Recognition

The Thieves Guild, written by Jake Kerr, Chapter twenty seven. Recognition the coin was strange. Darla turned it over in her palm, studying the unfamiliar face stamped into the metal. It wasn't copper or silver or gold. It was something else, a dull gray metal that felt too light in her hand, possibly like the tin she had seen smelted in the large forges outside the mines. They used different currency here. Wonderful, Darla dropped the coin back into the pouch they'd taken from the dead guards. There were perhaps two dozen of the strange discs, along with a few that looked like copper but had an odd sheen. So we have money that might be worthless, clothes that mark us as guards, and no idea how anything works. We'll figure it out. Maela was already pulling on her red cloak, adjusting the hood to shadow her face. I'll go find work. Stay here with prosper, don't draw attention. They had found a room above a tavern, a cramped space with two narrow beds and a window that overlooked a court yard. The price was two of the tin disks, so they had at least some understanding of currency value like the currency. However, the city beyond was nothing like Nests. The buildings were taller, the streets cleaner, and there was magic. The magic wasn't omni present, but it appeared in surprising places. Lights that burned without flame, signs that changed their letters. As Darla watched, it was beautiful and terrifying and utterly foreign. Be careful. Miela kissed her, quick and fierce, and then she was gone. Darla turned to Prosper. The wizard sat on the floor by the window, doing what he always did, arranging pebbles into patterns. Only he understood. His hair was wild, his eyes distant. He hadn't spoken since they'd entered the city, which was probably for the best. Prosper, Are you hungry the stones? Remember right? I'll take that as a no. She needed air. The room was too small, too close, and the weight of this strange city pressed down on her like a physical thing. She couldn't leave Prosper alone, but perhaps she could take him downstairs. A drink would calm her nerves. Come on, we're going to the common room. Look normal, don't speak to any one. Prosper blinked at her, his eyes focusing for just a moment. The stones are different here. They sing a different song. That's fine, just don't mention the stones to anyone else. The common room was half full, a mix of locals, drinking and eating and talking in low voices. Darla guided Prosper to a table in the corner, her back to the wall, her eyes on the door, old habits. She ordered two cups of whatever the locals drank and tried to pass the coins the bar keep wanted. She overpaid, She could tell by the way the man's eyebrows rose. Damn, are you rangers. Yeah, we don't get to town very often. The bar keep grunted and moved away. Darla let out a breath. One crisis averted. Prosper was staring at the table, his finger tracing patterns in the wood grain. The lines converge, always converging, never touching. Drink your whatever this is. Dahla pushed a cup toward him. It smelled like honey and burned like fire. When she took a sip, it was not on pleasant. They sat in silence for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Darla watched the room, cataloging faces, noting exits. This place was different, but people were the same everywhere, the way they clustered, the way they avoided eye contact, the way power gathered around certain tables and not others. She was studying a group of men in red robes when one of them stood up. He was older, perhaps fifty, with a close cropped beard and sharp, intelligent eyes. He had been watching them. Darla realized it too late. She had been so focused on reading the room that she hadn't noticed she herself was being read. The man walked toward their table with the confident stride of someone who expected to be obeyed. Forgive my intrusion, but you look remarkably like someone I once knew. Darla's hand drifted toward her knife. He gets that a lot. He has a common face, I see. The man didn't look convinced. He leaned closer, studying Prosper's face. What's your name, friend? Prosper looked up. His eyes were empty, unfocussed. The roads, Remember they remember when they were one road before the mountains fell. The man froze. Something flickered across his face. Recognition, fear, hope, all tangled together. Prosper is that you. Darla's blood went cold. She had to act now his name is Raffi. He's not well, as you can see. His mind wanders. He says strange. Things, but he looks exactly like I'm sure your. Friend was a fine man. But Raffi has never left the forest before. Now he was an axe man before the fever took his wits. We're here seeking a healer. The man hesitated. He wanted to believe her. Darla could see it in his eyes. The alternative was too complicated, too dangerous. But Prosper's face, that face he clearly remembered, was making it difficult. Prosper chose that moment to speak. The fish don't swim here. The water runs the wrong way up instead of down. How do the fish know which way to go? What? The birds fly differently too. Their wings catch the light wrong. Everything catches the light wrong. It's the wrong sun you see, not the same sun at all. Dahla saw the transformation happen in real time. The recognition in the man's eyes faded, replaced by uncomfortable pity. Whatever he remembered of Prosper, a colleague, perhaps a fellow guard, some one who had been sharp and capable. This rambling fool was clearly not that person. I'm sorry I was mistaken. The resemblance is remarkable, but clearly this is not who I thought it was. It happens sometimes strange as think they know him. It's the eyes. I think he has kind eyes. Yes, yes, I see. I apologize for the intrusion. I hope you find your healer. He walked back to his table, and Darla saw him shake his head at his companion's a mistake, a coincidence, nothing more. Darla waited until her heart stopped pounding before she. Spoke, Prosper, that was well done. He looked at her, and for just a moment, his eyes were clear, sharp, present. Then the clarity faded, and he returned to tracing patterns on the table, lost in whatever landscape existed inside his broken mind. Darla drained her cup and ordered another. When Maeler returned an hour later, Darla told her everything about the man, about the recognition, about Prosper's strange, perfect intervention. We need to be more careful. He's known here. We should keep him hidden, agreed, But I think there might be more left in there than we realized. What do you mean he saved us, Maeler, whether he meant to or not his ramblings convinced that man he was wrong. It was almost like almost like he knew what he was doing. Maeler was quiet for a long moment. Then we'll have to hope he knows what he's doing again, because we can't afford any more close calls. Darla nodded. She looked at prosper at his peaceful, dreaming face, and wondered, not for the first time, what secrets still lived in those empty, wandering eyes. The podcast Alchemy production