The rat used a modified parachute to make his way down to the mage in charge of the town’s defenders. It was a testament to the man’s composure that after gaping at the rodent for a few seconds, he swiftly recovered his senses, examined the paperwork to verify its authenticity, and then signalled to Gerald that he had received approval to land. Gerald was sorely tempted to kiss the ground in gratitude, and he might have if he’d been alone. As it was, he thanked the mage for allowing him to land and then waited for the rest of the rats to climb off the wyvern before he stored it away with his magic.
Gerald could just barely feel Sam’s presence nearby, but he couldn’t see him. Sam had chosen to stay mostly invisible and intangible during their journey, and he was wise enough to keep out of sight around so many people. Not everyone appreciated a cake-loving, protoplasmic horror from another dimension the way Timmy did. But although people wouldn’t notice Sam, there were creatures that would. Throughout Crossington, dogs began to howl and bay, and cats hissed and clawed at the air. One of the rats shook his head sadly and squeaked, and Gerald nodded in agreement. Sam was actually quite sociable, provided people weren’t trying to invade the castle or steal his cake. Unfortunately, people – and Gerald was honest enough to admit he’d been one of them – had a tendency to get hung up on the fact that Sam was a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror capable of consuming dozens of people in the blink of an eye if he was so inclined. To date, Sam was still the only one who’d managed to defeat Spot in an eating contest, much to the little dragon’s displeasure.
Gerald took a quick look around to get his bearings and failed miserably. He hadn’t been to Crossington in some time, and it appeared to have changed substantially. Luckily for him, he had a map, and it was only a year or two old. He wasn’t exactly perfect at reading a map, but the rat on his shoulder, a slightly crazy rodent named Picasso whose magic could distort time and space, had an excellent sense of direction. In seemingly no time at all, they reached the inn where his stepsister and her family were supposed to be staying.
Circumstances occasionally forced travelling merchants to stay in less than reputable places, which was why so many of them employed personal bodyguards, in addition to the guards they employed to protect their wares. To Gerald’s relief, this particular inn looked warm and inviting – if he ignored the brawl that was currently taking place right in front of it. He sighed and then hastily scrambled back as a brawny body thumped into the ground only a few inches from his feet courtesy of a vicious-looking left hook. Merchants were not typically gifted fighters, but that didn’t stop them from getting into the occasional brawl. As long as a fight was limited to fisticuffs and no one was seriously injured, the authorities often looked the other way. Merchants were going to squabble with each other one way or another, and it was supposedly better for them to get it out of their system quickly rather than letting it build up. Indeed, Gerald had once been told to ignore any brawling he saw while serving as a bureaucrat in a busy trading town. The higher-ups had insisted that it wasn’t worth the paperwork. After watching five brawls unfold in his first five hours at the gate, he’d been forced to agree. But this brawl was not one he could ignore. His stepsister and her husband were right in the middle of it while their three children crouched behind the railing of the inn’s porch and lobbed the occasional makeshift projectile.
“Gerald!” His stepsister, Caroline, spotted him. “You’re here! Good. Do me a favour and hit someone wearing green and red.”
Gerald blinked. His jaw might have dropped too. Ah, right, yes. She wanted him to hit someone. Contrary to what someone might have believed if they’d only met him and not the rest of his family, his family did have something of a reputation when it came to hitting people. His father had been a skilled warrior in his youth before becoming a warrior bureaucrat, and his stepmother had been a soldier. His stepsister had shown promise as a warrior too before settling into the life of a travelling merchant. It was more profitable, and she still got to hit people now and then.
Gerald, however, was a bureaucrat right down to the soles of his shoes. His family wasn’t disappointed in him. They acknowledged bureaucrats as being a necessary evil to keep the world functioning, kind of like how periodic plagues were a great way to ensure quarantine standards were up to par. However, they did like the new direction his career had taken. He hadn’t been able to tell them much, but they did know that he’d gone through a bevvy of near-death experiences and possibly killed someone with a pogo stick. He’d mentioned it the last time that he’d spoken with his father by scrying sphere, and the older man had smiled broadly before suggesting Gerald use a sword instead of a pogo stick next time although he had praised Gerald for being able to improvise. Gerald wasn’t sure why being able to seriously injure or even kill someone with a pogo stick was worthy of praise, but his father had looked so happy about it. Since it made him so happy, Gerald had refrained from mentioning that it hadn’t been on purpose so much as it had been the result of overwhelming fear, panic, and desperation. He could only have people throw fire at him so many times before he panicked and lashed out with whatever he had available.
Gulping, Gerald took a moment to steady his nerves before he summoned a frying pan with his magic. It was so heavy he needed both of his hands to lift it, but some of the people brawling had begun to reach for their weapons. It was the same frying pan he’d used on a mission to hit someone over the head with, and it had proven its worth then. Hopefully, it would be up to the task here too.
“Get out of my way!” someone bellowed as they rushed toward him.
“Ah, right. Sorry.” Gerald was already moving out of the way when he noticed the burly fellow pushing past him was wearing green and red. Caroline had told him to hit someone wearing green and red…
He clenched his jaw, tightened his grip on his frying pan, and swung.
CLANG!
The man dropped to the ground, and Gerald suddenly found himself surrounded by half a dozen people who looked very angry with him. Picasso’s eyes narrowed, and the rat gave a few quiet squeaks. Gerald might have picked a fight, but the rats were there to keep him safe. It was time for them to get to work. Their small size combined with their invisibility meant that their opponents would never see them coming.
“Thank you,” Gerald whispered. “And, uh, don’t kill anyone. This is supposed to be a brawl, not a proper battle.”
Five minutes later, the fight came to a halt as the local authorities arrived, dragging people apart and firing a few warning bursts of magic at anyone who seemed reluctant to stop fighting. Gerald put his frying pan away and summoned a paper bag with his magic. It took him several minutes of breathing out of the paper bag to calm himself. The rats had done their job perfectly, using pressure points and other ninja techniques to knock out or stun anyone who went after Gerald. All he’d needed to do was swing his frying pan whenever someone got near enough. His accuracy hadn’t been very good. He’d only hit three more people, but he must have swung the frying pan at least a dozen times, maybe more. His arms ached, and he breathed a sigh of relief as Caroline and her husband, Derrick, gestured for him to follow them into the inn.
Gerald was glad to see they all looked well. Despite the brawl, neither Caroline nor Derrick showed any signs of injury. He’d almost had a heart attack the last time he’d spoken to Caroline face to face. She’d arrived with an eye patch and a story about an angry hydra. A hydra’s acid, blood, and venom were all exceedingly dangerous. Even a single drop could leave someone blind for life unless they had access to a skilled healer. Thankfully, his stepsister had been able to hire a healer of sufficient skill, but Gerald was worried that one day she would bite off more than she could chew. Unlike him, she didn’t spend most of her time around insanely powerful people like Avraniel who could simply roast anyone foolish enough to annoy her.
Caroline and Derrick found a table and called their sons over. Gerald sat down as well, and his back gave a ponderous creak. Clearly, his physiq
ue was not suited to swinging a frying pan repeatedly. Picasso was still invisible, and the rat clambered down his back and struck a few pressure points with his paws. Immediately, Gerald’s back felt better, and the bureaucrat made a mental note to get Picasso a nice gift later. Lower back pain was one of the dangers of being a bureaucrat, and the rodent had seemingly dealt with Gerald’s in an instant.
Turning his attention back to his stepsister and her family, Gerald took a moment to study his nephews. They weren’t identical triplets, but they had similar expressions of excitement on their faces. Like many young boys, they liked the idea of a scrap, and their apparent victory had them feeling quite pleased even if all they’d done was throw things at people from a position of relative safety. Gerald couldn’t blame them. He’d have done the same thing if he’d been given the choice. Two of the boys took after Caroline with sandy blonde hair and green eyes. The other one looked more like Derrick with dark brown hair and brown eyes.
“In case you’ve forgotten,” Caroline began with a grin, pointing at the two boys who shared her features. “Michael here is the oldest, and Jon is in the middle.” She smiled at the boy who shared his father’s appearance. “And Darren there is the youngest.”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” Gerald had an excellent memory when he wasn’t panicking and running for his life. It was part of what made him such a skilled bureaucrat. He smiled at the three boys. “Good afternoon. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I am your Uncle Gerald. It’s good to see you again.”
Darren’s eyes lit up. “Our uncle is the frying pan guy? Awesome.”
Gerald twitched.
“You were really good with your frying pan,” Jon added. “I mean you missed a few times, but when you hit people… CLANG!”
Gerald twitched again.
“But why did you use a frying pan, Uncle Gerald?” Michael asked. “Wouldn’t a staff have been better?”
Gerald managed to keep himself from twitching this time, but he could feel Picasso’s small body shaking with laughter as the rat did his best not to give his presence away.
“Well,” Gerald said at last. “It’s about my magic. I can store things away and take them out later. A frying pan seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Michael nodded slowly and then leaned over to whisper to his mother in a voice loud enough for all of them to hear. “Mom, you said Uncle Gerald was a bureaucrat.”
“He is,” Caroline replied with a grin that was directed more at Gerald than her son.
“Do all bureaucrats know how to fight with a frying pan?” Michael asked.
“Not all of them, but your Uncle Gerald can.”
A shiver ran down Gerald’s spine. He had a horrible feeling that his nephews were forming an extremely incorrect assessment of his abilities. He could already see the admiration in their gaze. Clearly, they believed that he was no mere bureaucrat. No, they probably thought he was some kind of warrior bureaucrat who swung paperwork by day and frying pans by night. He should have corrected them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They looked so happy to have an uncle who could whack people with a blunt piece of metal.
“Now, boys, I wasn’t lying when I told you about your Uncle Gerald. He really is a bureaucrat. It’s just… sometimes, even bureaucrats need to be able to hit people.”
Gerald laughed nervously. Caroline’s explanation wasn’t far from the truth at all. He was happy to help out on missions with his magic, but he invariably found himself having to hit people after they tried to maim or murder him.
“So how has life on the road been?” Gerald asked. He looked around and waved hopefully at the nearest serving maid. He hadn’t been hungry in the air or during the journey, but now that he was on firm ground, his stomach was not happy about being empty.
“It’s been okay: tough but rewarding, the usual.” Caroline caught sight of the serving maid headed their way and gave Gerald a grateful look. He wasn’t the only one feeling hungry. “We were going to head toward the Desert of Glass, but we’re not sure if we should. There have been these strange rumours.” The serving maid arrived, and she quickly ordered food for her family and waited for Gerald to order some as well before continuing. “People are saying that someone blew up the prison they have there. There’s supposed to be a lot of finger pointing going on with all of the desert lords trying to blame each other. Honestly, I doubt they even care who did it. They’re more interested in seizing more power for themselves.”
Gerald somehow managed to keep a straight face. Barely. His family knew that he was doing riskier work, but he couldn’t share the details with them. The less they knew, the safer they would be, so he definitely hadn’t told them about his involvement in an all-out attack on one of the most secure prisons in the world. At least, it had been one of the most secure prisons in the world. Given how much damage they’d done on their way in and their way out, he wasn’t sure how long it would take them to rebuild.
“Um… if you do decide to head toward the Desert of Glass, I know someone who might be able to help you. He’s Master of the Gate at Kargahd.”
“Really?” Derrick leaned forward. He spoke softly, but his gaze was razor sharp. “You know the Master of the Gate at Kargahd? It would be wonderful if you could write to him on our behalf.”
“How do you know him?” Caroline asked. “I don’t think you’ve been to Kargahd.”
“He’s a friend of a friend,” Gerald said. His family might have been pleased about him adding some excitement to his career, but people tended to not like necromancers. Zombies weren’t exactly everyone’s cup of tea, and his family didn’t know Timmy and Katie the way he did. They might have been necromancers, but they were also people Gerald trusted with his life. Indeed, they’d already saved his life on several dozen occasions. “How has business been? Has there been any trouble?”
“War is coming,” Derrick murmured. Caroline scowled, but he pressed on. Gerald could understand her concern. The boys were still young, but Derrick was a very astute man. It was what made him such a good merchant. “We’ve been hearing rumblings of it for years now, but they’re different this time. Supplies are being bought up, along with materials crucial for waging war. And then there are the recent events. There has already been a large fleet battle, and there are rumours a secret Eternal Empire base was attacked and destroyed by elite agents from Everton. If you ask me, it’s only a matter of time before all of the proxy battles and skirmishing give way to real war.” His lips curled. “On the upside, business has been exceptionally good lately. People are worried, and worried people buy more of the essentials because we all know that if war breaks out, trade will slump. We sell a lot of things people feel they need, so we’re making money hand over fist.”
Derrick folded his hands together on the table. They weren’t the hands of a merchant who’d spent his life in luxury. They were the hands of a former soldier who’d decided to pursue a life as a merchant after meeting Caroline. “We passed through the clan zone recently. Things were supposed to have been quite rough in the area until someone dealt with a large group of marauding ogres. One of the villages not far from the border was destroyed, and there are rumours that some of the Eternal Empire’s Lords of Magic even fought a Councillor there.”
Gerald would have to inform Councillor Winters about how many rumours had begun to spread. Unless this was deliberate, it suggested that some people were talking about things they should be keeping to themselves. Potential leaks aside, it was nice to know that he’d helped his family, albeit indirectly. “I’ve heard those rumours too.”
“In any case,” Derrick said. “We made a lot of money in the clan zone selling magical supplies, medicine, and other goods they’ve been struggling to get because of the ogres.”
“Is that all you’ve been trading in?” Gerald asked.
Derrick shook his head and grinned. “You know us. It’s never good to put all of your eggs in one basket. A rising market can certainly be good if y
ou’ve invested heavily in it, but a falling one can wipe you out if you’re overcommitted.” He patted Darren’s shoulder. “We have sons to support, so we need to be careful about our inventory. Apart from magical supplies and medicine, we’ve been dealing in everyday products and magical goods that can be used by everyone, things like warding stones, heating stones, and the like. More recently, we’ve begun to sell herbs and rare plants. Everton has elves, so we have access to a lot of herbs and plants that other people don’t.”
Gerald nodded thoughtfully. It was well known that Everton had access to many rare and exotic plants. He’d met one of them himself. Mr Sparkles, an Everton giant man-eating rose, was considered little more than a myth by many people. Gerald might have been one of them until Mr Sparkles had almost eaten him. All of the rare herbs and plants Everton’s apothecaries had access to gave them a powerful advantage. They were not only skilled but also had the best supplies to work with. He’d have to ask Timmy who made his potions. Gerald had never taken any that were so effective, and his stepsister would surely be able to sell them for a handsome profit. Apothecaries were often underappreciated, much like bureaucrats, so whoever was making Timmy’s potions was unlikely to refuse to do business.
“By the way, I was wondering if you’d come across anything we could sell.” The food had arrived, and Caroline took a moment to warn the boys to eat in a civilised manner. “I know you’ve been venturing out of your office more, and you do have a knack for finding trouble.”
“I might have something.” Gerald summoned a flask with his magic. “How about this?”
“That’s…” Derrick stared at the flask intently. “That’s hydra acid! How concentrated is it?”
Gerald told him. He hadn’t tested it himself. He wasn’t crazy. Just a drop of it could easily melt through armour and kill someone. Timmy, however, had tested it before giving some to Gerald, and the necromancer was quite skilled in anything related to alchemy. For some reason, Gerald was now entitled to hydra acid. It could be another one of those fringe benefits Timmy had mentioned, like being able to borrow a zombie wyvern for travel or being able to borrow a zombie wyvern-griffin to deal with any irksome pigeons. The necromancer had shown him how to handle it safely, and it was now up to Gerald to decide what to do with it. Since they had a stable supply of hydra acid – Timmy had a veritable menagerie underneath the castle and no shortage of zombie hydras – there was no harm in sharing.
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