The problem with this magical slash mediaeval society was that everyone was a rude bag of shit. Finding basic information about where you are or what the local amenities provide is equivalent to kicking someone’s beloved pet dog. An insular, nationalist paranoia was still in full effect. Foreign residents often received the full brunt of this kind of behaviour, even when a majority of the people on the continent looked similar and all spoke the same damn language.

My Japanese looks – which I had maintained between worlds, resulted in many people assuming I was deaf, blind and dumb. In the northern cities I was well known enough that most understood that making a comment about my appearance was a good way to lose some teeth. People in other cities did not have this earthly knowledge. It infuriated me to no end. After many frustrating conversations with people I wanted nothing to do with, I finally pestered one of them into giving up the information that I wanted.

‘Peston’s Weapons’ was the store I was eventually directed to. It inhabited the bottom floor of a rustic, two story house. A large glass window looked out onto the street with several velvet lined cupboards and stands holding a variety of different weapons. Price tags were attached to all of them. It wasn’t the dodgiest looking shop I had ever visited, so I saw no issue with walking through the front door and taking a look inside.

The interior of the shop was rammed full of similar displays. Weapons hung from every wall and surface, held between the hands of leather clad dummies, or thrown haphazardly into large bins selling at a bulk discount. A cursory look warded me away from spending any money on them. They were treated as they deserved – these were weapons sold for spare change. Fixing them up would cost more than buying new. The density of sharp points and polished edges was such that I had to carefully navigate between them to avoid earning a few new scars.

As I crossed the floor and headed to the register near the back, the displays became more organised. The weapons slowly shifted from mass-produced items that a mercenary may use to something more special. Gold inlay, well weaved handles and elaborate hilts told me that these were worth so much more than the others. The owner had smartly decided to place their antiques in eyeshot of the desk.

“I’ll be with you in just a second!”

But not smart enough to stay at that desk when people were coming into their store. People in safe towns really did take a lax approach to security. I occupied myself by browsing some of the items on display as a loud clattering boomed from the back room. I was halfway through a selection of well-decorated axes when the proprietor finally saw fit to make their entrance.

A young woman with braided black hair and a pair of round spectacles stumbled out and into her position at the till. She was taken aback by the appearance of Tahar – who had managed to contort herself under the low hanging ceiling. The sale came first; she swallowed her surprise and turned to me with a practised smile.

“Apologies for the delay, can I help you?”

“I was told that this was a good place to have something valued and put up for auction. I take it that you’re Peston?”

“That’s right. I’m Mandarah Peston, is this your first time in town?”

I nodded and shuffled my pack off my shoulders. It took me a moment of digging deep to find the sword I was looking for. Mandarah waited patiently for me to present the object of my visit. The anticipation was clear on her face. You had to love weapons of all sorts to run a store like this. Weapon otakus were some of the most terrifying around. An old school friend of mine was completely obsessed with them.

I placed the Versian sword down onto the desk and allowed her to take it in. I hadn’t given it a proper inspection in some time, so its strange construction and scale struck me all over again. The handle was too large for a person to comfortably use with one hand, but it was only the length and width of a short sword. Combined with the tall doorways in the underground tunnels, and it suggested that the precursors on the island were lanky in stature. This was a knife or dagger of some description.

The alloy blade immediately caught her imagination. She reached out and ran the tip of her finger down some of the inlaid grooves that decorated the mostly flat surface. She slipped both palms beneath and lifted it, eliciting a noise like that of a squeaking mouse when she discovered just how deceptively light it was. She almost tossed it into the ceiling having used too much of her strength.

“Where in the seven hells did you find this?” she asked with a shake of her head. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“A friend of mine needed protection for an expedition into Versia. A few things happened, and we ended up uncovering a tomb filled with weapons just like this. Couldn’t carry all of them back – so I took one. Good luck inspecting it, everyone who knows anything about what these are or what they’re made out of are long dead.”

She took that as a challenge, “[Inspect, advanced; compound, function.]”

A real challenge. She was using advanced appraisal magic to get even more details. It was a fruitless effort. She could only uncover knowledge that others already held. Since there was no widespread factual basis for the magic to draw from, it would only return what I knew. Ergo, it was plainly entitled as an ‘Ancient Versian Dagger.’ She laughed, “Well, that part of your story lines up. I haven’t seen this many question marks in my life.”

“It isn’t just a dagger. If you have the poor luck to find yourself trapped inside of an ancient ruin over there, you can also use it to open some of the doors.”

“Indeed. It features a rather advanced magical mechanism. I can’t even begin to speculate as to what this is forged from. The surface is blemish free, suggesting an extremely advanced or refined process. The weight is unprecedented, and the damage values are nothing to scoff at either. Why would you ordain to sell something like this?”

“It’s of no use to me,” I stated simply. I occluded the fact that I had a legendary sword strapped to my back. Also – it was highly likely that I was going to steal it back after dealing with the target for this job. Why not double dip when the chance presents itself?

She sighed, “I need to arrange some people to go over there and get more of these. Fascinating! Really fascinating. I would offer to buy this for study, but I’m afraid that I cannot give the amount of money that the other private bidders will.”

“What kind of price?”

“Whatever they’re willing to pay. It’s an immense novelty. Taken from a tomb, long lost techniques being used to make it – it’d be a fitting centrepiece for any collection. And these private collectors can get very competitive when it comes to having the best collection.”

Those were all words that my brain liked to hear. But I needed to find a way to guarantee that my target was at the auction in question, or how to sell it to them in person. It’d be no good to me if the auction process prevented me from getting close to Rivers. Rivers was the one who had been sent the cursed item by the Absolver’s agents, perhaps unknowingly taking it into his possession as part of his armoury. Something being smuggled away under the orders of a rich patron was a convincing cover story for the Absolver should things go wrong. How his past pawns provided the same cover was a mystery, but there must have been a rationale behind them.

“I’d like to haggle. Any chance of that?”

“Eh. Depends on the folks you’re talking to. Some won’t agree to do it, some will use agents to do the transaction, and some of them won’t get close to a commoner without a dozen armed guards between them and the seller.”

I decided to push my luck and drop his name, “I heard some rumours about Derian Rivers?”

She didn’t question it; “Oh, yeah. He’s a very scrutinising buyer. He’s the type of man who thinks that his money needs to be handled by himself. I heard that he nearly killed one of his employees after they overspent on a spear from the First Federation War. Funny – that was a good purchase! Those things have only gone up in value since…”

“Thanks. I’ll consider it. I don’t suppose it’ll be easy to get in touch with any of them?”

“It can be a serious pain in the butt. They have people on staff payroll that do nothing but wander around stores like mine looking for mispriced antiques. That’s how they collect most of their weapons. Someone without due diligence sells something to me or another shop, and they sell it on without due diligence of their own. But, if you’re willing to toss me a bit of cash…”

“A bribe?”

“Not a bribe! Just an introductory charge. It’ll be a lot more profitable than selling that dagger to me if one of them bites. All I do is drop a little casual discussion about this thing and how valuable I think it is, and they’ll be kicking down your door looking to get first dibs. It’s that easy.”

I bit my lip and considered the offer. Money greased a lot of wheels in this world, and I was no stranger to paying out for favours like this. She knew she wasn’t going to get this thing off of me because I knew how valuable it was. If I was a total rube I wouldn’t have asked her to price it in the first place. She was hoping for a cut of the proceeds anyway on the promise of future sales success.

“Listen – I know how this works. You don’t need to tiptoe around me.”

“It’s not a bribe, it’s a service.”

“I know. I wouldn’t do anything for free either,” I grumbled. I reached into my pocket and tossed a handful of spare change onto the table. I didn’t know if it was enough, but she accepted it without complaint and offered me a smile.

“It’s not like I can up and move away after ripping you off,” she joked, “I’ve got a store to look after. I’ll really sell it to them, I’m good at that. Heck - I don’t even need to exaggerate, this thing is a must-have. You mercs really get around, don’t you?”

“Not me. I tend to do most of my work near the border.”

“Oh. I guess with the war, there’s a lot of money on the table?”

No. I was just a dirty rotten thief and that was the place where I felt most comfortable. But it was a convenient excuse for me to use in conversation. “Yeah. Run a few jobs for a Warsister actually, thanks to my Ashmorn friend back there.” Cali was presently nose deep in a selection of leather carrying bags. “And no, I didn’t go all the way across the strait to meet her. She was already working the roads before me.”

Mandarah nodded, “A curious group of mercenaries you’ve put together. Anyway – I’ll make sure that every agent in the township knows about this thing.” She took one last forlorn look at the sword before handing it back to me. She really wanted to keep it. That was just another hard knock that normal people had to put up with. These collectors could outbid her several times over without thinking twice about it.

“I’m staying at the Hydra’s Head at the moment, so redirect anybody who wants to talk there. Thank you for your time.”

With our transaction completed, I grabbed Cali by the back of her collar and dragged her out of the store. I hadn’t intended to spend any money on this – but it was the best shot I had at catching River’s attention. With any luck his agent would query Mandarah about the sword, and I’d get to meet the man himself to hash out the terms. From there I could infiltrate his home at my leisure and find the cursed item.

But since when did anything go smoothly?