“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Andrew Mason lurking around my display on ancient Elven artefacts?” Andrew paused, a hand hovering over an intricately-crafted silver tiara perched on a faceless bust. Straightening his posture, he turned and smiled warmly to the tall, willowy man.
“Hey, Mads. Long time no—”
“Put them back, Andrew,” Mads intoned.
“Put what back?” Andrew replied, brows knit in innocent confusion. Mads gave a weary sigh.
“The earrings and the pocketwatch in your vest, the commemorative coronation spoon in your shoe, the Zandalari fertility bracelet in your pants, and the raw sapphire you shoved down your shirt,” he replied as he held out a hand. Dutifully, Andrew removed the items from their hiding places and dropped them into the other man’s outstretched palm.
“That’s all I got,” he said earnestly as Mads gave him an appraising look down the length of his thin nose.
“Is it? I think I would also like back the emerald ring you’re hiding under your thieving little tongue,” he added. His nose wrinkled as Andrew spat out a ring onto the top of the small pile of goods. “You’re an animal, you know.”
Andrew shoved his hands into his empty pockets and shrugged lightly. “I know.”
Mads swept around him and deposited the items into a drawer behind the counter, locked it with a tap of his wand, and turned to face Andrew once more as he used a handkerchief to wipe spittle from his palm.
“I assume you’re here on business, and not simply to rob an honest shopkeeper of his hard-earned goods?” A snort answered him first.
“I'm not sure anything in here was acquired honestly, Mads. But yeah— I’m here on business.”
“And that business is…?”
“Forgery. I’m looking to pick up some more work— art, documents, whatever you got.”
Mads arched an eyebrow. “Your cut from the work you did on the Silvermoon job wasn’t enough? You need another cool million?” he asked, to which Andrew waved a hand.
“I don’t care about the money, I’m just… I dunno. Bored, I guess?”
“You’re bored.”
“I know you heard me— look, just give me anything. You got any new rubes you’re looking to fleece? Some competitor you want to embarrass?” he asked. Mads tapped his chin in thought.
“You know, there is something I've had in mind for a while— it will require the utmost skill and discretion, of course—”
“Of course.”
“The benefit for me is that it will finally ruin the shop up the street.”
“You still got beef with Faustus?”
“I don’t know what ‘got beef’ means, but if it means he is my sworn nemesis and I wish to see his world crumble around him, then yes.”
“Wasn’t the Silvermoon job enough? The flack he got when those people figured out he’d sold them fakes, and then they came rushing to you to get the real ones— which Quai made sure you got, of course—”
“Of course.”
“Wasn’t that enough?”
“To put it simply: no. But one more good blunder and in the eyes of the black market art community, he will be dead weight.”
“And you’ll reap all the rewards.”
“Or at least his last few high-paying clients.”
“What, you need another cool million?” Andrew teased.
“I assure you,” Mads replied haughtily, “the payout will be significantly higher— and made all the sweeter by the professional demise of Mister Faustus.” Andrew ran a hand through his hair.
“Alright, so what do you need?”
“Tea first, I think,” Mads replied as he moved towards the back room of his shop. Dutifully, Andrew followed along after him.
“Just sugar in mine,” Andrew said as he slid into a chair. He watched as Mads lazily waved his wand: a kettle and an old teapot sprang into action at the counter, one filling with water as the other opened its lid to accept a scoop of loose leaves that rose of their own accord from a tin on a shelf. Once two of cups had slid to a stop on the table between them and the kettle had settled itself onto a stove burner, Mads fixed his gaze once more on Andrew.
“The job I need you to do is in two parts,” he began. He snapped his fingers and a tin of gingersnaps flew across the room to bump Andrew politely on the arm.
“Cool, two parts,” Andrew replied as he took a biscuit and shoved it into his mouth, then took two more.
“You are going to reproduce a priceless vase. To do this, you will need clay and water from a very specific spot in eastern Pandaria, and feldspar from the top of Mount Neverest. These are the only two places you can acquire what you need— the water and clay are both found in a specific underground cave through which a spring flows, and though I don’t know if the feldspar from the top of Neverest makes a difference from feldspar found outside of Stormwind, I think it best not to risk it on a job like this.”
“Mmf— stho those’re—”
“Chew and swallow, please.”
Andrew did as instructed, then gestured towards Mads. “So those are the two parts to this?”
“No. Then there is a set of paints you will need in order to paint this replica— they are only found in one monastery that has been using the same paints for centuries. They produced hundreds of them and they stored them in a guarded underground vault somewhere in the Jade Forest.”
“So that’s the second part.”
“No. You will then need to craft the vase—”
“With the feldspar from the mountain and the clay and the spring water from the cave—”
“—In one of the monastery’s crafting rooms. You will need to use their kiln to fire the vase and the stamps they have on hand to mark the bottom of it once it comes out— the wood they burn and the temperature at which they burn it is a closely-guarded secret unique to that monastery, and they have been doing it that way for centuries. You can do the painting here, of course,” Mads added.
“Of course. So that’s the second part.”
“No. Then, once the vase is painted, you will need to sneak it into the home of its owner and replace it with the one you made. I want the original.”
“Why not just sell my very convincing fake?”
“Because I do not sell fakes, Andrew, which is how I keep my sterling reputation. You will be setting the fake in place of the genuine vase, for which I have a buyer."
At that moment, the kettle started to whistle. Andrew gestured with a biscuit as Mads summoned the kettle over to the table.
“I can get the feldspar and the clay and the spring water, no problem— it’s the paints and the kiln and the breaking in stuff I’ll need help with. I don’t even know where we’re breaking into, and d’you know how long it takes to fire a vase? Eight hours at least, for the first firing—”
“Andrew.”
“— and at least twelve hours for glazing—”
“Andrew.”
“Hm—?”
“I haven’t even told you where you will be breaking into in order to switch out the real vase for the fake.”
“If it’s the Silvermoon City Met again, I think they might just close up shop after this, none of their art will be real anymore—”
“It is not the Met.”
Andrew shoved another cookie into his mouth.
“Well? Where ith it?” he asked as he chewed. Mads leaned in, long fingers tented beneath his chin.
“You know Stormwind is currently without its boy king, yes?”
“Yeah, the uh… what’s his name, the grizzled-looking paladin type is sittin' on the big chair.”
“Turalyon is currently on the throne, yes. And while he holds young Wrynn’s spot on the throne, he does not live in the king’s chambers,” Mads explained. “Tell me— what do you know about the king’s private art gallery?”
((Mentioned: @quai-mason ))
