The preparations had been made.
In a storage room in the back of an inconspicuous shop, a young man set about chalking a grid of connected circles and runes on a long, wooden table at seating intervals. Each place setting had a multi-faceted crystal inscribed with runes, and a stack of paper arranged in an orderly fashion. The young man lit over a dozen pillar candles and sat at the head of the table, his setting included two equidistant crystals and a blank ledger. He took a seat at the head of the table and measured out his breathing, concentrating on the papers, the runes and circles glowing oddly in the candlelight.
Click-Clack
Strung wooden beads went back and forth on an abacus in no real pattern or purpose, but it still had the desired effect. Figures made of shadow poured in from the nooks and corners of the storehouse approached the table and took a seat. Four in all they looked toward the young man.
''Let us begin,'' he spoke softly and they all moved in unison. The shadow figures each grabbed a piece of paper and began inputting what was on them into the crystals, tapping on the runes carved into their surface. The crystals began lighting up the more the shadowy auditors input into them, the string of information going down to the head of the table. Runes and numerals poured from the left-most crystal to the right, and the young man dutifully wrote everything down into a leather ledger. A job this scale needed all the occult power he could muster, from the rune-numeral inputs, the calculation rune grid, and the magical accountants from some dimension full of numbers all focused into doing paperwork.
The man and the accountants went over the inventory and through numerous receipts, bills, bank statements, donation slips, shipping manifests, writs of the city, and even I.O.U.s. There were records of things that didn't exist, or wouldn't until a much later date. There was a list of customers in order of how much money they could spend on the regular. There were several folders of suppliers, movers, appraisers, experts, fences and interior decorators, all in order of how cheap they were. There was a lot more money then there should have been by what all this information gleaned.
This entire storehouse was a mess. But there was a job to finish... and after more than six hours, going by how low the candles were getting, the young man input the last of the figures into the ledger. The shadows, done with their work got up from their seats and meandered back to wherever they came from. He liked to think it was a world full of complicated sums, and that they were happy there. The circle was broken with a quick swipe of his finger and at last the man stood up... on his second try. Sitting bent over a ledger for six hours would do that to one's back. He collected the papers and with a few words fudged up the numbers so that everything would look legitimate if looked at under close scrutiny. The ledger held the true numbers, the very map of the crooked (heh) empire laid bare on paper and ink.
The candles were blown out and the young man exited the storehouse, ledger in hand, to the storefront on bare feet. In the better light of the shop the details of the young man could be seen. He was five and a half feet tall, average build, with messy brown hair, and grey-blue eyes that held a caustic wit and an odd sense of humor. He was dressed plainly, linen shirt and brown, leather pants, boot-less out of respect(and because he was threatened with a cleaning bill if he dirtied or scuffed the floor) for the owner.
A vast contrast to the back rooms, the front of the store was exquisitely well kept. The floors a rich, lacquered dark wood(coppers on the gold piece, a real steal, he'd seen the receipts), gold(plated) lanterns hung down from the ceiling giving the space a cheery light. Opulent tapestries(forgeries, the real ones were stored in a safe place) and wall hangings created the illusion of walled off spaces in the open storefront. And here we see the owner of said shop.
The first thing you're drawn to is his face. Strong jawed, thick brow, and hetero-chromatic eyes, right one topaz-blue and the other gold. The second is how big the owner is, just a touch over six feet, broad shouldered and barrel chested. He's dressed in finery of blues and gold(to bring out his eyes) accented in silks and feathers. He's ushering a customer out of the shop, a woman with her arms full of an overpriced rug, with a promise to contact her if any more of the 'artists' works turned up, thank you and have a pleasant day. After the customer's departure he locked up the door and turned the sign on the door to read 'closed', and practically waltzed to the counter with a bag full of gold coins. He whistled as he counted his earnings.
''You're in a chipper mood Tarot. Finally got that fake rug sold off, eh?''
Tarot looked up and smiled his 'shop owner' smile. "Mekoides! I'm appalled that you think that I would ever sell anything to my darling customers other than authentic, hand-crafted products of distinction. You wound me sir." He hopped over the counter and depressed a trick floorboard to open a seamless drawer that he deposited the sack of coins in. "If you have time to impune my character, then I assume you're done with our agreement?"
Mekoides placed the ledger on the counter. ''It's all in there, the real numbers. The original documents have been changed to your specifications."
"Fantastic! Good job, good job. This calls for some celebratory drinking!" After secreting the ledger into the hidden money drawer, he reached under the counter and pulled out an expensive-looking bottle of dry sherry. "This is something special for the occasion. Here, have some." He slid over a glass of the amber liquid.
''I'm not drinking anything from your store Tarot. You'll just send me bill tomorrow when I'm hungover!''
The shop owner's face broke into a genuine smile as he hooked an arm around the shorter man's shoulders. "Come now, would I really do that to my own friend?"
''In a heartbeat.''
"HA! Then I guess drinks are on me tonight?" Tarot quickly changed into more street-appropriate attire, throwing a pair of boots at Mekoides as they headed to the back door of the shop.
''A good pub crawl will soothe my throat. Do you know how much dust is back here?'' Mekoides exited the shop and set off down the alley it occupied.
"I'm only paying for the first round!" Tarot yelled at Mekoides' back, locking up. He quickly caught up and together they headed to the nearest pub, drank until they became a nuisance, and may or may not have run from a constable for skipping on the bill.
