Chapter Four: The Crooked Lantern

  The Crooked Lantern is a bustling trade hub, not a single building but more of a walled compound. Somehow the place manages to convey ‘safe fortress’ and ‘cozy tavern’ at the same time, I love it. The heavy wooden door handle has been polished smooth by the uncounted myn who have constantly used it, and the smell of the cooking food that hits me as I enter the inn is intoxicating… the core pulses with desire at the smell, demanding to eat, I giggle at the thought of it living through me.

  The room has a large stone fireplace in the middle where several different kinds of meat are slow cooking over smoldering coals, some spiced, others drenched in sauces. That and a large bubbling stew pot all fight for my attention. There are many people sitting at tables along the walls, mostly large groups, but there are a few free seats up at the bar. Behind the counter is a grinning old grey, his snowy streaked beard and wrinkled face juxtaposed with a youthful playfulness in his energy. The oldmyn is balancing a glass cup filled with a purplish liquid atop his head as I approach, he is acting solemn, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. The silver fox grins toothily at me and says, “What’s this now? A Sage on his pilgrimage?” He waggles his eyebrows, making the cup wobble slightly.

  I laugh, loving the min’s performance, and lean into the bar, “That’s right, honored elder, I am indeed heading to my first posting.”

  The foxmin nods, causing the drink to fall into his suddenly waiting hand, which he then offers to me with a sly grin, “On the house.”

  I smile back, and take a decent swig of the offered drink, it sends a jolt of energy through me as it burns my face, nose and throat, hitting my stomach like a punch to the gut. I cough as my eyes water, then I grin sheepishly, causing the foxmin to burst out laughing, sounding like yips and barks mixed. The bartender manages to squeak out, “You’re alright Sage!” between his guffawing and slapping the bar top.

  I chuckle at his amusement, and give a little bow, “I live to serve, to protect, and to save,” waggling my eyebrows right back at him as I give the Sage’s creed.

  Another bark, and then the old fox asks, “So what'll it be Sage?” He gestures over to the slowly rotating sauce covered haunches, “those roasts have been cooking for well over a day now, the sauce on that one is first sweet, then hits you with a delightful spice.” he leans in conspiratorially, “It’d fall off the bone if you looked at it wrong.”

  My stomach rumbles, and the core’s desire flares sharply, I wince, “Well, as amazing as that sounds, I’m afraid I actually must ask you if there is any work you need done here, elder.” I gesture to my pack, patting it to showcase its emptiness, “I’m afraid I’ve run out of both supplies and money on my way here, and would like to earn enough in supplies to make it to the next town at least.”

  The old fox nods, stroking his beard, “I suppose if anyone on the road would be light on wealth and goods, it should be a Sage.” He looks around at the tavern and I look with him, seeing the people around me more clearly that I’m not fully focused on the food. The Inn is about half full, there are a few barmaids serving food and drinks, there is also a small kitchen in the back with two workers busily pushing out orders.

  The foxes' brow crinkles, and he tilts his head dramatically, “Sage… I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take a look over a trade contract with my partners out of Endymion City?” He shuffles a little before looking me in the eye, “Prices have gone up… not just some and not by a little,” he looks annoyed and resigned at once, “I know the King’s conquest,” his ears fall flat as he speaks, “and its many failures are driving costs and increasing danger to all caravans” he looks over at his customers, and I notice a sense of pride and protection radiating from him, “But this contract Sage… I’m being extorted, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

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  The oldmyn sighs, “If I don’t get better terms, Sage, if I lose these suppliers… it won’t just be the food and drink. It’s medicine, tools, everything we need to survive out here.” He gestures around the inn, “It’s not just travelers... The families in the hills and forest rely on us for supplies. If I can’t make it work, they’ll have nowhere to turn but the wilds… and we both know what that means.” his voice trails off, the weight of the world settling visibly on his shoulders.

  The fox has my whole attention, I had never really been good with money, but logic has always been easy for me. Finding the cracks in conversations, the loopholes in rules, and either fixing or exploiting them is my favorite game. Plus, Sages are trained to be part mediator, part philosopher, part psychologist, and part magician. We are taught skills from building cities and organizing work crews, to learning how to maintain communities over decades, that and my time in the Auxiliary had taught me how to run efficient supply trains of materials & food. This task was right up my alley, I grin wolfishly, pulling out the enchanted pen from my inner cloak pocket, the beauty never runs out of ink and writes like a dream, as well as the stamp and wax seal of my office, and say “I’d be happy to help you elder.”

  Several hours later, I am sitting in the common room at my own table, having been served a meal of that slow roasted amazing meat, whose spicy burn continues to fuel my battle against the paperwork which is strewn about the table. So far I have managed to find several clauses where the merchants are giving themselves the right to increase their prices to any amount over the course of the contract. They are using sneaky wording, such as calling it an “emergency measure”, yet leaving no clear definition as to what an emergency would consist of, and no limit to the number of times it can be applied during this contract!

  With an evil glee which confuses the core as it flows across our link, it tries to understand the feeling of hunting here, but it doesn’t seem to be meshing with the war of words and paper… Somehow though, I can tell that the core is still enjoying my pleasure as I find and dismantle the traps in the contract. Honestly I love the way my pen glides across the paper as I rewrite the contract. I focus on designing a philosophical and economically mixed approach so that IF a price has to increase, THEN it must be outlined as to why, AND that the price must reflect a fair increase commensurate with the risk. Lastly I add a clause that the price MUST then decrease once those risks are no longer present, adding in wording that showcases the agreement being about mutual gain, and not just the profit of one side.

  I giggle as I add my stamp to the contract, my first one, the stamp not only showed anyone who looked at it that a professional had been consulted, but that the college of Sages was now personally aware of this deal. I sigh internally with satisfaction, part of me marveling at what it means to be a Sage, to complete a job in my new role, and just how different it is compared to my old life…

  I actually fall asleep at the table while re-reading the contract for the fifth time. When I wake the next morning, I find a bowl of porridge and fruit waiting for me along with a glass of chilled cider. It’s delicious, and after I finish it I gather up the newly revised contract and go to find the oldmyn.

  The silver fox noticed me get up, and after reading over the contract he barks a laugh and claps me on the back, his eyes gleaming with appreciation. He grins and says, “This’ll really help Sage, thank you.”

  I blush, and say, “Honestly I had fun doing it… I’m glad to help out.”

  Then he cricks his head, “I bet you’re looking to leave soon, meet me out front and we’ll get you your due.”

  I take in the sunrise, stunning and warm light filtering through the trees. The foxmyn gives a little cough and I turn around to find him and his staff lined up. They all give me a unified bow and then each hold out a different package of foodstuffs for me. One gives me dried meats and fruits, another a few cheese blocks, even a bag of spiced nuts. I grin at them all, and they grin back. Lastly, The foxmyn hands me an intricately engraved bottle of mead, a fine image of the Crooked Lantern’s sigil carved along its base. The myn’s smile is warm, his eyebrows waggling, and he extracts a promise from me to visit again someday.

  I pack everything away, throw my pack over my shoulder and wave to them all as I head down the path, onto my next stop.