Chapter Three: The Deal

Following a hidden passage behind the wine cabinet, the Lame Man moved with utmost caution, not making the slightest sound as he slipped past heaps of rum and spirits, climbed over two large crates filled with smuggled tobacco and sugar, and finally reached a stone wall at the end of the corridor. In the pitch-dark passage, only a sliver of light shone through a crack in the wall. Pressed against the stone, the Lame Man brought his eye close to the light, peering into the room beyond—a small, comfortably furnished chamber illuminated by the glow of a dozen white candles. Around the room, a circle of large chairs draped with animal skins, and in one of them sat Lin Qi, guzzling wine with a peculiar grin that made one want to punch him on sight.

The Lame Man’s pupils shrank to pinpoints. He recognized the bronze flask in Lin Qi’s hand—one of the few bottles of century-old rum left in the Lame Man’s shop, a vintage whose worth could no longer be measured in money, now more legend than inventory. “That damned brat, how did he get his hands on that treasure?” the Lame Man quivered with rage. But his gaze quickly drifted past Lin Qi and settled on Enzo, standing nearby like a drawn sword. The Lame Man’s lips twisted in resignation as he shook his head.

Pressing a hidden spot on the wall, a section of stone slid aside without a sound. The Lame Man emerged with a radiant smile. “Hey there, my favorite little friend—what good things have you brought me this time?” he asked, rubbing his hands together and deliberately avoiding Lin Qi, instead casting greedy eyes toward the bundle under Enzo’s arm. He knew Lin Qi well: unless there was real profit involved, Lin Qi would never set foot in the shop—a young man, but shrewder than any old hand on the street. “A boy with limitless prospects. His father truly has an extraordinary son,” the Lame Man thought.

Seeing him enter, Lin Qi shook the last drops from the flask into his mouth, exhaled in satisfaction, and tossed the bottle carelessly to the floor, the clatter making the Lame Man’s heart ache. Contented, Lin Qi belched, clapped his hands, and called out, “Dear Uncle Lame, whenever I see you, it’s as if I see piles of golden cockerels and silver larks. You’ll give me a price to make me happy, won’t you?”

The Lame Man shot a look at the spinning bronze flask on the ground, then slowly drew a gold coin and a silver coin from his belt. The Seventh Empire’s current gold coin bore the profile of Saint Louis XIII on one side, and a proud rooster on the other—hence, in the underworld, gold coins were called “cockerels.” The latest silver coins, minted with a soaring lark on the reverse, were nicknamed “larks” as well.

With an air of nonchalance, he tossed the coins onto the room’s only small table and raised his head in a laugh. “Uncle Lame here has plenty of lovely little cockerels and larks. So long as my dear little friend brings something I want, price is no object.” Lin Qi belched again as Enzo stepped forward in silence and dropped the bundle heavily onto the table. The Lame Man deftly unwrapped it to reveal six rapiers, their blades coated in oil against rust. Each hilt fit a palm, each blade four feet long, slender and etched with undulating cloud patterns—steel of the highest quality. The tips gleamed with a cold blue light, exuding a deadly sharpness that made them hard to look at directly.

“Oh, what fine little treasures!” The Lame Man’s eyes gleamed as he pounced on the table, his fingers tracing the six rapiers like a lovesick rogue caressing a peerless beauty. His fingertips trembled minutely as he followed each pattern—dense, resilient steel, truly first-rate swords.

He picked up a rapier and flicked his wrist; at once, the candlelight dimmed as a hiss, like a serpent’s strike, sliced through the air and several nearly invisible flashes of cold light shot across the room, stabbing into a suit of armor standing in a corner.

The armor, made mostly of heavy oxhide with palm-sized steel plates at vital points, was shredded like paper by the rapier; even the inch-thick steel at the chest and armpit groaned as the blade pierced through. When the candlelight steadied, the Lame Man inspected the rapier and found only a few hair-thin scratches, with the blade otherwise unscathed. He could not help but click his tongue in admiration. That armor had cost him dearly, acquired from the imperial army’s quartermaster—a standard suit fit for a mid-ranking officer, and yet before this rapier, it was utterly defenseless. Such was the weapon’s piercing power.

Seeing the results of the test, Lin Qi burst out laughing, rubbing his hands with excitement as visions of gold and silver coins danced before him. He grinned at Enzo, “Didn’t I say so? Didn’t I? This batch would surely satisfy Uncle Lame! These took us a lot of effort to get out of the Academy’s armory!”

The Lame Man snorted, carefully laying the rapier back on the table, his eyes narrowed at the six blades, silent and thoughtful.

Lin Qi arched his brows, both hands slipping into his sleeves. Enzo quietly placed a hand at his waist, where a hidden pocket held a sword identical to those on the table. Gauging the distance, Enzo calculated he had a nine-in-ten chance of driving the blade through the Lame Man’s throat.

The candlelight trembled as a current of air disturbed the flames—a silent presence moving in the room. The hairs on the back of the Lame Man’s neck stood on end, as if he were a frog under the gaze of a viper; goosebumps prickled his skin. After a moment’s contemplation, he sneered and shook his head. “Such fine blades in the Academy’s armory? Nonsense. Blades that pierce solid steel an inch thick—many would pay dearly for such treasures. But tell me the truth: where did you get them?”

Enzo’s hand stayed firm on the hilt, his cold gaze fixed on the Lame Man’s throat. Lin Qi, unconcerned, crossed one leg over the other and joked, “Does it matter where they came from? They won’t stay in your hands for long anyway!”

The Lame Man frowned, pondering for a moment before, unexpectedly, he laughed and shook his head. With feigned generosity, he drew a greasy pouch from his chest, scooped out a handful of gold coins, and tossed them on the table.

Lin Qi’s eyes turned golden as he lunged for them with an exultant cheer.