Coins clinked together as a hand pushed and piled them, the hustle and bustle from inside filling the office. The Twofold Bank was a flurry of activity, where petitioners and secretaries argued with each other, debts were paid, and most importantly, money was flowing through. Nothing interested Erwin more than old-fashioned money. It was the lifeblood of nations, the forefather of luxury and just about the best commodity the world had seen. The Banker walked among his employees, assuring that each and every one of them maintained a steady hand and firm voice, declining the weakest of petitions and handling his precious money with the utmost care. Only his money mattered. Oh that and his daughter, of course. He'd already seen to five potential suitors, all rich and bloated members of the Merchant's guild, but none were worthy of his precious daughter's hand. At that thought, he wondered where Trinity was.
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The witch wouldn't go down any further on the price. The summer air whirled around the marketplace, where spices and fragrance intermixed with sweat and earthy smells, and Trinity had already spent the best part of an hour haggling.
"This is the best talisman I can offer, girl. It will protect you through illness, and spite, and is very durable, yes?" the cackling woman offered, "And is very good price, too, very good."
Trinity inspected the beads, content with the wooden frame and glass interiors, it was all for show, of course, there was no doubt that the make was poor, not handcrafted but rather a product of factory. She placed it back.
"I need something that won't break easily, Shaman, something that I can hold on my person for a very long time."
"Then I show you," the Shaman straightened from her hunched position and went underneath the stall. She came back up with a rotting box, clearly from an era past, and took delicate care in opening it. "You see what you like?"
Trinity moved over, and looked in. Most of the talismans there were rough, unlike those laid out for view, dusty and forgotten. But they were reliable. She almost smiled. It reminded her of a long lost friend. She delved into the box to take out a wiry necklace. Around it were coins, though were they were from she did not know, which was odd because she was already familiar with coinage from near and far. But what had caught her eye was the faded jewel in the center of it all. It almost spoke to her, and she had decided.
"This, Shaman, I'd like this."
The witch sighed deeply, and her face scrunched up into a ball of distaste.
"This no ordinary Talisman, girl. Is not cursed, but foolish choice. For you, I sell for 3 Silvers."
The banker's daughter recoiled at the tone, it was not like the homely voice she was used to. However, her choice had been made. The purchase was sealed with a spit on their hands, and Trinity made her way home. It was most unusual. Paying no more attention to it, she made her way home, the talisman chinking with every step.
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The coast was much closer now, and seagulls flocked to welcome the ship as it came into harbor. The Prince stepped down the gangplank, rotting away and creaking as every foot became a shorter distance to home. At first, Frederick contained the sheer joy he felt as the saltwater whipped across the dock, the familiar sights of hardworking fishermen and factories clanged in the far distance. He found great difficulty in slipping past the huge crowd, compressed and compacted together, and all the while his mind raced with what he was to do, when he was to do it and where. There was doubtless the costs that came with it, but he had a lot of catching up to do. Behind him, Gridion and Gunther yelled after him, but he paid them no mind. These streets were his, and his only, and he knew every crook and cranny whereas his two comrades did not. He would lose them in two corners, and that he did. Stopping to catch his breath, he came to realise that half the townsfolk seemed to be staring at him as if he were some plucked chicken, and he scowled. Frederick, Royal Prince and heir apparent had suddenly appeared after a decade abroad, amongst the common people, in the centre of Yorke. Rather odd. He already envisioned his father's men hurrying back to deliver the news, and that meant the Prince had very little time to spare. He vanished into the crowd once more.
The commonfolk seemed to be more mindful, making a path for him. Some miners laden with load took great care in giving him sufficient space. It touched him slightly. They revered the phantom prince, and it was a comfort to know that Silverian tradition had not been broken yet. As he came out onto the Merchant's quarters, the conditions improved greatly. The lime washed walls almost blinded him, and the damp smell of the dockyard was instead replaced by an almost citrus-like scent. The cobbled roads were a vast improvement over the dirt tracks that passed before, and the tastes of privelage became known. Making a few stops at stalls with shocked owners and old compatriots, he eventually made his way into the Bank, humming a cheerful tone as he did so, biting an apple and wincing at it's bitternesss.
As expected, the interior glittered with a lukewarm golden shine, the profits and wealth of at least 25% of the city reflected in the gold and silver mounds, safely kept under lock and key, whilst workers rushed back and forth carrying stacks of paperwork. A single aisle divided the bank into two, with one side taken up by desks with harassed secretaries behind them and another with the lines of hopeful men and women, attracted by the prospect of striking a gold vein in depositing their hard earned money in the viper's den. Ink quills worked away, and it all felt like a colony of ants striving to achieve a united goal : to get stinking rich. A particularly tired lad bumped into Frederick, and too exhausted to care, fumbled a bit before moving on. At the end of the aisle stood a well dressed man, his suit cut to his standard and accentuating every feature. A single monocle rested on his brow, and a stopwatch hung loosely on his midriff. This was the man he was looking for. Without a care in the world, Frederick rushed forwards, throwing aside the apple cork, drawing his thin officer's sabre in a heartbeat, with every step a menacing action in itself. A bodyguard noticed, and bravely stepped forward to put himself between his boss and this seemingly madman. Meanwhile, the well-to-do man busied himself with a report, unaware of the challenger.
The bodyguard met Frederick's advance with a brutal looking machete, eying his opponent with resolve. He might've known who he was, but in the end, he posed a threat to the boss, and prince or not, he was an enemy. Raising the blade, he brought it down with an explosive grunt, cleaving air for a second. Sidestepping smartly, Frederick tapped the heavier man on the shoulder blades with the flat of his sword, pressing on. The machete clattered, and Frederick continued unopposed. The fall of the weapon alerted the gentleman at last, who gave a rather unmanly shriek, and threw the papers up in vain. Like blossoms, they gently drifted, and by the time the first had reached the floor, the sabre pointed precariously at his throat.
"Fred, I didn't think you'd be back home by now!" he stammered, "I would've given you a better welcome than-than this!"
"Erwin, where's my money?"
"A banquet, I would've lavished you with a most pleasant banquet!"
"Where's my money, Erwin?"
"5 courses of lamb, followed by some Anatolian milk, and-and the greatest of-"
"My money, Erwin, my money." he dug the blade just the smallest bit inwards.
"Please, Sire, you have to understand! The stock plummeted, I had to-"
"What are you doing to my father?" a new voice sounded, firm and resolute, "Frederick Augstus Silvon, you will unhand my father, you scoundrel!"
The Prince looked amused. At the doorway stood a tall, lean woman, one hand preoccupied with a bag, the other with a flintlock aimed squarely at him. A breeze made it's way into the room, and papers flew around, the bankers moaning as their day's work floated like petals.
"Trinity, there is no way in hell that is you," Frederick found himself struggling not to laugh, "Where is the precious daughter of Erwin Goldpenny, in her dresses and ponies, and carriages and-"
He laughed haughtily, the sabre lowering, and Erwin rubbed his neck roughly. The Prince coughed and coughed, his face a myriad of joy.
"Shut up!" Trinity reddened, and approached her father, inspecting his throat. "Some of us haven't changed, apparently, you immature hag."
"Erwin, gods, have you stopped pampering your daughter?"
"Not so much, your highness, rather I've found she's a free spirit of her own."
Frederick composed himself, and faced the banker. His eyes pierced Erwin's.
"Now, Erwin, I did not expect to find myself in thirty-thousand Pounds of debt when I came home, where is my damned money, I invested so much knowing who I was putting my trust in. 5 years of service pay, gone."
"Sire, the crash was unexpected, I tried-"
"Thirty-thousand, Erwin."
"It would've been eighty-thousand, had I not sold earlier, Sire."
Frederick blinked.
"Truly?"
"Sire, I heard the Duke of Polosio lost all of his estates as a result of this crash, no I do not lie, Sire, I saved you as much as I could."
"If that's the case, I apologize, Erwin. But I've still in need of thirty thousand-"
"Allow me, Sire. I will repay your debts in full, no payback needed, consider it my apology for services rendered incomplete, and a welcome home gift of sorts."
Erwin flashed a smile, when his daughter smacked him. He looked horrified.
"Father, are you mad? Thirty-thousand? To this hooligan?" she stabbed daggers with her eyes, "I'd much rather indulge the devil himself."
"He will need it!", Erwin hissed, and then looked at the confused Frederick, "Sire, you do not know why?"
The Prince shook his head slowly, and everyone in the bank all seemed focused at this mystical man, their Prince, who had been told was far north by now. It appeared as if it was a miracle.
"Your father, he's designating his heir, tonight as it happens." Erwin's horrified expression turned aghast as the Prince before him looked nonchalant. "You've been away for 10 years, Sire. Your right to the throne is not as strong as it once was. You will need sponsors."
As if on cue, a messenger burst through, face a rivulet of sweat.
"Prince Frederick Augustus Silvon, your attendance is required at the feast tonight, your father humbly requests you wear something presentable, and-" the messenger paused.
"Well, what is it?" Frederick frowned.
"And your father gives you a warm welcome home."
With that, the messenger disappeared, and Frederick sheathed the blade. Walking to the entrance, behind a shocked crowd, he turned one last time.
"And, uh, Erwin?"
"Yes, Sire?"
"Call me Fred."
