Dead Suitors Tell No Tales

4: A City of Magic

It was hopeless.

When Dax accepted Uri's mission, he didn't think it would be as hard as it currently was. For all he knew, the vial didn't exist and he was on a fool's errand. Perhaps it had been doomed from the start. Maybe he should quit now and save his dignity before he went back to Uri with nothing to show. He was starting to think Uri had set him up to be the laughingstock of the thief underground, on a single road to humiliation.

And then again, maybe Uri was being serious, and he had better find the vial before Uri decided to collect his debts. He didn't really have a choice in the matter.

Dax looked around at the city square before him, tucked into a dark corner of Sagewick's filthiest streets. No noble would dare step a foot in this part of town, unless they wanted to be robbed clean of every valuable they owned. It was here that the black market of Ester thrived, and where Dax had come for information he desperately needed.

He kept the cowl of his cloak pulled low over his head, so that only the bottom part of his face could be seen. Secrecy was your best friend in the black market, and Dax was well versed in the rules of this game. More than once he'd ripped off a buyer or two of things he had stolen, and had successfully evaded their attempts to punish the man who had made them such a bad deal. Anonymity was everything.

Dax fingered the gold brooch in his pocket, his fingers sliding over the smooth surface of the shiny metal. He had come to sell what he'd taken from Darby's estate the night before, and hopefully pry some useful information about Uri's stupid vial from the notorious close mouthed merchants and traders.

He didn't expect that he'd learn much, but it was worth a shot. Someone had to know something about the vial, and the black market was full of people who knew more than they should. If luck was on his side, Dax could very well learn where the damn thing was hiding this very night.

He began to approach a grimy-looking table, full of different odds and ends that Dax deemed relatively useless upon first glance. The seller was very old, with a serious squint and a permanent scowl. Dax picked up what looked like a very worn pair of leather boots.

"Tha's rare, tha is," the vendor growled. "Make ya lightnin' quick, tha will, if ya wear 'em."

Dax highly doubted it, but pretended to look them over. "How much?" he asked roughly.

"Tha'll be five crowns, tha will," the vendor said adamantly, squinting at the boots.

Five crowns! Dax thought to himself. He must be delusional if he thinks anyone will take these for five crowns. "Too much," he shook his head, placing the boots back on the table.

The vendor opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Dax cut him off before he could say anything. "I'm looking for a vial," he said quickly. "A potion. Got anything like that?"

"No," the vendor snapped, waving him off. "Find yer vials an' potions some'er else if ya ain't gonna pay."

Dax rolled his eyes from inside his cowl and turned on his heel, slipping back into the chaos that was the black market. The familiar smell of rotten foods and heavy incense wafted up his nose, and Dax found himself wandering toward the more interesting part of the market, towards the strange products of self-proclaimed witches and fortune tellers.

He'd never really paid much attention to the items they sold in the past, except when they claimed to have enchanted objects or medicines with magical properties. Although Dax didn't believe in magic, many believed the tales of traveling minstrels and visiting playwrights that spoke of the magic of the city. If the occasional story was to be believed, legend had it that Sagewick was built upon magic, and that it thrived deep in the city's core. The idea was always on the forefront of superstitious minds and those who were fond of dreaming up extravagant theories surrounding the supposed "city of magic".