Two-World Traders (progression fantasy)

Their modest contribution the next morning of a tarnished century-old coin was met with a single, satisfied nod as High Collector Zylas called upon students to present what they had discovered the previous day. When Elias and Harriet returned to their respective desks, he did mention that Millard Fullmore's crypt was kept locked—"I assume you acquired permission and a key"—in response to which Harriet smiled an ambiguous smile.

As the morning went on, presented objects ranged from clever to mundane to a literal live cat that normally roamed the halls of the Gray Academy but evidently did not mind being picked up and surrounded by people. While Pepper was clearly the class favorite, their teacher seemed less impressed.

Days progressed in a blur, and High Collector Zylas's adventurous first assignment proved to be the exception, replaced with an overwhelming amount of reading. Some of it Elias found genuinely fascinating, filling gaps in his understanding of history, though the five-hundred-page anthropological treatise on collector identity in the pre-aviation era would have made for a more interesting essay.

His rapidly evolving relationship with Harriet Thorn, meanwhile, never had a dull moment. Like the woman herself, their entanglement was quick. Whereas his romantic run-ins with Abigail Graystone had been agonizingly ephemeral and far between, his time with Harriet was almost constant. They were in every class together and at every planned and improvised social occasion in the Millard Fullmore Common Room, but it was the moments in between that allowed them to truly discover one another, and discover one another they did. It only took about two days before others began noticing and commenting, Caius before any of them, like he had been waiting for it, and Maria as if she already knew. Indeed, no one seemed surprised, and Elias once again pushed aside an unsettling feeling that they had been set up. It did not change how he felt, so did it matter?

While High Collector Zylas lectured them almost daily in the dim confines of their circular-seated classroom, always in the dignified manner of a respectable scholar, High Collector Redcaller soon yanked them outside of it like a war surgeon severing a limb. Sparring matches were increasingly common, not only under the tutelage of High Collector Redcaller but at all hours of the day. Elias's initial assessment of his competition proved accurate, though some progressed more than others, Keo especially. Even Elias felt that he was getting better, stronger, more disciplined. He had never practiced so much against such formidable opponents. Harriet and Caius, more than any others, kept him on his toes, trading wins and defeats. At one point, Harriet fell on top of him, and they were not certain who had won the match. In the end, they decided—or rather their lips decided—it was to be a mutual victory.

Their practice was all for a purpose, or at least the veneer of one. High Collector Redcaller intended to host a sparring tournament in the coming days. Other collectors would be in attendance, she informed them, watching with interest, evaluating the newly ascendant. There was no prize, but there was certainly pressure.

Wooden swords were the primary, though not the only, weapons with which they trained. On the opposite side of the grounds, in a large empty field between the alder forest and the academy, Lucas Dawnlight oversaw shooting practice. They rotated between different firearms, from flintlock pistols—Elias's usual weapon of choice—to long-range muskets and shorter-range blunderbusses. It hardly matter which gun they used: Elias was the superior marksman in every instance. Unlike sparring, where he had met his match in Harriet and Caius and increasingly Keo, there was no question as to who among them was the best shot. After all, he was the only Serpent Moon collector in their class. The others could not manifest lines to their targets. Even with shorter weapons, which were less precise at a distance, Elias's sight allowed him to compensate for this fact, seeing where the bullet would go rather than where it should have.

"I hate to tell you this, my unyielding pupils, but none of you shall ever wield a pistol as Elias here does," Lucas said between shots, pacing behind them as they stood in a row, shooting glass bottles many yards away. "When it comes to firearms, no skill can match a collector's sight, which only one of you possesses."

"I also spent years shooting scrap metal growing up," Elias mentioned, though he wasn't sure anyone heard him over the boom of Maria's third consecutive missed shot, a cloud of smoke only partially veiling her resigned frown. He assumed Lucas was complimenting him, and yet he did not want credit solely for something so innate. He was a good shot years before he consumed his first relic. He had earned his talents, or so he'd long believed.

After one of their lessons together, about two weeks into Elias's time at the Gray Academy, Lucas asked if he could stay back a moment. The field was empty and quiet as other students disappeared inside, as the two men went for a meandering walk. "I just wanted to check in," his teacher said. "You seem to be acclimatizing well. I could not help but notice you and Harriet have become close. I commend your choice in women."

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"It just sort of happened," Elias said.

Lucas smirked his handsome smirk. "As these things do. Have you learned much? Have you felt your time here has been of value to you?"

Elias nodded. "It's not all new to me, but, well, there's what you can read, and there's what you see with your own eyes. I have a clearer picture of the Valshynar now than I ever could have gleaned secondhand."

"Indeed. In fact, that is what I wished to discuss."

Elias was not sure what Lucas meant by that, and so he waited for him to continue.

"The Valshynar are united, but we have our disagreements," Lucas explained. A strong gale tussled his flaxen hair, a loose strand marking his cheek like a long scar.

"I've picked up on that," Elias replied. "I don't wish to pry"—that was not entirely true—"but I'll admit I have heard that you and Mr. Grimsby do not always see eye to eye. Perhaps those rumors are only that."

"Sadly, there is some truth to them, though you should know that I deeply respect the old man." Lucas paused as if weighing how much to divulge next, though Elias suspected his hesitation was, more than anything, a display of etiquette, the necessary overture that preceded one high collector criticizing another. "The same man who helped build a people up can, decades later, hold them back. It is a tale as old as time. The present does not discredit the past, but it is the present we live in.

"You didn't hear it from me, but Bartholomew Grimsby can be… the most subtle manipulator on the continent, so much so that I'm unsure he even realizes he's doing it. It's how he built his company and helped bring the great schools together, one at a time. He gives you what you want, then takes just a little more for himself in return. Again, I respect the man. He's effective, very effective."

This was a side of Mr. Grimsby that Elias had never observed or, perhaps, had simply missed. Assuming he accepted Lucas's assessment. Elias left his cards face down.

"You've seen the crescent moon table we sit at, we five high collectors, each representing a school of the past. It is a picture of equality, but a picture is all it is, Elias. We act as if we are so different from the regulars, and yet at our core we are essentially the same." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a relic he pinched between his fingers, its translucent faces reflecting twinkles of jade and amber in the gray light of the late afternoon. "All of our power is tied up in this.

"The question," Lucas went on, "is who controls the relics? And the answer to that is, more than anyone else, High Collector Grimsby. The Transcontinental Trading Company not only gives him considerable leverage in the Trader's Guild—but here as well. Much of his personal fortune is generously donated to the Valshynar, but of course he is buying power, isn't he? Money is never given freely, even when that is the intention, though I am not entirely convinced of his irreproachable altruism. Regardless, the end result is the same. He brings in half the relics that power the Valshynar."

"Is that really a bad thing?" Elias wondered. They had created more distance from the Gray Academy, its stately structure appearing smaller and somehow less solid in the light of Lucas's revelation. "Wouldn't you do the same in his position? Surely, the Valshynar still benefit from Mr. Grimsby's wealth, and perhaps the resulting power differential truly is incidental."

Lucas did not look convinced. "The problem is this," he said. "No one else is permitted to grow and run anything like The Transcontinental Company. There are other ventures and assets under our control, sure, but with far more oversight than Mr. Grimsby's. His business predates unification. 'Grandfathered in' is how they put it. Oh, their reasons sound logical, and yet others cannot do precisely what Mr. Grimsby does, not even a high collector like me. So, I ask, what kind of equality is that? And for what purpose?" Lucas let his questions linger. "Because he would rather stay in control than allow others to expand our resources, to increase our influence in the wider world when we have so much to offer it. And that, Mr. Vice, is when you know a leader is past his prime."

Elias did not know what to say. Mr. Grimsby had always been kind to him, his humble presence always a welcoming oasis among the entitled socialites of Sailor's Rise. And Lucas—Lucas had been no less generous. Elias would not have won The Emerald Cup without that last-minute maneuver of his, blocking Edric Graystone from the finish line. Had anyone else ever done him a favor of that magnitude before? Had he wanted, Lucas could have won the race himself and, in forgoing victory, effectively gifted The Two Worlds Trading Company a not-at-all-insignificant fifty-thousand relics. Lucas's own words suddenly echoed in his mind: "Money is never given freely."

"You are a rare exception in more ways than one, Elias," Lucas said. "Due to your unlikely upbringing, it appears your small company has also been 'grandfathered in.' I would be wary of expanding too much, however, at least while Mr. Grimsby is still around."

Elias considered the warning and took umbrage at his use of the word "small." The Two-Worlds Trading Company was the ninety-ninth largest firm in Rise, at least as determined by revenue. But pride was not the only uneasy emotion stretching the edges of his worldview. "May I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Why are you giving me this information? What about the others?" Elias turned to find them, but his classmates had already disappeared inside the academy.

Lucas stopped beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "So that you may do with it what you wish. You are not like them—at least, most of them." He winked casually, though his words were anything but. "Just be your own man, my friend."