Record: Market of Ruse

1
There is a kingdom wreathed in sea and sand.
Its streets flourish with trade; its markets overflow with every good imaginable.
Succulent fruits. Fragrant perfumes. Glossy textiles. Exquisite furniture.
And more. And more. And /more/.
As people busily flit about conducting trade, one particular merchant cries out: "All you find at my stall is coveted even by royalty! This is the chance of a lifetime! Do not miss out!"
A gem that gleams in the sunlight, apparently received from an old jeweler friend.
A talisman imbued with the power of a mystic.
A dagger inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, said to be his most treasured item.
Most are either stolen or flimflam, but those who gather about the stall are unlikely to notice or care about either.
The man runs his tongue over his lips, confident he has reeled in his prey.
"But what I show you next are the rarest things of all... Behold my gems! If I may direct your attention to this flint. Striking it but once will immediately create the grandest of bonfires! And see here the lump of ice contained in this small metal box. It never melts⁠—not under the sun, not in the heat of the desert! And here in this beautiful box, we have a wondrous talisman written in the script of a faraway land. This charm was created by a king who lamented his wife's illness, and is said to ward off ever the most dire of maladies!"
The man's smooth presentation grabs even those who were only planning to enjoy the show.
"I'll buy them all!" cries a voice from the crowd.
The dam is shattered; people rush his stall, shouting and thrusting coins into his face. The man cannot help the grin that crosses his face. As the people disperse, he holds his purse—now heavy with gold—in the palm of his hand.
/What fools these people are to be taken in by such obvious fabrications!/ he thinks.
But then, the smell of roses.
The man looks up to see a girl pass by, dressed tip to toe in the most delicate of garments. He needs but a single glance to know she is rich beyond all measure—and yet of an age where she remains ignorant of the world's great cruelty. Thinking her an easy mark, the man's greed bids him call out in a bright and cheerful voice.

2
The merchant calls out to the affluent-looking girl.
The sudden attention surprises her; she presses her fingertips to her mouth and widens her eyes. But when she realizes she is simply the target of a salesman, her cheeks lift into a cherubic smile. As she draws near the odd assortment of items on the table, she gasps, spellbound.
Her lowered eyelashes are long enough to cast shadows over her cheeks, her flushed countenance revealing the innocent loveliness that will soon mature into almost aching beauty.
The merchant wobbles in place, made momentarily dizzy by her loveliness.
As she leans over his goods, her silken hair spills over one shoulder. She brushes it back with a delicate motion, making it clear she has been raised in a family well-off enough to afford the finest of manners.
The delicate golden bracelet on her wrist and large jeweled necklace around her neck play but supporting roles to her features. But even a girl born of such manners has trouble determining the true authenticity of the merchant's items.
As she stands entranced, the man smiles and speaks a coaxing voice.
"I can tell you've a keen eye, miss."
He shows her a pirate compass said to have reached the end of the world. A holy goblet with the power to create miracles. A ring meant for forging pacts with the fae.
They are all lies—the most base of tales—yet the naïve girl listens with rapt attention.
But just before the merchant springs his trap, he recklessly decides to aim for even greater heights.
"This is just between you and me, miss, but..."
He produces a vase with a long, graceful neck.
He whispers to her of a powerful magic which has laid dormant inside it for a thousand years, claiming it can grant the wishes of any who genuinely seek it out.
Perhaps she was charmed by the mysterious decorations.
Perhaps she genuinely believed his tale.
Either way, her eyes gleam as she decides then and there to have the vase at any cost.

3
The rich girl's eyes gleam as she asks the merchant for his price.
He responds with the most unreasonable of sums.
The girl merely nods and feels around for her purse, but then her expression clouds.
It seems she has forgotten her money.
Ah, but the merchant cannot permit such a good customer to escape.
He pretends to sympathize with her plight, then slaps his knee as though an idea has suddenly come to him.
"If you lack the coin, miss, I don't mind exchanging this for an item of equal value. For example..." He sheepishly gestures to her necklace. Though he traffics in falsehood, he knows real value when he sees it. And the jewels on her neck are real beyond all doubt. Yet whether she realizes his intentions or not, the girl declines his suggestion.
She tells him how saddened her parents would be if she surrendered the necklace they so generously gifted her on her birthday.
Though he pretends to understand, the man does not give up.
"If it was a birthday present, it means your parents are hoping you mature into your own woman. That necklace is a symbol of their protection and love—and they could never be saddened if you gave it up of your own volition. Indeed, such a thing could only please them."
The girl hesitates, but at last nods, convinced.
"My parents will understand my decision," she murmurs as she hands over the necklace.
As promised, he gives her the vase in return.
Though the girl is satisfied, the man finally lets slip the wolfish grin he has been withholding the entire time.
/Foolish child! A single jewel from that necklace could have afforded you a life of ease and luxury. Clearly you have no eye for worth./
The merchant cares not a whit if the girl's parents lament her loss and are disappointed in her. Such means nothing to him.
But just as he is about to hide away his newfound spoils, the area begins to buzz with excitement.
Hearing a metallic clanking approach, he looks up to find himself surrounded by a pack of armed soldiers.

4
The merchant has swindled the rich girl out of her necklace.
Now, soldiers surround him. The troops inform the bewildered man that the necklace belongs to the royal family, and claim he has stolen it.
He launches into a passionate defense, explaining how the girl exchanged the necklace for one of his treasures of her own free will. But the soldiers are deaf to his cries. They confiscate his merchandise, all of which has been reported as stolen. Only now does the merchant realize he has been ensnared in the most clever of traps: One set for him by the precious young girl.
The merchant rages. He howls. He beats his fists upon the ground, caring not who sees him or what they think.
But though he curses the girl with all the foul oaths known to him, none of this prevents him from being seized by the soldiers.
People whisper amongst themselves as he is taken away.
From a distance, the girl who exchanged the necklace looks on with sympathy.
...Or so one may think. But then her hair slips from her head, and the red on her lips is wiped clean.
"Perhaps that will cure your thieving ways."
The girl speaks in the husky tones of a young boy. Her delicate demeanor? Her lovely expression? Vanished as if they were never there at all.
He now looks like all the other petty cutpurses who make their homes in the back alleys of the city.
The soldiers saunter up to him. They glare sharply at one another...
Then burst into raucous laughter.
They laugh until their stomachs hurt, heaving so loudly they attract attention.
The soldiers are also false—and the princess-turned-boy is their accomplice.
Though the merchant sold mostly fakes and stolen items, there were a few genuine articles among his stock. He likely exchanged them for fakes just as he did in this particular incident.
Knowing this, the group planned to tear him up by the roots.
It was all the boy's idea. He knew the tricks of the trade, and came up with the idea of disguising himself as some delicate, naive thing.
Once their laughing fit comes to an end, the group moves off to a nearby alley to decide their portions.
Behind his accomplices, the boy murmurs to himself: "The real idiots are those who don't know real from fake."
He then tosses off his disguise without a second thought and walks away satisfied.