The Heir Who Wouldn’t Drown
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 25: The Price of Expertise
Julian kept pressing the crooked merchant.
“Mr. Basil, misidentifying an expensive gemstone was bad enough. But you can’t even tell a knife from a sword? I really must question both your expertise and that of the Golden Palm Trading Company.”
One common classification called single-edged blades knives and symmetrical, double-edged blades swords. Here, however, the distinction worked differently. What mattered was not the number of cutting edges, but how the hilt was assembled.
A blade fitted into a rounded wooden grip and secured by a pommel riveted onto the end qualified as a sword. If the tang was forged in one piece with the blade, sandwiched between two wooden scales, and fastened with rivets, the weapon qualified as a knife.
The Fisher-pattern cutter did have an asymmetrical blade sharpened on only one side. But that blade was fitted into a grip and secured with a pommel. By the local definition, it was unquestionably a sword.
The merchant’s expression stiffened. Then the muscles in his cheeks began to twitch. After several breaths of meeting Julian’s gaze, he finally surrendered.
He took out a handkerchief, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and conceded, “Perhaps I ... misread it. Yes, that’s what happened. The sunlight is terribly bright today.”
Basil was a Rank 1 Servitor, a [Golden Eye] of the Golden Coin Sequence. In the appraisal of jewelry and luxury goods, he surpassed even an [Artificer]. How could he possibly have made such a mistake?
He had known exactly what he was doing.
Now that Julian had exposed him, he could only curse his luck.
Just my luck. This lot clearly came from a typical noble household in Hastings. Most likely some member of the Ravenshaw faction who fled after losing the War of the Red and White Roses.
How can a pack of illiterate pirates know this much about aristocratic collectibles?
I’ve lost at least 3,000% in profit!
The thought of that loss was agony.
Fleecing people was an unwritten rule of the black market. How much you could squeeze out of a deal depended entirely on your own skill.
It was like browsing an antiques market in hopes of finding an undervalued treasure. Buyers and sellers alike knew that 99% of the goods were fakes. But by common understanding, even someone who hurried home with a purchase only to discover it was counterfeit could do little more than slap himself.
“Damn it. Fooled again.”
Meeting an expert was another matter. If someone exposed you on the spot and then proceeded to critique every item in turn, your reputation really could be ruined.
Even gray areas had rules.
Here in Iron Anchor Bay, Basil was not afraid of pirates throwing their weight around. What he feared was someone like Julian, who played by the rules and could back up every word. That was why he had changed his attitude so quickly.
The merchant’s reaction told First Mate Bram and the other pirates everything they needed to know. Julian had been right all along.
“You damned swindler!”
“Do you know what we went through to keep this cargo?”
“Bloody hell! Robbing pirates in broad daylight!”
When dealing with black-market merchants, they had hoped the prices would only be cut in half, at the waist. When negotiations began, they had suspected the cut was closer to the ankles.
They had never imagined it was actually at the soles of their feet. Perhaps even the floor beneath them!
Julian gave a casual wave.
The pirates, red-eyed and snorting like bulls, immediately fell quiet. Even First Mate Bram bowed slightly and stepped back with the rest.
Julian did not yet hold the post of deputy captain, but aboard Maneater Shark, his standing had long since become second only to [Redgaze] Oswald’s.
The young men in his own little circle watched him with outright fervor.
It seemed the only thing still preventing his rise was strength.
Having finished with the Fisher-pattern cutter and the gemstone necklace, Julian approached the pile of cargo and glanced over the several dozen bottles of rum.
A slight twitch of his nostrils was enough. He continued with complete confidence.
“This rum is copper-gold, with subtle citrus, spice, and wood notes. The finish is long and dry, with rich aromas of orange peel, vanilla, nutmeg, hot coffee, and cocoa. It’s estate-produced dry rum, aged in oak for at least twelve years.
“I remember a reserve bottle from Silver Era 1451 selling at auction in the royal capital last year for the extraordinary price of 124 gold pounds. This batch isn’t all that different in flavor from the 1451 reserve. More than good enough to fool some wealthy amateur. A high-end restaurant could easily sell it for two gold pounds a bottle.”
He moved on.
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