Shopping Spree

Vale was bustling as the morning market opened and merchants began hawking their wares. Sunlight gleamed off of finely gilt chalices and other vessels at a goldsmith’s stall. Farmers set out fresh produce across the way from the shoemaker arranging an appealing display. Next to the shoemaker a tailor draped woven fabrics for perusal. Down a nearby street just off the market square, the scent of fresh baked bread and sizzling meats filled the air.

Strolling along with the morning crowd of shoppers, Altan was getting his ear talked off, all the while his face became progressively more pinched.

“—and I was thinking we could get a couple of nice tapestries to hang on the walls. The stone is so drab; we need some color to liven it up. Maybe get some nice rugs too while we’re here. As for the—”

“Hold that thought.” Without waiting for a reply, Altan snapped his fingers. The slow, steady march of time stopped in its tracks. All around, everyone else had halted mid-motion. The murmur of a hundred different conversations and the distant trilling of songbirds silenced. Just as casually, he conjured up a handkerchief, and then began sneezing convulsively. As soon as the episode was finished, he banished the handkerchief and clapped twice. Time resumed.

He was still sniffling a bit when he said, “Ugh, spring allergies. They’re the absolute worst.”

His companion scowled at him in disapproval, hands on her hips. “Did you just freeze time again? For god's sake, I hate it when you do that.”

“What? It’s a useful trick.” It came in handy when he wanted to mess with his brother. Vilhelm was ever so easy to rile up, but especially so when he failed to determine how Altan managed to pull something off behind his back.

“It’s frivolous is what it is. All that magical power and you use it to stop time so you can have a fit in private?”

“Come on, what’s the point of having magic if I can’t do all the frivolous and dramatic things? I’m not the only one, you know. If you’re feeling left out, you can always join the club.”

“We’ve gotten way off topic here.” She was frowning much more severely at him now, but he ignored it. He’d become desensitized after being on the receiving end of pretty much that same look from everybody except his mother, Gareth, and Old Man Caellach. Vilhelm and Carmen in particular had honed the look like an artform, to the point that they looked uncannily alike when they did it. It was quite the feat considering one was the Holy Knight, pride and joy of the Church of Elaine, and the other was a world renowned thief.

Altan tucked his hands behind his back and started walking once more. “Right, right. Interior decorating for our new clubhouse,” he said flippantly.

“Will you be serious for one moment?”

“Nope!” He shot Carmen a cheeky grin.

Rolling her eyes in irritation, she strode determinedly past him, yanking the hood of his cloak down over his face as she went. He sputtered, and only a quick burst of magic saved him from smashing his face into the nearest stall like an idiot. Grumbling at the indignity, he quickened his pace to catch up to Carmen, who was scrutinizing a tapestry with an intricately embroidered lady petting a unicorn in a field of flowers.

“Was that necessary?” he complained.

Not dignifying the question with an answer, she said, “I should have brought Gareth instead. He at least listens to me.”

“Ah, but I have better fashion sense. Gareth would go for a gothic macabre look and before you know it, we’d be surrounded by skulls and all manner of art pieces depicting strange lizard men worshipping their tentacled eldritch god.”

“That’s oddly specific.” The side-eye she gave him clearly conveyed her disbelief.

He sighed and shook his head at her ignorance. “Clearly you’ve never been to his hometown or seen his tower. By Caellach, that place is occult in every sense of the word.”

“Hmm, if you say so. What do you think about this one?” She held out a different tapestry, a green landscape dotted with birds.

“Of course you’d go for something like this. At least it will match well with all your plant clippings.” For someone as rough around the edges as Carmen, her green thumb and passion for gardening had come as a surprise. “Have you got anywhere to plant them yet?”

A disappointed sigh escaped her lips. “No, but seeing as the fort is in the middle of nowhere woodlands and we’ve no inner courtyard, I suppose I’ll have to make do with the roof.”

Altan stretched up onto his tiptoes to scan the market square. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s a potter around her somewhere. We can pick up a few things for you there.”

“What are we waiting for then? Make yourself useful and create a distraction.”

Altan huffed at being ordered around, but complied anyway. He set his sights on an amateur painter’s stall placed cater-corner to where they were standing. The things were ugly as sin, so he figured he was doing the world a favor by disposing of them. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he willed a spark into being. An instant later, a few canvases caught fire.

Panic spread as people began screaming. Unnoticed in all the hubbub, Carmen rolled up her chosen tapestries and shoved them under her loosely belted shirt. They let the scrambling crowd push them towards the potter and Altan once more made frivolous use of his magic to shrink a few pots and tuck them into his satchel.

Their “shopping” trip complete, it was time to skedaddle. A twitch of Altan’s fingers called up one of his signature shadow portals. They stepped through and were whisked away from the mad panic of the marketplace. They reappeared outside a moss-encrusted stone fortress, never breaking stride. Forcing the double doors open with a dramatic flourish, Altan sang out, “We’re home! And we brought presents!”

Seated at the center of the main hall was a young man, his chestnut hair still sleep tousled into an unmanageable bird’s nest. Legs crossed and hands hanging limp in his lap, he appeared to be meditating.

“How’s the cleaning going?” Carmen asked just as an animated mop swept by, scrubbing vigorously. Meanwhile, Altan set about resizing the pots and the new leatherbound work journal he had nabbed, tuning out the conversation. He examined his catch with a proud grin. Just another day in the life of a disreputable reprobate.