Scorio raised both hands to show he meant no harm, but this did nothing to assuage the vendor’s ferocious scrutiny and obvious disapproval.
“Apologies, good sir,” said Scorio, giving the man a half-bow and his best grin. “I’m in need of a bath. Can you recommend a quality establishment that’s close by?”
The man pushed back his cap and sneered. “Places around here cost money, sir. If you want to be hosed down in a back alley, head toward Ward 1.”
“Money’s not a problem,” said Scorio, keeping his tone light. Knowing the man wouldn’t believe him otherwise, he hefted the money pouch. “So, if you could kindly direct me to a suitable locale?”
The vendor’s eyes widened then narrowed. “That information’s not free.”
“Then perhaps it could come with one of these… ah, what are these called?” And Scorio picked up a crimson fruit whose skin was flecked in gold.
“That’s a dawn apple, you mooncalf. Three copper octs.”
An elderly woman, her iron-gray hair pinned behind her head in a tight bun with ornamental sticks, gaped at the vendor. “Temeteo!”
The vendor colored. “What? He needs to pay for all the potential clients he scared away.”
The old woman gave an outraged tug at the collar of her iron-gray robe. “Take the dawn apple, young man, with my compliments. I’d like to see Temeteo charge me that much for it.”
“Madam Voras, I would never—”
The elderly lady sniffed at the vendor and turned away from him. “Now. Excuse my overhearing, but you wish a bath house?”
Scorio bowed his head. “Yes, madam.”
“Then head two blocks radially east, one block—no, two—south. Search for the Brightest Lotus Bathhouse. Their basic services cost two gold octs, but you won’t be given admittance without a sponsor. Here. Take my chit. It should open the doors for you.”
And she handed Scorio a black oct with a gold symbol inscribed upon its face.
“I—thank you, Madam Voras.” Scorio took it and bowed deeply.
“Can’t see why you’re helping this street rat,” said Temeteo sullenly, propping his chin on his palm. “He probably stole all that money.”
“I was once in dire straits myself,” said Madam Voras primly, “and was helped in turn by a kindly stranger. It made all the difference. Enjoy your bath, young man, and may fortune favor you.”
“Thank you,” said Scorio, bowing again and closing his fist tightly about the chit.
Her expression softened. “One day I’m sure you’ll be in a position to help another. You are not your circumstances.”
Which hit Scorio surprisingly hard, and made his eyes prickle with tears. Again, all he could do was bow his head.
“Oh, fine, take a bushel of the dawn apples for a copper oct, why don’t you,” grumbled the vendor. “Making me look like a churl, you are, Madam Voras.”
“Doesn’t take much effort these days, Temeteo.”
Scorio bowed to the vendor again, paid, and with a sack of apples at his side set off before he could embarrass himself. His emotions were all over the place. Perhaps seeing Leonis and Lianshi had unsettled him more than he’d guessed. It took him a good few blocks before he managed to settle himself, and only when he could finally draw his breath easily did he take a big bite out of the dawn apple.
It was divine. The juices flooded his mouth, but more than that, he sensed rich mana tingle across his palette.
Summoning his Igneous Heart, he studied the apple and saw that the golden flecks truly did glow; each was the tiniest fleck of some rich mana he’d never seen before.
Should he just eat it?
Instead, he walked slowly and focused his will upon the tiny flecks, passing his paddle through the apple and drawing forth the little lights. These he swirled about himself, each trailing his will like a firefly, and then directed them into his Heart.
The sensation was delightful. It felt like a spring shower after months of arid heat. Not nearly enough to fill his heart, barely enough to give him more than a passing sensation of pleasure, but it was still a delight.
Munching the apple happily, he followed Madam Voras’s directions, only slowing when the Brightest Lotus bathhouse came into view.
Frowning, he stepped out of the flow of traffic once more and considered. The place was dignified yet reserved, a subtle lotus flower depicted over the doorway. Expensive.
Was this the right move?
He considered the black chit.
It would be an undeniable pleasure to step into that world and be bathed, shaved, massaged, and made to feel human once more.
But what then? He’d have to buy new robes, or else look the fool in his rags. And no matter what, he’d stand out the closer he got to the ruins. Right now, looking like a beggar, he blended in, was ignored as he went to and fro. But if he tried to walk through Ward 1 all perfumed and clean?
No. He’d draw too much attention.
With a sigh, he gave up his dream of pampering himself and looking an equal to Leonis and Lianshi. Instead, he pocketed the chit and continued south, and was passing through Ward 9 when he slowed, a new thought occurring to him.
Glancing around, he took his bearings and turned east. Memory served him well, and a few minutes later he found himself outside a modest store, a sign over the door indicating a mortar and pestle.
Faint music came from within. Should he knock? Did he need an appointment? Reaching into his robes Scorio touched the pouch of octs and decided that wealth was its own prerogative. He opened the door and stepped inside.
Jelan sat behind the counter, a single-stringed instrument propped on his lap. He drew a bow across the string with great intensity, his eyes screwed shut, his finger dancing up and down the string, pressing it to the neck of the instrument and thus changing the tone, which was high and wavering, plaintive and melancholic.
The sound of the bell caused the apothecary to cease playing immediately, and he blinked several times as he emerged from whatever state of mind had allowed him to summon such a haunting song.
“Ah,” he said, rising and setting his instrument aside. “The Black Star flower fanatic. I’m afraid I cannot help you further without octs.”
Scorio drew the pouch forth and bounced it on his palm. “Fortunately for us both, I happen to have some. Is that treatise still available?”
Jelan’s lips pursed as he dubiously appraised the pouch. “You have eight copper octs?”
“That I do.” Scorio stepped up to the counter and drew forth an iron oct. “Eight coppers to an iron, correct?”
“Your grasp of mathematics is impeccable,” said Jelan, his tone still skeptical. Scorio could read the concern in the apothecary’s eyes. The doubt that these coins had been honestly acquired.
So Scorio leaned on the counter, his smile lazy, and set two iron octs down on the counter with twin clicks. “Octs talk, do they not? Such a sweet language. The scroll, if you will, Master Jelan.”
“Hmm.” The apothecary took up the octs, studied them, then dropped them into a slot on the top of a small iron box which he drew out from under the counter. “Indeed. And fortunately for you, the demand for the treatise has been shockingly low. Let me find it.”
Again he walked down the honeycombed wall, till he drew forth the tube and brought it to Scorio. “You are clearly a man who scorns caution and wisdom. There are better and easier ways to acquire Coal mana, if that is what you are after.”
“I’d love to hear them,” said Scorio. “As long as they don’t involve my being part of society, drawing the attention of the Houses or the Academy, or requiring more coinage with which to begin the processes.”
“Hmm.” Jelan studied Scorio with heavy-lidded eyes. “When you put it that way.”
Scorio tapped the scroll tube against his other palm, then slipped it inside his robes. “Many thanks, Master Apothecary.”
“Good luck with your Black Star cultivation, friend…?” Jelan raised an eyebrow inquiringly.