Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 4: 4. Suffering for Profit

Read chapter 4 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

4. Suffering for Profit I am Ren Drakemore, age 5, and I am the unwanted second prince of the kingdom of Arcadia. But one day, I will be King. https://shadowsoverarcadia.com/api/storage/objects/uploads/94d9f12d-768f-4ec3-a12d-51b487be4617 Lady Willow and I continue down the cobblestone road toward the apothecary. We are only a few storefronts away when, to my surprise, she suddenly turns right, heading toward a second building. It is much larger and even more opulent. Like a cathedral, it is overwhelming in its grandeur, with towering spires, intricate carvings, and gilded adornments. Every inch seems to scream wealth and power. Above the entrance, a large marble sign inlaid with gold declares in bold letters: Merchant’s Guild. A cathedral indeed, but one devoted to coin, not gods. “Before we can sell our potions, I need to register with the Merchant’s Guild,” Willow says. “Why?” “It’s the law. You can’t do business in the kingdom without being registered.” “But why?” I ask again, more firmly. “Why do we need permission just to sell something?” “Perhaps I can explain the local economy to you later,” Willow says gently. “But this isn’t the time or place.” That answer isn’t very satisfying, but as we step through the massive double doors, my next why gets lost in my awe at the sheer extravagance of this place. The Merchant’s Guild is enormous, more like a palace than a place of business. The floor stretches out in polished marble, veined with gold and silver that catch the light streaming through stained glass windows high above. Towering columns line the main hall, each carved in the likeness of legendary mages and dragons, their eyes set with colored gems. They glint in the light of a giant crystal chandelier hanging overhead. It radiates a sense of obscene excess. The air carries the faint scent of polished stone and ink. Despite the building’s grandeur, the hall is mostly empty, save for a few merchants and nobles seated along the outer edges. They are seated at large, ornate tables, likely in the midst of negotiations or signing contracts under the watchful eyes of guild attendants. Willow leads me toward the far end of the hall, where a service counter awaits. Behind it stands a surly-looking attendant, his sharp features locked in a permanent scowl. As we approach, his eyes sweep over us with thinly veiled annoyance. "What do you want?" he asks curtly. Unfazed by his rudeness, Willow Answers. "I wish to register," her calm demeanor a stark contrast to his impatience. The attendant hands Lady Willow a form with a gruff, “Fill this out.” She picks up a quill from the counter and scrapes it across the parchment in a blur. I glance over her shoulder and see that the form asks for basic information, including her name, the products she intends to sell, and where she plans to sell them. It all seems simple and routine. Or at least it does, until the attendant drops a hefty book onto the counter. Its cover is stamped with gold lettering that reads: Merchant Guild Rules. “The registration fee is five silver coins,” the attendant says briskly. “Also, by signing this form, you agree to follow all guild rules outlined in this manual.” He taps the tome for emphasis. “Understood,” Lady Willow replies, accepting the book with one hand while retrieving coins from her storage bag with the other. “Oh, and the manual costs ten silver coins,” the attendant adds with a smirk. They charge you to read the rules they’re forcing you to follow. What a scam! “So, fifteen coins, then,” Willow says calmly, placing the coins on the counter without the slightest hint of annoyance. The attendant quickly counts the silvers, then retrieves a blank metal card from beneath the counter. He places it into a black box, which emits a small flash of light. When the card emerges, it now bears Lady Willow’s name, her home guild, registration number, and business type: Retail Sales. Willow accepts the card and slips it, along with the manual, into her bag. We both