Haven's Addiction

A diminutive woman entered the room a short time later introducing herself as Mazzy, Drognaus’s personal assistant. She was a very amicable and agreeable lady with exactly the demeanor you would expect from a high level executive’s personal assistant. The only oddity was the fact that she stood barely 4 feet tall. She looked perfectly normal except for her height. She was completely proportionate to me, just in a smaller package. I guess that would make her the equivalent of a Hobbit.

She gave me some clothes to wear that fit surprisingly well. They were nothing fancy; a basic pair of tan pants, a shirt, socks, and a pair of shoes. As I dressed, I couldn’t help but wonder how they got my size so perfectly. Lying in a hospital bed for three days they had plenty of time to take measurements, which creeped me out a little. While getting dressed, I searched all of the clothes for some sort of tag or brand name logo that I could identity, but there were none. The tags on all of the clothing were written in a language of symbols that were completely foreign to me, so foreign that I didn’t recognize them at all.

After getting dressed and gathering my ‘stuff’, Mazzy took me around New Haven City. A carriage awaited me outside Drognaus’s office building. The wooden horse drawn carriage looked like something straight out of an old western. All the while I had the ominous feeling like I was riding in a stagecoach about to be robbed by bandits. I left the bags in the storage compartment of the carriage, but kept a couple of the pistols on me concealed beneath a hooded cloak she gave me to wear. I wasn’t entirely comfortable carrying them with me either, since I was completely unfamiliar with having such deadly weapons on me, but did feel a bit safer knowing that I had something to protect myself with.

New Haven City was nothing like what I expected. It was absolutely enormous, and not nearly as rustic as I thought it to be. The ride only took an hour, but there were so many amazing sights to see that I had a hard time wrapping my brain around it. I expected something out of medieval Europe, but was greeted with a huge metropolis reminiscent of New York City in mid-1800’s. At least an early New York if they had Dr Morau as their mayor. Any doubts I had about not being in another world were completely shattered once I saw the residents of the city.

There were all manner of strange beasts roaming the streets. They weren’t all beasts of burden like bizarre looking mules pulling carts, although there was an abundance of those as well. There were plenty of humans, or at least people that could potentially pass as humans, and creatures that were humanoid only in shape or by walking on two legs. There were ‘people’ of literally all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some had scales, bumpy leathery skin, spikes, wings, and feathers adorning their bodies. They ranged in size from smaller than Mazzy to as big as the horse and carriage combined. There were more skin and hair tone colors than a deluxe crayon box, and that was just from peeking out the window of the coach at passersby along the street.

The most surprising of all was the clothing. When you see someone walking down the street that looks like the wolfman from the old black and white movies, you expect him to be dressed similarly with tattered pants and a ripped, or nonexistent, flannel shirt. Instead I saw a wolfman in a pantsuit with a walking cane hooked on one arm as he shopped at a produce stand in broad daylight. While the style of clothing was different from anything I had ever seen, the clothes in general made me feel at home.

We passed an entire society of people through town dressed in pants, shirts, coats, dresses, skirts, blouses, shoes, and hats of all sorts. It didn’t matter if they were covered in scales and had a giant horn sticking out of their head. They still dressed like a normal person on their way to work. Paupers still dressed in raggedy old plain clothes, and the wealthy still dressed in neatly pressed suits and gowns. While I was seeing things that were completely new and alien to me, it all seemed familiar and made perfect sense.

Mazzy pointed out the features of the city like a tour guide, and again I was reminded of home. In some areas the architecture was beautiful and amazingly intricate with such detail that there was no possible way it could have been carved by human hands. Yet buildings were still shaped like what I as familiar with, doors and windows, sidewalks adorned the sides of streets, people still jaywalked in front of carts, and the slums still looked like squalor.

The carriage finally came to a stop in front of a small shop. When I got out I saw a sign above the door that read ‘Fenton’s Trader’ with another smaller sign underneath that read ‘Antiques’. I looked over to Mazzy, bewildered.

“It’s a psychic sign,” she told me. “The spell is much like your translator. It makes it readable in a language that anyone who sees it can understand.”

While I found this fascinating, it wasn’t what left me bewildered. Why in the world were we at an antique shop? I thought we were looking to exchange my currency, or at best sell some of the things on me. I hoped to get by on offloading a few items that I didn’t have much use for in exchange for money or information that would get what I needed to leave this world and get back home. I was a bit reluctant to sell any of the weapons, especially considering I could possibly face the barrel of my own guns turned back on me, but if it would mean getting back home I was willing to sell the entire arsenal down to the last bullet to do it.

I was so preoccupied with my reason for being there that it never fully registered that I was looking at a sign that instantly read my thoughts and created an illusion of the proper words for me to read. Or the fact that what looked like a family of Wookies was walking by the carriage in broad daylight and they clearly weren’t Star Wars nutters on their way to a convention.

Mazzy looked back at me and nodded assuring, “This is where we came for. You should be able to find everything you need here.” It was her world after all. She seemed to know what she was talking about, even though I felt awkward taking such important advice from someone that looked like a ten year old, albeit a very mature ten year old. I was in no position to doubt her advice until she proved me wrong. I was still in shock from the whole experience and going on auto pilot, just nodding and going along with whatever she said. I was in no position to question her advice because my brain felt scrambled from taking in too much information to be able to fully process.

Entering the store wasn’t very encouraging. The interior was dark, dank, dusty, and exactly what you would expect from an old antique shop. Trinkets filled the entire shop, covering all the walls and shelves of the shop. It looked less like any antique shop I’d ever seen, and more like a junk shop. I guess some things really are universal. Every preconceived notion of life on other planets from every sci-fi flick I’ve ever seen was completely obliterated. The place may have been dark and foreboding, but the atmosphere was also reassuring. I could have walked into any junk shop back home and wouldn’t be able to tell the difference from where I was right at that moment.

“It’s a pawn shop,” I muttered, not realizing that I had spoken out loud until I saw Mazzy looking at me funny. “This is familiar,” I said to her. “We have shops like this at home. We call them pawn shops, or consignment shops. It’s where people go to sell their stuff when they don’t want it anymore or are hard up for cash.” Now it made sense why we were here.

“Pawn?” she said, “What an odd name. Your realm really is strange,” and she continued on through the shop to the main counter.

“Likewise,” I muttered under my breath. She paused ahead of me when I said that as if she heard me. Damn she had good hearing, or she had ready my mind. As strange as this world was becoming, neither would have surprised me at that point. She continued walking, pretending that she hadn’t heard me. I followed her, guarding my thoughts in case she really could read them.

“Uncle Fenton,” she called out towards the back of the shop, “I’m here.”

There was a moment of silence. Then I heard the door at the back of the shop open and the shuffle of feet across the floor. A few seconds later the footsteps were followed by the top of a head moving along the counter top. As he got towards the last counter where we were standing, Fenton suddenly stood up taller and walked along the rest of the counter at the same height. Right away I could tell by his stature that Fenton was a Hobbit as well, and that there was a raised platform behind the counter so that he could be at the proper height to address his customers.

“Mazzy, lass. It has been far too long to have seen you.” The little man looked to be a considerable amount older than Mazzy, but still of the same height and bodily proportions.

Aside from his unusually small frame he looked no different than any other older gentleman that you would expect to own a shop such as this. He had a thin white beard that was very clean cut, and considering the clutter filling his shop he was considerably sharper dressed. He brandished a bright smile that looked very warm and sincere, but also shone of experience from a businessman who was used to dealing with customers. His accent surprised me as sounding very Irish. I had to bite my tongue pretty hard to stop myself from laughing and asking the little man about his pot of gold. I wondered if it was an effect of the translator in my ear.

“Well, well. This must be the young man I was told to expect. It is a pleasure to meet you, although nobody gave me your name.” He extended his tiny hand with a smile as only a true salesman could do.

“It’s Bailey, sir. Bailey Groves.” I smiled back, trying to put on my best business face as well.

“Ay, sir. Well aren’t you just about the most darling polite thing I ever laid my eyes on? Nobody has called me sir around here in ages. So what can I do for you Mister Bailey? I hear you are new to the fine realm of Haven and are in need of some funds for a rescue mission of some sort?”

“S-Something like that,” I stammered, then looked over at Mazzy, wondering if this was yet another person reading my mind. “How did he know about that?”

“Keeping one step ahead of my customers needs is what has kept me in business for so long Mister Bailey,” he responded before Mazzy had the opportunity to speak. “Tis nothing personal, and I never take in information that is too confidential. Just enough for me to make the sale that I am after. Besides, that Gold character that yon Mazzy works for dropped by here briefly this morning and told me to expect you. He also informed me that you may have something of particular interest for me to trade with.”

I wasn’t sure what Drognaus had told him, but didn’t like the idea of him knowing too much about me, especially when I knew nothing about him. Who knows what kind of information had been leaked. If too much got out about the weapons and equipment I carried, then I would be put in a dangerous position; likely looking down the barrel of my own guns or being tortured to learn the secrets of how they worked.

“Don’t fret it so much Mister Bailey. I am a close confidante of the Gold clan, and assure you I can be trusted. Besides, Master Drognaus was as vague on the details to me as I am sure he was to you. Tis in his nature. Very secretive creatures they are. They only tell you what they think you need to be told, and let you figure the rest out for yourself. As I am sure you have already noticed. Personally,” he leaned across the counter closer to me and spoke in a softer tone “I think they get a private thrill out of keeping their companions on their toes. But that may just be the ramblings of a paranoid old man.”

I could tell that he obviously knew Drognaus quite well, and seemed trustworthy, but in this strange new world I had no way of knowing who I could truly trust or not.

“Let’s get down to business shall we?” He clapped his hands together. “I am sure that we will have a lot to talk about, and it might be a long day for all of us. You are new to this wonderful realm we call Haven and are going to be in need of currency in order to get around and survive, which is important because this can be a very dangerous realm indeed if one is not careful. Since money is not free I will need to evaluate whether or not you have anything of worth on you to trade for said currency. Since you were referred here by Master Gold himself, I am certain that this will be an interesting transaction indeed. So, what have you got for me Mister Bailey?”

This was a man who had obviously been in the business for some time and knew what he was doing. I wasn’t sure where to begin. Most everything I had to trade was a weapon of some sort, and I was reluctant to part with any of them. Most of the things I had that were not weapons would be as useless to him as they were to me. I figured I would start out by trying to hock the high powered flashlight and some batteries, and maybe even the lighter or the binoculars. Then I would work my way up to the more advanced equipment.

In a fairly primitive world such as this one, these items would seem like magic. Then again, if magic was as prominent as Drognaus led me to believe, then waving ones hands about while uttering a few mystic words to make light appear on command would make my flashlight look like a weak joke. In which case I would need to sell the weapons that I might have to rely on in order to survive long enough to get back home.

Amid my reluctant thoughts, Fenton cut in with an idea of his own “We shall start off by exchanging whatever currency you have into something suitable for this realm, and then go from there.”

It made sense. Currency would be necessary when traveling to any country. From the way Drognaus described this world it is a lot like America when it first started out, as a free world where people from all different walks of life all over the universe were welcome to try their fortunes. The problem was that, as far as I knew of, nobody from our world had ever been here before, so our currency would be nothing more than a bunch of scribbles on paper to these people. The only currency I had on me was the wad of bills that I had found in a side pouch of one of the duffel bags.

I had the cash on me in the store. It was stuffed in one of the pockets to the cloak Mazzy gave me to wear. There was really no reason to be carrying it, other than it felt really cool. When else in my life would I have the opportunity to carry several thousand dollars in cash around on me and not have to worry about being robbed? Even if I got mugged here the cash would be ignored.

I reached in one of the pockets and pulled out one bill, which turned out to be a twenty. I casually handed it to Fenton, but he was reluctant to take it by hand and preferred I set it on the glass counter. He was used to handling antiques and the like, and touching the item before he could study it might tarnish or damage it, thus decreasing its value. Personally I didn’t see the need to take care since I couldn’t see any way that the currency would be transferable.

When I set the bill on the counter Fenton’s eyes lit up, but quickly turned serious again hoping that I wouldn’t have noticed his excitement. He ramained silent for quite some time while studying the bill. I could tell he hadn’t been around much paper currency before because he was extremely hesitant to touch it, as if doing so would cause it to crumble.

“You can pick it up and look at it if you want,” I said, gauging his response.

“No, that is quite all right.” He spoke while intently studying the bill, his gaze never leaving it. While keeping his sights on the bill he reached behind the counter and pulled out a small eyepiece that looked like a jewelers magnifying glass and put it over his eye like a monocle. He bent over the bill on the counter with the monocle and looked it over even more intently.

“Really, it is fine if you want to pick it up,” I said trying to see how much of a reaction I could get out of him. He was obviously very interested in it, and I wanted to see just how interested. “It doesn’t matter to me if it gets crumpled, I won’t hold it against you. I have plenty more just like it.”

As soon as I said that the monocle fell from his eye and landed on the counter with a loud clink. Fenton then gazed up at me with this astounding look of shock and surprise. I swear it looked like he was about to have a heart attack, if haflings had such things.

“More you say?” Was apparently all he could manage to get out after a long silence.

“Yep.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before trailing off, staring into space as if calculating something in his head. It was the look of someone who had just won the jackpot in the lottery, but didn’t want anyone around him to know it yet for fear they would take it from him.

“Well, what are we looking at?” I asked him “Why do you find this bill so interesting?”

“You see, we don’t see much paper currency in this realm. Far too fragile. It wouldn’t last very long. That is why we go by the standardized currency of precious metals. They are durable, and above all more universal because no matter what realm a gold coin was minted from it is still worth the value of the gold it is made of.”

“This looks like paper, but is actually an organic animal fiber. So it is more like fabric than paper.” I was amazed that he recognized the material. “More durable, but still very fragile. You see, some of the currencies from other realms that come here don’t fare so well. Take those from Teril. The currency on their home realm is flakes from the scales of a stone lizard that resides there. To them the scales are highly valuable because the lizard is hard to find, difficult to capture, and the process for successfully removing the scales is very complicated. To the Terilans the scales are coveted because the lizards are highly revered and their resilience is symbolic to the Terilan way of life. However, to other realms the scales are useless.”

“Then there are the Asgoths. The currency on their home realm is a type of glowing crystal that grows there. Here in Haven those crystals are a very valuable gem, and always bring a high market price. This has made the Asgoths in Haven very wealthy. Ironic considering that most of them were living in poverty and came here to escape their suffering, and the crystals grew in abundance there.”

“Anything you have is only as valuable as others are willing to pay for it. This has been what has kept me in a profitable business for so long. Haven is a crossroads of so many different cultures, that every piece of junk I take in is bound to be purchased by someone else who finds it to be very valuable and useful. Hence my sign,” he said as he thumbed towards the plaque behind him with a series of symbols that were foreign to me.

“My apologies, you probably don’t speak the language. It says: One sentients rubbish is another sentients riches.”

“Ah, I see what you are getting at. You aren’t looking at it for what it is, but for what you think other people will see it as.”

“Exactly, see you are catching on quickly. If more of my customers were this astute I wouldn’t be doing as well as I am. So, what you have here is a small piece of artwork. It is in pristine condition, which is good. It is on canvas that looks like paper, which makes it unique for this realm because, as I said, light materials like this tend to not last long here. And it has no aura on it of magical enchantments, so it was made naturally.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ah. Obviously your realm doesn’t use magic. Magic, when used properly, could make a gorgeous design like this relatively easily, although even then it would take a bit of artistic flare. However, since there is no magic used on it, the design must have been painted by hand. A design that intricate being hand painted would be considered by the right people to be a true work of art.”

I thought of adding that the difference between the value of magical and non-magical was akin to the difference between handmade and machine made, but considering what Drognaus said about this worlds fear of technology, I kept it to myself.

“You said you had more of these?” He asked.

“Yes, some. Let me see what I have.” I rooted around in the the pocket full of cash, eventually producing one bill of each denomination, a single, a five, a ten, a fifty, a hundred, and even a two dollar bill. My brother-in-law had quite the eclectic collection of petty cash.

Fenton stood in silent awe while basking in the glow of the money displayed on his counter. I had been around American currency all my life and I have never considered it to be a work of art, although I think the treasury department that designed them would have to disagree with me. Looking at them from Fenton’s perspective I could certainly see how one would think so. Each one was unique, but very similar. Fenton didn’t bother to look the other bills over as closely as he did the first one. He looked like a giddy kid about to jump out of his skin over a nifty new toy. The fact that he thought they were all hand painted yet nearly identical seemed to add to his excitement.

“What do these symbols mean?” He asked, indicating one of the bills.

“It’s the serial number. An identification number for each particular bill.”

“So each one is unique.”

“Sort of. All of the images on the currency are identical. The numbers are the only parts of them that are different.”

“Interesting,” he mused, mulling this over. While he did I realized that the serial numbers made the bills all that much more collectible because they are part of a set. To Fenton it was liking finding numbered editions of Starry Night, hand painted by VanGogh. They would be even more valuable as artwork if David wasn’t so obsessive about making certain that all of the bill were non sequential.

“It is too early to say for certain, but I think you have a fine collection on your hands here,” he said after he composed himself. “Tell you what we will do for now.” He disappeared behind the counter and reappeared a few moments later with a cloth drawstring bag that filled the palm of my hand, and looked even more enormous when he carried it. The bag obviously held something heavy and clinked with the sound of metal when he set it on the counter. “I will take these seven pieces with me to have them evaluated. It should be done by tomorrow. I have a long standing customer who might take a particular interest in these pieces. In the mean time I will give you this as a deposit to secure payment for the pieces.” He gestured towards the bag on the counter. “Even if the evaluation of the pieces doesn’t go as well as I hope, I will be able to finish payment and buy them from you tomorrow at a reasonable price.”

“I gather,” he continued, “that you have more pieces than what you have shown me here.” He practically salivated as he said this. “No matter. These will be enough for now. I will not mention to anyone else that there are more pieces to be purchased. That discussion will be best left for the final negotiations of the purchase. When the sale is completed, and if all goes well, you will have free reign to purchase any products in my inventory that suit your fancy.”

I scanned his shop with a look of dismay. The store was filled with nothing but furniture, and artwork of varying types, and a treasure trove of jewelry behind glass cases. It was exactly the kind of place my wife could spend hours in finding antiques to decorate our house. Just the thought of her, and the fact that I may never see her again, made my stomach queasy. I felt like I was going to throw up, and had to rest my hand on the counter to steady myself. I didn’t see anything around the shop that would help me to get home, so his store credit was completely useless to me.

“Don’t judge my shop my mere appearance,” he said in response to my disapproval. “I have a much wider selection of very valuable and useful items kept safely in the back, so that they don’t get pilfered, and for safeties sake. Things aren’t always as they appear to be.”

Fenton proceeded to take a necklace off around his neck. At the end of the chain was a bright silver key. “Also, I would like to invite you to stay the night at my guest house.” He handed me the chain with the key. “Mazzy knows where it is and will be able to take you there. It is an elegant place that I reserve for my most honored guests to stay at as a sort of welcome gift to introduce them to our wonderful realm.”

“Don’t you mean it is an executive suite that you use to kiss ass with your most prospective clients?”

A broad grin came across Fenton’s face. “See, I knew you were a smart one. I am a businessman after all. You must have been as well before you came here. How else would you be so astute?”

“Yeah, yeah. Save the brown nosing. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow when we start talking money.”

“I look forward to it. Until tomorrow then. And may the gods be with you.”

I took the key and the bag, and left the store. I almost tripped over Mazzy as I turned around. She had been standing right behind me so silently the whole time that I completely forgot she was there.

“Where would you like to go now, Mister Bailey?” She asked, as professional as ever.

“How about we go and get something to eat, and a stiff drink; or three,” I muttered with the image of my wife’s lovely face flashing in my mind. I quickly had to push the image away to prevent me from breaking down into tears in the middle of the store. “Some place nice.” I shook the bag enough to make the coins jingle. “My treat.”

As we were leaving the store I looked back to see Fenton picking up one of the bills with a pair of tweezers and placing it into an envelope. The last thing I heard him say before the door shut behind me was the exclamation “Holy Dragons! There is more on the back!” I couldn’t help but chuckle as I entered the carriage. As the carriage pulled away Mazzy stared at me intently before speaking.

“I don’t want to intrude upon my uncles business, but that key you have there,” she fixated on the key in my hand, “is not to be taken lightly.”

“How so?”

“The only times I’ve ever seen him hand that key over to a guest has been for very powerful and influential dignitaries.”

“And I am obviously neither. Maybe he took a particular liking to me,” I grinned.

“He doesn’t work that way,” she said sternly as she shook her head. “He sees the world only in terms of currency. He never lets personal feelings get involved in business, and he never exaggerates.”

“So what does that mean?”

“With his interest in your currency he already has a prospective buyer, and is already certain what they are willing to pay for it.”

“How much money do you think we’re talking?”

“Let’s just say that he has been in business for over a hundred years, and not once have I heard of him ever giving a client a deposit before the transaction was completed.”

I rolled that around in my head for a while. It did seem likely that the room for a night and the deposit was him trying to gain my loyalty so that I wouldn’t take my business elsewhere and have him miss out on the deal of a lifetime. In retrospect, when he spoke of the Asgoths with their glowing crystals it was with a harsh and bitter tone. I wondered if he had missed out on a similar opportunity before.

“One thing is for certain Mister Bailey,” she interrupted my chain of thought. “You are about to become extremely wealthy.”