Hassan ali-Haqim's page

"Attar is to be worn directly on the naked flesh," Hassan corrects Braddon politely. "What the gentleman requires is a scent bag or a pomander; such are designed to be carried or worn and to bestow a general perfume to counteract any unfortunate noxiousness. I have an antique jeweled mithral pomander of Kyonin craftsmanship, very rare, very delicate ... but perhaps, being a man of action, you may prefer something more practical. I have a selection of Tien sachets, brought over the Crown of the World, easily tucked away in a satchel. Only two silver coins each."

Hesitantly half-stepping, as if regretting the prospect of rummage, Gristav asks, "Would you be amenable to the proposition of providing me a scrip for each? So you might know, that whoever presented such, did so on my account? You see, I'd rather rush off to Rotgut. I'd even be happy to return later for the scrip..."

Hassan quirks a dubious eyebrow ... but with two gold coins already in hand, he nods. "Now or later, as you wish. It would be the work of a moment to write out the tickets."

"Do you have any smelly stuff? Nice stuff? I got caught in that flood a few days ago, on Wealday."

He looks at the toy and the backpack.
"I want something girly."

"But of course, sir. This is a gift or for your own personal use?"

"FOUR!?! These boots only cost two. How dumb do you think I am? (Is that blood on the toe?) I'll give you one silver."

"Ah, but the boots were fashioned here by a local craftsman," Hassan counters. "They cost him only the materials and the time to craft them. These small creations," he indicates the colorful animals, "have traveled from a remote mountain peak, high in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords, skirted the dangers of the Hold of Belkzen, crossed the Storval Plateau, and come all the way here, nearly to the edge of the Steaming Sea. As with most lives, the value is not derived from the raw materials but from the journey they have taken." He grins enigmatically.

"Three poppets, two gold?", he asks more seriously, the coins suddenly in his hand.

"And your friend may take his, as well," the merchant agrees quickly, taking the coins and gesturing Gristav to the barrel to select three more of the toys.

Braddon's eyes light up as he starts lifting animals from the barrel and setting them aside as he digs deeper. Eventually, he finds a larger, soft, bright patchwork animal and thrusts it towards Hassan.

"How much is this? I'll take it!"

The shop keeper's mien changes entirely as he turns to the half-elf, his face stretching into a wide grin and his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "These bright little animals were hand-crafted from mammoth wool by artisans in the Tusk Mountains. They have taken quite a journey to delight the eye of a discerning gentleman on the Varisian coast, no? Four silver coins."

"You do not disappoint. Very well informed, for a man who seems not to leave his shop.... You spoke of a reputation. Could you elaborate?"

Hassan rolls one shoulder in a non-committal shrug. "A man need not beard the dragon's den to know that few return alive. I know nothing of the dwarf ... only a general insinuation that one who deals with him ought to count his coins carefully and refuse any offer of refreshment. And it may be mere empty rumor. Who am I to say?"

"There is a dwarf of some shade, dwelling in Rotgut, and I'd rather not knock on every door, nor splash ripples in a pond where the fish might startle into biting. I expect, you might direct me. My business with him would be two-fold, the one more urgent than the other, the least only mentioned as I shouldn't wish to seem to have been concealing. I've a surplus of alchemical equipments and supplies of clear provenance but dubious purpose, and thought he might make safe disposal or use of them, I don't much care which. That's the lesser matter. The greater, which brings me to your door, on a rest day, devolves from his dwarven nature, and I'd rather not speak much more to details thereof. If I might avoid it."

Hassan's expression doesn't flicker. "Gundsric," he affirms. "Nearly as far south in Rotgut as you can go. A three-story building nestled in the shadow of the western ridge, beneath the sign of a snake coiled around a staff. I know him only by reputation, but if the price is fair, he may well be willing to relieve you of your surplus equipment."

Braddon knocks at the door of the small shop, standing beneath a painted wooden placard bearing the moniker 'Bazaar of the Seafaring Peddlar': impossibly blue waves lap at the bottom corner of the words, and a brightly-colored ship peeks over the horizon of the oversized 'B' of Bazaar. Freshly-washed windows of multiple hand-sized panes of glass on either side of the door display eclectic wares: glass and wooden windchimes, brightly-enameled pottery, necklaces of knotted cord and hand-painted beads, hammered copper bracelets and earrings, tiny stone idols, small carved chests, and gewgaws and knick-knacks of all kinds.

The clutter in the windows means that it is difficult to get a clear view of anything in the back of the shop, but after waiting a while, Braddon hears the sound of footsteps. A moment later, a Keleshite man with a neatly trimmed beard peers through the front window. His gaze passes over Braddon and Snake coolly, but a spark of recognition lights his dark eyes when they land on Gristav.

He unlocks the door with no appearance of haste. "You are shopping early this morning," he observes, opening the door and setting a silver chime above it jingling. "I trust your need is urgent and your pursestrings loose?"

"Collateral then," Hassan concedes with some reluctance. He retrieves the locked box from beneath the counter and places the sleeves back inside, along with the gem and gold coins, before relocking it and replacing the key in his pocket.

Phillip takes his long-anticipated and newly-acquired puzzle box as he steps out into the late morning sunlight and....?

Phillip filches the peridot and another ten coins of gold from his purse and places them atop the gossamer item as paperweight. Slipping from his perch he closes "Downpayment upon the item arcane, with the completion to come nearer the close of the day." pausing a moment before explaining "One needs wait for his own agent return from market before adding enough weight to the pile. I trust this will suffice to hold them for a pass of the sun?"

Hassan's eyes glitter as he holds the peridot up in the light to examine it. "There is a gnome jeweler, name of Kemplefae. You will trust her appraisal or supply your own expert over and against her?"

Hassan replaces everything but the sleeves into the box, closes it, and sets it carefully beneath the counter. "It seems that I recently had a conversation with a customer," he begins, pursing his lips in recollection, "about disposing of some items which, while useless and distasteful to him, might be of value to someone else. Sadly, I have forgotten the details which might have proved helpful; else I might have directed you as I did him. I have heard, however, that there is no indulgence so foul that coin cannot procure it in Rotgut District ... though I hasten to add that there are few dangers so foul that one cannot meet them unaware in the same neighborhood."

Across the river in the Bazaar of the Seafaring Peddlar, Hassan replaces the bandages in the box and brings out the coiled cord. "Wrapped around a man's waist, this will give him the agility of a cat, and some of its luck. In a fight, it helps you find an opening to slip in and out of danger. For the cord ... eight hundred gold coins." He grins, his teeth glittering, as is his habit when discussing price.

belt of tumbling

Hassan sets the gloves back inside the box and carefully removes the gossamer gauntlets. "For those who like to travel light," he grins. "The man who slips these over his arms can be dressed for any occasion, in the blink of an eye. Useful when you are not certain what opportunities a day may bring ... or when someone may be looking for a man seen dressed in a particular fashion and you do not wish to be that man. Perhaps you find these a better investment for two hundred gold coins?"

sleeves of many garments

"Or," he goes on, setting down the sleeves and picking up the folded linen, "for the same price, a quantity of gauze steeped in healing magic. These must have fallen out of a crate being carted to the arena," he explains circumspectly. "A wound wrapped in these bandages, deep as it may be, will mend quickly, with no requirement to pay healers or stay abed. Like the gloves, however, they may be used only once before their magic is expended."

bandages of rapid recovery

He notices Phillip's interest in the cord. "This item," he warns him, "is far more costly than the others."

Hassan studies Phillip another pensive moment, then reaches into the box and picks up the gloves gingerly. "I was sold these by a Cyphermage apprentice in need of some quick and anonymous coin. On command, one glove animates and will assist its wearer with a single task, or provide a momentary ally in a fight. After a single use, the magic is expended, leaving only a pair of gloves ... which," he grins, "will still protect the hands from cold and damp. They are very dear, nearly 200 gold coins." He watches Phil's reaction closely.

assisting glove

"So... show me something worthy of what silver and gold I might part with..."

"Hm," Hassan replies distractedly. He continues to fix the halfing with a probing gaze for a long moment before offering a wry smile. "A moment." He exits through the door behind the counter, which presumably leads to storage and his own living quarters, returning soon with a intricately-carved box the size of a large book. Setting it on the countertop, he removes a small key from his pocket to unlock the box before lifting its lid. Within, Phil can see what looks to be a length of cotton cord, folded linen, a nondescript pair of gloves, coarse leather armbands, and a gauzy set of gauntlets that resemble spidersilk. The box looks to be lead-lined. Despite the mundane appearance of the contents of the small chest, Hassan keeps a wary eye on the front door, keeping a hand ready to clap the lid shut again if anyone else should enter.

With a smile he fishes a pair of additional gold coins from his purse, playing them across the knuckles and only the pile "What's within for a rainy day then." watching Hassan's face for any signs as to whether the contents had been scanned or not...

Hassan grins, quickly sweeping the thirteen coins off the counter with one hand while he pushes the puzzle box across to Phil with the other. "A wise habit," he replies. "Those who plant silver reap gold, no? But your two sown coins would have to bear much fruit before they could purchase greater treasures." He peruses the halfling shrewdly, as if gauging the weight of his purse.

putting hand within his purse and first counting out the remaining value put down against the puzzle box in gold coins

Hassan's eyebrows raise as he watches Phil stack eleven gold coins on the countertop. "You have been in luck, my friend, since your last visit. But wait," he reminds the halfling, producing the puzzle box from beneath the counter and shaking it to produce a telltale rattle, "there are still two coins wanting. Will you produce them now from within the coffer? Or add two more to your stack and replenish your purse from the box at your leisure?"

Phillip lets his gaze travel over the glass and wooden windchimes, brightly-enameled pottery, necklaces of knotted cord and hand-painted beads, hammered copper bracelets and earrings, tiny stone idols, small carved chests, and the rest of Hassan's wares as he waits for the previous customer to conclude his purchase.

"I thank you for your business, " the shopkeeper smiles from behind his counter as he hands over a wrapped parcel to the waiting man. The door chime rings as the man exits, and Hassan turns his attention to the halfling. "Welcome back, my friend! Are you in search of another gift? Or have you returned for your puzzle box?"

Hassan's eyes reflect the glitter of the gold coins as he sweeps them off the counter. "Your custom is always a welcome pleasure," he replies with a bland smile, "although I regret to say I have already forgotten what we may have been discussing before our transaction."

"Understood" Transferring the bibelots to the counter, Phillip raises an eyebrow so as to enquire after price.

"Ah," Hassan replies with enthusiasm, "these bright little animals were hand-crafted from mammoth wool by artisans in the Tusk Mountains. They have taken quite a journey to delight the eye of a child on the Varisian coast, no? Three silver coins apiece."

"Would you know of an alchemist that might have interest? I find that delicate matters such as this pass better through known entities rather than unintroduced fumblings."

He grins. "A few years ago, I might have directed you to Cleg Zincher's brother, but he has died since, may Pharasma usher his soul to rest. His passing has left us bereft in Riddleport of a well-established public alchemist. There is a dwarf who has set up his shingle in Rotgut, but his reputation is not irreproachable. Perhaps that merely makes him a more likely buyer for the poison glands, however. At any rate, I can provide no introduction, only directions. Most respectable people are reduced to seeking out an alchemist passing through in Lubbertown. I can give you the name of a man I have had dealings with in the past, Pitivo Vitteri, but I cannot swear he will be there and not on the road."

Phillip is able to find the bibelots he is looking for: an undulating snake with a protruding felt tongue in golden yellow, a mauve raccoon with a plum-colored mask and ringed tail, and an indigo butterfly with embroidered silver spangles on its wings.

"Hm," the shopkeep replies, raising his eyebrows, "perhaps this burdensome merchandise originated from the arena? No, don't answer. But if your acquaintance has crossed Cleg Zincher, I would advise him to be rid of the evidence quickly and in such a way that it cannot be traced back to him. Cleg Zincher is not a forgiving man."

He frowns in thought a moment. "If the arena is ruled out, my next thought would be one of the bosses who might enjoy an exotic pet ... but such an acquisition would surely come to Mr. Zincher's attention. What you need is a man with the ego and the wealth to lay out coin on his whims but who does not move in the same circles as the lords of the city. A businessman in Windward perhaps? But he would not wish such dangerous creatures in the same house with his family."

His brow suddenly smooths. "There is a man," he tells Phillip, "a man who was once a power in Riddleport but whose influence has declined since the Overlord became resident on Maskyr's Island. His fortune, however, has suffered no such decline, from what I understand, and he still does some moneylending. Wilfrid Piggens is his name. I know nothing of him personally, but if anyone both has the coin for an extravagant purchase and is unlikely to come to the attention of Cleg Zincher, it would be he." He pauses. "You said there are dead ones as well? If they have not been dead too long, you might be able to sell them to an alchemist to extract the poison."

"Dangerous beasts," Hassan muses. "The arena would be the obvious outlet, and I doubt Cleg Zincher would delve too deeply into the source of a good bargain."

"One that I know may have come into possession of some merchandise that would be of no interest to your good self... but might pique excitement in the sort of man that barters for those goods that you would not sell..."

Hassan frowns contemplatively. "It can be a heavy burden to possess such merchandise. One feels one has a right to reasonable compensation ... but one must always fear the consequences of being discovered at an inconvenient time and place. I would advise your acquaintance to close the business as quickly as possible and let those with established connections worry about its subsequent disposal; they know the methods to induce people to look the other way."

Phillip enters the Bazaar, greeted by the now-familiar jingle of the silver bell and the sight of the colorful jumble of Hassan's eclectic goods. A few moments after the bell's chime is silenced, the eponymous peddlar himself appears in the doorway from his rooms behind the store. "Ah, my friend," he clasps his hands and offers the halfling a slight bow, "you have returned. I trust your lady friend was pleased with the attar? Or have you simply come to visit your puzzle box once more?"

Hassan affixes the missives to the outside of the parchment-wrapped packages with blobs of blue sealing wax; then he hands Gristav the pack of cards, enveloped for safe travel, and a doctored receipt, and Phillip the two vials, one swathed in silk, the other folded in a scrap of parchment. "Be careful they do not break in your pocket or your pack," he warns the halfling, "or your nostrils will cloy with the scent before you are rid of it. I thank you for your business, gentlemen. You, my friend," he addresses Phillip alone, "your coin has purchased another week's rent on the puzzle-box. Do not forget to redeem it in two Moondays' time."

"Done, my friend," the man grins. He wraps both men's purchases as requested and provides parchment and ink for Gristav to provide direction for his deliveries.

"Ten gold, four silver," he counters swiftly, "and take as many palm fronds as you want, in the bargain."

"Ah, yes, the pack of cards," Hassan smiles. "Carried all the way from the gateway to Casmaron. Sixteen silver coins for the set. And the hat...? Well, new, it must have cost more than twenty gold pieces, but of course, it is no longer new. And of course, its previous owner was a most motivated seller and let it go for less than it was worth. And of course, there are few men in Riddleport 'grand' enough, as you say, to wear it. Shall we say ... nine gold coins?"

"Ah, Hassan, all your wares are wonders. One might never leave here with anything ordinary, which would rarely be a problem... except today. I've need of draughts or cards and cribbage-comb, you've only the Kings of those suits, and I'd need Jacks or Sevens to fill my hand. My mistake, really, looking for the ordinary, here."

"Show me this broad hat. I do so miss my last. And if the feather doesn't suit, we might pluck one off a palm..."

"I am most gratified not to be able to accommodate you," the shopkeep grins. "If I am not mistaken, lower ranks of those suits are available at a lower rank of store: in Leeward Common for the Jacks or the wharves for the Twos and Threes. Indeed, I sell only treasures, that which is out of the ordinary; to disguise yourself as a common sailor, patronize a common store."

"Now, as to the hat," he goes on, moving behind the counter once again to retrieve a large box, "it is not common either, I assure you. A man wears this hat to be noticed and remembered, not to blend in with the crowd." He removes the lid and lifts out a wide-brimmed hat so black it has a blue sheen. One side is pinned up with a golden badge from which a mass of fluffy indigo feathers erupts. "I am told it was sold by a Galtan nobleman fortunate enough to escape the Final Blades, albeit at the cost of crossing the border with only the clothes on his back and the hat on his head. Still, better to lose the hat off his head than the head off his shoulders, no?"

"The last is to wonder what wonders are lost in cupboards behind that which displays. Is there aught special that meets not the light of day for one reason or another?"

"I will not deny having a few special items tucked away ... for those with the means to afford them," Hassan responds in a low undertone, "but some goods draw uncomfortable scrutiny ... or unpleasant clientele."

"This is attar, my friend," he goes on in a more conversational tone, putting away the rejected vials, "not the perfumes concocted by alchemists in Magnimar which dissipate in the bottle and lose their scent on the skin. The attar can be treasured indefinitely and will only grow stronger and more fragrant with time. You could open this bottle fifty years hence, and it would still smell as sweet as the memory of a Varisian summer and a youthful dalliance, hey?" He picks up the crystal cut bottle of Mogra attar. "One small drop on your lady's skin each day, and this vial will last until the leaves are off the trees and she craves a warmer scent, amber or oud, to ward her body against the chill in the air. As for the other, a few drops in a cut-glass bottle will preserve the aroma beneath the stopper at your leisure. For the attar, six gold. I throw in the swaddle and the extra bottle for free." He waves his hand toward a display of decorative glass vials sparkling in the front window.

"Hats...," he turns back to Gristav. "I am no clothier, my friend, but it is my understanding that wide-brimmed hats are not in vogue at sea lest they be blown overboard? You could undoubtedly obtain a sailor's cap or an officer's tricorne in the Wharf District, either through mercantile channels or by snatching one off the head of a drunk or the stool of a tavern. I have a wide-brimmed hat with a feather, all the rage in Galt at one time, from what I've heard told, fezes in multiple colors, and some woven straw hats from the isles of the Shackles."

"Dried palm leaves," the shopkeep nods, stepping around the counter to produce some from an oversized vase in a corner, mixed in with long quill-like tail feathers from a colorful bird, "cut and trimmed by island natives. Useable as a fan or to shoo away insects. Value negligible to the simple islanders, of course, but as rare a conversation piece in Riddleport as a pine cone would be on sandy palm-strewn shores."

"What games I have, you will find over here," Hassan goes on, leading Gristav past displays of carved stone trinket-boxes and Varisian idols. He moves aside a rack of beaded necklaces to reveal a scattering of gaming equipment: a pewter and wood cribbage board with spilikins shaped like rapiers; a dartboard made from the varnished cross-section of a tree trunk with colorfully-feathered darts; sets of many-sided dice carved from stone; a felt-lined box with hinged wooden tiles numbered 1 to 9; a deck of cards painted with somewhat lewd pictures of Qadiran women in various states of undress; a tiny set of skittles beneath a miniature gallows from which a wooden ball is suspended on a chain; a folding backgammon set in which the dice and checkers can be enclosed for ease of travel; and a set of ebony dominos inlaid with mother-of-pearl pips.

"If I may leave you a moment to peruse," Hassan excuses himself to return to Phillip. "You have found a fragrance which meets with your approval?"

"A moment, sir, while I gather some wares for this fine gentleman," Hassan half-bows politely to Gristav before returning his attention to Phillip. "Ah, the attar: an intimate choice, worn directly on the naked flesh and intensifying with heat. This season of the year, you would desire a cool attar, to avoid undue warmth." He opens a cupboard behind the counter and muses a moment before extracting a few tiny crystal-cut vials.

"Attar of roses," he announces, setting the first tiny vial on the counter, "one of the newest of the oils to be distilled. For a woman who likes novelty and innovation, unbound by the traditions of the past."

"Attar of jasmine," he sets down the second of the vials, "from the mystic lands of Vudra, where the deities are as numerous as their worshippers. For the woman who is half-mortal, half-goddess."

"Khus," he goes on, laying down the third vial, "distilled from the root of the vetiver grass. Subtle and earthy, for she who is quiet and unassuming."

"Finally, two scents distilled from the flowers of Casmaron," he concludes, setting down the last two vials. "Kewda, a unique fragrance for the exotic beauty, and mogra, a sweet oil which bespeaks youth and innocence. Unstopper only one at a time," he cautions, "lest the fragrances mix. The attar, when worn, strikes a single clear note, not a symphony."

Leaving Phil to sample the scents, he turns back to Gristav. "Good day, sir. What treasure may I assist you in procuring this fine morning?"

"But of course," Hassan smiles, sweeping the coin off the counter, dropping it into the secret compartment, and returning the box to its seemingly smooth-surfaced condition without ever glancing inside. He sets the reserved puzzle-box back in its place beneath the counter. "What further treasure may I make your own this fine morning?"

Hassan's words may be enigmatic, but his smile is bland and unreadable. "But of course. It is simplicity itself when you know the trick." He demonstrates, manipulating the seemingly solid block of wood to cause the hidden door to spring open. Without glancing into the secret compartment, he sets the open puzzle-box down next to Phil's coin on the counter. "The only detriment is that anyone who knows the trick may penetrate your secret; each of these boxes operates along the same principle. You see? Try to open this one." The shopkeep takes down a virtually identical box from the high shelf where Phil's box resided and offers it to the halfling to test his memory.

"Another gold for another sevenday?" he muses. "I suppose that is fair. Give me the coin." He holds out one hand expectantly while reaching beneath the counter and retrieving the puzzle-box with the other.

"I suppose that depends," the shopkeep replies, his dark eyes glittering, "on whether you believe I will be more favorably inclined to satisfy your inquiries after outstanding accounts are settled or before."

Phillip once again makes his way past the Mystery of the Gate on his way to the Bazaar of the Seafaring Peddlar. Although it has been only two days since his last visit, it seems longer since he was a new arrival in a new town, knowing few of the people and even less of the terrain. Past the small store, he sees the massive walls of Zincher's Arena and wonders if Akron and Ranef and the rest of the stable are already at work on the sand, training before the heat of the day.

Phil enters the shop, setting the silver bell above the door to chiming. The store is as jam-packed and colorful as ever; if there have been additions to or departures from the eclectic wares, they are not immediately apparent. Before the melodic sound of the bell has died down, Hassan ali-Haqim comes through the door behind the counter. "Blessings upon you this morning. Ah! The puzzle-box, yes? Have you come to redeem it, or only to visit?"

Nodding Phillip replies "Agreed and done... one week in time I have purchased and will see you again before it is up." putting one gold coin on the counter next to the bracelet... and then laying part of a longer gambit.

Very carefully he shows the second coin, hesitates and then picks up the puzzle box "I could think of nowhere safer" and placing the coin within the secret compartment with a flourish - before swiftly closing the compartment. He then hands the box back to Hassan with an earnest smile.

The shopkeep watches Phillip's gesture with the coin and the box with a touch of surprise. "Very well, my friend," he replies, giving the box a shake to hear the coin rattling within before setting it on a shelf below the counter. "Shall I wrap your lady's gift for safe travel?"

"I will propose this - I will give you a gold piece today for you to hold as proof of my intent towards the box, and I will also give you a second for the bracelet so that I may walk away from your establishment leaving you both healthy profit on the table and the gift that I desire. Would you then safeguard the box against another purchasing it until I return and am able to speak to you of it again?"

"One gold coin for the bracelet and another as a deposit on the puzzle box?" he repeats, to reiterate the proposal. "Done, provided you return within one week to confirm you are still interested in the box. People come and go quickly in Riddleport; I would not have it collecting dust behind my counter when you are in Magnimar or Kalsgard and have forgotten about it."

"So as to place some metric upon my mind... what is the worth that you place upon these?"

"These bracelets are handstrung by Bonuwat women on the west coast of Garund. The beads are actually fragments of seashell worn smooth by the tides. Not precious, but quite unusual in Varisia. For the bracelet: 9 silver coins."

"The scarf is made of silk that traveled the Golden Path from the Padishash Empire of Kelesh. For the scarf: 7 silver coins."

Waiting until he has heard the worth first... Phillip then inquires of another desire "I noted as I regarded your wares from outside that you dabble in means of storage? - chests and boxes and the like?" pausing for confirmation before following up "I have recently moved into a residence where while I needs appear trusting they have not yet earnt it from me... so I need a means of securing items of worth in plain view. Not a large compartment is needed - merely enough to fit say a few apples within... would that be within your purview?"

"If you wish a false-bottomed chest, I would have to advise you to visit a carpenter," ali-Haqim replies regretfully. "My shop is not large enough to house such items. I have some small chests with locks, but if I understand you correctly, a locked box is precisely what you wish to appear not to possess? I have a few puzzle boxes from Minkai on the far side of the world. Perhaps you could pass it off as an ornament or an entertainment for your idle hours?" He retrieves a painted block of wood from a high shelf and demonstrates the series of manipulations required to pop open a secret door, imperceptible when the box is closed. Within is enough room for at least one apple. "It has traveled far and that alone, apart from its intrinsic worth, adds to the price: 13 gold coins."

Anyone who doesn't know the secret of opening it would have to succeed at a Disable Device or Knowledge (engineering) check to have a chance to open the box.

The eponymous seafaring peddlar listens to Phillip's list of provisos and conditions with equanimity. "You have come to the right man, my friend," he replies. "I have gifts and treasures from all over the Inner Sea and beyond; somewhere in this shop is the exact item that will say you are interested but not besotted, prosperous but not profligate, a man worthy of the effort if the lady plays her cards right but not one to be trifled with." He unobtrusively rolls a short stepladder from behind the counter and situates it so that Phil can climb the steps and examine goods placed on the counter.

"Yellow, let me see...." He casts a practiced eye around the crowded room. "Some gentlemen purchase whimsical toy animals for their sweethearts ... but no! not you. You are a practical and sophisticated man; you are pursuing a woman and not a child. This charm," he selects a pendant of yellow glass hanging high in the front window and sets it on the counter, "comes all the way from the Song-Wind City in the jungles of the Mwangi Expanse; hang it in a sunny window, and it throws a splash of color into your room. It is a thing of great beauty but ... cold, aloof, not very personal; not something she will wear next to her skin."

He turns his attention to the jewelry display and removes two bracelets, one made of yellow beads on a leather cord, the other a thick wooden bangle painted with yellow flowers. "A bracelet says you would like to be the one holding her hand. The one with the beads is more exotic and more intimate; it hugs the wrist, while the bangle hangs freely." He grins as he lays the on the counter. "Also, slightly more expensive."

Moving to the display of scarves on the back wall, he carefully lifts down two. "This is almost more a shawl than a scarf," he says, laying a fluffy butter-colored mantle across the end of the counter. "It is warm, like an embrace, but in this weather," he shrugs, "it may suggest you intend still to be as amorous when the fall winds blow in. This other one," he unfurls a diaphanous veil the color of lemonade and lets it slowly flutter back down onto the surface of the counter, "stays in the moment. It is light, airy, insubstantial. She can wear it around her shoulders or even tied up in her hair: intimacy without thinking too far ahead."