Last night had been one long ordeal from start to finish. Under normal circumstances I'd have stayed in bed until noon without a shred of guilt. It was barely past nine in the morning. The sun was already vicious.

  No escort this time.

  The person I was going to see wasn't someone you wanted too many people to know about.

  I pulled my hood up and made my way through a few back alleys to the southeast corner of Feyburn City — specifically, to the spot beside a public latrine that no one ever lingered near by choice. The actual destination was the building next to it. Whatever it had once been, years had not been kind: plaster sloughed off in patches, the door frame leaned at an angle that suggested structural regret, and the whole structure gave the impression of something that had simply forgotten to fall down.

  Above the door, a faded wooden sign:

  [Antiques · Intelligence · Legality Not Guaranteed]

  Good.

  At least it was honest.

  ◆

  The proprietor went by a nickname: Old Crow.

  Or, as the locals called him: the Dying Old Man.

  According to Imperial census records — the ones I'd gone out of my way to dig up — he had been operating out of this building since the early days of the Empire's founding.

  The Empire was over sixteen hundred years old.

  Which meant this particular old man had been alive for at least sixteen hundred of them.

  Why wasn't he dead?

  Nobody knew. I certainly didn't.

  I'd considered the possibility that he was a long-lived race in disguise. But no matter how I looked at him, he was just a brittle, unremarkable old man who appeared to be one strong breeze away from his final breath — unremarkable to an almost suspicious degree.

  Which, when you thought about it, was exactly what made him suspicious.

  ◆

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  I checked that I hadn't been followed, then pushed the door open and went in.

  The front counter was empty. From the back room, a faint sound of rummaging filtered through.

  "Hey. Old man. You have a customer."

  I gave the counter a solid kick. The impact rang out like a bell.

  Immediate chaos from the back room.

  "Don't kick, don't kick! Coming, coming!"

  A man who looked like he might crumble if you breathed on him too hard came stumbling out, still fumbling with his belt, movements clumsy, posture undignified —

  He made no sound when he landed.

  Not a sound.

  Like a cat. No — like an assassin.

  I narrowed my eyes. "Old man. You weren't doing something you shouldn't have been doing back there, were you?"

  "Absolutely not. Just my morning exercises."

  This old monster hadn't aged a day. Don't let the surface fool you — Old Crow was, by any measure I could apply, the finest underground dealer and intelligence broker in the entire Empire. Some of it was likely down to sheer longevity: antiques long since lost to history, sacred relics, forgotten spellscripts — the kind of things no one else could source — had a way of turning up in that back room of his.

  ◆

  "My lord." His smile spread across every crease of his face — the precise, practiced warmth of a man who'd learned to produce it on demand. "What brings you in today? That lovely secretary of yours didn't come along?"

  "I'm not here for tea." I set a long, elegant case on the counter and opened it. "I need you to take a look at something."

  The red collar had barely caught the light —

  Old Crow's breathing stopped. Just for a beat.

  I saw it.

  When his hand reached out, it was steadier than any young thief I'd ever watched work. The man's abilities ran even deeper than I'd estimated.

  "...Red dragon hide."

  He said it quietly. For the first time, no trace of a smile in his voice.

  "The nasal ridge — the most supple part of a full hide...

  Mage-gold clasps... Royal-grade silk lining..."

  He moved slower and slower. Went quieter and quieter. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled a single sentence:

  "This isn't merchandise."

  I smiled.

  "No. It isn't."

  Three seconds of silence.

  Then —

  "Five hundred gold."

  "Not for sale."

  "Seven hundred."

  "Not selling."

  "Eight hundred."

  "Not selling."

  "Twelve hundred."

  "Not selling."

  He finally lifted his head and looked at me.

  Like a wolf staring at a piece of meat that hadn't quite made it to his mouth yet.

  "Then what did you bring it here for?"

  I eased the case shut and drew it back toward me.

  Old Crow's eyes tracked it like they were nailed there, not willing to give up a single inch.

  "To negotiate."

  One second of silence.

  He switched faces instantly — the professional smile snapping back into place at a speed that would have put court performers out of work.

  "Please, go ahead, my lord."

  ◆

  I slid the list across the counter.

  He scanned it. The smile stiffened.

  "Fresh green jade... golden pearls... Grade-E refined steel..." He reached the bottom. His finger stopped. "The

  Ring of the Water God?!"

  His head snapped up.

  "To source all of this — three hundred thousand gold, at minimum."

  "I'm aware."

  "And several of these items are restricted. The Empire has explicit prohibitions on their open trade."

  "Also aware."

  He went quiet.

  I pushed the case gently to the center of the table.

  "Get it done," I said, "and it's yours."

  Old Crow stared at the case. Didn't move.

  This silence was longer.

  Then, slowly, he nodded.

  "How long?"

  "Four days."

  "That's tight."

  "It's very tight."

  He drew a long breath.

  "There's nothing that can't be bought — only prices that can't be met. You clearly have a very high opinion of my capabilities, my lord." He gave a short, dry laugh. "Fine. It'll be done."

  "Second matter." I continued without pause. "Use your network to pass a message to the Beastkin. I'll give you the contents shortly."

  He nodded. Didn't ask.

  "Third matter."

  I looked at him.

  "Draw me a map to the Dark Elf territories."

  This time, Old Crow didn't answer immediately.

  He studied me for a long moment — not the way a merchant sizes up a coin, but differently. Seriously. Like a man recalibrating his read on something he'd assumed he already had figured out.

  Then he laughed.

  Not the merchant's laugh.

  The old monster's laugh.

  "My lord." He said it quietly.

  "You're planning to turn the whole continent upside down, aren't you."

  Old Crow has officially entered the game.

  Yes — the “dying old man” is not going anywhere.When Marvin needs something illegal, impossible, or historically inconvenient… this is the man he visits.

  And as you can probably tell from that shopping list —the scale of things is about to escalate very quickly.

  Four days.

  Let's see what can be bought… and what can't.

  If you're enjoying the story so far, ratings and reviews on Royal Road help the book more than you’d think. Thanks for reading!