Chapter #7
When they returned with the survivor, Sir Wilbur and Lady Elizabeth were waiting for them with the town’s head priest Franklin, a gnome priest of wealth. Franklin had been at the births of each of them – including Sir Wilbur who was eighty-five. The light was fading, but it was still bright enough to see the sorrow in Franklin’s face when he saw the lone survivor.
Tears streamed from Sir Wilbur’s eyes as Franklin shook his head, “I can restore his body, but I can do nothing for the fever.”
Sir Wilbur stopped, “Fever? I might have a scroll from my wilder days…” Sir Wilbur turned to Lizzy, “Bring me my scroll case.” Lizzy ran off toward the manor returning quickly. Sir Wilbur flipped through some scrolls before pulling one out and handing it to Franklin.
Franklin smiled, “Yes, this is just what we needed.” He read the scroll which shown like gold and then crumbled to dust.
Chanceux’s fever was gone.
Franklin patted Chanceux’s hand, “Carry him to the temple. I will pray over him and all will be well.”
Faute, who had heard the commotion and come to investigate, saw them lifting her adopted father onto a makeshift stretcher. “Father!” She ran to his side, “What has happened to him?” She lifted the blanket they had over his legs and gasped, dropping the blanket back over his legs.
Lizzy turned to her friend, “They just came back from the tower. He was the only one to come back from the first group.”
Faute paled, looking away from the man that raised her, “Well, even if he isn’t my father, at least he lived. My mother will be happy.” She straightened her spine and carefully walked back to the tavern.
Percival saw the sad homecoming and backed away toward Sir Wilbur’s manor. This was unexpected. His father had always told him that a merchant needed to gather all the information he could. A merchant needed to be there to sell a broken man a match in his darkest hour. This sight was too much for him. Pode was his father’s last stop of the year, every year. He had spent great swaths of his life with these people and it felt wrong to capitalize on their pain.
Francis grabbed his arm hard and pulled his son close to him, “Do you know why we come to Pode last?”
Percival shook his head.
“Because this is a town of backwater idiots that have no idea what they need. I sell them everything we couldn’t sell to more perceptive crowds. They have no idea they are being swindled and they never will because these people never leave.” He gripped his son’s arm harder, “Do you know the other reason we come here?”
Percival looked up at his father, his face going pale. These were his friends. Of course he knew his father sold them some things at a bit of a mark up, they were merchants. A fair price was like fairy dust. A myth.
“We come here because the flotsam of the world washes up on this ridiculous shore. We are the only merchants that can be bothered to come to this podunk town and scavenge through the wreck. I don’t care if we fleece these fools and you don’t either. Now, go and sympathize. Get the information I want and sell them some new tools.”
Francis released Percival and shoved him forward. Percival stumbled slightly, before his natural balance recovered him. He pasted a smirk on his face – he never could fake a genuine smile – and sauntered up to Sir Wilbur.
“It is lucky you had a scroll that could cure ghoul fever. Will you be needing more?” Percival stuffed his fists into his pockets.
Sir Wilbur looked over at Percival, “I think I have enough, thank you Percival. Your father and your help has always been greatly appreciated.”
Percival tried not to grimace. His father never gave help. Neither did he. “Think nothing of it. We always appreciate your hospitality.”
Sir Wilbur nodded. “Please excuse me, I need to tell the families of the fallen.” Sir Wilbur nodded and walked away.
Percival gulped, brushed the back of his hand against his forehead and retreated to his room. Perhaps he would go with his friends in the draft? That was absurd. He would be much better off going to live with his grandfather Talasht. But there was a war brewing. Perhaps he would travel with them for a while? Percival shook his head and began to dress for dinner. If he was about to tell everyone their lives were changing, the least he could do is look appropriate.
Myrliture 