Chapter 6: Not Everything of Value Is Money

“Don’t you worry your handsome little head,” the shopkeeper purred, sensing Ewan’s hesitation. “The color might be a tad conspicuous, but pop it in a glass of red wine and no one will be the wiser. And believe me, compared to that tiny cosmetic flaw, its benefits are a hundred times greater. Just one drop, and a raging behemoth will collapse into a boneless, helpless heap on the floor.”

Ewan’s eyes lit up. “It’s really that potent?”

“But of course! Quality doesn’t come cheap. We run an honest, small-time operation here, fair and square.”

After that shameless self-promotion, the shopkeeper held out a pair of delicate, almost unnaturally slender hands to Ewan and the other cloaked figure. “That’ll be one hundred and thirty thousand émile each. No negotiations, no IOUs. Thank you kindly.”

“One hundred and thirty thousand…”

Ewan’s jaw twitched. One hundred and thirty thousand was a fortune. It took him less than a second to deduce that the shopkeeper’s talk of “honest business” was a steaming pile of nonsense. Who in their right mind sells a single vial of knockout drops for the price of a small house?!

Still, for the moment, he was the son of a duke with a bottomless wallet. A mere 130,000 was, regrettably, chump change.

“Will that be card or cash?” the shopkeeper asked, rubbing their hands together with a glee that was impossible to hide. It wasn’t every day you got to fleece two big-spending suckers at once.

“Card,” Ewan said, tossing his crystal card onto the counter with the practiced ease of a true tycoon. A card of his caliber was basically untraceable, so his identity was safe.

“Right away!”

The shopkeeper swiped the card with practiced ease. They then plucked another, even smaller vial from a cluttered shelf and presented it to Ewan with a flourish, along with his card. “A little bonus gift for my favorite new customer.”

“A gift? What’s this?”

“Hehe, a little mystery keeps things exciting, don’t you think? I’d recommend using it with the first potion, though. The synergistic effect is… truly miraculous.”

“Miraculous?” Ewan thought. Does it make my little boy even bigger or something? He didn’t know much about magical potions, so he simply pocketed both vials and prepared to leave.

Having secured Ewan’s money, the shopkeeper now turned their predatory gaze to the other cloaked figure. “And for you, esteemed guest? Card or cash?”

“I have no émile. Nor do I intend to pay with it.”

The figure’s voice was perfectly calm as it delivered the incredibly dangerous statement. Ewan paused at the door, his curiosity piqued. Was someone actually stupid enough to try and rob a black market shop in broad nightlight?

“Oho? And what exactly do you mean by that?” As expected, a palpable, chilling aura began to seep from beneath the shopkeeper’s hood.

“I may be poor in coin, but I can offer you a piece of intelligence in trade.”

“One hundred and thirty thousand émile is a high price for a mere rumor.”

“This information is worth every last coin.” The figure held out a slip of paper. “In fact, to the right person, it is priceless.”

“Oh?” Even with the hood, Ewan could practically see with his imagination the shopkeeper’s intrigued, arched eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

The shopkeeper took the paper, unfolded it, and their eyes darted across the text.

For a split second, the air in the shop seemed to crystallize.

“Oh my, my… Well now. This is interesting.” The shopkeeper looked up, their voice now laced with a chilling gravity. “Are you certain this is real?”

“With your resources, shopkeeper, verifying its truth should be a trivial matter.”

“…You have far too much faith in me. But you are right. This information is indeed worth the price.” The shopkeeper nonchalantly tossed the vial of red liquid to the figure. “Take it. It’s yours.”

The cloaked figure caught the vial, gave a silent nod, and departed with the cold, unnerving efficiency of an automaton. The entire exchange was so swift it left Ewan reeling. His gaze drifted back to the slip of paper in the shopkeeper’s hand.

What kind of secret could possibly be worth that much?

“My, my. Does the young master have an interest in this little tidbit as well? If so, I could be persuaded to sell you a copy. Since we’re practically old friends now, I’ll even give you a special discount. Just for you.”

The shopkeeper held up nine long, delicate fingers.

“Ninety thousand?”

“Hehe, you have a fine sense of humor, young master. At that price, my humble shop would go out of business.” The shopkeeper paused, their voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Nine hundred thousand émile.”

“…” The corner of Ewan’s mouth twitched. He turned on his heel and walked out without another word. Taking information he’d gotten for the price of a likely-overpriced potion and trying to flip it for nearly a million… this shopkeeper wasn’t a merchant; they were a pirate.

…

Long after Ewan had gone, the shopkeeper was still staring at the slip of paper.

Her concealing hood had fallen away, revealing the face of a woman. Her delicate, willow-leaf eyebrows were arched high in amusement.

“Tomorrow was supposed to be nothing more than the dull coming-of-age party for the Campbell family’s useless heir. But if this little secret gets out… oh, things are about to get so much more entertaining.”

“Now, who shall be the lucky buyer? The Second Prince is an excellent candidate. He’s always despised his ‘perfect’ little sister. For a royal prince, two million should be a pittance.”

“And that old fox, Duke Raymond… he will be absolutely fascinated.”

“Oh my. One secret, two buyers. I am a very very wicked girl, aren’t I?” She propped her cheek on her hand, a troubled look on her face that was completely betrayed by the dazzling, heart-stopping smile that followed. “But then again, who ever made a rule that intelligence can only be sold to one person?”

…

“Young Master Ewan.”

When Ewan arrived back at the estate, he was met by Anne, who was clearly returning from her own errands.

“Is the maid situation handled?”

“Yes, Young Master. The head maid will hire temporary staff tonight and has already rearranged the duties. We should have no major issues tomorrow.”

“Good. Thank you for your hard work on such short notice.” Ewan nodded. 

“It was our failure for not making the right arrangements ahead of time, Young Master. I apologize for troubling you,” Anne said, bowing low.

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is what I should do. You should get some rest, too. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“But I must attend to your needs…”

“It’s not necessary. I’m not a child, Anne. Besides, I’ll be turning in early myself.”

Without giving her a chance to argue, Ewan walked away, heading for his room. It was better this way. This was his sin to bear, his alone. No need to drag anyone else down with him.

“…” Left standing in the empty corridor, Anne watched his retreating back. The nagging suspicion that had been flickering in her eyes all day now intensified, deepening into something profound and unsettling.

“How very strange.”

Lost in thought, she began to bite her lower lip. She bit down, harder and harder, until a single drop of blood welled up and fell, a tiny crimson star on the pristine white collar of her uniform. She didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze remained fixed on the spot where he had vanished from sight.

“Young Master Ewan,” she whispered to the silent air, “since when did you become so kind?”