Teach Me Old Tricks Anew

[Leopold]

Closed to Bellus.

Scara Brae, if it really tried, could take a man’s breath away. During the summer months it was a hot and sticky mess, similar to a cinnamon bun left out in the heat. Soggy, sorry looking and trying to be something it’s not. Only people who lived there, or in Leopold Winchester’s case, had invested considerable time and money into the city’s brickwork held it in high regard. People in Corone often joked that Scara Brae was the dirty little secret of the empire. It was something to laugh about. It was somewhere to send estranged aunts.

“I don’t remember it being this busy last year,” he mused aloud.

Market Square, perhaps one of the few places in the city people went to voluntarily, was heaving. People were standing shoulder to shoulder around the myriad stalls and pushing and shoving their way through crowds and into, and out of one another’s pockets. It was a den of mercantile variety as much as criminal ingenuity.

“You weren’t sober most of last year,” Jeren replied, witty as ever.

Leopold shrugged. Whilst his second in command was right as ever, he was also in a war with Old Gods, his wife, and several ex-lovers about who ‘owned’ his unmentionables. You could forgive a man under that much pressure for occasionally turning a blind idea to his home going to shit.

“Still. Makes you wonder where everyone’s come from.”

Jeren picked up a dusty candelabrum and began to polish it with shammy leather. He cast an eye over the crowd, top hat and coal stained faces blurring together in a torrent of shouts, profanity, and mother jokes. He had to admit, Scara Brae was busy, and even their niche market business peddling war relic had picked up nicely.

“I guess we’re seeing an influx of visitors from the mainland, all eager to escape the fighting.” He wasn’t sure if there even was any fighting in Corone anymore. The Civil war had ended years ago, but it was so fresh in their minds it might have been only yesterday.

“No. Look closer,” Leopold said softly. He narrowed his gaze.

The crowd was half Scara Braen, the unmistakable odour of class divide mixed with the razzmatazz of a city on the rise, and half foreigner. Leopold had lived in Berevar, and been at war with Salvar’s weather long enough to know a barbarian when he saw one. Every few passers-by also had pointed ears or tattoos that marked them as a Bedouin – a native of Fallien.

“You’re right,” Jeren attacked a grease stain with belligerent ferocity, then, when satisfied the brass was shining, set it back onto the table. “Are they refugees, perhaps?” He raised an eyebrow.

Leopold could only wonder. He was certainly not going to complain. The multicultural brick and mortar of the island was always part of its spurious glamour and now it was a spurious glamour that lined his company's coffers. Queen Valeena’s recent motion to become an independent state might have played a part in changing people’s perceptions about Scara Brae. Perhaps it was becoming its own island haven. Leopold chuckled.

“Is something funny?” Jeren enquired. His eyebrow flat lined, and he folded his arms across his chest. His white shirt creased, revealing sweat marks caused by standing too sober for too long in too much heat.

“They might see it as a shining little fresh start now,” the merchant explained, “but give it a month of pigeon shit and getting shanked in the Novello Slums and they’ll soon long for Salvarian Ice Wine or the desert tundra.”

“Hey now,” Jeren chuckled. It was the first time he had laughed properly all morning. “That’s an insult to the pigeons.”

They laughed together as a pair of fisherman began to examine a mahogany chest at the end of the stall. Jeren responded immediately with a barrage of fake hellos and sales techniques Leopold had drilled into his military mind with the force of a hurricane. Leopold observed, trying to look busy with the merchandise whilst he cringed at every nuance in his second’s business patter.

“Give me a sword and a man to take me on an adventure again,” he whispered under his breath.

Four streets connected the city to Market Square. Thousands of people came into and out of, or hurried through it was a last resort every day. On this day, in this particularly fierce heat wave, one set of boots slapped on the cobbles in front of Leopold’s store that would grant him his wish. He swallowed hard, suddenly tense. He looked up at the customer, and immediately recognised him as a Fae.

“Hello there, sir. How can I help you?” He clapped his hands together enthusiastically, and smiled with the smile that had won women and caused wars.

[Bellus]

The journey had been less enjoyable than anticipated. The Bedouin had at first all the allure of something new and exciting, yet when approached and asked for a story they all droned on about some civil war nonsense and how their homes had been destroyed, loved ones killed and lives ruined. None of it made any sense. There were no heroes, no mighty quest. The only moral seemed to be that everyone in the story was quite rubbish and suffered from being driven by greed and power, and ultimately that would get you stabbed up.

No, these stories were long and too full of the dead. Bellus had hoped for something a little more, well, fun. They tried to share a tale of the time they had lost their shoes in a badger warren after making a bet that they could indeed negotiate with all living things. Yet the Bedouin were having none of it, and those who had been listening simply sighed and carried on their glum path.

They had even proven to be lousy traders. Never had Bellus encountered so many with so little since the incident with the necromancer, yet even those old bones were covered in interesting orbs of varying size and colour. She had no interest in trading with Bellus either, but at least there had been the opportunity.

Fortunately up ahead there was something new and interesting to see. Briefly caught conversations informed them that they had arrived at Scara Brae. A place so very different from the seemingly endless waters and woe. With no final destination in mind, Bellus thanked the Captain for the story and set about wandering the roads of this new land. The buildings were interesting, mostly because they were not bobbing up and down on the water, which had been their only experience of structures for quite some time. And the smells! So many terrible and wonderful smells. Only a few of which were fish!

A street trader peddling long flowing lengths of material, was suddenly surprised to find Bellus face first in a scarf. The yell of indignation quickly snapped them upright. "You have so many colours!" They exclaimed. "How did you come by them all, I must know!" Slightly perplexed by the clearly insane Fae, she informed and directed Bellus to the market square. After purchasing the longest scarf they could find they rushed off towards the market, weaving and bobbing their way past people and yelling 'woosh' as they did, the scarf and coat trailing behind them.

Apparently many people wanted to purchase new colours today, the crowd grew denser the further they pressed into the square until eventually Bellus found themselves in a small clearing in front of some stalls. This particular one seemed to belong to a blacksmith and displayed a number of interesting brass and iron gadgets, all of which were very sharp and from what Bellus understood of the sales patter, all designed to hurt people. Moving swiftly onwards, the next stall proved to be far more promising. While one man was already engaged in conversation with, judging by the attire and aroma a fisherman, another fine looking chap engaged Bellus with a "Hello Sir, how can I help you?"

"Perhaps, my good man. Is that the correct way to address you? I'm forever getting it wrong! Do you by any chance know where I can acquire more colour?"

Returning the beaming smile, they gestured towards the scarf in case the man was unaware of colour, perhaps cursed by a very specifically gifted witch.

[Leopold]

Leopold was indeed aware of colour. He was not, however, aware that a man might refer to his neckerchief by its quality, rather than its noun. Befuddled, he sputtered several sentences in the blink of an eye then fell silent. The crowds continued to stream by, oblivious to the gentleman’s faux paus, and left him wanting.

“Colour,” the Fae repeated with a tug of the scarf.

It was only then Leopold remembered one particularly gin sozzled evening ten summers or so ago. He had been flirting with the Maester of the Seamstress guild. By his murky recollection, she had used the phrase ‘a bit of colour made in the sun makes me a happy woman’. He had assumed, at the time and to this day, she was referring to covetous deeds.

“Oh!” he balked. “I’m so sorry,” he said with false customer service. “I can certainly delve into the inventory and see what we have.”

He stepped back from the table and, to buy himself some time to think, reached ceremoniously into nothingness with his left hand. It vanished to the wrist into another world, leaving a purple corona at the joint. The Fae, clearly used to such minor acts of misdirection waited to see the goods in question with false disinterest.

“Leopold?” Jeren asked as he walked back to his employer’s side.

The fisherman had requested something long out of stock, so the guardsman had sent him swift on his way. Sadly, the smell of guts and brine remained. Jeren smiled, though there was a hint of a leer and doubt in the curl of his lips. Rarely had he seen his employee draw on his talents so publically. Perhaps it was showmanship? He shrugged.

“Oh, it’s quite alright Jeren my good man.”

Just like that, the merchant produced an iron ring and whipped it clear of the Aerie, where he kept all the things a man needed and many hundreds of items a man shouldn’t need. Wrapped around the ring were the many crevettes he had worn when he had inhabited a considerably pudgier and more erudite form a good four years prior. The memory of the gunshot that killed him made him wince, but he hid it behind a false smile and a bow.

“Colour indeed,” the man agreed. He held out a hand and Leopold quickly preferred his ‘wares’ for inspection.

“They’re all Scara Braen silk, or Coronian wool,” Leopold explained. Woollen crevettes had been all the rage a century ago. “I’m sure one will take your fancy.”

His certainty faded as he realised all the items were grey, black, or gold. None were particularly ‘colourful’. He pursed his lips as his customer perused, and tried not to cast Jeren an awkward glance. He rubbed his hands together gingerly, and tried to look busy by observing the igam ogam tapestry of unwashed faces and stiff upper lips that served as an awkward backdrop.

[Bellus]

The merchant seemed rather taken aback by the request, if not confused. Wanting to be encouraging Bellus repeated their request while further gesturing at the scarf, just to make sure everyone was on the same page.

That seemed to do the trick, and the man swung into motion. With a slight flourish a hand vanished into his pocket, the unusual glow a sure sign of magic. A nice little trick, perhaps they should ask how it is done. Unless... Unless it was a trap! People had tried to lure them before with shiny lights. Admittedly they had not been in pockets before, but humans were tricksy sometimes. Bellus pointedly looked away from the show, merely to prove a point that he would not be caught by so simple an enticement.

And then an iron ring of ruffles appeared. It was all simply too much, while the colours were somewhat lacking, there was more than enough ruffle to make up for that. Quickly and efficiently Bellus sorted through the items, searching for the perfect pairing while the trader watched on.

Gold and silver would have to do. The folds were fine and very poofy, which was always a good thing in Bellus' books. Catching the attention of the man once more they fastened the cravats about their wrists, one on each arm, before enquiring as to the cost of their acquisition.

"I wish to become the friend of these fine beings. Tell me, how often should they be fed? Do they require a sweet song to send them to a land of dreams at night, and I suppose I should also beg of you the price. Do you accept clams? I made a travel companion of a fisherman and he paid for me to leave him alone in tasty treats."

[Leopold]

“Only if they were especially nice clams,” Leopold replied before he had time to think about what he was going to say. No sooner than he had, he winced. “I mean,” he sighed, “I mean I’m afraid coin or charter or trade are all we accept.”

Fortunately for the merchant, Jeren was once again occupied with a customer at the opposite end of the stall. The people of Scara Brae were a frustratingly curious bunch considering the relative poverty to the Winchester Rose’s more established sales venues.

“Well then,” Bellus said, apparently dejected, “how much of these ‘coins’ do you abscond me of?”

There was a dramatic flair about the man that Leopold couldn’t help but love. Of course, it was as frustrating as it was endearing, and just a little bit of exciting. He reminded him of a younger Duffy, and a more intoxicated Leopold. There was a horrifying thought…

“It will be three gold for the gold, and two for the silver.” He pointed to the respective items and prepared to say goodbye to the fond memories of a Salvarian winter spent hunting rabbits three centuries ago. He felt silly insisting on looking so flash in such inhospitable climes. How times changed.

“Hmm,” Bellus considered. He appeared to stroke them, partially with fondness, and partially, so Leopold presumed, just the right amount of madness. “Yes. No feeding required, you say?”

“No,” Leopold clarified flatly. He tried far too hard not to smile. He cocked his hat, clicked the cog goggles a few notches clockwise, and pulled them down across his eyes. “No feeding.”

He picked up rusty candelabra and began to delicately pick at the rust flakes with a scalpel he plucked from thin, purple air, and tried stone walling himself into an easy sale. The day seethed. The skies burned hotter. Scara Brae ignored the citizen’s pleases for a breeze.

[Bellus]

Searching through their pockets took some time, a few were where you would expect them to be, while others were loosly attached to whatever space was free in their jacket. Eventually they found and produced a bag of coins, fished around for the requested sum and placed it upon the counter in front of the merchant.

With the trade concluded and care instructions dutifully remembered, Bellus was at a little bit of a loss for what to do next. They had arrived at their destination, acquired colour and ruffles and so far no one had tried to arrest or kill them.

"Sorry to trouble you further, fine chap, but what can one do around here for a good story? I've just finished traveling with the dullest pirates I've ever known and could really do with something exciting. Perhaps you know of a nearby prince who requires rescuing from a tower after being locked away by a mad king? Or a dragon we could befriend by sacrificing a village to it so that it may feed its young? Well, maybe not a whole village. Perhaps we could find a vegan dragon."

They trailed off a little, deep in thought about the volume of plant life a giant lizard would require to sustain its existence. It did not take too long for them to realise they had absolutely no idea how one would even begin to calculate such a thing without a dragon to hand. They also concluded that this would be as good a point as any, for the sake of appearances and experience, to discover food.

"Alternatively would you be able to show me the way to the finest eatery this city has to offer? I hunger for things to chew upon before assimilating them into my being. At least I presume that's how it works."

Swiftly leaning forwards, slightly over the counter until barely a foot away from the merchant they whispered "you are what you eat" before withdrawing and continued to examine their new cravats.

[Leopold]

Three things made Leopold Winchester truly happy. The first was (in no particular order, he would hasten to add in front of his wife), alcohol. It gave him the confidence to apply his considerable mercantile talents, and, as he put it, ‘put up with the world’s shit’. It was not what you might call an admirable, poetic turn of phrase, but it served him well.

“Ermm,” he mused.

The second was a gun. Not just any black powder weapon forged in the churning industrial heart of the dark elven lands of Alerar. No sir. Leopold was particularly fond of black powder weapons produced in Corone, of a more ignoble birth than the military might of would be oppressors. Their roughshod mechanisms and lofty ideals were precisely why he named them after the women in his life.

“Well, there’s a fine eatery in the Nook,” he said, decided on his course of action. The man before him made him as nervous as he did excited. Possibilities formed in the air, solid clods of wonderment. “But I think we’re both underdressed for that.” Leopold meant they were both not in leather, but refrained from further explanations.

“You’re never underdressed,” chirped Jeren.

The manservant come director appeared by Leopold’s side with a grin that could murder crows. The customer paid little heed to him, but Leopold welcomed his presence. Uncertainty unnerved him, for all his world weary experiences.

“I do try,” Leopold sighed.

The third happiness in Leopold Winchester’s infinitely long life was adventure. It kept his blood warm in the cold heart of his homeland. He stroked his non-existent beard, forgetting his increasingly long ago resurrection and tried to appear insightful.

“All I can offer is perhaps a little freelance work within the ranks of my company.”

As soon as he said it he regretted it. Why would he offer a stranger the contract to Eiskalt before his own right hand man? Jeren jabbed him in the ribs disdainfully, but retreated to serve a brunette with bad teeth who appeared to want everything. All the time. But for half the price. Leopold thought to himself, just deserts, and then redoubled his efforts.

“Fancy a trip to a remote island full of dandies?” He raised an eyebrow. “After dinner, of course.”

[Bellus]

“I've never used a lance before. Doesn't it usually require some sort of four legged beast with which to provide locomotive thrust?”

Upon saying thrust, they launched both their arms forward to emphasise the point and concept.

“Still if it is free I will consider your challenge of working this lance effectively without such animals. Did I tell you about the time I tried to tame a horse? Oh, I suppose not. I don't think I've told you any of my stories yet. Lead on to your place of dining, and I will provide tales of wonder so unbelievable that they can only be true!”

Bellus took this opportunity to produce a small and worn notebook from one of the many pockets and opened it to a blank page. Upon this page they traced the outlines of words with their finger, working their way down the paper as one would when writing. Once at the bottom they snapped the book shut and stuffed it away once more in its hiding place.

“Sorry, just remembered something. Don't let me hold us up! Sally forth, what fore!” And with more wild gesticulating, Bellus started to hop excitedly from foot to foot.

[Leopold]

Bellus continued to hop all the way to the Noble District. His cantor clipped boot against cobble until Leopold had to shout, rather undignified behaviour, atop his lungs. The strange bedfellow calmed down after that, and finally, after many hours or frenetic mercantile activity and incomprehensible drivel, shared his name.

“I don’t know why I didn’t just ask you at the stall,” Leopold wheezed, hand against the grand raven’s feather knocker that served as a summons for their manservant and a call to the house that he was at last home. “You caught me up in a wave of excitement.”

“I think it was more a wave of bull-”

Leopold hastily knocked on the door three times, as loud as he could manage, to drown out Jeren’s insult. A nervous glance confirmed either Bellus was indifferent, or didn’t hear.

“We’ll just drop off the ledgers for the accountant, have a quick tour, and then be off for the aforementioned dinner.”

The door creaked open, at the behest of the knock and under duress of two man servant’s weak-willed tugging. Leopold smiled politely, but made a mental note to just ignore protocol and go in the back door next time.

“Welcome home, sir,” they said in unison.

Leopold tossed them both a copper and gestured for his guest to enter. Black and white tiles lined the hall and lead Bellus to the foot of a grand set of stairs. Here, decades ago, wars begun, and nightmares broiled. Today, only gin blossoms.

[Bellus]

"This is where you live? I like it. It has a door and that is always pretty important. Do you have many books here? Perhaps a library? The last time I was in one of those I stayed there for nearly two weeks but then they started taking the books away from me and threatened me with 'fines'. Otherwise the whole thing was rather pleasant."

It did not take them long to find something that caught their eye in the hallway. Unfortunately it was the manservant's jacket, which Bellus set about examining while ignoring the poor chaps exclaims of surprise and something about how it just wasn't proper behaviour.

"Do you live here too? Does Leopold have many friends who live here and do they all get such lovely jackets?"

Not waiting for an answer, Bellus remembered the mentioning of a tour, looked around for the nearest door and headed off inside the room leaving a bemused, if not slightly confused few men behind them.

"Adventure awaits" They called back before disappearing from sight entirely.