The storekeeper was an old man with barky skin and sunken eyes. Mannat was stunned at the sight of him. He looked like a lost cousin to the Witch. He didn’t speak much and sat behind a stone wall, only connected to their side by a small window and a closed door. The five inches thick metal door slowly opened with clanking hinges and another servant came out of the room. He took the barrel and the door closed behind him, but not before Mannat could peek inside. He was disappointed. He expected to see the room choke-full of cabinets displaying tools and weapons forged by other blacksmiths. The room was empty, grey, and lifeless.

A few moments later, the storekeeper returned the order the same way through the window. Mannat picked it up and saw another stamp pasted right under the first.

Stored, it read.

He passed the order to his father who took him into an adjacent room. Next, they met the cashier, a young woman with flowing black hair. They gave her the order. She gave it a look and stamped it for the third and final time, before sticking it in the pile of other paid orders. Raesh received a bag of money from her and they directly left the guild in search of an inn.

They looked around in the town center and found many inns around. There was one on every other road. Some were small single-storied houses converted into inns with rooms on rent. Others were large commercial inns established by nobles for the wealthy. They were glamorous and out of their league.  A few were shabby copies of the previous. They were colorful in decorations but gave empty promises on both safety and comfort.

The one Raesh chose was away from the center, in a place where few people went. There wasn’t even a sign hanging outside to introduce the inn tell to the onlookers. The old creaky building looked no different from an abandoned house from the outside. Mannat’s thoughts took a sharp turn when he went inside and looked around. The inn had a bar, a dining area, and a singer singing a soft melody and playing a single string instrument. The bar had colorful bottles of ether standing as decoration and the owner, a forty-something man with sharp vector and big biceps, stood behind the bar shining glass cups. No wonder the reception desk was empty.

Mannat used to think hidden motels and inns were only in the stories because only a fool would give up profit for aesthetics.

They checked into a room for 50 bronze a day. The price was definitely not small, but the meal was warm and the room was clean and private.
They rested.
Raesh went to sleep, but Mannat couldn’t. He had too much on his mind.

It wasn’t long before his work addiction kicked in and he couldn’t sit still. There weren’t many things to do in the room. He wished he had brought some paper along on the trip. He could practice his letter. Fortunately, he was not in a village where such exotic things didn’t exist.

He didn’t wake his father and directly left the room to buy some paper. The thought was exciting. The town was large enough for him to get lost, but the idea of roaming the new area excited him a lot. He could come back later if anything happened. He only wished Pandit was there with him. They would have had some fun together.

Mannat quietly closed the door and went downstairs. The singer had stopped singing since it was going to be evening soon in a couple of hours. He returned the spare key to the owner and asked the man to message his father he was going out.

He was leaving when the man called him. “Is there anything I can help you with?” The inn owner had a thick nasally voice that didn’t connect well with his physique. Mannat shook his head at first, then figured he’d get some directions. Going on an adventure was good and all, but it would cause his father a lot of trouble if he got lost in the town.  

Mannat stopped at the bar and asked, “Do you know where I can buy some paper? I want to practice my letters.”

The bar owner looked at him from head to toe. “Are you a practicing scholar?” He said picking a new glass to polish. He wasn’t addicted to keeping everything clean and meticulous –perhaps, the latter had something to do with him-- this was how he passed the free time.

“I’m a blacksmith,” The words rolled off Mannat’s tongue, surprising both the bar owner and him. He only stiffened and stood straight, while the bar owner stopped polishing the glass cup and put down the cup on the countertop with a loud thud.

“You don’t look like someone who would make a joke like that.  Say, kid, are you from a rich household?”

“I won’t say that I am.” His mother’s family was supposedly very rich. Unfortunately, he had nothing to do with them. “Why do you ask?” Mannat said in curiosity. There had to be a reason why the owner would say something like that. The man didn’t disappoint him.

“Because it’s the first time I’m hearing a blacksmith looking for paper, just to practice his letters. These things don’t happen very often, if never. I think only the nobles are so frugal. Though I admit you are one handsome lad,” The owner looked him up. “You don’t look like a noble to me.”

Mannat was wearing his daily washed and overused clothes. Their colors had faded to dull grays and browns.

He frowned. Not offended, of course, but the man’s words did make him think twice about his decisions. Why didn’t’ anybody say something? Even the Witch let him do whatever he wanted with the paper.

“So what should I do?” Mannat asked.

The owner served a customer before answering. “You buy a slate and chalk, of course. Who taught you such a wasteful, money-burning thing anyway?”

“My teacher,” Mannat said with some hesitation.

The owner didn’t ask further questions. Someone who could give his student paper to practice letters could not be a small figure. He didn’t know why the two were staying at his inn when there were better options available, but he didn’t dare ask for any trouble. He politely gave Mannat the directions he was looking for, and let the boy be on his way.

“Remember,” He said after some deliberation while Mannat was still by the door. “It costs 35broze. Don’t pay more than that to anyone. You can bargain, but I don’t think a merchant will take you seriously. And, beware of the pickpockets on the way.”

Mannat nodded, thanked the man, and left.  The directions given by the owner led him through an alley to the back of the inn. It was dark in the alley and the light on the other end made him feel like he was walking out of a cave. It was silent in the alley, but cathartic on the other side. Suddenly People and sounds assaulted him. There was a strong smell of spices in the air. Sun was still strong and the hawkers had created make-shift tents over their heads with a tarp and two sticks for shade. They called to him as he passed by. Some of them even grabbed at his arms to stop him, but he got through them one way or another. There were only serfs there. Mannat didn’t see anyone wearing colorful clothes as he had near the town center.

People bumped into him, but Mannat had already moved his money to the inner pocket. He didn’t feel any fingers finding their way into his clothes, but a master picker could have stripped him naked and he wouldn’t have felt a thing wrong until it was too late.
 
He went straight past the area to the town center. His heart was thumping in his chest when he crossed the imaginary border between the two parts of the town. The owner had told him it was impossible to get lost unless he took a turn on the way, but Mannat disagreed. It was impossible to make sure he was going in the right direction in the rush.

There was a tailor shop up ahead with a majestic sun flag fluttering on a pole. The clothes inside the glass display were one more eye-catching than the other, and so were their prices. Mannat didn’t dare dally in front of the shop and ran away to find the merchant he was looking for.

He didn’t have to go far. There were two or three different merchant shops all in a row. They all sold different things. The one he picked sold an assortment of things up on display at the front. Mannat pushed the seemingly heavy door and it swung open. It didn’t even creak on the hinges or made the ghastly groan! Someone was keeping the door well greased.

The doorbell rang as he entered. Everything inside caught Mannat’s fancy, whether it was a vase, a rack, a sculpture, or the shelves full of trinkets.

The owner, a fat round man, sat on the other end of the shop, behind a dark and seemingly expensive-looking table. He raised his head to glance at Mannat then no longer paid attention. Besides the owner, there was another man in the shop. He was stacking gift boxes on the shelves. He hurried over when the owner ignored the customer. That’s how they did business. The owner would take lead for important guests, and he handled the rest of the normal, peasants; like the boy who seemed to have lost his way and barged into the wrong place.

The clothes worn by the boy were clearly not worth a spit. He probably had no business in the shop. And if it was not business the other party wanted, then they must be there to cause trouble. Hence, the man wrinkled his brows and tightened his stomach approaching the boy. He didn’t curse, but deliberately spoke in a heavy tone and asked, “What do you want?”

Mannat wasn’t surprised by the tone. Many had spoken to him as if he was in their debt and owed them money. One had even outright pushed him out of his shop. That happened back in the village; this here was the town. The man shouldn’t have any grievances with him. Why was he so hostile? It was a nice little question to analyze in his free time.  

“Slate and chalk,” Mannat said plainly. He would finish his business and leave. There was no point in butting heads with someone he would never see again in his life.

Not only was the servant surprised, but even the merchant also raised his head and paid attention to him.
“You are learning the language, boy?” The fat man said. He had an unusually high-pitched voice for someone his weight.

“Yes,”

The merchant didn’t dally. He knew the boy was losing patience and would leave if his request wasn’t met. It was one thing for the customer to leave without buying anything, and a completely another thing for them to push a lamb away. You have to be polite to the clueless and the meek; they are the ones who aren’t used to saying no. The merchant glared at the servant and gestured him to deal with the boy before setting his eyes back on the ledger. The servant dropped his head and quickly went to one of the shelves and brought back a black square the size of a plate. He showed it to Mannat but didn’t let him touch it.

That was the slate. It was slightly rough to look at but solid to touch. Mannat knocked on it to hear the sound of its material and the servant quickly pulled it back and out of his reach. “That’ll be 50 bronze. You can touch it after buying.”

What had the inn owner told Mannat? The apparatus would cost him 30 bronze coins – not 50! He didn’t know what his deal was, but the man was trying to rob him blind. Perhaps, he was supposed to negotiate the price.

Mannat squinted and glanced at the merchant to see if he would correct the man, but the fat man didn’t even spare a glance toward them. Groaning he said, “I only have ten bronze to pay for it.”
 
The servant's face fell. “Then you can buy a broom, earn some money and return when you have enough coins.” He said and took the slate back.

Mannat couldn’t understand. What happened? Wasn’t he trying to negotiate the price? Why did the deal break down so easily?
“Anything else?”
Mannat shook his head. “I still need that slate though.”

The servant clicked his tongue. “Then you should come up with 50 bronze coins as I told you.” His voice rose higher, getting angrier. “If you don’t have anything else then you can leave.”

Mannat didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think it would be so difficult to negotiate with someone. Perhaps, he should have listened to the inn owner and awaken his father from sleep. He thought the town would be different from the village, but the reality was harsher than his thoughts. Turned out, the townpeople didn’t even need a reason to pit you. They could make a reason in their mind and start hating others unreasonably!

He actually had enough of this.

“Just tell me if you don’t want to do business with me.” Mannat vented out. “Why quote a meaningless price for a fake product?”
The servant froze when he heard the latter half of the sentence. Did the boy actually catch him?

“Do you think I don’t know the difference between painted wood and tile?” Mannat stomped and the servant took a step back.

Oh yes, he was caught. The man’s face turned pale. He hurriedly looked at the shop owner and found the fat man staring back at him. The man was not very impressed with him. He gulped down a mouthful of fear, while Mannat continued venting.

“Did you think you could stop me from inspecting the thing if you didn’t let me touch it? I dare say the thing you showed me doesn’t even cost five bronze, and you are asking fifty coins for it! ”

Finally, the fat merchant no longer stayed quiet. It was normal for the helper to try selling cheap fabrication to the narrow-sighted customers. Everything’s fair in business. The boy was asking to be robbed by going alone into a merchant's den.

However, he deserved the shop owner’s attention since he could see through the gimmick. Thankfully, he was only a poor boy. The merchants would be sweating in his pants if he were someone important.

“That’s enough, give him what he wants,” The merchant ordered and the servant was quick on his feet. He hid the wooden fake and brought out the original slate from a drawer. It not only had an iron frame but also came with a box of white chalk and wet cloths to wipe the writings.

“That will be twenty bronze.” The merchant said, and Mannat paid.

“You want anything with that? Learning material, or a guide on how to write the letters?”

Mannat shook his head, but then he saw the ledger in front of the man and a thought arose in his mind.
The ledger was at least four fingers thick, because of its thick pages. The pages shared more in common with parchment than the paper he knew. They were pale yellow in color and looked rough to the sight – at least in comparison to the pages he regularly used. They soaked ink like a sponge and produced bulkier unsightly letters. The mystery intrigued him more than anything else did in the shop.

“Can you tell me the cost of a sheet of paper?” Mannat asked.

The merchant closed the ledger and picked an apple from the fruit platter. He sat back in the chair and became comfortable. “Why?” He asked after taking a bite of the sweet and succulent apple. “Do you want to buy some?” He said chewing on the savory fruit.

Perhaps, the man was mocking Mannat. Unfortunately, he was not interested in mind games.
Mannat shook his head. “No, I wanted to inquire the price of a sheet of paper that I have seen. It doesn’t look like the ones in your ledger, but has a light yellow tint, is also thinner and flexible.”

The merchant’s eyes bulged in the sockets and dared to fall out. “You have a sheet of butterfly wing paper?” He noticed Mannat’s confusion and explained in a hurry. “That’s the name of the paper you described.” He wanted to give a price and buy the paper, but the thought settled down as quickly as it had fizzed into existence. The boy didn’t own the paper, he had only seen it. It was probably with his master, because how else was he learning to write? The boy was obviously sharp and cunning enough to figure out fraud in an instant. Those century-old scholars on the deathbed loved to teach kids like him into their successors the most.

The merchant sighed. “Did your teacher show you the paper?”

“Yes, how did you know?” Mannat was telling the truth and that’s what the merchant saw. He could see the story behind it and shook his head in weakness.

“Butterfly wing, the paper, is not produced in our kingdom. It comes from the kingdom in the mountains. As for the price -- there is none because the kingdom doesn’t export it. The paper is rarely seen out of the Nobel circle. They also don’t use it outside of writing confidential letters. Having said that, is your master in town? I would like to meet them if it’s possible?”

“No, She’s not. And I don’t think you will like to meet her.”

The merchant wanted to ask the name of his master, but Mannat thanked the man, picked his things, and quickly left the shop. The doorbell rang as the door closed behind him, and he was out on the street and unrecognizable among the sea of people.