ax_main | Caleb and Gilmore - The Movement of the World

Caleb seeks out a book at Gilmore's Glorious Goods, and must deal with its seemingly shallow salesman.

A wise man would have taken the extra bit of leftover coin he found himself with and squirreled it away for a rainy day. Caleb was not a wise man. The money sat heavy in his purse with the promise of components for spells he wanted to try and, best yet, books. There were a few shops and their wares that he had his eye on, but today he had only one destination in mind—Gilmore’s Glorious Goods.

Caleb had never been inside the shop before. Its bright facade with its loud, purple unicorn logo had always been too intimidating. It looked expensive. And like the kind of place a scruffy ginger interested in spell casting would get noticed. Neither were things Caleb was a fan of, and he’d decided to give the place a wide berth and stick to the more seedy shops where he’d be forgotten as soon as he’d left.

But, then Caleb had seen the book.

It had been on display in the front window of Gilmore’s Glorious Goods a few days ago. Old and a bit worn, it was the kind of thing that most people’s attention would slid right over. Unless, like Caleb, they were interested in spellcasting. He hadn’t the money for it at the time, and even now he wasn’t sure he had enough, but his curiosity was enough that he was willing to visit the shop despite his better judgement.

Caleb opened the door, and went inside, a little bell jingling somewhere to announce his arrival.

There were days when Gilmore simply could not shut himself in the back room brewing and crafting, balancing his accounts, or running a hundred little menial errands that running a business required. That was, after all, why he had hired a shop assistant who could become three people. Possibly, Caleb had seen her -- or seen three young ladies who seemed identical -- heading off in three different directions from the shop on three different tasks. Lu's very useful departure left Gilmore to reign over his domain entirely on his own, which really was his very element. The luxurious curtains on the windows were pulled back to let in the sun, which shone in the wizard's black hair and the rich purple robes he wore.

He had just finished tying back the sash when the bell sang out, and he turned with a ready smile to greet the new entrant. This was... not his usual clientele. While Gilmore did not allow his expression to falter, the grubby redhead in the threadbare garment was certainly a surprise. "Hello, hello and welcome," he said, sweeping toward the customer, a sweet scent of cinnamon and spice swirling faintly around him. "How can Gilmore's Glorious Good serve your every need today?"

There were a lot of things Caleb expected going into a higher-end shop, but the brightly dressed and brightly grinning man was not one of them. He was very...vibrant. The kind of person who probably owned every room they walk into.

“I, ah, I am looking for books,” Caleb stammered, a little taken aback.

Gilmore did literally own this room, but he did so figuratively as well. The shop was a decent size, full of magic items and spell components, as well as more common sundries for (as the sign said) the discerning adventurer. Everything was neatly organized and very clean, with enough space around each display for shoppers to browse. This just happened to be a quiet time of day for customers.

"Books, I have," Gilmore assured him, a gesture leading him toward a portion of one wall where the sturdy display shelves bore a few rows of leather-bound volumes. "What manner of books are you interested in? Most of my stock is... well, it's not intended to be fiction, but I can't vouch for the veracity of all their claims." He flashed a quick smile; that was meant as a joke. A half-second later, though, it occurred to Gilmore that his customer might not be the joking type.

The joke did get a small laugh out of Caleb who, even if he hadn’t found it funny, would have laughed anyway to be curry favor. “I am looking for a specific book,” he said, already reading the titles of the shelved books, his fingers ghosting across their spines. “One you had displayed in your window three days ago.”

At that Gilmore tilted his head for a moment, his attention focusing more narrowly on the disheveled customer. He knew precisely which book had been in the window three days ago. It was not there now, but the entire window had been changed recently to celebrate the upcoming festival season and currently featured no books at all. "Are you? The Movement of the World? How interesting. I had a customer very interested in that very volume, and I promised to hold it for her for twenty-four hours. That hold passed not two hours ago, and she hasn't returned.”

Caleb’s heart, which had plummeted upon hearing someone else had dibs on the book, skyrocketed up into his throat. “That is the one. You still have it?” he asked, trying not to appear eager. He’d known shopkeepers to raise prices when they knew they were multiple, interested parties, and he didn’t want to let on just how much he wanted this book.

"I certainly still have it," Gilmore confirmed, but he did not indicate exactly where it was. "I confess that I have not read it, and have only the vaguest idea of its contents. Can you tell me, why exactly such a nondescript little volume might garner such attention?"

Scheisse. This wasn’t good. Caleb could practically hear the sound of the book’s price rising. The Movement of the World wasn’t a particularly sought after book, but it was old and it was rare. “I am surprised as you are. The woman did not mention why she was interested in it?”

Gilmore shook his head, and took to stroking at his luxuriously braided black beard thoughtfully. "She did not. In fact, she was very particularly casual when she asked about it. A veritable study in casualness, in fact. Thinking back on it now, almost too casual. I do wonder if I should have been suspicious." He started moving, then, away from the display bookcase and toward his long polished-wood counter. "But you have the distinct advantage of being here, now, presumably with cash in hand, Mister...?"

Trailing off, Gilmore flashed Caleb a smile that invited him to introduce himself. Gilmore, of course, needed no introduction. His name was above the door.

“Caleb Widogast,” Caleb said and, when the man didn’t provide a name in return, realized just who he was talking to, and added, “You are Gilmore.”

Caleb’s curiosity and worry were very much piqued about this mystery woman, but he knew asking too many questions would only raise suspicions. He wanted the book, more than he wanted answers about whoever she was. “I have come with money. How much are you looking for?”

It wasn't his proudest moment. Gilmore's personal policy was that any customer was welcome inside Gilmore's Glorious Goods regardless of their appearance, race, inclination, or ability. He did his best to treat every customer as a unique individual, equal in his eyes. So, when Caleb stated he'd come with money, Gilmore was not proud of the way his glance took in the man's unkempt beard, his all-over-brown clothing scheme, the fraying at his seams. He did not look like a man who had come with money.

"I had it in the window for ninety gold, Mr. Widogast. That is the price I offered the customer yesterday, and the same I'll offer you," Gilmore said carefully, because he knew that Caleb had seen that glance, too.

The only thing that surprised Caleb about the look was that it hadn’t come sooner. He was well-aware his appearance created certain opinions of him, and he encouraged them. People ignored people like him. They avoided looking at him, and that was useful when you wanted to go overlooked or forgotten.

Caleb affected a look of mild discomfort at Gilmore’s once-over. “Would you consider seventy?” he asked, deliberately lowballing. He had enough money for the asking price if he was willing to go without food for the next few days, but he was hoping to shave off some gold.

Gilmore did not want to make assumptions about his customers, but he also did not feel right about taking food out of a customer's mouth. If Caleb had seventy gold, Gilmore did not fully believe that he had anything else. Still, he was running a business, not a charity, and he couldn't have it getting out that he handed out discounts like candy.

Steepling his fingers thoughtfully, he answered, "I could consider eighty, with a condition. I am perfecting my prestidigitation. If you allow me to practice my craft on your..." Those expressive fingers fluttered in a pattern vaguely indicating Caleb's attire. Let him think Gilmore was shallow, let him think Gilmore was prissy. It didn't matter, if it eased the merchant's conscience about potentially depriving a customer of food and shelter. "Then eighty it is."

Eighty was what Caleb had been hoping for, but not at that cost. He stared at Gilmore for a long minute as if trying to decide if this was some kind of prank. It wasn’t, he knew that, and he also knew he couldn’t turn the offer away. Ten gold was a lot of money to keep in his pocket. It would let him live modestly until the next opportunity for pay presented itself. …And he really wanted that book.

“Alright,” Caleb agreed, and he extended a hand for Gilmore to shake. “It’s a deal.”

Gilmore readily reached to first clasp, then firmly shake Caleb's hand to confirm the bargain. "Just let me fetch your purchase," he said, before quickly ducking back behind a beaded curtain behind the shop's long counter. The long beaded strands had barely swung back into place before they clattered apart again, and Gilmore swept back into the room. The unassuming-looking book with its plain leather cover and stamped title was placed on the counter for Caleb's verification. "There you are. I do hope you'll come back and tell me what it's about.”

Caleb didn’t let his expression betray the sudden rush of excitement he felt at seeing the book. It still wasn’t his yet. He pulled a handful of coins out of an inner jacket pocket, and, one coin at a time, he counted out the eighty gold, stacking them in neat piles of ten as he went. “There is your coin,” he said when he had finished. He tried not to think of how his purse felt considerably lighter.

When Caleb had finished, Gilmore swirled his right hand in the pattern of the prestidigitation cantrip. Between one breath and the next, Caleb’s clothing turned bright and neat, any hint of dust or dirt disappearing into nothingness. Tiny frays and rips mended themselves, and Caleb’s red hair settled into clean and manageable waves. It did not appear as if Gilmore required any practice at the spell whatsoever.

“And there is your makeover,” he offered with a quick, brilliant grin.

Caleb peered down at himself, picking at his mended and dirt-free jacket. It looked like new, and it hadn’t even looked like new when he’d first gotten it. …The rest of him had to look like a total stranger. Suddenly, he felt like a million pairs of eyes were on him now, even though he and Gilmore were the only ones in the shop, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes,” Caleb said. “Like Eliza Doolittle.”

"I'm not acquainted, but I'll take your word for it," said Gilmore amiably, clearly assuming that Eliza was a real person that Caleb knew. "Would you like that purchase wrapped up?"

“It is from a book,” Caleb muttered, then, as he picked up his purchase, said more audibly, “No, thank you. I will carry it out.” He tucked it into his bag for safekeeping, sticking it between the two other books he had there, then wrapped his hands around the bag’s strap.

Business kept him busy, so Gilmore wasn’t much of a reader. He took Caleb’s word for it pleasantly enough. “Excellent. An absolute delight doing business with you, Mr. Widogast. I do hope you will consider Gilmore’s Glorious Goods for all of your future magical supply needs.” When he said it, Gilmore sounded absolutely sincere. After all, Caleb looked quite nice with his hair tidy and his face clean. Plus, he had gold... even if Gilmore didn’t think he had much else.

Caleb smiled politely. “Thank you, Mr. Gilmore.” He gave him a nod goodbye, only to then linger as if he wasn’t sure if he should say or do anything else. After a moment, he turned away and quickly left the shop, in a hurry to get off the streets and back home. He passed by the shop window, then was out of sight.