“Maybe, maybe not. There’s plenty new and plenty old. The sweets are new.” Crunches punctuate each sentence. “Would you believe I sell more sweets than the general store? The kiddies feel so daring, creeping through the dread variety for their lozenges.”
She peers, crunching slower and slower, until Folly realizes he’s supposed to laugh. He manages a smile. “That’s very clever.”
“It’s all right,” she says, content. “You clearly have a keen eye for merchandise. See if anything catches your fancy.”
Smile falling, Folly edges through the clouds of dust.
The whole conversation, the shopkeeper’s gaze remained fixed on his right ear. As if gawking at his left eye would be rude. Folly can never decide if he prefers the gawking or the aversion.
Perusing the shop is the fun part, even with dust creeping past the laces of his green cotton shirt. Old maps and new maps, silk slippers and dirt-crusted gloves. An urn as tall as Folly, and a book no bigger than his thumbnail. None of the shelves rise past Folly’s waist, giving the shopkeeper a clear view of everything.
Folly has a clear view, too.
Fae magic has a particular quality. A shimmer that’s no color and every color at once. Like a rainbow wavering above summer-hot cobbles. Folly chases the magic slowly, without appearing to do so.
Pretending not to see things may be his greatest talent.
Four enchanted items hide amidst the variety today. First is a crown of dried flowers, blue and gold blossoms that rustle when Folly examines the gaudy pendant next to them. Maybe Folly shouldn’t mention the crown. Roland will be angry if it falls to pieces on the trip back.
Then a spindle, and Folly doesn’t look closely enough to tell whether the magic clings to the wood or the yarn. That’s safe enough to mention.
Third is a pocket watch, which will cost dearly from the silver-work case even if the shopkeeper doesn’t know it’s magic. Roland won’t like that. Though… Folly peers closer. Maybe Roland will haggle a proper discount since the watch is defective. The hands tick backwards.
Folly gives equal attention to the neighboring nonmagical pocket watches before he continues browsing.
The final item glows far brighter than the rest. It’s one of a slew of purses and satchels—a leather pouch, stained in bright berry colors. An iridescent shell forms the button.
Folly squints. No, the little purse isn’t magical. Something inside it is.
Dangerous curiosity hammers Folly’s ribs. There’s no justifying it. The hidden magic calls in silent, shining invitation, and Folly would be a fool to answer. He should just tell Roland about the purse, like everything else.
He picks up the pouch. It’s cool to the touch, and any heat in his palm is the burn of imagination.
The magic dims. Folly imagines it’s relaxing in his grasp. Satisfied.
“Found something you like?” the shopkeeper asks. She plants both elbows on the counter, as if bracing herself for battle.
This is the part where Roland would say something funny or lay on his awful charm. Folly just sets the purse next to a sack of candy and says, “I’ll take this.”
“Oh, you have such an eye for detail!” the shopkeeper exclaims. “Why, the dye-work on this piece—” Her patter gives Folly time to think of what to say, even as his stomach twists. As she concludes with a regretful, “As sorry as I am to see this lovely purse go, that will be?—”
“Please, my lady, let’s be reasonable.” Folly forces a smile. He hates haggling. It draws out conversations forever. “The craftwork is lovely, but we both know it’s worth four gilden at the most.”
She deflates, then puffs up again. “Six gilden.”
“Four and a half,” Folly counters, trying not to wince. Each gilden delays his freedom that much more. Then again, what’s another month? Will Roland ever really let him clear his debt?
She crunches. “Five and three quarters.”
This part’s easier. Like a dance where he knows the steps. “Five.”
She grins broadly at Folly’s right ear. “Done.”
Folly’s ruse wouldn’t have worked if she’d looked him in the face, he reflects in retreat. She’s savvy enough, she would have read the truth in his eyes. Folly’s well aware the leather purse is only worth half a gilden. She might have wondered why Folly’s willing to pay ten times its value.
Folly isn’t sure either. He can’t explain his sudden urge to own this magical item. But his bargaining worked. He has his prize, and he has descriptions of the other items to give Roland.
Before he leaves the shop, Folly hides the purse and its magic contents inside his inner coat pocket, safely buttoned up. Roland will ask questions if he sees it, and Folly doesn’t have anyanswers. He just knows he wants this piece of magic for himself, even if the possibility of conflict rattles his heart against his ribs.
