Ivan pressed his lips together, hiding a smirk. The intelligence being sold was, without a doubt, courtesy of the gang, a calculated leak meant to maximize their profits. They'd sell the same information about this unsuspecting, newly awakened wizard over and over, at gatherings like this one and others scattered across the city. The poor wizard likely had no idea they were now marked prey in a game of survival.
In Bridgewick, there were roughly sixty wizards, around forty of whom were not tied to any gang. Even if just half of these unaffiliated wizards bought the intel, the gang would net around 400 dollars. Easy profit, built on whispered secrets and traded lives.
The old man's voice rang out again, crisp and calm. "Those interested in purchasing this intelligence, please raise your hands."
Ivan glanced around as four hands lifted, each motion as subtle as it was telling. He knew the logic behind their decision. Most wizards, upon awakening, started with a rank between 3E and 5D. If a gang backed them, they could swiftly boost their standing to D-level, but climbing further, to rank C, was a different story altogether. That leap required hunting down and defeating five other wizards, and the risk of becoming a target in turn was high. For many, it was a bloody, competitive game that kept most stuck at D, embroiled in a perpetual struggle for survival.
Ivan, however, kept his hand down, choosing not to participate. He had plans to leave Bridgewick, and no desire to join the ruthless hunt. Trading in lives was a practice he loathed, even if he knew there was little he could do to change the system.
The old man nodded slightly, acknowledging the buyers. "Thank you. Please lower your hands." After a pause, he continued, "Our next item is a complete water ghost brain. Starting bid is 30 dollars. If more than one of you is interested, we'll let it go to the highest bidder. Those interested, please raise your hands."
Ivan's interest piqued. Water spirit; rare creatures that amphibians transformed into after awakening, were almost extinct now, as elusive as mythical giant salamanders. Their brains held unique properties, infused with the essence of water itself, making them valuable for a wide range of rituals, spells, and enchanted items. Despite his interest, Ivan noticed with some irritation that the old man made no move to actually show the item. Apparently, his word was supposed to be enough.
"This old man must have a sterling reputation if he can sell items sight unseen," Ivan mused silently, leaning back in his seat. "I wonder if he takes a cut from each sale. Just how much would that be?"
After a tense, silent minute, a wizard dressed in black robes raised a hand, claiming the water ghost brain. The transaction was quick, efficient, and the old man's expression remained neutral, showing no pleasure as he moved to the next item.
"We have two enchanted props up for bidding now," he announced. "First, a flat-top hat that grants the wearer instant proficiency in tap dance, break dance, and disco."
Ivan stifled a chuckle. Dance skills? Really? He wondered if he'd walked into a wizard's gathering or a theatrical props auction. The hat was certainly eccentric, a far cry from the deadly serious tools of sorcery he'd expected.
The old man continued smoothly, unbothered by the murmurs of amusement. "The second item is a fountain pen. Anything written with this pen compels the reader to believe it as truth. However, once the ink is depleted, the pen loses its magic."
Ivan glanced around, curious to see if anyone would take the bait. To his surprise, both items were claimed, their new owners eyeing the enchanted trinkets with evident satisfaction. Ivan found himself amused; and maybe a little concerned. Had the wizarding world always been this odd, or had he simply been away too long?
The old man cleared his throat, preparing to introduce the final item. "Our last item for tonight," he intoned, "is a radius bone from a demon spirit. The price starts at 40 dollars. Please raise your hand if interested."
He let the words hang in the air, his gaze sweeping over the room as he scanned for interest. In the shadowed corner, a man slowly raised his hand, marking the end of the evening's trade. The old man nodded, satisfied, and prepared to bring the gathering to a close.
Ivan watched from his seat, a faint smile playing on his lips. It seemed that, despite the strange offerings and the cutthroat undercurrents, the night had delivered the intrigue he'd been hoping for.
The old man who had gathered the group gave a sharp knock on the table, his voice calm but authoritative. "Gentlemen, room 202 is set aside for the two of you. You can head there to discuss in detail while we continue handling commissions here."
"Right, right," the man across the room muttered, rising to his feet. He shot Ivan a look, one eyebrow raised as he said, "Let's go. Just a heads up, though, my prices are steep."
Ivan nodded silently, unconcerned about cost for the moment. He followed the man out into the dimly lit corridor, where shadows flickered against faded wallpaper. Room 202 was easy to spot; the brass number gleamed against the door, polished and clear.
When they entered, Ivan was struck by the contrast. The room was refined and elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the murky twilight, casting long shadows across a set of low coffee tables and plush sofas. A desk sat near the back, making it feel more like a cozy office for high-stakes meetings rather than a clandestine backroom.
The man dropped onto a sofa and retrieved a small booklet from his jacket pocket, giving Ivan an appraising look. "All right," he said briskly, pen at the ready. "What documents are we forging?"
Ivan took a steadying breath, then laid it out. "A passport, a driver's license, and a visa to Russian Republic." He added the visa as a misdirection, hoping to give the impression he was planning to leave Bridgewick for Russian. Maybe, if anyone from the gang uncovered his tracks, they'd assume he was heading to the docks and chase a false trail.
A thought flickered through Ivan's mind. This man was clearly connected. Was he part of the gang, or merely a trusted affiliate?
With cautious curiosity, Ivan asked, "Just curious, are you a member of the Bridgewick Gang?"
The man grinned, biting the cap of his pen as he jotted down Ivan's details. He squinted up at Ivan, his eyes sharp with amusement. "Got a problem with them?"
"I do," Ivan replied simply, choosing not to hide it. Most wizards in Bridgewick had grievances with the gang; some had lost friends or been hunted, others were caught in a web of grudges and debts. Ivan's own bitterness was just another thread in that tapestry.
The man gave a dry chuckle. "The gangs? Just clients of mine, bigger ones, sure, but I don't mix business with sentiment. They're like any other customer, as interested in money as street vendors and financiers." He shrugged. "I'm not here to spill your secrets, kid. It's not in my interest, unless they force me and that rarely happens, seeing as I'm the best forger in the city."
"Good to know," Ivan said with a small nod, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I just thought maybe we could be friends."
The man rolled his eyes, muttering, "You young folks and your need to make everything personal." He set down his pen and gave Ivan a half-smirk. "Charlie Hammer. [Forger], top of my trade. Live on Park Street. I've got a pug at home. Want my shoe size too?"
Ivan chuckled, holding up his hands. "No, that's good, Mr. Hammer."
It seemed a bit ridiculous, but it was reassuring in its way. At least he'd put a face and a name, to the man, which might make betrayal a little less likely.
Hammer straightened, clearing his throat. "Now, I'll need details. What name do you want on the documents? Feel free to give me a pseudonym if you're still feeling cautious."
A pseudonym? For a split second, Ivan entertained the thought of something melodramatic "Sherlock Moriarty" crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Bridgewick wasn't large, and the Russian community within the city was even smaller. If he suddenly disappeared and another wizard with his background appeared, it wouldn't take a detective to connect the dots.
"Let's go with Vladimir," he answered, smiling.
"Russian, are you?" Hammer raised an eyebrow, briefly sizing Ivan up. His impression of Russian folks was that they tended to be, well, less put-together. But he shook off his initial surprise, pen flying over the paper as he recorded the necessary details without further comment.
Ivan answered each of Hammer's questions in turn. Two minutes later, Hammer snapped the booklet shut, satisfied. "That should do it. Simple stuff. You can pick them up tomorrow at six, here in room 202."
He leaned back, his voice calm as he named his price. "Each document's six dollars, so that'll be eighteen altogether."
Ivan's jaw nearly dropped. "Eighteen? For three fakes? That's more than my entire wardrobe!"
Hammer caught his reaction and narrowed his eyes. "Listen, kid. My forgeries are flawless. Even if an [Appraiser] of rank C or lower inspects these, they won't tell a thing. And trust me, I'm cutting you a deal, that's the friendship rate."
Ivan blinked, then gave a slight, sheepish nod, amused by the idea that Hammer's 'friendship' came with a price tag.
"Friendship fee included. Got it."