Chapter 8: A Banker’s Dream

Lancet had been working in the banking sector for twenty-odd years. For about two whole decades, she had grinded up the corporate ladder, from a lowly clerk through a loan officer before becoming the branch manager of Stackhurst Bank’s Sunstile branch. And while she had diligently performed all that was expected of her, she had always kept an eye out for a big break.

And now, according to Seri, she might just have found one.

Which meant it was too good to be true. For twenty odd years, she had clawed her way to her current position. Why in the world would Fate bless her with a lucky break now of all times?

But an immortalized account… Lancet’s spine threatened to shiver, and she had to tamp down the excitement. Colleagues spoke in hushed murmurs about the unbelievable stories of immortalized account holders appearing out of nowhere to usher in a windfall. Promotions would bloom, stocks would rise, new clients would arrive in droves.

Really, this meeting had the potential to be the biggest blessing that Stuckhurst Bank had experienced in ages, if not in its entire history.

And Lancet was at the forefront of it all. No pressure.

“Comfortable, sir?” Lancet asked from the other side of the tea table.

“I am, thank you.” The strange man, Ryland, seemed to have no real thoughts about the furniture or the upholstery or the nice paintings and plants Lancet had set up to make things feel a little extra posh for clients. “But I’d like to proceed with regaining access to my funds.”

Naturally. Powerful people tended to have places to be, and no doubt Ryland saw this diversion as a waste of his time. Lancet would need to prioritize her client’s sense of fulfilment. She had struck gold. Now she needed to polish it to a sheen.

“Of course, sir,” Lancet said. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we will need to verify your identity before you’re allowed to claim anything from your account.”

Seri reappeared the next moment, setting down a tray full of yuleberry tea, a pot full of imbued sugar flakes, napkins, and so on. The best they had available at the branch. It wasn’t a lot, but that wasn’t going to stop Lancet from trying.

Ryland hardly glanced at the food before refocusing on Lancet. “Not a problem. Although, I’m curious. You mentioned old Central Bank. Does that mean it no longer exists? Are the accounts within it accessible by any bank?”

Lancet smiled pleasantly. Oh, yes.

This was a good sign that she really was dealing with an actual immortalized account holder. More proof that she was dealing with an old figure of legend so absurdly powerful that he hadn’t bothered keeping track of society.

“Yes, sir,” Lancet said, trying to explain without sounding patronizing. “The Central Bank is defunct now. Most of its accounts were either transferred to one of the new banks, like ours, but a few remained unclaimed over decades. Most of those were suspended with their funds appropriated to the Public Trust, except for a few special ones.”

“Like mine. For I took the time to ensure my account wouldn’t be tampered with.”

“Yes. You followed the right procedures which ensured that, even if it remained unclaimed during the transition period, we would need to immortalize it so that it could be claimed at some point in the future. But you understand we can’t simply hand it over.”

“Indeed.” Ryland relaxed back in his seat. He seemed to understand that it wasn’t good business to keep maintaining older accounts with no idea if their owner would pop back up to claim them, but they also couldn’t just get rid of it. Not an account associated with someone like him, at least. “You require a Glyph of Identity, yes?”

“Yes, sir. But that’s only the first step. It’s a multistep process, you see.”

Lancet nudged her head, and the younger teller stepped forward, holding out the register she had been using earlier.

“Please place your Glyph of Identity here, sir,” she said.

Ryland hesitated for a moment. “This might be a tad too strong.”

Lancet tried not to let the thrill settling on her shoulders show. A tad too strong was exactly what she needed to hear. She needed irrefutable evidence that she was in the right here, that she was dealing with a living, breathing blessing for not just her, but all of Stackhurst.

“I think we’ll be able to handle it, sir,” Lancet said. They probably wouldn’t, but if her office exploded at whatever Glyph he was about to throw up, then so be it. Cost of doing business.

“As you wish, then,” Ryland said, stretching out a hand, magic intensifying on his palm with breathtaking speed.

He hadn’t evolved the Glyph, clearly. Which Lancet found odd. Not because it was unevolved—Glyphs of Identity were one of the few cases where it was commonly advised to keep them from evolving—but because the power she saw and felt was that of an evolved Glyph.

Of an incredibly high-Tier Glyph.

The magical imprint burned to life just above the register, shaped like a spear blade with cracks emerging from its back like wings. It shone so bright, Lancet was squinting in seconds. The room started shaking, her hair flying off its neat plaits, her bank uniform ruffling against her body like a flag caught in the wind.

Just behind her, Seri made a low noise of consternation, but Lancet grabbed and squeezed her arm. They were not ruining this moment.

A copy of the Glyph tried to emerge from the booklet. A pale imitation. But even the imitation was strong, sizzling with power and turning the air in the office even stormier with turbulence.

And then Ryland shut it off. “I think that suffices.”

“Yes.” Lancet quickly patted her hair back from the bird’s nest it had become and realigned her glasses back onto her face properly. Her clothes looked like she had run through a hurricane, but there wasn’t much she could do about that, besides patting them smooth where she could. “I agree.”

She wasn’t the only mess, of course. The boy was winded just as bad as her and Lancet felt Seri trembling going by the way her grasp of the younger woman’s hand was shaking. A kitten was trying to poke its head out of the boy’s dirty academy robes, its fur all ruffled. Much of the entire office was thrown into disarray as well.

Yes. She had been right. Ryland really had made everything more or less explode in an effort to prove his identity, which was exactly what Lancet needed.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“And the next step?” Ryland prompted.

“It’s a simple one, sir,” Lancet said. “Could you kindly name one of the items you hold in that account?”

Seri sucked in a quick sharp breath, and the boy frowned at the question.

Yet again, Lancet was forced to suppress her excitement. What would Ryland come up with? What sort of unbelievable Relic of a bygone era did he have in store? Did he possess the scale or fang of a mythical ur-dragon? Mages didn’t care for staves or other catalysts nowadays, but perhaps he had one made of Elder Marrowood?

The endless possibilities almost made Lancet giddy.

Ryland was clearly taking his time thinking up everything. Which was fine with Lancet. It gave her and Seri some time to tend to the office. They went about fixing paintings, cleaning spills, putting everything back in place. Simple Glyphs made all of that trivial, of course.

“Apologies for the inconvenience,” Ryland said. “But I am ready.”

“No apologies necessary, sir,” Lancet said quickly. A client should never need to apologize in her presence. “Displays of adequate power—well, overwhelming power—are excellent evidence of identity.”

“True. Although, I was merely apologizing for interrupting your cleaning.”

“I… see.”

Lancet found herself exchanging a flat look with the boy.

“I’d like to say you get used to it,” he said. “But I think it takes a while.”

Ryland chose to ignore that little comment, though Lancet didn’t fail to catch the corners of his mouth lifting up ever so slightly. “You wanted to know about something I stored in there, yes?” His smile established itself for real, strong and confident. “The Sacred Blade of House Faldor. I just remembered chucking it in there as one of my last deposits.”

Everyone in the room froze. Of all the magical and mystical things Lancet was expecting, the Relic he had mentioned…

Lancet almost robotically turned to Seri, who forced herself to get over her shock. She quickly pored over the register, scanning through its details with the rapid pace that all bank clerks were trained to channel.