She flashed him a brilliant smile before taking it.
“My thanks.”
Without looking back, Erich walked to the back of the tavern, seeking the man the sailor had described. The tables here by the back door were mostly empty but for a man leaning back in his chair, alternating rolling a coin over his knuckles and tossing it in the air. Limp, greasy brown hair covered a ragged hole where an ear used to be. He’d found his guy. A quick glance over his shoulder, and he confirmed he wasn’t being watched.
According to the sailor, no one spoke to the miracle worker without speaking to their representative first. Erich snatched the man’s coin in midair. Glowering, the man rose from his seat, scarred hands splayed against the tabletop.
“The stars are bright tonight,” Erich recited the code.
“And the moon fades.” The man spat onto the floor and jerked his head toward a set of stairs leading up to a second floor.
Resting his palm against the hilt of his dagger, Erich followed him up the stairs, and the din of the tavern faded. At the top, a narrow landing greeted him, and his escort’s shadow stretched out over threadbare rugs as he marched down the hall. It ended at a single door that he opened and gestured for Erich to enter.
Inside, a man with half a pointer finger counted geld and silbern coins without looking up at Erich even as the door closed behind him. A man, a head taller than Erich, a cudgel strapped to his belt, stepped in front of it, blocking any potential exit. Not exactly the way he pictured a meeting with a miracle worker, but perhaps this was his representative. After all, if the Church of Sol knew what they were doing, they’d be arrested for breaking laws against unauthorized magic. Relaxing his posture, he reluctantly released his grip on his dagger.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Erich said as he took a seat uninvited at the table.
The man swept away his coins into a pouch, then shoved it into a pocket inside his coat before finally glancing up at Erich.
“Did your mother raise you in a cow pen?” Half-finger asked.
“Never knew my mother.”
The man scoffed. “You’ve got some nerve, foreigner.”
He hadn’t thought his accent was that bad, but it’d been ages since he’d spoken Neolyrian.
“I hear you’re the man I need to talk to to find a healer.”
“If you want a healer, go to the temple.”
“The sort of healing I’m looking for the temple cannot provide.”
The thug’s gaze flicked to the guard, and a slow smile crept over his face. “I might have something; if you have the coin.”
Erich reached for his belt, and Half-finger’s eyes narrowed onto his dagger before he nodded at the big man, who shuffled, presumably grasping his cudgel. Erich removed his sheathed weapon and set it on the table slowly, then raising his hands in a gesture of good faith; he waited on Half-finger’s signal before making another move.
“Any other weapons on you?” the thug asked.
Many. “That’s it. Can I show you what I’m offering?”
The thug nodded curtly.
“Is this enough?” Erich askedas he dumped out his purse of geld coins onto the table.
Half-finger’s eyes lit up as he reached for the geld, but Erich swatted his hand away. “First, let me see the Miracle Worker of Artria. If he’s not a fraud, then I’ll pay you this and more.”
The thug threw his head back and laughed.“Miracle Worker of Artria? That’s just a myth.”
“There’s no need to play games. I’ll pay you this and more. I’m good for it. Name your price.” He’d empty Father’s coffers if that’s what it took to be free of this curse.
Half-finger must have scented his desperation because the wicked curve of his mouth and the twinkle in his eye screamed greed.
“I’m the Miracle Worker of Artria; whatever ails you, I’ve got the remedy.”He pulled out a small bag from his waistband and dropped it onto the table.
Erich plucked it off the table and felt the pulse of magic inside, tugging at him and reaching out like a thousand tiny tentacles attempting to take hold. Inside, burnt sugar-scented golden powder shimmered, and Erich dropped it, letting it spill across the scarred table. Stardust. A potent, highly addictive drug that reduced pain along with a euphoric high. For some, one taste was enough to create a powerful enough craving that they were driven mad with want, and withdrawals caused greater and greater pain with each dose. It wasn’t a remedy, but a sickness.
Lurching forward, the thug scraped up golden granules with surprising reverence.
