Black Market

The black market of Fartonia was one hour older than the town itself. This was caused by negotiations between the constabulary and the entrepreneurs who travelled with the first ships. There was a recalcitrant officer who demanded a larger lager[1] cut than usual and delayed activities somewhat. Otherwise, the marketplace would have been operating within minutes of the first public house being erected. Which was within minutes of the first ship from Mainland arriving. Since then, Fartonia’s black market was the first, and sometimes last, the destination of all classes of civilians looking for goods and chattels frowned upon by the governing body of the day or goods that were cheaper when not over-taxed by said governing body.
‘You have been busy,’ said Fusing Lately to a battered and bruised Professor Smeltzit who had just turned up at Fusing’s supposedly hidden safe place early one morning just after the major announcement of the Triple Nine’s.
‘So, we just told everyone we need to prepare for war because of the emergence of new sense magic,’ said Fusing who poured tea from an expensive porcelain teapot. The images on the pot were hand-crafted and looked incredibly expensive.
The professor accepted the cup from Fusing, which was a matching pattern and felt like a very delicate vessel. He almost put it back down to avoid breaking it. In fact, the professor thought most of the items in the safe house were luxury items. The table he was sitting at, the paintings on the wall, the elephant skin lounges and hand-made rugs from the Republic of Kariba all helped make the abode look, feel, and of course smell, expensive.
‘Our plan of what we do next is the first and most important task at hand. Some of the nine want us to go deep cover and find out and this Thinkfast and Funkpath officers from Mainland sent clones to capture students, way before the indication that sense magic was expeditiously evolving.
‘There must be some excitement in the northern countries,’ Smelltzit said whilst watching Fusing juggle the teapot. The juggling show failed with a miserable sound of cracking ceramics. The possible heirloom smashed on the brown marble tiles loved by eastern countries and possibly costing enough coin to build a few gyrocopters. The Professor drew a deep breath and looked at Fusing.
‘Do not worry about that,’ he said. A clockwork cleaning machine entered the room through a hidden door and quickly dispatched the sorry remnants of the teapot. ‘Come with me,’ he continued. Fusing crossed to a bookcase that appeared to have literature from all over the known world as all the Nine were well educated and tried to keep up with magic, technology and in Fusing’s case the world trading markets.
He pressed a button somewhere behind the bookcase. ‘Identification please,’ asked a tinny voice emanating from a speaker hidden behind one of the books.
‘The truth will set you free, and so will a lot of money,’ Fusing spoke strong and loud at the speaker. ‘Sorry about this I have not upgraded so it is still clockwork operated through read-cells. The Professor had not seen his good friend in some time and was wondering what absurdity he was in for next.
Then the bookcase flipped open. It seemed to be a fake door that contained a spiral staircase. ‘Lights,’ Fusing said and a switch in the wall made a clunk and the whir of gas lamps being lit in the staircase echoed along the swirling structure. ‘Quite tells me this electricity thing is taking off in the western countries and will replace steam technology, but you know me, nothing like metal and magic to keep the world twirling.’
The stairs ended at a large cellar that seemed exceptionally larger than the house itself. Fusing walked a terminal and said ‘Agons teapots.’ A click and a short wait and the concertina bookcases moved in a circular motion creating quite the racket.’
The professor thought he would have a joke and yelled out, ‘Oil the sprockets and chains!’
Fusing smiled and watched the Professors face as steam-generated robots the size of small dogs entered the room and started oiling the chains and sprockets underneath and around the bottom of the filing cabinets.
The Professor was startled by a tall slender woman with silver armour and silver bracelets appearing from what was clearly a well-hidden door. He recognised the garments, appearance, and demeanour as that of an elite warrior from Leah’s Land. She nodded at Fusing and gave the Professor a look that would crack glass and walked down the shelves and disappeared into one of the many aisles that ran through the cellar.
‘You share this with others?’ asked the Professor and immediately recognised it as a silly question.
Fusing looked at him and saw the embarrassed look and said, ‘The security here is world-class and we all trust each other beyond reproach. The auto-bots track and receipt were incoming and outgoing goods. Whatever Leah takes it will automatically be recorded and she will be charged accordingly.
The warrior reappeared carrying vials which seemed empty but must have had smells for sense magic. Leah was also donning a back rack that held sound cells possibly containing sounds for sense magic.
When she elegantly strode through the doorway and it shut behind her without a whisper, not showing signs that there was a door there at all, the Professor said, ‘I thought Leah Land citizens were banned from using sense magic.’
‘They are alright. Punishable by banishment, hence Leah is here making a good trade selling and exporting all sorts of products, not only ingredients for magic.’
‘Is it true that all the elite guards are called Leah?’
‘Absolutely. Once they pass their training[2] they are given those silver bracelets which are apparently magical and indestructible. More importantly, they have a number inscribed on the back, being their Elite Guard serial number.’
‘Empress Leah must be a real tyrant,’ mused the Professor.
‘On the contrary. Leah Land being a very magically basic country uses modern methods to create electricity that help drive manufacturing.’ Fusing pointed at a row of cloth, silks and carpets and said, ‘These all come from Leah Land and are sought after all over the world. Those dams they build to create the electricity also house exotic water-life that are used by their witch-class to create health cures far more powerful than any other country can create, magic or not.’
Fusing handed Smeltzit a clay pot. That is worth over two-hundred credits. It cures bad burns and eases them much better than our rudimentary sense spells can.’ The Professor quickly handed the pot back to Fusing as two-hundred credits was his monthly wage and he had no intention of getting on the wrong side of a highly trained guard, even if she was banished it did not make her less chilling.
They walked down the side aisle separating the racks from the walkway and Fusing suddenly stopped. Looked around and open her palm and seemingly from nowhere poured a small flask of what looked like il into her palm. It caught on fire producing a flame that seemed to inflict no physical pain. She clapped her hands, and the flame was extinguished. She turn around and put her left hand low to the floor on the wall and her right hand high on the wall. The wall pivoted on an unseen axis, and she nodded towards Smeltzit who quietly slid into the darkness behind the exposed panel.
He kept walking in the cool darkness and hit his knee on something. ‘Oh fu …,’ he started to say and then realised they were supposed to be quiet. He stood still for a few moments and light appeared from behind him. He turned around and saw that Fusing had cast a flame spell again this time for practical reasons.
Professor Smeltzit saw gas lamps on the wall in front of him. He moved the dastardly chair that had brutally assaulted him and turned on the gas and cast his own flame spell to turn on the lamp. The other lamps around the room immediately lit creating a brightly lit room which seemed to have open connecting doorways leading to other rooms in this obvious hideout.
‘Nice place for a hideout,’ he said eyeing off the well-stocked[3] bar sitting in one corner. There were two stools before the wooden bar and he stepped behind the well-crafted furniture and chose a suitable shine from Charleston and poured himself a considerable weight of the clear liquid.
‘Be careful with that shine it’s not like the poison we make here. It is made from corn and wheat and really should be watered down. The professor looked at Fusing, looked at the glass, drank the entire contents and without any noticeable reaction poured himself another. He pointed the bottle at a bemused Fusing indicating if she would like one. ‘Just get me a normal-sized whiskey in the purple decanter, she said whilst moving off to another room down a dark corridor.
‘The professor poured the whiskey, looked at it, drank it, and poured another. He put it on the bar and went through the herb bottles and some of the leaves drying on the drying rack which was on the wall behind the bar. Rich people used these racks as a symbol of wealth and power. He was sure fusing was drying these herbs from Old Empire for spells more than making a point. The furniture and contraband in the room made the power and wealth point all their own.
‘You could own and arm a small militia with half of the goods in here. Pretty fancy for a hideout,’ he shouted through the rooms hoping she could hear him.
‘It’s not a hideout,’ she said quietly into his ear startling him. Where did she come from, he thought. Not only had she sneaked in and sat on the stool next to him she had changed clothes and was dressed as a Toca Shots monk.
‘Toca Shots priest?’ The Professor enquired.
‘Toca Shots is a small neutral country and all the monks, not priests, are solely responsible for trading for their country. It is said the country knows no serious crime and no poverty.’
‘Well, let me talk to the person who knows this. No one has been there in centuries. It could be a myth for all we know.
‘Just so you know, this is not a hideout. It is my place. I have set up a room for you out the back and have laid out some clothes for you to wear. Don’t forget citizens of Toca Shots speak Old Empire. The trading monks speak many different languages but treat negotiations somewhat differently if you speak Old Empire.
Professor Smeltzit nodded his head, threw down the last of his drink, poured another and said, ‘Well, what’s next?’
‘Go and get changed. Then … well then we do something amazingly stupid and dangerous.’
‘Even for us.’
‘Correct. Even for us.’

[1] Not a typo. This corrupt bastard did indeed want payment in beer.
[2] Leah Land elite guard training had a survival rate of just under fifty per cent. This was only topped off by the fact that once they were commissioned the work was brutal and the pay was rubbish. The silly things people do for honour.
[3] Highly illegal alcoholic and other herbal recreational products.