Ch8: Suspicious boy

One month had passed since Trafestivas, and the chill of winter had finally settled over the city. The cold wind nipped at any exposed skin, making people shiver and seek shelter. Marx was no exception, but he was determined to make the most of his time indoors.

In his room at the inn, Marx had been diligently working on a new skill: Dovmiki, the technique of wood interlocking. He had scavenged dry wood from the abandoned areas of the city, often returning with his hands numb from the cold.

"Another day, another attempt," Marx said to himself each morning, his breath visible in the frosty air.

The journey had been filled with constant failures. "This joint doesn't fit right," he would mutter, examining a misaligned piece. "I need to be more precise."

But Marx was nothing if not persistent. Slowly but surely, his efforts began to pay off. After countless attempts and many splintered fingers, he had finally managed to master two out of the thirty types of wooden joints.

"Not bad," he said, holding up a perfectly interlocked piece of wood. "It's a start."

In the quiet of his room, Marx sat surrounded by shavings and tools, the fire from the inn's hearth barely reaching his small corner. "This technique will be useful," he thought, running his fingers over the smooth interlocked joint. "I can use it to create stronger, more intricate items."

Despite the harsh winter, Marx felt a sense of warmth from his accomplishments. "It's slow progress, but progress nonetheless," he reminded himself.

His journey was far from over, but Marx knew he was on the right path. The lessons he learned from his failures were just as valuable as his successes. Each piece he crafted, each joint he perfected, brought him closer to his goal of mastering the art of crafting.

"I'll keep working," he vowed, looking at the remaining types of joints he had yet to master. "One step at a time, I'll get there."

With renewed determination, Marx set his tools aside for the night, ready to face whatever challenges the next day would bring.

The next day, Marx was just about to work on his craft when the innkeeper barged into his room, her face flushed with anger.

"What did you do?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "The guard captain himself is here asking for you!"

Marx's heart skipped a beat. "The guard captain?" he repeated, confusion mingled with a hint of fear. "I didn't do anything... at least, I don't think I did."

"Well, you'd better find out," the innkeeper snapped. "He's waiting downstairs."

Marx quickly followed her down to the inn's common area. The guard captain was seated at a table, his expression unreadable. Marx approached cautiously and greeted him.

"Good morning, Captain," Marx said, trying to sound confident. "I hear you wanted to see me."

"Sit down, boy," the captain said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. Marx complied, his mind racing with possibilities.

"So, what brings you here?" Marx asked, attempting to keep his voice steady.

The captain leaned forward, his eyes boring into Marx. "We've had some... interesting reports about you," he said. "Seems you've been quite busy since Trafestivas."

Marx frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said honestly. "I've just been working on my crafts and trying to make a living."

The captain nodded slowly. "That much is clear," he said. "But it's not every day a street beggar turns into a skilled craftsman overnight. People are talking, and I wanted to see for myself."

Marx relaxed slightly. "Well, I'm just trying to improve my situation," he explained. "I've been learning new skills and making items to sell. That's all."

The captain studied him for a moment longer before leaning back in his chair. "You've done well for yourself," he said finally. "But be careful. Not everyone in this city will be as understanding as I am. Some might think you're up to something... questionable."

"I understand," Marx said, relieved. "I'll be careful."

The captain stood up, adjusting his cloak. "Good. Keep your nose clean, and you won't have any trouble from us."

Marx nodded. "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it."

As the captain left, Marx let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The innkeeper, who had been hovering nearby, approached him.

"What was that all about?" she asked, her tone softer now.

"Just a misunderstanding," Marx said, standing up. "But it's sorted now."

The innkeeper eyed him warily. "You'd better be telling the truth," she said. "I don't want any trouble here."

"I promise, no trouble," Marx assured her. "I'm just trying to make a better life for myself."

"Good," she said, finally relaxing. "Now, get back to whatever it is you're doing. And keep out of trouble."

Marx nodded and headed back to his room, his mind already turning back to his crafting.

Feeling the weight of the guard captain's warning and the innkeeper's suspicion, Marx decided to seek more advice from the advisory booth. This time, he had three pressing questions. He approached the familiar booth with a sense of trepidation and curiosity.

The sign, "Two Advice for the Lowest Price," greeted him again, though today he needed three pieces of advice. Marx entered the booth, finding the old man sitting behind the small table.

"Back again, boy?" the old man greeted with a crooked smile. "What brings you here this time?"

Marx took a deep breath and handed over three copper coins. "I have three questions," he said. "Why are people after me? How should I avoid these kinds of situations again? And how should I move forward after this?"

The old man leaned back, his eyes glittering with interest. "Three questions, eh? Let's start with the first one. Why are people after you? It's simple. People are suspicious of sudden changes. A beggar who turns into a skilled craftsman overnight? They fear what they don't understand."

Marx nodded slowly. "So, it's just because I'm different now?"

"Exactly," the old man confirmed. "Now, onto your second question. How to avoid these situations in the future?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Use deceit, manipulation, and stay behind the scenes. Make people think they are in control, even when they are not. Blend in. Don't let anyone see your true intentions."

Marx furrowed his brow, considering the advice. "You mean, lie and trick people?"

The old man chuckled. "It's not always about lying. It's about guiding people to see what you want them to see. Be the puppeteer, not the puppet."

Marx's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Alright. And for my third question, how should I move forward after this?"

The old man grinned and reached for the chessboard. "Remember our last game?" he asked, setting up the pieces. "Let's play another round. The game of chess is like life. You need to think ahead, anticipate your opponent's moves, and always be ready to adapt. Every piece has its role, just like every person in your life. Use them wisely."

As they played, Marx found himself recalling the lessons from their previous encounter. The old man's advice seemed cryptic, but there was truth in it. When the game ended, Marx had lost again, but he felt a newfound clarity.

"Thank you," Marx said, standing up. "I'll think about what you've said."

The old man waved him off. "Remember, boy, the world is a game. Play it well, and you'll succeed."

Marx left the booth, his mind buzzing with thoughts. The old man's advice was unconventional, but it had worked for him so far. He decided to give it a try, cautiously.

As Marx walked away, the old man sighed with annoyance. "That boy is a fool," he muttered to himself. "How he used my terrible advice to get this far is beyond me. But at least I know he'll keep coming back, squandering his money on me."

Despite his grumbling, the old man felt a perverse satisfaction. The boy's persistence was amusing, and his progress, though unintended, was undeniable. The old man leaned back in his chair, already anticipating their next encounter.

Marx, meanwhile, returned to the inn with a renewed sense of purpose. He would play the game, using the pieces and the advice given to him, navigating the complex world with more caution and strategy.