The Captain's Log: #109: Market

“I love a good open market,” Eltanin said, strolling between the stalls with his shopping basket hanging off one elbow. “So many wonderful goods from just as many wonderful worlds. Did you know that Peralan artisans craft their armour out of giant crustaceans? Crabshell plate mail! Fascinating stuff.”

 

“Did you pay for any of that stuff, cap’n?”

 

“Shush, lad. No one needs to know.”

 

Shappell stuck his hands in his coat pockets. He’d heard so many brazen admissions come out of his captain’s mouth that nothing really surprised him anymore. These days, he found it easiest to just keep mum, take his cut of the pay, and buy another brooch for the display wall beside his bunk bed.

 

“Bones! 100% ethically sourced! Hey there. Aren’t you Eltanin’s kid?”

 

That was Dee Harclay, one of the guild’s foremost adventurers. His stall, appropriately named ‘No Bones About It’, offered an assortment of small taxidermied animals and bone crafts, from tiny earrings to a kite shield made from a dragon or something.

 

“His boy, actually,” Shappell corrected, though he realised that particular job title didn’t do much to clear things up. “Ship’s boy, I mean. Nice bones.”

 

“Yeah. Kid, boy, same thing. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” He picked up the shield and held it aloft. “Mammoth scapula. In life, it served a 10 ton behemoth, a legend among his kind. In death? Well, it’ll serve the highest bidder. So what can I do ya for?”

 

Shappell scanned the rows of carefully-curated products, looking for something a little less macabre. Was he feeling a pendant of an inch-long mosquito frozen in tree sap today? Eh. Something told him that although he could, he ought to think about whether he should.

 

“Best be careful with that one, kid,” Dee said. “That jar’s labelled ‘Chekhov’s gum’-- hmm, I think the ink might’ve smudged a little there…”

 

He picked it up and wiped the label with the corner of his sleeve, and out of the corner of his eye, Shappell saw Eltanin on the opposite side of the stall, shoveling some epoxied critters into his basket. The Paperdemon gave him a thumbs-up before vanishing back into the crowd, and the teenager startled as Dee placed the bottle back on the table with a hollow clink.

 

“Anything catch your eye, then?”

 

“No-sir-thank-you-sir!” Shappell stuttered, scrambling off before things inevitably got hairy.

 

There were still so many wonderful stalls to peruse, but he strode past all of them, his head ducked low and his hands jammed in his pockets. This portal probably didn’t have aiding and abetting laws as draconian as Avangard’s, but stallowners were still allowed to take matters into their own hands, and Shappell had heard stories about what Dee was like when he was mad.

 

Something bumped into his hip, at far too low an angle to be any of the other adults around him, but before he could turn to investigate, a familiar clawed hand grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the crowd.

 

Big surprise, it was Eltanin. His basket was noticeably fuller than when they’d first split up, mostly small crafts that could be palmed and drawn into longcoats in a blink. It was a pity the Paperdemon’s quick fingers were being wasted on petty crime instead of, like, solving world hunger.

 

“Ah, just the lad I was looking for. Listen. See that four-armed construct over there? I need you to chat him up a bit, get him looking at you, y’know? Think he’s even got some nice trinkets for your wall.”

 

“Marvo literally vouched for you back at the talent show.”

 

“And he was completely correct. I never left the guild hall floor. Anyway, whenever you’re ready.”

 

Then he was gone again, and Shappell tried to recall what the punishment for insubordination was on a pirate ship.

 

[Little buddy!] Marvo signed, the mechanical whirr of his limbs interrupting Shappell’s train of thought. [In the market for some handmade accessories?]

 

Foiled by the social contract! The teenager meandered over with a polite smile plastered on his face, trying not to think about how many hours of work had gone into each piece.

 

“Yeah. Got any pins or brooches?”

 

[Only the finest Durga Bram’s Boutique originals here! This one features my own beloved derpshen, Gummy…]

 

Oh, wow. Despite being apparently cast in bronze, it looked exactly like a derpshen, complete with the spaced-out stare. The resemblance was uncanny. And very fairly priced, too! Yep, this looked like the one.

 

He turned briefly to take his coin pouch out of his pocket, and there was Eltanin once again, crouched on the opposite end of the stall with his hand hovering over the earring display, temporarily overwhelmed by decision paralysis. But wait! Just next to him, a two-foot-tall halfling was herself going to town on his captain’s open basket, stuffing loot by the handful into her own burlap sack. By her height, she must’ve been the one who’d brushed against him earlier. Had Eltanin inadvertently saved him from a pickpocketing?

 

Shappell nearly opened his mouth to cry thief, but the base premise of what was happening was so bizarre that he kind of wanted to see how it played out. She was almost two-thirds of the way through the basket before some passerby caught on.

 

“Oi! Thief!”

 

Eltanin flinched instinctively, and the halfling wasted no time scrambling up his back and vaulting off his shoulders onto the canvas roof of the stall, her loot sack slung over her back. More people were shouting now, and the winged shadow of a Mundian dragon-rider swooped in out of nowhere, hot in pursuit across the ‘rooftops’. The commotion rippled down the marketplace, away from Marvo’s stall, until it was just the faintest hint of chaos in the background.

 

[Dear me!] Marvo exclaimed, pointing one of his arms at Eltanin. [You’ve been nicked!]

 

Eltanin blinked, perhaps finally realising that he wasn’t the target for once and his basket was unusually light. Shappell could almost see the scoundrelly gears turning in the Paperdemon’s head, and preemptively put his head in his hands for the theatrics to come.

 

“It’s all gone! Oh, the Papermanity!”

 

A few members of the crowd gathered around, gasping, as Eltanin picked through the remains of his once-proud haul. Only a keychain, one of Dee’s creepy epoxy spiders, and a couple of mystery vials he probably didn’t know how to even use.

 

“Tricked! Backstabbed! Bamboozled, even!”

 

[A truly horrific crime, Captain. Here,] Marvo pulled an ivory bracelet out of his display and held it out to him, [have one on the house.]

 

“Oh, I couldn’t, Marvo. I’d hate to take advantage of your kindness, especially after you vouched for me that night…”

 

Oh, brother.

 

“But… I do see my lad has taken a liking to one of your goods, there…”

 

[Of course! Keep the brooch, friend. Don’t worry about a thing.]

 

“I feel kind of sick,” Shappell said, as he and his captain left the market and headed back to the ship anchored nearby. “Like I had some bad fish, or Miss Hester forgot to water down my rum ration. I think this is going to haunt me all night. Is that normal?”

 

“Completely normal, lad. The feeling goes away the more you steal, and soon enough, you won’t feel a thing. Strange as it is to say it, I’m a tad grateful to that mystery thief. Got a little careless back there, and Marvo would’ve nabbed me for sure if she hadn’t stolen the show.”

 

“It seems the snatch thief has become the thief snatched. Or something.”

 

“That he has, lad. That he has.”