According to a pamphlet I picked up on the Top 15 Places to Visit in Gold Port, there should be a shopping ally on the west side of the city that would provide “unique experiences and specialty goods”.  Following the mini map within, if we walked along the paved road between the fourteenth and fifteenth gates we would eventually intersect with the ‘ally’ in question. However, having arrived at said ‘ally’, that designation doesn’t feel quite accurate.

The amount of people alone made the place resemble a beehive, discounting that the space between one side and the other was at least 4 cart lengths, maybe more.  Some of the vendors were set up in an open-air market style, with various elaborate awnings draped overhead to block any midday sunlight. One merchant clearly sold textiles and advertised their bolts by stretching them back and forth across the ally; the sheerer fabrics cast their colors over the ground, creating stained-glass shadows. A few brick-and-mortar stores even had large sliding windows that opened into the area.

If only I were here for fun instead of work.

Now, if I were the sort to make bets, I’d wager that what I’m looking for will be just slightly out of sight. Only hidden from those that aren’t actively looking for it… Or…you know, right there. Hm.

To the right, embossed on a wooden sign are the words: Fairy-stones and More, Fae Collectibles.

They even had the audacity to doodle a fairy silhouette on it. Perhaps I underestimated how much the crime syndicates controlled this city? Well, not my problem.

This particular establishment was one of the shops that owned property along the ally too, so I had to cut through an actual ally to reach the door. The inside immediately assaulted my nose with large artificially scented bags of fairy-dust. They were even dyed and sorted into waist high vats of powder. However, anyone familiar with fairies or that had bothered to read a book would surely know the truth; my poor nose could pick out the underlying stench of mildew. Yuck.

It was hard not to tuck my face into the raised collar of my travel capelet, but I couldn’t show weakness here. Any person willing to peddle such wares openly would clock my disapproval and Magis status immediately. Still, it was hard not to crinkle my nose. The shelves were lined with specimen jars, enchanted to keep their contents from dissipating. Most of them seemed to contain sprites—birds were the most common, aside from plant-sprites. One especially well-preserved jar contained a miniature of a tree twisting upwards around itself. Tiny pink flowers were just beginning to fall from its branches, appearing suspended in time. It was so expensive that the price tag wasn’t listed.

A long glass counter skirted the inside, containing the more delicate, rare, and expensive offerings. Several folding fans were splayed out within, glimmering in the light, made mostly of fairy wings where there would usually be feathers. Those aside, the fairy-stones I sought were also locked behind the glass. There weren’t very many, only five on display, assuming they were all real.

Then I heard a quiet shuffling. Looking up, I was met with the long furry face of a Rodotan. The bipedal beast-kin resembled rats or mice and stood around three feet tall; this individual sat just above that by an inch or so, features leaning more rat-like. Also, he did not look very happy. You’d think he’d be more pleased to have a customer in this morbid shop he ran, but whatever. For all I know, he’s just having a bad day.

Regardless, I would need to feel the stones to know if any were the correct one; the stone I’m trying to recover would resonate with the magic of the deal I’d made. But before that, it would be warm and have a subtle pulse if the queen it belonged to were still alive. Now, this is already firmly in the gray of the law, but not as strictly illegal as theft or murder. However, dealing in a fairy-stone that has a pulse still is, since its considered fae-cruelty. As shady as this place was, they probably didn’t keep any pulse-stones up front if they had any. Even so, I placed a silver coin on the counter and gestured to the multicolored stones.

“I’d like to sample them all.” Please, I wanted to add, but such manners rarely serve one well in a place like this. As it was, the graying man slipped the coin from the counter with a flick of his hairless tail and carefully set one velvet tray before me. Perhaps in a jeweler’s shop this is where he would start some spiel about the quality and origin of the piece, but here I highly doubt he was paid enough to bother. His job was simply to prevent theft, collect money, and maintain the merchandise.

Taking the small chunk of agate into my hand, it certainly conducted magic well enough; however, no pulse and no resonance. Trying them out one at time, the same was true for the rest of them as well. Tragic that they likely each represented the fall of a fairy-burrow and several dozen lives lost. At least I’m not on the fae-rights committee, that’s one less task for me. Must be a headache trying to prove if these were or weren’t acquired ethically. Regardless, none of them were the stone that I’m looking for.

I push the last stone away, a smooth oval of slate, and lean a forearm on the counter. I flash five gold coins to the Rodotan, trapping three beneath my other hand and sliding two to the middle. He raises a brow at me, waiting to hear my request, and swipes the coins.

“I’d like to purchase something a little fresher,” I give him a look my Magis teacher taught me, “if you’ve heard anything?” Carefully worded to avoid implicating him, so he wouldn’t think I was an investigator of some kind. Then again, he probably thought I was just some kid in over my head anyway, and he wouldn’t be very wrong about that.

However, money talks, as they say.

“I may have heard something about a fresh catch at the wharf, but I’m having trouble remembering…” His voice was an odd combination of high and gruff, but not unexpected. I slid another coin over, flicking it across the glass. “Ah yes, I believe the something-or-other auction house has one or two in stock, should make for an interesting evening in a night or two.” I smile, releasing the last two coins. “Edelweiss House on Five-Six, second-ninth in two days”.

I give one last nod to the Rodotan, listening to the door chime as it swings shut behind me on the way out. I take a few steps before my little friend climbs out of my collar from where she’d been hiding. It wouldn’t do to let just anyone know that I was a Magis after all.

Considering what I’d learned, I had two options: one, I could just attend the auction, or two, I could break in to wherever they kept things. Frankly, I’m leaning towards the second, since I’ll have to kill two days if I wait. And sure, there’s plenty to do and see in Golden Port, at least 14 whole other things, but I’ve already been on this mission a whole five hours. Excluding the time that I spent in the forest and at home, anyway. Two days is practically an eternity.

Of course, being unused to a cityscape setting, I made the first and last mistake of many an ignorant fool: I didn’t pay attention to my surroundings.

And so, that was how my partner and I found ourselves nabbed and bagged.

I awoke to a red sun burning my eyes, swathed in the flush of the sunset sky.

While this isn’t the first time I’ve been tied to a support beam, it certainly has one of the better views I’ve seen. This particular venue overlooked a portion of Golden Port’s rooftop districts, in fact, I think it was in the pamphlet. Unless they had more than one bridge shaped like the long twisting body of a centuries-old dragon. They might, this is Golden Port we’re talking about.

Ignoring the restraints, which I absently noted lacked any magic inhibitors, I reached across our bond to find my wisp. She was in a room below mine, unharmed but displeased. They had separated her from her staff, so whoever took us weren’t complete idiots. Even if they did leave a Magis free to access their magic.

A little after sunset, one of our kidnappers introduced themself in the light of an oil lamp. The typical henchman vibe was unsurprising; his appearance was plain if somewhat dirty, but the way his face twisted as he practically cackled is what really gave him away. He then proceeded to monologue at me about how I wouldn’t be able to “seduce the Fafnir Group heir” with my “pretty little face and coy mannerisms” ever again. 

Honestly, I don’t know how to reply.

All I can do is become more confused as he lays out some sort of romantic melodrama for me. It feels remarkably like starting a book from the middle and hoping for the best. At the very least I could gather that I wasn’t who they’d meant to grab. Still, I’m not sure why they thought this random girl was me. I hadn’t even been here for a day, so how was I supposed to have seduced anybody? Whatever, guess I’ll just cope.

Then the dark-haired man pulled out a knife and licked it. I’m not sure why, I’d zoned out already. Maybe he was just a weirdo. But before I had to do anything about him, the door slammed open.

“I thought you said you caught her!?” A young woman dressed as a maid stormed in. Fury blazed red on her cheeks.

“I did, see, she’s right there.” He gestured to me. The woman looked over. I shrugged. She and I both knew I wasn’t the right person.

“You fool, do you even have eyes? This person looks nothing like the picture I gave you. You better explain yourself; my mistress will not be pleased.” She jabbed a finger into the man’s sternum, ouch. This is about where he fully understood that he’d messed up. The blood drained from his face as his eyes darted between me and the angry maid before him. I almost felt bad for him. Almost. Hehe, that’s what you get.

“I- But I- No- But this person matches the description you gave me!” He sputtered. “About yay high, light hair, and a will-o-wisp on ‘er shoulder. I may ‘ave misplaced the drawing, but how many light-haired people with wisps on their shoulders can there be in one city?” He tried to defend his carelessness. I’m sure people like him are the reason chosen ones exist. I don’t have any proof, but I feel it strongly.

“At least two, clearly.” She starts to pace, dragging a hand through her short hair. “Whatever, just fix this. And do something about this person that isn’t even worth two loaves of bread while you’re at it.” And like that, she left in a huff while tearing at her nails.

In the remaining silence all I could feel was indignation. I’ll have you know that my life is worth at least three loaves of bread. The nerve of some people.