I dropped my hands from my face, the cheap ale-and-sweat smell of the inn suddenly assaulting my nostrils. I forced myself to examine the situation logically, even though everything about it screamed RPG cliché.

  “Right,” I sighed, addressing Kaelen, but keeping a wary glance fixed on Captain Crispin Croft. The captain hadn’t moved; he was like a weathered, granite outcrop, yet I felt the weight of his singular milky eye on us, even from across the room. “So, setting aside the fact that we’re supposed to go fight mythological reptiles just to rent a ferry, what is this ‘Lodestone of True North’? Is it like a super-powerful artifact? Does it grant wishes? Does it make toast?”Kaelen shifted uncomfortably, his knightly sensibilities clearly chafed by the crassness of the negotiation.

  “It is vital for the voyage, Paige. The waters around the Isle of Whispers are warded by ancient, chaotic magic. Normal celestial navigation is impossible; the stars shift and the sun often disappears mists that cloak the Isle.” He leaned closer, his breath smelling faintly of iron and the sea air that permeated the docks. “This stone, when correctly attuned, always fixes its point toward the absolute magnetic north, bypassing the confounding influence of the mists and the shadows. It keeps the ship from being swallowed by the chaotic currents.”

  I stared at him. The ambient noise of the tavern—the clatter of pewter mugs, the roar of drunken laughter, the mournful fiddling in the corner—seemed to fade.

  “Is that all?” I asked flatly.Kaelen paused, considering my tone.

  “It is an exceptionally rare magical device, yes. The mages of old spent great effort in creating such constancy.”

  “But fundamentally,” I pressed, running a hand through my messy ponytail, “it’s just a magical compass.”

  “If you wish to use such simplistic, pedestrian terminology for a priceless artifact of the Elder Age, yes,” Kaelen conceded stiffly.

  “A compass,” I repeated, sinking into my chair. We were talking about risking life and limb against creatures called Cliff-Drakes—which sounded like small, angry dragons—for a fancy navigational tool. “This world, I swear.”

  “But the quest!” Nolan lamented, suddenly animated again. His usual state of sweaty anxiety had been temporarily replaced by the thrill of the narrative. “We get to fight Drakes! Think of the looooot! We’d probably get experience points! And maybe a rare drop! This is way better than paying gold!”A low, guttural sigh emanated Bartholomew.

  “Oh, bliss. More low-level monster slaying conducted by the overtly enthusiastic. I had harbored the hopeful delusion that our current circumstances would necessitate a pursuit of knowledge or perhaps delicate diplomacy, not simply being utilized as glorified pest control,” Bartholomew muttered. “Have we truly fallen so far that we are reduced to chasing quarry that likely only possesses rudimentary dental hygiene?”

  “Hush, Bart,” I murmured, resisting the urge to push him off the table. “I prefer diplomacy, too, but apparently, our diplomatic skills currently max out at ‘run away fast’ or ‘throw fire.’ And I am not fighting dragons for a ride, magical compass or not.”

  I mulled this over, watching Crispin again. He had finally picked up his tankard, taking a long, slow draw of the dark liquid. He looked predatory, like a shark waiting for the hook to be swallowed. He knew he had us trapped between the insurmountable gold price and the ridiculous fetch quest.

  I was about to suggest we try to haggle down the gold price dramatically when Nolan, ever the messy marvel of preparedness, started patting his various pockets.

  Nolan didn’t just have pockets; he had layers of pockets, sewn into his greasy tunic and the inner lining of his travel cloak like a human Swiss Army knife perpetually stuck in the ‘unhygienic’ setting. He was rooting around for something with singular focus, oblivious to the fact that half the tavern was now glancing at the frantic, overweight man.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Nolan mumbled, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hand finally emerged from a deep, hidden recess near his hip, triumphantly clutching something shiny and dark. “Hold on. I know I packed redundancy for redundancy.”

  He presented it with a flourish, holding it between his thumb and forefinger like a prize jewel.

  It was small, heavy, and undeniably polished: a brass-cased, oil-damped pocket compass. The kind that looked antique and nautical but was manufactured in bulk somewhere in Shenzhen last year before being shipped to an REI store in Oregon. The glass face gleamed under the torchlight. The needle inside quivered slightly, settling with unnerving accuracy toward the north wall of the tavern, right where Kaelen had assured me true north lay.

  Kaelen and I both stopped breathing. We stared at the anachronistic device, the physical manifestation of my old life intersecting with his utterly ridiculous one.

  “What is that demonic contraption?” Kaelen whispered, leaning away slightly as if it might spontaneously explode or whisper forbidden knowledge. He recognized that it performed the function of the Lodestone, but he couldn’t grasp the lack of magic involved.

  “Kaelen, meet the wonders of mass production and physics,” I said, taking the compass from Nolan. It felt cool and reassuringly solid in my palm. The needle was steady, reliable, and utterly non-magical. Just iron filings and magnetism.

  “This,” I explained, tilting the compass so the flickering flame caught the brass edge, “is a tool for finding True North. It does exactly what his magic rock does. Only this one doesn’t require us to go fight flying murder-lizards.”

  I knew, theoretically, that I should try to guard the secrets of my world. The sudden appearance of modern technology usually caused either panic or suspicion in Eldoria. But at this moment, I was too tired for discretion.

  “Look,” I continued, turning the compass over in my palm, my mind racing. “Captain Crispin knows his ‘Lodestone’ finds north. He doesn’t know how it does that, just that it works. He’s a fisherman who captains a shady vessel, not a Royal Geographer or a mage. He probably can’t tell the difference between a natural magnetic field and high-level celestial attunement.”I looked up at Kaelen, a mischievous, dangerous spark igniting my proposal.

  “We can’t afford the five gold crowns. And I’m certainly not fighting flying lizards with teeth the size of my forearm for a glorified piece of quartz—especially since Nolan managed to sneak in a superior model through his magical pockets of endless junk.” Nolan swelled with pride at the description. “But we have something here that performs the exact same function. And it looks fancy. We don’t have to kill anything after all. We just have to commit a little light fraud.”Kaelen peered at the compass.

  “Fraud? You wish to trade a genuine magical artifact for a… a simple piece of clockwork?”

  “Precisely,” I grinned, suddenly energized by the audacity of the plan. “He wants a reliable tool to keep him on course in the mists. We give him a reliable tool. He’s already robbing us blind with his five-gold price tag; a little quid pro quo deception is entirely warranted. You, Ser Knight, are going to take this fancy, non-magical compass, walk over to that scarred pirate, and convince him that you have a better Lodestone—a miniaturized, superior version not requiring cumbersome rituals—and that we will trade it for our passage.”

  Bartholomew let out a sound that was half-chuckle, half-choke.

  “Oh, sweet treason. This, I confess, is considerably more entertaining than chasing the regurgitated digestive tracts of cold-blooded beasts.”

  Kaelen, however, looked utterly horrified. He was a knight sworn to truth and the Gryphon’s honor.

  “Paige, I cannot consciously defraud a man,” he protested quietly, though his eyes kept returning to the efficient, silent brass tool in my hand.

  “Yes, you can, Kaelen,” I said firmly, standing up and placing the compass directly into his gloved palm. The cool brass seemed to shock him. “You are currently operating outside the jurisdiction of the Silver Gryphon, pursuing a mission of higher urgency than your Order’s rules. This man, Crispin, is a blackmailer who is exploiting our desperation. We are not stealing from a virtuous citizen; we are paying a premium for passage with a far superior, albeit non-magical, currency.” I gave him a look designed to appeal to his inner pragmatist. “Think of it as the cost of doing business in the shadiest corner of Eldoria. You need to swallow your noble pride and lie for the greater good. Do you want to reach the island, or do you want to battle imaginary dragons and run out of money?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Kaelen looked from the compass, to me, and then to the looming, broken figure of Captain Crispin Croft, who slowly raised his tankard in a silent, challenging toast. The knight inhaled sharply, squaring his shoulders.

  “Very well,” Kaelen ground out, tucking the modern compass into his belt pouch, as if hiding a vial of poison. “We shall commit this… technological deceit. But if he demands to see the compass function, I shall require a plausible explanation for why it moves without arcane stimulus.”

  “Just tell him it runs on pure, chaotic, modern-day anxiety and the power of tiny magnets,” I suggested. “He’s a man who believes in a stone that finds north. He’ll believe anything that saves him from climbing a cliff face.”

  Kaelen shot me a look that was a perfect blend of exasperation and grudging acceptance. It was a look I was becoming intimately familiar with. He was a knight, for crying out loud, an honorable man in a world of actual dragons and magic. Lying about a compass that ran on magnets probably felt like performing sacrilege in a holy temple. But the grim set of his jaw told me he understood the stakes. This wasn’t about honor; it was about getting to an island. And I was the expert in getting things done by any means necessary, especially when those means involved bending the truth.

  “Come on, you two,” I nudged Nolan, who was still muttering about signal interference and GPS satellites, and Bartholomew, who was engaged in vigorous self-grooming with an air of profound boredom. “Kaelen’s about to put on a show.”

  Kaelen strode towards Crispin with the deliberate, almost theatrical gait of a man who was about to lecture a particularly dim squire. He probably thought it would lend him an air of authority. To me, it just looked like he was trying to delay the inevitable. Crispin, still perched on his stool, hadn’t moved much since his silent toast. He simply watched Kaelen approach, a glint of avarice in his rheumy eyes.

  “Observe,” Bartholomew purred, his voice a low rumble from my lap. “The knight approaches his quarry, a magnificent display of reluctant mendacity. One can almost taste the internal conflict emanating from him.”

  “Internal conflict meets external blackmail,” I countered, adjusting my position for a better view. “It’s a classic Eldorian love story.”Nolan wrung his hands.

  “Are you sure this is going to work? What if he asks Kaelen to prove it’s better? How do you demonstrate ‘modern-day anxiety’ to a guy who probably thinks a sundial is cutting-edge tech?”

  “That’s the beauty of it, Nolan,” I whispered, watching Kaelen reach Crispin. “He doesn’t need to understand it, just to be impressed by it. Crispin’s a man who values what he doesn’t have. And he definitely doesn’t have a pocket-sized divination device that consistently points north without a prayer or a wizard.”

  Kaelen pulled the compass from his pouch, not with a flourish, but with the careful, almost reverent motion of a man handling a delicate, forbidden artifact. He held it out, letting the sunlight catch the cool gleam of the brass. Even from a distance, I could see Crispin’s eyes narrow, his slumped posture straightening ever so slightly. Curiosity, that delicious, fatal flaw, was piqued.

  “Look at that, Kaelen’s doing his best ‘wise man presenting a magical artifact’ impression,” I murmured. “Just needs a bit more dry ice and a dramatic voice-over.”

  “His posture indicates a certain discomfiture,” Bartholomew observed, cleaning a paw with fastidious care. “A knight forced to embrace the charlatan’s art. Most unseemly for one of his esteemed Order, yet tragically necessary for the larger objective. The human condition, eh? Always one step forward, two steps into moral compromise.”

  “That’s just life, Bart,” I said, watching Crispin tentatively reach for the compass. Kaelen, surprisingly, allowed him to take it.

  Crispin turned the compass over in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. He poked at it with a grimy finger, then shook it, as if expecting it to rattle or perhaps burst into arcane flame. The needle, unfazed, remained stubbornly pointed north. He held it up to his ear, then squinted at the small, intricate markings on its face. Kaelen stood patiently, a picture of stoic, barely concealed anxiety.

  “He’s probably wondering if it’s possessed by a tiny, very disciplined earth elemental,” Nolan whispered, a nervous giggle escaping him.

  “Or if it’s a particularly clever type of fancy stone,” I added. “Either way, the consistent north is going to blow his mind. He’s used to compasses that rely on magic that might or might not actually be working that day.”

  Crispin looked up at Kaelen, speaking a few gruff words we couldn’t discern. Kaelen responded, gesturing vaguely towards the sky, then pointed towards the invisible north. I imagined him explaining the “chaotic modern-day anxiety” concept with a straight face. The image was almost too good. Crispin then held the compass out again, testing it from different angles, seemingly trying to trick the needle. It remained resolute.

  “He’s hooked,” I said, a grin spreading across my face. “See? The simple truth of physics, dressed up as a magical anomaly, is far more impressive than any fireball.”Bartholomew let out a low, rumbling sigh.

  “It is a testament to the enduring gullibility of the uninitiated. This ‘superior currency’ as you term it, is merely a more refined form of illusion. A grand deception, in its own way.”

  “As long as it gets us a boat,” I shrugged. “I’m all for grand deceptions.”

  Crispin and Kaelen continued their hushed conversation for what felt like an eternity. Crispin jabbed a finger at the compass, then at the distant horizon, then back at Kaelen, his expression a mix of awe and shrewd calculation. Kaelen, in turn, maintained his air of dignified, if slightly pained, authority. He nodded, he gestured, he occasionally looked at the compass with a proprietary air. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of medieval haggling, Crispin handed the compass back to Kaelen. He then raised his tankard once more, a wide, toothless grin splitting his face. This time, it wasn’t a challenge; it was an invitation. A deal had been struck.

  Kaelen gave a curt nod in return, tucked the compass back into his belt pouch, and turned, his stride now much more purposeful. He walked back to us, his shoulders still squared, but with a barely perceptible sag of relief. He didn’t look triumphant, not exactly. More like a man who had successfully navigated a particularly unpleasant but necessary chore.

  “Well?” I asked, pushing myself up from behind the crates, Nolan practically tripping over himself in his eagerness.Kaelen stopped before us, pulling the compass from his pouch and holding it out, the brass still gleaming.

  “He has agreed to the passage,” he stated, his voice tight, as if the words themselves left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “And the price?” Nolan asked, still eyeing the compass with a mix of awe and trepidation.Kaelen met my gaze, a flicker of something almost like grudging respect in his eyes.

  “He was immensely… impressed by its capabilities. He believes we possess a trove of such ‘magical instruments’ and has agreed to transport us, on the condition that… upon our arrival at the island, we provide him with ‘another device of similar inexplicable power or an equivalent sum in Aethelgard coin, perhaps both, as he finds himself quite intrigued by such wonders.’”I laughed, a genuinely pleased sound.

  “So, he didn’t just want the compass itself. He thinks we’re a modern-day treasure chest. Excellent!”Kaelen shuddered.

  “It was… humiliating. I spoke of ‘chaotic quantum fluctuations’ and ‘geomagnetic resonance.’ He seemed convinced it was powered by a trapped spirit of the North Wind. He also demanded to know if it could find hidden gold. I merely assured him its true purpose was far more… singular.” He ran a hand over his face. “The lies were extensive.”

  “But successful,” I pointed out, patting his armored arm. “And you kept the compass. Smart thinking, Sir Kaelen. Looks like even a blackmailer knows a good investment when he sees one. And now, we have passage.” My gaze drifted over the murky waters towards the distant, hazy line of the horizon. The island felt a little closer now. “Looks like saving Eldoria just got a whole lot more expensive, but at least we’re getting there.”