The magical journey of a countryside boy

After the guards finish searching the wagon and Trojjan pays the toll, they finally pass through the gates of Bruges.

William can't decide where to look first. Bruges reminds him of Arindale, expanded to a massive scale. The avenues stretch wide enough for multiple carts abreast, with buildings looming uncomfortably high, and the crowds press so thick that people brush shoulders without even slowing their pace.

The merchants stand out immediately. Dressed in fine clothes and carrying themselves with an air of superiority, they bark orders as though they own the city. Workers in plain tunics hurry between warehouses and wagons carrying crates, sacks, and barrels, barely stopping before another shout from their employer sends them elsewhere.

Every so often, William notices someone else staring around in open amazement. Judging by their wide eyes and wandering gazes, he isn't the only one visiting Bruges for the first time.

One thing, however, surprises him. Despite the crowds, he doesn't see a single hawker, market stall, or food cart anywhere along the streets.

“Why aren't there any hawkers or shops near the entrance?” William asks, raising his voice over the shouts of merchants and the clatter of wagon wheels on the cobblestones.

“Lad, unlike Arindale, this is a proper city.” Trojjan guides the wagon into another lane with a flick of the reins. “Bruges is divided into districts. This here is the Warehouse District, where goods are loaded and unloaded.”

William watches a line of laborers struggle beneath sacks of grain before looking back at Trojjan.

"What other districts are there?"

Trojjan steers the wagon around another cart before answering.

"There's the Housing District, the Merchant District, and the Guard District.” Trojjan points farther ahead with a nod. “And at the very center stands the estate of Viscount Bruges.”

William glances at Trojjan. The old man speaks about Bruges as though he knows the city well. “You've been here before?”

“Aye. Once, about four years ago, on my way to Arindale.” Trojjan glances sideways at him. “And before you ask, we're heading to the Housing District.”

The streets grow quieter as the warehouses disappear, replaced by inns stretching down both sides of the road. Some are little more than weathered wooden buildings with faded signs, while others rise three or four stories high, their polished stone facades speaking of wealth.

After nearly half an hour without spotting a single ordinary home, William finally asks, “Why aren't there any houses here?”

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Trojjan chuckles. “Because the people who lived here realized they'd make more money renting rooms than living in them. One by one, they turned their homes into inns.” He gestures farther down the road. “You'll still find a few houses deeper in the district, but they're mostly old places where warehouse laborers live. Anyone who could afford to turn their home into an inn already has.”

William watches another group disappear through the doors of a crowded inn.

"But what if there aren't any customers?”

Trojjan lets out a snort. “Then the empire's trade has collapsed.” He shrugs. “And if that happens, believe me, the fate of a few inns will be the least of our worries.”

After some time, they stop outside a modest inn. It is far better kept than the dilapidated ones they passed earlier, though it is still a far cry from the luxurious establishments scattered throughout the district.

After settling Betty in the stables, William follows Trojjan inside. The building is old but well maintained, with sturdy wooden beams and clean floors. Even so, William can't understand the price. Seven coppers for a single night—nearly three times what an inn in Arindale charges.

Yet neither Trojjan nor the other travelers seem the least bit surprised. In Bruges, it appears, this is simply the going rate.

After they settle into their room, William walks over to the window. Outside, the sun begins its slow descent, bathing Bruges in the warm glow of late afternoon. Rather than quieting down, the city seems to grow even busier. Merchants shout across the streets, wagons rumble over the cobblestones, and people continue to stream through the roads below.

William leans against the window, watching the streets below, until Trojjan's voice pulls him away.

“Lad, I'm heading down to the dining hall. I'll ask around and see which shops sell Ashenflower without robbing me blind.” He fixes William with a stern look. “And let me remind you again—don't open the door for anyone, no matter what you hear. I've got a key. When I come back, I'll let myself in.”

William nods seriously as Trojjan heads downstairs to the dining hall.

Left alone, William's thoughts begin to race. He's right. I don't know what kind of people live in this city. I can't just trust anyone who claims to know magic. They could be lying... but then how am I supposed to find someone who really knows?

Maybe I need to ask someone who has nothing to gain from deceiving me... But who would that be?

After an hour of contemplation, William finally reaches a conclusion. He needs to find someone of high status—someone likely to know about magic—but also someone kind enough to answer his questions honestly. Finding a person like that in a city as vast as Bruges, however, will be easier said than done.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking. William rises from the bed as Trojjan steps inside, his expression unusually stiff. The old man drops onto the bed with a tired sigh.

William waits a moment before asking, "Did you find a shop?”

“Aye. I found two places. One's a shop, the other's a merchant caravan.”

William studies his face for a moment. “Then... did something happen?”

Trojjan rubs his forehead. “I don't know. But while I was asking around, I heard some troubling news. The biggest merchant in Bruges is trying to sell off a large part of his business, and he's doing it in a hurry. No one seems to know why.”

“So what's the problem?” William asks.

Trojjan lets out a slow breath. “Kid, men don't become the richest merchants in the largest trade city in the west by throwing money away. He's selling at a loss.” He shakes his head. “That tells me he knows something everyone else doesn't. Whatever it is, I want to be as far away from it as possible.”

William nods quietly, unable to imagine what could force a man that wealthy to abandon his own business.