From her vantage at the edge of the trading grounds, Mrs. Hrurk could watch entire markets move. Her keen eyes tracked power and wealth as it migrated across the economic landscape. She could practically hear the pulse of society with every ebb and flow of the prices. The market itself seemed alive.
And like any living organism, it was messy. Traders and brokers pushed and shouted and waved packets of parchment in the air in a ritual that was some strange crossbreed of an auction, a melee, and a stampede. Buyers, candle-runners, and onlookers were caught up in the boil and added to the general confusion.
It put Feista in mind of Muskie’s Fish Market down by the Riverdowns. The only difference was that they sold paper instead of fish up here, and the sellers were convinced they didn’t stink as much. Feista knew otherwise; having a dog’s nose was a blessing and a curse.
First up on Mr. Poldo’s list was a way to short Conglomerated Silversmiths, though Mrs. Hrurk was too savvy to risk shorting outright. Feista’s ears perked up to hear better, and the thrum of the crowd separated into a thousand conversations, deals, and shouts. A man was angry about the price of the dragon’s hoard. A woman was yelling that she wanted barrels of tannin. A financier was hawking stock loans and short sales.
The last one sounded promising. She pushed through the crowd to a heavy Halfling in a garish purple suit with a matching top hat. “Stock loans! Get rich today! Pay tomorrow!” he hollered.
“You sell options?” Feista barked at him.
The Halfling looked her up and down, his red mustache drooping under the weight of a sudden frown. “You sure you’re in the right place, honey?”
“No, I’m not sure,” said Feista, working to keep her hackles down. “If you do put options, I might be, but if you keep asking dumb questions, I’ll have to take my money elsewhere.”
The Halfling held up his hands in apology. “All right, all right. Sorry. It’s just that options are complicated, right? And there’s, you know, minimums.”
“I’m optioning on eight hundred thousand giltin today, if I can find someone who doesn’t waste my time. Do you, or do you not, sell put options?” the Gnoll growled.
The financier perked up immediately. “Oh, um, yes! Yes, I’m your guy. Put and calls, short selling, derivatives, you name it. What do you need, darling?”
“Mrs. Hrurk,” she said.
“T. D. Swabber.” He held out his hand, mistaking her correction for an introduction.
Feista suppressed a sigh. “A pleasure. I’m looking to buy put options on ten thousand shares of Conglomerated Silversmiths. Three-month time frame, strike price of eighty giltin per share.”
“Are you sure you—”
“Mr. Swabber, I’ve got deliveries coming to the home, contractors working on the kitchen, and three pups doing their best to destroy everything I manage to build. I am very busy. If it was just a short against the box I could have sent sprites to make the trade, but my partner doesn’t think there’s much chance of a bounce and they haven’t figured out how to make a sprite that can handle the per-share cost yet, so I have to be here. That’s an opportunity for you to earn a decent commission, if you don’t waste my time trying to figure out if I know what I’m doing. I do.”
“My apologies, hon—Mrs. Hrurk,” said Mr. Swabber. He counted off his fingers as he ran through some quick mental accounting. “That’s a two thousand and forty-four giltin fee, plus a ten percent commission.”
“Two thousand forty-four!” barked Feista. “Did you not hear that I know what I’m doing? That’s almost double the going rate! A thousand for the fee and a flat hundred giltin commission is more than fair.”
T.D. Swabber grimaced. “One thousand? That’s below the rate I’d charge a... uh.”
“Yes?” prompted Feista.
Mr. Swabber’s eyes had been drifting upward, but he quickly locked them onto Feista’s. “Uh, nothing.”
“You were going to say a Lightling. You charge more for Shadowkin.” Feista pointed a claw at the Halfling.
“No! Uh, no, I wasn’t.” The Halfling glanced up to someone behind her with a nervous smile.
“You were. Next you’ll tell me I have to wait for the paperwork to go through.”
Mr. Swabber took a step back. “No, no I won’t! I—Look… eleven hundred for the fee, one hundred giltin commission, I’ll do it right now. You’ll be done before the hour is up. Okay?” He glanced at something above Feista’s head on the last word.
“Deal!” Feista grabbed his hand and shook it. Only then did she turn to see what had distracted the financier. “Oh.”
Mrs. Hrurk stared up. An Orcess in violet and yellow silks stared down at her. The Orcess’ hair was done in long braids, interwoven with chains of green and orange beads. A small retinue of Shadowkin traveled with her, including an Orc built like a mountain fortress.
“That was finely done,” said the Orcess.
“Thank you,” said Feista nervously. Something about these Shadowkin seemed familiar.
“And thank you for giving my people a lesson on the path of the aggressive seller. I am Asherzu, Chieftain of the Guz’Varda and CEO of Warg Incorporated.”
“Ah.” Feista’s tail involuntarily tucked between her legs in the presence of the most well-known Shadowkin in Andarun. Mr. Swabber, tailless though he was, had a similar reaction; the Halfling’s cheeks flushed, and he ran off with a mumbled excuse about tracking down a candle-runner.
It took the Gnoll a moment to remember her manners and introduce herself. “I am Feista Hrurk. Um, of the Hrurk, proprietress of Mrs. Hrurk’s Home for the Underprivileged.”
“It is good to meet you, Feista of the Hrurk,” said the chieftain. “I am here with the board of Warg Incorporated, to show them how we might better negotiate on the Wall. Honor us with your time, Gnoll. Tell us of your methods while you wait for the Gnome to finish your trade.”
“I… I would be honored,” said Mrs. Hrurk, her head spinning.
“As would we. And I am sure that Izek has insightful questions for you.” Asherzu smiled at Feista, yet her tone suggested that things would not go well for Izek if he didn’t have questions.
A Goblin near the back of the group swallowed hard and stepped forward. “Uh, what fee would you have accepted had he not taken your offer?” he began.
“Eleven or twelve hundred is standard,” said Feista. “I wouldn’t have accepted above that.”
“Ah. And the commission?” piped in a Slaugh next to Izek.
Feista answered his questions as best she could, still stunned that the executives would speak to her, let alone ask her questions. She discussed her information and analysis with them until Mr. Swabber returned with drafted orders and a tall Human that wore a long coat beneath several satchels, scroll tubes, and belt pouches. On his head, the man wore a candle-runner’s distinguishing hat—a cap with a lit candle in a brass setting on the front of it.
“It seems that your trade is ready to execute,” said Asherzu, eyeing the candle-runner as he set up the small, portable desk he carried. “Your insights are wise and your knowledge is mighty, Feista of the Hrurk. I offer you my card.”
