Jack continued browsing what the Nighthawk and Raven shop had to offer. His eyes drifted towards the rows of soft-soled boots displayed along a low shelf.

  He spotted a pair of midnight black boots, crafted from supple leather, the kind that promised muffled steps and silent movement even on creaky floorboards. Those would be useful. Especially if I’m going to track and kill four adventurers. The thought of killing four people in cold blood caused a shiver to run the length of his spine. He shook the feeling away. I don’t have a choice.

  He picked up a pair of soft-soled boots in black leather, feeling the lightness in his hand, and tested the flexibility of the sole. He’d worn similar while stalking Greaves. But then… he caught the price tag. “Damn… 75 silvers!” he muttered under his breath.

  “Ah, quality costs, boy, quality costs,” came the soft voice right by his ear.

  “Fuck!” Jack jumped and turned. The old man had snuck up on him again. How is he doing that?

  The old man chuckled, already two paces away, pretending to adjust a mannequin’s leather tunic.

  Jack exhaled and glared at the old assassin. Stop sneaking up on me, old man! I think I peed a little! He put the pair of boots back and turned to where the rogue armour was displayed. Sleek black leather tunics reinforced with fine steel mesh, finger-length pauldrons, and padded bracers. Armour light enough to keep your agility but tough enough to save your life in a tight spot.

  He stroked one of the sets, imagining how it would let him blend in with the shadows, how many more fights he might survive. But again… 1 gold and 80 silvers, he mused in silence, not wanting to give the old man an opening to make him jump again.

  Jack sighed, shaking his head. That would come close to emptying his purse of coin. No, no… focus. You don’t need to look like an assassin; you just need to not get caught. He continued to browse the shop and paused at a display of archery supplies. I’d better get some more cheap practice arrows, he thought, remembering he’d given Toma four of his arrows, which left him with only six of the basic ones. He also had over thirty of the serrated-tipped arrows he’d looted from the rogue, but they weren’t suitable for practising.

  “How much?” he said aloud, this time making the lurking old man jump. Jack smiled at his reaction, having guessed the old man was hiding in his shadow.

  There was a muffled yelp, and the merchant popped up from behind a display stand, dusting off his knees. “Erm, 12… 12 coppers each,” the merchant stammered.

  Ha, caught him off guard. Jack smirked. “I’ll take a dozen cheap ones, please,” he replied, stifling a chuckle.

  The old man squinted at him but said nothing.

  He spent a few minutes trying on archery gloves. Though the bowstring wasn’t bothering his fingers so far, it made sense to wear gloves when practising. They’ll do. Just 5 silvers. He’d grabbed himself a basic pair of leather archery gloves, nothing special about them.

  A central display of small drones caught his attention. Are they spy drones? He picked up one of the beetle-shaped mechanisms. Unlike the similarly shaped messenger drones, these were painted black for stealth. Jack turned the drone over to see if he could figure out what it did. “What do th…”

  He was interrupted by the old man’s voice coming from behind the display. “That one fires a small poison dart,” the shopkeeper said as he walked out from behind the display. “Only 12 gold for the drone. 1 gold per poison dart… the poison’s good for two years, guaranteed.”

  Jack frowned at the old man who kept popping up on him and put the drone back. He must get bored working here all day to spend so much time scaring customers. He looked around the empty shop. Explains why I’m the only customer.

  The old shopkeeper chuckled.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Jack turned his attention back to the mask, the sleek, blackened steel one he was already holding. That’s enough for now, he thought, returning to the counter. “Alright, I’ll take this mask, gloves, and the arrows,” Jack said, placing the items on the counter.

  The merchant gave a satisfied smile. “Good choice. That mask’s enchanted, you know; runes worked into the inside.” He flipped the mask over to show Jack the rune enchantments. “Durability and improved sight runes, plus a handy little air filter rune.” He drew his finger along the various runes as he explained. “Keeps out airborne poisons, blinding powders, it combats anything unpleasant floating in the air.” He sniffed. “I used to use one just like this. Not bad for 40 silvers, eh?”

  Jack blinked. “Wait, 40? That’s… that’s a lot for a mask.” He’d failed to look at the price tag and had assumed it would cost no more than 10 silvers. It was a plain mask.

  The merchant gave a shrug. “Quality’s quality, friend. You want some flimsy tin plate? Go to the market stalls. You want something that’ll stop you coughing your guts out after someone tosses a blinding powder at your face?” He spread his arms wide. “You shop here.”

  Jack exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Mask for 40 silvers.” He gestured at a small display to the side. “What about those smoke pellets?”

  “10 coppers each,” the merchant said. “Cheap batch. Don’t expect fancy effects. They’ll give you a little cover, a few seconds of distraction, that’s all. If you want better.” He pointed to a similar box of pellets. “Those would fill a room this size for over thirty seconds and irritate the eyes of anyone without protection.” He tapped the mask. “Only 1 silver each.”

  Jack grabbed some cheap smoke pellets and set them on the counter. “Five of these.”

  The old man shook his head.

  “And those blinding powders?” Jack asked, eyeing small leather pouches tied with black cord, stacked behind the counter.

  The shopkeeper’s grin widened. “20 coppers each. They’re the weak hallucinogenic ones. Won’t do much against seasoned warriors, but toss it at a common thug or guard? They’ll be seeing double for a minute or two. Might even run screaming to their mommy if they’re the jittery type.”

  Jack chuckled at the imagery. “I’ll take five.”

  “We’ve a batch of stronger blinding powders due in tomorrow, 30 coppers each, stronger hallucinogen,” the old man explained.

  The merchant raised an eyebrow as Jack’s hand drifted to a pile of rolled maps.

  “Local underground routes of Lundun,” the man said. “Sewers, hidden alleys, and old smugglers’ tunnels. 50 silvers for the set. And before you try to haggle, no, I don’t sell them piecemeal. And no, they’re not copied cheaply. I pay good coin to get the latest updates. You won’t find better outside the great noble houses.”

  Jack frowned, calculating in his head. “50 silvers just for the maps?” He’d purchased maps in his past life, and they’d been invaluable for tracking Greaves. He had the future maps and routes memorised, but he needed the current maps, not ones of Lundun twenty-five years in the future.

  “Knowledge saves lives, friend,” the merchant said, his voice a little softer now. “I’ve seen more people get themselves killed stumbling blind through this city than I can count. You don’t want to be one of them.”

  Jack bit his lip, groaning at the cost.

  The total cost rattled through his head.

  Maps, 50 silvers.

  Mask, 40 silvers.

  Leather gloves, 5 silvers.

  Dozen arrows 1 silver 44 coppers.

  Five blinding powders, 1 silver.

  Five smoke pellets, 50 coppers.

  97 silvers and 94 coppers.

  Damn it… That’s almost a gold. I only came here for a cheap mask. Jack tried, of course. “If I’m buying all this at once, can’t you give me a little discount? 85 silvers seems fair.”

  The merchant chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, friend. If anything, you’re underpaying. The mask’s worth the price for the runes alone. You’ll thank me the first time someone tries to gas or blind you. Or you blind yourself; it happens, I’ve seen it.” He chuckled at the irony. “And the maps. They’re what people kill for. No discounts.” He pointed to a sign on the wall which read ‘No Discounts. No Refunds. Unattended Children Will Be Put To Work.’.

  Jack grimaced. “I’m going to be broke again.” He was exaggerating. He still had over a gold; plenty of coin left over for Arman’s wraps and archery training for weeks.

  The merchant smiled. “Better broke and breathing, eh?”

  With a long, reluctant sigh, Jack counted out the coin, watching his hard-earned silvers and coppers vanish into the merchant’s pouch. I need to loot more large swordsmen, he joked in his mind. He’d gotten over a gold from the one kill. I’ll grab his sword and sell it later. He added the dozen arrows to his quiver as the merchant wrapped the mask and tucked the smaller purchases into a black cloth bag.

  The shopkeeper leaned across the counter. “You know, friend, you’ve got the look of someone preparing for something big.”

  Jack gave a thin smile, sliding his purchases into his pack. “Something like that.”

  The merchant chuckled again. “Come back if you live through it. I love a good story.”

  He gave a little nod, adjusting the weight of his bag on his shoulder as he turned towards the door. “Thanks,” he said. “I just might do that.” Of course, he had no intentions of sharing his tales.

  And with that, Jack slipped out of the shadowed shop, stepping once again onto the cobbled streets of Lundun. His purse lighter, his pack heavier, and his next move weighing on his mind.

  “Time to track some adventurers,” he sighed.