The Merchant Who Would be King

An Offer He Could Refuse

Hadiin

Hadiin woke up in bed, in a very small room that he'd rented at a very cheap inn in Belleville's poorer area. The room was above stables, where he'd lodged his horse, and it was the work of the stable boys and the sounds of horses that had likely woken him, not long after dawn.

He rolled over and felt the stray from the mattress poke through the sheets. The pillow, filled with what felt like dry beans, was not actually as uncomfortable as he'd thought it would be. Still, the room was a far cry from the one he'd stayed in last night.

Fewer thieves and assassins though. And he wasn't on death's door. Big wins already!

Determined to be positive about his situation, or at least his future, he got out of bed and put on the clothes he'd bought yesterday after separating from Lucia: a shiny, emerald-green shirt with loose sleeves and billowy, white pants. He no longer looked like a murder victim. Another win!

True, the shirt was loud and nothing at all like he'd wear back home, especially while working in the Amaze-Ex warehouse. But he liked how colourful the shirt was. He liked how the green and white colours reminded him of his heritage, an idea of what rich people in ancient Egypt might have worn. And he wasn't on Earth anymore, he was in a fantasy world and he would do what he liked from now on, thank you very much.

A little wax in his mustache curled the ends to a fine point. He'd replaced his sneakers with simple leather sandals as the former did not go with his new outfit. They also gave him away as coming from place with very different technology and he thought it best to blend in.

As he dressed, he recalled his parting words with Lucia yesterday.

The healing potion and his blood had restored her in the alley. Buying clothes from a homeless man, she'd put them on over her outfit as a disguise. "Well I don't want to be recognized dressed like this in broad daylight, do I?"

"Right. Of course." He'd chided himself for not thinking the same.

"I'm going home. You should find yourself somewhere new to stay. Somewhere cheap. I doubt you can afford Oystas anymore."

"I'll find something," he'd assured her. "How will I get in contact with you?"

"You won't. I'll find you."

"Right. Secret identity."

"Get some rest. And figure out what you're going to do with yourself. I'm not going to partner up with a deadbeat loser. You said you're a merchant. So go find some way to make money." She'd moved to the end of the alley. "Hopefully in an ethical manner. If we're going to be working together, I'd prefer it if you found a business that helps people, not feeds off of them."

"Yes. Yes, of course." That hadn't been a bad idea at all.

She'd spoken as she'd checked the street outside the alley, preparing to leave. "Unless your plan is to feed off the nobles and rich people. That's fine."

"Like selling luxuries. Hmm. Excellent thought. There's a much higher profit margin in selling to people who want to spend lots of money. I wonder what kind of luxuries they have in this world."

She'd turned back to him and frowned. "Say what?"

"Nothing," he'd quickly covered up his mistake. "Just thinking I need to do some market research."

"Right..." She'd given him an odd look, then softened her expression. "Listen, I do hope that this works out. Like I said, it would be nice to have someone else I can trust with my secret. And to be part of a team. Being what I've become," her eyes met his, "I'm putting a lot of trust in you. My life is in your hands. Please don't tell anyone about me."