Chapter 23: Book, Part 5

He breathed deeply, grasping at the pool of see-through Chimh within the stone well.

For a while, nothing happened, but as Morne frowned with concentration, a glob of Chimh floated out of the well.

He guided the Chimh to his Tower, letting it sink into the stone.

Slowly, gradually, the Chimh coalesced onto the wall inside, forming the first mark on an otherwise barren interior.

"All right, stranger, what did ya need me for?"

Morne's eyes flashed open, the disruption to his concentration causing the Chimh to surge back into the well. In an instant, all of his progress was lost.

He grunted in irritation before remembering that he was on someone else's property. He had no one to blame but himself for this failure.

His hazel eyes swiveled to the new arrival, a gruff but friendly-looking man with the hair, eyes, and accent typical of an Ondethalian. The woman from before was nowhere to be seen, probably still manning the front.

"Are you the owner of this store?" Morne asked, straightening in his seat.

"That I am," the other man said with a touch of pride. "Been in this here location for over two hundred years. Why?"

"The evening king's finery is of the highest quality, yet the morning king's attire is humble."

It was a string of words that'd make little sense to anyone else, but the countenance of the Ondethalian darkened considerably when he heard those words.

He closed the door behind him and slid a latch into place, a faint hum kicking in as he barred the workshop off from the rest of the store.

He appraised Morne, a mixture of dread, reluctance, and fear in his square pupils that didn't show on the rest of his face.

Instead, his expression was of the utmost politeness, as if he was a servant in the presence of his master.

A comparison that wasn't very far off.

"My father told me the demon would send someone after our store eventually. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. Heten Lenderm is at your service."

Morne stood, muttering "Entak Netku" to store the book as he eyed Heten.

"How much does this store earn in a month?" Morne asked him.

"Twenty large silvers after expenses," Heten replied immediately. "Give or take."

Morne calculated that in Opyens. That was about 2,000 Opyens a month, or 24,000 a year. And that was after expenses, too.

That was impressive for a store like this, comparable to a lower-end noble, and showed just how much the city relied on it. Morne wouldn't be surprised if this store's main clientele were these very nobles.

"Then five large silvers a month shouldn't hurt your coffers."

Five large silver, or five hundred Opyens, was around how much an unskilled laborer would make in a month. Not enough to buy Morne anything fancy, but enough to keep him alive for the foreseeable future.

"No, it won't."

"I'll expect it every month. I assume you already have my account ready for me?"

"Of course," Heten nodded, pulling a thin, metal green card out of his pocket and handing it to Morne. "Simply pour some Chimh into it, and it will be yours."

Taking the card, Morne narrowed his eyes as he reached for his Chimh Well once again.

It was a sluggish process, but since he wasn't interrupted, he was able to lead the Chimh up his torso, down his arm, and through his finger into the card after twenty seconds.

The card lit up, accepting his Chimh and devouring it greedily.

"Swipe the air whenever you wish to access your funds," Heten told him, relieved that Morne hadn't asked for as much as he had expected. He was fully prepared to give half of his profits away, but instead was only told to give 25%. "Do you know how to store it?"

"No," Morne admitted.

The strange sentence he had said earlier came from the Coltha's book. According to the entries within, Brej-N'Ha-Frikt had helped Heten's great-grandfather start this business, in exchange for a portion of the profits down the line.

The Coltha had never specified how large that portion would be, hence Heten's previous anxiety, but had told the old Lenderm that it wouldn't be the demon who would claim it.

The Coltha had left that phrase behind, and said that whoever spoke those words would lay claim to the Coltha's share.

But that was at least two hundred years ago, and Morne was anticipating an attack or betrayal of some kind. He definitely wasn't expecting it to all go off without a hitch.

Apparently, even two hundred years and four generations weren't enough to shake the deep-rooted fear that the Coltha instilled in the hearts of men.

"It's very simple," Heten said. "You should feel a mark on the hand you channeled your Chimh into, in this case, your right hand."

Morne flipped his hand over, looking for this mark Heten spoke of.

"No, you won't be able to see it," Heten replied patiently, used to such things from his apprentice. "It's invisible to the naked eye. But if you cast out with your Sense, you should be able to feel it."

'My Sense?' Morne wondered.

He recalled the definition from the Coltha's book.

A person's Sense was their natural ability to sense Chimh and magic. It was similar to eyesight in some regards.

First in that it worked passively, but needed to be focused to work efficiently. You could cast it about your person for an all-encompassing, if foggy, view of your immediate surroundings, but it was best to focus it all on one spot or object to better parse about the magic within.

Second in that it could be turned off, or the "eyelids" could be closed. This was, in actuality, the natural state of Sense.

Every Tower Race, a species that could be born with Towers, had Sense from birth, including Infutim, but 90% of people went their entire lives without uncovering this ability. A Mage discovered this ability naturally whilst finding their inner world and the Chimh Well and Towers within.

Morne closed his eyes and tried to feel for the mark with his Sense, adopting the same headspace he used when looking at his inner world.

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