Uroboros Chaper 2 part 9

9

            Martin opened the large green door for him and Davis entered. This shop looked and smelled much like other liquid magic shops he had been in. Although this one was rather bigger than most. The shop had a thousand mingled smell and most of them pleasant enough. He could smell the rough scent of spices mixed with what seemed to be the smell of a hundred different flowers. The smell of mint herbs was also strong.

The shop was filled with people. The walls of the shop were lined with shelves and the middle with display cases. The cases were filled with various herbs, spices and other ingredients. One small case held what looked suspiciously like rat tails. The selves held many vials of different sizes. In front of each was a small square piece of paper, a handwritten label. The liquids in the vials came in every color imaginable. From a dull brown that looked like dirty water to a fiercely blue substances that almost seemed to glow. Draught of the Healer one was labeled. Philter of Distractions said another. One that contained what liked like boiling blood read Flask of the Berserker.

On top of one of the shelves perched a raven of a dark blue color. It cawed contentedly as it watched the patron look about the shop.

There two large center displays dedicated entirely to tea and coffee. The smell that came off the roasted coffee beans was strong and very pleasant. One other display set off to the right of the brews was of smoking weed buds. Many men stood around these discussing the positive or negative effects of each and checking the buds for stem or seed. There were several men and woman working the shop. At least four. They stood by their respective displays and help costumers if they had questions about the herbs or potions.

Towards the back of the shop was a large counter. Several men and woman were lined up there. They carried plants or mineral stones and had an anxious, expectant look on their faces. They were selling to the shop, either for store credit or coin. Martin smiled and waved at the tall dark man behind the counter.

“Good noon to you, Brane!” Martin called to as they passed. The man behind the counter looked up from the dead lizards laid out on the counter before him.

“Busy day, Martin. Aye so it always is.” Brane said with a smile. He gave a quick, disapproving glace at Davis and then went back to his business. Martin led Davis to the back of the shop.

The back of the shop was rather spacious. Up against the walls were many crates and wooden boxes. These appeared to be filled with potions and ephemera. The shop’s extra stock. In the center of the room was a long wooden table with many papers and rolled parchments neatly stacked upon it. Also writing quills and bottles of ink. There were more bookcases to Davis’s right. But instead of potions, these were filled with neat stacks of papers, each row labeled by day and year.

Martin gestured for Davis to sit on one of the six chairs that surrounded the table. He chose a chair and sat down. Taking the weapon off his back as he did it. He set the broken blade on the table in front of him.

“Now sir, let me go find Lord Damir. I would think that he would be in his office.” He turned and walked out a small back door to another room.  Davis looked around. There were no pots or cauldrons or open fires. This was simply the place of business. The cooking and brewing of the potions must be done elsewhere.

Martin returned walking briskly.

“May I introduce my Lord and master, Potion Lord of Lock, Lord Damir Skrog Khurram!” Martin said as he turned and lowered his head in a sight bow.

A tall Goblin entered the room after Martin.

“Now, now Martin. None of that please.” Lord Damir said, smiling at Martin. He had a smooth, low voice.

“Thank you for bringing our guest.”

“My pleasure, ries.” Martin said flushing red at his master’s approval.

“I’ll be about my work now, ries, if it please you.”

Damir nodded at Martin. Martin made another quick little bow and headed back towards the shop and was gone.

“Martin is the Manager of my shop. A good and honest man, but a rather excitable fellow.” Damir said as he walked to the table. Davis stood up and walked around the table to make his manners. He gave a low bow, his right hand over his heart.

Damir was tall. A few inches taller than David, who was considered tall. He was bald. His skin was smooth and of a darkish green color. He wore a full length, hooded cloak was a pale blue almost color of charcoal. His belt was over his cloak. The buckle was bright silver and in the shape of a wolfs head. He also wore a medium sized pack slung around his shoulder on his right side. In his right hand was an old wooden staff of some grey brown wood.

“Davis son of Victor.” Davis said. “A pleasure to meet you, lord.”

“None of that lord business, please.” Damir said, seeming a little embarrassed. He offered his hand to Davis. He shook it. Damir’s hand was cool to the touch.

Damir smiled and waved a hand at the table in a “please have a seat” gesture. He sat down himself leaning his staff against the table. He stacked some papers neatly, and then moved them out of the way. Davis sat in the chair across from him.

For a long moment neither man spoke. Davis was having a hard time figuring this Lord Damir out. On the surface he looked calm and composed. His smile was that of a polite business man. But beneath, Davis could feel a deep reservoir of emotion. There was something else too. A vague, almost imperceptible sense of menace. Like a snake that has drawn back the tiniest bit, preparing to strike. Both of these things had probably served this business man well. But maybe Davis was wrong. Damir’s polite smile never wavered. And this smile looked, to Davis at least, to be completely real.

Davis let out a sigh.

“Well, Damir, you wanted to speak to me? Here I am. Let us palaver.”

Davis reached into his purse and brought out one of the revolvers that belonged to the Blonde man’s crew. He set the weapon on the table before him. This revolver had a worn nickel plating. On the barrel Davis could see a small streak of what had to be dried blood. Damir looked at the revolver but continued to smile.

“You know about my business in the town of Lock? Yes you do.” Davis pulled makings from his poke and began rolling himself a smoke.

“Or at least, you know as much as the Wizard wanted you to.”

At the sound of the Wizards name, Damir’s smile faded.

“You and your man have helped me.” Davis reached for his new revolver this time. He drew it and placed it on the table next to the older one, then but his fresh cigarette in his mouth.

“You have healed me and outfitted me. For these services I have no doubt you have been well compensated.”

Davis raised his hands, palms up, in a “what else is there to say” gesture.

Damir leaned forward in his chair. He was observing the weapon that was wrapped in a quilt before him. He reached one finger out and tapped the blade with a pointed black finger nail.

“So this is what you’ve come for.” But he seemed to be speaking to himself. Davis noticed that is eyes were of a vibrant yellow color. He produced a sulfur match and lit his smoke.

“What is your business with me, ries?” Davis said. He was starting to feel a tinge of impatience.

Damir leaned back.

Damir did not speak for a moment, considering Davis’s question. He then reached into his own bag and produced a medium sized pouch. It was of tan hide and held closed by a black string loop.

“I have paid both Martin and ries merchant out my own pocket.” He then pulled the draw string open and tilted the contents of the pouch on the table.

“This was to be my payment.” Beautifully struck gold and silver coins fell onto the table. Each one was struck with an intricate sun pattern on the face of the coin and a moon pattern on the back. Davis instantly recognized them as coins of the Wizard. He had seen them before.

“I paid out of pocket to save these coins.”

Davis looked at the coins thoughtfully and flicked ash from his smoke onto the ground. Damir either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“I have no need of your coin.”

At this Damir smiled. He reached out and picked up one of the coins, a silver one, from the pile. He held it up, between his middle and index finger.

“No. You have no need for it. That much I know. But these coins are very interesting and not because of their monetary value.” Damir held his hand up. He was looking at the coin instead of Davis.

“In truth I have no need of your coin either.” Davis thought to tell Damir that he had not sent him these coins, but held his tongue instead.

“My shop generates more than enough business. And I may well be one of the three richest lords of Lock. So…”

Damir waved his empty hand absently.

“My interests lie elsewhere.”

Davis just sat in his seat smoking.

Damir looked up at him. He then closed his eyes and concentrated, bringing his smooth, black thumb nail to the edge of the coin. He drew in the power of his spark and sent it to the coin.

“Flar.” He said, using the power of the word itself to direct his spark and his will. He dragged his long thumb nail across the edge of the coin as he spoke.

The result was immediate. The coin glowed for a moment. Then a round and silver lick of flame came from the coin. The light coming off the flame was smooth and eerie.

In the instant the flame had been lit, Davis had jumped from his seat, grabbed his new revolver and pointed it at Damir’s face. The smoke still in the corner of his mouth.

“Drop it or I drop you.” His hand was steady but his voice was a little uneasy. This fucking goblin was magic user. And not just liquid potion magical, but real magic. He was a little fucking Bard. And gods new just how dangerous one such as he could be.

Damir did not move, and kept smiling his polite smile. Apparently amused by Davis’s reaction. The silver flame had separated from the coin and now floated a few inches above his hand.

“I don’t want to kill you with the weapon you bought me, ries. But I will.” Davis cocked his revolver. The hustle and bustle of the store could still be heard. From somewhere there was a light crashing sound then the sound of laughter. A man named John Radley had dropped a vial of Man potency potion and had tried to pick up the remains by hand. This specific brew was highly concentrated and required only a small drop for the desired effect. Men, usually those that had gotten along in years, but still wanted to pleasure their wives or side whores more or less frequently, bought elixirs with a drop or so added to take home. The elixirs also regulated their bowel movements and had a light fruity taste. A veritable drink of the gods!

Radley had touched the bright blue concentrated potion with his bare hand. He was now attempting to pull his cotton shirt up over the crotch of his pants. Which was now bulging outward in a massive erection. Several of the patrons had turned to look when John had dropped the vial. Most were now pointing at Radley and laughing. He was now blushing fiercely, although you would have said it was impossible for such a tan man to blush at all, and walking out the shop.

“Wow! Look at ‘im go! Old Radley’s at full salute!” Someone called after him and the laughter continued.

At the back of the huge shop Damir slowly put the coin down on the table. The coin was moon side up. The silver flame still swayed and danced a few inches above the coin.

“There is no need for that silly thing.” Damir waved a careless hand at the revolver. Davis could see that this was not the first time Damir had had a gun pointed at him. Davis carefully put the hammer on his revolver down and sat in his chair again. But he did holster his weapon.

“Don’t do that again. And if you reach for that staff, I’ll kill you.”

Damir continued with his polite, and now infuriating, little smile. A bard, no matter how inexperienced, was dangerous.

Damir gestured at the silver flame above the coin. In was now flickering and growing smaller.

“I was just proving a point, ries Davis.” David did not smile back.

“I’m a practitioner of magic. Potions and Draughts as you well know. But I have also have taught myself the old magic. The real magic, do ya ken? The spark.” This last word was spoken with an odd reverence.

“I have been able to increase my spark and its effectiveness with practice and with trinkets.  With nooks and babbles.”

The silver flame suddenly winked out. Damir leaned forward and his voice was serious now. No more polite smile

“But these coins are different. They were made by magic. I can feel it. I can feel it when I send my spark out to it. The deep magic. The old magic.”

He tapped the coin with the long nail of his index finger.

“The real magic.”

Davis was a bit confused.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard. I’ve had dealings with magic, yes.” Davis looked down at the broken sword with the quilt around it.

“But I do not know it. I do not practice it.” Davis holstered his revolver.

“Ah, but your master does.” Damir said. He was smiling again, but this was a different smile. This smile was almost fierce.

“What do you want from me, ries?” Davis said.

“I want to meet the Wizard.”