"Oi, Burger! Buy our wares! Nya, ha, ha!"
Squim was dancing merrily around a battered little stall in the middle of the marketplace, his tongue flailing back and forth wildly at the object of his ridicule. Burger, as he'd come to be known (his real name was Phil) was a large, moustached merchant with drooping jowls. Quite used to the erratic little boy who danced mockingly about him, he ignored Squim, instead saluting Mama as she approached him.
"Mornin', Mama. How's the day today?"
"Fine, thank you, Burger." She slid one hand into the folds of her clothing and pulled out the watch and the porcelain doll that had been stolen the night previous by her Sewer Rats, laying them side-by-side in front of Burger. He eyed them appraisingly, lifting the watch up to inspect its quality.
"Hmm, hmm. . . nice design. Quelig Works, I think. A couple years old, but still tickin'. I'll give ye three thousand." He rapped his knuckles on the top of his battered stall and waited for the haggling to begin. Mama was notorious for her inability to take the first price offered.
"Three thousand? My dear Burger, I would place this particular timepiece at four and a half thousand, and that's just for starters." She leaned in close to the big man, as if to emphasise her point. "I bet it's worth upwards of seven thousand, no?"
Burger guffawed. "Seven? Not a chance, lil' missy. Thirty-three hundred."
"Four. I'm raising children, you know."
"Yea, and they steal enough to get by on their own. You know it, too. Thirty-five."
Mama considered that. Three thousand five hundred was more than she'd expected. Burger was being generous today. "Okay. Sold. Largest denominations possible, please."
"Yes'm. And the doll?"
They nattered on over its price from quite some time. Squim continued his manic traipsing, ignored by all. Galley, who had been forced to accompany the pair – he suspected he and Squim had been chosen because of the night prior – wandered off into the marketplace.
It was like their home multiplied by a thousand times. All manner of trinkets, oddities, and junk lay about on the worn tables. Exotic smells wafted about the area, intermixing to create one pungent odour that nicely defined the marketplace. The vendors were all of Lower Valua, and as such, appeared to be generally quite ragged and disreputable. Most, however, were decent enough fellows, and looked out for one another. It was only through such an environment that a black trade in Upper Valuan goods could grow, and flourish. Burger was Mama's chosen outlet into the said trade as she had found him, over the years, to be trustworthy, fair, and most importantly, discreet. A few rogues interspersed would gleefully turn a person over to the authorities with the promise of a fistful of gold, and as such, one had to be careful.
Galley passed from stand to stand, gazing at the newest additions to the heaps of trinkets and eyeing older wares that had always tickled his fancy. But he refused to spend his carefully saved money on anything of only passing worth: indeed, he has his heart locked around one object in particular, and intended, today, to purchase it. He'd withheld just enough money from Mama the night prior to afford it.
His merchant of choice was a sallow, rat-like fellow by the name of Odin. Nobody knew his real handle: the man was more than a little touched mentally, and often associated himself with old myths. Psychological aspects aside, he was a cunning businessman, and capable of procuring some of the rarest items one could hope for. Approaching Odin's stand – a compact box like structure, complete with overarching roof and covered in heaps of jewellery – Galley hailed the emaciated man casually. "Hey, Odin."
"Greetings, young master Galley. How be you today, hmmmmmm?" Odin had a penchant for prolonging his 'hmmm's while simultaneously craning out his unusually long neck, making him an odd fellow to talk to.
"Fine, fine. . . do you still have it?"
Odin closed one beady eye and tapped his chin. "It, hmmmmmmm? What 'it' do you mean, young master? Hmmmmmmm?"
Galley smirked, adjusting his cap. "You know what I mean. 'It'."
"Ahhhh, I think I recall what you mean, hmmmmmm." Scratching lazily at his yellowed skin, Odin began to rummage about behind his stand while muttering to himself. Galley couldn't help but wonder if he and Squim were related.
"You mean this, young master?" He raised a small, gleaming, rounded gem into view, clutched tightly in his spindly fingers. Galley's eyes shone with the same silvery light that flowed beautifully out of the stone.
"Yes. . . that one."
"You have the fifty thousand this time, hmmmmm? Not just for show today?"
Wordlessly, Galley dropped a battered pouch onto the table. He couldn't take his eyes from the gem. It seemed to call out to him, demanding his obedience. Odin pried the bag before him open and surveyed the contents: fifty-one thousand and fifty gold, in larger increments than Odin was used to. This lad was certainly stealing from rich people these days.
"Mmmmm, fifty thousand on the dot. Thank you, hmmmmmm?" Odin was not so stupid as to turn down a free thousand gold when it was so mutely offered to him. He handed the gem to Galley and emptied the pouch into his moneybag, safely tucked below his feet.
Galley was instantly enamoured. The stone was cold to the touch, yet he felt warm as he slid it into his coat. He could feel its power flow into him at that instant. In that moment, and from then on – for it would never again leave his person – Galley considered himself a superior being. Anybody who was anybody had a moonstone, after all. He sauntered off, back to Mama, his bearing far prouder than it had previously been.
