Phony Potions

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Mallow?" I called, as the door closed behind me with a heavy thud. The windows were small and stained, making the inside of the store so dim it took my eyes a moment to adjust.

I walked toward the center of the shop and noticed the ground beneath my feet had gone soft. My eyes were drawn down to a red rug, woven through with golden threads. It was worn, but the intricate geometric patterning came from Majikast or a surrounding province. It was too beautiful and well-crafted to be by a local artisan. I was stomping all over an import.

My gaze swept over the rest of the room. The smell of shoe polish and treated leather filled my nostrils, but was soon overtaken by a gentle scent of dried flower petals. Somewhere in the shadows there was a vase of potpourri.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw that most of the light was focused in recessed shelves about the size of my head. On these shelves were individual pairs of shoes, lit from above, side to side, and below. The wood that made the frames of these recessed nooks pulsed with a faint yellow glow, like star light or fire bugs.

What was that wood? Enchanted, obviously. Some far off glade soaked with magic, chopped and brought here to help this man sell shoes. How could he afford all of this stuff? The luxury and expense of this place reminded me of only one other place I'd ever been. While in the desert city of Ekonoar, I had been suffering from the heat and stumbled into a small, shadowy building. It had been a small art gallery where powerful Arcanacratic families rotated those parts of their collections of which they were tired for the season. It was open to the general public so that the public could gaze upon their wealth and beauty and be crushed by their own meager means. Or so I interpreted it. I'd never really even heard of art before that point, but from then on, the word lurked in the back of my head like lice. Art was absurd. Art was wasteful. Art was insulting to all of those who struggled to find enough food. I often fantasized about owning my own art so I could one day retire my unwanted masterpieces to that gallery.

Lucky arcanacrat icicles.

Passing a pair of short, dark, leather loveseats, I walked toward the wall to examine it better. Something scurried past near my feet, and I stumbled back. For a second I was scared, then I was glad to see even this wealthy man had his trouble with rats, but when the scurrying stopped as soon as I did, that satisfaction was short lived. I realized that I was seeing my own feet. Confused, I crouched down. A mirror, about ten inches by ten inches, was set at an angle on the floor. I saw my boots in them if I stood far back enough. There were small mirrors at ground level beneath every third shoe display, and they were glowing even brighter than the recessed displays.

I drew my attention back up to where the store obviously wanted it.

Beneath a pair of shoes there was a small plaque. It took me a few minutes, my tongue stumbling over the words as I sounded the letters out. I didn't read very much, which happens when you work, but I had never let the skill fall completely away because my parents had spent so much educating me during those brief charmed years when the ranch was doing well.

'Created on the Fourth day of the Sixth Month of the 120th Year of our Centralized Magical Arcanacracy by...' The second part seemed familiar, like I'd read it recently. Regulation? Danger? Neither of those though. I decided to try and read the rest. It was nonsense too. I recognized 'seashore' from my maps, but the rest of it was unfamiliar. The shoe was a sandal, but had multiple straps that spread out from the center toe stud like the legs of a bundle of spiders. Wait, not a bundle of spiders. Crabs' legs, notched gently and treated to come down stiffly. They connected to the sole with an infinitely small point, mimicking the gentle taper of a crab's legs. I touched the soft pad inside of the sole, and felt it squish beneath my finger. Wearing this thing must be like walking inside of an oyster's mouth, minus the biting or shell shattering and cutting up your foot.