Don’t Take Life Too Seriously; the Auction Might be Enlightening

Others came and went until around mid-afternoon when the blast of a horn sundered the chaotic tranquility, indicating the start of the auction. I know I have alluded to it before, but the Finfare Fair was one part exhibition and one part market. Many of the items for sale could be purchased on the spot. Asal Alaba, for instance, had several additional stores of goods he sold at his stall. “Never miss an opportunity to profit,” he said, grinning after the transaction of an overpriced parasol to an august young lady. Don’t worry, he had proper umbrellas too if it rained.

“First up, we have a collection of dining utensils found in ancient ruins on the Mystic Continent,” the auctioneer announced the first item. “Presented by Mr. Persival of Lom.” A low chatter from the prospective buyers heralded Mr. Persival as he stepped onto the stage, placing a box on a pedestal, and opening it to display its content before stepping down. Compared to the vastness of the spectators, it was a small item, and the fact that even the wealthy bidding class couldn’t get a good view of the contents—to say nothing of the poor schmucks stuffed in the back—was not missed by the organizers. One of those mages threw up another of those mysterious floating symbols to project a magnified image. My viewing angle from beside the stage wasn’t great, but they appeared bronze.

“Ah yes!” Asal commented. “An item not likely to be too valuable, but one that anyone could find use for.” He rubbed his hands together. “This should be quite the show!”

And right he was, for people who enjoy “Antique Roadshow.” The bidding started at 10 Noggins, which Asal informed me was a one vol gold coin. After a fierce bidding war by a half-dozen people, all shouting out in defiance of the other offers, the final price settled at 448 Noggins. I still had no idea what a vol was, and when asked, Asal flipped me the coin in question. My hand snatched it, and he showed no anxiety when I examined it at length. It appeared comparable to an Earth one-ounce gold coin, with a palace on one side and a head on the other—A king I imagined. The head seemed odd, though, not the standard profile depiction and off-kilter. It was too worn to say how, but the eyes looked strange too.

“The Golden Noggin is worth 100 vols!” Asal stated, unprompted.

I turned my gaze to him. “…100 vols of what?”

“Of silver, my dear boy!” He responded with extra zeal. “Silver is the monetary standard of Alocast!”

Is that so? I tried recalling what an ounce of silver traded for before I died. 20 dollars perhaps… If so, whoever bought this dining-ware, just dropped the equivalent of nearly one million dollars by my calculation!

I handed the coin back to Asal; there was no way I could have swiped it, and he wouldn’t have forgotten. Unhurried, he retrieved the coin. How could a man so carefree be such a scumbag? I pressed my tongue into a fang, frustrated because I couldn’t bring myself to hate him as much as I wanted.

“Isn’t that a lot of money to drop on tableware?”

“It’s not about tableware. It’s about status!”

“Status?” I wasn’t unfamiliar with displaying wealth through possessions, but dining ware seemed a bit much.

“Most certainly! The more you are willing to spend on something frivolous, the more status you must have. Or at least that is the perception.”

Okay, sure. I guess rich people flaunting money transcend dimensions.

“If that impresses you, bids will only get higher!” His face was a light.

“Higher?”

“Oh yes! The auctioneers are very good at appraising the value of things and always try to save the best for last.”

That made sense. Certainly, the opposite approach would be a letdown. But did that mean 448 Noggins would be the low water mark?

The next several items were of similar notoriety, most excavated from ruins, and in good condition despite their neglect. And sure enough, the bids grew bigger, but not far off from the dining-ware bid. However, the item that followed would dial up the bidding.

My attention had drifted with the parade of overvalued clutter, but my head swiveled back around when the next item came up. And how could it not? The item didn’t even fit on stage. In fact, it hovered about 10 feet above the dais, giving off a comforting whir.

“Next up we have an airship—” the auctioneer began.

“Hsss,” but found himself cut off by a loud hissing. I struggled to find the source.

“Excuse me, the Avolica Welmia crafted by—”

“HSSSS!” Again, another more insistent hiss cut him off.

“Sigh, the Avolica Welmia GH55 model 21 sub-model ET…” He scrunched his face, adjusting his spectacles, trying to read something on the podium.

“The Avolica Welmia GH55 model 21 sub-model ET2.3 super-sub-model T5 series Y mark 3 lot # 1!” a small disgruntled man brusquely corrected with crossed arms. Standing at no more than 3 feet, I figured him for a hozenlo. No wonder I missed him at first.

“Yes… what he said. A state-of-the-art airship built and presented by…” the auctioneer once again scrutinized his documents, “Erkal…yetsen…bobal…” The hozenlo facepalmed with a chagrined scowl. “grabast…en…ster…?” He looked up through small round lenses at the hozenlo as one might when giving a questionable answer to a teacher. As for the hozenlo, he twisted his lips like a septic truck had just driven by, but waved it off.

“The… this airship features newly developed gravity-reducing engrave-tech and innovative envelope heating and propulsion to create the fastest airship to date. The hull measures 10 meters long and 3.5 meters across with a cargo space of 36 cubic meters and max load of 20 tons.” (translated to Earth units for your convenience.)

“Hmm…” Asal Alaba rubbed his chin. “I really should look into getting an airship.”

“We shall begin the bidding at 100 Noggins.” A hand shot up, and the bidding began. While it did not garner the same level of interest some of the other items had, those interested waged monetary warfare over it. In the end, two bidders fought for supremacy. “Sold for 1021 Noggins.”

“Is that all?” I scratch my face. “I would have thought it had gone for far more.”

“While it is a technological marvel to be sure, it is too small to be of much practical use,” Asal explained.

“Is it?” Such cavalier treatment of a technological marvel had caught me flat-footed. Even still, there had to be value in hasty transportation.

“Most certainly! Airships are most useful for moving large quantities of goods or people long distances safely. A small airship is not conducive to this.”

“But there is still something to be said for speedy transportation.”

“Very true! And that is why it sold for what it did. It is still a niche market, however.” I guess things didn’t move with the same hustle and bustle of the first world.

“Next on the docket, we have a tablet of the Ancients.” This was met with much less interest than the airship, with a few noteworthy exceptions. Another human explorer with a grey bushy handlebar mustache had found it and now presented it with a regal bearing. It appeared to be made of bronze with a glass surface. If somebody told me it was a steampunk edition E tablet, I would have believed them. “It is still functioning and contains much writing from the Ancients.”

Many people yawned as the auctioneer enumerated the details; even Asal Alaba’s attention drifted.

“Is there not a lot of interest in this tablet?” I asked.

“No, not much.”

“But it made it past the airship. How could it be of so little interest? Isn’t the ancient writing valuable?”

“Of interest, no. Of value? Potentially.” When he trailed off with a lack of interest, I stared at him, hungry for details. He sighed and wiped his brow. “Unlike dining utensils and the like, one really has to be braised to display a tablet, making it of little value for flaunting wealth. Furthermore, nobody has been able to decipher the ancient writings.” So, an expensive paperweight. “However, if someone ever did manage to translate the writings, it could be the most valuable item in existence. Even being able to discern a single idea would be worth a king’s ransom.”

“I see.” So, valuable to nerds.

“We will start the bidding at 100 Noggins.” A man’s hand drifted up.

“300!” A shout ejected from somewhere in the crowd.

“400!” Another phantom cry.

“5—no 600!”

“1000!” Absent before, a surge of energy now ran through the throng of people, as most onlookers tried to find from where the shouts were coming.

“1200!” This time I could see a paddle cresting the crowd, swatting the air and demanding attention before dropping back down.

“1201!” Well, that had to be a breach of etiquette.

“1300!” That paddle sprang up again.

“1301!” Okay, I wasn’t the only one who found single-digit outbidding distasteful, judging by the number of scowls forming.

“1550!” Called a different unseen voice.

“1551!”

A sudden yelling in an unfamiliar tongue emanated from that unseen area where the one-upper was croaking, followed by what sounded like a scuffle.

“2000 Noggins!” This time, the paddle welding hozenlo had climbed atop a nonplussed gentleman and held his paddle up like he was raising the flag at Iwo Jima.

The hackneyed adventurer's face was seeing dollar signs—or whatever this world’s equivalent was. “2000 going once, twice. Sold to the man… standing on the other man.” The hozenlo looked like he had just witnessed the birth of his child.

“Wait! I haven’t finished bidding yet!” came the nasal voice of one of the bidders from before.

“2…” a hoarse voice sputtered, “2001.” A boot hitting soft flesh soon followed. “Ugh!”

“Sorry,” the auctioneer began. “The sale of this item is closed.”

The dollar signs dropped from "Captain Stache" as he turned to the auctioneer and complained.

“This. sale. is. closed!” he said in no uncertain terms, staring right back at him. “These are the rules.”

The seller didn’t look so pleased now as he stomped off the stage muttering curses.

“Next up…” The auction proceeded.

“I guess they know their stuff,” I remarked. “I would have thought an item with such little interest wouldn’t go for that much.”

“It most certainly wouldn’t have, if not for that hozenlo bidding war.” Some life had returned to Asal Alaba’s face. “They can be quite tenacious about such things.”

“Why would they be so interested in an indecipherable tablet?”

“I couldn’t begin to say. I never could understand the hozenlo, other than they take their work as seriously as Rainard’s quest!”

“…Whose quest?”

“Rainard’s quest! He was a great hero from days…” He started.

“Next we have the sylph familiar of Welkran Ka’az…”

Asal Alaba broke off mid-sentence and looked to the stage like someone had insulted his mother. With such a reaction, I turned as well. On the pedestal rested a wired cage that looked to contain a fairy or pixie.

“It’s bad enough to run a scam,” he said with a sore expression. “But to do it so blatantly!” His face turned red, and it wasn’t the heat. “Surely nobody is buying into this farce!”

“Are you saying it’s a fake?” Looked genuine to me.

“Of course, it’s a fake! What will they be running next? A lock of the Lunar Lady’s hair??” He flailed his fists. “It seems the Finfare Fair has lost a great deal of its integrity if it is letting this pass!”

“Going once, twice, sold to the man in the green hat for 3400 Noggins.” The man in question tipped his top hat to the crowd. Asal looked on slack-jawed before turning away as if witnessing someone dumping their life savings into NFTs.

“Up next, we have another unusual item, a yutsuukitsuu, presented by Asal Alaba.”

“Oh, it’s our turn!” He perked up, the previous mercantile infraction forgotten, as he led me on stage. “Come now, let’s make a good showing of it.”

“He is fluent in Caster, familiar with human customs, and capable of serving as more than just a discussion piece.” Wow… That wasn’t insulting at all.