"Five copper coins per bag. No bargaining."
Lanen stared at the vendor. The maid-clad girl ahead had clearly paid four.
"I just saw it sold for four," he countered.
"Five copper coins per bag. No bargaining." Not a syllable changed.
"...Fine."
He overpaid, feeling briefly swindled, then moved on—purchasing onions, radishes, garlic, two lamb chops, a can of milk, a beef slab, and a dozen eggs (total: 214 copper coins). By the time he'd added premium rice and flour to his haul, dawn had broken over the market straddling Lorendan's residential and slum districts.
Housewarming
"Ding-dong—"
Lanen wiped his hands, silenced the pea-crushing blender, and opened the door to his three friends.
"Welcome to my new lab and apartment. Make yourselves at home."
Elina admired the space. "Impressive. I won't be moving out of dorms for another year, but you've always been ahead."
Their recent shared windfall meant they could all afford similar digs—though Hal and Sophia still gawked at Lanen's forbidden lab table ("Dangerous. Hands off.").
When lunch was ready, they found he'd deep-cleaned. "Boys always miss spots," Elina teased.
The meal silenced all jabs:
Lamb rib stew, marrow-soft bones swimming in clear broth.
Pea soup (Sophia's favorite), sweetened to perfection.
Pepper-crusted beef, rosemary-kissed, rivaling Zolgen's.
"You cook like a chef," Sophia sighed, stretching post-meal.
"Chess or cards?" Lanen asked, offering fruit.
The Bicycle Gambit
Later, at the school's west gate:
"I'm buying transportation. Coming?" Lanen asked.
"You've been late twice this week," Hal noted.
"Carriages are expensive and unreliable. Time to upgrade."
Elina declined—"Finals loom"—but Hal suggested: "Ask little Blake? He's savvy."
"Abel's my guy. Partners don't screw partners."
At Abel's shop, the Bowmont Bicycle gleamed:
Chain-driven (rendering old high-wheelers obsolete).
Enchanted pedals (effortless acceleration).
Precision steering (nimble as a thought).
"Retail: two gold coins," Abel said. "For you? One-fifty."
Lanen test-rode the demo model. The weightless glide sealed the deal—though it'd drain his savings (post-rent: 1 gold, 56 silver).
"I'll take it. Hold it till evening?" He paid a 50-silver deposit.
"Now—about that typewriter..."
Abel grinned. "Old Carter's shop. I'll haggle for you."