Book Three Chapter Fifteen: En.igma

Book Three Chapter Fifteen: En.igma

In a world that was constantly changing, some things remained the same. Fire still burned, grass still grew, and Mr. Igma still scared Qube. The Chosen One, for once, was not attempting to haggle with the taciturn man, or arguing about economic theory. Instead he was doing something far more dangerous.

He was trying to get to know him.

So, your names Mr. Igma, right? the Chosen One asked the shopkeeper.

Yes, Mr. Igma replied, his frown deepening. Is that all you have to sell? Theres always more things to buy.

So is Mister your name, or do you have an actual first name?

For some reason, itd never occurred to Qube to ask the man shed known her entire life what his first name was. Such a thing wasnt done! But then, this wasnt her Mr. Igma, the one whod terrorised the entire village without ever leaving his shop. Perhaps this brother, or cousin, of her Mr. Igma, was more open to socialisation than the village Mr. Igma.

If youve got goods to sell, Ive got the coin to buy. Mr. Igma looked downright furious at the Chosen Ones overstepping, but none of that anger showed in his voice.

Did this Mr. Igma know that his relative was dead? Had Mr. Clockwork told him? He hadnt reacted to her attempting to give him a letter for the village, so perhaps he didnt know. Or he was just hiding his emotions, like all those who battled in the world of bartering had to.

What if I wanted to buy something? the Chosen One asked in a tone of deep cunning.

Oh no. The Chosen One was trying to be clever to Mr. Igma. Qube was immediately snapped out of her musings and hurried past the rest of the party clustered by the doorway (most of them having now been banned from the store for one reason or another) and skidded to a stop next to the Chosen One just in time to hear the bushy-eyebrowed mans reply.

If youve got goods to buy, Ive got goods to sell, Mr. Igma replied warily.nove(l)bi(n.)com

Chosen One, I dont know what youre doing, but please be careful, Qube interjected worriedly.

Whats for sale? the Chosen One asked.

Everythings for sale, Mr. Igma replied, as he normally did.

The Chosen One pulled out a pouch of coins.

How much is it to buy your first name? he asked triumphantly.

Mr. Igma looked at the pouch of coins. Then he looked at the Hero. Then back at the coins.

You said everythings for sale, right? the Chosen One asked, far too smugly for his own safety. I wanna buy the knowledge of your first name, if you have it.

There was a slow draining away of all expression from Mr. Igmas face as he looked at the Chosen One. He seemed to unfocus, like the Hero did when consulting with higher powers, although thankfully the shopkeeper didnt start drooling on himself.

That item is on the list, but has no price, he said eventually.

Well I guess that means its free, isnt it? the Chosen One said cheerfully, before wincing. Oh, I just became that kind of customer, didnt I? My bad. So, name your price, I guess.

This, Mr. Igma did respond to. He gave the Chosen One a look of undisguised fury and disgust.

Assign a price? the shopkeeper said, like the Chosen One had just suggested he do something filthy. Assign a price not on the list?

Well, sure, its your list, isnt it? the Chosen One said, but even he seemed a little taken aback by the righteous rage of a general store owner asked to improvise.

No, Mr. Igma said, with conviction strong enough to build a house on.

So youre refusing to sell this to me? the Chosen One asked, looking to close the conversation. Guess not everythings for sale then.

Which, far be it for Qube to criticise Royalty, but that still seemed like a very strange and risky way to do things.

Yeah, sure, we can do that, the Chosen One said easily.

And maybe get some rest? Qube added, keeping in mind that itd been at least several days since any of them had eaten or slept.

This time the Chosen One actually paid attention to her, slowing his steps as they walked towards the blacksmiths shop.

Sure, if you want, he said, the breeziness of the words betrayed by the underlying curiosity he couldnt quite conceal.

Well, Squiggles, did you hear that? You can go play, but if you cant find us at the shops, well be at the inn. Do you remember where the inn is? Qube asked their team mascot. Squiggles opened her mouth and drooled in response.

Come on, show me where the inn is! Qube said encouragingly. Squiggles started wagging her tail happily.

Come on Squiggles! Point to the inn so that you can go play! Qube said. After a moment, she gently pushed Squiggless face towards the still smouldering wreckage that was the inn. Squiggles chomped at the inn.

Thats right! Qube enthused. Good job! All right, you can go play now!

Squiggles gave a brief dance, to show her appreciation, before slorping off after the children. Another burst of giggles came from the centre of the empty plaza as the party, minus one pet, walked up to the blacksmiths forge.

Whatcha lookin for? the blacksmith asked, wiping sweat off their impressive brow.

Qube was expecting to be able to have some time to think, since the haggling and trading of weapons was of little use to her, allowing her mind to wander, when the Chosen One surprised her.

I got a friend whos a Healer, he said to the blacksmith, who once again wiped more sweat off of their brow. Their brow didnt seem to be getting any less sweaty, though, so Qube really questioned the effectiveness of such a strategy. What kind of weapon would work for her?

ealer type, huh? the blacksmith asked, pausing halfway through another brow swipe. They tend to like staffs. Use em to cast spells, or, when all else fails, whack their enemies in the ead.

For a moment, Qube thought the Chosen One was referring to the Healer in the Royal Garden who theyd encountered before. It was only after a brief second that she connected the dots to realise that he could be referring to her.

Chosen One, I dont need a weapon, Qube said, frowning at him. Im a Healer, not a Fighter.

Yeah but you should still have something to protect yourself with, the Chosen One said, looking at a rack full of magical staffs.

But Im the Healer, its my job to protect youuheveryone! Qube said, slipping back into her Understanding Smile.

Still, you should have a weapon, the Chosen One insisted.

Qube wanted to protest that she never wanted to hurt anyone and that, as a Healer, it wasnt in her nature to ever injure. But before she could speak, she remembered that she had recently stabbed someone in the heart. Granted, theyd already been dead, but still.

When shed started this quest, she never would have thought shed have been able to overcome her Healer instincts enough to stab a living being. Although thanks to visiting the Mage of Life shed at least learned that her desire to curse people wasnt as un-Healer-like as shed thought.

Oh, she thought, as it clicked into place, easing a worry she hadnt even realised was nagging at her.

Two sides of the same coin. No wonder her inner self looked dead. It wasnt her inner self at all.

It was her other half. As much a part of her as the other side of a coin.

You know what? she said, startling the Hero. Youre right. I do need to take care of myself. All of myself.

Which is how Qube ended up walking out of the blacksmiths forge, holding a bright, white, and ridiculously tall staff.