Two-World Traders (progression fantasy)

Flying into New Garden felt like returning home. The verdant state was not Elias's home, nor was it Bertrand's or Briley's, but New Garden possessed, in perfect abundance, all the qualities commonly associated with an idealized domestic existence. No, New Garden was not the home one grew up in. New Garden was the lost fantasy of nostalgic adults who tired of modernity.

After flying over a dozen or so quaint countryside hamlets, The Crimson Voyager descended gently into the only large (but not too large) city for miles around. Adelbury was hardly uncivilized, however. On the contrary, many rich residents of Sailor's Raise had second homes in or around the New Garden capital. Bertrand's sister, Sorea, had even lived on the outskirts of Adelbury until a divorce ended her own domestic dream a year back. The announcement hadn't surprised anyone, and she was not sad to go.

One rich resident of the Rise who still held onto her secondary abode in Adelbury was Amara, Bertrand's girlfriend of nearly two years. Those first few months between them had been somewhat ambiguous, but now the pair were as solid as mortared stone. All of which is to say that Amara had decided, at the last minute, to join them on their excursion. By contrast, Elias and Briley rarely visited the charming city, despite its close proximity to Sailor's Rise, as they traveled so frequently for work that neither could fathom doing so for pleasure.

The four were strolling down the main road through town, Maple Avenue—all roads in Adelbury had tree-themed names—when Elias commented, "Maybe I'll get myself a second home here one of these days." A cloud of breath passed through his vision as he spoke.

"You don't have a first home," Bertrand pointed out. "You rent, though your new apartment is much nicer than your last one."

"And you still live with your parents."

"Fair is fair," the bigger man admitted. "I must say, it is a tad early for all these Solstice Eve decorations." Nose slightly scrunched, Bertrand scrutinized the scene before them, eyeing the garland-wrapped lampposts and the two-story spruce at the center of town, adorned with silver ornaments and candles that were lit every evening. It was still afternoon, though the sun was setting earlier and earlier.

"Well, I love them," Amara said. "Solstice Eve is a warm, cozy hearth amid the cold, dreary months of winter. Why not have the fire burning a little longer?"

Bertrand could not, and did not, argue with that. "I suppose I like them too, truth be told, but I also really like judging things. Places. People. Traditions."

Alas, it took some effort criticizing a locale as lovely as Adelbury. Unlike those of most large cities, the cobblestone roads were well treed and relatively sanitary. The park statues and presently frozen fountains were plentiful enough to keep local artists comfortably employed. The gable-roofed stores and houses, while small in structure, were big in character and color, many displaying their own Solstice Eve decorations.

But the loveliest edifice in all of Adelbury, that which it was best known for, was the theater at its center. The Elm Theater rose above the low city like a great cathedral, like the sort of place that pulled tourists and wanderers into its gravity. From above—for it was a sight to behold whenever they landed or departed—the building was the shape of three coppers laid in a triangle, each coin slightly overlapping the others. The round wings had their own intricate stages, which meant the complex had few windows, though arched stonework kept it from looking like a monolith.

Adelbury may have been modest in size, but one would not mistake it for a backwater. The picturesque city was the theater center of the whole Great Continent.

"I'm acquiring us tickets for tomorrow evening," Amara reminded them. "It's the last weekend they're performing The Cobbler's Mistress, and I, for one, will not forgo this fleeting opportunity."

No one opposed the idea. Elias was not sure that particular play would have been his first choice, though he trusted Amara knew best. "I can pay you back," he said, "for our tickets."

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She simply laughed at him. "I'll go do that and ready the cottage while you three conduct your… questionable business." She called it a cottage, but Bertrand had assured them that it was, in reality, a full-sized house with room enough to comfortably sleep all four of them.

They thanked her in advance as Amara departed their party and left them to their—well, "questionable business" was an apt description.

* * *

Unlike the Elm Theater scaling the horizon behind them, Adelbury City Hall was a suitably sized structure for the population it served. Indeed, the building looked like it could have been someone's very nice, rather large house. Elias, Bertrand, and Briley entered through the double door—there was a notable lack of security compared to the House of Merchants—and walked over to a gray-haired woman slumped behind a single, glossy desk amid an otherwise empty entrance hall. She craned her neck toward them with the speed of a tortoise.

They recognized the woman from their previous dealings with the city, and though they had spoken with her at least three times before, she had never given them her name, nor did she ever appear to recognize them in return.

"Welcome to Adelbury City Hall." She spoke with no enthusiasm and yet, in spite of this, what sounded like a great amount of effort on her part, pumping each word from her lungs like air from a bellows. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Good afternoon, ma'am." Bertrand stepped forward. "We were hoping you could assist us with a small logistical matter."

"That would depend"—she inhaled, exhaled—"on the small logistical matter."

"I believe we've met before. I'm Bertrand Fairweather. Standing behind me are my colleagues, Briley Soren and Elias Vice. We run The Two Worlds Trading Company." He spoke each sentence like an offering to her memory.

Nothing in the woman's heavily hooded eyes appeared to register any of it. Nor did she offer her name this time, like every time, perhaps reasoning it wasn't worth the strained effort. She did, however, mention they would need to respond to an official request for proposal if they were seeking new business with the city.

"We're not here to pitch you," Bertrand assured her.

She looked almost relieved.

"Like I said, ours is only a minor matter. We already have a contract with Adelbury."

"Company name?" she asked.

"I just told—" Bertrand stopped himself. "The Two Worlds Trading Company."

"And you have a contract with Adelbury?"

"We do."

"When was the contract signed?"

"Therein lies the issue, you see. We know we signed the paperwork on the nineteenth day of spring, but our contract is dated the seventeenth." Having determined that the best lies utilize some truth, Bertrand showed the woman their contracts with Victoria Bane and Adelbury, respectively. "We traveled three days to get here, and I do recall being rather sleep deprived during that journey. The mistake was mine. I believe I lost track of time and wrote down the wrong date, and you may have copied my error."

The secretary squinted at him. She reached beneath her desk and flopped upon its lustrous surface a tome weighty enough to kill a man. She cracked open the thick, leather-bound book, flipped through a few hundred pages, then retrieved a second, equally large volume she stacked on top of the first. After a silent minute, her finger stopped.

"The Two Worlds Trading Company," she finally said. "A quarterly import of cobrium. Payment per delivery of one thousand, one hundred relics." She spoke as if her young listeners were deaf. "Date of contract: the seventeenth of spring."

"As I mentioned, it could not have been the seventeenth," Bertrand reminded her. "We know it was the nineteenth. We're just trying to rectify our records—rectify my mistake." He placed a hand on his heart.

"And our records say it was the seventeenth."

"I understand this, I do. But that date is simply impossible." He gestured back toward the two contracts he had provided as proof.

"Yours also says the seventeenth," the woman said.

"Which is precisely my point," he explained, walking her through it all again more slowly. "I made the mistake. You merely copied my error."

"We do not make, or copy, errors."

"I'm asking you to use your judgment."

"It is not my job to use judgment," the secretary said. "I am an impartial servant of the City of Adelbury. The record book says it was the seventeenth. I do not question the record book. I do not alter the record book. The record book serves Adelbury, and I serve the record book."

* * *

"Well, fuck. That didn't work," Briley said as soon as they exited City Hall.

"It was a valiant effort, Bertrand," Elias offered.

"I expect I would have better luck charming a brick wall." Bertrand sighed. "What now?"

"Time to come up with a new plan," Elias said.

"Right." Bertrand paused, looking suddenly distracted before adding, "I have a date this evening with Amara. Mind if we reconvene tomorrow? We'll figure something out, I'm sure. Pretty sure."

"Go get ready for your date," Briley told him.

Bertrand nodded, thanked them, and departed with an awkward wave.

"He seems a bit… off," Elias observed.

Briley shrugged, watching a lamplighter light oil lamps along the cobblestone street directly in front of them. Adelbury was even more charming in the amber bath of evening lamplight. The gentle glow of stores, restaurants, and taverns—of which the city had a good many—invited them to sink in. "I suppose we're getting a beer," she said.

"Not interested in a romantic stroll down Maple Avenue?" Elias nudged her shoulder.

"Only if it takes us to a pub."

"A pub and a new plan: two things I forever find myself in need of."