guild, looking to buy or sell.

And for everything he sold or bought, Elijah would make a detailed note of it in his ledger. The first few times he had made Coin sit beside him and watch, and then eventually he tasked Coin with taking notes in the ledger. The old man would watch, silently. And if Coin made a mistake he would tut, and guide his pencil to correct any errors. This was rather common early on, but Coin's literacy and penmanship grew a little bit sharper with every lesson.

Any of Elijah's absentmindedness vanished whenever he was talking business, where the kindly old man would suddenly morph into a focused predator that would make a mimic look like a duckling.

From Coilroad they bought an abundance of preserved meat, some for themselves and some for resale. They sold the meat at a town further afield, picked up alchemical supplies which were then bought at a higher mark-up at a lumber camp to the north where such things were in high demand. The lumber camp, in turn, sold them stacks of perfectly cut planks.

Elijah had smiled knowingly, telling Coin he knew just the place to sell the wood. Which, as it happened, was a location a few days away from the lumber camp. An orchard known as Golden Fields which was undergoing expansion, with the skeletons of half-built buildings lingering on the horizon.

The owner, undoubtedly the roundest man Coin had ever seen in his life, had indeed been looking for more wood to help build up new quarters for his workers, and a new storage building. The mimic had stood a few paces away as he and Elijah engaged in a form of combat known in the business as 'haggling.'

Haggling, to Coin, seemed to be a battle of wits. Both combatants would smile brightly at each other, seeming to punctuate each sentences with terms like 'old chum', or 'my good man.' Yet for as much as the men would smile, the venom in their eyes was barely disguised, and anger would flash in their pupils whenever the other man gave an offer the other found disagreeable.

"Eight per plank? Oh, alas, I only wish I could give you this wood so cheaply, my dear friend," Elijah had said. His eyes, more bluntly, said 'I ought to punch your lights out for thinking you can con me like that, you wretch.'

The orchard owner shook his head, which in turn shook his frankly outrageous number of chins. "These are lean times. You'd struggle to get a higher price these days, old sport." His eyes said 'be lucky I'm not sending you on your with with a kicked arse, you vagabond!'

And so it went on, Coin's eyes darting from man to man as they haggled. And eventually Elijah had suggested a sum that made the owner balk, and their debate culminated in the two agreeing on a slightly lower sum that left them both happy.

Elijah was grinning as they made for the wagon. "Why are you so happy?" Coin asked. "You didn't get the amount you wanted."

"Oh I got exactly what I wanted, my lad," Elijah replied with a chuckle. "I asked for thirty per plank to throw that soak for a loop. Caught him off guard, as warriors like to say. So that the price I actually wanted, twenty two, seemed more reasonable. Now that fool thinks he's taken us for a ride, and we're making a profit of six ducats per plank. Now, come on, we better unload these quickly."

The sun was starting to dip as they finished, at which point the orchard owner paid Elijah for his wood. And further sweetened the pot with a gift of several cider jugs. A gift was a very different thing to a bribe, this was something that the charter was rather explicit about. A gift given after a deal was finalized and written in the ledger, with the details of said gift also being recorded in the ledger, was all well and good.

A bribe given to try and sweeten the pot on a deal, or to motivate people with unrecorded goods, was very much frowned upon. There were always those who tried to be sneaky about, Elijah had explained, but the clerks of the Mercantile Guild had a way of sniffing out deception with accuracy that would make a bloodhound feel impotent.

That night they set up camp a modest distance from the outskirts of the orchard. The glow from the twin moons highlighted the fields of apple trees, casting massive shadows. A campfire was lit between the men, who took swigs from separate cider jugs. Dancer, meanwhile, was busy gnawing a chunk of meat with his twitching mandibles.

It was Coin's first time drinking alcohol that wasn't a trace from an adventurer's blood. The initial fruity taste of the cider was nice enough, Coin reasoned, but he could have gone without the burn that raced down his throat. Elijah was less concerned, drinking until his cheeks burned red.

"Ahh... Hate to say it, but that soak knows how to make good cider," Elijah said, every 's' sound faintly slurred. "Mmn. Almost a shame to sell the other jugs he gave us. I suppose we oughta..." he yawned and shook his head, "oughta see what kinda... kinda price we can get for them."

"You alright?" Coin asked, watching him warily. He had drank much less than Elijah, admittedly, but he was surprised by how buckled his mentor seemed to be. He had seen his share of adventurers drinking by their campfires. Admittedly it added a nasty aftertaste to their meat, but alcohol near-always made them stupid, easy targets.

Elijah, certainly, would have been good prey in that drunken stupor. Coin made a note to keep an eye on him until he was sobered up, for his own safety.

"I'll be alright," Elijah replied, waving him off. He swayed where he sat, nearly falling off the log he was perched upon. "You know, my dear father... he once told me cider is the Bleak's best drink. Sneaks up on you with its sweet taste, just so... just so it can sucker punch your liver when you've had enough of it."

Coin gave him a curious look. Why did humans willingly drink this if all it did was hurt them in the long run? If it tasted better, that would be one thing. Still, it was what humans did. So, Coin decided, it was best to just drink whenever it was offered to him. Anything to blend in.

By the time Elijah finished drinking, he seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Coin shouldered his weight, guiding the old man to his bedroll. He felt weightless against Coin, but his constant stumbling made it an awkward journey.

"Come on Elijah. Let's get you to bed."

The old man groaned as he was guided onto the plush surface of his bedding. "Thank you, my lad," Elijah sleepily grumbled.

"Think nothing of it."

Elijah smiled, closing his eyes. "You're... a good lad, Ezekiel."

Coin lifted an eyebrow. "Sir? Who are you talking to?" But the old man was already asleep, snoring and curling up into himself. The mimic sighed and made his way back to the campfire. His pack, a gift from Elijah, was resting by the smooth stone he'd been using as a seat. He fished out the tome Scylla had gifted him.

Most nights, after Elijah retired to sleep, Coin would take the time to read a few pages from the book. And tonight, as with any other night, he found no closer to grasping the magic that coursed through him.

The firelight flickered as he examined an illustration on one of the pages. It was the silhouette of a man, who had a shimmering light in his chest and lines encircling the outsides of his limbs. "Those with the capacity for magic draw it from Promethea, their very soul a portal to that infinitely vast place. All magic is spawned from there, and the magi are living conduits of it."

He read the words aloud as his gaze scanned across them. He sat upright and stared into the distance, his right foot awkwardly tapping up and down. "This is meant to be for children?" he murmured.

He read on, deciding that it was worth the potential headaches. "The human body is the most simple tool for the coordination of magical energies. The user must focus on the sensation of the magic in their heart, their personal tether to Promethea beyond the veil of time and space. If they can firmly grasp that magic, they can draw it out into their body and will it to take the shape they imagine."

Coin closed his eyes and reached deep within himself. Sure enough, when he knew what to focus on, he felt a strange warmth deep within himself. He fixated on it, taking in shallow breaths through his nose. The mimic raised a hand, splaying his fingers outward.

The warmth blossomed further in his chest, gradually surging toward his right hand. Power congealed in his palm, numbness tingling in his fingertips. From there he envisioned a simple spell described in the early pages of the book: An evocation of wind.

He opened his eyes to see silvery strands of wind dancing on his palm, a tiny cyclone. Exhaling, he cast the spinning gale toward the nearby grass. It sliced several of the blades asunder, before the gust vanished entirely. Coin smirked. So, Scylla had been telling him the truth after all.

He spent the next hour practicing, summoning that same miniature cyclone again and again until the magic blossomed with more ease. From there, Coin told himself, he'd be able to make it larger and stronger in scope. He just need to keep practicing whenever he had the free time to. But eventually he would need to fetch some meteorite metal and forge a proper catalyst to better conduct his power.

He just needed to figure out how he'd manage that, and was cursing himself for not pocketing the wizard's rings after trying to eat him. Too bad they'd been silver in colour, and not gold.

Come the morning, it took some time for the two to get up and leave. Elijah's hangover rendered him sluggish, and that remained the case even after a breakfast of honeyed porridge. But eventually he mustered the energy to mount up on his wagon, and the duo set off again.

"I think we should take a trip up to Sentinel. Capital is rife with work, and we can do plenty of trades along the way. And we should..." Elijah winced against the glare of the morning sun as it broke through the clouds. "Damnation. Of course it's this bright. What was I saying? Ah, right, the tailors in the capital can get you better clothing than those old threads you wear."

Coin glanced down at his 'clothes', then to Elijah's attire. The gap in quality was obvious, even to the mimic. "I'd be fine with that," he replied.

"Well, good. Can't have my apprentice looking too shabby in the long run."

Silence lingered between the two, interrupted only by Dancer's chittering and the creaking of the wagon wheels. "Elijah," he eventually said, "who is Ezekiel?"

Elijah froze, gripping the reins until his knuckles paled. He looked to Coin, sporting an expression more serious than he'd ever seen from the old man before. The pain was writ large in his eyes, something that made the mimic's stomach twist. "Coin, please don't ever say that name to me again."

Coin nodded, watching the road. And that was the last word said on that topic.