The Purchase That Didn't Go So Well

A long line is up there with one of the last things a person would want to see after making an 1100 mile 14 day trek through most of the world’s most unflattering wonders like barren deserts and villages taken over by predatory salesmen. That certainly wasn’t what our protagonist of the story, a 42 year old pushing out of shape man, wanted to see, coming up on top of the largest and most treacherous hill since 45 minutes ago. Upon laying eyes on the snake of people in front of him, Dr. Amadeus R Beckentower was brought to his knees into the dirt and grassy ground in a moment that should have been ecstatic but instead replaced with feelings of anything but. 

Beckentower buried his face into his bruised and beaten palms, struggling not to wet them with his own tears. It was an awkward scene, if you had to witness it. A man dressed in all black head to toe wallowing on the ground with the depression of his bad choices, and the much shorter plump man beside him looking awkwardly around while holding what looked like enough supplies to support the entire town they were arriving at. 

After enough time fighting for his life in the same spot waiting, to the smaller man's relief, Beckentower finally looked up and out at the city gates just below them.

“What kind of town has a line to get in?” Beckentower muttered in frustration, making his way up and helping his partner by adding his water canteen to the smaller mans right hand, counteracting the mismatch of the weight of everything he was holding in his left.

“I almost wonder if it’s even worth it…” Beckentower said mopily, suddenly looking back at the rollercoaster of hills they’d just made their way from.

“I mean we’re already here.” His partner said frantically, not so much caring about why they were there but mainly just praying he could get a second to put all the stuff down.

“I guess you’re right, Horatio.” Beckentower said fondly to his assistant before taking a deep breath and leading the way. He was right, they were already here and they were going to return this faulty crystal ball no matter how many more lines they’d have to wait through.

The line wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. In the sense that at least they didn’t die from the dehydration that came with waiting out in the scorching heat for nearly a quarter of the day. It definitely gave Beckentower more than enough time to ponder things about his life that he didn’t like to think about, like how many more failed heists a villain of his age in these times could financially put up with before having to lay off his last remaining assistant, eyeing Horatio as he thought that. He almost had enough time to think about Grivalda – a name that instantly filled him with dread, but stopped himself. 

“Do you plan to enter the town of Omindale?” was probably one of the stupidest things you could be asked at the end of a torturous wait like that, but that didn’t stop them from being asked that by the guard anyway. They both nodded, and in an even more stupid sequence of events, were then admitted into the town just like that. 

It was a fairly bustling place for a town in 1363. Having just come off a devastating famine only years ago, you wouldn’t have guessed it by the abundance of merchants lined up beside the many grass pathways, all of their carts each filled with strange fruits and produce that Beckentower felt he hadn’t seen before.

They were a bit overwhelmed by the far too many choices of which direction to go in, and so Beckentower reached into one of the many bags his assistant Horatio was carrying and began rummaging around for the reason they were here. 

“Which bag is it in!” He said frustratedly, having gone completely through the first before being jostled around by all the traffic passing by. It wasn’t the best idea to drop and search for things in the middle of a busy street, but then again it wasn’t a villain’s place to think about these kinds of things either. 

Horatio didn’t remember and so they finally pulled over to the side and practically cleaned out shop but not before he finally landed on the crown jewel. He pulled out a solid black box, marked only with small white writing containing just a single address. It was kind of mysterious. It was all they needed but in the commotion of it all, Beckentower wanted to make sure the contents were still okay.

He peeled the box open. And there it was, a small but precisely and elegantly crafted crystal clear ball, surrounded by little puffs of light gray fog dancing around the sides of the box. It still looked untouched– which was exactly how a piece of garbage product you’d hope to get your money back for should be. 

“I can’t believe you let me buy this thing Horatio.” Beckentower murmured, staring deeply into the little ball in his hands. 

“Actually, I advised considering doing more research,” Horatio replied nervously, double checking his bosses expression before continuing, “But yes that was my job I guess.” 

Beckentower placed the useless merchandise back into the box carefully and resealed it. You couldn’t call it crazy to think that a crystal ball would do things like show you whatever you’d like to see, or predict the future, or hell even place an order for carry out. But the garbage he’d bought didn’t just do none of that, it barely even turned on. And when it did, it worked like a CCTV camera, limited to just showing live footage of select areas around the kingdom. And tasteless areas too. It’d be cool if you were interested in looking at random dirt all day in the middle of a forest, but at that point you’d be able to just see it better in person.

If Beckentower was being honest with himself he did reactionarily buy the ball without really considering other options. It was just that it was in a moment of rage and frustration, and the thought of being able to spy on the woman who had caused him to feel that way wasn’t just appealing, but the solution. And the serf advertising the stupid thing was also pretty good.

The problem was that returning things in the 1300’s wasn’t as easy as it sounds. There weren’t really many ways to actually get in contact with the original vendor and most of the time, you’d hope to scrap what you bought for parts. But this ball was just too useless and most importantly way too expensive to just let go. The thought of making the journey to this place was the last resort on Beckentower’s mind, and believe me he made Horatio exhaust all his options and threaten an embarrassingly high amount of people before concluding he had no choice. They were gonna have to go.

Beckentower was the most miserable villain in the world at this very moment, swatting gnats and what felt like bottles of sweat off his face, as they made their way up yet another hill to a small, trashy looking shack at the top.

“What kind of hellish spells have been cast on this place,” he gasped, pausing to catch his breath, shocked by a relentless heat he’d never experienced in his life–and he’d just finished going through a desert. 

If he’d known how hot the world could get, he may have packed better, but his dark black cloak, matched by his dark black linen pants, topped with his dark black hood and cape was a staple of his image. Beckentowers rolled up sleeves were now more useless than the ball, and in a decision he could nearly never be seen doing, he removed his cloak and threw it onto the list of stuff Horatio was carrying.

Horatio grunted in response, partially because he always forgot how obnoxiously heavy that cloak could be, and his knees nearly buckled. Suddenly, he felt compelled to snap back at his boss or hell, even quit – if an unpaid intern like Horatio could even call it that. But a deep breath managed to convince him otherwise, for now.

Through unquestionable perseverance, the two unfit warriors finally found themselves in front of not one foreclosure looking shack, but many, many foreclosure looking shacks scattered around the flattened hill top with seemingly no care at all. There were great distances between some, and nearly no room for Jesus between others. No one else being there was certainly off putting too. 

Conveniently enough, the very first shack they had seen matched the address on their box – 7200 Barley Way. Beckentower felt a pang of disappointment thinking how he had spent a fraction of his life making his way towards… that. He knocked on a sorry excuse for a door, praying it would make it through the knocks.

“Hello, can anyone assist us?” He called. No answer. He knocked, putting the door’s life in danger again.

“Any idiot home to help?” Beckentower repeated, frustrated. 

Silence. Then, suddenly, there was shuffling in the back, and after a few seconds of what sounded like two bulls in a china breaking competition, a small, stocky man pulled aside curtains to the window beside the door.

“Who are you?” The man asked, but his eyes then widened a bit at the sight of them. Maybe the crook had never expected to see someone actually return his junk, Beckentower thought.

“Hi yes, my name is Beckentower. I’m here to return a crystal ball I purchased from what 

I believe is this address.”

“Hm one second.” The man paused before rummaging around beneath the window for a bit. He then closed the curtains to just a crack leaving only his mouth and nose barely visible. Beckentower and Horatio looked at each other puzzled. After a few minutes he called out.

“At the next window please.”

The next window wasn’t much better than the before window. Closed and beaten ribbed shutters separated the villains from the man, only able to catch a small glimpse through the little openings.

“Hello, my name is Cornel-Corney-Cor…Cornelius” The man struggled for some reason, “And I can assist you with the return of your product. I’m sorry to hear it wasn’t what you expected. Would you like an upgrade?”

“What? No I would like to return this.” Beckentower placed the junk on the window sill. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. What is the reason?” Cornelius asked.

“It’s junk.” Beckentower started, “I can’t monitor my employees, I can’t see the things or people I need to see.” He spat.

“I see. We pride ourselves on our customer satisfaction, and privacy is also very important. We pride ourselves that our crystal balls come with state of the art privacy-”

“And that’s about all it comes with.” Beckentower butted. No response from Cornelius. “Can I get my refund.”

“Customer satisfaction is our utmost priority, in fact it’s 100% guaranteed!” Cornelius began, “Would you like an upgrade? Your ball will be ad free”

“Upgrade? No! I want a refund sir!” Beckentower demanded.

“I’m sorry to hear it wasn’t what you expected,” Cornelius began, “Privacy is very important to us. Would you like to explore our other options?”

All this time, Horatio’s anger had been bubbling up like a baking soda volcano experiment.

“Goddammit!” Horatio shouted, dropping everything he was carrying and seething to the point Beckentower worried he would explode, “Just give us our money back!”

Silence followed that, that Cornelius finally broke.

“I can’t give you a refund, but I can offer you free admission to a couple of these Gentlemen’s clubs.”

Horatio and Beckentower looked at each other defeated. They both felt it was a lost cause. So in a snappily fashion, they grabbed the coupons he was holding out and left.

Beckentower and Horatio found themselves scouring outside of a small but lively pub, deciding that enough of turning down every restaurant was enough and they were going to eat here no matter what.

They were quickly escorted to their small table in the back, where the cozy lanterns that hung around the perimeters did less to help them see. They were both in pretty sour moods.

“Horatio I’m so disappointed,” Beckentower spoke, looking out at the others in the pub “I don’t think I’ll compensate your expenses for this trip. I just don’t feel good.” 

“Wha-what?” Horatio uttered, wondering how on earth he would afford it.

“No I won’t cover your lodging or food, I’m sorry.” He looked at Horatio who was looking at the table, visibly upset, “You work for a crook, Horatio, what do you expect?”

The waiter, a short and younger woman, pulled up beside them.

“Hi, welcome to–” She stopped herself upon making eye contact with Beckentower and grinned.

“You’re that Villian aren’t you!” She said excitedly. Beckentower was a tad surprised to be recognized so far from his hometown, hell he was barely acknowledge in his own, but he had to admit it did feel nice and he couldn’t hide a sly grin.

“You’re work in the Basaltin Empire was remarkable. The way you stole their kings palace in it’s entirety. That’s legendary!” 

 He was a bit puzzled. He never did that. Although he’d heard of that event and was bothered he hadn’t been the one to do it. To save her the embarrassment however, he played along.

“Yes, one of my easier jobs.” He responded nonchalantly. There was a bit of a pause before she remembered what she was there for and took their order. 

Them sitting in silence likely made the wait feel longer than it was, but both would be lying if they said they felt better seeing their food come out.

Beckentower’s pub burger seemed to stack a mile high, and his eyes grew two sizes upon seeing it. It was a bad day to be Beckentowers burger, and the moment it was placed down, he took a massive, career ending bite out of the burger.

He spit it out instantly like someone had tried to poison him.

“Pickles?! I said no pickles!” Beckentower brought his fist down on the table and looked at Horatio.

“I’ve absolutely had it with this side of the world! We’re out of here!” He barked.

Horatio’s fried cod on the other hand had been cooked to perfection and he wanted nothing more than to eat it, but Beckentower was fed up and he insisted, getting up and scanning his surroundings.

“But we haven’t paid!” Horatio worried, also praying he could find an excuse.

“We’re villains, we don’t get paid to do the right thing.” He snapped, and hurriedly made his way towards the exit, Horatio following behind frantically.

There were many guards in the city streets at night, Beckentower noticed, and being fed up with this place he didn’t shy away from catching each and every one of their gazes as he passed by. But it was in the way that every guard immediately looked away, like they were trying to hide their thoughts that suddenly reminded him of the way Grivalda couldn’t be bothered to look him in the eyes in the deterioration of their relationship. And it made him feel sick.

Beckentower didn’t imagine he’d be happier seeing the city gates on the way out versus on the way in, but he couldn’t hold back his smile when the two white and gray pillars nesting the gate in between appeared in the distance. 

The few people crazy enough to leave at night were exiting as easily as they’d gotten in. 

“Sir, please step this way” The guard motioned, but Beckentower was puzzled having just seen the person in front leave just fine.

“What’s going on?”

“Foreigners must go through customs.” The guard commanded leading him into a dimly lit room inside the walls, Beckentower slowly growing queasy. 

“What makes you think I’m a foreigner?”

“Please.” The guard ignored and then gestured to a plain pedestal sitting alone in the middle of the room, with a mammoth book rivaling the dictionary barely fitting on it.

Beckentower brushed a heap of dust off the cover to get a better look and wondered just how little tourism this terrible town had. 

“Exit surveys are important for you to leave. Mr. Beckentower we ask you provide feedback on your time here in Howendale.”

Beckentower, eager than ever to leave, flipped to the first page ready to provide feedback more vile than the things Grivalda used to say to him when suddenly his blood ran cold. Slowly, he looked up at the guard who was glaring back at him.

“How… how do you know my name?” 

“Exit surveys are important for you to leave.” The guard commanded, pointing firmly to the book.

Deeply unsettled, Beckentower shakily held the pen in his hand bringing it near to the page when he stopped. Someone had already obnoxiously written all over it leaving no space to put anything else. He began to turn the page when the name at the bottom caused him to take a double take. With a sense of dread, he read the ill written message from the person before him.

“To my wretched ex husband,

I hope you burn in hell.

Love Grivalda.” 

A click brought Beckentowers attention back up to the guard whose hands were over a  comically large lever he hadn’t noticed before.

For a split second the world stopped, and then just like out the page of a fairy tale, the villain had no choice but to meet his fate at the bottom of a pit filled with I’d rather not say but I’ll leave you with this. There was now definitely no one who would reimburse Horatio.